#ITS DEFINITELY WIZARD TIME NOW | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunnami · 8 months

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❝time will tell.❞

[credits to the original artist of the photo!! can't seem to find their @ anywhere. title is taken from jane austen's persuasion, as was the first part.]

summary. ❝you are loved. and harry thinks there is no better description that that.❞

pairing/s. poly!mauraders + lily x reader.

word count. 9.5k.

tags. reader is referred to mum, with she/her pronouns[!], canon-typical violence [!], canon-typical deaths mentioned[!], very brief marauders as soldiers of the order[!], creepy old men being creepy[!], child abuse[!], pureblood arranged marriages, a minor character expresses wanting to die[!], Depressed and Traumatized Slytherins, the capital is important[!], themes of misogyny [!], teen boys fuck around and find out there are consequences to their actions, THERE IS ACTUALLY A LOT OF FLUFF, I PROMISE YOU, angst, children lose their baby teeth up until the age of twelve!! google said so!! not proofread we die like dobby the free elf

note. damn, i cried, you cried, we all crode. tbh, the first part was only intended as a oneshot, sdfkhdf, but when i re-read it, i thought that i could have expanded on more details,, so now here we are!! i love it more than the first part ueueue. thank you all so so so much for the kind comments :((( please please enjoy the second part to this installment!! part one

HARRY JAMES POTTER was only a few months old when you died at the hands of Voldemort — or as strangers have told him every time they ravaged his personal space and ogled at his scar. They said it was a quick death, better than what had happened to Alice and Frank Longbottom. But that was all they’ve ever said about your death. Unfortunate; caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, entirely different from the pedestal James and Lily have been put on by the wizarding society.

At first, Harry had wondered if it was due to your blood relations, being the daughter of a renowned Death-Eater, heiress to the fortune of a pureblood House. Harry can’t even count the amount of conspiracy theories he’s read or heard to his face that it must have been you who betrayed James and Lily, and not Sirius Black.

Even Hermione’s shared to him a theory that your death was faked to surrender your loyalty completely to Voldemort — of course, Hermione was eleven at the time, head full of books and her favorite theories, and Harry’s already forgiven her. But there’s a part of him that despises the way he’s never known the full truth about his parents, just bits of information dangled in front of him like bait for people [read: the Dursleys] to get him to do what they want, to act like the way they want. Until Remus and Sirius, you were a stranger to him, really.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

IT IS RATHER UNFORTUNATE that Madam Pince has already taken her position as the unbearable librarian at this point in time. The woman gives Harry and you a pointed look as you slam the large book onto one of the tables — to Harry’s surprise, you glare right back at her. You’re awfully flushed, however, blushing cheeks betraying the fire in your eyes; it must have been from when Remus escorted the two of you to the library; he had tried to brush your hand with his pinky, to which you had responded with a startled hiss — Remus only smiled and chuckled at you, and Harry swears he’d like to forget that entire interaction because he saw literal stars in Remus’s eyes.

Jumping back in time and potentially causing chaos? Fun.

Meeting your parents? Definitely fun, in the strangest of ways.

But watching them pine and fall for each other? Not so fun.

Nonetheless, he hesitantly takes the seat across yours and watches you flip through the pages until you land on a chapter with the large, bold letters: THE CURIOUS CASE OF ELOISE MINTUMBLE — Time-Travel and Its Many Dangers. He meets your gaze with a sheepish grin, mustering a look of innocence; except the puppy dog eyes only worked when he was nine — you are not amused.

You slide the book towards him, scarily resembling Molly Weasley when she’s miffed with the twins. “You are aware, right, that just by existing here you’ve changed the future? Your future? And, that’s not even the worst thing that could happen.”

Harry sulks. “Yes, mum.” He prefers not to think about it, actually, it makes his head hurt.

“Don’t call me that in public!” You whisper heatedly, looking over your shoulder to check if anyone had heard him — to your luck, the library was empty, save for a Hufflepuff that was passed out on top of his books. “The less people that know about this, the better. It’s bad enough we told Potter about you. Do you even know what you’re going to do?”

“Considering I was thrown here against my will, no.” Harry shrugs. “And to be honest, I was just going to obliviate the people who asked too many questions.”

You reach over to smack his head, scowling.

“Ow! That hurt!” Harry rubs the sore spot as he grumbles petulantly. “This is technically child abuse, did you know that?”

You roll your eyes. “Do you at least have a plan to get home?”

“Of course I do,” Harry retorts with a scoff, “Her name is Hermione Granger.”

“Hopeless.” You groan exasperatedly. “Absolutely hopeless.”

Harry only grins in response. For a brief moment, he forgets about the present — his reality where the skies are bleak and home is where he knows the feeling of loss more than the warmth of his own parents’ embrace. He lets himself forget, and pretends he isn’t the Boy Who Lived. Just some random boy who’s pestering his mother — even if she likes to deny the inevitability of being romanced by the Marauders, (except for Wormtail because Harry would eat troll slime before he ever lets that happen.)

“Right then,” You say after your tangent — which Harry tuned out when he hears the words, be responsible. “If I’m going to help you get back home—”

Harry’s heart drops to his stomach; as selfishly as it sounds, he didn’t want to go home just yet — not to where people just took and took from him. He’s exhausted. Still, he puts up a front of being excited to be returned to his timeline. It’s for the greater good, of course, because his existence — present or past — is always somehow a threat to the wizarding society.

“—you need to answer this one question for me.” Your voice drops lower as you stare at him intently, lips pressed firmly.

Harry nods slowly. “As long as it’s within reason, yeah.”

You inhale sharply. “Do I outlive Dolores Umbridge?”

The wince escapes Harry before he can even stop it.

That’s all the answer you need, apparently. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you slam your hands down onto the table surface, shrieking.

“That slimy bitch!”

Needless to say, the two of you are kicked out of the library.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1970; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU ARE ELEVEN when your father introduces you to Ferguson, commonly known as Fergus, Bulstrode. He smiles at you with a leer, eyes hungrily dipping to the neckline of your dress. You grit your teeth as you hold out your hand for him to take — you almost shudder at the feel of his lips on your cheek. You eagerly take a step back away from him, hoping your father won’t notice the way you shy from Ferguson’s touch. You’re not dull, you fully understand the implications of this introduction and the way Ferguson is complaining to you about his third wife’s passing — as if you were the solution to his loneliness. Bile rises to your throat, and you shove it down with a forced laugh at your father’s jokes about Mudbloods. From across the room, Allegra Greengrass stares at you in sympathy, and you send her a glare — you do not need anyone’s pity.

The corset your mother laced on too tight is suffocating you; this whole Yule extravaganza made for elitist purebloods is suffocating you; and yet, you smile and greet every red-lipped witch your mother introduces you to. For hours, you pretend, and you pretend. By the time the guests have left, you wonder if you have any more of yourself to give.

You manage to convince your mother to let you slip away for the night. Without missing a beat, you rush outside and into the garden labyrinth, lest old Ferguson snatches you up for a dance and let his gaze wander elsewhere. For the first time since the sun had set, your aching feet finally find some relief. You drop onto the edge of the stone fountain as you toss your heels to the side. You begin working your fingers through your hair, ripping the glittery ribbons from your head. It’s not until you’re unclasping your necklace that you realize you are crying. Tears fall from your eyes, and they sink deep into the fabric of your dress.

You barely hold back your sobs. Your chest heaves as you hiccup; your vision goes blurry as your fingers grow numb. There’s nothing you can do but cry.

You’ve used up all your smiles for tonight.

But then, the sadness turns into resentment and then turns into indignation. Harshly, you wipe the tears from your eyes as you rip a violent scream from your throat.

You sink to the ground, perfectly polished nails digging into the soil as you gather patches of grass and tear them from the roots. You throw a handful of mud at the marble statues. You grab another fistful of mud, scream, then bash your head against the garden floor. You let out another cry, whimpering as you curl into yourself; shivering as a gust of wind brushes against your skin. Surprisingly enough, this is the most human you’ve ever felt. This is the most you have ever felt — period.

When hiccups regress into soft sniffles, you lay on your back, watching the stars float above. As the last of your tears slide down your cheek, you lift a shaky hand to trace the constellation in the sky. It’s not a familiar one to you, but then—

“That’s Sirius.”

You sit upright in a snap, wiping away the wetness from your eyes as you muster a mean glare at the newcomer.

Sirius Black.

“Oh, none of that,” He tells you when you move to stand. There’s barely any emotion on his face and it irks you that you can’t figure out what he’s planning. What you don’t expect is for him to sit beside you, thereby ruining his expensively tailored suit.

“You’ll get creases,” You scold him instinctively, nose scrunched — but your voice is hoarse; too tired to put up any pretences. “Your mother will be cross with you.”

Sirius scoffs, laying his head on the dirt, making sure to smear his sleeves with grass stains. “Walburga can go fall in a ditch and die for all I care.”

You gasp. “That’s horrible!”

Sirius gives you a look. “You don’t believe that.”

You really don’t, but you don’t have the courage to admit it either.

After a few moments of silence, Sirius asks, raising a brow, “So who was that?”

“Who was who?” You stare at him with knitted brows, toying with your fingers. You still can’t wrap your head around how weird this is — sitting with Sirius Black in the middle of your mother’s hedge maze, your once bright blue dress now sullied at the ruffles, eyes bloodshot and your hair a frizzy mess. (Sirius thinks you look cute, though; especially with your missing front tooth that peeks out every time you talk to him.)

“Bald guy, older than Merlin himself.” Sirius makes a face. “Looks like a troll. Smells like one, too.”

A giggle flutters past your lips, and your hands fly to your mouth. You really shouldn’t be bad-mouthing your guests, but Sirius was right — Ferguson really did act like an ugly troll. You sigh, letting your arms fall to your side. “My betrothed.”

Sirius nods in understanding. “My mother tried to set me up with my own cousin once.”

You grimace. “Which cousin?”

He sits on his knees to face you, and with a very solemn face, he says, “Bellatrix.”

This time, you laugh freely, throwing your head back as Sirius pouts at your amusement. “O-Oh, that’s golden.”

“No, it’s not,” says Sirius, lips twitching as he watches you snort like a pig through your giggles. “It’s horrible. A literal nightmare. You should feel awful for me.” He pokes your stomach, and it just makes you laugh harder, eyes disappearing into your smile. “Oi. I said feel awful, not take the piss out of me.”

“S-Sorry.” You wheeze, batting away his hand pulling at your cheek. “I just can’t imagine Bellatrix in a white wedding dress and saying her vows to you.”

“That’s disgusting.” Sirius gags. “You’re horrible, I hope you know that.”

When you finally calm down and Sirius tickles your bare feet until you cry in surrender, the two of you lay on the grass as he points out each constellation to you. Later, he fishes a small box of sugar mice from his pocket and offers it to you, opening one for himself. “Here’s to shitty parents and the one day we get to decide our own future.”

You bump your squeaky candy mice against his. “Cheers, Black.”

“Will you go to Hogwarts next year?” He asks you once he’s bitten off the tail of his mice.

You nod.

Sirius shifts on his side, holding his pinky out to you. “We’ll be friends when school starts?”

Again, you nod, wrapping your pinky around his. “Friends.”

The next September comes, Sirius finds a compartment and one James Potter in it. You sit with Allegra Greengrass and Endora Lestrange on the way to Hogwarts. You are sorted into Slytherin, and Sirius finds freedom and a home in Gryffindor. You play the role created just for you; you lift your nose at those beneath you, adorn yourself in custom-made silk clothing, and carry yourself with the etiquette of a pure-blooded lady. Perfect grades, perfect hair, perfect clothes, always picture perfect.

You pretend that Allegra doesn’t throw up in the evenings from the fear of getting married to a man twice her age. You pretend that you don’t notice Endora sleep-walking and begging for her mother to save her from her father. You pretend that under your blankets, in the Slytherin dungeon, you are safe.

You pretend that it doesn’t hurt when Sirius looks at you in disappointment when you shove a Hufflepuff student to the ground for getting a higher score than you in Charms.

They call you an ice-princess behind your back, and you overhear some of the fifth-years calling you foul words as well, and no one steps in to stop them; there’s no defending a Slytherin, after all. But you are keeping your head above treacherous waters, and you suppose that is all that matters.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“SO ACCORDING TO THIS, Eloise was stuck in 1402 for five days until she was retrieved to the present, which means we only have four days left to figure out a way for you to get back home.”

Harry sinks into his chair, arms crossed over his chest. The two of you had found an empty classroom to discuss your plans away from inquisitive ears. “What’s the rush?” It’s unfair, he’d only just met you, and now he’s losing time with you.

You sigh. “Harry, Eloise Mintumble spent five days in the past and when she came back, her body aged five centuries, and she died in St. Mungos. It’s not just about altering the whole timeline, you could actually die.”

When you are met only with silence, you close the book, frowning. “Harry? What’s wrong?”

Harry swallows the lump in his throat, looking out the window to avoid your gaze. “What do you know about the Mirror of Erised?”

Your head tilts in confusion. “That it shows our heart’s deepest desire.”

“Yeah,” says Harry, nodding. “I was eleven when I found it.”

“Oh, Harry. . .”

It’s almost pathetic how quickly his eyes water. “Did you know, before today, I hadn’t known at all what your voice sounded like?”

You stay quiet, and Harry sucks in a shaky breath.

“When I looked into the mirror, I saw my parents—all of you. There I was, in the middle. You were behind me—happy.” Harry swipes a tear from his eye. “I wanted to stay in that room, stare at that mirror forever.”

“It’s—”

“Dangerous, I know.” He laughs bitterly. “Just like finally being able to meet you all here.”

“Harry, you aren’t supposed to be here in the first place,” You say quietly, eyes drooping sadly.

“I know that!” He exclaims desperately. “But is it so selfish to just want some time? I don’t want an illusion, I want the real thing. A real family. Why can’t I have that? Bloody Malfoy gets everything he wants, and what do I have?”

“Your friends,” You tell him firmly. “Your friends who must be worried sick that you’re gone and must be going great lengths to bring you back.”

“I know.” Harry wilts. He’s got Remus at home, too, who probably needs him more than ever after Sirius’s death. “I know. But can’t I just have this one thing?”

You purse your lips for a moment, brows furrowed in thought. Then, you break the silence with: “Do you want to hear a story?”

“What?” Harry croaks, peering at you through wet lashes.

Shrugging, you say, “Stories to remember us by. I’ve got six years worth of stories and then some. I know it’s not much, and you’ve probably heard some of these already from the others in the future, but it’s better than nothing, right?” You lean against the back of your chair, glancing at the wall clock before grinning at Harry. “We’ve got time to spare, anyway.”

Harry manages a smile, setting down his glasses before rubbing his stinging eyes with the handkerchief you offer him. He figures this is what Remus means when you’re the gentlest creature he’s ever known — just not gentle in what the world expects you to be.

“What do you say, Harry? I give you tidbits of the past, and you tell me if you know anything about the next Triwizard champion, so I can place my bets in advance.”

Harry snickers. “Not a chance, mum.”

“Worth a try.” And the smile you give him is nearly blinding.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1977; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND what it is about Gryffindors and their hobby of invading others’ personal space.

A year into dating and James likes to shove his head under your shirt, claiming he loves the sound of your heartbeat — but you know really what he wants to nestle his head in between. The amount of cashmere blouses he’s ruined is absurd! Sirius has a hobby of tracing runes on the plane of your stomach. Lily prefers it when you sit in front of her, just within reach where she can wrap her arms around you and rest her head on your shoulder. Remus tends to lag behind the group when he notices you walking slower due to your leg flaring up. He kisses the side of your head and promises to chase the pain away — sappy poetic that he is. And in the moments where all five of you are together, tucked under a wide alcove, you can best believe there is no escaping what they like to call, a cuddle pile. Limbs are tangled, kisses are shared, and confessions of love are whispered.

Before them, you hadn’t really known the different ways to love and be loved.

Onto the pressing matters at hand, you discover that the brazen show of affection extends to their parents as well. Particularly, the Potters. After a year, you finally caved into James’s requests for you to spend the holidays at their manor, since the others have already made a space for themselves there, and James had said it would be an honor for you to feel at home with his parents, too. Honestly, you spoil them too much — one look into his bright, wide eyes and you gave in. James didn’t even care that you brought two luggages for clothes alone; he lifted each bag with delight and with ease.

(Remus had the audacity to laugh when he caught you and Sirius staring at James’s flexed muscles, mouth wide open.

“As I have said, Remus Lupin, I do not drool!”

“Sure, dove, whatever you say.”)

But now, you really aren’t so sure of your decision.

“Oh, she’s beautiful, Jamie!” Euphemia encases you in a bear hug the moment you step inside the manor. You’re engulfed in the scent of cinnamon and burnt sugar. You stiffen as she cradles your face in between her palms, smiling ever so fondly at you, cooing about how precious you look, much like a mother would — and how your mother never did. You wonder if this is what you’ve been missing all along — the thought stabs you right in the heart. “Please excuse the mess, dear, we haven’t had the chance to clean up yet, Monty and I are excited to try the recipe Lily owled to us the other day, you see.”

“I-It’s okay,” You rasp, struggling to hold back the tears.

“Oh, what a darling you are!” Euphemia smiles and ushers you further inside. “Come, come. The others are right upstairs. You must be tired from the train ride. It is so lovely to finally meet you. Make yourself at home, dear heart — James Fleamont Potter! Give your mama a kiss this instant! Don’t think introducing your girlfriend will distract me from the fact you didn’t owl me letters for two months straight!”

James whines as he hides behind you. “Mum, I’m seventeen, stop embarrassing me.”

Euphemia scoffs, hands snapping to her hips. “You’re going to be my baby boy forever, now come here.”

With a shy smile, you step away to surrender James to his mother — you don’t understand which part of this is embarrassing; you wish for a mum who’d welcome you home like that, with unconditional love and kind eyes. James squawks and calls you a traitor, just before his mum attacks him with loud, exaggerated kisses to his cheek, leaving lipstick stains all over his face. You hide a laugh behind your palm, ignoring the way your heart pangs at the sight of their unrestrained smiles. Euphemia lets her son go after a few more seconds, cackling at the masterpiece she’s created on a grumbling James, who’s rubbing his skin to erase his mother’s affections. She hugs you once more before setting you off, telling you to meet Fleamont after you’ve unpacked.

Just as you reach the foot of the stairs, you hear a girlish squeal, then the sound of rapid footfall against each wooden step. Lily greets the two of you by jumping off the last step and wrapping each arm around yours and James’s neck. “Welcome home, Jamie!” She captures his lips with her own before doing the same to you, cupping your cheek lovingly, “So happy you made it, princess! How was the ride here?”

You were never a fan of traveling by Floo; it made you nauseous after, and left you with a pounding headache for hours. Without hesitation, the others offered to accompany you on the train, but you insisted they Floo ahead to Godric’s Hollow — it took a lot of convincing, but they finally agreed, (they’re not the only ones spoiled; they couldn’t refuse you, too.) With the exception of James, who wanted to be there when you saw his home for the first time. You nearly cried when you saw how well-loved their manor was; rose shrubs dipped in snow, Sirius’s motorcycle parked outside, a mailbox with poorly painted shapes, the fences covered in Christmas lights, and the amount of shoes by the door. From outside, you could hear the laughter and warm conversations.

“It was fine,” You say in a daze.

Lily sees right through you — and frowns sadly. “You alright?”

Were you?

You catch sight of the moving photographs of James and you finally reach your breaking point. There’s a swell in your throat that you can’t seem to push down. There’s a photo of James, Lily, Remus and Sirius; James is in his Quidditch jersey, raising the Golden Snitch high up in the air, Remus is twirling Lily, his arms around her waist, and Sirius is holding up a charmed banner that says: Gryffindor Rules! Slytherin Sucks! Except For My Darling Angel Love Of My Life Most Beautiful And Gorgeous Perfect Brilliant Girlfriend!

There are hints of life all around the manor. Remus’s textbooks and scarf are laid by the coffee table. Lily’s O.W.L. marks are framed on the wall, along with Dumbledore’s letters to James and Lily awarding them the position of Head Girl and Head Boy, as well as McGonagall’s previous letter to Remus that came with his Prefect badge years ago. There’s a spot dedicated to Peter, filled with a photograph of him awkwardly holding his Herbology test, one that he scored a hundred and twelve percent on. It’s a wall dedicated to them, you realize.

Then, you find it.

Right there, up above James’s spot, and beside Sirius’s display of beyond perfect Transfiguration exam marks, and a picture of him and Remus kissing each side of your face.

It’s a space on that wall just for you.

James follows your gaze and rubs the back of his head, ears tinged with a shade of deep pink. “Mum left a space when I first told her about you. I-It’s yours, you can put anything you want there.”

“I can’t,” You whisper, lips quivering as your heart cracks into a million pieces. It’s too much.

James blinks. “Can’t? It’s yours, I promise. Mum won’t mind. You can even hang your dumb Montrose Magpies poster and I won’t tear it down — Marauders’ honor. I can help you if you want. I-I’m not good as decorating as Lily, but I paid attention to your boring explanation of color theory and I know that you hate this shade of—”

“James, I can’t do this.”

That’s all you say before you run out of the door.

(And you’re absolutely delusional if you think James won’t follow you out that door and into the brewing snowstorm.)

You hear James call out to you, but you opt to ignore him and clutch your winter coat tighter around your body, shivering in the blowing wind, trudging through the deep snow through your heeled boots — designer couldn’t help you now even if you tried. You sniff, the salty taste of your tears dripping to your lips, chest tightening with a foreign kind of pain, and the frost nipping at your fingers. You give up after a few minutes, falling to the ground with an anguished cry, hand clutching the front of your chest as you struggle to breathe.

James reaches you in a matter of minutes, draping his jacket over you, barely flinching as the cold welts his bare skin. Frantically, he wipes the tears from your eyes, a pained expression on his face as he sees you cry helplessly. “Come on, dove, it’s not safe out here. Let’s go back home, yeah? I’m sorry for upsetting you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I’m so sorry, dove, please don’t cry, it’s killing me to s–see you like this.” Tears fall from his eyes, and he begins stuttering from the cold, but you can’t go back to the manor. “What did I do? Please tell me so I can fix it. I love you—I’m sorry.”

