#Man cold Merlin

[gabstriessomethingnew]

I have a fic idea where Merlin gets sick for the first time. Like his magic keeps him healthy throughout all of his childhood and then he gets to Camelot and it still keeps him going but there's some sort of attack or something that has him using a ridiculous amount of magic and suddenly catches a cold.

He, however, does not know how to be ill. So, he does a total man flu about it and is just so incredibly upset that he is sniffling and coughing and sneezing.

Gwaine has to deal with an utterly pathetic Merlin cause they're courting and he's just like you can get stung by a serket but you can't deal with a cold.

And Merlin's just looks at him all sad and red and sort of gross like at least the serket sting only lasted a couple of hours. It's been days. When does it stop? God how do you do anything when you're sick? I just want to lay in bed all day and not move. Can we just not move all day?

And its fluffy and sweet and maybe Merlin's magic has him casting random spells every time he sneezes or something and also Lancelot is there trying to help but also sort of laughing at them.

When Merlin gets better Gwaine and Lancelot make him swear to never get that low on magic again cause he was miserable when he was sick and neither of them want to deal with that ever again,

[gardezamour]

has anyone written a merlin au where arthur finds out balinor is merlin’s father, and that’s how he learns of merlin’s magic?

and i mean only arthur knows. merlin and balinor don’t have a clue.

like balinor starts to get through to arthur, telling him how he can still fix the mistakes that have been made. to do so he shares that he had to leave the love of his life in order to protect her and their son. he had to shield them from the dangers that the anti-magic propaganda had created for him. on the run from hunters who either felt entitled to use his power, or set him ablaze in cold blood.

he describes a town much like the one merlin brought him to once. the woman he speaks of falling in love with someone so similar to merlin’s mother that he sees it.

he notices how merlin and balinor laugh the same, ponder with furrowed brows the same, and how they prefer to eat with their hands instead of utensils.

he connects the dots with a flurry of nightmares. he realizes that merlin has magic in his blood and he’s terrified of what might happen if the truth gets out.

and when balinor dies, he yells in horror. not just because an innocent man was dead, but because it doomed merlin unfathomably. the one man he wouldn’t be able to hold back his own tears for.

and he couldn’t stand to break merlin’s heart with the news. so, when he eventually learns of merlin’s magic, he understands a little more what it takes to make someone lie for love.

cause if they have, let me know 🙏

edit: it seems i may write it myself lol

[merlinmylove]

Arthur is cursed into eternal sleep

He is not waking up, and everyone is lost for answers on how to save their King.

Except no one knows Arthur is wandering around as a spirit, or a ghost, perhaps his soul is outside his body. The usual trope.

He can see and hear everything — but he cannot talk to anyone. He is completely helpless.

One night he sees his uncle enter his rooms with a blade in hand. It’s an ornate dagger carrying the House of Du Bois sigil. He leans over and holds it to his throat.

“Not so powerful now are you, My Lord” He sneers. Arthur feels dread wash over him like cold water down the back of his neck.

His uncle!

His own uncle, his last living relative and direct ties to his mother was about to slit his throat while he slept. Arthur was about to watch his own death and there was nothing he could do.

Agravaine is testing different angles. “How shall it be, huh? Quick and simple? A clean cut?” He paused. “No. My sister died a painful death, her blood spilling out as she lay dying, just so Uther could have an heir. You shall die a similar way.” Agravaine was entirely too pleased as he looked down on his sleeping nephew.

“No one can help you, no one can save you now, not even Emrys”

As the man begins to add pressure on his hand and aims for the neck to cut, Merlin enters from the servants door as if he had been summoned by the Gods.

Arthur has never been more elated and scared at the same time.

Agravaine is frozen in place. Merlin, moving quicker than Arthur has ever seen him move, is by Arthur’s side and holding his hand over Agravaines.

“Ah, Merlin” Lord Agravaine is cheerfully calm, as if he hadn’t just been caught attempting regicide. The blade was still pressing against Arthur’s throat.

“I was just helping my newphew shave. It’s so dreadful to see him like this” He tutted with a condescending tone.

“I shave His Majesty every other day” Merlin’s cold stone voice is like thunder from clear sky.

He grips the knife with his hand, and if the blade cuts into his skin, he shows no sign of it. In fact, Merlin’s face remains impressively blank throughout their silent conversation.

“I think you should leave now.”

Found out and frustrated, Agravaine drops the blade onto Arthur’s chest and moves towards the door. A few droplets of blood splatter against the white linen of his shirt.

Merlin stays still with his eyes focused on Arthur’s breathing chest. Only when the traitor reaches the door does he speak.

“Lord Agravaine” Merlin’s words stop him in his tracks.

“What?” He spits out, no longer able to conceal his true feelings. Disgust and hatred is clear in both in his voice and in his features. The older man turns and stares at the servant.

Arthur fears for both of their lives.

“I wonder what Queen Ygraine would think of your actions here tonight.”

“I beg your pardon!”

“I wonder what your sister would think if she knew that you were having an affair with her husband’s bastard daughter” Merlin elaborated. He looked entirely too comfortable taunting the man.

Arthur tried to move in front of Merlin, to save him from his uncles anger, but Agravaine moved through him as if he was nothing but smoke.

Agravaine reaches for his sword, but Merlin is quicker. “How dare you call her that! I will strike you where you stand”

“But it is true. You claim to love Ygraine, but instead of supporting your sisters son, you betray him for Uther’s bastard child”

Agravaine moves quickly with his sword raised. Merlin stops him with the hidden sword Arthur keeps beside his bed. Only Merlin knows of its existence.

He never knew Merlin was such a skilled swordsman.

Despite his age, Agravaine would easily win a sword fight against Merlin. Arthur tried shouting for help, but no one could hear him in his ghost state.

“I’m not the sort of man you wish to antagonise.” Merlin pointed his sword at his uncles chest. “And you certainly do not wish to make an enemy of me. Just ask Morgana what happened to her sister. Or to Nimhue. Or Cornelius Segan.”

“You think you can kill me?” Agravaine laughed at him and pushed the tip of the sword away.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Who says it will be me? Tell me, my lord. Do you know the name of the servant who dresses you each morning? Could you recognise him in a crowd? Do you even know the name of the cook that makes your food? I do”

Merlin was so calm and collected it was scary. Even Agravaine seemed to be unsettled by his tone.

“I know every knight, servant, and guard in the citadel. I know who dresses you, which servants prepare your wine and who makes your food…and maybe my hand might slip...”

“You threaten to poison me like you did Morgana” He hissed in realisation.

Poisoning Morgana? When on earth had Merlin done that?!

“Maybe. Who’s to say it would be poison. I could kill you any manner I wish. Either way, you’ve overstay your welcome and I must ask you to leave the Kings chambers.”

“I’m the Kings uncle and a high lord of the council, you cannot order me about!” He was sweating with anger now, and his condescension had turned righteous.

“Guards!” Merlin shouted. Half a second later the door opened and four men appeared, swords in hand, ready to defend their King.

Arthur let out a sigh of relief. Finally, Merlin was safe.

“Yes Merlin?” Sir Alfred asked while eying the two men with their swords drawn. It was quite the scene, Arthur admitted.

“Please escort Lord Agravaine out of the Kings chambers. He is not to enter again without my permission.” Merlin lowered his sword and walked back to the bed where Arthur’s still body lay.

Agravaine laughed at this, but quickly realised that he was the only one who saw any humour in it, when two knights strong-armed him. “Unhand me at once! How dare you take the word of a servant over the word of a Lord!” His fighting was easily combated by the expert knights. He had lost.

Sir Alfred looked him in the eyes. “By orders of the King, we are to treat every word from Merlin as if they were his own. If Merlin says you’re no longer welcomed in the Kings chambers, we will act accordingly.”

They dragged the lord out of the room in an undignified way.

Arthur watched as the door clicked shut and Merlin finally showed some emotion. Falling to his knees before Arthur’s bed, he grabbed his hand and kissed it.

Heaving with tears and shock he choked out “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry” He kissed his hand again. “I won’t ever let him come near you ever again, I promise.”

Arthur wanted to assure his friend that he knew Merlin would keep him safe, that he trusted him more than anyone else in the world! But no sounds came out of his mouth.

When Merlin got up he began touching Arthur’s chest and throat, seemingly feeling his heartbeat and pulse underneath his fingers. “You’re safe, you’re safe, you’re safe”

He reaches down and presses a kiss to his forhead mumbling words mostly to calm himself, rather than to address the sleeping man before him. “Arthur is alive. He’s alive”

[godricgryffinsnore]

The Jumper Chronicles ♡ : A James Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : James Potter x fem!reader

summary : When James lends you his jumper on a rainy day, he doesn’t expect to fall helplessly in love every time you wear it—but the heart wants what it wants, and sometimes, it wants its favorite girl in its favorite jumper.

warnings : Intense pining, Secondhand embarrassment (from James being a lovesick fool), Excessive fluff, Friends-to-lovers tension, Mischievous teasing by close friends (The Marauders doing what they do best), Possible risk of swooning due to James Potter in love. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

della’s note : Guess what? I am in a writing spree. Not complaining though!!! 😏🤌🏻

word count : 0.7k

main master list <3

banners : @kodaswrld and @cafekitsune

James Potter was in love.

Not the kind of love you slip into gently, like easing into a hot bath. No, James had fallen like a meteor—crashing, burning, utterly destroyed and reborn in your orbit.

And all it took was his jumper.

To be fair, it was a really nice jumper. Gryffindor red, slightly oversized, frayed a little at the sleeves from Quidditch training and the many detentions he'd served with it scrunched beneath his head. It smelled like mischief and cinnamon and something almost boyishly comforting.

You had borrowed it one October morning after a surprise downpour soaked your robes. James—drenched as well, glasses fogged, hair looking like it had been electrocuted—had peeled off the jumper with a cocky, “Don’t say I never gave you anything, darling,” and draped it over your shoulders.

And you never gave it back.

He didn’t ask for it either.

Because the moment you pulled it tighter around yourself, burying your fingers in the sleeves, his soul left his body and hovered somewhere near the ceiling of the common room, whispering, That’s it. That’s my wife.

You wore it everywhere. In the library, curled up on the window seat; on Hogsmeade weekends, the hem hitting just above your knees; at breakfast, where James could barely eat because you looked so stupidly adorable sipping pumpkin juice in his jumper. It was hell. Beautiful, soft, jumper-scented hell.

── .✦

“You’ve got to tell her,” Remus said over breakfast one Saturday, not looking up from his book. “Before you combust. Or cry. Or both.”

“I’m not crying,” James said firmly.

“You were tearing up over your eggs, mate,” Sirius pointed out. “You whispered ‘she even sleeps in it’ like a man watching his true love marry another.”

James stabbed his toast. “She’s warm. I mean—it’s warm. The jumper. She’s probably just cold.”

“You enchanted the jumper to stay warm all the time,” Peter muttered, sipping his tea.

“Shut up, Wormtail.”

── .✦

The breaking point came on a quiet Tuesday evening. You were in the common room, sitting cross-legged by the fire, hair a little messy, nose in a book, sleeves of the jumper covering your hands entirely.

And then—you sneezed. Just a little one. A tiny, adorable thing.

James dropped his quill and nearly passed out.

“Okay,” he mumbled, standing up. “I can’t live like this.”

You looked up, blinking. “Live like what?”

“Like—this.” He gestured at you. At the jumper. At everything. “You. In that. Looking like—like you’re mine.”

You tilted your head. “But I’m not?”

“I mean—no! I mean—yes? Or—Merlin’s pants.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I don’t want it back.”

You blinked. “The jumper?”

“No. Yes. Yes to the jumper, no to me wanting it back. It’s—yours. It's always been yours. Or maybe it was mine until you wore it and now I can’t stop thinking about how you look like home and I’m—oh no, I'm rambling, aren't I?”

You stood, walking toward him, firelight painting your face gold.

“James?”

“Yes?” His voice cracked. He sounded thirteen again.

You smiled softly, brushing your fingers along his hand. “Do you want to kiss me, or declare ownership over all my future clothing?”

He blinked. “Is both an option?”

You laughed. And it was the kind of laugh that made angels consider quitting their jobs.

And then you kissed him.

It was warm and awkward and perfect. He smiled into it like a complete fool.

── .✦

The next morning, you came down wearing his pajama shirt.

Sirius fell out of his chair.

Remus choked on his tea.

Peter went redder than a tomato.

James strolled in behind you, smug as anything. “Morning, lads.”

Sirius: “Is it? Or is it the End of Days? Did the world tilt slightly on its axis last night? Because that’s not just the jumper. That’s your Quidditch pajamas.”

Remus: “I’d like to die. Can I die?”

Peter: “You’re unbearable now, aren’t you?”

James just grinned, wrapping his arm around your waist and kissing the top of your head. “Get used to it, boys. She’s keeping the jumper—and me.”

── .✦

And from that day on, James Potter never got his jumper back. And he never wanted to.

[bweeeb]

HARD DICK...or three

Summary: Draco, Theo and Mattheo have always been Y/n's best friends, but when she realizes that the reason her relationships don't last long are them, the conversation takes a funny turn involving three boys with hard cocks.

Warnings: English is not my first language, a lot of intimacy between the boys and the reader.

---

There were people who were lucky in their careers, financial life, academics, and even love life. You were a lucky person but hated to admit that the hardest part for you was always your unluckiest part. Boyfriends were never easy for you, and staying stable with them was even harder. You never considered if the reason none of them lasted or were worthwhile was your fault—your poor choices, or the lack of character in all three serious relationships you had over the past few years. You never questioned it until last night. Dave Franco was your boyfriend for a year and a half, and last night he had a jealous outburst in the middle of a Hufflepuff party. You swore you heard him repeat the same words more than three times, “shitty friends,” “are you sure you didn’t have a threesome?” “They want to fuck you!” You were drunk and getting upset with his words until you realized that maybe your friends were much more intimidating to your boyfriends or flings than you had noticed. So you concluded that no, you were not the problem; they were…

— Alright, Our sleeping beauty has already missed the first classes.

Theodore's voice spread through the silent room along with the rustling of the comforter beside you as he occupied the space next to you.

— If you miss lunch, Snape will punish you until next year.

Mattheo said, pulling the blanket off your body, exposing your figure dressed only in navy blue lingerie that hugged your curves.

— And that means if you want to graduate this year, you better get out of this room.

Draco said, casting his eyes over you as you groaned into your pillow and shook your head in denial.

— Fuck off.

You whimpered, feeling your body shiver from the cold due to the lack of a blanket. Normally, you wouldn't be so exposed in front of your male friends, but Dave had broken up with you, so you didn't care at all if the three saw your butt, breasts, or whatever—it wasn't anything more than they had grown up seeing.

— What the hell happened to you? You didn’t even drink that much last night.

Theo said, and immediately you turned to look at him with a pout on your lips.

— Dave, he broke up with me.

You muttered, sitting up quickly.

— And it's your fault, so one of you owes me some affection.

As soon as you said that, your legs wrapped around Nott's waist, who smiled mischievously at Malfoy and Riddle, who were standing at the foot of the bed, watching you almost naked, snuggling into Theodore’s lap. It wasn’t a secret that you were obviously the dream of the three boys, and the fact that you grew up together gave them enough freedom to act like that among themselves.

— What do you mean?

Theodore asked, wrapping his arms around you.

— Yeah, he broke up with you because we’re your friends? Was he afraid of getting punched if he broke your heart or what?

Mattheo mocked Dave, and Draco laughed beside him and continued:

— Man, I think he's gay; there's no way he broke up with you because of us.

— No, he thinks we fucked or something. I don't know how many times I heard the word threesome or that you guys wanted to fuck me last night. Man, it was like torture.

You groaned, getting off Nott's lap and out of the bed, walking towards the mirror. You looked at yourself and sighed, rolling your eyes.

— The guy broke up with you because he thinks we want to fuck you?

Theodore laughed, and you gave him the middle finger while fixing your hair.

— Honestly, he's more insecure than my grandfather. Merlin, how did you stand him?

Draco laughed as Mattheo approached you and hugged you from behind, wrapping his arms around you and resting his head on your shoulder.

— Oh yeah, Draco’s grandfather probably fucks his grandmother more than that loser Dave fucked you. Am I wrong?

Mattheo said with a mischievous smile directed at you through the mirror's reflection, causing you to laugh and shake your head.

— Ew, I don't want to think about Malfoy's grandparents having sex.

Theodore grunted, getting out of bed.

— Yeah, whatever, but the point here is that you all can hug her, and I can't? Get your claws off her, Riddle.

Draco grumbled, unhappy with your position, receiving an irritating smile from Mattheo, who let you go and allowed you to go to Draco with a gentle smile.

— Ah, he's a baby, guys.

You said, and Draco glared at you with a scowl.

— Shut up…

Draco grumbled, pulling you by the waist and throwing you on the bed with him on top.

— I’ll put a baby in you if you keep that up.

— See, that’s why my relationships don’t last.

You said, throwing your head back and pushing Draco off you to fall beside you on the bed.

— Nah, this is bullshit because we don’t do this with you when you’re dating.

Theodore said, sitting next to where your head was lying, as did Mattheo on the opposite side.

— I don’t know; maybe I’m just a terrible girlfriend and act the wrong way.

You murmured, frustrated, turning onto your stomach to hide your face in a pillow.

— Y/n, princess, stop blaming yourself for the idiot’s idiotic choice.

Draco shrugged while leaning his back against the bed's headboard and throwing another pillow at your now exposed butt.

— You hardly even come near us when you’re dating. I can’t remember the last time I hugged you besides today.

Mattheo made a mocking expression, thinking David was making false accusations about you.

— You are the most loyal person in Hogwarts, and everyone knows it. If your boyfriends are all insecure enough not to handle being with you because of us, it’s simple—they don’t deserve you, dolcezza.

— Really?

You asked, and as confirmation, you received three murmurs of agreement. Propping your elbows on the mattress, your gaze changed to a curious look that was noticed by Nott and Riddle.

— Hmm, do you guys want to?

You asked another question, and this time the boys’ faces on your bed were genuinely confused.

— What?

Mattheo questioned your question, and you laughed, laying your head on Theo’s lap, who had lit a cigarette. With a look, Nott understood; he brought the cigarette to you, and with a wild smile, he answered Mattheo and asked you.

— Fuck you?

— Uh-huh.

You agreed, hearing Draco laugh while accepting the cigarette from Theo.

— Everyone wants to fuck you, princess.

— Right, but I’m not talking about everyone; I’m talking about you guys.

You said impatiently, sitting on your heels to look at the three on your bed, staring at you without saying a word.

— Come on, I’m curious.

— You don’t understand, do you?

Mattheo, with his dark eyes and a sly smile, leaned closer to your neck.

— Don’t understand what?

— You can’t ask if we’d fuck you when you’re dressed like that, darling.

Mattheo murmured, and you heard Theo and Draco’s nasal laughter as they moved on the bed.

— Okay, so that would be a yes?

You asked.

— Hell yeah.

Theo agreed, bringing the cigarette back to his plump lips and then to yours.

Your smile grew with each passing minute of silence in the room. The three of them were eyeing you as if you were gold, and you couldn’t measure how much that amused you.

— What?

You asked, feigning innocence as if you hadn’t seen the bulges growing in the pants of the three there.

— Alright, I’ll get changed so we can meet Pansy and Daphne. Wait for me a second.

With that, you got up from the bed and heard a groan from Draco.

— Seriously? I’m hard as fuck, damn it.

Malfoy groaned again, and the four of you laughed.

— You’re evil.

Theo sighed, and you turned to look at them with a pained face.

— I think my dick is going to break, it’s so hard right now.

Mattheo said, throwing himself on the bed before looking at you at the bathroom door with a huge smile.

— Why are you looking at me like that? I didn’t do anything.

You said innocently, and Mattheo snorted.

— How am I supposed to continue the day like this?

— I don’t know, jerk off together, think of Malfoy's grandparents fucking.

You laughed again, and their scowls grew bigger.

— I swear you’ll pay for this, dolcezza.

Was the last thing you heard besides groans before you left to change for afternoon classes.

---

I hope you enjoy this

And if you want to read some dirty shit here:

[simp-for-love]

Where the Fire Breathes Soft

DragonTamer!Mattheo Riddle x Teacher!FemReader

You take your class on a field trip to a dragon sanctuary, expecting chaos and maybe a little fire. What you don’t expect is Mattheo Riddle — charming, clever, and surprisingly gentle beneath the smirk. Between sunbathing dragons, wide-eyed students, and a tour that turns unexpectedly sweet, you find yourself falling, just a little, for the dragon tamer with a crooked smile.

Warnings: none, fluff to the bones

Word count: 1,7k

A/N: my very late work for week 1 of @acourtofchaos's au event. Hope to catch up with the rest of them soon ♡

You’re pretty sure this wasn’t in the job description.

Sure, it mentioned field trips, but it didn’t say anything about standing ten feet away from a dragon the size of a cottage while trying to look calm in front of twenty excited eleven-year-olds.

You’ve never seen a dragon up close before — unless you count the fold-out pages in Fantastic Beasts for Little Wizards. Even then, it was hard to believe something so majestic and terrifying could be real.

But here you are, standing at the edge of a wide, green field fenced with enchanted barriers, blinking at a sunbathing Norwegian Ridgeback. It looks like an overgrown lizard lounging in the afternoon sun, its dark, iridescent scales gleaming like opals. Around you, a dozen kids press against the barrier, gasping and arguing over which dragon is the coolest.

“Miss! Miss!” little Clara tugs at your coat, eyes wide with awe. "That one just sneezed fire!"

You give her a smile, even though your heart’s trying to climb into your throat. "Yes, dragons can do that, sweetheart."

"She sneezed!" Clara insists, pointing. "She’s like me when I have a cold!"

A warm chuckle comes from your right, deep and effortlessly amused.

"That would be Marigold. She’s a bit dramatic, but harmless. Unless you're a cabbage,"

You glance sideways and promptly forget how to breathe.

The man standing next to you is tall, dressed in a well-worn leather jacket that’s clearly seen its share of flame. His dark hair is tousled, jaw sharp, and eyes startlingly intelligent with a hint of mischief behind them. There’s a dragon-scale glove tucked into his belt, and something about the way he stands — casual, confident, like the dragons answer to him — makes your knees go a little weak. His sleeves are rolled to the elbow, revealing strong forearms dusted with faint burn scars and inked runes. You catch yourself staring for a second too long.

"Oh," you manage. "Hello."

"Hi." He offers you a crooked smile, one that makes your heart do something unprofessional. "Mattheo Riddle. I work here."

You shake the hand he offers, and it’s warm, calloused, grounding. "I’m… You can call me Miss Teacher who is absolutely not terrified of dragons."

Mattheo laughs, low and easy, like sunshine on a cold morning. "Pleasure, Miss Teacher. You’re doing well for someone who looks like they might bolt."

"I’m just trying not to faint in front of the children."

"Good goal." He steps a little closer and lowers his voice. "Don’t worry. The dragons can smell fear, but they respect it. Means you’re smart."

"That’s comforting."

He grins wider, like he’s enjoying this, but not in a cruel way. Like he’s almost charmed by your honesty. “Which class is yours?”

"First-years," you say, glancing at the gaggle of kids giggling by the fence. "They’re obsessed with magical creatures right now. Their current theory is that dragons are just flying puppies with attitude problems."

"Not wrong," he muses with an amused grin. "Except for Blaze. Blaze eats puppies."

You gape at him in shock.

He blinks, then breaks into a laugh. The sound so warm and smooth that it makes your heart skip a beat. "Kidding."

You exhale the sigh of relief immediately. "Thank Merlin."

Mattheo chuckles again and gestures toward the enclosure. "Want a proper tour? I promise no incineration. Well, minimal incineration."

You arch a brow. "Do I get hazard pay?"

"No, but you get to walk next to me. That’s got to count for something," he says with a wink that sends a small stutter through your chest.

You laugh, caught off guard. "Charming, aren’t you?"

He gives you a little playful bow. "It’s in the job description," he said without any shame or second thought, grinning proudly.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ * ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ *

Mattheo turns out to be great with the kids. You watch from the edge as he kneels beside one of them, explaining the difference between ridge-back scales and horned-tail ones like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. He’s patient when they interrupt, gentle when they get overexcited, and firm when one of them tries to climb a fence.

You hadn’t expected that. You thought he’d be cocky, maybe even reckless. Swagger and smirks. But instead, there’s this quiet strength beneath all that charisma. Something solid and steady. And it makes you feel... oddly comfortable and safe.

You try not to stare too much as he gestures animatedly toward a Welsh Green gliding in a distant paddock. The sun catches in his hair, and for a fleeting moment, he looks like he belongs to the dragons. Not as their keeper, but their kin.

He catches your across the enclosure and winks again. You look away quickly, cheeks warm.

"Professor?" Clara tugs your sleeve gently to catch your attention. "Do you like him?"

You nearly choke at her question. "What?"

"You’re looking at him like my mum looks at the telly when the handsome prince comes on," she explained calmly with a child's simplicity.

You blink at her for a moment in silence, feeling the heat on your cheeks intensified. "Clara."

"It’s okay," she says seriously with a nod. "He’s handsome. You have good taste."

You consider for a moment whether it’s possible to sink into the earth and never return.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ * ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ *

Lunch is a picnic under the shade of a charmed willow tree. The kids are still buzzing, mouths full of sandwiches, declaring their dreams of becoming dragon tamers. Some sketch their favorite dragons with crumb-covered fingers. You watch their enthusiasm with tenderness and a hint of amusement in your eyes. Soon Mattheo finds you near the feeding pen.

"Enjoying yourself yet?" he asks, leaning casually on the railing beside you.

"It’s... actually better than expected. No one's on fire, so I’m calling it a win," you say with a smile tugging on your lips.

He unwraps a sandwich and glances at yours, still untouched. "Not eating?"

"I'm too enchanted. I mean—interested. In all this." You laugh awkwardly and a bit flustered. "I’ve never seen anyone so comfortable around fire-breathing monsters."

He raises his brow in amusement. "You’re a teacher. You’re surrounded by tiny monsters daily."

You chuckle softly. "Touche."

He gives you a sideways glance, smirking. "You’re braver than you look."

You hum quietly. "Is that a compliment?"

"It is," he says easily. "You strike me as the soft type. Sweet. But you didn’t flinch when Ember tried to lick your coat."

"I couldn’t. The kids were watching."

"Still, you didn’t run." His voice dips slightly, more thoughtful. "That counts."

You glance at him, studying the way the late sun catches in his hair, the curve of his smile that’s equal parts playful and kind. There’s something magnetic about him, something that makes your chest feel light and your stomach full of fluttering things.

"You’re not what I expected," you say quietly.

He arches a brow. "No? What were you expecting?"

"I don’t know. Arrogance? Recklessness? Someone who rides dragons without a saddle and uses bad pick-up lines."

He chuckles smoothly, eyes shine with amusement. "I do ride without a saddle, but I leave the pick-up lines to the desperate."

"I feel honored."

"You should." He nudges your elbow softly. "Besides, I don’t need pick-up lines. I’ve got dragons."

You laugh again, unable to help it. Something about him makes you feel safe and smile wider. "You really do."

For a moment, the air between you settles into something quiet. Easy and sweet. You don’t even realize you’re smiling until he says, "You should come back sometime. Without twenty tiny chaperones."

"Is that a professional invitation?"

"Only if you’re into professionalism."

You tilt your head slightly, looking at him. "And if I’m into dragons?"

He gives you a look that’s all charm and slow-burning mischief. "Then I’m very interesting."

Your heart does a little leap again. "I’ll think about it."

"You do that," he says softly, gaze lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ * ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ *

The trip ends too quickly. The kids piling back onto the carriages with sticky fingers and loud voices, waving their goodbyes wildly at every dragon in sight.

Mattheo walks you to the gate, hands in his jacket pockets.

"Thanks for not letting us get eaten," you say with a small smile. You want to prolong this moment, to stay in this fairytale with dragons and Prince Charming for a little longer.

"Anytime." He looks at you, something warm flickering in his gaze. "You really were good with them. The kids."

You shrug a little shy, "It’s easy when you love them."

"I think they love you back."

"Probably because I carry sweets in my bag all the time."

He grins. "Might have to start doing that myself."

You look at him, heart fluttering again. "Do you flirt with every teacher who visits?"

He tilts his head as if considering your question. "Only the ones who make dragon farms feel like fairy tales."

You blink, looking at him with wide eyes. "That’s—"

"Too much?" he asked with slightly bashful and boyish smile.

"A little," you admit with a smile. "But I liked it."

He steps a little closer, just enough for you to catch the warmth of him, the faint scent of smoke and leather.

"Come back," he says quietly and softly. "Next week. Or whenever you like. No pressure. Just... I’d like to see you again."

You bite your lip, trying to hide the silly smile his words cause. "Maybe I will."

"Maybe?"

"Okay. Definitely."

He smiles like you’ve just handed him something valuable. And the shine in his eyes is utterly disarming. "Good."

You linger for a second longer, then turn to follow your class, heart full of butterflies and something almost as fiery as the dragons behind you.

As you step onto the carriage, Clara tugs your sleeve again and whispers, "He definitely likes you."

You glance back to where Mattheo stands by the gate, one hand raised in a lazy wave. His eyes locked on you.

You wave back. "Yeah," you whisper with a silly grin on your lips. "I think I like him too."

[prythiansprincess]

HEART ON MY SLEEVE

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🤍 pairing: mattheo riddle x reader.

🤍 song inspiration: friends by chase atlantic.

🤍 author's note: the duality of man. this fic serves both cute, fluffy matty and jealous, possessive mattheo.

For his upcoming birthday, Mattheo Riddle had one simple wish: for his best friends to get along. 

It shouldn’t have been such an ordeal except for the fact that you and Theo absolutely hated each other. If it weren’t for Mattheo, the two of you would have no reason to cross paths. Theo was an arrogant, pompous, quidditch playing prick with a terrible nicotine addiction while the closest you’d come to physical exertion is carrying your weekly stack of books from the library to your dorm. 

Needless to say, you were not a fan of Theodore Nott. You thought he was a bad influence on Matty, while Theo labeled you as the buzzkill, often talking your best friend out of doing things that would either land him in detention or the infirmary. You got the feeling that Theo hated the fact that he had to share Mattheo’s attention with you. Never mind the fact that you were friends with him first. 

The origin of your friendship started long before your days at Hogwarts. The first time you met Mattheo, his father invited you and your parents over at Riddle Manor to celebrate a successful business deal between your families. Even at a young age, you remembered recognizing the coldness and distance in the Riddle household. The elder riddle, Tom Sr., was a stern and unforgiving man who kept his family under his thumb. Tom Jr. played the perfect heir; cool, calm, and collected as he stood by his father’s side. Mrs. Riddle had a severe and somber air about her that sent shivers down your spine as she flashed an empty smile at you. 

Mattheo was different from the rest. There was a warmth to him that radiated outwards, pulling you in with his cheeky dimpled smile and soft bouncing curls. He marched right up to you, bowing at the waist like he was taught to, except he nearly tripped over his feet and gave you a crooked little grin before correcting himself. 

“Hi, Y/N. I’m Mattheo, but you can call me Matt.” There was a mischievous glint in his brown eyes that you didn’t recognize as trouble until much later. “Do you want to play with me?” 

As it turns out, his definition of playing meant chasing each other through the hedge maze out on the manor grounds and absolutely dirtying up your pretty pink dress as you rolled around in the grass. You laid side by side on your backs, giggling as you tucked a flower into Mattheo’s curls. 

“You’re going to get me in trouble, you know,” you stated matter-of-factly as you rolled over on your elbows. “My dress is all dirty.” 

“Don’t worry, we can ask Tom to help us. He knows lots of spells and hexes.” He leaned in conspiratorially, holding his pinky finger out. “But you have to keep it a secret, okay? Can I trust you, Y/N?” 

You hooked your finger through his, not knowing that such a simple secret would forever solidify your friendship. “You can trust me, Matty.” 

In the years that followed, the two of you were as thick as thieves. Most days were spent at either the Riddle manor or your estate, which Mattheo tended to prefer since it provided him reprieve from his father. As of late, his parents had made it perfectly clear that he was expected to follow in his brother's footsteps. Despite it being Tom's first year at Hogwarts, he was already proving to be a gifted and talented wizard. When his father wasn't outright ignoring him, Mattheo was forced to practice hexes and spells that were beyond the knowledge of an eleven year old. Without his older brother to protect him, Mattheo felt the walls closing in in his grand yet inhospitable home.

You were the only silver lining in his otherwise dreary days. Mattheo thanked Merlin that his father allowed visits to your estate. Unlike Riddle Manor, your family home was warm, lovely, and full of life. During the summers, the two of you would venture out to the edge of your property and set up camp at the creek. The sunny days were spent swimming, climbing, and picking flowers from sunrise to sunset. On one particular day, you sat cross-legged on the picnic blanket, absentmindedly picking at the sandwich in your lap. 

Beside you, Mattheo nudged you with his knee. “What’s wrong, Y/N?”

You blinked, trying to savor the sunshine for as long as you could. “I don’t want summer to end.” 

“We’ll only be apart for a year,” Mattheo said softly, correctly guessing the cause of your apprehension. You weren’t surprised. He always seemed to know what was on your mind. “You’ll be joining me at Hogwarts before you know it. By then, I’ll be an expert so I can show you the ropes.” 

“A lot can happen in a year,” you stated. “What if you make other friends and forget about me?” 

“I might make other friends, but I’d never forget about you. You were my first friend ever. That makes you the most important.” 

You looked up and found yourself face to face with Mattheo’s earnest expression. The corners of his lips tugged upwards as he nudged you again. “Besides, you know I’m going to write to you every week. Now that I’m in the same castle as Malfoy, I can finally crack the great mystery of whether or not he bleaches his hair.” 

“There’s no way that’s natural, right? Maybe Lucius has a special shampoo or something.”

Mattheo grinned and draped an arm over your shoulder. “I don’t know, but I promise to find out for you.” 

“You’ll really write to me every week?” 

“Of course I will,” Mattheo declared, holding his pinky finger out. “You trust me, right?” 

You smiled and hooked your pinkies together. “I trust you, Matty.” 

When the next year finally rolled around, you were so excited that you convinced your parents to take you to King’s Cross at least an hour before your departure. You hadn’t seen Mattheo since the previous summer because his family had been away on holiday in Spain, but he stayed true to his word and wrote to you every chance he got. You loved reading about the friends he’d made, the antics he got up to, and most importantly, the fascinating classes that awaited you at Hogwarts. 

As you passed through Platform 9 ¾, you were nearly knocked off your feet as Mattheo ran full force into you. He had grown much taller since you last saw him, so much so that he now towered over you as he pulled you into a bear hug. 

“Hi, Matty,” you giggled against his chest. 

“Hi, Y/N.” 

Mattheo pulled away, grinning as he tugged at your hand. “Come on, I want you to meet my friends.” 

You looked back at your parents who merely smiled at Mattheo’s excitement. To his chagrin, your best friend remembered to properly greet them and asked if you could board the train early. After much fussing, they eventually said their goodbyes and allowed you to go with Mattheo. 