You bat his chest. “G–Go home, Jamie. I’ll just take the train back to the castle.”

“What?” He shakes his head, grabbing onto your hands. “Y–You can’t. Not in this weather. You’ll get sick if you try to walk back to the station.”

You withdraw from his hold as you back away from James, slipping into the ice-cold mask you know so well.

James rises in an instant, reaching for you. “No, no, no, no, no. You don’t get to do that. Not now. Not with me. Please, just come home and I-I’ll fix it.”

“Goodbye, James,” You tell him firmly, clenching your jaw as you look him straight in the eyes.

He grimaces. “That won’t work on me, princess, and you know it. Don’t push me away—please.”

“Go home, James!” You yell bitterly, pivoting on your heel as you march through the thick inches of snow, hearing Remus and Lily’s voice grow louder in the distance. “Just go!”

He grits his teeth, nails digging deep into the palms of his hand. “You’re a coward if you walk away from here—from us—right now!” James shouts through chattering teeth and stray tears. “And I hate cowards more than anything!”

You don’t look back.

(Later that night, James stares blankly at the fireplace, tossing twigs now and then. He’s all out of tears. Remus crosses his legs as he sits beside James and offers him a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

“Don’t want one,” He mutters, words coarse from earlier, head turning away from Remus’s gift. “Just want her.”

Remus sets the beverage on the ground before pulling James’s head down to his chest, gently wiping the tears from his eyes as he wraps the blanket around both of them. He presses a soft kiss to James’s hair.

“I said I hated her,” James says weakly. “I don’t—I never will. I just hate that she’s out there spending Christmas all alone. She could be here—with us. I hate not knowing that she’s safe, or that she thinks I don’t love her anymore—that’s a bloody lie, Moony. I adore her. If anything, I don’t deserve her.”

James finds out that he does have more tears left in him. “I miss her. Bring her back, Rem, please.”

“You’ll cry yourself sick, love.” Remus wipes each tear away. “Let’s go to bed, yeah? Mornings do have a way of bringing miracles to us.” Because after a night of excruciating pain under the moon’s command, he wakes up to sunlight, and there you all are — smiling down at him like he is deserving of love; and maybe Remus can’t fault you for running away.

You’d kiss him gently and tell him how proud you are of him for coming back to you.

Remus only hopes you come back to them, too.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“AND THAT, dear Harry, is how I humiliated Lucius Malfoy in fifth-year.” Your eyes gleam wickedly as you rest your arms on the school desk. “If he ever bothers you in your time, just mention my name—oh, I wish I could see the look on his face when he realizes I’m haunting him from my grave. Tell him, okay?”

Harry nods excitedly. “Definitely.”

“Got anymore stories?” He asks.

You cackle menacingly. “Boy, do I ever. Let me tell you about the one time Beckett McLaggen took me out on a date to Madam Puddifoot’s!”

Harry grimaces. “Do I even want to hear about this?”

“Oh, pish-posh.” You dismiss him with a wave. “You do, this story is hilarious. Now that I look back on it, Sirius was quite cross with him for the rest of the day—how strange. I wonder why.”

Harry stares at you in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

“I most certainly am not, Harry Potter.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1974; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

AN EAR-PIERCING scream wakes you up in the middle of the night. You snatch your wand from under your pillow, heart thudding against your chest in fear — last year, the Prewett twins decided it was funny to break into the girls’ quarters at midnight; you get a month worth of detention for hitting Gideon with the Expulso curse and suspension from class for two weeks, while the twins get away with a slap on the wrist and have the time of their lives spreading rumors of you being a Death-Eater.

Endora shoots up to her feet as well, staring at you in panic — then the girl screams again, and you realize it’s Allegra.

You sigh in relief, lowering your wand before saying to Endora, “I-It’s alright. I’ll handle it.”

“Are you sure?” Endora asks timidly, gnawing at her lip and wincing when Allegra wails once more.

“Certain,” You respond, yawning.

As Endora climbs back into her bed, you slip into Allegra’s side, holding her head to your chest, brushing your fingers through her hair and untangling the knots. Like most of the Greengrass women, she was of ethereal beauty — silky blonde hair, smooth and fair skin, deep blue eyes that enchant wizards and witches alike. But her cheeks have gone sallow from exhaustion, eyes devoid of any emotion, and her skin now sunken into her bones.

“I don’t want to marry him—I can’t! He’s old enough to be my father!” Allegra sobs violently, desperate for anyone to hear her, but no one really ever hears their cries from the dungeon. “They said they’d wait until I graduated—they promised! I’m supposed to marry him this summer!”

Your heart breaks for your friend — there’s nothing you can do but hold her until she’s cried every bit of her soul out.

“I hate them,” Allegra whispers to you; she had been shedding tears for hours, trembling in your arms until morning finally came.

“I know,” You say defeatedly.

“I wish I was dead,” She replies lifelessly. “He can’t marry a dead bride.”

“Don’t say that,” You beg as you hug her tight; afraid to lose her to the world that has worn her down. “Please.”

Allegra sinks into her pillows, and you follow in suit, hesitantly laying your head beside hers. She stares at the ceiling dully. “The world is so, so cruel to us daughters sometimes. And it’ll be cruel to our daughters, and their daughters. When will it end?”

“I don’t know,” You say honestly.

Allegra hums, neither disappointed nor surprised, and turns away to lay on her side. “Pansy,” She mumbles.

“What?”

“If we lived in a better world and I married for love, I’d want to name my daughter Pansy — like the flower.”

(Later that day, you are given detention for beating Evan Rosier to a pulp. He makes a joke about dirty blood, and you snap — you are tired of laughing and pandering to the arrogant men in your life. This is the first time you publicly defy your parents, and it felt good — more than good, it was liberating. It’s like breathing fresh air for the first time. Then, you earn a second detention for storming up to the Gryffindor common room and punching Fabian Prewett in the face — because fourth-year boys had no business sneaking into the girls’ dorm in the middle of the night for some stupid prank — and you threaten him by pointing the tip of your wand deep into his neck, demanding they apologize to you, Allegra, and Endora.

You get what you want, naturally — as princesses do. You decide then that you’re going to create a world where girls like Allegra don’t cry anymore.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

HARRY TWINGES WHEN he hears the end of your fourth or fifth story of the afternoon — no wonder you had been so angered by his being in your room. “I-I’m sorry—”

“Yesterday was hardly your fault,” You interrupt him. “There’s no controlling where magic brings you, not in your case. You didn’t know, but now you know. I don’t hold it against them — anymore. Fifteen-year-old boys can be stupid, and at least they’ve learned from their mistakes. You should have seen your mother — erm, Lily — she looked like she was ready to kill them after finding out what they had done. Even Molly was cross with the twins, and you know how loyal Molly is to her family.”

Oh, Harry knows.

And Hermione knows it all too well.

“Others call us evil, conniving and cruel, Harry,” You tell him grimly, “But I will protect my own, no matter what I have to do.”

At that moment, Harry thinks he understands why some people come to fear Slytherin.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

“LOOK, LILY-PAD, the princess is drooling again.”

You open your eyes to glare at Sirius. “I don’t drool, idiot.”

Lily chortles as she presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Of course you don’t, princess.”

Currently, you’re lying on a shabby loveseat that is too small to hold the three of you; it’s the only furniture in the new cottage you call home, where Potter Manor was right across the street. (Euphemia was ecstatic to have you all nearby — the lovely woman was sprite for her age, but you notice the way she stops to sit and catch her breath, Sirius and James hovering over her attentively; you’re good at pretending, so you pretend that the Potters will be around forever.) Some rooms are dusty with cobwebs, walls unfinished, with the floors creak under your feet, and there’s no other place you’d rather call home.

You’re in between Sirius and Lily; your lips swollen from their kisses, cheeks flushed and the column of your throat graced with love marks. It’s the most beautiful set of jewelry you’ve ever worn, not even burmese rubies could compare. Lily’s hand rests under your jumper, Sirius’s thigh wedged between your own. While peace blankets the three of you, James and Remus have yet to come home from their task given by the Order.

“You need a haircut, my love,” You mumble drowsily, pulling at one of the dark ringlets — it’s gone past his shoulders now. He captures your hand and leaves a delicate kiss on your fingertips.

Lily buries her nose in your hair. “She’s right, Siri.”

“I’m always right.” You pout.

Sirius, love-sick fool that he is, smiles as he tilts your chin with his finger and ensnares you in a kiss that leaves you breathless. “Course you are — our girl’s bloody brilliant, isn’t she, Lily-pad?”

“Without a doubt.”

You roll your eyes at their antics, rolling around so that your back is pressed to Sirius’s chest — they’re not fooled, however; Lily sees the way your eyes flicker in amusement and the way your lips threaten to curve up into a smile. She traces the swell of your lips with her thumb, to the dip of your nose, and to the apples of your cheek. Sea-green eyes beam at you.

“I love you,” says Lily, committing every inch of you to her memory as she wears a melancholic smile. “I don’t know who told you that you don’t deserve to be loved, but they were wrong. You are so precious to us, dove, you don’t even know how much. This right here is real — and nothing could ever change that.”

As it turns out, you did have more smiles to give — only the happy ones; not the fake, courteous smiles that you had given to your mother’s friends in the past. You come to intertwine your hand with Lily’s, the one that had been resting on your cheek, tenderly wiping the tears that pooled within your eyes. Your heart could burst from your chest. They had a habit of wringing every emotion out of you; of making love feel real, not just a myth from a Muggle storybook. And you find, that you didn’t mind this particular habit of theirs. In the comforts of the place you call home, where you irrefutably belong, you are free to seek their arms and fall into their love, and the best part is where you get to love them right back.

How lucky you are.

“Let’s get married,” You blurt out, holding your breath, feeling Sirius’s hand on your waist stiffen.

“What?” Lily gasps breathlessly.

You smile up at Lily. “Let’s get married. All of us. I don’t care where, o–or about the rings, let’s just get married. With the war going on, we deserve s–something good.”

Lily sobs as she nods excitedly. “Yes. Oh my Gods—we’re getting married!”

Sirius stares at you in wonder. “Bloody hell, dove, give a guy some warning, would you?”

You grin. “Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes — forever.” Sirius dives in to kiss you senseless. “Couldn’t get rid of us now even if you tried.”

“I don’t think I’d want to, anyway.”

Right then, the rickety door slams open, and you hear the loves of your life calling out for the three of you. Followed by the heavy thud of Dragonhide boots plunking down onto the floor

“We’re home!” James announces in the entryway.

Lily wastes no time in shooting up from the sofa and welcoming them home with quite a unique greeting:

“We’re all getting married!”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“That ring is an heirloom passed down to the children in our family,” You tell Harry, pointing to the band around his finger. “It’s meant to symbolize our loyalty and duty to our House. My mother said I would have earned it only when I became a wife to Ferguson Bulstrode.” You chuckle at Harry’s perturbed grimace. “No, I didn’t marry him — thankfully. After Allegra. . . I—I. . . I couldn’t bear it. If I was going to marry, it would be on my own terms, and it would be for love, nothing less. Then, if my child wanted it, I’d give them this ring. I want to leave behind a legacy that I created. When I was younger, I’d resigned to a fate that was forcefully carved by someone else’s hand.”

You shake your head. “I want to die being remembered by those who loved me. Otherwise, I was never truly alive.”

Harry won’t let that happen, he won’t ever let your name be forgotten. He’ll share of your kindness to his friends, of your bravery and loyalty. Hermione will love your fondness of Muggle musicals and how you stood up to Lily’s defense in a world that ostracized her for being different. He’ll remind Remus of your love for him, that he had brought you hope in times of despair. Harry is going to make sure the world knows you had been so full of life with endless love to give. You are going to be remembered in the way Voldemort never will.

“What do the words mean?” He stares at the writing: Tempus Edax Rerum.

You smile. “Time, devourer of all things.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

“REMUS—THE MUGGLES ARE stuck in the telly again!”

Remus snickers as he takes the vacant space beside you on the loveseat, now sewn up with care and spattered with knitted quilts and throw pillows — still too small to carry three people but hasn’t given out yet, anyway. He takes Lily’s legs over his lap, swiftly stealing a kiss from your lips. “It’s a film, dove, they’re acting.”

You purse your lips. “They’re trapped inside, then?”

Lily snorts into her tub of chocolate fudge ice cream. “Not quite, princess, it’s recorded. Movies are like moving photographs — but they’re an hour long with sounds.”

“Oh.” You turn your attention back to the screen, back to the film Lily had been watching. You had to admit — the story of Sandy and Danny was an interesting one. “Lily-pad, she’s singing — again.”

Sirius hushes you from where he was cuddling James on the other couch. “She’s supposed to sing, dove, it’s a musical.”

“Well, yes,” You begin, and James groans into Sirius’s chest, “But they should just talk instead of singing all the time — Sandy’s got a lovely voice, though. I just don’t understand why Danny’s treating her like that! Truthfully, I don’t like any of Sandy’s new friends, other than Frenchy — she’s harmless. If I was Sandy I’d move on from Danny — but then again, that hair and those muscles, and his leather jacket! I can’t blame her.”

Sirius glowers at you. “You like his leather jacket?”

“His hair?” James exclaims in horror.

Remus chuckles as he tucks you in his side, kissing your temple. “If I were you, dove, I’d be quiet and just watch the film.”

“Oh, no, no.” Sirius barely glances at the television as he pauses the film and stands up to point an accusatory finger at you. “Since when were you into leather jackets? Do you think those are cool? Since when? Jamie, should I get one? Let’s unpack this, right now. And his muscles, really?”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Play the film, Black, I want to see the end of their love story.”

“I’m telling Euphemia on you!”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“—and then we realized that we accidentally locked Hermione in with the troll.” Harry’s arms flail about as he shares some of his adventures with you — it had only been fair. He felt like a young boy again, entering Hogwarts for the first time as he watched you listen to him intently, gasping at tale of the vanishing glass and scolding him when he says he and Ron had decided to go searching for Hermione, and by extension, the troll.

Your eyes grow wide. “A troll? In Hogwarts? They can’t have, not unless—”

“Someone let it in—I know!” Harry grins. “You’re not going to believe who let the troll in the castle.”

You snap your fingers, “Malfoy, the older one. I know that lump’s got something to do with this. Can’t have been Snape or Quirrell.”

“Just you wait.” Harry’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “—and so, Professor McGonagall finds us, and can you believe it? She awards us for dumb luck! Then. . .”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1979; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

IT HAD COME AS A surprise when you volunteered to join the Order of the Phoenix. You wanted to scoff at their shocked faces — was it so surprising that you wanted to protect your family? They let Severus Snape join their ranks, and you’re fairly certain that you’re a better fighter and survivalist than him — not the better liar, however, he can have that one. The week before, you and the others had an argument that lasted for the whole day. They did not want you in harm’s way, and you would rather die than stay at home, waiting idly for them to return, when you could be out there alongside them.

(“It’s not some game out there!” Remus runs through his hair in frustration — he had always been so careful to never raise his voice at you, but this one time, he needed you to back down. “Every time you step into a raid, there’s a possibility of you dying, don’t you understand that? And even if you survive — you’ll have blood on your hands, and it does not wash away no matter how many times you try, trust me, we know.”

“So what?” You throw your hands up in the air, equally aggravated. “I just stay here like some. . . some pet waiting for their owners to come home?”

“Yes!” Lily angrily replies. “That is the whole point of us joining the Order — so you get to live another day. So we all have a chance at this new world without a war. Let us protect you!”

You grind down on your jaw. “You have got another thing coming, if you think I’m not going to fight tooth and nail for my future.”

James slams a fist onto the kitchen counter. “There are horrors out there you can’t even imagine. I-It’s worse than we thought. It’s our every nightmare come to life.”

You raise your chin defiantly. “Then we face it together.”)

Each day, you survive, and each day the five of you return home — scarred and bruised, but safe within the arms of one another. When you collapse and crumble, it is only for the walls of your home to witness.

Now a month into autumn, you are on your first task without Sirius, James, Lily or even Remus. Instead, you are assigned by Dumbledore to Knockturn Alley along with Peter Pettigrew and Gideon Prewett. How strange time was, years ago you’d never associate with the proud Gryffindors, and now you had to trust them to guard your back. Everyone had to grow up quickly during war, even pranksters.

The alley was quiet — too quiet for your liking. You had been on alert since the moment you apparated into the area, wand at your ready. The back of your neck prickled with goosebumps as you kept an ear out for any sign of movement.

Peter shivers and you glance at him — he’s become far too skinny, constantly shrinking into himself out of fear. And while you want to comfort him, you keep your eyes up ahead. Still, there's a nagging feeling that you can’t quite make out. It’s different from all the other times you’ve been asked to search and rescue.

“Don’t you feel like there’s something wrong?” You ask Gideon, eyes snapping to the flock of crows flying overhead.

“Dunno, kid,” Gideon says, nudging your shoulder with pressed lips. “Everything about this is freaking me out. The place is too empty.”

“I get what you mean,” You reply, swallowing your own nervousness. Without waiting for the rest, you speed up your pace. “I’ll scout ahead, who knows what’s been here before us. I don’t want to risk any of our lives, so let’s be careful. Gideon, ward the area while I check for any cursed objects, last time you almost got your arm cut off by a newspaper of all things. And Peter, could you. . . Peter?”

When you turn to check behind you, it all happens so fast.

“Avada Kedavra!”

You scream as Gideon’s deathly pale body falls to the floor.

“No!”

You aren’t given a moment to rush to his side — someone digs their wand in the side of your neck, and you stiffen in their hold. It’s not until they hiss in your ear that you recognize the voice.

“Rosier.” You spit, biting down on your lip when he presses the tip of his wand further into your flesh.

“Stupid witch,” He taunts, eyes dilating with vengeance. “Where are your lovers now?”

“Jealous?” You claw at his arms, chest heaving up and down. “We don’t have room for one more, sorry.”

“Shut up!” He pushes you to the ground in blind rage, and that’s all the opening you need.

“Expulso!”

Each curse you send his way lands on his cloaked body, sending him staggering backwards. With ease, you deflect each spell he counters with. You’re winning, he is growing tired, and perhaps that is why you let your guard down.

“Accio wand!”

The magic fizzles out, and the spell dies on your lips. As you swivel your head to find out who’s stolen your wand, you expect to find another Death Eater — except it’s Peter. Just Peter Pettigrew, quivering in his boots with tears and snot dripping down his face, your wand in his free hand. You furrow your brows — it doesn’t make sense.

“Peter?” You call out.

“Crucio!”

The curse finds its home in your body — and it sinks deep into your flesh, grinding your bones until you slump to the ground, wriggling as you draw blood from your lips, refusing to let them hear an ounce of your pain. Blood trickles down your nose as you hear Evan Rosier dancing around you in glee. You know this curse well; the sound of your father condemning you gleefully echo in your head. You crawl over to Gideon — hand desperately reaching for his shirt.

“Crucio!” Rosier grabs you by the hair and howls with laughter. “Scream for me again—Crucio!”

It’s as though someone had begun to rip you in half. Your bones shift and crack with every uttered curse. The veins in your eyes have popped and through bloody vision, you see Peter cowering away from you.

“You—fucking—traitor,” You gurgle, throat welling up with blood that’s risen from your stomach. “They’ll—never—forgive you—never.”

“Crucio! Crucio! Crucio! Come on, witch — SCREAM! Look at her go, Pettigrew, crawling like some pathetic worm.”

You lay in your owl pool of blood, wearing a body that is marred and lacerated. But you see something in Gideon’s hand. I’m sorry, you want to tell him. I’ll get you home to Molly, you promise, please lend me your magic this once. With every last bit of your strength, just as Rosier directs another curse at you — one you know you won’t survive — you snatch the wand from Gideon’s hand and tear the last of your magic from your throat.

“Defodio!”

You wait with a bated breath as silence fills the alley; lucky to have remembered Professor Flitwick’s quick remark as to how the slight difference in pronouncing a charm could alter its effect. Rosier stands on shaky legs, a stream of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. You watch as he looks down to his chest, where a gaping hole now lies instead of where his ribcage and heart should be. As Gideon had done before him, Evan Rosier crashes to the ground.

That just leaves one more problem.

Peter scurries to your side the moment Rosier can hurt him no longer. “I-I’m sorry—I’m sorry. I had to. . . T–They killed my mum, they killed M–Mary, and t–they said I would die too if I d–didn’t do this. I’m sorry. Y–Your father was there, too. He said he would take you in, let you l–live if you joined us. W–We can live, t–there’s still a chance for us to survive.”

Your fingers are bent at unsightly angles, the remnants of the Torture Curse still flowing through your veins, but your face contorts in anger as you let your hand curl around his neck. He sobs louder, and though your grip is weakening — you make sure he looks into your eyes, that he feels your touch.

“I’d rather—die.” You say through gritted teeth, nails drawing blood from his grimy skin. “You’ll die too—you’ll feel my blood on your skin—everywhere you go, Peter.”

Peter shakes his head, now clumsily pushing his wand down to the center of your chest. “Y–You were the only o–one who d–didn’t laugh at me. N–Not like the others.”

“When they find out—you’re dead, Pettigrew.” You laugh darkly as more blood exits your body through your lips. “There’s nowhere you can hide—you’re a dead man.”

“P-Please die,” Peter cries out, each killing spell coming out as a garbled whisper. “Please die, s–so I can live. I c–can’t fight anymore, I’m tired.”

Your vision goes a hazy shade of white, Peter’s silhouette fading away to the familiar scenery of your cottage in Godric’s Hollow.

Oh.

Dying is less painful than you had expected it to be. It’s like coming home after a day’s work.

You just wanted to rest now.

The world caves in on you, and you barely hear Peter’s next words.

“Avada Kedavra.”

(It’s past midnight when Peter Pettigrew arrives at Grimmauld Place, where it’s been altered to host the members of the Order, Lily sobs in relief and gathers him in her arms.

You’ll feel my blood on your skin.

You’re a dead man.

Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re home safe — welcome home — thank the Gods you’re alive,” Lily blabbers through her tears, checking his face for any major injuries. “Merlin, what happened? There’s too much blood on you. It’s on your shirt and your face.”

“It’s not mine,” says Peter hoarsely.

Sirius’s gaze darkens, arms crossed over his jacket as he leaned against the wall. “Where is she?”

Lily nods, standing on her tiptoes to search for any sign of you. “Peter? I–Is she alright? Has something happened to her?”

Peter stays silent for a moment too long, and he finds himself slammed against the wall behind him, Sirius snarling in his face as he seizes the front of Peter’s soiled shirt. “Where the fuck is she, Pettigrew?”

Peter begins to weep. “I–It was an ambush. None of us saw it coming. Gideon r–ran. She was taking on two Death-Eaters at once and I–I was too far away.”

Lily collapses to the ground with a heart-wrenching scream.

Sirius growls as he drives his fist to the wall, inches away from Peter’s face. “Where is her body?”

“It was a disintegration spell.” With Severus Snape — brought to the Malfoy Manor to be made as an example of what happens to blood-traitors.

James pushes Sirius out of the way and grabs a hold of Peter, knocking his head against the concrete. “It should have been you—” James snaps at Peter. “If it came down to you or her—you should have saved her!”

“W-What?” Peter stammers, eyes wide. “She chose to save m–me.”

James sneers at him. “You should have just died.”)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1996; CURRENTLY, IN THE PRESENT.)

ST. JEROME’S GRAVEYARD had exactly one visitor. Remus Lupin sits in between James and Lily’s graves, a bottle of firewhiskey in his hand — four empty at his side. He must be going crazy. There’s no funeral for Sirius as there’s no body to actually bury, Harry is presumed missing after an attack in Diagon Alley, and your name stares back at him mockingly. He tries not to dwell on your passing — there have been too many holes, too many details left unsaid; and he knows just the rat who has all the answers. Unfortunately, Wormtail won’t come out of whatever hole he’s crawled into. Either him, or Severus.

He sighs, rubbing the temples of his head to ease the growing pains.

You are the first to be buried of the five. Like Sirius, there had been no recovered body to lay to rest, but they asked for a compromise instead. Your name is engraved under Euphemia’s in her tombstone, and Remus figures it’s the fitting place to leave you be — with your mother, welcoming you home with open arms. He hopes you’re at peace, wherever you are. (Because, honestly, at this point, he might just fucking follow you.)

Remus takes another swig of his alcohol, laughing bitterly to himself. He glances at James’s headstone and raises his bottle to him. “Not even in death, huh?”

He downs the last of the drink, rising to his tremulous legs. Remus gathers the flower bouquets he had bought earlier this morning; lilies-of-the-valley for Lily, white carnations for Euphemia, forget-me-nots for you, and for James — Remus leaves a moving photograph of him and Sirius; it’s a snapshot taken by Lily during the wedding as James dips his head low to kiss Sirius. Remus thinks it’s a wonderful memory to remember them by.

“Take care of them for me, Jamie.”

And that is all the goodbyes Remus has the strength for.

end note. i think i was crying the whole time i was writing this part, LMAO. i should be able to wrap things up in the next one. important!! there is actually a scene i was hesitant to include, but i ended up writing anyway. it's the whole part where allegra greengrass breaks down, and it was difficult for me to decide because i knew the implications; that i had a strong underlying message in that part, and i don't want it to be misconstrued or anything. pls pls tell me if it comes off as offensive, i definitely don't want to hurt anyone. nevertheless, thank you again so so so much for reading!! if you spot a plot hole, no you didnt!! i hope the time-jumps weren't too confusing! again, thank you so so much for reading!!

#hp angst #hp fluff #hp imagine #hp x reader #james potter x reader #lily evans x reader #marauders angst #marauders fluff #marauders imagine #marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders fluff #remus lupin x reader #sunny's hp fics

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cardansriddle · 10 months

Text

Sugar - (tom riddle x fem!muggle!reader)

Summary: Perhaps it was an accident. Or perhaps the fates were mocking him. He had not meant to venture into the little coffee shop and he had most definitely not meant to return. But he kept coming back and the waitress kept putting sugar packets near his coffee every damn time.

Warnings: Tom gets possessive halfway through so it's pretty tame for him. not proofread. oh also self-indulgent crime & punishment debate (got a lil carried away).

A/N: 5.5k words but it's kinda mehh. to the person who requested this, i hope you enjoy it at least a little <3

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Tom felt as if he was a solitary figure in a world hushed by the winter's harsh embrace. With each step he took away from the desolate building of grey against the pristine canvas of winter, he felt lighter. He did not cast a look back towards the orphanage looming behind him, instead focused on the sound of the snow crunching beneath his feet as they led him further into the dark street cloaked in a thick layer of snow.

The wizard knew if he spent another moment in that cursed place he would have lashed out and killed someone, so he had hastily thrown his coat and emerald scarf around himself before slamming the door shut behind him.

Two more years. He thought to himself. Then he would be out and would never be obligated to return again. Perhaps he would even burn the place to the ground if his plans worked out in his favour.

The air was crisp, and his breath materialized in front of him with each exhale. His eyes quickly scanned the narrow empty alley for a suitable quiet place where he could pass his time. There was nothing interesting, except for the tiny bookstore nestled in the corner of the street that emitted a warm, golden light through its window. Tom quickly decided it would do, and he strode towards the place with purpose. A small bell chimed as he entered the place, which he quickly realised was a bookstore with a cosy coffee shop tucked inside.

He inhaled the pleasant aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the scent of weathered books. Before he could lose himself entirely in the intoxicating symphony of scents, a sudden, loud thud echoed from behind the counter, jolting him from his reverie.

"Blimey!" someone cursed, their voice slicing through the tranquillity. Tom found himself rooted to the spot, curiosity piqued, as a figure suddenly emerged from underneath the counter.

It was a girl. Unabashedly, his eyes traced the lines of her features, noting the delicate curve of her jaw and the cascade of hair that framed her face. He assumed she was around his age if not younger and he stared at the girl as she rubbed her head, wincing when she hit a particularly soft spot before she realised that she was not alone in the shop. She froze like a deer caught in the headlights and he watched as her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red.

Tom, still an observer, saw more than just the blush; he discerned the subtleties of her response, the way her eyes momentarily widened before seeking refuge elsewhere, fingers fidgeting with the edges of her knitted cardigan.

She attempted to compose herself and met his eyes. "Oh! Sorry, sir. How may I assist you?" She asked cheerfully, resisting the urge to duck her head down to avoid his intense stare.

He crossed the small distance to the counter. "I'd like a coffee. Black."

"No sugar?" she inquired, to which Tom raised a single brow. Her blush deepened as she quickly averted her eyes from his face.

"Right, of course. You may take a seat while I prepare this for you." With a nod, she hurried to fulfil his request, leaving Tom alone with the lingering scent of coffee and old books that were now intertwined with a pleasant smell of vanilla and sweet—

It was her perfume, he realised with a start.

He hastily removed his coat and scarf before plopping down on the nearest armchair. His gaze remained fixed on the girl, absorbed in the rhythm of her practised motions as she prepared his drink, her movements seemingly both effortless and comforting. There was an almost lazy grace to her actions and he continued to watch as she sang under her breath so softly if he had not been staring so intensely, he would not have picked up on it.

He wondered how he had never noticed this place before. He had been passing through this little street for as long as he could remember but for some reason, he had only stumbled upon it today. His sharp eyes darted around, instinctively searching for traces of magic, half-expecting the discovery of a hidden passage to the wizarding world but he quickly realised the place was undeniably, disappointingly muggle.

Muggle.

He tore his gaze away from the girl at the mental reminder of what she was. He fished out a book from his bag and opened it to occupy his mind.

The subtle shuffle of her approaching steps drew his attention back to the present, and he met her gaze as she placed the steaming cup of coffee before him. A sugar packet sat innocently beside it. His eyes lingered on the packet for a moment before lifting coldly to meet hers.

She, however, was undeterred by the intensity of his glare. “In case you change your mind.” She smiled at him softly before turning on her heel and walking back.

His gaze lingered on her retreating figure, and then, almost involuntarily, it dropped to the innocuous sugar packet.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Tom did not know why he had returned. Truthfully, he had not even noticed his feet had led him here until he was in front of the familiar wooden door that led into the coffee shop. Perhaps he had thought more than he should’ve about the disgustingly soft smile of that girl for the last five months. She was an insolent muggle, yet here he was, walking into the place as if he had never left.

The seasons had blurred since he had last been here. Winter had long surrendered to the warmth of summer. He had to spend at least a month in the orphanage, and he was hoping Malfoy would invite him over for the rest of the summer.

The place was just as he remembered it. The only difference was the lack of Christmas decorations. He faltered only slightly when he took notice of the girl behind the counter, already staring at him. She had not changed much. Her face was the same, less pale perhaps, but the same, nonetheless. The oversized knitted sweater that once enveloped her had been replaced by a little white sundress, and his gaze involuntarily lingered on the exposed smooth skin.

“Welcome back!” She greeted him cheerfully, and he was not surprised she remembered him. “What can I get you?”

“Black coffee,” he replied curtly

She nodded as if she was expecting it. "Coming right up." Gently shutting her book, she gracefully moved towards the coffee machine. Tom's eyes couldn't help but trail to the volume she had been reading, and to his pleasant surprise, it was Dostoyevsky. He had not pegged her as someone who would enjoy Russian literature, with its weighty and morally morbid themes. In his mind, she seemed more likely to be a Jane Austen enthusiast, with her intricately written romances and flowery prose.

“It’s 'Crime and Punishment'." He suddenly heard her soft voice declare, and he looked away from the book to give his attention to the girl. Then feeling as if she had said something silly, she blushed and looked away quickly. "Though I'm sure you figured that. I just wondered why you look so surprised."

He replied before he could tell himself not to. "I did not imagine you as someone who would enjoy this."

Emboldened at his words, she turned to face him, a hand casually resting on her hip as she sported a cheeky smile. "Am I to presume you imagine me often?"

His sharp inhale was audible as he absorbed the unexpected shift in her demeanour. He had not expected this shy, timid girl to tease him so boldly. She was a little vixen.

But he did not give her the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him. A lazy raise of his brow was the extent of his acknowledgement before his gaze wandered towards the rows of bookshelves, feigning indifference. "Do you have another copy? Perhaps I shall like to reread this evening."

She frowned, walking over towards the table he had occupied last time to set his coffee down. He grimly took notice of the sugar packet placed near it. "I'm afraid not. But you can have mine."

"No, that is quite alri—" He began to decline but she had already crossed the small distance between them and was holding out the thick book. He hesitated for a moment before his fingers closed around the object, careful to avoid touching hers.

The girl smiled and walked away before he could even say thanks. Not like he was going to.

Settling back into the soft armchair, he opened the book only to freeze at the sight of a name scribbled on the front page and he knew it belonged to her. The wizard rolled the name around in his mind and determined that it suited her. He stared at her name for a minute longer before turning the page and delving into the content of the book.

He had been so immersed in the story that he had not noticed how the time had passed. The gradual hush of the coffee shop's ambient sounds finally penetrated his concentration, and he distinctly heard the girl approaching him.

"I'm sorry to disturb you but we're closing in five minutes." She looked at the book in his hands. "You may return it once you're done."

He hummed and looked down at where he had stopped.

"We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken."

He wondered if the universe was trying to tell him something.

Tom found himself caught in the silent narrative of this stranger's presence.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

He returned the next day.

She looked up to see him enter, the sleeves of his button-up shirt rolled up.

Tom placed the book on the counter.

"You finished it in one day?"

He shrugged. "I'm a fast reader."

She gave him a small smile, turning to make his black coffee before he could ask for it. "Every time I reread it it takes me a few days." She paused for a moment, turning to look at him over her shoulder. "The usual?"

He nodded. "The usual." He debated whether or not to voice his next question, and decided one conversation with the girl would not hurt.

"Why do you read it so often?"

"Each time I find new details that make Raskolnikov's character more complex. Each time I discover these small little things I missed the last time I read it becomes so much better. Plus I enjoy his moral dilemma."

He hummed, his curiosity piqued. He took his usual seat and watched as she brought his coffee and set it down in front of him. "Enlighten me." He gestured towards the seat in front of him. She hesitated only for a second before taking a seat.

"Raskolnikov is obviously a complex character. His actions are driven by a desire for power and superiority, a belief that he is exempt from conventional morality. However, one could argue that his internal struggles and eventual remorse suggest a more nuanced exploration of morality."

Tom furrowed his brows. "I see him as a product of his environment, a desperate man driven to extremes by the harsh circumstances he faced. His morality shifts to the other side of the spectrum."

She cocked her head to the side, and he could see her getting slightly frustrated. "But morality is not just a spectrum; it's a complex interplay of values, societal norms, and personal convictions. Raskolnikov's guilt stems from the clash between his actions and the intrinsic moral compass within him. It's the consequence of recognizing the weight of one's choices."

He scoffed before he could stop himself. "Morality is subjective. What is right for one may not be right for another. Raskolnikov was weak and he was an idiot. Guilt is a useless emotion and it is for the weak."

Her expression remained unwavering. "But perhaps it's that recognition of guilt that separates the morally discerning from those who lack empathy. The fact that you can't comprehend his guilt doesn't make it foolish. It makes it human."

Tom's eyes narrowed a glint of impatience in his gaze. "Human or not, guilt is a hindrance. It's a sentiment for those too feeble to rise above their actions. If I were to make a difficult choice, I would do it without hesitation, without remorse."

He only realised the slip of his tongue after the words left his mouth. He stilled, gauging her reaction yet her response was measured but firm. "Raskolnikov's guilt is a testament to his humanity, his ability to grapple with the consequences of his choices. It's what sets him apart from those who operate without remorse."

"But—"

"So what you're saying is you would kill and feel no remorse?" She cut him off.

Yes.

"You do not understand." He did not intend his tone to be so harsh, yet the words left his mouth coldly. She visibly withdrew and nodded stiffly. "Right. Enjoy your coffee."

He opened his mouth to say something but realised for the first time in his life he did not know what to say.

He was left staring at the cursed sugar packet she had left near his coffee again.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

He did not return the next day. Nor the day after. Or after.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Two weeks passed with no sign of him.

And then she saw him step into the coffee shop. He walked in with determination. He walked up to the counter, meeting her gaze with an intensity that mirrored the unspoken tension between them. "I'd like a black coffee," he said, his tone even, though a hint of something lingered beneath the surface.

She nodded, her expression composed but guarded. As she prepared the coffee, the air seemed charged with unspoken words. Her usual cheerful smile was notably absent. The absence struck him, and he realised he had enjoyed her smiles.

When she placed the coffee in front of him, there was a palpable pause. He glanced at the sugar packet, a subtle acknowledgement of the lingering disagreement. Without a word, he took it, his eyes meeting hers briefly before he poured the sugar into his coffee.

She looked at him, her gaze unwavering, before a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

He returned the next day. And the day after that. And for the rest of summer.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

The next time he stepped into the familiar place, winter had covered the city with a snowy blanket once again. It had been a year since he first discovered this little place. And he had not seen his little waiter since he left for Hogwarts in September.

When he walked in, her eyes lit up visibly. "Hi!" She waved at him with a bright grin.

"Hello." He greeted as he unwrapped his scarf and settled in his usual seat. In a matter of minutes, she was bringing him his usual order. She was back to wearing her warm knitted sweaters. "How did you enjoy the book?"

"Oscar Wilde never disappoints," he said. She hummed in agreement, pleased at his words. He watched as her hands dropped to fidget with the bottom of her sweater. "You wish to ask me something." He stated. "Ask."

"Do you study in a boarding school?"

Tom hesitated only for a moment before replying. "Yes."

"Oh. Well, that explains the months of not showing up."

"Were you expecting me?" He teased her with an amused smirk, taking delight in the way her cheeks reddened.

"I was just wondering that is all," she admitted, a hint of curiosity peeking through. Tom observed her, noting the return of the timid, shy girl from their first encounter. It amused him how a few teasing remarks could momentarily whisk away her fiery boldness. He couldn't help but wonder what it would take to awaken it once again.

"And do you wonder about me often, little vixen?" he added, a playful glint in his eyes.

She blushed harder at the nickname but then as if a thought had struck her, she straightened and Tom watched as she visibly mustered up her courage. "I actually was wondering your name."

He bristled, but she must have not noticed because she continued. "I suppose I have not given you mine either." She mused out loud and announced her name to him. "But I thought it bizarre that considering all the time we've talked we never got around to that. Friends who do not each other's names." The girl laughed at the last notion and only then she realised that Tom had remained unnervingly quiet throughout the exchange. She raised her eyes from the frayed edges of her sweater, and the sight almost made her take a step back. His eyes had darkened, and she could have sworn she saw them flash red. There was no warmth, no familiarity in his gaze.

"Are you alright?"

Suddenly, he rose from his seat, an ominous tension permeating the air as he advanced towards her with every word. "We are not friends. You dare to think I would be friends with the likes of you?" His words were sharper than the keenest of blades, cutting into her with merciless precision. "Foolish, little girl," He spat out before grabbing his things and storming out of the place. As the door closed behind him, the little coffee shop seemed to exhale, the echoes of his harsh words lingering in the hushed aftermath.

She stood frozen in her place, helpless against the storm of emotions and the tears that began to veil her vision.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Tom fumed for months after their last encounter. How dare the ignorant muggle insinuate that they were friends? He scarcely considered his Knights of Walpurgis as his friends, and she thought she would just appoint herself the title? Who did she think she was?

"Mate, you alright? You've been unresponsive for a while." Malfoy nudged him slightly, attempting to draw his attention back to the present.

Tom made a noise of acknowledgement before mentally shaking the image of his little waiter— no, not his, he berated himself— from his mind.

But no matter how he tried, he could not. He could not just banish her from his thoughts. He knew a part of him, a rather embarrassingly large part of him enjoyed her company, her passion, her conversations— just her.

And there, tucked away in the recesses of his trunk, lay her damned book— a taunting reminder of her. The temptation to burn it, to obliterate any remnants of her from his life, danced on the edge of his thoughts. He had shoved away, out of sight if only just to save himself the fury, the anger, (the longing).

He wondered if she was going through the same turmoil as him. He hoped she was. She had no right to make him feel this way and get away with it unscathed.

But she was too enticing to give up. He did not know what it was about her. She was a muggle, an ordinary, plain girl working at a forgotten little cafe. Sure, she liked books, but so did a lot of other people. Yes, she was pretty, but so were a lot of other girls. But none could even come close to stirring his emotions as she did.

Perhaps it was the ease with which she conversed with him. Or the entirely too cheery smiles. Or her endearing knitted sweaters— though he secretly favoured the sundresses.

He, of course, knew what it was. He had tried to deny the idea to himself, but there was no escaping it. Tom had never been able to be unequivocally authentic with another individual before. From his early childhood, he refused to allow anyone close to him. He never lowered his walls and rejected anything that would yield a genuine connection. It was refreshing with her. He had no cause to uphold a curated facade.

Had she not been a muggle, he would entertain the thought of her bewitching him. He would have been convinced the girl put some spell on him or slipped a potion into his drink.

It was maddening.

She was maddening.

He sighed upon realising that he had spiralled again thinking of her. He needed to return the book, and maybe that would ease his mind. Perhaps once he was rid of her possession, she would not haunt him anymore. (Though he knew he was only trying to reassure himself with the last thought.)

As summer loomed around the corner, it felt both too distant and too imminent, mirroring the paradox of his tangled emotions.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

The sound of her laugh rang out before he could even close the door behind him. His head snapped up so fast it was a wonder he did not get whiplash. But there she was, his little waiter, chuckling delightfully as some boy spoke lowly from behind the counter. Chuckles escaped her lips, and she bit down on her lip in a futile attempt to stifle the laughter, her hands deftly at work preparing a drink. Despite her efforts, laughter bubbled forth once more, forcing her to set the cup down to avoid any potential spills.

An immediate surge of anger coursed through him. Who was this boy? What business did have with her? What right did he have to elicit such genuine laughter from her? (Most importantly, how dare she replace him?)

Tom swallowed the lump in his throat, attempting to gather himself into some semblance of a composed, unaffected man that he most definitely was not at that moment. With a loud, purposeful cough, he sought to catch her attention.

She spun around, the practised smile reserved for customers settling onto her face as she readied herself to serve him. However, the smile swiftly vanished the moment her doe-like eyes locked onto him. She looked like a deer caught in headlights as she stared at him, wide eyes roving over his face as if to confirm that he was really standing there, in front of her, and was not a figment of her imagination.

Because despite their last encounter, despite the anger, and the hurt she had felt, she kept hoping he would return. She kept imagining him standing there, with his ridiculously fancy scarf as he spewed out an apology. She had delved so deep into her fantasies involving him that now that he was actually there, she did not what to do or to say. Her tongue was tied, and her brain was fogged. What was she supposed to say?

It seemed he decided to grant her mercy and be the first to break the tense silence.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

He shuffled closer, though his steps were unsure, unlike his usual confident strides that she was used to seeing. “I wished to return your book.” He declared yet made no move to reach into his bag for the said book. He allowed his eyes to drink in the sight of her, her eyes that always seemed to glisten, her hands that were always fidgeting, her little sundress that he was afraid would drive him to insanity, (and her lips that he wished he could press against his own just so he could find out what they felt like, tasted like.) He shoved the last one into a drawer in his mind and locked it away. He could not fantasise about her. She was a muggle. He could not stoop so low as to hold affections for a muggle girl.

“Did you enjoy it?” The girl asked tentatively as if afraid one wrong word would set him off, have him spitting more harsh words that would dig deep into her skin and remain there.

“As always.” He replied. Because every book she gave him held another meaning. She was a clever girl, choosing the ones that she knew would have him coming back with a strong debate prepared in his mind. They always seemed to stand on opposite sides of every argument that the books posed, ensuring that their discussion would get heated, exciting, and thrilling.