The first friend that you met was Enzo. He was sweet, if not a little cheeky as he hinted that Mattheo couldn’t stop talking about you all year. Draco and Blaise needed no introduction given that your families were all fairly acquainted ever since you could remember. To your delight, Pansy was amongst the group as well. The two of you used to take ballet together, so it was a relief to have another girl to bond with. The older boys, Tom and Regulus, briefly greeted you before returning to their own cabin. 

Last, but not least, was Theodore. 

Whereas the others welcomed you with open arms, Nott was not as warm in his reception of you. The two of you clashed right off the bat. You weren’t quite sure what the root of your disagreement was. Perhaps it was his snarky comment insinuating that girls couldn’t be proper quidditch fans in reference to your Chudley Cannons scarf, perhaps it was your biting retort that he could stick his misogyny up his arse. Either way, the interaction set the tone for your strained relationship. 

Being sorted into Gryffindor only contributed to the animosity between you as well. Given the longstanding rivalry of Slytherins and Gryffindors, Theo was determined to view you as his enemy. The harder you fought, the harder Mattheo tried to repair the rift. You were the two most important people in his life and he couldn’t stand to see you two tear each other apart. 

For the most part, you tried to grin and bear it. While you couldn’t for the life of you understand how or why he was even friends with someone as unbearable as Theodore Nott, you tried to be civil for Mattheo’s sake. Tried being the key word. With Theo’s snark and your temper, the two of you became known for your infamous fights. Still, it didn’t stop your best friend from trying. 

Over the years, Mattheo concocted countless plots and schemes to get the two of you to bond. If his favorite band was playing in town, he would magically have two extra tickets to bring both you and Theo along. If there was a book release you were dying to attend, Mattheo would invite Theo along to check out the record store next door. If the castle was dead during the weekend, Mattheo would suggest a trio trip to Hogsmeade. 

As much as you cared for Mattheo, your patience only stretched so thin. Without fail, every outing that the three of you went on almost always ended in an argument between you and Theo. 

“I don’t know how you’re friends with both of us, Mattheo,” Theo joked as he gulped down his burger. “I’m fun and Y/N is —”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll stick my fork right through your hand, Nott,” you threatened with a sickly sweet smile. 

The hostility wasn’t anything new, but you supposed that after dealing with it for years and years on end, Mattheo had finally reached his breaking point. 

Your best friend pushed his plate away and sighed. “Let’s just go.” 

You nodded in agreement, gathering your things and following Mattheo’s lead. Theo trailed after, obnoxiously squeezing his way through the door of the Three Broomsticks and letting it close behind him. You yanked it open, nearly pulling the bloody thing off its hinges. 

“How very mature of you. Though I’m not surprised that you don’t know how to hold a door open for a lady.”

Theo looked back, craning his neck behind you. “As far as I’m concerned, there aren’t any ladies around. Just an infuriating little Gryffindor who can’t handle not having the last word.” 

“I’m infuriating?” You huffed, crossing your arms. “Clearly you’ve never suffered through the pleasure of your own company. Spoiler alert, the snarky arsehole bit stopped being funny in third year.” 

“Well, the uptight and bossy bitch bit wasn’t ever funny to begin with.” 

“Enough already,” Mattheo yelled. You reeled back in surprise. Usually, your best friend just let you and Theo fight it out until you both got tired of it, but he wasn’t having it tonight. “You two are the most important people in my life, but you’re acting like bloody toddlers. I’m tired of feeling like I have to choose a side, so either you two find a way to get along or risk losing me as a friend.” 

For the first time since you met him, you and Theo were both stunned into silence. Mattheo took one last look at his closest friends and marched off into the castle without a word. 

The next day, you woke up feeling weary. You hardly slept last night given Mattheo’s ultimatum. Your best friend wasn’t the type to make declarations like that lightly, so you knew he meant it. Especially since he went straight to his dorm without coming over to watch a movie or talk late into the night like the two of you often did. 

The suspicion was all but confirmed when you sat through a particularly awkward and tense breakfast. Mattheo briefly acknowledged you with a nod, not bothering to speak as he cranked up the music on his headphones. As the Smiths crooned, you looked up at Theo who shook his head at your inquisitive glance. You knew that Mattheo had most likely given him the silent treatment last night as well. 

Despite the fact that you and Mattheo had very similar schedules, he managed to avoid you throughout the entire day. By the time the last class rolled around, you knew that he was serious about you and Theo making up. It was a hard pill to swallow. Truly, you’d rather ingest a pill the size of a hippogriff than make amends with Nott, but it wasn’t like you had a choice. You didn’t want to lose Mattheo. 

Deciding to be the bigger person, you went to the one place that you knew Theo frequented. You found him sitting alone in the Astronomy Tower, long legs dangling below him as he smoked a cigarette. Biting back a comment about the death trap pursed between his lips, you cleared your throat. 

“Mind if I sit?” 

Theo tensed as he looked up at you. He wore the sneer that he solely reserved for you, but his eyes were dull and dim. The argument with Mattheo obviously left him feeling lost as well. 

“Do I have a choice?” You glared in response, but took a deep breath to calm yourself. Theo winced. “Sorry. Force of habit. Sit, I guess.” 

Gingerly, you settled in the spot next to him. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” 

“He wouldn’t talk to me last night,” Theo confirmed as he ashed his cigarette. “Just put on his headphones and went to sleep facing the wall.” 

“He’s been avoiding me all day.” 

Theo sighed. “What are we going to do?” 

“Look,” you started, trying to muster up the strength to propose your next statement. “Obviously, we hate each other, but Mattheo’s important to me and I know he’s important to you, too. So for his sake, can’t we just put all this animosity behind us and try to get along?” 

“What exactly does getting along mean?” 

You shrugged. To be honest, you had no idea how to approach the situation, but you figured you had to start somewhere. “I don’t know. Maybe we can grab a bite to eat. Make polite small talk. Try not to strangle each other in the process.” 

“I guess I can do that,” Theo conceded. “Why don’t we go to the new pub in the village? I heard they have fried pickles.” 

You perked up. “You like pickles? I thought I was the only one.” 

“I don’t just like pickles. I love them,” Theo stated. 

“Me too,” you grinned. “Mattheo always gives me his cause he says —”

“They taste like feet,” he finished with a chuckle. 

You nodded, laughing along. “Well, what are we waiting for, then?” 

Theo watched as you stood, smoothing the front of your skirt. You offered a hand out to him, both literally and figuratively. To your surprise, Theo took the peace offering and let you pull him to his feet. 

An hour later, the two of you were squeezed into a tiny booth by the makeshift stage. The pub was lively tonight and nearly packed to the brim, thanks to the happy hour deal on their drinks and appetizers in honor of their grand opening. 

The pickles didn’t disappoint. You ate a good amount, but Theo scarfed the whole thing down like he hadn’t eaten in months. As he finished a sandwich and gulped the meal down with his second butterbeer, you gaped in surprise. 

“Honestly, where do you put it all?” 

Theo patted his stomach, which was unfairly flat and probably housed perfectly sculpted abs despite his eating habits. “I’m a growing boy. I need to eat a lot to offset the energy I expend. Especially when I’m sparring with you.” 

“Oddly enough, I’m flattered by that.” 

“You should be,” Theo quipped. “I’ve never had to put so much thought into insulting someone until I met you.” 

“I bet you were pissed when I took your crown as the sassiest and bitchiest person in our friend group.” 

“I’ve never experienced such heartbreak,” Theo said sarcastically as he placed a hand over his heart. “I mean, to be dethroned by someone who can’t even reach the top shelf in the cupboard was truly the most humbling moment of my life.” 

“Well, you shouldn’t have assumed that I knew nothing about quidditch just because I’m a girl.” 

“I was a dick for that,” Theo admitted. “But I was also twelve. I didn’t even know what misogyny meant. I thought you were describing a disease.” 

You snorted. “Well, the past is in the past. Even though I clearly won that argument, we should put it behind us.” 

Theo rolled his eyes, but clinked his butterbeer against yours. “Cheers to that, Y/N.” 

Surprisingly, you found that you and Theo had a lot more in common than you initially thought. When he wasn’t being a prick, he was actually quite nice to talk to. In a single conversation, you learned more about Theo than you had in years. The two of you possessed a knack for potions, preferred foreign literature, and shared a love for horror movies. 

As the live band went on, Theo mumbled an obscure reference to an eighties muggle band that your mum used to blast when you were younger. 

“I can’t believe they’re covering this song,” you shouted over the music. “I haven’t heard it in years.” 

Theo’s eyes widened in surprise. “You know this song?” 

“Of course I do,” you retorted. “Mattheo says I have the music taste of a divorced country club trophy wife.” 

“You and me both.” 

By the end of the night, you found plenty of common ground with the boy you once thought of as your enemy. It was quite alarming to realize that you hadn’t argued once all night and even more so when you found yourself actually enjoying Theo’s company. Maybe Mattheo was right after all. When you stopped viewing Theo as competition, he was actually not that bad. You now understood what Mattheo meant when he said that you and Theo were more alike than you cared to admit.

On the walk back to the castle, Theo pulled out a spliff but glanced at you before lighting it. “Do you mind if I smoke?” 

“Knock yourself out.” 

The moon was silver and bright against the cloudless sky as the two of you sauntered through the beaten path. You listened to Theo recount Tom’s disastrous attempts at asking Chloe out, all the while giggling to yourself because he was a bigger gossip than you and Pansy put together. 

“Don’t let Tom hear you talking about his love life,” you teased. “He’d probably feed you to his basilisk.” 

Theo grimaced. “Half of Hogwarts would weep at the loss of such a handsome face.” 

“However will we survive without your wit and charm, Nott?” 

He chuckled as he blew a ring of smoke up into the sky. You watched it float before holding your hand out. “Care to share?” 

“I didn’t know you smoked.” 

“Who do you think taught Mattheo how to roll his first blunt?” 

Theo stared in disbelief as you took the spliff, inhaling deeply. You held the smoke in your lungs effortlessly before blowing rings of smoke in quick succession. 

“Damn,” the brown haired boy exclaimed. “Who the hell are you, Y/N?”

You smirked as you tapped the joint. “Someone much cooler than you, Theo.” 

After that night, you and Theo got on more and more. The banter and bickering was still there, but it was more playful now. Mattheo was glad to see his two best friends getting along so well. Since first year, it was all he had ever wanted. 

The days of forcing you two to hang out together was long gone. Now, you were practically as attached to the hip with Theo as you were with Mattheo. 

When Mattheo went up to the Astronomy Tower for a smoke break, he would find you sitting cross-legged across from Theo as he filled you in on the catfight between Lavender and Cho. When Mattheo visited you at the library during his free period, Theo was already there working on his History of Magic homework beside you. When Mattheo arrived at the Great Hall for assembly, he slid into the seat next to Theo as his friend craned his neck to peer at the crowd. 

“Looking for someone, mate?” 

“Yeah, Y/N said she was running late,” Theo answered distractedly. “I saved a seat for her.” 

At first, Mattheo loved the fact that you put your differences behind you and became such great friends like he always knew you would, but as time went along, your best friend noticed that you and Theo were becoming a little too close. 

On one occasion, Mattheo briefly excused himself from the common room party for a smoke only to come back to find you and Theo annihilating Draco and Blaise at butterbeer pong. He walked in right as you made the winning shot, witnessing Theo picking you up and twirling you around as Malfoy stomped off, grumbling something about an unfair play. A cheat of sorts. 

Mattheo couldn’t help but agree. Seeing you in Theo’s arms felt like cheating. The whole thing made him feel strange. It didn’t help that every time the three of you hung out, Mattheo noticed that you and Theo now had little inside jokes and references that he didn’t understand. Being jealous of his best mate was ridiculous, but yet he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that only grew stronger with each passing day. 

As you grew closer, Mattheo felt stranger. One morning, he nearly smashed his muffin to pieces when he saw you wearing Theo’s hoodie. 

“Why are you wearing that?” he asked through clenched teeth. 

You looked down in surprise as though you’d forgotten that you were wearing another man’s clothes. “Oh, I was cold so Theo let me borrow his hoodie.”

Mattheo frowned before pulling his sweater over his head. “Here, wear mine instead. It’s warmer.” 

The gesture was confusing, but you merely shrugged and exchanged Theo’s hoodie for Mattheo’s sweater. “Thanks, Matty.” 

Later that week, Mattheo found you in the stands in your usual spot before the game. He smiled when he saw his number painted on your right cheek. The brief moment of happiness was shattered when you turned and revealed that you had also painted Theo’s number on your left cheek. Mattheo nearly fell off of his broom. He was used to seeing his and only his number on you. First the hoodie, now this? 

The green monster reared its ugly head during the game itself, motivating him to play as brutally as possible. The Hufflepuffs weren’t safe from his rage and neither were his teammates. As he soared around the goalpost, he hurled the quaffle as hard as he could, fully knowing that Theo was within the ball’s radius. Thankfully for him, Theo ducked at the last second before shooting a baffled glance at his friend. Mattheo simply ignored it and kept playing. 

Despite their sweeping win, the bad mood failed to lift. Mattheo frowned as he slipped into the booth next to you, glaring at Theo’s head as the two of them sandwiched you on both sides. Across the table, the rest of the team sipped their celebratory milkshakes. 

The waitress set down a vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate milkshake in front of the three of you. Mattheo watched as you and Theo tasted your drinks before promptly taking out the straw and switching flavors. 

“Told you that you’d like strawberry more,” Theo said with a fond eye roll. 

“But vanilla sounded good.” 

“Everything sounds good at the moment, but you always go back to your favorite.” 

Mattheo clenched his jaw as you stuck your tongue out at Theo before turning towards him. “Aren’t you going to drink your milkshake, Matty?” 

“I don’t really have much of an appetite.” 

“Maybe it’s just the chocolate. Do you wanna try mine?” 

He shook his head, crossing his arms. “No, that’s Theo’s milkshake.” 

“Oh, well if you want the vanilla one instead, I can switch back.” 

Mattheo wrinkled his nose. “No thanks, Theo’s mouth has already been on it.” 

“Consider it a privilege,” Theo butted in. “Most girls and boys at this school would kill to swap spit with me.” 

“I’ll pass.” 

You cocked your head at your best friend, looking concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay, Matty?” 

He nodded rather unconvincingly. “I’m fine.”

As weeks passed, Mattheo only grew more jealous. 

Granted, he was fully aware that he had no right to feel this way given the fact that he had practically pushed you and Theo together, but he just couldn’t help himself. The closer you grew, the more he regretted giving the two of you an ultimatum in the first place. 

Before you became friends with Theo, Mattheo never had to share you with anyone. He realized now how much he had taken it for granted. Your best friend missed the times that the two of you spent alone. He missed having you all to himself. Mattheo was determined to get it back one way or another. 

When Saturday night rolled around, Mattheo made his way up to Gryffindor Tower, glaring at anyone who balked at the sight of him on this side of the castle. After shoving McLaggen out of the way, Mattheo made his way up to the highest turret and let himself into your dorm. 

You were perched in front of the vanity table, swiping your signature cherry lip gloss on in the mirror. Mattheo made himself at home, sprawling out on your bed. He knew you had plans tonight, but he was hoping to convince you to hang out with him instead. Mattheo eyed your dress, his gaze sweeping along the red fabric like a lover’s embrace. You flushed at the intensity of his stare as his brown eyes flickered back up to your face. 

“Why can’t you hang out tonight?” Mattheo asked with a pout. “Are you going on a date? Is that why you’re leaving your best friend alone to perish?” 

You shook your head in amusement before leaning over and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t be so dramatic, Matty. I’m not going on a date. Theo and I are just checking out this new band.” 

Mattheo stiffened as you sprayed perfume on your wrists. “Why didn’t you invite me?” 

“Theo did. He said you weren’t interested in listening to country club wife music.” 

While that may be true, Mattheo would’ve gone if he knew you were coming too. “He didn’t tell me he was going with you.” 

“Probably because he knew you’d feel obligated to go,” you responded. “But it’s alright, we won’t make you suffer through it. Theo will keep the creeps away.” 

Mattheo did not like the sound of that. It was his job to watch over you, not Theo’s. Besides, he never thought of it as an obligation. Even if he wasn’t a fan of the music, he loved watching you jump around and have the time of your life. Spending time with you was the only reason why he insisted on coming to every concert. Keeping the creeps away was just an added bonus. 

Now, Theo was taking away both. The realization put him in a foul mood, but he couldn’t let it show. He wanted you to have a good time, even if it wasn’t with him. 

“Okay, but can we at least watch a movie and cuddle when you get back?” 

“We’re going to be out pretty late. I don’t want you to lose sleep because of me. I know you have a Charms exam tomorrow morning, but I promise we can have a movie night tomorrow.” 

Mattheo only nodded as you patted his curls and kissed his cheek again. He watched as you left your dorm, frowning into the mirror as he touched the two cherry gloss marks on his face. 

The kiss prints were already fading, serving as some sort of sick metaphor. 

To your credit, you did make good on your promise on movie night. It had been a while since the two of you hung out alone, which is definitely the only reason why Mattheo felt needier and clingier than usual. While his touchiness wasn’t anything new, he seemed determined to make it obvious to those around you. Especially with Theo. 

During breakfast, Mattheo silently laid his head on your shoulder and placed your hand atop his curls. Across the table, Theo continued gnawing away at his croissant while you told him about the new horror movie that had apparently been banned in twenty countries. 

“I wanna watch it,” Mattheo mumbled as you scratched his head. 

“But you hate horror,” Theo responded. 