While Tom vehemently disagreed with her views, he found pleasure in the way her mind worked. He admired her quick-wittedness, her ability to counter every argument he posed. No one else had engaged him in such stimulating conversations. She was a breath of fresh air, a captivating force he wanted to inhale and never release. He yearned to suffocate in the essence of her being, to be consumed and to consume in return. He wanted to own her— that irrational desire to keep her for himself was always there in the deeper parts of his mind that he was scared to venture into.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” She responded but he could detect the subtle undercurrent of uncertainty in her voice.

He hesitated. “May I have one black coffee?” He was extending an olive branch, and while it was not an outright apology, coming from Tom, it was a whole declaration.

“It’s five minutes until closing time.”

She would not be swayed so easily then.

Fine. Tom thought. He would make her come to her senses.

The boy who he had forgotten was still there suddenly came to stand next to him. Tom eyed him with disdain, his features curling into an unimpressed sneer, raising a lazy brow.

“I’ll help her close up, mate. You can leave now.”

“Daniel, that is not necessary.” She muttered, glancing between the two men nervously. Daniel? Tom clenched his jaw, enraged. In his absence, it seemed she had gotten on first-name basis with a boy. His mouth soured with the taste of betrayal at her blatant ignorance. How could she discard him so easily? Had she not suffered all these months at the mere thought of him? Had he been alone in his suffering?

“No,” Tom stated flatly. “You will leave.” He told the boy then turned to face his waiter. “We will talk.”

“Tom, I do not think—”

He cut her off with a hiss. “It was not a request.”

Daniel seemed wholly displeased. He opened his mouth to argue, but his girl beat him to it. “It’s okay, Daniel. I will see you some other time.”

“Whatever he has to tell you, surely he can say in front of me.”

She shook her head gently, trying to dissuade him. “It’s a matter between him and I. I would rather talk privately.”

Tom looked smug as he faced Daniel again, struggling to contain his smirk. He could see the indignation clear on the boy’s face as his eyes flickered dubiously between her and Tom. He knew the wizard was no ordinary acquaintance of her, he could feel the palpable tension in the air like a wolf.

Tom, of course, wished to push his buttons further, just to have the last word. “You heard her. Leave.”

Daniel scoffed. “I will see you tomorrow then.” He muttered and with one last long look, he squared his shoulders and left the café with as much dignity as his wounded pride could muster.

As the door shut with a final thud, they were left in pregnant silence, both unsure of the dynamics at play between them. The air in the café hung heavy with unspoken tension as if the silence itself had taken on a weight, pressing down on them both. The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed louder than usual, each second echoing in the quiet space.

She was the first to cave. "Well? You wished to talk." Gesturing towards him with a hand expectantly. "Talk."

Tom inhaled sharply, and for the first time in his life, he did not quite know what to say. How to proceed.

"Who is he?" The question tumbled from his lips before he could stop it.

She raised a brow. "Seriously? After how you walked out of here last time I would think your choice of words would be different."

"Different? I hardly think the question was unfair."

She huffed impatiently, discarding her apron as she turned from him to put everything away for the night. "Of course. How foolish of me to assume that you have no business inquiring about my life when we are not even friends." She chuckled bitterly. "You made the notion quite appalling if memory serves me right. You wish to know who is Daniel? For all you know, he could be my fiancee. Would it matter? No. Because you and I are hardly acquaintances."

An unfamiliar feeling began coiling in the pit of his stomach, and he suddenly felt sick. She briefly turned to fix him with a pointed glare and froze at the look on his face. The dancing flames of the candles seemed to mirror the flickering emotions in Tom's eyes—flames of irritation, discontent, and an unexpected pang of jealousy.

Tom could scarcely believe his fate. How was it that he— the most powerful wizard of his generation— had succumbed to the pathetic disease of— what was it? Desire? Lust? Infatuation? Such mundane urges were beneath him, he had no wish to pursue anyone or anything that was not remotely related to his quest for power. Yet there she was. In her infuriating fucking dress and those innocent eyes. Did she even know what sort of turmoil she had caused him?

All of a sudden he felt exhausted, defeated. His shoulders sunk visibly as he ran a hand through his hair. He would use a hundred of her sugar packets in his coffee if it meant she would just grace him with her bubbly smile again and just— just what? Leave him be? He did not want that. Treat him as if nothing had happened? Maybe. Release him from whatever enchantment she put him under? Yes.

"What do you want from me?" He asked at last, frustration clear in his voice.

She regarded him with disbelief as she rounded the counter to stand directly in front of him. "What do I want from you?" She repeated incredulously. "I want an apology! I want an explanation! I want—" she sighed, cutting herself off before she could finish the thought. "You cannot just show up here demanding things and ordering people around after how you treated me last time. If you wish to continue this conversation, you will apologise to me."

"You want me to say sorry?" He took a step towards her.

"Yes!"

"Fuck your apology."

Before she could register what was happening, Tom closed the minute distance between them and caved into his desire. He grabbed her face, fingers threading through her hair, and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was not gentle; it was a collision of pent-up tension and bottled-up desires.

Tom's lips moved fervently against hers, pouring his frustration into the act. It was a silent declaration that transcended the boundaries of his complicated inner turmoil. Tom knew that. But he could not pull away from her— not after having tasted how her lips feel like.

Her hands, which had hovered hesitantly in the space between them, found their way to his shoulders, fingers gripping the fabric of his coat, pulling him closer.

She felt—tasted like God's favourite nectar, sweet and addictive and he knew he would never get enough of it. She might not have been a witch, but he was bewitched by her.

As they broke apart, breathless, the air between them hung heavy with the residue of their shared kiss. He dared not to ease his hold on her, only stared at her with darkened eyes, taking delight in the way her lips were bruised, and puffy, all because of him. But it was not enough. He needed to mark her for all to see.

He dove into the tender skin of her throat like a man starved, teeth sinking into her flesh with no warning, and a sick sort of satisfaction washed over him at the muffled moan that escaped her mouth. He sucked on the skin until he was sure there would be a purple mark blooming on the spot before running his tongue over the flesh to soothe the sting. He did not waste any second before moving to mark another spot.

"I do not even know your name." She managed to choke out in between her whimpers, hands moving of their own accord to tangle in his hair, and a particular tug had him growling deep in his throat.

"Tom." He whispered, pulling away from her neck only to return his lips to hers. "Say it. Say my name." He murmured in between the kisses, pushing her back until her back was pressed against the counter. He easily picked her up to place her on the surface, his fingers trailing along her thighs to her knees to nudge them apart so he could stand in between them.

"Tom." She breathed out in a daze, and he smirked in delight.

She was his. He had already branded her, and he would do much more to ensure she knew it was him she belonged to.

He leaned to brush his lips against the shell of her ear. "I hope you know there is no going back from this. From me." He whispered, fingers slipping under the strap of her dress and dragging it down her shoulder slowly. "You are my dirty little secret now. Mine."

She shuddered under the weight of his words but he was already snaking his hand around her throat as his lips found home on her own once again.

No going back.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

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xamag-draws · 5 months

Text

BBR thoughts 2024

Since I mentioned that I finally dusted off an old project of mine and was ruminating on how I'd remake it, I thought I'd elaborate a little, now that I've solidified some concepts. For funsies

This is gonna be a bit of a long and unfocused one, but I don't share my personal thoughts here often, especially the stuff about my projects I always marinate in. And for once it's something that people have existing context for, so hey why not

So for anyone who hasn't been following me for a gajillion years, The Black Brick Road of OZ was a webcomic that I posted around 2013-2015, back when I was in highschool going on college (which is kinda crazy to think about). It was sort of a darker twist on The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, although I definitely leaned a lot more into dark humor more than anything in those first few chapters

I don't think it's available to read anywhere anymore, and I know people have been asking me about it. So here's the full proper archive of BBR, as full as it can be with deceased Flash

I totally used it as an excuse to shamelessly and self-indulgently experiment. It had interactive pages and GIFs and was wayyy too overproduced for what I could handle or what was necessary, but I did have great fun making it while it lasted

Unfortunately, that excess and the fact that I've changed too much as a person by the time I was in college is what ultimately killed it. The direction I wanted to go in was practically unrecognizable from the original idea started back in 2011, so there were many old hold-ups that I felt ruined it

At the time I kinda wished I could start/rewrite it all over, but considering that I pretty much had the entire script done at that point, it felt like a pointless sisyphean task. So I just put it on a shelf and didn't look back for about 8 years, because I didn't know what else to do

Now to be fair, the nature of my art has always been iterative and cyclical; when I feel like my creative juices have run dry I prefer to leave a project to marinate and move on to something else; cycle through other old things and bring in new skills and perspectives into the mix when I'm ready again. Not very productive, but it is what makes me happy to work on my OCs; I'm doomed to hit a wall with them eventually and I need some time to be able to find a new direction

So that said, I'm glad that BBR was left to marinate for that long. I don't think I was prepared, emotionally or intellectually, to tackle it again until now. The Wizard of Oz book (and the entire series of them, really) has always been near and dear to my heart, but there's a lot of context around it that I'm only unpacking now that I'm older

I think I always inherently feel negatively about the stuff I've made in the past, like its faults always jump out to me more than the positives, especially the more time passes. I've never liked that, and I do really appreciate the kind things people have to say about BBR to this day. The fact that it still can be recognized and remembered is very sweet

When I left it, I already found it "kinda cringe", and that feeling only deepened with years. When I took my first look back at it, asking the question "how would I rewrite it now?", at first I took a very cynical approach, as in "everything would have to be torn down"

But the more I sat on it, the more I found that I still see some merit and charm in the ideas I was putting out; I just didn't know how to execute them at the time (not to pretend that I know what I'm doing now, but I certainly know more at least). Turns out a lot of my old concepts could be changed substantially with just a few small tweaks. So I'd say that's a nicer way to think about my previous work

If you haven't seen yet, I posted a first draft of my new designs for some of the characters (the main group, the Goods and the Wickeds). Definitely subject to change, but more or less how I see them now

I'm just playing with these concepts; by no means would I attempt to remake BBR right this moment. Call it a pipe dream among my other ones. But just for fun, this is the direction I'd like to take:

Nowadays I'd probably make it a visual novel, with more emphasis on the visual part than the novel because I'm no English prose writer by any means. It'd still let me play a little with the interactivity while helping cut some corners on the drawing part (only some, I imagine I'd go hog wild anyway)

I've always intended for some events inspired by the sequel books to take place in BBR's past. Stuff like Jinjur's revolt or Ozma's rule preceeds the main events here. So I think it would be fun to follow the past of a few key characters alongside the main story. One chapter focusing on the present quest to see the Wizard, then one focusing on the past events (that are maybe reflective thematically); rinse and repeat

I'm also sticking a little closer to the original text in some regards. Not everything that I enjoy from the books would be translated here, it's still just a very loose fantasy on the material; but I'd like to be closer in spirit at least

I like mature, wise and powerful Glinda, I like kind and vulnerable Tin Man, I like the Wizard being a pathetic yet loveable liar, so I'm sprinkling in more of that for example

I'd like to keep some whimsy, but make it more grounded and a bit more serious to be coherent in tone. I think the original TWWOOZ book was a more realistic fantasy in some ways, even for the standards of the time; I like its simple but vivid tactile descriptions and details like bringing attention that Dorothy needed to eat and sleep

I find it funny that Baum specifically was averse to making his books scary or unpleasant, finding that unnecessary for telling a compelling kids story, but they still can get pretty dark and disturbing, at least for our modern sensibilities. Let's just say that I intend to use the Evoldo and Chopfyt storylines for my purposes. In that way, I feel like a "darker" Wizard of Oz retelling can still mostly be tonally in line with the original and balance it with enough heart and occasional humor

I slowly grew to appreciate the quaint old-timey quality of the original series, as well. The first book is both timeless and very much a product of the 1900s. Originally I tried to give it a little modern or at least anachronistic spin, but it was moreso because it's what I knew best, so these days I'd rather intentionally lean into the time period. Still not fully historically accurate by any means, but at least directly acknowledging the influence

The events of the story span across 40 years of these characters' lives, so I'm drawing inspiration from the entire so-called La Belle Epoque: the time period around 1880s-1920s. Basically I'm cooking, and my soup is old Victorian fashion morphing into Edwardian fashion and slowly inching towards flappers

Some new Dolly outfits

Lots of crazy things, political changes and innovations were happening at the turn of the century, which I think is noted and reflected by Baum in the books as well; the character of Tik-Tok might not blow any minds now, but he was one of the first robot characters in literature at that point; and don't even get me started on Jinjur, etc. Plenty of really interesting stuff one could lightly ponder in an Oz adaptation these days

Aesthetically, art nouveau has always been a big artistic influence for me, and it'd definitely be its time to shine here. John R. Neill's illustrations of the Oz books often keep me company as well. Nouveau architecture in particular fits that fairytale whimsy extremely well imo

I'd allow myself a little bit of art deco here and there, but ultimately its intimidating geometrical splendor is an antithetical to the flowery nature of nouveau and I associate it with a completely different era. Definitely fitting some characters like my Wicked Witch of the West, but shouldn't be overused

One of my main problems with the original BBR was that eventually I lost track of what it was even about; and the original ending felt too mean and unfulfilling to be worth it. Now I'd like to stick to the theme of home and family as my main theme, but in a different, more bittersweet way than in the book

An interesting connection I made is that a lot of my aforementioned older key characters (the Witches, Jinjur, the Nome King, etc) all came from the same reformatory as kids, that's how they know each other. In my recent research I learned that in those reformatories it was usually frowned upon to release the children back to the families, which were seen as the original corrupting influence regardless of the circumstance. The reformatory did everything in its power to cut that connection and make itself the only family those wayward kids were supposed to know and love. That's an unexpected tie into the theme of home that I'd like to explore as well

So yeah that's the current state of it. I have a bunch of outfit concepts I'm slowly cooking, although I'm now sure whether I'd post them... But I do miss these funny guys, and I'm glad some people still do as well :)

#my art #xam rambles #the black brick road of oz #long post #ohsees tag

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suugarbabe · 1 year

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magical creatures | m.r. x reader

prompt: may i suggest hufflepuff!reader, or just shy reader who often hangs around by herself or at hagrids hut helping w the magical creatures. yknow the type of person who no one notices is in class cuz she’s so quiet and he’s like,, enamored lowkey bc she’s so gorgiana but so shy. maybe draco calling her a mudblood and matty’s like abt to get in a fight w his own cousin bc of it.

word count: ~2.1k

warning: fluff

an: the end is a little shite, but the rest is good so bare with me.

It was both a blessing and a curse to see thestrals. They were very unique magical creatures in that only those who have seen death can see them. It makes sense, given their appearance. The black skin, the skeletal body, the reptilian face and the wide leather wings. To the unknowing wizard, the animal looked like it came straight from muggle hell. Historically, it was an omen of misfortune to see one, but they were protected on school grounds and oddly enough, they gave you comfort.

You often found yourself out in this part of the forest after you had a particularly hard day. Hagrid was always kind enough to give you some raw meat to feed them, and this was the first day you could see the new foal since she was born. You tossed a portion of meat its way, the foal slowly coming up to sniff it. Once it had a taste, it came up to you, sniffing your bag and begging for more.

You laughed at its enthusiasm, gently petting its neck, “You’re just trying to find your way, aren’tcha bub. That’s okay, me too. This world is hard, but you’ve got your mummy here, she’ll protect you.”

A snapping of twigs made you freeze. No one came to this part of the woods, no one but you and Hagrid, and he was going to be gone for another few hours. You stood up slowly, taking your wand from your jacket pocket.

You held it tight to your side, trying your best to make your voice sound intimidating, “W-who’s there?”

A boy slowly crept out from behind a tree, his hands up in a surrendering position, “Don’t stupify me, please. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Your grip on your wand loosened slightly, but to say you were confused was an understatement, “Riddle? What’re you doing out here?”

“Could ask you the same thing. What’s a badger like you doing out in the forest?” He wore his infamous smirk, and you weren’t sure if he was trying to be charming, or getting ready to bully you. The lot he hung around, was the leader of more like, made it tough to decipher his motives at times.

“I was just…feeding the new foal,” you gestured towards the creatures behind you.

He looked at you curiously, “You can see them, too?”

You stood up a little straighter, “Yes, Mattheo. I can see them. Slytherin’s aren’t the only ones who can come from a tragic past.”

Mattheo chuckled at this, “Okay, fair point.”

You looked at him curiously, “What're you doing out here?”

He smiled sheepishly now, “I was watching you.” You raised your eyebrows at this.

“Not in a creepy way!” He tried to assure you, hands straight out in front of him. “I just, I’ve been noticing you.”

“You’ve been noticing me?”

“Yeah, I mean. You’re…nice to look at. And you’re…cute when you’re with animals.” His cheeks tinted pink at the confession.

You couldn’t help the blush that crept up your neck, definitely not expecting that from him. You offered him something to feed the foal and he quickly accepted. You watched at he knelt down to the ground, hand extended as the foal slowly walked up to him.

He spoke in a hushed tone, “S’alright, mate, I won’t bite.” You smiled at the scene before you, rough and tough Mattheo Riddle being soft and gentle. He stayed with you in the forest for another hour or so, both of you getting lost in conversation.

He had offered to walk you back to the castle, but you insisted on needing to stop by Hagrid’s before dinner, encouraging him to go on without you.

After that first encounter in the forest, you expected yours and Mattheo’s relationship to go back to the way it was, which was nonexistent. But the next day, when he saw you in the hall’s he ran up to you, quickly falling into step to ask you how your day was going and if you planned on “feeding any strange animals after classes”. He started doing that often, finding you in the hall or after class, asking when you were going to visit some magical creature and asking if he could tag along.

He found himself fond of how soft you were with them, no matter how rough the creature seemed. He would tell you about the grindylows he could see from his dorm window, and the way your eyes lit up made him wish he could take you there and show you himself, just to see your smile take up your whole face again.

He had made a vow to himself to never subject you to the ridicule you would get if he brought you to the Slytherin dorm. Not because you were a hufflepuff, but because of your blood status.

As a half-blood he knows that most Slytherins would look at you like a roast to feast on and their utensils would be harsh words and hexes. Over the last several weeks he found himself growing protective over you.

Around you he didn’t have to put on a mean face, didn’t have to act tough, he could let his guard down. The Mattheo you knew was not the Mattheo that everyone else saw. Where others saw brooding and flying fists, you saw gentle touches and whispers.

You never expected you would ever call Mattheo a friend, but it seemed that’s what he became. Where you were once invisible in classes, you found Mattheo staring at you. When you were always able to slip past your peers in the corridor, his hands always found you, pulling you to his side.

You weren’t naive, you knew the looks you were getting, but with Mattheo near you, you just couldn’t find it in yourself to care. At least that’s how you thought you felt, until you found yourself being dragged by said boy to the Slytherin table for lunch one afternoon.

“Mattheo, no, there’s no way,” you really thought he had lost his mind.

“Oh c’mon, darling, it’ll be fine. We’ll sit at the end or something. I just wanna have lunch with you, pretty pretty please?” He was batting his eyelashes at you. His stupid, dumb, long and beautiful eyelashes and looking at you with the most pleading amber eyes.

You huffed out a long sigh and Mattheo cheered silently in victory, slinging his arm over your shoulder and leading you to the table.

You sat down across from him, listening to him ramble about his latest potions assignment as you filled your plate. The longer he talked and joked the more relaxed you felt. It seemed like it was not going to be as bad as you had made it out to be, until a head of bleach blonde came into view.

“Ya lost, badger?” Pansy Parkinson thought she was clever, but in reality she was just the same as a lap dog, following Draco around like a pathetic lovesick puppy.

You shook your head no, looking down at your plate. “Fuck off, Parkinson,” Mattheo’s harsh words head your head snapping up to watch the scene that was unfolding in front of you.

Draco tsked, “Oh cousin, ran through the lot of Slytherin women already? Needed to find yourself a little mudblood to entertain you?”

Mattheo was up so quickly it seemed like your eyes had glitched. The smirk was immediately gone from Draco’s face as Mattheo gripped the collar of his robes, teeth gritted as he spoke to him, “Don’t use that bloody fucking language around her, you understand me?”

If looks could kill Draco’s funeral would’ve been yesterday. He seemed to understand how serious Mattheo was because the most he answered was a grumbled ‘yes’ before brushing his robes off and walking away, not even sparing you a second glance.

When Mattheo turned back to you his eyes were full of remorse. You spoke before he got a chance, “S’okay, Teo. Let’s just go. We can feed the thestrals before curfew if we leave now.”

You started towards the doors, Mattheo quick to fall in step beside you. When you reached the top of the hill you stopped. Mattheo looked at you quizzically, “Y’alright, love?” You nodded your head, giving him the biggest grin before taking off running toward the forest.

Mattheo stood frozen for a moment, in shock of how cheeky you were being before his brain caught up with him and he darted after you.

“You know I’m captain of the quidditch team, love!” he shouted towards you. You shouted back over your shoulder, “Yeah, well you seem to be struggling without your broom, sir!”

This bit of banter seemed to spur Mattheo further, his feet seemingly moving faster and getting closer and closer to you. You could sense him getting closer, and you could help the butterfly feeling that started to build in your chest.

You reached your familiar spot, bracing yourself on a tree when you felt hand grab your waist and turn you to face him. “You cheated,” he was breathing heavy, but his tone was still playful.

“I thought Slytherin’s were cunning, guess I was wrong,” you shrugged your shoulders, biting your bottom lip gently.

He reached up, cupping your cheek. The pad of his thumb tracing your lower lip, dragging it down slightly. Your breath hitched slightly, watching as his eyes flicked from your lips meeting your eyes again.

You stared into his eyes, wondering if what you think is going to happen is about to actually happen.

“Can I…” he questions, trailing off tilting your chin up. You nod slightly, then his lips capture yours. It was tentative at first, like he was afraid if he kissed you any harder you’d disappear like a dream.

He pulls back, breathing slightly heavy, giving you a silent look as if to ask, ‘is this okay?’ You press your lips back to his as an answer, with more passion this time. It’s wet and messy, tongues dancing as his hands caress the soft curves of your body, pressing you harder into the tree.