“So? I still want to see it.” 

“I’ll ask my mum if she can send me a copy this weekend,” you said as you playfully tugged at his curls. “We can watch it in your dorm, okay?” 

He leaned in, nuzzling against your neck. “Just the two of us?”

“Of course, Matty.” 

Mattheo brightened at that, happy with your response. Perhaps it was petty of him, but he didn’t care. He wanted to send a message. You and Theo could be friends, but he’d always be the most important person in your life. Mattheo was your person, just like you were his. 

The others were beginning to pick up on things, despite his constant denial. It was sort of a moot point anyways, given the fact that he was single handedly proving them right with his actions. Nowadays, your friends would find Mattheo lounging on your lap, wedging himself in the small space on the common room couch just so that he was next to you instead of Theo. 

Every time you went out to Hogsmeade, he’d make a point of holding your hand and carrying your bags. Mattheo would stop mid-conversation and rub your cold hands in his, blowing on your fingers because he knows how cold you get even in the heated pub. 

“Your hands are cold. Let me heat them up, princess.” 

As you blushed, Enzo would shoot Mattheo a knowing look, which he deflected by focusing all his attention on you. Even Tom made a passing comment at all the sickening nicknames Mattheo had taken to calling you lately. 

“Hi, sweetheart. Is this seat taken?” 

“Morning, love. Do you want to go for a walk with me?” 

“Here, give me your bag. I’ll carry it for you, darling.” 

Though his older brother might disagree with his methods, Mattheo was quite convinced that it was working. Until it wasn’t. 

During the last week of December, you and Theo began acting strangely. Every time he walked into a room, the two of you would fall uncharacteristically silent. When he tried to bring it up, you evaded his questions and changed the subject instead. The secrecy didn’t sit well with him. 

After the last class of the day, Mattheo usually walked with you to the library, but every time he tried to find you that week, you had all but disappeared.

“Berkshire, have you seen Y/N?” 

“Oh yeah, she left with Theo a few minutes ago. Seemed urgent.” 

“Did they say where they were going?” 

Enzo shrugged nonchalantly. “No clue, mate.” 

Frustrated, Mattheo walked away before succumbing to the urge to throttle his friend. It wasn’t Enzo’s fault that you and Theo were acting so weird. Throughout the week, Theo would be out of their dorm for hours and hours. Sometimes he wouldn’t even come back until the wee hours of the night. 

When Mattheo checked your dorm, you were also nowhere to be found. He was trying his best not to spiral, but the nagging suspicion that the two of you were hiding something from him was too big to ignore. It was all but confirmed when he caught you sneaking out of the dungeons one night. 

You poked your head out from behind a marble column, watching students pass. Clearly, you didn’t want anyone to know that you were down here. Unfortunately for you, Mattheo had already seen you. 

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” 

His voice startled you, making you jump a step back as you glanced up at him with a nervous expression. “Oh! Hi, Matty. I was just — I was just, um, walking back to my dorm.” 

“I can see that, but what were you doing in the dungeons?’ 

“Just…hanging out…”

Mattheo could feel his blood boiling. “With Theo?” 

You gulped, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, he had my book.” 

“So where is it?” 

“Where’s what?” 

“Your book.” 

“Oh,” you said softly, avoiding his gaze. It was a tell-tale sign that you weren’t being honest. You always looked away when you were lying. “I guess I forgot.” 

“You forgot the thing that you came down here for?” 

“Hm? Did you hear that?” You mumbled, despite the fact that the corridor was silent. “I think Pansy’s calling me. I gotta go, Matty. See you later!” 

Your best friend watched as you sauntered off to Salazar knows where with a frown. Confused, Mattheo walked back to his dorm and found the answer to his dreaded question. As soon as he opened the door, the familiar scent of strawberry and vanilla filled the air. Mattheo felt downright murderous. That was your perfume. He’d recognize it anywhere. 

Mattheo glared at his best friend, who was laying in bed with a book perched on his chest. He eyed the rumpled sheets and Theo’s disheveled hair while trying not to assume the worst. 

“Is that the book Y/N lent you?” 

“Huh? What book?” 

Though he wanted very much to punch his mate’s teeth in, Mattheo restrained himself. “The book she came down here to get.” 

“She wasn’t here for —” Theo closed his mouth before nodding reluctantly. “Oh, right. Yeah. This is Y/N’s book. I should — I should return it.” 

“You’re acting weird, Nott. Both of you are.” Mattheo narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “What the bloody hell is going on?” 

“Blase? Yeah, be right there, mate! I’d love to stay and chat, but duty calls. See you later, man.” 

Theo hightailed it out of the dorm, responding to an imaginary summon. Y/N and Theo. Theo and Y/N. His two closest friends. Sneaking around. Lying to him. Fooling around in his dorm. Mattheo didn’t know how to feel. He was angry, he was sad, but most of all, he was hurt. His girl and his best friend? It was the ultimate betrayal. 

Never mind that Mattheo had spent the past decade denying his feelings for you. Anyone with an ounce of common sense could see that he’d been in love with you since you were children. It was clear as fucking day. 

When Friday rolled around, Mattheo decided that enough was enough. He was going to confront the two of you. After quidditch practice, he followed Theo through the castle. The git buggered off to some dark, secluded area of the school that Mattheo had never stepped foot in. He kept a safe distance, peering around the corner when he heard whispered voices. 

“I’m telling you, he’s getting suspicious,” Theo whispered frantically. “He asked why our dorm smelled like you. I didn’t know what to say, so I bolted!” 

His heart dropped when he heard you sigh in frustration. “For Merlin’s sake, Theo! You couldn’t make up an excuse?” 

“Me? You were the one who got caught sneaking out of the dungeons. It’s not like you’re an expert on stealth, either.” 

“You know I can’t lie to him,” you exclaimed. “I’ve never been able to, ever since we were little. He knows all my tells. But, Theo, he absolutely cannot find out about this!” 

Mattheo didn’t need to hear the rest. His heart had already been crushed into a thousand pieces. He couldn't believe it. The two of you were supposed to be his best friends, yet here you were keeping this terrible secret from him. 

For the rest of the night, he sulked in his room. He was in the middle of brooding while listening to the Smiths when he heard a knock. 

“Piss off!” 

“It’s me.” 

Part of him wanted to send you away, but a bigger part — the stupid, idiotic, part of him couldn’t. With a sigh, Mattheo peeled himself off the carpet and opened the door. Since the secret rendezvous with Theo, you had apparently found time to get dolled up and changed into a pretty party dress. 

Mattheo frowned and crossed his arms. “Theo’s not here.” 

You frowned, cocking your head in confusion. “I’m not here for Theo.” 

He scoffed in response. “You don’t have to lie to me anymore. I know.” 

“You know what, Matty?” 

“I know that you and Theo are…sneaking around. Lying to me. Hooking up behind my back.” 

“What on Godric’s green earth are you talking about?” 

“Don’t try to deny it. I heard you in the corridor upstairs. I’ve had my suspicions all week. The two of you have been acting weird and avoiding me. More than that, you have your own stupid little inside jokes and you take him to concerts and you share milkshakes! Those are things we used to do together, but now you’ve gone and replaced me.” 

“The only reason Theo and I became friends is because you asked us to., Mattheo.” 

“I know that!” Mattheo exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration. “I regret it so much. I wanted you to get along, but not like this. Now Theo’s making you laugh and walking you to class and doing god knows what else with you in our dorm!” 

Your features softened as you tried to reach for Mattheo, but he took a step back. “Don’t try to deny it! I know you were in here the night I caught you sneaking out of the dungeons. I could smell your perfume.” 

Realization flooded you all at once. “Are you…are you jealous, Matty?” 

Your best friend crossed his arms and huffed. “Of course I’m jealous! I don’t want you doing any of those things with Theo. You’re my best friend. Mine, not his. I had you first. I loved you first.” 

The confession stunned you into silence. You blinked, processing the information before holding your hand out. “Come.” 

Mattheo looked like he was about to argue, but you just stared at him with determination. “Just come with me, Matty. I promise it’ll all make sense in a minute.” 

The logical side of him wanted to refuse, but he knew it would be futile. Mattheo would’ve ripped his heart out of his chest if you asked him to. You were his weak spot. 

Following you out into the corridor, Mattheo staggered a few steps back as you slipped into the dark and empty common room. With a snap of your fingers, the lights came on and voices echoed in unison. 

“Happy birthday, Mattheo!” 

Startled, Mattheo blinked at the sight before him. The common room was decorated with streamers and confetti, complete with a bright birthday banner that covered nearly half the room. There were tables filled with food and drinks, all of which were his favorites. All of his friends were present, including Tom, who stood to the side with his arms crossed. The pretty blonde beside him — Chloe, the girl Theo swore his brother was in love with — elbowed Tom, who sighed and flashed Mattheo a rare smile. Now that was something he needed to revisit at a later time.

For now, one shocking revelation was enough to deal with.

“Surprise!” You exclaimed beside him as you pulled him into a hug. 

At first, he was too stunned to return the gesture, but eventually he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in for a bear hug. With everything going on, Mattheo nearly forgot his own birthday, but he knew that you wouldn't. You did all of this. For him. 

When you broke apart, Theo clapped him on the back. “Happy birthday, mate.” Relief washed over his friend’s face as he spoke the words. “Thank fucking Salazar that Y/N pulled this off. Hiding this from you for a week has been absolute hell.”

“So…this is what you two have been up to?” 

You nodded in confirmation. “Mhm, Theo and I spent all week planning it. We wanted everything to be perfect.” 

“But it was hard because you were being such a nosy little git,” said Theo.  

The pieces started to click together. All that secrecy between his two best friends hadn’t meant what he thought it did. “So you two aren’t…you haven’t…you’re not hooking up behind my back?”

You and Theo stared at each other in horror. 

“Ew!” Theo dramatically exclaimed. “Y/N is like my sister. You don’t hook up with your sister. That’s gross.” 

“But I thought…you were hanging out together so much and you had all these jokes and it seemed like…”

“Please,” Theo scoffed. “Anyone with half a brain cell can see that you two are clearly in love with each other.” 

“Surprised you figured it out then, Theo,” you quipped.

The brunette rolled his eyes at you before breaking out into a shit-eating grin. "Wait. Is that why you've been acting like such a twat lately? You thought I was making a move on your girl?" Theo's eyes widened as Mattheo shifted uncomfortably. "I'm right, aren't I? First of all, I'm flattered that you felt threatened by me."

"Threatened is a strong word," Mattheo countered.

"Please, you nearly took my head off with a quaffle." Theo wiggled his eyebrows. "Second of all, I'm quite frankly offended that you'd think I'd ever go for Y/N. I would never break your trust like that."

"I know, I know." Mattheo said with a sigh. "I was being stupid, but for a second I was truly convinced that something was going on between you two. I mean, you've been hanging out so much lately..."

“Matty, do you even know what we talk about when we hang out? You. It’s always about you. You were right that we both have a lot in common. We were just too stubborn to see it, but the main thing that brought us together is that we care about you so much.” 

“Well, Y/N cares for you a lot more,” Theo teased with a smirk. “She’d like to care for you all night long.”

You flushed as deep and red as your party dress. “Oh my gods. Shut up, Theo!” 

“My work here is done. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m about to hit on that Ravenclaw who looks like she wants absolutely nothing to do with me.” 

“Sorry about him,” you said as you turned back to Mattheo. “And sorry that we’ve been acting so shady all week. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t suspect anything.”

Mattheo chuckled. “Well, consider me surprised.” 

You wrinkled your nose in disgust. “I can’t believe you thought I was hooking up with Theo.” 

With a boyish grin, Mattheo pulled you to his side and kissed your temple. “I’m sorry, princess. Jealousy just got the best of me.” 

“There’s no need to be jealous. If it wasn’t already obvious, I’ve been in love with you since we were kids.” 

“I’m a bloody idiot.” 

“Yeah, but you’re my idiot.” 

Mattheo beamed and kissed the tip of your nose. “Thank you for doing all of this for me.” 

You smiled softly, cheeks heating as he stared at you with bright, brown eyes. “Course, Matty, I just want you to have the best birthday.” 

With a smile, Mattheo leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against your lips. There was something familiar about the gesture, like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place. Kissing Mattheo was as natural as breathing. It felt like coming home. 

“Wish granted, princess.” 

Later that night when he blew out his candles, Mattheo didn’t bother wishing for anything. You leaned into him as he hooked his pinkie through yours, making a silent promise. Even if it took a little jealousy for him to realize it, Mattheo embraced the truth wholeheartedly. You were his person and he was yours. As the flames died out, he smiled.

Mattheo Riddle had no use for wishes now that he had you. 

[lqveharrington]

Fighting For | R.L.

summary: in the middle of the war, you suggest something that throws Remus off guard.

pairing: young!remus lupin x fem!reader

includes: fluff, comfort, remus being a loving man, mentions of the wizarding war

a/n: this won the poll by 2/3 votes!

You and Remus had been going steady since sixth year. It wasn’t something that surprised anyone—your friends had seen it coming long before you did. He was always around, given his place among the infamous Marauders, but unlike James or Sirius with their loud, magnetic energy, Remus had a quieter pull. There was something in his stillness, in the thoughtfulness of his gaze, that intrigued you. So much so that you’d mustered up every ounce of Gryffindor bravery you had to ask him out first. A fact he liked to tease you about, though he’d been the first to say “I love you.”

It was an equal relationship. Comfortable, supportive—you balanced each other. When his self-doubt crept in, you anchored him. When your temper flared, he soothed you. And as the shadow of war grew closer, wrapping its cold fingers around your lives, you both leaned into each other more than ever.

Today was one of those rare, precious days where the world outside seemed to pause. Rain pattered gently against the windowpane, the overcast sky casting a soft, silvery light across the small flat you shared. Blankets piled high around you both in a cocoon of warmth, the chill in the air no match for the body heat shared under layers of quilts and knitted throws. Remus, predictably, had a battered book open on his lap, pages worn and yellowed with time. His free hand ran absentmindedly through your hair, fingers threading through the strands as you lay curled into his side.

You’d been pretending to read your own book for the last hour, but your eyes hadn’t moved past the same paragraph in ages. Your mind, traitorous thing that it was, had drifted far from the ink on the pages.

“Any subject we can think of,” he’d said earlier. A challenge to distract from the looming threat outside. Dangerous words, really.

“Rem,” you murmured, voice soft against the backdrop of rain. Your book thudded quietly onto the bedside table as you shifted, molding yourself further into his side.

“Mm?” His gaze didn’t lift from the page, but his thumb paused its motion in your hair. A subtle tell that he was listening, truly.

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. Then, before nerves could get the better of you, the words slipped out. “I want a baby.”

He nodded absently at first. And then—you felt it—the sudden stillness overtaking his entire body. His head jerked down to look at you, eyebrows lifting in shock. “Excuse me—did I hear that right?”

You gave a sheepish smile, tracing idle patterns along his arm, feeling the tension tighten beneath your fingertips. “What did you think I said?”

“That you want a baby,” he repeated slowly, testing the words on his tongue like they were foreign. His eyes—soft brown flecked with amber—searched yours for a joke, a punchline that never came. He tilted his head, resting his chin against your forehead. “That’s what I heard coming from your mouth.”

“Yep.” You glanced up at him through your lashes, heart thumping. His face was an open book—shock, amusement, fear, love. Always love.

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Not only are we nineteen,” he said gently, “we’re in the middle of a war, dovey.” The nickname, warm and familiar, eased the ache blooming in your chest as he kissed the crown of your head.

“I know.” You sighed, pulling back to meet his gaze fully. “I know how crazy it sounds. Merlin, I know. But—” You broke off, breath catching. “Everything around us is chaos. People we love are dying. Doesn’t it make sense to want something good? Something ours? Something that’s... worth fighting for?”

His expression cracked then, vulnerability bleeding through. He glanced down, his hand slipping from your hair to rest against your stomach, thumb drawing slow circles. Thoughtful. Heartbreaking.

“You are something worth fighting for,” he whispered. “But what if I don’t make it? What if I... leave you to do this alone?” His voice was raw, words torn from somewhere deep and bruised.

Tears pricked at your eyes. “Remus John Lupin,” you murmured. “You’re one of the bravest wizards I know, and I hate to hear you say things like that.”

Silence stretched between you, filled only by the rain and your combined breathing. You felt the war raging inside him—logic versus longing, fear versus hope.

Minutes bled into something longer, timeless. Eventually, he exhaled, a shaky sound. “You terrify me,” he confessed, burying his face in your hair.

A smile tugged at your lips, kissing his cheek. “Love you too.”

It wasn’t a yes. It wasn’t a no either. But as his arms tightened around you, as he held you like you were the last piece of something whole, you both knew that in a world gone mad, this—this messy, complicated, beautiful thing you had—was what made everything else bearable.

Whatever the future held, you’d face it together.

The days that followed were a blur of normalcy and tension, every laugh shadowed by the looming war. Yet something had shifted between you and Remus after that day. His touches lingered longer, kisses deepened with something heavier—an unspoken acknowledgment of what you both wanted and what stood in the way.

One evening, after a long Order meeting, you found yourselves alone in the kitchen. The clock ticked loudly in the background as you poured tea, hands trembling from exhaustion and nerves. Remus watched you from the doorway, his expression unreadable.

“What?” you asked as you felt his eyes burning into your side, setting the kettle down.

“Nothing,” he said, stepping forward to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He let a small smile tug at his lips when he met your loving eyes. “Just... thinking.”

“That’s dangerous,” you teased, leaning into his touch.

He chuckled softly but then grew serious. “I want what you want,” he said quietly, clarifying when you sent him a confused look. “A family. A future. Even if it terrifies me.”