He bites down on your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth causing a whimper to leave your throat. You pull him back by his hair and he lets out a desperate huff. You start to kiss down his neck, finding his pulse point and sucking a fresh hickey to his otherwise flawless tan skin.

You lean back, a smirk spreading on your face as you admire your work. “Proud of yourself, love?” Mattheo’s voice vibrates against your skin, his nose nudging playfully along your jawline. You nodded your head, “Very proud.”

He was looking at you now, hands resting on your hips, but still pressing you into the tree slightly. His face had fallen ever so slightly, looking a little sadder than the moment called for.

“I’m sorry for Draco earlier,” his tone was pained, like he was hurting just thinking about the earlier interaction.

“S’okay, Teo. It’s not the first time someone’s said that to me. Honestly I don’t even think that’s the first time Draco has said it to me,” you laughed a little, but Mattheo could see it didn’t reach your eyes.

He cupped your face again, thumb rubbing soothingly on your cheek, “He’s never going to call you that again, I’ll make sure of it. He should’ve never said that to you in the first place, or ever.”

You grabbed Mattheo’s face, holding it in your hands and making him keep eye contact with you, “Thank you for being so protective of me. It really does make me feel safer.” His cheeks were straining against your hands as he smiled.

“Please, please understand that as long as I’m with you, it doesn’t matter what other people say. Even your cousin, okay? And if he is ever ever mean to me again, which I think is likely. You have my full permission to transfigure him into a ferret again.”

Mattheo laughed at this, a full hearty, deep laugh and you wanted to hear that laugh all the time. Wanted to bottle his joy and happiness and release it on your toughest days to bring you cheer.

Mattheo followed you back to Hagrid’s hut, getting the supplies you needed to feed the thestrals. You watched as he played with the foal. He looked as carefree as you’d ever seen him as you wished he could feel this way every day. The way he looked back over his shoulder, child-like grin adorning his face, you knew you wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else.

#mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x hufflepuff!reader #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle fic

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fabric-shower-curtain · 6 months

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By complete accident I somehow have the autopsy scar mod on top of the bhaalist tattoo mod, don’t ask me how they’re both on my durge I have no idea how it happened. But it got me thinking how would the origin characters (+halsin) react/barely react to a lover that is heavily scarred and tattooed? (Set in Act 1)

Read more for the full brainrot

Astarion: The first time Astarion saw your body for himself was when he walked past your tent late at night, through the flaps in the entrance he saw all those scars, he couldn’t tell what had you awake this late in the night, especially mostly naked with your back turned. The vampire simply continued on his way to hunt for the night. He dropped it there, until that is, the second night in the clearing you two spent together. He was lying down leaning his head against his arms as his red eyes stared at your naked body. His eyes flowed down every scar that littered your body, he barely seemed to look at the tattoos but that’s what he asked about first “So, can you translate that one?” - he points to the tattoo across your left arm, lifting up the limb you pull your skin to take a proper look at it. It’s been a while since you properly saw it, because just out of sight enough to make it annoying to stare at. When you tell him Astarion seems content with the information. His fingers drift across the tattoo. It’s a tender moment until the elf’s hand floats toward your neck. His ice cold fingers dancing across the lingering puncture wounds on your neck - “But these are by far my favorite mark on you,” You lean into Astarion’s touch releasing a chuckling sigh before calling him the weirdest flirt you have ever seen.

Gale: He really didn’t mean to go to the river at the same time he truly meant to go two hours early when he said he would, but that tome was particularly interesting - the effects of adrenaline on libido, certainly important for a man so restricted by his netherese orb. But now it was two hours past and he definitely had a musk going on. Taking an extra robe and rag Gale went to the nearby river, only you were there too. Illuminated in moonlight you were bare in front of him. Gale cleared his throat loudly, trying to let you know he was there. What he did not expect was for you to whip around and get out of the water to say hello. He tried his best to only look at your face, he did not succeed. Your skin was glowing with a vei of water cascading down in droplets. Gale’s eyes followed one droplet from your hair, down your neck, across your chest until a certain tattoo caught his eye, infernal script. Trying to keep his focus on the tattoo rather than the flesh its on he asked you if it meant what he thought it did. He was right in fact, and you told him the story behind why you got it, quite the nice tale. The wizard relaxed enough to notice another scar across your soldier “Is that from a magic missile?” He asked without thinking. Nodding in confirmation you turned to show your shoulder blade where the other two missiles struck. As you turned around the coldness of the night hit you like a thunder wave, a massive shiver shook your entire body spraying tiny water droplets around. “Gosh you must be freezing,” - Gale wrapped you in his towel-rag before stressfully ushering you back towards the camp. Once you got back to your tent you realized you left your towel and clothes on a nearby rock, you could return the peeping Tom favor.

Halsin: Halsin adores you long before he ever saw your birthday suit, sure he thought about it, quite a lot, but with his focus deep on the shadow-curse he doesn’t have time to do much other than think about out. But the first time he does see you was far from romantic or sensual. A hook horror had slashed your entire back open when you got to close, and Halsin watched it all happen. Before the beast even hit the ground he was rushing over to you, he didn’t think, he just ripped your armor right off of you to get to the wound. You might have been screaming but his ears were ringing too loud to tell one noise from another. Halsin couldn’t even see where scar ended and fresh cut began, your tattoos were doused in enough blood to make them impossible to see against your skin. The bear of an elf’s hand floated above the wound with the same glowing blue light the hook horror’s body was basking in, thank silvanus he was far enough from the sussur tree for his magic to work. Even with his healing a scar in the same place as the monster's claw marks stayed. Halsin’s druidic skills must be faltering, that’s what he determines at least. Until the next day, you’re healed fully up and about getting ready to leave camp for the day. Halsin calls out your name - “I’m sorry I could not heal you fully, I tried best I could but the scar persists” to his confusion you begin laughing. The scar he’s so upset about has been on you for so long now, and you tell him such. His healing left no scar, in fact he healed you so well an old scar was able to show.

Karlach: The first time she saw you naked you were bathing next to each other after a battle. Even with Dammon’s initial upgrade you can’t touch each other, but you swore to find ways to be intimate without touching, just like this. However you neglected to inform her about what lay under your clothes until now, scars covering you head to toe interlaced with tattoos of varying quality. “Hey Soldier! How come you didn’t tell me before stealing my aesthetic!” You didn’t even register this was the first time exposing yourself in such a way, a brief moment of panic before you burst into a smile. “Come here, let me see them” Karlach makes you twirl around, using the faintest touch of her fingers to pull your arms out and see the tattoos wrapping around them. Her eyes continued to trail down your body, after a gasp she jumped back up to your face - “That burn scar looks like mine!” She said before pulling down her trousers to show you the near identically placed scar on her thigh. But Karlach didn’t ask about the obviously fresher stab scars, she continued to smile at her new discovery but lets the two of you properly bathe for once.

Lae’zel: Even when pinning you against a wall the githyanki warrior wasn’t particularly gentle. It’s not like you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into tonight, she had said pretty explicitly she seemed carnal pleasure. Somehow Lae’zel was even more assertive in such a scenario than during your adventures. You couldn’t even take your own armor off, she practically ripped it off of you. Your body is exposed to her in an instant, she doesn’t react, her hands go immediately to unlace your trousers and undergarments. The night is enjoyable even as exhausting as it was. Only much later does Lae’zel ever comment on them, and its in a conversation praising you two’s battle prowess “Each scar is a battle fought, a battle won.” You try not to tell her you have at least two scars from dropping the knife while cooking with Gale. She’s sweet in her own way.

Shadowheart: Shadowheart first saw you naked while healing a particularly cruel wound, goblin had snuck up on you and slashed your torso deep. You stabilized yourself quick enough with a healing potion but the wound persisted. After the battle you wandered your way over to Shadowhearts tent, asking for help. She laid you down atop her bedroll, sliding your shirt off as you let yourself relax into the makeshift bed. And then you caught it, Shadowheart’s eyes widened, shit. But she didn’t say anything; she pressed her warm hands towards your open wound as they lit alight with magic. Radiating from your gash the warm feeling washed over you, your eyes closed softly breathing out in relief. Shadowheart quelled her magic, looking over you for a fat moment. You can feel her eyes wandering over you, up and down your chest, down your stomach and across both your arms. The relief of healing has left you now but you’re still too scared to open your eyes. And then a soft hand traced along your largest scar, her fingers were so light it tickled. “I like your tattoos.” The half-elf’s voice was soft, her eyes focused back on your large scar, “How’d you get that one.” Whether or not you tell the story she’s content, happy to have this extra piece of you in her memory.

Wyll: Poor Wyll just wanted to ask about the plans for tomorrow, but not only did he smack his horns on the skeleton of your tent while entering but you’re also as naked as the day you were born. The man nearly shrieked like he saw a ghost, his entire chest swelled up with his shoulders shooting up and he looked like he just swallowed a frog. Without a word Wyll turned on his heel and left your tent, only after trying to cool his blushing face off did he even process all your markings. Upon the log he sat on he dragged his hand up and down his face trying to process what the hells just happened. And then you exited your tent, completely decent this time. You greeted Wyll and sat beside him wondering what he had barged in about in the first place. But the poor man can’t even look at you. He as calmly as he could gave you the sincerest apology you’ve ever heard. After your acceptance he finally turns to you “So what does that tattoo across your back mean?” You pause for a moment, then explain as best you can. And that conversation continues just like that, he’d ask how you got a certain scar or tattoo and you’d answer him. In return he showed you one particularly nasty scar on his arm from a monster he fought while traversing the sword coast. What may have started as the most embarrassing moment of your partnership ended with you closer than before.

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girllblogging777 · 1 month

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𝐸𝐶𝐻𝑂𝐸𝑆 𝑂𝐹 𝐵𝐸𝑇𝑅𝐴𝑌𝐴𝐿

↳ mattheo riddle x fem!reader (angst)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 1,6k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : you find out that mattheo and you are working for different sides in the war, and using each other to get information. was your relationship ever real ?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“and that’s why i love them,” you giggled breathlessly after explaining what seemed to be your entire life story to the boy next to you. propped up on his elbows and looking at you with a mischievous grin, mattheo riddle had listened carefully to every word that hung from your lips for the past half hour. “i understand why those flowers are so meaningful to you now,” he declared softly, glancing at the vase of lilies on your living room table.

the two of you were lying on the floor of your tiny flat in london, a place where you’d never let anyone in before. after graduating from hogwarts a couple of years ago, you had completely shut the rest of the world away to focus on your work as a spy for the order of the phoenix. obviously, no one knew that, not even the boy next to you, with whom you had been entangled for a couple of months.

“yeah, lilies are my favorite…” you muttered, running a finger over his chiseled jaw and the scars on it that you knew all too well. both former students at the wizarding school, it was quite ironic that the two of you had never interacted during your teenage years. you had always been the confident girl who never cared much about the male species, and he most definitely liked getting attention from women, to cope with his lack of them in his emotional life.

however, your relationship with the wicked boy had changed when he saved you a couple of months ago near the diagon alley. you had been on a mission to find something specific for the order of the phoenix at borgin & burkes in the infamous and dark knockturn alley, known for its dark magic and bad reputation. just as you were about to leave, some people cornered you in the shadows and, for the first time in your life, you had been powerless.

you should’ve known better than to leave your wand in your bag and your mind elsewhere. thankfully, a dark-haired boy that you recognized as the son of voldemort had appeared like a miracle and grabbed your hand to leed you away safely. “why are you doing this? aren’t you supposed to be on their side?” you’d asked, confused to why he would help you. he had simply glared at you and answered in a whisper, “i’m not the enemy.”

a lot of things had changed between you since then. despite not knowing what he had been doing in that alley, even after the countless times you’d asked him, you were forever grateful for his presence that day. you had offered to go out for a butterbeer as payback, and what was supposed to be a one-time thing turned into regular coffee or lunches together. slowly but surely, mattheo let his guard down with you and began enjoying your company. you couldn’t say you were surprised when all your time spent together turned into more, and polite conversations turned into intimate actions.

the young riddle and you had nothing official going on. at first, you’d told yourself he’d be a simple distraction from your dangerous life and complicated missions. he wouldn’t commit and neither did you, both of you always having to “run some errands” and “visit friends from hogwarts.” you would’ve questioned his weird behavior if you were actually dating him, but since the two of you were not attached, you couldn’t blame him. after all, you too had secrets. the simple fact that mattheo riddle had known you enough to let you into his messy life was a sign that he was worthy of your trust, or so you thought.

the energy in the air was different today, as if something was off. perhaps it was because you had done something you always forbade yourself—inviting someone over to your place. “is that a cloak?” mattheo chuckled, his gaze shifting from the vase of lilies to the coat hanger. you froze when you realized what he was referring to, the large navy blue fabric that you used when going on undercover tasks hanging in front of you like a deer in the headlights. “uh yeah, i wear it sometimes when it’s cold outside,” you lied through your teeth, internally cursing yourself. merlin, that was exactly why you shouldn’t have had him over. the brunette boy didn’t quite understand your reaction and simply switched topics, curious about the expression on your face.

✩✩✩✩

whatever calmness you had felt the other day when you were with mattheo was long forgotten by now, you thought as you walked back to your apartment a week later. the first odd thing you noticed was the broken portal of the building that not only happened to be your home, but also the order’s headquarters. then, your ears perked at the sound of glass breaking and people screaming. grabbing your wand from your coat pocket, you put the hood of your navy cloak on and entered the hidden building, not without muttering a quick prayer.

nothing could’ve prepared you for what you found inside. you barely registered the documents on the floor and broken windows before going into attack mode and throwing spells at everyone around. most of the people you recognized as your allies, but it was the others that startled you. with their masks and dark attires, your biggest fear had come true: the death eaters had found you. one of them threw something at you and you dodged it by hiding under a desk. your brain was on high alert and you tried your best to fight back against the shadowy figures surrounding you.

they were everywhere. throwing spells and punches, this situation was by far the biggest and most dangerous mess you had ever witnessed in these last few months. because unlike those times, you weren’t ready. “how did they find us?” you thought, sending the death eater’s wand flying through the window. “there must’ve been a spy, but who?” you kept wondering before you were sent reeling when the guy’s fist connected to your jaw. elbowing him in the stomach as hard as you could, you managed to knock him unconscious and throw yourself behind the table when a spell whizzed past you.

you winced when the all-too-familiar metallic taste of blood filled your mouth. you could also feel the thick liquid running down your waist, mixed with the water from the broken vase of flowers on the floor. “lilies,” you registered, “my favorite.” how utterly stupid to think about this during your last moments of life. trying to reach for your wand, you looked up to find another masked man towering over you. “that’s it,” the voice in your heart whispered, “that’s how it ends.” you looked up to the person who was about to take your life, and you swore you could’ve seen him flinch. hiding behind his costume, the boy’s wand trembled when your face appeared from under the hood. the navy cloak, the lilies, that day in the diagon alley— that’s when you understood.

mattheo riddle. the man facing you, holding out his wand in order to throw the death curse at you, was no other than the boy who you’d been kissing in the same living room a week ago. you couldn’t see his face, but you swore you could recognize those deep chocolate eyes anywhere. today, gone was the soft and loving look he always saved for you. his gaze was indescribable. in this moment, you couldn’t hear the people fighting and shouting around you. it was just the pain of your heart breaking, and him standing in front of you.

“it was you,” you whispered, “i thought you weren’t like them, you said you weren’t the enemy.” mattheo’s breath came out shakily at the familiar sentence. how stupid were you to think he was different that him, than his father.

“i’m not the enemy,” he said quietly, his voice trembling, “listen, i can explain-“ but this time you couldn’t believe him. the wand in his hand was still pointed directly at you, his fingers twitching as if he were wrestling with the decision to end your life or not. you could see the conflict raging in his eyes, but you also knew that he had made his choice long ago. perhaps even before he met you.

“then why are you here?” you asked, your voice breaking despite your best efforts to stay strong. “why did you betray us?” your voice broke in the last part “why did you betray me ?”

mattheo’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. when he finally spoke, his voice was low and filled with regret. “i didn’t have a choice,” he admitted, his eyes never leaving yours. “they would have killed you if i didn’t lead them here. they still will if i don’t—”

he couldn’t finish the sentence, the words catching in his throat. you felt your heart shatter completely, the weight of his betrayal pressing down on you like a physical force. you had trusted him. you had let him into your life, into your heart, and he had used that trust to destroy everything.

“was it ever real ?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. you stared at him, searching his eyes for any sign of the boy you thought you knew. but all you saw was desperation and fear—fear for you, yes, but also fear for himself. and that, more than anything, told you what you needed to know.

“i guess i was a fool then,” you said, your voice steady now, though your heart was in pieces. “for thinking you were better than this. than him.”

his hand trembled as you proved his worst nightmare true, and he lowered his wand slightly, the fight draining out of him. “i’m sorry,” he whispered, and you knew he meant it. but it wasn’t enough. it would never be enough.

as the fight kept on going, the echoes of spells and shouts fading behind you, all you could think about were the lilies—your favorite flowers, now trampled and wilted on the floor, a painful reminder of everything you had just lost.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a/n : this was such a good request, please give me more !!! i also appreciate likes/comments and reblogs <3

tag list (tell me if you wanna be added !) : @redeemingvillains @helendeath @jolly4holly @fluffycookies22 @shiftingwithmars @shiftingwithleah @mattheosdior @tateshifts @yikesitslush @bellatrix-lestrange5 @fbvreadingblog @justscrollinthrough @enyway @dexoq @larmesdevanille @larmesdevanille @reys-letters @icantkeepmyplantsalive @myunperfektstorys @moonlightreader649 @sp7-mr @clar2aa

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scruus · 1 year

Text

★̶̲ [ 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ]

✎ sub afab howl + dom amab reader notes: masturbation, dirty thoughts, self degradation, sprinkle of exhibitionism, howl being a slut; nobody ask me how and where this came from just no. Also tell me if u guys want a part 2.

Howl softly moans in the quiet lavender smelling air surrounding him. Filthy sounds of squelching and groaning were accompanying his lonely self in the room.

It wasn’t a good idea you know. Legs wide apart, slick running down his glistening hole and his clit all puffy. This was actually very bad. You could come in at any moment right now.

What if you were with a group of friends? like you were sometimes when you get drunk at your office parties. They could walk in on to their friend’s boyfriend fingering himself on the living room couch. Spread open like some hungry whore and offering up a view to everyone?

You would maybe then fuck him in front of everyone? Bounce him on your thick cock and show everyone how his sweet little cunt swallows you all up. Letting everyone see how you breed his hole until his tummy bulges and the cum gushes out of his abused hole and he just moans like a needy bitch, pleading for more.

Or you could come home alone? All tired, angry, stressed. So frustrated with your work and deadlines. Maybe seeing him like this would make you take your anger out on him. Fuck him so hard he loses his voice next day and he gets reduced to a moaning slut.

You wont even be gentle to him. Treating him like a ragdoll and just tearing him open without any prep. Your tip probing his cervix and his entire body spasming as he cums again and again and again. In so deep, your balls slap against his pussy lips. Roughing him up until he can’t even think. Break him apart.

“ffuck….”, howl softly whimpers. He rarely swears unless it’s something that riles him up. And these thoughts are definitely doing that. So pathetic, he mocks himself.

All these scenario running through his pretty little mind as he plunges his fingers deep. In and out trying to hit that spot inside which you always find in less than a second. Obviously you did! After all you had explored each nook and cranny of his beautiful body.

His slender waist and that soft beautiful stomach which you always pepper down with kisses. His pink perky nipples which you love to suck on and bite with your teeth. His cute soft moans that you adore when you kiss along his jaw and down his neck. And his hair? Oh his hair…. Soft and so luscious. You love smelling it every morning when he wakes up cuddled in your arms.

And you also love to pull on it when you raw dog him from behind. Watching that ass jiggle up and down and your cum covered cock just sliding inside of him so easily. His glassy eyes staring up at you with hearts as he babbles “kiss me” nonsensically. He remembered how hard he came that night. Just squirting so much that a huge patch of the bed was wet.

His pussy takes you in so well, it has to, he doesn’t care if he has to force it in. He loves having your cock deep inside his warm walls. Just ramming into him like a fucking machine and making him feel all dizzy and weak.

“oh oh fuck oh a-am close”, howl’s eyes flutter shut as his fingers pick up pace and the coil in his stomach tightens. His toes curl and his hand moves down to clench at the sofa. Shit shit shit, he will cum but the thought saddens him that it will be an orgasm without your dick inside him.

Rambling your name, his moans get desperate. Oh god he was so close. He wants your hands on you. Wants to feel the burn of his pretty cunt trying to take in your shaft. Even though he has fucked you so many times, his pussy still can’t acknowledge the fact that you are so fucking huge and he loves that.

I guess being a wizard comes with its perks.

And just before he can scream your name and rush to a climax. The door of his apartment clicks open and enters a tired yet happy figure he was yearning to see all day.

“Honey you won’t believe what happ-“, you stop dead in your tracks. Eyes wide open as you stare at your lover seated on the gray couch of your living room. The TV’s light shining on him but the sound muted.

His fingers were buried between his fleshy folds and his tender, plushy thighs had his fluids running down. “H-howl…..don’t tell me you were masturbating in the living room?”, you croak, astonished at just how fucking horny your boyfriend is.

Howl chuckles out a giggle, eyes hooded with lust as a wet tongue swipes across his bottom lip. He takes out his fingers from his hole and spreads his pussy lips apart. Showing off his cute cunt and the gaping hole he wished you would just fill in right now.

“I was waiting for you”, he grins before beckoning you with his clean set of fingers. “Wanna fuck this whorish cunt up? Huh Daddy?”

Part 2?

#.rizzler #howl jenkins pendragon #howl pendragon #howl #howl smut #howl’s moving castle #sub howl #dom reader #howl pendragon smut

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roguishcat · 2 months

Text

A welcome distraction

Summary: Astarion was not nice. Nothing about him was even remotely nice. Such a bland, plain word that carried little to no meaning. But perhaps, given the right incentive, he could be persuaded to be nice to the one person who he felt deserved it most.