Your breath hitched. “Remus—”

“But we’ll do it on our terms,” he continued, thumbing your cheek. “Not out of fear. Out of love.”

You smiled, tears threatening to spill. “Out of love,” you echoed.

He pulled you into a fierce embrace, lips finding yours in a kiss that spoke volumes. Whatever came next—whatever the war threw your way—you’d face it. Hand in hand. Heart to heart.

Together.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[yrluvjane]

Father's Daughters

Summary: We all know Sirius Black is good at the baby making part, it's time to how good he is at keeping them alive.

The first time Sirius Black held his daughters, he forgot how to breathe.

The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and sweat, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like angry hornets. Sirius stood frozen in the doorway, his leather jacket still damp from the rain outside, his throat tight as he took in the scene before him.

You were propped up against the pillows, exhaustion etched into every line of your face—but smiling, Merlin help him, smiling like you'd just conquered the world. And in your arms...

Two.

Two tiny, squirming bundles wrapped in identical blue blankets. Two sets of miniature fingers curled into fists. Two perfect noses scrunched in synchronized protest at the cold hospital air.

"Sirius?" Your voice was hoarse, but warm. "Come meet your girls."

His boots squeaked against the linoleum as he crossed the room in three strides, his hands hovering uselessly over the bassinet. "I—" The words caught in his throat. "Fuck."

You laughed—a tired, breathless sound that made his chest ache. "Eloquent as ever."

One of the babies chose that moment to let out a piercing wail. Then the other joined in, because apparently twins did everything together.

Sirius's eyes widened in panic. "Why are they—what do we—are they broken?!"

The mediwitch smirked as she adjusted your IV. "They're hungry, Mr. Black. Perfectly normal."

"Normal," Sirius repeated faintly, watching in horror as you calmly guided one infant to your breast like this wasn't the most terrifying thing he'd ever witnessed. His knees buckled. James caught him before he hit the floor.

"Breathe, mate," James whispered, patting his back. "You're doing great."

"I'm not doing anything!" Sirius hissed, staring at the tiny human currently latched onto your nipple with the determination of a starving hippogriff. "What the fuck is that?!"

You shot him a look—the same one you'd given him when he'd tried to convince you a motorcycle was a perfectly reasonable mode of transportation for a pregnant woman. "Biology, Padfoot. Keep up."

Three Months Later

3:17 AM.

The scream that shattered the silence could have curdled milk.

Sirius bolted upright so fast he nearly headbutted the mobile hanging over the crib. "Which one?!"

"Does it matter?!" you groaned from beneath the mountain of pillows you'd buried yourself under.

Lyra—because of course it was Lyra—was currently attempting to shatter the sound barrier with her lungs. Her sister Cassie, ever the opportunist, had somehow wriggled out of her swaddle and was trying to eat the crib bars.

Sirius stumbled toward them like a man marching to the gallows. "Merlin's balls, it's like living with a pair of drunk pixies," he muttered, scooping up Lyra with one hand while attempting to block Cassie's escape with his foot.

The bottle warmer beeped. The dog barked downstairs (because yes, they'd gotten a dog, because apparently sleep deprivation murdered common sense). Somewhere in the distance, a neighbor started banging on the wall.

Lyra's tiny fist connected with his nose.

"OW— okay, that's fair," Sirius conceded, adjusting his grip. "But if you could not give Daddy a black eye before his meeting with the Wizengamot, that'd be swell."

You appeared in the doorway like a vengeful spirit, hair sticking up in twelve directions, dark circles under your eyes. Without a word, you plucked Cassie from the crib and collapsed into the rocking chair, your nightshirt slipping off one shoulder as you guided her to your breast.

Sirius stared.

"What?" you snapped.

"Nothing," he said quickly. "Just... you're really good at that."

You blinked. Then—miracle of miracles—laughed, the sound bright and sudden in the predawn gloom. "That's what you're focusing on right now?"

Sirius grinned, shifting Lyra to his other arm. "Well, I was going to mention how sexy you look covered in baby vomit, but I didn't want to sound weird about it—OW!"

The thrown pacifier bounced off his forehead.

Four Years Old

The kitchen looked like a bomb had gone off in a flour factory.

Sirius froze in the doorway, taking in the scene: two tiny carbon copies of himself standing atop the counter, their dark curls dusted white, their grins unrepentant. The bowl of cake batter they'd been "mixing" was currently upside down on the floor. The dog—the traitor—was licking it enthusiastically.

"...We helped," announced Lyra, her chin jutting out in that terrifyingly familiar Black family stubbornness.

"Lots," added Cassie, nodding so vigorously her flour-powdered pigtails bounced.

You leaned against the fridge, arms crossed, covered in what appeared to be blue frosting. "They insisted it was your recipe," you said sweetly.

Sirius opened his mouth. Closed it. Then—

"Prongs!" he bellowed over his shoulder. "We need backup!"

James appeared instantly—because of course he'd been lurking in the living room waiting for this exact moment. He took one look at the disaster and burst out laughing. "Mate, they're mini-yous. This is karma."

Sirius scowled, but it was hard to maintain when Cassie launched herself off the counter and into his arms, leaving a perfect floury handprint on his favorite leather jacket. Lyra, ever the opportunist, seized the moment to stick her entire hand into the remaining batter.

"Daddy," she said, with the gravitas of a seasoned politician, "cake is important."

You snorted into your coffee.

Sirius looked down at his daughters—flour-covered, batter-smeared, and utterly delighted—then at you, frosting in your hair and a smirk on your lips, and felt his heart do that ridiculous squeeze it always did when he remembered how lucky he was.

"Yeah," he sighed, kissing Cassie's floury forehead before reaching for you. "Yeah, it is."

And if he may or may not have charmed the remaining flour to explode into glitter when Remus walked in later—well. Some traditions were meant to be passed down.

[that-nerd-who-writes-fanfiction]

I’m not usually one for miscommunication as a trope but hear me out:

Arthur thinks he and Merlin are together because Merlin says shit like “you’re my destiny” and “two sides of the same coin” fairly often.

He even looks fond or proud whenever he calls Arthur a prat, and pet names never suited them. He considered it once but it just felt weird. “Idiot.” Changed to “Idiot <3” when they finally got together and that suits them much better than Darling or Babe or whatever else.

And it’s not like he doesn’t say romantic stuff back, all: “you’re the bravest man I ever met.” Or “you’re the best friend I have and I couldn’t bare to lose you”

Meanwhile, Merlin pinpoints the same moment Arthur believed they started dating as when Arthur started acting more affectionate and Merlin’s crush got dialled up to 11.

Arthur doesn’t seem to mind, so he pushes his luck occasionally and will hug Arthur after a long day or will lean on him if they’re eating together on a hunting trip. Merlin absolutely cherishes these moments, but he’s secretly wishing they meant as much to Arthur as they do to him. (Spoiler alert: they do.)

So they must be together, Merlin just can’t be bothered with titles and with everything that happened, Agravane and Morgana betraying him, it would be ideal to wait for an announcement of their relationship.

He gifts Merlin clothes, new boots, will leave flowers in his chambers and asked for the cook to make more of Merlin’s favourites so he can steal food from Arthur’s plate because he claims it tastes better when it isn’t his food.

Arthur gave Merlin his mother’s sigil, for crying out loud. They’re obviously together.

And even better, (you can pry demi or ace Arthur from my cold dead hands) they don’t even need to be intimate beyond the occasional hug or soft gestures like Merlin brushing the hair from his face before Arthur goes to sleep at night and Arthur doing the same whenever they’re not in the castle and sleeping next to each other. He was worried at first, but Merlin never expected it, which Arthur just takes as: “And how stupid to worry? who knows him better than Merlin? Of course he would already know Arthur didn’t feel comfortable with that sort of stuff.”

Then one day, a delegation comes to Camelot and one of the foreign knights is flirting with Merlin. Arthur sees, and he doesn’t usually feel any need to act on his jealousy because he trusts Merlin, but this knight isn’t flirting in the way Gwaine does that’s just part of who he is, and Merlin looks uncomfortable. So he calls Merlin over to him, starts acting like a prat, and keeps Merlin “busy” all night by keeping his goblet full or usual servants duties.

Then later, Merlin thanks Arthur but says he doesn’t need to worry and he can handle himself. Arthur, finally relaxing after being ready to start a fight for the past three hours, pulls Merlin into a hug and kisses his forehead, because let the medieval gays be soft sometimes. He whispers something like, “I know you don’t like talking about it, and that you’ve said you don’t need a title, but you shouldn’t have to handle everything on your own.”

Merlin pulls back, looking shocked and confused. Then they actually have to talk about everything.

Merlin’s just fine with actually dating the guy he’s got a massive crush on and now he’s more willing to instigate hugs and affection. (Arthur just thought Merlin wasn’t going to push him to not make him uncomfortable but secretly wishes that he would instigate more) They end up sleeping in the same bed in Camelot too, because cuddles and softness, something Arthur wanted for a while but didn’t know how to ask for.

Basically all the problems in the relationship that Arthur was worried about but kinda felt “it’s already more than I could hope for” so didn’t want to bring up get worked out naturally and Merlin, who was previously worried about his friendship getting ruined if they changed the dynamic too much, is shocked by how little actually changed now that they’re together. He just gets to hold Arthur’s hand, can be less subtle about stealing from his dinner, gets to relax and gets an Arthur that’s more clingy and soft now that Merlin knows he’s allowed to reciprocate affection.

They still tease each other, they’re still two idiots sharing a braincell that they occasionally give to Leon to babysit, they’re just more open about being in love now. (More open to each other, anyway. Literally everyone else in Camelot knew long before they did)

Bonus points if they’ve been talking about their relationship and having the important conversation with each other the entire time, just without actually talking about it. Merlin asking why Arthur suddenly changed how affectionate he is and Arthur saying he thought he was allowed. Merlin’s just like “cool, as long as you’re okay. I’m glad you’re feeling more comfortable and relaxed.” And glad there’s no love spells or anything sinister going on. Arthur says he doesn’t like Merlin flirting with Gwaine, even if he doesn’t mean it, and Merlin agrees to stop if it makes him uncomfortable. He doesn’t think too much into it, just thinks Arthur doesn’t like the casual flirting and believes that relationships are important so casual stuff isn’t super comfortable. Merlin is still friends with Gwaine, just makes less jokes about going home with or marrying him.

Like, they’re having entire conversations and maintaining a fully functional healthy relationship, they’re just fucking idiots at the same time.

[laufeysvalentine]

full moon, remus lupin

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ remus x afab!reader -- in which remus misses the birth of your child because of the full moon. post hogwarts, kind of suggestive at the beginning. hurt/comfort, fluff, a tiny bit of angst?

word count ༄ 4k

nora’s notes ༄ sorry this took more than three weeks i swear my timing gets worse every time i write a new fic… anyways! i had to sit down with this one and really question my life choices. i don’t know anything about giving birth so pls bear w me

“y’know i love you so, so much, right? i couldn’t love anybody more.” remus, your boyfriend, your lovely, wonderful, perfect boyfriend, is lying with his head pressed against your stomach. his lips are on your waist, pressing those lazy open-mouthed kisses onto your bare body. his murmurs vibrate through your whole body, making a shiver run across the top of your skin. within a second remus is sat up, hand on your arm. “are you cold, dove?” 

you smile at him, a yawn stretching out your mouth. “no, rem, i’m fine. as well as someone seven months pregnant can be, anyway.” 

he hovers for a second but after a stern glance from you, accepts your response and lies back down, pulling the bedspread over you. “i don’t want you to catch a cold.” 

“i won’t, i swear.” he’d been a lot worse when you first told him you were pregnant; you could still remember how he cried and cried. you’re still not sure if they were happy tears or not. having a family, being this domestic was a reality he never ever saw for himself, not since he was bitten. he was terrified–but at the same time, overwhelmed with a love he never thought was possible. a child. with you, the love of his life. everyday, he thinks he could never love your small family anymore. everyday, he gets proven wrong. 

he was so overprotective at first, especially around the first few full moons. he would hardly let you out of his sight, never allowed you to strain yourself in any way that could hurt the baby. you got fed up, as anyone with a shred of desire for independence would, and the two of you had a long talk about boundaries. which he is trying his best to understand and respect. 

“let me get you a shirt at least,” he fusses, and you let him. 

you sit up and he helps you pull yourself into one of his favorite t-shirts and boxers. his hand floats to your belly as if pulled, rubbing light circles on the fabric. 

“do you feel them?” he whispers as he drops onto his side. his eyes are shining with a boyish earnestness as he gazes with all his love at you. “any kicks?” 

you can’t help but smile, reaching a hand out to smooth down his hair, which is all mussed up from how you tugged and tugged on it. “darling, you would feel them too if i did. our baby’s sleeping, and I’m going to too.” 

remus pouts, and you just have to reach down and kiss his soft pink lips. 

“g’night baby.” your fingers come to a rest, tangled in his hair, and his palm keeps resting on your belly, a bare leg slung over your own. the two of you are so incredibly intertwined. 

how did you end up with the most perfect man ever? 

—

“howdy, y’all,” a call comes up from your driveway. 

“morning, sirius,” you respond from the kitchen, sleep waterlogging your voice. 

there’s the sound of a lock clicking, the knob turning, and then a terrible imitation of a texan accent: “and how might you be on this fine morn? i brought the hash and eggs from the farm down on old country road.” 

“i don’t think they speak like that in the u.s., siri,” you say with a laugh, leaning over the counter to accept his hug. 

“um,” he leans back, as if terribly offended, incredulity lining his expression. “i believe they do.” 

you roll your eyes. “mhm.” 

“right, how’s little lupin? and yourself?” he settles onto a chair and passes you the breakfast foods you had requested him to bring. 

“good and good. i feel like i’ve swallowed a watermelon and the watermelon likes to kick, that’s certain. only a few weeks left though, thank merlin. how’ve you been?” you’ve just taken the containers from sirius’ hands when remus comes in. his hair is wet and tousled from his shower, and he smells like aftershave and an old book when he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, pressing a short kiss to your neck and cheek. 

“let me do that, dovey. you sit down with pads, hm?” he takes the eggs from you, not taking no for an answer. 

“thank you, rem. my feet are murdering me.” you give him a proper kiss before spinning towards the table. 

“no hello for me then, moony?” sirius pouts. when remus only shakes his head, the 

(self-proclaimed) dashing ravenette flops back into his chair. “i’m losing all of my friends to this whole marriage thing.” 

“tough luck,” he shoots back, cracking open the eggs. “are james and lily on their way, then?” 

“how would i know, i’m not their messenger.” sirius scoffs while propping his legs on the table. “but yes, they’re coming. they’re going to be a bit late cause harry’s acting up or something. just like his uncle padfoot. oh, if only he knew how much trouble his father and his good old godfather caused back in the day. man…” 

“please stop talking about yourself in the third person, sirius.” you pat his leg. “and get your feet off my nice table. it’s new.” 

“amen to that,” a voice yells from the hallway. it follows james and baby harry, who’s resting his head on his father’s shoulder. lily, in all of her deity-like beauty, even at nine on a saturday morning with a whiny toddler, enters the kitchen. “these boys like to ruin everything new, don’t they?” 

you nod, pushing sirius’ legs from the table and standing to give her a half-hug. 

“no, you sit down,” she fusses, lightly pushing you back into the seat and giving you a kiss on the head. “and how are you, beautiful? you look gorgeous as ever. pregnancy glow.” 

“if you’d please stop flirting with my girlfriend, lils,” remus says from the kitchen. 

“seconded.” james raises an eyebrow as he passes harry to sirius, who immediately begins fussing over his godson. 

“don’t worry, lily. they’ll never be able to interfere with our love,” you declare with a dramatic flair only acquired by spending too much time with sirius black. “i’m lovely, you?” 

“amazing now that i’ve seen you.” she winks and you blow a kiss back. “you’re much nicer than i was at almost forty weeks. i was crabbier than sirius when he doesn’t get his way.” 

“hey, i don’t–” sirius swats at lily, who sweeps just out of reach, into the waiting arms of james. 

“no, sometimes i just want to rattle remus by the shoulders until his wonderful, huge brains come out and scream at him for doing this to me. i just want to push this damn baby out,” you admit. you flash a smile at the blond in the kitchen, making breakfast for all of you. you got so lucky with this man. 

he grins at you, unabashed and loving. “you’re welcome to do that anytime, darling.” 

“okay, i don’t know what kind of kinky shit you two are into, but you can keep it behind doors, please,” sirius coughs, covering harry’s ears. “not in front of the child.” 

“you’ve done and said worse in front of him,” you scoff. “harry’s scarred for life anyways.” 

“i have not,” he huffs. “i don’t appreciate the baseless slander.” 

you just smile in response, accepting the cup of tea your boyfriend hands you with a kiss–he’s made it exactly how you like, as he always does. you’re so happy to be here, with your friends, your family. 

“you’re all ready for the baby, then? what’s your plan?” james asks, chin on his wife’s hair. 

“yes, rem’s been reading and reading about it for months. he has my birth plan down more than i do,” you chuckle. “we’ve had the bag ready since i was in my second trimester.” 

“i’m excited,” he admits, sliding a plate of breakfast to your guests. “i know i shouldn’t say anything cause i’m not the one giving birth and pushing a baby out of me, but i’m really excited. i’m glad i’ll get to be there. to meet our baby for the first time.” 

the look that he gives you fills your belly, like he’s lit a candle in your heart and you’re feeling the warm wax melt all inside of you. clearly your child likes it too, because you can feel them hurling ruthless kick after ruthless kick against your poor body. 