Tags: Fluff, tooth-rotting fluff

Pairing: Astarion x female Tav

One-shot, 2.3k words

Set in the beggining of Act II.

Astarion stretched out languidly on Tav’s bedroll, watching her as she looked through their magic trinkets to decide which ones they could do without. Ever since Gale came to her, confessing everything, telling her of his folly, Tav has taken extra care to set aside an item or two that the wizard could consume.

Now, if this was done out of sense of self-preservation, that would be completely understandable. It would be quite unfortunate for that orb in his chest to get so volatile it would just explode at random. Such a waste that would be. The world would lose its most beautiful creature! And just as he was starting to enjoy his freedom! And he supposed the wizard had his uses too.

Astarion blinked slowly and sighed. As nice as it was to have no one try to murder them for a change, he was getting bored. And his favourite source of entertainment seemed to have no time on her hands for him.

And that just wouldn’t do.

He moved closer to Tav and lifted his hand to rest on her head, running his fingers through her hair and then lower down to caress the exposed skin of her neck. Astarion knew that he was distracting her, that was the whole point of the gentle, feather-light touches that made goosebumps rise on her exposed arms. And when that garnered no reaction, Astarion lifted himself up to press his chest against her back, snaking his arms around her middle.

“Darling,” he said smoothly, kissing her shoulder, making a move to lift her shirt enough with insistent hands to expose skin and trace slow patterns just above her hipbones, “don’t you think it’s time for a break?”

“As nice as that sounds, I still have to go through all the scrolls and potions.”

“Nice? I can’t promise anything that uninspired,” he scoffed. Nothing about him was even remotely nice. Such a bland, plain word that carried little to no meaning.

“Something wicked, however,” he drawled, his lips almost touching Tav’s ear “that I could definitely provide.”

“Well, as delicious as that sounds, I’m not moving until I get this done. But perhaps you could help?”

“Tsk, you are no fun,” he pouted, lifting a necklace with the tip of his finger. “What’s this one supposed to do?”

“Let me just check… Misty Step.”

“Keeping it,” he would have squirreled it away earlier, but a part of him felt a sick sort of dread at taking something without waiting for permission first. It was almost like a reflex more than anything. Not to take without permission, lest he be punished.

“If you want,” Tav shrugged with a smile. “Put it into your pile, it’s that one.”

Astarion inwardly preened when he noted it was one of the bigger piles. He spied a bow and two rings perched on top of a set of armour. He supposed getting nice new things was worth an hour of boredom.

It was still a novel concept. Having things of his own. Being given what he needed or simply wanted with no strings attached. And it wasn’t just him that got such treatment. Tav tried her best to make sure that everyone was taken care of to the best of her ability.

Astarion would probably never admit it unless faced with decapitation, but Tav has really started to grow on him. The pleasant manner in which she carried herself, the ferocious way in which she fought, the unwavering loyalty to those she considered friends.

That was yet another novel concept, having friends.

“Darling, I can’t help but notice that you didn’t choose anything for yourself.”

“I don’t need anything right now.”

That was a lie. Her armour breathed its last when they went up against the goblins to protect the Grove. She could definitely use a new pair of boots too.

“As sweet as you are for thinking of others before yourself, I would rather you not become a pincushion next time we are ambushed. Here,” he picked a set of armour at random, “take this.”

“And Shadowheart will have to do without, I suppose?” she raised an eyebrow.

“She’s a cleric. She can heal herself,” Astarion gave a nonchalant shrug. He didn’t care much about what happened to Shadowheart.

Tav laughed, making something warm and pleasant bloom in his chest. He hated how much he enjoyed hearing her laugh.

“Well, this armour is a bit too heavy for me anyway,” she put the armour back and added a couple of scrolls that Shadowheart could make use of. “Maybe I will pick something up next time we need to sell stuff.”

She was right. They did amass quite a collection of useless nick knacks when they looted the abandoned houses in the Blighted Village. And lugging all the bits and bobs that Tav insisted on taking with them was getting rather tedious. Not that he carried much personally. However, he imagined if Lae’zel caught onto him having the lightest load, the gith would personally make sure that his pack would be stuffed to capacity.

Except when they went to sell the items, she once again did not buy anything for herself. Astarion could not understand her ridiculous altruism! Not that he cared that much, but still. Tav dying would most definitely throw a wrench in his plans. Therefore, with that in mind only, he bought Tav new armour, bow and boots.

Strange. The first time he spent money in years, and it wasn’t even on buying something for himself!

The next day, Tav woke up to find that someone had been to her tent. And that mysterious someone left her gifts. Brows furrowing, she picked up a pair of boots. They were clearly enchanted and probably not something they could afford at the moment. And that begged the question, who would splurge so much and not even give it to her personally?

She admired the armour and ran her fingers over the leather. As she shifted it slightly sideways to have a better look at the clasps, something sparkled in a stray ray of light that got in through the slight opening in the tent flap.

Tav noticed the necklace perched on top of the pile.

“Misty Step,” she murmured, a small smile tugging on her lips as her fingers ghosted over the rest of the gifts.

Changing and making herself somewhat presentable, she walked out of her tent and towards Astarion’s, greeting Gale as he prepared their breakfast. To their delight, the group recently stumbled upon a cellar filled with boxes upon boxes of food. Gale was especially pleased at having the opportunity to prepare proper meals for a change rather than have two or three odd ingredients to work with.

When Tav opened the flap of Astarion’s tent and walked in, the elf was already up and apparently deeply engrossed in his book, not even bothering to look up to greet her. Tav waited a beat, but Astarion pointedly refused to acknowledge her. Which Tav knew he had to be doing on purpose, because there was no way that he couldn’t hear her breathing and the staccato of her heartbeat as she grew more nervous by the minute.

Crouching by him, she put her hand on top of the page.

“Darling, as much as I enjoy your presence in my tent, you are distracting me from my reading.”

“I see. Good book?”

“It is. Absolutely riveting.”

She decided not to comment on the fact that he had already read this book twice, as they didn’t come across any new reading material that was of interest to Astarion.

“Help me put this on?” she smiled and handed him the necklace, holding her hair up and leaving her neck exposed, making Astarion’s mouth water.

“Tsk, can’t manage without me, darling?” he teased, but put his book aside.

“I can. But I’d much rather you did it.”

Gently, he slid the jewellery in its place, letting his fingers linger on her skin a touch longer than necessary and making Tav sigh contently.

“Thank you,” she pecked his cheek. “Thank you for looking after me.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. But perhaps come nightfall,” he leaned closer and all but purred, “I could look after you in a-”

“Astarion,” Tav put her fingers on his lips, “thank you.”

“Oh, please! You thought it was me? Darling! Giving you a necklace? Out of all mundane, unimaginative things to gift!”

Astarion inwardly kicked himself. What was he thinking, trading her smile for a blunt comment like that? It wasn’t the way he usually operated. It was counterintuitive, it was stupid. He was supposed to be furthering her attraction to him, so what in the hells was he doing by telling her that the gifts came from another?

“Mmhh, of course it couldn’t have been you,” Tav agreed easily, laying a tender kiss on the underside of his jaw and then another just below his ear, “so sorry for the misunderstanding.”

“I -I argh,” he shuddered as blunt teeth nibbled on his earlobe, “apology accepted.”

“So… who do you propose I should thank then?” Tav breathed against his cheek and then looked him in the eyes.

“Excuse me?” Astarion frowned as she moved away.

“Well, if it wasn’t you that left the armour, the necklace-

“And boots!” he interjected quickly.

“Ah yes, thank you for reminding me,” she nodded, running her hands down his arms to take his cool hands into her own. “Who should I be thanking instead of you, hm?”

“I know! It was probably Shadowheart,” she said with an air of someone having an eureka moment.

“Shadowheart?!”

“No, it couldn’t have been her,” she mused, letting go of his hand to tap a finger on her lips as she pretended to think hard. “Shadowheart didn’t come with us to the vendor. Must be Wyll then, he did comment on my boots being worse for wear.”

“Wyll just spent half the journey flirting with Lae’zel!” Astarion spat with distaste, sounding rather like a scandalised virgin gossiping about a debutante with a questionable reputation.

“True, true. Well, that leaves Gale. Unless it was the only other person who came with me yesterday…”

Astarion swallowed and pouted but didn’t say anything.

“How silly of me to assume it was you. I’ll let you get back to your reading. Off I go to give Gale a proper thank you.”

Tav rose and let go of his hand, making Astarion panic a little. Like hells Gale would be the one getting recognition for the nice thing that he did!

Rising quickly, Astarion grabbed Tav’s waist. She squealed when he spun her round roughly, pressing her body to his.

“You are not going anywhere, you cheeky pup,” he whispered against her neck, his cool breath making Tav shiver involuntarily and grasp onto his shirt.

“And since you insist on thanking me, I will graciously accept your gratitude.”

He was a benevolent creature, after all. And since Tav was in the mood to shower him with affection, he supposed he could allow it.

“Thank you,” she kissed his cheek.

“Thank you,” his forehead, just under an errant curl that fell over his eyes as he tilted his head forward.

“Thank you,” she pressed her lips to his, making Astarion groan as he deepened the kiss, one hand steadying Tav whilst the other travelled lower. He nibbled on her swollen, pouty lower lip, enjoying the delicious mewling sound she made and then-

“Breakfast is ready!” Gale’s voice rang jarringly loud from somewhere outside the tent, startling Tav. She withdrew with a sigh, looking more than a little disappointed at having to leave. Ever the dutiful leader, ready to start her day and selflessly brush aside her own wants and needs.

Astarion was having none of that.

“Where do you think you are going, hm?”

“Um, well..” Tav began, but found herself to be quite mesmerised with the heated, predatory look he was giving her.

“I haven’t had my breakfast yet, and I am feeling simply ravenous.”

He pulled the collar of her shirt aside, admiring the way the necklace rested against her skin and then his eyes travelled lower down still as Astarion mused about whether he was being too traditional by drinking from her neck when there were such tantalising, mouthwatering choices to be made.

“May I?” he murmured, trailing his nose against her collarbone, then lower and lower still, brushing against the necklace that rose and fell with her breaths. Astarion felt Tav’s fingers gently thread through his curls, skimming along his ears in a way that had him suppressing a moan.

“Yes.”

She always said yes. And recently rather than thinking her a fool for it, Astarion felt… something else. He couldn’t explain what it was that he felt even if he tried. But Tav was becoming more than a means to an end. More than a target. More than a night that was better to forget.

Weeks later, he would find that she was the light that illuminated the darkest recesses of his mind and soul. The warmth that welcomed and comforted him, preventing him from retreating into himself when he was hit with the horror of what he had done in his years of slavery. She would come to be the only person that he truly cared about. But he didn’t know that yet.

As he drank, Astarion decided that perhaps he would allow himself to enjoy whatever this was. Not overthink it. For now, he would let himself linger on the precipice of making the discovery of what exactly Tav was to him without worrying of what would happen once he fell.

For now, he would let himself enjoy not having to worry about what tomorrow would bring. For now, she would be his most welcome distraction.

Tag list: @ninty900, @ayselluna, @dajeong, @ravenswritingroom,

@misscrissfemmefatale, @clazberryk

@anukulee, @preciouslittlebhaalbae,

@sh3rl0ck

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion tav fanfiction #astarion fanfiction #bg3 tav #fanfic #baldur's gate fanfiction #romance #tooth rotting fluff #roguish cat

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ozzgin · 8 months

Note

Heyyy just checked your masterlist and saw that despite you being into obey me! fandom, you don't have a fic. I'm married to Solomon in my mind so how about a situation where the reader (fem or gn your pick) is equally in love with this old man and begs him to recreate that time potion which made him immortal. Oh? Did i mention i want him to be a yandere? Please do that as well ^^

I love me my morally grey wizard ;)

I have 3 unfinished drafts for Diavolo, Barbatos and Satan on my Wattpad, but it was around the time I started getting Baki related requests here so I haven’t had the time to continue them. This goes for everyone reading, if you see a fandom title with no works you can always request something! :) This blog is only a few months old and I wasn’t writing much before (twice or thrice a year if I was generously inspired), so the variety is rather limited still. (I also finish requests at the pace of a snail, sorry about that)

Yandere! Solomon x Reader Headcanons

Featuring your fellow human classmate and now soon-to-be husband who couldn’t be happier about your wish to spend an eternity with him.

Content: gender neutral reader, obsessive behavior

It started rather subtle. Just idle curiosity at first, a mere feigned surprise that was quickly swept aside for more important matters. Sure, Diavolo bringing another fellow human to the Devildom, especially one without any powers, was at least mildly intriguing. Your situation was as tempting as a puzzle to fiddle with in between tasks. Beyond polite offers to help you handle the new challenging environment, Solomon was not planning on prying further. Then the surprises begun to queue one after another. To think that you had barely learned your way around and somehow still forged a contract with one of the devilish siblings. Then another. And another. Fascination crept its way in and the greatest sorcerer found himself begging to learn more about the mysterious (Y/N).

Naturally such fascination should’ve had an intellectual grounding and nothing more. What is it about you that has caused such a ruckus across RAD? All he needed was an answer. Yet he discovered much too late how embarrassingly involved he’d become. Childishly clutching his D.D.D. in the middle of the night, wondering if you’ve already fallen asleep, and grinning when the screen lit up with a response from you. Cancelling all plans the instant you’d ask - casually - if he wanted to join you after class to check out a new café. No, of course he had nothing else to do. Yes, it’s definitely a lucky coincidence that he’s always available when you want to hang out with him.

Once he accepted he was madly in love with you, he began fretting over all possible obstacles. The demon brothers, life after RAD. He’d never engaged much with other humans and his charisma only covered superficial pleasantries. How was he to properly convey that he’s - mildly put - obsessed with you to the point where rejection won’t be taken lightly? Uh oh. Closer to a threat than a confession. Thankfully the Heavens were gracious and you immediately returned his affections. No need for potions or hexes (not that he would’ve…he had them prepared just in case). He remembers it to this day, years after, the wide, innocent smile that you so generously bestowed upon him. Almost like a premonition, he knew you’d be the person to marry. Something he never considered in his long, lonely life.

You lazily lift your hand and admire the ring again. Solomon is quite clumsy and forgetful, but he goes all out for the things that matter. The proposal had been planned to a dizzying amount of detail and you couldn’t believe how much thought he put into it, with many aspects you otherwise assumed he’d forget or omit. Yet staring at the intricately carved band adorning your finger now, you can’t help the pang of melancholy blooming in your chest. Solomon lifts his gaze from the book he’s reading, sensing your discomfort. “Something bothering you?” He inquires with a hint of worry in his voice. “What happens after the wedding?” You demand, turning to face him. “Oh my. I personally prefer to focus on the present.” He answers with a chuckle. “Sure, because you don’t have to worry about your future. It’s mine that will end at some point.” His eyes widen and his hands are suddenly cold. He’s been so entranced by your company that he didn’t even entertain the idea of a potential end to it. He almost strokes his cheek to soothe the hard slap of your words, leaving him in a frightened stupor.

Oh no. No, no, no. Within the blink of an eye he finds himself standing before the alchemy shelves, rattling the bottles for the right ingredients. You didn’t even need to mutter a word. He knew exactly what you’re thinking of. How shameful of him to have caused you this distress in the first place. You’re young, and time for him has lost its human meaning, so your mortality hadn’t crossed his mind this entire time. He would’ve found a solution for it later, most certainly, but he didn’t expect this postponement to make you so anxious. His lips are quivering and his slender fingers are visibly trembling. Partly from the fear of almost failing you as your future husband, partly from the excitement of what’s about to come. He always imagined there’d be nothing more beautiful and precious to witness than you in your wedding attire as you tie the knot. But now? Oh, how ravishingly tempting and seducing, the fact that he can listen to the mundanely repeated words of “Til death do us part” and stare down its meaning until there’s nothing left of it. Not quite. Not for you two. The veil will be lifted and your face will radiate eternity.

After all, nothing will stand between him and his fated soulmate. What’s death to a wizard of his caliber?

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #yandere obey me #solomon x reader #obey me solomon #solomon x mc #yandere headcanons #yandere x reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader

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starlitscars · 1 month

Text

All you had to do

Severus Snape x F! Reader

Summary: It's a fateful night, already destined to be full of gloom and chaos. What else may go wrong if you don't listen to the the only thing Severus Snape wanted you to do, and show up at Hogwarts?

Word count: +11k

Masterlist

Tags/warnings: MDNI, NSFW, Half-blood Prince era, loosely focused on the book events, age gap (not explicitly specified at all, reader is in her 20s, Severus in his late 30s), typical violence in the Wizarding World, DEATH EATERS (reader included), fighting, breaking (many things), bleeding, unforgivable curse, Severus Snape needs his own warning, wounds, wine, inappropriate touching (not by Severus), protective! Snape, angry! Snape, degrading, language, angst and fluff and smut (yes, all in one), kinda slow burn (look at the word count), confessions, kissing, unprotected PIV, oral (M), praising, cum play, a bit of rough manhandling, a bit of aftercare, no use of y/n. Let me know if a tag has gone unnoticed.

Author's note: I haven't written in ages and this is the first time I do so for the Half-blood Prince. All because Severus Snape is irresistible. I hope you bear with me. You might also check my TikTok content (username: stars.lupin) for more of him and other HP dilfs (if you like). Reblogs and votes are appreciated very much.

Your lack of patience has always been disturbing. Tonight is no different.

The Vanishing Cabinet provides little space for smuggling more than one person at a time. You like to imagine that's the only source of your labored breaths as you stand aside and watch – with a mixture of expectancy and impatience – as silhouettes of familiar faces appear by your side. When the last of your followers drapes the dusty curtain over the Cabinet in a poor attempt at concealing it, you turn with a shake of your head and slip past the wooden door.

It should be easy from now on. The corridor is drak, empty, and you've manged to enter the walls of Hogwarts as unsuspecting as possible. All that you're supposed to do is to take a shortcut towards the Astronomy Tower which isn't too far from where you're standing – the Room of Requirement. It's not, however, the easiest of tasks when a dozen of Death Eaters are on your tail and their master has relied on you to carry them there without attracting anyone's attention. Any sane person would imagine that you had a death wish by accepting it in the first place.

Not only one, but more than ten Death Eaters breaking through the safety of Hogwarts, right under the Headmaster's nose? If you hesitate for a heartbeat and give yourself enough time to reflect on your decision, it definitely is nothing but a death wish.

But your time is limited and it's only a matter of time before the staff realize there are intruders within the walls of the castle. So you don't think of the possibilities as you lead the way and stride down the moonlit corridor and past the numerous portraits on the walls, making a silent gesture to remind the Death Eaters of the plan "Follow me as closely and quietly as possible."

However, they don't abide by your simple rule as their heavy steps is far from being stealthy. When the group of the cloaked figures turn around a corner and reach the tricky staircase that should lead you to the upper floor, you halt by the second step and motion for one of them closest to you to wait by the foot of the stairs so that you can examine the last entrance for any unexpected trap or protective enchantment – which, to your dismay, seems to be a lot of it surrounding every inch of the corridor that directly connected your shortcut to the Tower.

Content with your instruction, some of the Death Eaters snigger and their faces glow with excitement as they huddle and look around for the first time, fully taking in the view of Hogwarts and its eerie air that seems to bother none of them. They don't pay much attention as your shadow disappears into the darkness and you find a hideout away from their prying eyes, letting out the breath that's been strangling you for the past few minutes since your arrival. When you're alone, your steady posture falters for a moment and the anticipation of what's going to happen slowly catches up on you. A green smoky Mark, large enough to be seen from yards away, has been charmed to levitate by the ceiling of the Astronomy Tower. Its penetrative glow easily conquers the pearly light of the moon and breaks through the dead darkness of the night, as if it wants to warn you of the presence of the Dark Lord right by your feet. The gloomy fate that has waited so impatiently for this day to finally consume you whole.

You've tried to not think about him. Him and his final words. But when you're alone and consumed with your fears like this... It's impossible. Your patience is little to nothing, and even that is wearing thin.

All you had to do – which happened to be the same as what Severus Snape wanted you to do – was to stay a safe distance away from this chaotic night, and yet you hadn't paid him a mind when you made your decision. You couldn't, really. The Dark Lord has put his full trust in you and one failed attempt or slipup leads to another, consequently ruining the perfect image you've been trying to craft for him for months.

Taking one more glance at the bizarre shade of green in the sky, you decide that your determination to walk on the same fragile line as Severus still outweighs all the scolding and ignorance he could direct towards you.

If he's going to risk his life tonight, then so are you.

Poor servants of the Dark Lord. Only if they knew what awaited them upstairs, only if they were as invested in this task as you are, they wouldn't be this pleased.

This is all a game of pretence. You won't back down now.

When you're supposedly done with examining the so-called shortcut – and more calm and determined than when you left your group – you retract your steps and emerge out of your hiding spot, not quite catching the attention of the Death Eaters at first. Some of them have gathered around a hairy, reeking figure who is babbling excitedly about-

"... You don't understand. Lots of kids are here. It will be a feast. I can smell the blood-"

You push through the crowd and draw your wand out, glowering at the source of those nasty words who was – much to your disgust – dragging his hairy, filthy hand over the portraits, a sinister smirk dancing on his yellow teeth. If only one of the people in portraits woke up, the whole school would be informed in seconds. And no doubt you'd kill him on the spot.

"No funny business," You hiss harshly, blood rushing to your face at the thought of his unpleasant ideas. "unless you want us exposed." You don't attempt to hide your disgust as you keep on staring him down. His blood-dried fingers pause midair and he scans his surrounding audience for some kind of backup. Seeing as everyone has backed down, the werewolf reluctantly retreats his dirty hand.

A moment or so passes until-

"So strict tonight. Have mercy on us, lady." He mutters to himself, mouth twitching into a nasty grin. It's a poor attempt on his side to justify his carelessness and greed, eliciting suppressed jeers from two of the Death Eaters. But you hear it loud and clear and your wand is poking at his jaw in a blink of an eye.