“oh, you’ve got to get out of here,” you groan, resting your head on the back of your chair. “i think my uterus is bruised.” 

“i’m excited to meet you too, lovie.” remus presses a kiss to your belly, then to your lips. your whole body ignites with pure love for him. you’re going to have a proper family soon. 

sirius gags in the background, but you really can’t bring yourself to care. 

—

remus has been growing more and more on edge for the past few days, ahead of the full moon. you can tell its presence has been slowly nibbling away at his well-being, if his mussed hair, four days without showering is any indication. he’s sitting on the couch, looking at absolutely nothing at all, fingers twining and breaking apart every five seconds. 

“you’re stretching yourself thin, rem.” you come up behind him, trying to parse out whether he’s okay with you touching him or not. he’s tense but not overstimulated, so you reach out your palms to massage his shoulders and back. 

“i just–” his voice catches, and you think your heart may be bruised by the way his eyes look up at you, slick with worry and a fear that delivers yet another punch to you. “i don’t want to leave you alone tonight.” 

you smile, leaning down the best you can and melting your lips to his. “the baby’s waited for forty weeks, they’ll be okay with another night.” 

he pulls the inside of his cheek in between his teeth, chewing and chewing. “i’ll never forgive myself if i miss this.” 

“you won’t,” you say firmly. “now, i’m pregnant, and you know you can’t stress a pregnant woman out. so take care of yourself tonight. please, rem. don’t think about me, yeah?” 

“i can’t ever not think about you, dove.” he pulls you down for another kiss, and you practically fall over the couch into his lap, lips all over each other. “you become more and more beautiful everyday.” 

“every time i see the two of you, i just want to shout for you to get a room,” a voice snarks from the doorway. you pull away from remus with a tactful reluctance, like the two of you slathered yourselves in glue and half-dried, and now pulling away from each other is impossible. a weird example, sure, but you just can’t bring yourself to let him go. 

james pops his head in after sirius, offering the two of you a nod. “ready to go, moony? sorry we were running late.” 

with a sigh heavy enough to move mountains, your boyfriend stands. next to you, he looks so solemn, tall. handsome. his hand finds its way to your shoulder, rubs. he drops a kiss to your head, then your forehead, your lips. 

“i love you so much,” he whispers, first to you then your belly. “i’ll be home as soon as possible. i’ll be there, dove. i promise. i wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

you smile up at him. “i know you wouldn’t, rem. now shoo, prongs is right. it’s getting late.” 

he presses his lips to yours once more before letting sirius drag him out the door by the wrist. you blow him a kiss as he leaves, a sort of heaviness settling over the apartment in his absence. a smile twists its way onto your face as you make your way up to the bed for an early night. it’s best for you to not stress as best you can. you still have a week until your due date. he’ll make it. you’ll be fine. 

–

well, you’d jinxed it. you wake up in a puddle, wetness still leaking from between your thighs. oh shit. after a few minutes of obligatory panic, you call upon lily by muggle phone, who answers with sleep crowding her voice. 

“mm?” she mumbles, and you feel bad ringing her at–what was it–twelve thirty seven on a saturday night, but you don’t have anyone else to call. “who’s there?” 

“i’ve either pissed myself or my water’s broke,” you say wetly into the receiver. “never thought i would say this in my adult life, but i’m praying it’s the first one.” 

“oh merlin. y/n? that’s you? i’ll be right there, just have to drop harry with our neighbor.” not even a minute later and it sounds like she’s downed a cup of coffee, instantly more alert. 

“thank you, lils. i love you,” you say before she agrees and hangs up. fuck. what are you going to do? to your bump, you murmur, “please stay in there. just for a few more hours. like, twelve. until remus gets here. please.” 

the next few minutes crawl by slow, too slow. you sit on the edge of your bed, a contraction tearing you open, too heavy and exhausted to move or stand or speak. not to mention the fear that clamps into you. 

how could you do this without remus? the one night you’re alone, and… no. you can’t. 

lily’s bursting through the door only seconds after your first tear lets itself loose, and you want to hate yourself for it. “y/n. how much pain are you in?’ 

you don’t say anything, just hold onto her image for a second–she looks like an angel with the moonlight tousling her bright hair, falling onto the back of her shoulders. when she approaches you, she does so with kindness, caution. 

“are you okay?” she asks with a maternal tenderness you forgot she had. “when was your last contraction.” 

as you swallow, you realize the lump in your throat has grown. “mm, i’m not sure.” 

“okay, love.” she rests a hand on your hair, smooths it out. “we should start timing them. they’ll only let us into the hospital when they’re closer together.” 

and so she sits with you as worry begins to fester in the pit that is your stomach. you pray for your baby to just stay inside of you, just for a few more hours, just until remus can get there. fuck. what horrible timing. they’re certainly shaping up to take after their uncle sirius. 

“fuck, lily,” you cry out almost three hours later. you hate the helplessness that’s encased itself around you. you can do nothing but wait as your contractions grow in strength and volume, nothing but wait and hope for remus to come home earlier, nothing but lie on your bed and wait. 

“i’m sorry,” she whispers. she gets it, you’re sure. the two of you haven’t talked much. she fixed up your bed, gave you some water and food and made sure you were as comfortable as you could be. 

but her words signal a drop, letting the tears that have been building loose. you clutch onto her sleeve, sob after sob pounding out of you. 

“i can’t do it without h-him,” you hiccup, barely intelligible. “i can’t, i can’t.” 

“i know, i know,” she murmurs, kissing you on the head. but she doesn’t reassure you. she’s not sure she can. for a first time labor, he should have been able to make it. under any other circumstance. any other night, he would have. 

but she’s been measuring your contractions. you’ve been progressing much faster than what would be expecting. your baby wants out, and it wants out now. 

usually, that would be great. usually. she’s been thinking that word too much. nothing about this–remus being a werewolf, tonight being the full moon–is usual. she just has to hope that’s okay. she hates seeing you cry, or be in this much pain. 

what would remus do in this situation? he would be calm, maybe stroke your head, make sure you’re as comfortable as possible. she did all that. it’s just not enough. not compared to having your boyfriend there, with you. 

and she’s so, so sorry she can’t. 

the daylight has begun to slither through the white of your curtains, kissing your face with morning. your eyes are puffed pink from all the crying you’d done, and your hand has danced its way over to remus’ side of the bed, looking for him even in sleep. you’d been in and out of a restless nap as lily watched over you, woken every time a contraction hit. it mostly consisted of you closing your eyes every twenty or thirty minutes, just preparing for the labor ahead. 

eventually, they become too painful and frequent to ignore, and you’re forced to rise from your bed, stumbling to the hospital. the whole thing feels like a fever dream–maybe it is. a quiet hope seizes you. maybe you’ll wake up, your boyfriend beside you, and the two of you will be there together as your baby meets the world. 

and then you hear lily tell your name to the receptionist, and your bubble pops. he’s not here. you’re alone in the hospital, about to give birth without your child’s dad to help you. an exhale draws itself out of you, weak and shaking. 

you spend the next hour in a prayer, a red-hot fever that overtakes you. you spend your moments alternating between gritting your teeth through contractions and trying to force your baby back inside of you. please, just an hour longer, please. everything begins blurring together, penetrated by bursts of pain, haziness swarms your being. 

when you close your eyes, he emerges. he’s sitting right beside you, hand in your hand, palm on palm. he tucks your hair behind your ear, kisses your forehead, looks at you with that easy smile. he makes everything better. remus, oh remus. 

and then someone’s calling your name, nudging your shoulder. it’s lily. a furrow has wormed its way between her brows. she’s worried about you. why? 

“the doctor’s calling for you. she wants to know if you’re ready to push.” she puts her hand in yours, but it’s not right. her hand is clammy, cold where remus would be warm. you’re sure he would’ve been sweating, maybe crying too. are you crying? 

you put a finger under your eyes, pulling back when you feel a wetness. oh, you are. fuck. 

nothing is right, right now. 

“i can’t,” you whisper to her, sheep eyes wide and slick with tears. “i can’t do it without him.” 

“y/n, i know this fucking sucks. but he won’t be able to be here for another four hours, and your baby wants to come out now. you can do this.” she rubs her thumb on the back of your hand. her fingers are rough, hard on your skin. 

you want to hold on. you’re trying your best. remus is unreachable right now. he’s a wolf. he can’t come. and your body–your body’s telling you to push. 

“fuck.” you mutter, a wail threatening to drag itself through your throat. the tears are heavy now, your hospital gown is practically soaked. “fuck.” 

“ready?” the doctor comes in, gloves snapped on. 

you can barely bring yourself to nod, but you do so anyway, and push. remus is there with you. it’s a fever dream. your pain is through the roof. he’s there, your angel. what’s happening right now? remus holds your hand, whispers something in your ear. a fingernail rakes across your palm. you’re gripping a hand with all your might. it’s lily. her face blurs. remus. push. he kisses your hand. he’s whispering something. the doctor yells something. what’s happening. 

the doctor hands you your baby, and you sob. you sob because you had to do it all alone, because you had to fall in love with a man who was a werewolf, because your baby had to be born today, because it’s here with you, and he’s not. 

but when you look down at your child, the perfect mixture of you and remus, the sobs turn from terrified to hopeful. remus will come. your child is perfect. and you pass out. 

—

when you awaken, the first thing you notice is a feeling. your hand is wet. soaked. there’s some sort of sniffling on your right side. 

your eyes flutter open. 

and your heart stops. 

there he is. 

remus.

he looks like an absolute wreck. one of his scars on his face has reopened, and it’s pink with drained blood. his hair is matted, messy, all over the place, gone from a dirty blond to an almost brown. his lips are puffy, same with his eyes. he’s crying, eyes and nose rimmed red. 

he is beautiful. 

“remus,” you whisper. your voice is scratchy. you’re not sure what time it is. nothing makes sense and everything makes sense, all at the same time. he opens his eyes, and there you are. 

remus fell in love with you back at hogwarts. he knew you were the one when you got along with all of his friends, even sirius, who usually turned people–at least, the people remus was usually attracted to–off immediately. he knew you were the one when he told you about his lycanthropy and you didn’t run. no, you kissed him, placed a hand to his back, massaged him and made a joke about it. he knew you were the one the day he laid his eyes on you studying in the corner of the library. 

you had always been it for him. and knowing that he couldn’t be there for you, on one of the most important days in your relationship, fucking destroyed him. 

your name slips from his mouth, involuntary. a sob on its heels. 

“i’m sorry, i’m so, so sorry,” he cries, his head on your blanket. his knees are aching, they’re on the ground, but he feels like he deserves it. “i fucking hate myself, dove. i can’t–” 

when your hand reaches out to his hair, carding your fingers through it, a tear slips through your eyes as well. seeing him so heartbroken, for something that he didn’t do–oh, merlin. 

“remus.” 

his name pulls him up from his stance. you pat the bed, in the little space you have left. 

“please. i need to be with you right now,” you admit, sobs in sync with each other. and there you lay, the two of you, holding each other. 

“i can’t apologize enough, i can’t imagine you being here, by yourself. you’re so strong, but i wish i could’ve… if only i weren’t–” he pauses, a hiccup echoing through his throat. 

“stop. you can’t help it. i chose to be with you, remus, do you understand me? i chose this life. i chose it because i love you. so much.” you cup his face with your palms, thumbs roaming over his cheeks. he is so smooth, so warm. everything you needed. “i knew this could happen. and yes, it sucked being here by myself. but you know what matters? you’re here now. and we could never forget that.”

you melt into a weeping mess, the two of you, always as one. 

“have you met her yet?” you ask, after your tears have mellowed. he has a death grip on you. now that he has you, he won’t ever let you go. 

he nods. “she’s sleeping. lily, prongs, and padsfoot are in the other room. they want to see you.” 

you shake your head, tighten your hold on remus’ body. “not yet.” 

with perfect timing, your baby begins to fuss from across the room. he springs up and practically sprints to the bassinet. and holy shit. 

watching him stand over your daughter, tears tracking down to his chin, with the most tender smile slipping onto his face, staring at her with so much love, more than you ever could have imagined existed, oh, god. you knew that he would be the best father there ever was. 

and that, no matter the time that passed or the trials the three of you faced, your love for them would only ever grow.

masterlist

tags: not tagging anyone out of shame because i hate this hahahahah okay love u bye!! ❤️

[aetherraeys]

lasting impressions

( a night to remember, pt3, pt4)

sirius black x afab!reader ⊹ 6.5k

cw ⟢ biker!sirius RARARAR, nervous!reader, alcohol, swearing, suggestive, strangers to ????, tension, teasing

it seemed by the time the morning after the party rolled around, you'd forgotten most of what you'd done, not to worry, sirius was your walking reminder.

a/n i litch skipped class to write this today LOL, i hope yall like it, man bun sirius is just hhhhh not proofread x

The rest of that night was a complete and utter blur. Marlene was meant to take you home but ‘coincidentally’, she ended staying at Dorcas’ to clean up after the party.

That left you with James.

Poor James, had to keep his eyes on you before you ravaged his best mate.

All the swimming you’d done, thankfully tuckered you out for a while—becoming less like Trouble the tasmanian devil and more of a sweet gooey puddle on the sofa.

Proclaiming your love to everyone and everyone.

You had tried to put your clothes back on—but it seemed that no one wanted to let you get dress, and it was getting rather cold.

Sirius had been watching as you padded wobbly, back to the pile by the pool, humming off-beat to the music that still played int the living room—seeping through the crack in the door. Hopping around with one foot partially through your wet bottoms, Sirius decided it was time for him to chime in.

“Busy?” an amused smirk playing on his face.

Huffing in frustration, still trying to force your foot through the wet tangled pant leg, you didn’t answer—you also didn’t hear the sound of his footsteps coming towards you.

Using all your sense at one seemed to be a difficult task at the time.

If you’d had the capacity to think of shaking the clothes out, you probably would have already had them on. Sirius stood over your hunched figure waiting for you to notice him, but you lost your balance—sending yourself right into him.

A soft “oh!”, leaving your lips when you made contact, of course, Sirius was ready to catch you—after having watched you sway back and forths for a while, he figured it would happen sooner or later.

Your chin was still resting chest when you looked up at him, a lazy grin slowly spreading across your face, accompanied with a, “Hello!”

He couldn’t stop himself from matching your smile, entertained by the way you melted against him, letting his hands settle at your waist to steady you, “Fancy seeing you here,” his voice light and teasing.

Nose scrunching slightly, you hummed, “Mmm, you’re so warm,” seemingly deciding then and there to stay pressed against him.

“Mind telling why you’re trying to put your wet clothes back on, sweetheart?”

“S’cold,” words still slurring, and now muffled against his skin. He chuckled, shaking his head, taking the towel that was quite literally right next you clothes—and drapping it over your shoulders.

Sirius began dramatically, rubbing his hands up and down your arms—using all of his might to warm you; “James is going to hex me if I let you catch hypothermia on his watch.”

It only made you break out into loud giggles, wriggling under the towel like your situation was the funniest thing you’d ever seen. Clutching your stomach, laughter ringing through the garden. As he stopped, he leaned in to your ears—whispering in a soft, low tone—”Better?”

It made your ears burn, and stutter several incomplete words, before eventually giving up speaking, feigning non-chalance with a roll of your eyes. And Sirius couldn’t stop the bark of laughter from leaving him—

"Merlin, you’re so cute," Sirius mused, watching as your face scrunched up, trying and failing to pretend his words hadn’t made your heart stutter.

You let out an exaggerated sigh, determined to move on. “I’m putting my trousers back on.”

Tilting his head at you, amusement dancing in his eyes, “Are you, now?”

Nodding firmly, you reached down to grab them, still heavy with water—only for Sirius to pluck them up first, holding them just out of reach.

"Oi!" You swayed slightly, glaring up at him. "Gimme."

"Mmm... no," he hummed, examining the soaked fabric like he was contemplating setting them on fire. "See, I just spent all this time warming you up, and now you want to go and undo all my hard work? Tsk, tsk."

"But I’m cold," you whined. "Clothes make you warmer, Sirius, it’s science."

"Not when they’re wet,” he countered, lifting an eyebrow. “Putting these on is just going to make you colder.”

"But I’m already wet," you argued, throwing your arms out as if that proved a point. "I’m wet, the clothes are wet—so it cancels out."

Sirius stared at you. "That’s...that’s not how that works.”

"It is," you insisted, crossing your arms. "Like...double negatives. Wet plus wet equals dry."

Sirius blinked. "That was the single worst attempt at logic I have ever heard.”

"You’re the worst attempt at logic I’ve ever heard," you shot back, wobbling on your feet.

"That didn’t even make sense," he snorted, running a hand down his face. "Merlin, you’re impossible."

"Gimme my trousers."

"No."

"Gimme."

"Nope."

Before you could protest further, Sirius simply sighed, tossed the offending trousers aside, and scooped you up like you weighed nothing.

"Sirius!" you gasped, clinging to his shoulders on instinct. "Put me down, fiend!"

"No can do, sweetheart," he grinned, carrying you inside with ease. "You’ve lost trouser privileges."

"That’s not a thing," you grumbled, voice muffled against his shoulder.

"It is now."

Sirius stepped into the living room, plopping you both down onto the couch in one smooth motion. You huffed, still tangled up against him, but the warmth of the house—and him—was already seeping into your chilled skin. You could feel his chuckle rumbling against you as he reached for the nearest blanket, draping it over you both with an air of finality.

"See?" he murmured, voice smug. "Much better."

You grumbled something unintelligible against his shoulder, but you didn’t move—not even an inch. Partly because you were comfortable and partly because your limbs still felt like jelly.

Sirius huffed out a quiet laugh, adjusting the blanket so it covered more of you.