"You think Nagini will choose you for desert or the main meal, Fenrir? It's going to be a feast, after all." Your eyes trail up and down with repugnance, pushing the wand to dig deeper into his scarred skin to punctuate your words. He gulps in terror and backs down as quietly as possible. You turn to continue before any of them has the chance to spot the faint smirk on your face.

"Brace yourselves for what's to come. Wands ready by your side. This path should be free from Dumbledore's Guards..."

And your statement is partially true.

Sparing a glance over your shoulder, you lean down and march all the way towards the very end of yet another deserted corridor, undoing the protective enchantments and making way for the Death Eaters just as you'd been taught. A few feet away from the spiral staircase – which is located right below the Astronomy Tower – a sudden shout erupts from the opposite direction, bringing your hasty run into an unwanted halt.

"Found them, Granger. This way!"

To be honest, you half expected them to show up here at last. The Headmaster would not let the castle's protection go down without a fight. He wouldn't also let all of this look like a pretentious game planned beforehand and easy to guess by the Dark Lord's servants or the members of the Order, speaking of which, begin to round on you before you can fully turn on your heels.

Thankfully, there is not many of them.

But that doesn't mean it will be easy.

Especially when you witness the stunned expressions of your opponents as they see you not by their side, but rather against them and mingled within a sea of dark-cloaked figures. There's no time for explanations. Soon enough, hell breaks loose and the eerie darkness is replaced with jets of light being shot at different directions.

You fight with reluctance, eyes hopelessly searching for a sign of Severus in every corner. Why do you expect to spot him in the crowd, when all you want for him is to be safe?

The Death Eaters manage to trap two of the Aurors in ropes. A particular curse ricochets off the wall and blows the enormous chandelier overhead, shattering it into pieces. The force of the explosion sends you falling backwards. The stone wall cracks, bricks of various sizes along with shards of glass scattering all over the floor and filling the air with specks of dust. The incident seems to catch the Members of the Order off-guard too.

The pink-haired Auror who had informed the rest of the Members, crouches down to help another Auror whose face you don't quite make out in the momentary darkness.

This must be your chance to reach for the Tower. Calling hastily after Amycus Carrow and his sister, you gesture at the two nearest and mostly unharmed Death Eaters to make a brisk run for the staircase. You are so busy squeezing through the crowd and getting away from the remaining guards that you don't pay attention to a distant wand-waving that sends several shards flying in your direction.

It is probably aimed at everyone who attempts to mount the stairs. It doesn't really matter, as you're the last of the Death Eaters. Waves after waves of searing pain ripple inside you as splinters of glass dig into your skin, inflicting wound after wound on your forearm.

"You're hurt!" Alecto shrieks with panic, making a move to descend and help you.

"Just go up. GO UP. I'll be fine."

She nods and follows your order, disappearing off the view.

You turn your attention back to the chaos, catching sight of two Aurors narrowly dodging flames and spells as they chase after you. That's when it happens. Your knees give in for a split second and you stumble on the second step. Clutching the wand tightly into your uninjured hand, you flick it around and whisper several curses to block the stair.

You can't let this be over very soon.

But then you can't tell how much time has passed when you eventually make it to the Tower. Your head has started to throb with an agonizing pace, and the cool night air doesn't help the fresh cuts on your arm. If you dare a glance over the wooden floor, you'd spot drops of blood on your track. To make it all worse, everyone's attention is suddenly drawn to you. You stand more straight, maintaining an unreadable expression. As it's apparent, your arrival was in the midst of a heated discussion between Draco Malfoy and the Headmaster, whose calm eyes are now fixed on you.

You involuntarily gulp down, hoping your face isn't as pale as you think it is. A wand is aimed at him. He's disarmed. He's about to be killed. And yet all he does is to shake his head incredulously. The pain might've been a push to your delusions, but you're sure it's too subtle for anyone to notice. It's almost as if he's trying to remind you that "He won't be pleased when he sees you here, like this."

Your head hangs low, now finding more interest in the maroon liquid pooling by your feet than anything else.

Oh Severus. He won't be pleased by many things.

"That's right, what you're thinking. She led us to your spot, poor Dumbledore." Fenrir Greyback taunts in a mocking tone, earning the first nods of approval from his fellow Death Eaters.

"I see, and I have to admit it's been quite outstanding on her part," Dumbledore says, pausing for a moment to ponder his thoughts before voicing them, "It must be hurting you. They're putting up a good fight down there, I suppose? I suggest that you leave it to Draco and your friends here, seeing that you have already contributed to their plan..."

Friends. It makes you feel nauseous. These blasted things. All of them reek of blood, sweat, greed, and blind loyalty. If it wasn't because of Severus, you'd never be here.

"No..."

I can't leave it. I have to stay because of him.

"Draco, hurry up. We don't have much time left." Amycus spits, his voice laced with annoyance.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps makes their heads turn. Your heart skips a beat. You don't have to try to guess who it is. Only the person who'd taught you about Dark Arts could pass through the curses you'd put on the stairs earlier. He has a rich, heavy aura about him that effortlessly wraps itself around your whole being, rendering you speechless, breathless and yet alive at the same time.

The helpless shouts and screams coming from downstairs hasn't died down yet.

Silence stretches into infinity as you stand there. Your limbs feeling numb, even paralyzed. He doesn't notice you at first as he grabs Draco by his collar and pushes him aside.

Your eyes sting as you gather your courage and lift your head to spare him a fleeting gaze. He's this close to you. His features are gleaming under the greenish light of the Mark. And yet he's still unaware. Five blinks of your eyes is all takes for it to come to an end. On the first blink, his wand is drawn out and aimed directly at Dumbledore. On the second blink he tilts his head slightly to the right and catches sight of your wounds first. On the third blink he's looking into your eyes. You don't dare to jump to the next one, so you force yourself to stare back, unblinking.

And do you see the tiredness in those sunken, shadowed eyes? His expression is blank, or so he thinks it is. Because you don't fail to detect something else. A mingle of hurt, concern—fear?

When you're consumed by the force of your fourth blink, a pleading voice calls for him and he has to turn and look away from you, who was on the verge of breaking down.

"Severus, Please."

A jet of green light is shot from the tip of his wand, and on the fifth blink you're being dragged down the stairs along with the other Death Eaters, his grip on your uninjured hand only tight enough to reassure you that he's still there. You're still alive.

On the way down, your spinning head wonders whether Dumbledore had assumed Severus would waver and second-guess his decision if his gaze lingered on you a little longer? Was it really that?

"I'll get us out of here. You'll be fine."

You can't make out his face, but his shoulders are stiff. You nod nonetheless, words failing you miserably. He sounds unsure. His voice is shaking the tiniest bit. No one can assume that, seeing as his features intimidate even the fly who dares to pass by him in the air.

The pain is getting into you.

He takes a much needed turn, avoiding the chaotic fight unfolding as you pass the entrance and sprint into the cold night air. The courtyard is dark and your vision is getting blurry by each passing second, making it incredibly hard for you to watch your steps. You try to concentrate, you really do. You don't try to stop him though. You think that... Your presence along with the rest of the night's events should've caused more than enough concern for him.

You don't see why it would be necessary to risk it all again. It's not necessary to break your steps. You'd be fine, because he said so. You'd be-

A jet of red light soars past your head.

Distant voices call his name. They threaten him to stop. They don't know much about Severus Snape or else they wouldn't direct their threats towards him.

The growing shouts indicate that more students and staff have woken up. A number of Members have somehow managed to drag the fight out into the open. In your dizzy state, Severus dodges those shots with lazy flicks of his wand. He's so strong that he doesn't even need to turn to his opponents to know what they're up to. You wish you could keep up with him. You wish you could tell him how much you adore him for who he is.

It's a shame. All you had to do was to stay away from this.

Just as a rocket force hits you hard in the back, everything takes a quick turn for worse. You don't just stumble on your steps. The spell pulls all the strength from your body, your lungs too tight to breathe. You were just a few feet away from making it to the gate. Then you could Apparate.

Someone shouts "Incendio!" and flames of red-hot fire flash before your eyes before you collapse to the dark ground, vision going blank as you lose your grip with reality. The only warm touch that could leave you breathless, but alive, is gone.

°°°

Waking up in a cold sweat might not have been the best feeling in the world. It takes you a minute or two to register your surroundings as part of you incredulously waits for the ache to make an agonizing appearance, burn a hole in your limp body here and break a bone there. But you feel none of it. You might've just lost all your senses by now. At least you're not entrapped in complete darkness. At least you're alive.

The relief confuses you.

"My dear... He was not mistaken with his timing. He's never been... You are awake just in time." A voice exclaims with wonder and relief, pacing the dimly lit room to sit by the edge of the bed. She slowly helps you up in a sitting position.

"My wounds... my back-"

"You know better than to ask me who healed them." Narcissa Malfoy says in a soft tone. Your face must be riddled with a mixture of question and anxiety. Because when she places a soothing hand upon yours and slowly caresses it, you just realize that you've been clutching the bedsheet tightly in your grip.

"Is he- Narcissa, is he alright?" You ask, staring down at the marbled ground.

She smiles knowingly, still a little overwhelmed in her own world. "He is. He brought you here... I was worried for Draco, and then you. I still am... You must have seen- you understand how it all would've been if any of you failed tonight. But you're alright. Severus tended to your wounds. He sat by your side for a while..."

Something stirs inside you. He was here when you were unconscious. Severus Snape cannot be hating you that much, can he?

Narcissa pauses for a moment, swallowing the heavy lump at the mention of her son. She's right. It would've been a living nightmare if you hadn't succeeded in killing the Hogwarts's Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

"When I came in to visit you, he said you'd be up in fifty minutes sharp. Then he left to discuss the matters with the Dark Lord."

He's alive and unharmed. What else would you want from this world?

"Quit pondering the unknown. The Dark Lord is expecting you. You know you have outdone yourself in this one."

There's a glimmer of hope in the pit of your stomach as she leads you to the drawing room. The sound of chattering and careless laughter grows louder with each step. And before you chance a full glance over your surroundings, you're settled on a chair by the all-too-familiar ornate table that has witnessed many secret meetings within the Malfoy Manor.

All eyes turn to you when Voldemort announces your presence. Severus is in your line of vision, right by his side. An uncomfortable, cold shiver ripples inside you. You don't dare to let your gaze land on him, not yet.

The difference with your usual meetings is that there is no palpable sign of fear or gloom in the air now. There are several glasses upon a tray, filled with bloodred wine and floating around the table, except that no one is really holding it. It's charmed to move on its own accord. When it pauses by your side, you don't hesitate to pick a glass, draining it all at once.

Your companion Death Eaters snigger triumphantly. Their manners are careless, full of greed. It's almost as if they have just conquered the whole Wizarding World. The rough surface of their unbearable faces is consumed by liquor, drunk eyes roaming up and down your body to the point that it disgusts you to the core. It's an unpleasant experience, to say the least.

If only you could draw your wand out and leave a hole in their chests.

"I must say I am honored by your presence." Voldemort says at once, his pleased expression fixated on you. He extends a hand towards the crowd. The horrid noises die down as he continues. "Here our friends were thinking it would be an utter disgrace if you didn't get to share this victorious moment with us."

The comfortable silence lasts only for a moment. Several Death Eaters howl and thump their fistson the table, voicing their agreement with the Dark Lord's statement.

How very charming.

You place your glass down, fighting to gain your composure as you bow your head down.

"The honor is all mine, my Lord..."

Finally, your desperate gaze wavers and finds Severus. He is staring straight ahead. No scolding, no frowning, no nothing. It breaks you harder than the chandelier you'd witnessed hours ago. It cuts through your skin sharper than the shards you'd endured. It's salt to an open wound. You avert your eyes and settle them back on Voldemort who happens to have stood up, nodding his approval at your words. You maintain a respectful smile.

But who are you decieving? You're barely there. The only person you care about is avoiding you.

"However, I require complete heedfulness from you in your next missions – one of which happens to be very soon on your part – and should you need any assistance or advice, Severus here feels much obligated to help you. I trust him to be your partner in your upcoming task." Voldemort states as his skinny fingers trail over the huge snake climbing up his chair. He glances sideways at Severus, expecting an answer.

His beautiful, adorable face is contorted with disquiet. It's buried and gone before his master can notice anything. He forces a nod.

"At your order, my Lord."

When have you let your fingers disappear beneath the table? Why are you fidgeting?

All the heads incline towards Voldemort, glasses raising in midair for a toast.

"To the Dark Lord."

Their wheezing and babbling continues for another hour.

You stare down at your glass, watching as it refills itself with red liquor. Does he ever notice the little details about you? Does he detect the shake in your voice at times when you try your hardest to not choke on your words?

Voldemort is satisfied by what you have done. It should be your best-laid plan. Severus Snape has always forewarned you about early conclusions, but you can't help it when the thought crosses your mind. This has been your best-laid plan to day.

The only difference with reality is that, it isn't. You don't feel triumphant.

A sudden pat on your shoulder breaks your train of thoughts. You give Narcissa a questioning look. She only gestures towards the door, hoping that it's enough to bring your senses back into action. His dark black cloak is flapping as his silhouette disappears in darkness.

You scurry out, hasty footsteps echoing as you opt for the entrance door. That must be the only exit. The hallway is empty and dark. You pause in a corner, calling out his name. There's no answer other than the blowing whistle of the night breeze wafting in through the ground-floor windows. There's no sign of Severus down into the enormous yard or even by the wrought-iron gate of the Manor.

The darkness bugs you as you have to search every possible corner as well as watching your steps. You distinctly remember Narcissa telling you how the level of illumination should be the lowest for safety reasons. Haven't you suffered enough in the darkness?

"Severus, a word... Please."

You quickly retrace your steps, trying another pathway. Maybe he hasn't left yet. You call out again, pausing for a fraction of second to pull out your wand and illuminate your surroundings.

Two big palms appear out of nowhere and shove you headfirst against the nearest wall, the force of it knocking the air out of your lungs. Not giving you a chance to register what's happening, the stranger pushes your shoulders forward, pinning your hands behind your back in an uncomfortable angle. It sends your wand falling and rattling on the floor. You gasp in pain.

"Pick it, quickly."

The rancid voice calls to another stranger by your left. You twist your body from side to side, trying to wriggle out of the Fenrir Greyback's crushing grip.

"Let go of me, you filthy, blasted creature- ahh."

He only tightest his hairy paws, pushing you further into the wall. The cold, iron surface of an ill-shaped decoration digs deep into your cheek. He leans over and grins, his whiskers coming in contact with your skin. "Don't fight it little minx. No one's gonna hear your pathetic whines."

Greyback turns to the other stranger, voice laced with sarcasm and hatred. "Go and fetch more wine, Yaxley. We want to feast like beasts."

You barely suppress a shudder at those words. The other Death Eater seems to nod and disappear down the hallway with quick footsteps, no words spoken.

"Shocks you, doesn't it? I like it when you're frightened."

Your eyes are squeezed shut, heart thudding impatiently in your chest. His mere proximity is making you nauseous. The drawing room is so far from here that you wonder if anyone will ever catch you.

A terrible, drawn-out cry of misery sounds in the distant corner. If you're not mistaken in your miserable state, it's come from the same direction the other Death Eater had marched into minutes ago. The werewolf is too wasted to notice any other sound of the sort.

His animalistic grin only grows wider as he takes in your sight.

"Here I noticed you were leaving too early. It would be disrespectful to not celebrate properly... With a pretty thing like you..."

You try again, scrambling to loosen his grasp on your wrists. But he has just put all his damned weight on you, and his massive frame keeps you locked in place.

"You're sick and psychotic. I should've told- should've, NO!" Your scream is muffled as his hairy hand locks around your mouth. His other hand clawing its way past the hem of your skirt, aiming to feel all the way up to your hips. Tears of despair roll down your cheeks.

You wish you wouldn't live to see this day. It truly is a sickening scene – repulsive even – and full of everything you ever despised. Blood in your veins begins to boil with hatred.

The unbearable weight is suddenly lifted off your shoulders, air filling your lungs as if you have been breathless for a long time. The werewolf is practically thrown against the opposite wall, crashing down with a loud thud.

A wand is illuminated.

Your knees give away in an instant and slide down. You rest your head against the wall, willing the tears to stop.

"What the heck are you doing, Snape?" Greyback snarls, sobered up just enough to sputter an explanation. "Just because you're our Lord's favorite, doesn't mean you could beat up his loyal followers. I was not taking advantage of her. She was wasted and alone. She asked me to be her company."

The blatant lies come straight out of his pointed teeth. You wish your mind was less occupied back in the meeting. Nagini would've wiped any sign of his filth off the planet, as if he never even existed in the first place.

Severus is so angry that you're certain Greyback will have to pick those teeth off the floor if he keeps on mustering up some nonsense. You've never seen him allowing emotions to make an appearance on his face.

But under the dim lighting of his wand, you see him seething. The ferocity in his gaze might set any wrongdoer ablaze. If Fenrir could see the twist of rage and fire in his eyes the way you could, he would've wished to never talk at all.

"You old dungeon bat, get off us now. That slut wanted-"

The werewolf fails miserably. Those slurs are directed at you, and that's what sets Severus off. The next second he's writhing in excruciating pain, squirming on the dark green carpet of the hallway with a beasty wail of pain.

He's Crucioing him.

His rage apparently only intensifies when he turns to you. A slight shake of his wrist has the werewolf howling even harder in agony. But- this time his wailing and hopeless cries are silenced with a charm. No one's gonna hear anything.

Severus knows he doesn't need to ask you to make sure, as he's inflicting enough torture on the wretched brute for putting his hands on you. Still, he wants to stop the giddiness from taking over you. You're light-headed and unbeknownst to you, it's killing him for the umpteenth time in the past few hours.

"Is that true? Did you ask him to?"

His voice is raspy, but not discomposed. You just stare at him. The sheer terror has left you speechless, words foreign to your tongue.

He tries again, more softly. Concern is painting a deep line between his knitted brows. "You should answer me, sweetheart. I want you to keep your focus on me. Did you really want this?"

You shake your head slowly.

"No, Severus. No."

His piercing gaze lingers on your lap for a second or two before he turns. He decides that a broken jaw is Fenrir's payment for leaving two burning red marks on your wrists.

The crack echoes in the air.

Severus leans down calmly, undoing the spells one by one, not in a haste to let the Death Eater feel any kind of relief. Dark hair is covering his features, but his next words are loud and clear.

"Do something as close to this again, and I will make sure everyone lives to see the day I turn your bones into powder and keep it in a stoppered jar, right on the shelf of my cold dungeon. Every. Single. Bone."

Next thing you know is Fenrir's practically running for the entrance door, not even dreaming of looking back.

He must have understood. Severus Snape is a man who keeps his promises.

"I wasn't aware being incautious has become your new luxury."

He states and crouches down before you, examining your bruised cheek with much caution and care before his onyx eyes wander to yours.

"Severus, I- he caught me off-guard. I was looking for you. Wanted to talk about-" You choke back, eyes welling up with fresh tears.

"Don't," He lifts a hand, stopping you before it all becomes too much again. "Don't start now. Not here. Can you walk for me?"

You nod wordlessly. If he's not ignoring you, if he's soft with you, if he's here for you, you can do the walking.

°°°

It turns out that Severus had left the meeting earlier in order to find a safe spot where you could settle for your next mission, he explained on the way. Apparently, it had to be located in a Muggle neighborhood, with the lowest chance of being tracked by the Ministry of Magic or the Members of the Order of the Phoenix. You and Severus were well-known among the Members and after the attack to Hogwarts, they'd be on the lookout for both of you.

Hiding out was one of your missions.

"...and we have to stay here until further instructions from the Dark Lord."

He doesn't really reveal much after that, but you assume that this hiding game won't continue for too long under the circumstances that he becomes the next Headmaster. You can only hope it doesn't happen.

More danger for him is a terrible idea, but you don't dwell upon it. For now.

Then he explained that the moment he returned to the Manor, first thing he decided on was to inform the Dark Lord. He then asked whether Narcissa was aware of your whereabouts and the confused Malfoy answered him with "She must be with you by now." It gave him an idea. A very bad idea. Most of the Death Eaters had already fled. But then, out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted Yaxley's poor attempt at sneaking the wine tray, two wands hidden messily beneath his sleeve. His first instinct was to follow the Death Eater. He had your wand with him.

The night is not as young as before, but still alive when you arrive to your hideout. It's a small Muggle house, not much into it. A dusty bookshelf, picture frames, a small table and a worn-out couch. Severus insists on using "No magic!" before disappearing in another room. You settle on the couch.

He returns with a glass of water and stands over you, waiting expectantly for you to drink it. The scowl is back on his face and it's permanent, but he still cares.

You drink in silence, trying to postpone what's to come, but those dark orbits are glinting with so much reprimand and disappointment that your throat feels dry again. You place the half-empty glass on the small table. His tense gaze follows it momentarily.

"Is there something wrong with my face? You've been staring daggers at me."

He's been teetering on the edge, and your mere question sets him off. "Many things have gone wrong and you were at the receiving end of them. I believe that your brilliant mind has conjured a good enough reason or two to explain this chaos, true?"

Well, you did not expect it to start like that. You're rendered speechless, so he continues, pacing back and forth on the limited space of the room.

"Let me reason then. Maybe the Miss 'capable of everything' in you wanted to ruin me by showing up to the one place I forbade her from?"

"I don't want to ruin you Severus. I never do."

"Then may I know why your actions have become so foolish and careless all of a sudden?" He seethes, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I already explained it. I was caught off-guard when I came looking for you. I was worried sick and... I wanted to talk to you. And about what happened in Hogwarts...," you pause for a heartbeat, fiddling with the rim of the glass. You're not sure if your throat feels more dry or heavy with a growing lump. "The plan went mostly fine. I was being careful. The injuries weren't probably that deep or severe-"

That is a blatant lie. He scoffs, shaking his head.

"Please, I beg your finest pardon to stop there. Because I do not remember you being conscious when I had to choose between pulling the shards out first or tending to the rapid bleeding or mending your broken back. Do I have to go on?"