Dorcas rolled her eyes at the wet trail you’d left upon entry, grumbling about how she’d just mopped, before tossing a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a jumper in yours and Siruis’ general direction.

"I love Dorcas," you announced from the couch, voice muffled but enthusiastic. She came towards the sofa as you confessed, a glass of water in hand, passing it to you with a soften sigh—small smile on her face.

"I love everyone!" It came out shockingly louder than your last statement; “Everything is so good,”

Sirius chuckled, shifting slightly so he could look down at you. “Yeah?”

"Mhm," you hummed, snuggling impossibly closer. "Sirius, you’re my favorite."

"Ooooh, scandalous," Marlene called from the other room. "James, how does it feel to be replaced?"

"I am not replaced!" James shot back indignantly. “And I’ve been stuck with cleaning up this mess, while Sirius is lazing on the sofa.” The last sentences was mumbled and huffed under his breath.

Dorcas snorted, flicking her wand to banish a suspicious-looking stain from the carpet. “James, he quite literally had to drag her inside.”

Marlene hummed in agreement. “Yeah, poor bloke probably had to wrestle her just to get her to drop the wet clothes.”

The light chatter continued among them as they cleaned, but eventually, all that could be heard from the couch was your soft, content sigh as Sirius tightened the blanket around you both.

Sirius glanced down at you, only to realize your breathing had evened out, your face smushed sleepily against his shirt.

"Merlin’s beard," he muttered, shaking his head fondly. "You really are trouble."

It took another thirty minutes before the house was back to its original state, James let out an exasperated sigh, plopping onto the single chair by Sirius—eyes scanning over your sleeping figure.

Sirius had his phone in one hand, the other on your thigh—your shoulders rising and falling slowly with heach breath, head rested on his shoulder—very very comfortable.

James squinted his eyes at the pair of you.

"Alright, let’s get moving," James announced, stretching his arms over his head. "I want to be in bed before the sun comes up for once."

Sirius sighed dramatically but sat up, shifting you carefully in his hold as he did. You stirred only slightly, mumbling something incoherent before settling again.

"Right then," Sirius said, looking over at Marlene expectantly. "Time to take your gremlin home."

Marlene raised a brow. "My gremlin? No, no, you two are taking her home."

"What? No," James argued, pointing an accusing finger at her. "You were supposed to take her home!"

Marlene gave him an unimpressed look. "And how, exactly, am I supposed to do that? There’s one of me, and she’s basically liquid right now."

"S’not true," you mumbled sleepily, shifting against Sirius' chest. "I’m solid. Mostly."

"See?" Sirius smirked. "Mostly solid. You’ll manage."

Marlene rolled her eyes. "James, you have a car. Sirius, you have a motorbike. There are two of you and one of me. Basic math says this is not my problem."

James groaned, rubbing his face before turning to Sirius. "Rock, paper, scissors for it?"

"Not a chance, mate," Sirius said, already standing with you in his arms. "You drive. I’ll follow."

James huffed but didn't argue further, muttering about how Sirius always managed to get out of the worst parts of every situation.

The drive back to their flat was mostly quiet, save for the occasional hum of a song from Sirius as he trailed behind on his bike. You remained blissfully unaware, curled up in the passenger seat of James’ car, only half-waking when he parked and Sirius pulled open the door.

"Up we go, trouble," Sirius murmured, lifting you effortlessly before you could try and stumble your way inside.

James locked the car, sighing as he followed them up the stairs. But when he opened the door to their flat, he realized something.

"Wait," he frowned. "Where is she supposed to sleep?"

Sirius, still carrying you, blinked at him. "Uh. My bed?"

"Oi," James pointed a warning finger at him. "That’s my friend, so no funny business."

Sirius rolled his eyes, adjusting you in his arms. "Please. I’m not the one you need to worry about."

James scoffed, but let it go, too tired to argue further. "Fine. Just—behave yourself, alright?"

"Always do," Sirius grinned before disappearing into his room.

The moment he set you down, you sighed, rolling onto your side as you curled into the warmth of his duvet. Sirius exhaled, shaking his head with a small smirk before tugging the blankets up over you properly. His bed had always been big—more space than he usually needed—but right now, he didn’t mind it.

For a moment, he just watched you, taking in the peaceful expression on your face. The soft rise and fall of your chest. The way your hand curled slightly into the pillow.

With careful fingers, he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch barely there.

"Pretty," he murmured fondly.

And with that, he switched off the light and settled in beside you—close, but not too close. Just enough to make sure you were warm.

When the morning rolled around, the light in the room making your eyes burn even while closed, head pounding and throbbing—mouth abnormally dry. A groan left your lips as you shifted slightly, body stiff from sleep, but as you stretched out, something felt… wrong.

For one, the bed was too big. And for another—

Thud.

You hit the floor with a graceless, painful sort of smack, tangled in the sheets you’d apparently dragged with you.

"Bloody hell," you muttered, squeezing your eyes shut as you lay there for a moment, reeling from the sudden impact. That definitely didn’t help your headache.

Panic set in almost immediately.

You blinked, finally taking in your surroundings, mind scrambling to piece together where the hell you were. The room was unfamiliar—dark bedding, posters plastered lazily on the walls, the faintest lingering scent of cologne and cigarette smoke.

Your stomach dropped.

This—this wasn’t your room. And it definitely wasn’t Marlene’s or Dorcas’.

You scrambled to your feet, legs wobbling slightly beneath you, hands clammy as you pressed them to your temples. The pulsing ache behind your eyes did not make thinking any easier. Your heart hammered as you backed up toward the door, mind racing through every terrible, worst-case scenario imaginable. Your body moved on autopilot—twisting the handle, slipping out into the corridor with the sheer desperation of needing to get out of here.

And then—

"Oh, look who’s up," James’ voice.

Your head snapped up, vision still slightly blurred, but sure enough—James Potter was standing in the open kitchen, casually stirring a bowl of cereal. And next to him, leaning against the counter, was Sirius Black, sipping a cup of tea with all the ease in the world.

Your breath caught. James’ flat.

Some of the panic loosened its grip, but the mortification settled in just as quickly.

"She lives," Sirius smirked over the rim of his cup.

You opened your mouth—closed it—then tried again. "I—I don’t—" You winced at the sound of your own voice, throat dry and hoarse. "What—"

James raised a brow. "Need some water before you start asking questions?"

You swallowed thickly. "Maybe."

Sirius nudged a glass across the counter without a word. You took it hesitantly, stepping forward just enough to grab it, before downing the whole thing in a few gulps.

It helped. Slightly.

"Alright," you breathed out, trying to regain some sense of composure. "What…happened?"

Sirius and James exchanged looks, and you did not like whatever silent conversation they just had.

James was the first to break. "You happened," he snorted, shaking his head. "You were sloshed, love."

Your brows knit together. You remembered getting to the party. Swimming. Bits and pieces of the night flickered through your mind, but it was all… hazy.

"You don't remember?" Sirius tilted his head, watching you closely as you chewed at your bottom lip, avoiding eye contact with him.

"I—" You hesitated. "Some of it? I remember the party. And—I think I was trying to… put my clothes back on?" You frowned. "But Marlene had already given me some?"

Sirius grinned, all too happy to remind you. "Ah, yes. You were determined to put your wet clothes back on, actually. Told me that ‘wet plus wet cancels out,’ or something equally brilliant."

You groaned, pressing your fingers to your temples. "Merlin’s sake. I told Marlene this would happen.”

"You also declared your undying love for everyone about five times," James added, chewing lazily. "But apparently, Sirius was your favorite."

Your head shot up at that, eyes wide. "I what?!"

Sirius hummed, parroting Marlene’s words from last night, looking far too smug. "Scandalous, I know."

You stared at them both in abject horror, any lingering dizziness temporarily forgotten as you fought the urge to crawl out of your own skin. This is exactly what you were worried about, being a public nuisance and making an absolute idiot of yourself.

You just groaned again, leaning against the counter, face heating—hoping some unknown force would strike you down, anything to avoid the mortifying feeling in the pit of your stomach.

James snickered before shrugging. "Could’ve been worse. At least you didn’t puke."

Small mercies.

Sirius walked over to where you stood, handing over a packet of ibuprofen, you still couldn’t meet his gaze. The intensity of his stare, paired with the almost cocky smirk that played on his face made you shrink into yourself—his fingertips lingering on your hand for just a second longer than they should have. Before he walked back over to lean against the counter.

James watched the entire interaction rather unimpressed, but he chose not to say anything about it, instead he pulled out the seat next to him—motioning for you to sit down. Your brows were still knit high up on you forehead, endlessly wracking your brain, willing it to focus on the events of last night. Unconsciously picking at the skin around you fingers, eyes glaring at a spot on the table, a deep frown settling on your lips.

It took a few calls, but eventually James got your attention, offering you some toast.

But the idea of eating anything made your stomach lurch slightly, you shook your head immediately, muttering, “I think i’ll pass, thank you though,”

The guilt was killing you, not only did you make a fool of yourself, you didn’t remember and you didn’t make it home. Standing up from your place in the table, asking James if you could borrow something to change into after your shower. He spluttered slightly, mouth still full—”Course,”

The hot shower did little to calm your mind, only washing the slight smell of chlorine off your skin, opting for the smallest clothes James had, they still were very ill-fitting, hanging off of your frame. Your hair dripped onto the towel you’d hung over your shoulders, taking your spare toothbrush out James’ cabinet, you began brushing.

Brain mindlessly trailing away, memories of your antics flashing vividly behind your eyes, more specifically that moment in the pool, like you’d been transported back to that very second, your heart raced and thumped in your ears—cheeks heating at the thought of the kiss.

Groaning as you shut off the running tap, fingertips brushing over your lips. Exhaling through your nose, you shook your head, mumbling to yourself as you left the bathroom.

“What have i done?”

Trailing over to James’ room, he was at his desk, typing on his laptop. You stood by him wordlessly for few a moments, a frown on your face, eyes trained on the floor. The smile on his face dropping at the sight of yours, “What’s the matter, love?” turing his whole body towards you.

“I’m sorry.”

Your voice was meek as you continued, “I’m sorry you had to take care of me, I hope I didn’t ruin your night,” You looked like you were about to cry, he couldn’t help the huffed chuckle that passed his lips as he hugged you,

“Y/N, you didn’t ruin the night for anyone, if anything, you made it more fun.”

Head still in his chest, he leant away slightly, catch a glimpse of your face, barking out a laugh at your wet eyes, “I promise, doll. And I didn’t mind taking care of you, I’m sure Sirius didn’t either.”

Still not raising your head, you flooped dramatically onto James’ bed, face first—the teasing tone of his voice playing in your head over and over. Another wave of embarrassment washing over you. James was already standing up, still laughing lightly at you, before he took a pillow from the top of his bed—dropping it on your head.

“As much as I’d love to watch you be awkward and embarrassed with Sirius, I need to go to the gym—I’ll drop you home when I get back.”Voice drifting further away as he finished.

He was already out of the door before you could beg him not to leave you with Sirius.

What was more mortifiying was that you knew your brain wouldn’t let you rest until you’d apologised to him, and now that James was gone for however long—you were trapped with the guy you’d drunk kissed with no buffer.

It took you another twenty minutes of internal conflict before you slowly skulked out of James’ room, food calling your name more than anything. You’d prayed Sirius would be back in his room, allowing you more time to work yourself into a mental space confident enough to talk to him like a normal person.

Everything about him just felt so intimidating, so confident, so straight-forward, so handsome.

The kitchen was thankfully empty, giving you space to boil the kettle—maybe a cup of tea would settle you.

Once again lost in thought, you’d failed to notice how the Gods had tricked you into thinking you were safe. Comfortably slotted into the corner in the counter—waiting for the kettle to tick over, when Sirius had walked into the space, resting against the door frame—watching.

You looked so deep in thought—drowning James’ jumper, hair still slightly damp. Sirius wasn’t going to deny it, despite your very comfortable, almost disheveled appearence—he still thought you looked just as gorgeous as the night before.

He interrupted you chain of thought with his voice; “Boil enough for two?”

The way you almost jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice was rather comical, practically clutching your non-existent pearls. And he didn’t grace you with time to recover, because, he was already so close to you by the time you’d turned around—stalking over to where you stood.

You did try to stutter out an answer, but your heart beating so loudly in your ears was distracting, preventing you from forming one conscious stream of speech. Instead, you gave up and just nodded—turning away from him and the cocky grin on his face.

Staring at the marble counter as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Sirius was still closing the distance between you, so much so that you could feel the heat that he radiated on your skin, could smell his freshly washed hair, laced with caramel and dark leather. You wanted to move away, but you were effectively cornered, the only escape would be if you somehow went through him.

You turned to find away to give him more space, but he just leant further in, looking down at you with that same smirk, so painfully aware of how panicked you were at the proximity. Breath audibly hitching as he reached over your head—eyes still locked with your, pulling out another mug from the cupboard and placing it beside him.

And instead of moving away after getting what he needed, like any normal person, he entrapped you by placing his arms on both sides of you body—palms pressing against the counter.

"Something on your mind, sweetheart?"

Sirius’ voice was low, smooth—far too amused for your liking. The way he was looking at you, all hooded eyes and lazy smirk, made it very clear he was enjoying your predicament.

You swallowed, attempting to look unaffected despite the fact that your pulse was hammering at your throat. "No."

He tilted his head slightly, like he didn’t quite believe you. "No?"

Your fingers curled against the counter, desperate for something to ground yourself. The heat of him was overwhelming, every sense, every inhale filled with something distictly Sirius. It was ridiculous how effortlessly he took up space, how he had you feeling cornered without even laying a hand on you.

"Then why," he murmured, dipping just slightly closer, "do you look like a rabbit caught in a trap?"

Your breath hitched. His voice was too smug, too pleased with himself, and it sent something hot curling low in your stomach.

"I don’t," you lied, attempting to shift to the side—only for Sirius to mirror you, blocking your escape with ease.

His lips twitched. "Mmm, I think you do."

He was so close now that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, his hands braced on either side of you, caging you in like he had all the time in the world.

You hated how your voice came out weaker than intended. "Do you make a habit of cornering people in kitchens, or am I just special?"

His smirk deepened. "Oh, you're special."

Your stomach flipped violently at that, and you cursed yourself internally for the reaction.

The kettle clicked off behind you, but neither of you moved.

Sirius’ gaze flickered down, lingering for just a second too long before meeting yours again, dark and unreadable. "Seems you’ve lost the bite you had last night."

Your lips parted—whether to say defend your drunk actions or tell him to piss off, you weren’t sure—but before you could get a word out, he finally pushed off the counter, retreating as smoothly as he’d approached.

The loss of his warmth left you feeling almost unsteady.

He reached for the kettle, pouring the water into both mugs like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just obliterated your ability to think straight.

"Relax, darling," he murmured, stirring his tea with a spoon. "I'm just having my morning fun."

You exhaled sharply, gripping the counter just to reorient yourself.

Sirius glanced at you from the corner of his eye, smirking again when he saw your still-flustered expression.

Bastard.

With another deep breath, you turned to him, a frown now etching itself into your face—it came out slightly begrudge, more reluctant and dreading than you’d hoped.

“I—uh, wanted to say…I’m sorry, for uh—how I acted last night. I’m not usually that drunk or forward or shameless actually,” Twiddling your thumbs, lips pursing together before you spoke again; “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable in anyway, or um—make you look after the random girl who drank too much…”

The feeling that prickled on you neck, made your throat drier was undeniably, shame. What a way to present yourself. Sirius had stopped stirring his tea, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. His smirk was gone, replaced with something softer, something unreadable. For once, he didn’t look like he was about to tease you.

“You think I was uncomfortable?” he asked after a beat, his voice quieter now.

You swallowed, suddenly unsure. “I mean…I don’t know. You had to drag me inside, jumped into the pool for me, I kissed you—and—Merlin, I don’t even remember half of it, but I know I was being ridiculous and unruly.”

Sirius exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he leaned against the counter. “You weren’t ridiculous.”

You shot him a dubious look.

“Alright,” he amended with a small grin. “Maybe a little ridiculous. But you were also sweet. And funny. And probably the most affectionate drunk I’ve met.”

Your face burned. “Merlin.” You buried your head in your hands. “Please, please don’t tell me everything I said.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare.” He was definitely enjoying this a little too much. “Not when I could use it as leverage later.”

Your groan of embarrassment only made him chuckle.

“But,” Sirius continued, a little more serious now, “you don’t have to apologize, love. You didn’t do anything wrong. We all have our nights.”

You hesitated, glancing up at him. “Really?”

He nodded, taking a slow sip of his tea. “Really. Besides, I’d hardly complain about you curling up in my lap and calling me your favorite.”

You almost choked. “Sirius.”

His grin was downright wicked now. “What? I’m just saying, if you ever feel like being that affectionate sober, I wouldn’t mind.”

You stared at him, unsure whether to be flustered or exasperated.

Sirius only winked. “Tea’s getting cold, sweetheart.” Then, as effortlessly as ever, he turned on his heel and sauntered out of the kitchen, leaving you standing there—stomach in knots, head spinning, and entirely unsure what to do with yourself.

It was getting late, and you’d been sitting in James’ living room for hours since he left, waiting rather impatiently for him now.

God’s this would have been easier if you hadn’t left your bag at Dorcas’.

Sirius eventually showed himself again, shocked to find you sitting there, still no James.

Sirius’ voice broke the silence like a stone skipping across a still lake.

“Are you waiting for James?”

You looked up, slightly startled, your fingers curling tighter around the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Sirius stood in the doorway, arms crossed, dark eyes scanning you with mild amusement and faint incredulity.