You shake your head, painfully aware of what he would say if he went on. The red imprints have turned into a pink shade, but not totally faded off your skin. Were you really hurt that badly when you tripped over and fell on the ground?

Guilt begins to wash over you. It has been severe enough to upset him, the Severus Snape who cares about very few things in life.

"I'm sorry Severus. I had to be more watchful. But don't you think I'm capable of more than what you want me to do? Don't you believe I can do more than just 'staying away from danger'? I did my job, well I did most of it- and the Dark Lord trusts me."

And if I wanted to be uninjured, I had to stop myself from thinking too much about you and It's never been easy. Not when you look at me like that.

His steps come to an abrupt halt in front of you, dark cloak sweeping mindlessly on the floor. "Capable or not, trusted or not. I cannot care less about your extraordinary achievements, because you happen to have been terribly careless in your acts of bravery. I made it pretty much clear that I don't want you to put yourself in danger like that, and that was final. But you and your cavalier attitude are too stubborn to notice a thing." He grits through his teeth. Your words and explanations do nothing to help the situation. If anything, he's getting angrier by each passing second.

You know he's being irrational. Severus Snape is totally mistaken if he thinks danger is only waiting for him behind the gates and he is the one who should be allowed to enter.

You shoot back.

"If you have made up your mind about finishing this job, me and my cavalier attitude will do the same. Please do not treat me like I'm defenseless or unaware of the danger, and it should only be you who is constantly risking everything. If you don't want me to be hurt, I'm letting you know that keeping me sheltered and away from you is the greatest pain. I want to fight by your side, Severus."

He lets out a frustrated growl, eyes narrowing.

"Merlin... why are you being so foolish? I just do not understand... You're asking to get yourself killed. What are you thinking? Or are you just not thinking at all?"

"I'm thinking that I can handle it just fine," You insist, stubbornly.

"You can handle it just fine," He repeats in a mocking undertone. "How very intriguing. Because if I'm not mistaken, you nearly died on me, not once but TWICE in a row even after I told you I don't want you to involve yourself in it."

You wonder if you're imagining things or that's a teardrop sliding down the side of his face, disappearing into the collar of his white shirt. Your heart breaks just a little too much at that.

"That's the decision I should make, Severus." You say slowly.

The air is thick around you and you feel suffocated. Even in your worst state of mind, you weren't tricked into thinking that his aura leaves you speechless and breathless. You really shouldn't let the words fail you. You need a moment to gather your thoughts, and you need it now.

The glass is fully drained before you're standing, mere feet away from his rigid posture.

"Do you think I take pleasure in pretending that the violence doesn't affect me? Do you think I enjoy dealing with those creepy Death Eaters? Do you think it intrigues me when I have to die thousand times in a day, just to fulfill a stupid mission? Do you think I relish in the fact that one of them cornered me and tried to... to-" Choking back a tear, you continue. "Do you really think of me like that?"

"Why? Just give me a reason why you're doing this. Why aren't you being safe?" His voice thunders over the quiet stillness of the room.

There is something about the way he is looking at you. You think you'd seen it back in the Astronomy Tower as well, even though it lasted for a fleeting moment. Now it's permanent. It feels like a punch to the gut, and it’s at this precise moment when you begin to realize that he's not shouting because he’s angry.

He’s afraid.

"Because I love you."

As soon as the confession tumbles out of your mouth, you're taking a step back, eyes wide. The three words that had been there, for months or even years, are now out. You knew he was different from everyone else the moment you'd laid eyes on him on your very first meeting in the Order. The day you changed sides, those three words never changed. You haven't just admitted it out loud. You've known it for so long.

Under any other circumstance, he would scoff and make a witty remark or even joke on it, 'love in these times is for fools' and honestly, who were you but a fool?

Love is daunting. It brings grief. But it also brings peace. It makes you feel reckless.

"You- you what?" He falters, voice barely audible and equally taken aback by what you've just said.

"I love you," You declare, inching your way closer. "And I know that all you want is to protect me, Severus. I know that I have been incautious. I know that you are worried, but so am I. My hands may tremble on the way, my knees may wobble, my whole being may shiver, but..." You step even closer, until your chest brushes his. The subtle scent of mint invades your senses. You look up, more sincere than he'd ever seen you, "as long I'm in love with you, I can fight and I will."

You love him.

And you know he loves you.

From the way he taught you extra lessons and always made sure you were taking care of yourself, or the way his gaze lingered on you a second or two or three longer on every passing glance, you know it. The soft edge and subtle acknowledgment that he only saved for you, the featherlight brushes of his fingertips on your cheeks, the way he bothered to heal your wounds and then went on to beat up the ones who had hurt you the slightest... None of it was your imagination. He never did those things for others. He, Severus Snape, had willingly waited by your side when you were on the edge of the line.

You don't have to question him about his thoughts in all those moments. You know.

He has shown you what love is, in his own way.

When you turn to give him space, it dawns on you that he might have put a few drops of those comforting draughts of his into your water. You struggle to suppress a smile, not feeling an ounce of regret after your confession.

"Please never try to stop me again."

"Hush now," He scolds softly, his frame towering behind you. He snakes his arms around your middle in a slow, tentative pace, giving you enough space to back down. Ever the thoughtful man he is, "this might just make the matters worse, but I love you too."

He tilts his head and rests his chin on your shoulder, pulling you back into his chest. His warm exhale tickles your skin. He's too close, too broad, too strong and irresistible that you feel an overpowering desire to ask him to imprison you in his hold for a long, long time.

But you wait patiently. You should have patience. The tension hasn't quite left him. He's barely touching you, but he's there, quietly solving the puzzle of anxiety and fear that has riddled his mind.

A ghost of a kiss is pressed below your earlobe, setting a warm shiver trickling down the delicate skin. He tries again, his hoarse voice now more confident.

"I love you," His throat bobs. Before you can utter another word, he's turning you around. "and I'm gonna love you for the rest of my life, stubborn girl."

He cradles your face between his large, warm palms. His thumbs brush back and forth over your jawline, a stark contrast to the brutal way he'd argued with you mere seconds ago. He ponders, his eyes searching yours for any trace of doubt or uncertainty. When he finds nothing that might stop him, he leans down, brushing his nose against your own. His long fingers travel downward, curling around the nape of your neck. It's torturously slow and thoughtful, similar to that of a snake wrapping its way around its prey.

All you wish is to be his prey. His stubborn prey.

His hands. Lord, those hands of his. Severus could actually smother you with them, and you'd thank him. If you give yourself a moment to ponder the thought, it blows your mind how he has barely done anything and you've already decided to let him be cruel to you.

A sly smirk dances over the corner of his mouth, covered by the stealthy darkness of the room. He leans in further and presses his lips to yours lightly. It's a chaste kiss at first, experimental even. But he wastes no time in sweeping his tongue across your bottom lip, fingers squeezing around your neck hard enough to elicit a muffled gasp. Your mouth parts for him, and he backs you against the cold wall, kissing you deeply, greedily, like he’s a man starved. He doesn't deem it necessary to ask for it, wait for it. Your obscene thoughts are written all over your face, effortlessly guiding his actions.

"So divine. So pretty."

His breathless voice is barely audible, more like a thought spoken to himself as his gaze travels back and forth between your eyes and the lips he so eagerly wants to kiss until he turns you into a swollen, red and bruised piece of art.

His other hand rests over the small of your back, fingers digging deep to emphasize his praise. You whimper into his mouth, all hot and bothered by the warm imprints of his fingertips. You slide your hands up his broad chest and past his shoulders until your fingers tangle in those dark black strands of his. You hold onto him for dear life.

But even dear life crumbles under the intensity of his presence.

"I do not wish to witness what I witnessed today again. Will you promise to be more patient and careful from now on?"

"I'm all yours now. That much I can promise."

It's the truth, and you can tell as soon as the words leave your mouth that it does something to him.

It washes over him for a split second, the sort of reaction he would have if he were to use a step-by-step instruction to brew a potion only to watch it turn into a totally different draught. It's, however, soon replaced with a sinister desire, creeping closer to the unrelenting hold he has around your throat. He looks at you like he might just strangle you on the spot or give his all to make you feel good. Either way, all doubts and cautious touches are gone in an instant. Up until now, he didn't want to indulge in what he truly wished to do to you. And oh, you do want to be the reason Severus loses his control.

Taking your chin between his thumb and index finger, his firm hold forces you to maintain eye contact.

"That, I can say, is not very clever of you." He states, a tinge of warning, reprimand and lust mingled in his tone. It sends a shudder down your spine. His firm grip on your arm is already pushing you to turn on your hills before you hear his order. "Turn around."

A sudden gasp emanates from you as the side of your face comes in contact with the bare wall. You brace your palms against the cold brick to keep your balance, fighting the sudden urge to grind back into him when he creeps closer, caging you between his arms, still clad in that dark grey coat that you can't wait to see unbuttoned.

But something else is distracting you. You can't fight it from getting into you. Not when it's dark and you're pushed against a wall, locked in a position that sends memories of the prior events flashing before your eyes. You blink a couple of times, willing the blurry images to go away.

You try to focus on the moment, you really do.

His hands rest on either side of yours as he peppers open-mouthed kisses over the crook of your neck, setting your skin ablaze by the slightest friction of his match.

Without any warning he suddenly pushes himself up against you from behind, closer than before. You have no idea if it's meant to keep you focused on the moment, but then your skirt is bunched up in a fist, the rough pattern of his cotton slacks pressing deliciously up against your exposed skin. It helps a little. You barely suppress a gasp, eyes going wide when you feel the long, thick shape of his bulge between your cheeks, huge and hard. He holds it there, his free hand coming down to lay flat over your groin.

"Are you going to stop me or take your lesson the way you deserve it?"

That werewolf was going to do what he wanted if Severus wasn't there to save you. He was going to touch you and no one would hear your hopeless cries.

"Would never stop my master... I would never." You breathe, need and desperation sewn in your words.

Severus hums in approval, "Good," then he brings his hand down to grip your thigh tightly beneath his wide palm, fingers resting dangerously close to where he knows you want them the most. "I shall make it a memorable lesson, then."

You're a mess between your legs, but still pretty much bothered, and Severus is painfully aware of it.

He doesn't relent or halt though, two fingers trailing up over the wet patch on your panties. He pushes the tips of his fingers up slightly, pulling a low whimper from you as they catch on your weeping hole. Then he opts for the languid drags again, feeling the growing mess under his touch. "Is there anything you wish to tell me? Those thoughts are all but bolting in your head."

"I don't know. I- I can't..." You whine, shaking your head. How pathetic would it make you look if he hears about your nonexistent fears and what ifs?

To be honest, you can't hide anything from him forever. Severus could easily read your mind. But he's being patient with you, appearing as nonchalant as ever.

"Is it distracting you? Go on sweetheart. We both know you can tell me what is bothering this pretty head. I'm here to listen." He reassures calmly. Somewhere between the first and last word, his fingers dip beneath the fabric of your panties to gather some of the slick. Then he halts his actions altogether, warm hand covering your mound in a delicious grip, but no friction to ease the tension.

Part of you ponders the double meaning behind his question. Because you're pretty much distracted by the soothing rub of his other thumb over your wrist. It makes the dark wall appear less intimidating than it already is.

You try to move, to create some kind of friction, but he holds you there. 'If you want your reward, you should earn it' was what he usually told you in all those tough, never-ending days of extra Dark Arts lessons. Back then, you didn't know much about him and if the small touches and placating smiles were anything to go by, you can earn this reward as well.

You clear your throat. As painful as it is, you should get the words off your chest. You trust him.

"Back in the Manor... I hated it- I hated the way he made me feel. Him and his- those filthy hands. All I could think about was you, Severus. If you weren't there-"

"Shh, I know sweetheart, I know. I am here now." Finally, finally he touches you with proper care, fingers dragging up the slit and smearing the arousal over your clit. He rubs slow circles at first, all while soothing the near-panic experience out of your body with his unwavering touch. One thing you realize about this man is that he doesn't tease, but rather goes straight to the point. The friction is such a relief. Your knees tremble as his touch becomes more firm and assured. "No one is going to hurt you. I won't let that happen again. Now tell me... you want your master to get rid of those bad thoughts for you, am I right?"

His words placate you. Your nod is quick, without a second thought. It's terribly easy to fold beneath him.

Suddenly all you can hear is the heavy sound of his breathing, the panting of your own, the thud of your heart where it beats impatiently in your chest.

He tuts, not quite convinced. His fingers work faster, making it incredibly hard for you to form coherent lines. Your low moans and whines turn a little louder, filling the silence of the room. The wicked desire in his slow drawl is not helping at all. "My girl should use her words."

But he doesn't give you the opportunity to do so when he fluidly shoves two fingers inside, emitting a gutteral moan from you. Your hands fumble in a clumsy attempt to hold onto a part of him, his arm, his cloak. You take him easily, pussy gripping his fingers with an obscene squelch that makes him cave and let his chest rumble with a sound between a low groan and a curse.

"I, uh- yes, that's right. Please do it."

He hums and pulls out before quickly plunging in again. The sudden force of it pulls you closer into him, if that's even possible. His fingers are knuckles deep, curled in a way that should be forbidden because of how sinful it is. But then he's hitting that spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

You practically claw at his shoulders, knees becoming wobbly as the euphoric sensation builds up within your core, the coil threatening to snap at any moment.

But you're making a lot of noise and it cuts deep through the silence of this Muggle house, not aware of the fact that it might give you away. Part of Severus wishes he could use a silencing charm. Instead, his free hand rests on the column of your throat, feeling the way it vibrates beneath each helpless moan, blessing his ears.

You might not see it, but his chest swells with pride. You're a mess, and he's the one responsible for it.

Very reluctantly, his wide palm covers your mouth, muffling your blissed-out cries. "Be a good girl and keep it quite... let it all out for me. I want you to think of nothing else. Just let go." His thumb presses hard against your clit and that's your undoing. Your head falls back, waves of pleasure blasting and rippling over your skin, chest warm with white-hot ecstacy.

You're a sight to behold.

Especially when you're putty in his hands like this.

And there's only so much Severus can do to refrain from bending you over the table and pounding into you senseless 'til the break of dawn.

You pant heavily, still quite entranced by the intensity of the orgasm he just gave you. Pieces of clothing have been tossed somewhere behind, long forgotten. You can't think of anything else.

He slowly pulls his fingers out, shushing your whine at the loss with a chaste kiss. You sigh into his mouth, feeling the thick, stiff shape of him between your cheeks, leaking and leaving a wet mark on your skin. He doesn't rush it as he smears your arousal over his tip and strokes a few times.

You don't brace yourself against the brick wall as he pushes his cock inside you, sheathing deeper inch by inch. He holds you close, left hand grasping your wrests behind your back within the tiny space left between your bodies. He goes a bit slow at first, allowing you to get adjusted to the stretch. You feel so full like this, walls squeezing around him in a delectable grip. He's applying the right amount of pressure in every angle, his grip not too tight to cause pain and not too loose to leave you unsatisfied.

He really knows what he's doing. Everything about him turns you on.

You shudder particularly hard when he pulls halfway out and slides back in, filling you full to the brim. Then his other hand begins to roam around your side, trailing a burning path over your curves. His labored breaths and low grunts echo in your ear with each thrust. He's so large, practically in your stomach as he starts to steadily thrust in and out. Your legs tighten involuntarily when the tip of his fingers brush past the hem of your soaked panties, stomach lurching as it pushes you into a slightly different angle. He curses under his breath.

"Ease up sweetheart," He grunts, voice an octave lower than before. "You'll have me all to yourself."

You try, but it's practically impossible when he's being so good to you. It's his own fault. You should be sorry, because your hunger only worsens as you listen to him.

"I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for, little dove?" Severus questions, feeding his cock to you in small increments, reveling in the noises that fall past your swollen lips. He peers down at you. There's this hidden yearning between your brows, moulded into a crease as you fight the urge to thrust back into him. It's so pathetically endearing. He might reward you later for it. "What are you sorry for? Are you sorry for being this desperate or sorry that you didn't abide by my words?"

A chocked out "Both" is all you can manage.

It feels like he's splitting you in half, but at the same time his actions are so measured and empowered that you have no choice but to gush even more.

"Feels good, ahh-"

"Of course it does." He chuckles darkly, releasing his grip on your wrists. You bend ever so slightly, back arching in display and relishing in the way he twitches inside you. "Needed it to the point that you went through the worst, just to have my attention. It's pathetic."

It is pathetic. But you love nothing more than his undivided attention on you.

His wide palms find home on your hips and he begins to pound into you without any reservation, any inhibition. His pace is relentless. Your legs shake on their own accord, swaying back and forth with each merciless slap of his thighs. The familiar coil forms in the pit of your stomach again, head going dizzy as he gives it to you over and over. The room is brimming with wet squelches and mingled grunts.

"You're mine and I will let every single one of them know it. I will have them bewail their useless lives if they hurt you ever again. Just wait... wait and be patient for me. Can you do that?" He rasps, a scrap of anger returning to his voice. In your flustered state, you barely hear his demand.

His fingertips dig into your bare flesh as he takes and takes. You wish you could see his face, wish you could see how he looks when he's using you like this for his own pleasure. He's neither suppressing his rage over what the Death Eaters did to you nor hiding his lust over what he himself wants to do to you.

"Pathetic baby, cannot even think straight anymore," He tuts, pace slowing and thrusts becoming heavier. "Say it. Say that you're mine. Let it sink into your stubborn mind."

"Yours, Severus... I'm all- all yours. Severus, please-"

He pulls out abruptly. Your eyes well up in an instant, feeling lost at the sudden emptiness. Severus catches you before you could mourn the loss. His fingers tangle in your hair, and he tugs, forcing you to stare into his onyx eyes. "Where do you want it?"

You've never seen Severus like this. Face flushed, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, hair untidy, and incredibly handsome. There's a dark hunger in his gaze, eyes glinting black beneath the faint moonlight that streams in through the window. It takes your breath away.

Your mouth falls open without a word, tongue sticking out in a silent invitation. You hope he grants it. You'd beg for it if he wishes to make you.

His gaze wanders lower, staying there for one or two seconds. A knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his lips before he releases you.

"Naughty one. On your knees."

You're scrambling to obey his order before he finishes it. Your knees come in contact with the wooden floor, hands fiddling impatiently in your lap as you blink the tears away, taking in the view of him towering above you.

He witnesses the slightest motions like this, so it doesn't go unnoticed by him when your searching gaze passes over his muscles and drifts all the way down to settle on his cock, mere inches away from your face. Your eyes widen. It's big, bigger than you had anticipated. His length is glistening with your arousal, veins prominent and red. You look back up pleadingly, the tip of your tongue darting out to lick your lower lip. It feels like you might just faint if he doesn't stuff your mouth full.

Severus saves you from misery by stroking himself a few times. Without breaking eye contact, the tip of his cock slides past your lips, disappearing in the warmth of your waiting mouth.

You sigh, swirling your tongue all around the shaft, tasting a mixture of precum and your own arousal. A lewd grunt emanates from him as you swallow around the length. His heady scent envelops you, deepening the dizzied state in your head. You want to go deeper, not caring if it might hurt your throat. If the pain comes from him, you want it.

So he allows you, the gentle brush of his thumb on your flushed cheek as his cock is buried deeper, lower, louder. He's past the point of caring if anyone hears these sounds anymore. He's more than halfway in when you reach your limit, opting to hollow your cheeks around him as he begins to move in slow thrusts.

You're being so obedient and measured. That's just the way he likes.

He pulls out with a pop and leans down, eye level with you as you catch your breath. His eyes roam over your face, taking in the wrecked sight of you. His thumb smoothes over the crease between your brows before he wipes a drop of tear off your jawline. You hadn't realized you were crying. "Look at you, silent and obedient, desperate to do what your master told you. Was that all it would take for you to listen?"

Seeing the words come out of his mouth is somehow more sinful than when you could only hear them. Of course he knows he is your true master.

He stands back up, not waiting for your answer. It's written all over you. Much to your delight, he guides your head forward and you eagerly take his thrusts as he feeds his cock into your mouth, not once pushing past your limits. His breathing becomes shallow and rapid, signaling that he's on the verge of coming undone. He pounds into you once, twice, three times and then you're bracing your hands on his thighs, nails holding onto the taut muscle as your hooded eyes threaten to fall shut. You take him as deep as you can. On the fifth thrust, he stills in your mouth, a string of curses falling from his mouth. He lets out a sound you'd never heard from him before.

It's not a grunt, a groan or even a cuss. He whimpers.

Head falling back as the euphoric waves crash into him, his cock twitches inside your mouth, thick spurts painting your throat. He's a work of art, all you'd ever wished to see in a man. Your jaw is slack, eyes stinging, knees hurting. Hell, even your whole body is limp and overcome by exhaustion. But you're too entranced by him to feel anything less than content. He holds onto you, riding out his high and all you wish for is to do it again and again.

You pull back slightly to watch his expression, more satisfied than ever. One look at his blissed-out and relaxed expression has you aching and longing for him again. Somewhere between your legs, you ache for his touch again, as if he hadn't just wrecked you moments ago. But the sight of him is enough for now. You can wait for more. He loves you and it's enough.

"You're pretty, but prettier when you listen to me, do you know that?"

You nod into him and smile, not quite able to talk as his cock is still buried halfway in your mouth. His eyes rake over your body, confusion quickly replaced with a small frown. He arches a brow, not tearing his gaze from your thighs. You've pushed them together tightly... in search of some friction. Has Severus left his girl unsatisfied?

He glances over his shoulder, catching sight of the unoccupied table in the corner. For a moment he considers lifting you up into his arms and laying you there, so he could gently soothe the ache for you...

But then you're drifting off with his cock in your mouth, body going limp as exhaustion takes over you. He knows you went this far because of him, so he makes a mental note to make it up to you in the morning.

He knows how to give it to you the way you deserve it.

"Will be careful... and, and patient. For my master." You mumble sleepily, arms wrapping around his neck as he envelops you in his hold, lifting you off the floor with extra care.

Severus smiles, gently carrying you to the other room and tucking you in the bed for a much needed rest. "That's all you have to do."

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