“Yeah,” you admitted, shifting slightly in your seat. “He said he wouldn’t be long.”

Sirius frowned, glancing at the clock on the wall. “That was hours ago.”

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “I know.”

“Then why the hell are you still sitting here?”

You exhaled, dropping your head back against the couch. “I left my bag at Dorcas’,” you admitted begrudgingly. “No bag means no keys. No money. No phone. So, I figured I’d wait.”

Sirius blinked. “And you didn’t say anything?”

You shrugged. “Didn’t want to be a bother.”

A sharp breath left him, his lips parting before he ran a hand through his hair. “So, let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “You’ve been sitting here alone, in a mostly empty house, for hours, when I could’ve just driven you home?”

Your face warmed. “I didn’t—”

Sirius let out a disbelieving laugh. “For fuck’s sake, sweetheart.”

You bristled at the exasperation in his voice. “I said I’m fine. I chose to wait.”

Sirius scoffed, pushing off the doorframe. “You chose to sit in a silent house, curled up like a bloody lost puppy, instead of just asking me?”

You frowned. “I wasn’t curled up like a lost puppy.”

“Are you sure? Because that’s exactly what James’ couch has been hosting all evening.” He gestured toward you. “At this point, you might as well start whining for him to come back.”

You shot him a glare, blanket tightening around your shoulders. “Dramatic.”

Sirius folded his arms, tilting his head. “You really don’t want me to take you home?”

“I—” You hesitated. “It’s not that.”

“Then what?” You bit the inside of your cheek, blinking rapidly, trying to find the words that wouldn’t expose you, but would stop his pestering. His eyes narrowed slightly.

And then something clicked.

“Oh, Merlin,” he breathed, an unrestrained grin creeping onto his lips. “You’re scared of my bike.”

Your stomach twisted. “I am not.”

Sirius barked out a laugh, pure delight lighting up his face. “You totally are.”

You scowled, hating how much he was enjoying this, as if you hadn’t suffered enough embarrassment to last you a life time in the last twenty-four hours. “I just… don’t trust two wheels to keep me alive.”

Sirius smirked. “You think my death machine is going to kill you?”

“I never called it that.”

“You were thinking it.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples, squeezing your eyes shut, tilting your head. Voicing coming out a bit more sharp and desperate than you’d hoped, “Can you just—drop it?”

He hummed, watching you carefully. Then, his smirk softened into something more amused, something more real.

“You trust me though, don’t you?”

The question caught you off guard, and your lips parted slightly, mind scrambling for an answer.

Because you did. You knew you did.

Sirius must’ve seen something in your face, because his voice was quieter when he spoke next.

“I’d take care of you,” he murmured. “I will take care of you.”

Your chest tightened, the swirling in the pit of your stomach only getting worse the longer you pondered on his words, the tone of his voice and how it had you melting in your seat.

And you hated that that was what finally made you relent.

With a deep breath, you stood, setting the blanket aside. “Fine.”

Sirius grinned like he’d just won a bet. “Knew you’d cave.”

You rolled your eyes, following him toward the door.

Outside, the air was crisp, and the night was still—making you much more aware of the sweat building on the palms of your hand, The sleek black motorcycle stood ominously under the streetlamp, its chrome glinting under the dim glow.

You eyed it warily.

Sirius watched you, then held up a helmet. “Here.”

You hesitated, staring at it, before reaching to take it. But instead of handing it over, Sirius stepped closer, gently placing it over your head himself.

Your breath caught.

He was careful, fingertips brushing against your skin as he adjusted the straps, securing it beneath your chin. His touch was fleeting but warm, sending something strange skittering through your ribs.

“There,” he murmured, pulling back slightly, his face still close to yours. “Not so bad, huh?”

You swallowed thickly. “Mm.”

Sirius chuckled, stepping away—but then paused, eyes raking over you. His expression shifted slightly.

“You’re going to freeze,” he muttered.

Before you could even think about protesting, he was already shrugging off his leather jacket, draping it over your shoulders.

“Sirius—”

“Not up for debate.” His voice was firm, but there was a teasing glint in his eyes. “I’d hate for you to lose feeling in your limbs before you can tell me how much you love my driving.”

You sighed but didn’t argue. Instead, you slipped your arms into the sleeves, the scent of him—something rich and warm, like cedar and leather—enveloping you.

Sirius straddled the bike, motioning for you to get on.

“Hold on tight, sweetheart.”

You hesitated for only a second before gripping onto him, arms wrapping firmly around his waist, fingers locking in front, resting your head on his back—taking in a deep breath, trying to brace yourself. Playing his words of reassurance over and over again in your head, he’s going to take care of you, you’ll be fine.

He softly patted your thigh, a final comfort, before—the bike roared to life, and you barely had time to take another breath before Sirius took off, the rush of wind stealing the breath from your lungs.

A shrill scream leaving you mouth before you could even stop it, and he felt your grip on him become impossibly tighter—holding on for dear life. Sirius laughed, his voice mingling with the night air whipping past you.

It took a while before your pulse slowed, for the rise and fall of your chest to become less rapid, less frantic and settle into pace with Sirius’. And just as you were becoming accustom to feeling of the ride, you realized something.

The streets were unfamiliar.

Your brows furrowed. “Sirius.”

“Hm?”

“This isn’t my house.”

“I know.”

You shot him a look, but he was already parking in front of a small diner, flicking the kickstand down before hopping off. “Figured you haven’t eaten all day.”

Your stomach grumbled in response.

Sirius smirked. “Thought so.”

Inside, the diner was warm, golden light casting soft shadows on the walls. You sat across from Sirius, eating in quiet companionship, for a while, the occasional teasing remark breaking the silence—and once he’d started talking, he really didn’t stop, endless questions streaming out, asking how you met James and other random acquisitions.

It was easy. Comfortable.

And you didn’t quite know what to do with that.

Afterward, Sirius drove you home, putting your helmet on your you once again, this time his eyes scanning—drinking in your face for a moment too long. Before setting off again, he pulled your arm to wrap around him tighter—squashing any space between you.

At your doorstep, you hesitated, shifting slightly on your feet—God’s did he look good, hair pulled back, a few pieces framing his face from the way he pulled off his helmet, cheeks slightly pink from the bite of the wind.

Then, before you could overthink it, you asked, “Do you…want to come in? For a cup of tea?”

Sirius’ lips twitched, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Inside, the two of you sat on your sofa, tea in hand, conversation flowing effortlessly.

Until you found yourself staring.

Really, it wasn’t your fault, it was his.

He just looked like he was hand-carved by the God’s, not just that, he looked like they took their sweet time with him. Eyes almsot sparkling under the dimly lit light of your lamp, you had no control over it—the way your eyes flickered from his lips, to his eyes, just absorbing every inch of his face.

Sirius arched a brow. “What’s the verdict?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Without your drunk goggles…” His voice was lower now, edged with mischief and something more. He leaned in impossibly closer to you, the heat of his breath, ghosting past the shell of your ear, sending an involuntary shiver down you spine—and he saw the way it ran through you. “Do you still think I’m as hot as you did last night?”

You tongue darted out to wet you lips that had become painfully dry, the second the rough tone of his voice reached your ears, and rung over and over in you head. He’d pulled back just enough to look at you, a slither of space between you.

And in a rare, unfiltered moment of boldness, you answered without hesitation.

“Yes.”

Sirius’ smirk faltered just slightly. His gaze flickered over your face, his fingers drifting from the edge of his knee to ghost just barely grazing yours. But the only thing you could focus on was the way he was looking at you.

He looked like he was considering something. Like he was daring you to say more.

Every part of you wanted to close the space between you, but you couldn’t, you wouldn’t—

“Gods, you’re pretty,” His words came out rushed, yet sincere—almost immediately pressing his lips to yours. Hands no longer hovering over your skin, pressing his palms on your thighs and leaning into you—you couldn’t exactly hold yourself up, not when your fingertips were trailing up his neck, toying with the stray hairs at his nape.

Falling softly against the settee, kiss becoming more intense as the moments passed—his hands travelling, gripping you hip, inching up to hold your waist, chests heaving against each other. Sirius had been dying for this, excruitatingly impatient and feverish in his actions, airy sighs and muffled groans passing between you.

“Sirius—mmpf,”

Your hold shifting from his hair to grasp at his shirt, the other trailing up underneath, palm hot and pressed firmly to his chest, sliding towards his shoulder, leaving light red lines in the wake of your soft scratches. Neck craning into him as his kisses travelled slowly down your jaw—nipping and sucking at the thin skin, before trailing back up—lips parted and swollen, memorising your face.

Blown out pupils, cheeks reddened, half-lidded, just perfect. His hands inched up slowly, running over the dip of your waist, the curve of your breasts, resting at your neck, pulling you up slightly and taking your bottom lip between his teeth—earning him the sweetest whimper.

Silently thanking your drunk self for granting you access to this, enjoying the moment as it continued—melting into eachother’s indulgent and plentiful touches.

[longlivechips]

Orpheus and Eurydice AU

Where Merlin is given the opportunity to lead Arthur out of Avalon.

However, if he turns around and looks at Arthur before they reach the surface he forfeits their destiny and Arthur will never return.

Merlin can. He looks straight ahead. He's suffered worse than this for Arthur's sake and he won't throw it away now for a glance. He knows Arthur, he knows he will follow.

Arthur on the other hand ....

He's fresh off the betrayal of a magic reveal. He died in Merlin's arms with so much left unsaid. He follows, of course he does it's Merlin how can he not.

But he's not used to this Merlin. The Merlin that gets shit done, the Merlin that's been defending him and his kingdom for a decade. The cold, calm, ruthless man Merlin has forced himself to be for Arthur's sake.

He NEEDS Merlin to turn around. To flash him that goofy smile that lets Arthur know that despite everything Merlin is still there. His Merlin. Kind and affectionate and trustworthy. Merlin who would cry over the death of a stranger. Merlin who is always by his side.

He doesn't know the Merlin in front of him and he's scared. And maybe he begs Merlin to turn around. Fueled by grief and fear and isolation.

But Merlin doesn't. He keeps going forward.

[theavantgardette]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Constricted Suburbia | Harry J. Potter

SYN: 4 Privet Drive isn't the best place to spend a summer's break in. The girl next door to him begs to differ.

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Harry is upset, incredibly so. Harsh winds blow outside, muffling the sounds of Dudley's TV as it turns itself off in the room upstairs. Summer has been a right tosser, and it was going to continue being this way until Uncle Vernon can shut his fat mouth and suck it up.

Aunt Petunia isn't any better — succumbing to Dudley's insistent nagging as it convinces her to make Harry do the dirty dishes instead of her son, the piles adding onto each other as the hours pass quicker than they persist. He wishes to Merlin or whoever listens that he could use magic somehow. Maybe they'll legalize it next year; if only Fudge wouldn't fuss too much about whatever Dumbledore is doing.

For the upteenth time since he started washing the plates, Harry nudges his glasses upright with the back of his wrist, the sleeves of his surfer's shirt that Ron's mum gave him soaking wet with soapy dishwashing water. The TV downstairs buzzes along; it was the weather girl with the big hair that Uncle Vernon was quite fond of. It always ticks Aunt Petunia's stinger like a loud brass. While the presenter talks Harry's ears off, the big man of 4 Privet Drive resumes to snore asleep on the couch.

Harry cannot fathom how the anger inside of him intensified each year he returned to Privet Drive. It's like a demon's taken space inside of him, colonizing his lungs and heart, leaving no room for good conscience. It convinces him that nothing, and it presses that absolutely nothing is of any good in this grey, constricted suburbia.

Strange, but perhaps after what loveliness he's been exposed to in Hogwarts and around it only made the cruelty of 4 Privet Drive much more intolerable as time passes; or perhaps it was Voldemort's presence. Antagonizing him, consuming him, becoming him until he was nothing short of a cursed child—

A pretty girl is outside the window.

Harry tilts his head, blinking once and twice. He fixes his glasses once more, leaving a spot of detergent water on the bridge of his nose. It was a bicycle — sure, it was — but riding it was a girl. No, a woman. A young woman. Perhaps his age, maybe a year older, he couldn't really tell. She brings along magazines and cards, parking her bicycle just sideways across their lawn. Aunt Petunia will blow a fuse.

Nothing, absolutely nothing is of any good here.

Harry shakes the thought away. His gaze ticks from the living room, then back outside. He guesses she's be gone by now, but her curious form waits outside — alone, determined. He doesn't know what she's aiming for. It's a gloomy afternoon and no one is out.

Footsteps emerge downstairs, and Aunt Petunia's orders for her husband resounds as a shrilling noise across the hardwood floors. Harry winces, covering his ears with the insides of his flannel. He rinses his hands, turning the sink of afterwards before heading out to the front lawn.

⋮

"You shouldn't be here," Harry said through gritted teeth, hurrying towards her after he locks the door behind him. The cold air hit him like the Knight Bus on a swerve, and he wonders how she can withstand such a tempreature in only a dress and a cardigan.

She crosses her arms, eyes deadset his way, "Why?"

"It's— my aunt—," Harry's words constricted as she faces him.

Her eyes are a deep pool, scorching with magic-made fire; her hair twirls around like inklings as the wind blows through them. He doesn't recall her ever attending Hogwarts. She cannot be a muggle.

She raises a brow, "If you don't have a good reason to hold me back, leave me be. I'm only selling cakes."

"Did– did you just say 'cakes'?", Harry asks, brushing off how stupid he sounds.

She smiles in excitement, handing him a piece of paper, "I sell desserts. You should try them. They're pretty and sweet, sort of like your eyes right there."

Harry chokes on his own spit. He clears his throat, his face burning red before laughing, a nervous vibration from the back of his mouth. At this, she inches closer to him, intrigued with his sudden vulnerability.

"I was talking about how, y'know," she softly gestures to them, looking up a bit his way, "they're green, like my mint cookies."

The corner of Harry's mouth lifts to a smirk; both smug and caught off guard by the compliment. He leans against the mailbox, but slips and puts his hand behind his neck instead. She bit her lip to stifle a giggle.

The girl handed him a box and introduces her name.

"I live at 12 Privet Drive," she points a straight road across, but Harry can only see how soft her skin looks in the dress she wears, "just around the corner."

"Yeah," Harry nods profusely, speaking faster than his brain can think, "yeah, twelveth. Heard of it. Feel it. Sure, yeah."

She laughs at his antics. Merlin, he was on fire.

"You'll be here all summer?" she asks while giving a flyer to Mrs. Figs, the old broad with the dead husband living across Uncle Vernon's house.

Mrs. Figs complimented her 'sweet smile' before resuming to walk her tortoise, Spectacle, to the suburb's park. Harry shrugs, toying with the cardboard of the cookie box,

"I'll be back to school quite soon."

"Oh yeah?" she lilted, "me too."

This is his chance.

"I'm Harry," he mentions, and she shrugs.

"I've heard."

Now it's his turn to be surprised. How come she recalls his name when he hasn't seen her yet?

An empathetic shade paints her eyes, "Word goes around, you see."

"Yeah," Harry says, a lump lodged in his chest, and by a spontaneous courage, he risks his facade to ask, "you believe them?"

She scrunches her face, shaking her head. It's so simple. It's so... delightful, to be believed. She doesn't think he's crazy.

Uncle Vernon calls him from inside, an utterly humiliating action as his yells echo against the walls of the other homes across Privet Drive. The girl winces, gazing away from the scene. He hates that man.

"I'm sorry," he says, wanting to do more than just verbally utter his apology, "please, I— do you usually come here every day?"

"Yes," she says, the determination returning in her eyes. She hands her pamphlet to a passing little girl on her tricycle, but her attention was on Harry, "I'll be here. Same time, if things go well."

She might just be what keeps him living until Summer break ends. He'll keeps his promise. He will. He has to.

Harry returns indoors to a dusty room, no one to hold, no one to talk to.

Nothing, absolutely nothing is of any good in this grey, constricted suburbia.

He hopes tomorrow will come sooner than usual.

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comment if you want to be part of my Hogwarts fic taglist! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

[artytaeh]

I literally beg of you write mattheo with mother issues, calling reader mommy when he’s being all cuddly 🙏🏻

listen, mattheo riddle would sprint to the black lake and willingly drown himself in the cold water if someone was to ever, ever know about this, but—

merlin, mattheo really has difficult days sometimes. a bad day is one thing, but when school's stupid assignments accumulate with other frustrations, such as a fistfight, some stupid comment or a quidditch practice that doesn't go as mattheo would like...

fucking hell. mattheo doesn't even have the strength to beat something up to discharge the frustration inside of him.

the thing is, days like these transform the initial sense of anger to frustration, that slowly becomes sadness. melancholy even, if you will.

do things have to be so difficult to him? at times like these, mattheo doesn't know what to do. after all, he didn't have a supportive father, much less a caring mother to cuddle his heavy feelings away.

so he goes to you.

mattheo moves on autopilot, pacing around the halls, heavy steps as he does a beeline to your bedroom. he lacks some education, you see, because it's so rare for him to knock.

when he's like this, mattheo does worse than just open the door. he barges inside, demanding as he holds back those powerful feelings gnawing his heart.

it doesn't take a long time for mattheo to embrace your waist, manhandling you into the position he needs: his head resting on your soft chest, arms around your torso, laying on top of you.

yes, mattheo will nuzzle closer and close his eyes, drowning in the comfort of you; your warmth, your scent, the comfort and safe space you provide him. huh, for someone who lived this long without it, mattheo quickly becomes addicted, and used to this feeling.

... no, he won't say a thing about it. just let him nap a bit while you play with his curly hair; please and thank you very much.

this might be one of the only times you'll hear this man whine. if you dare to go away, nevermind if the dorm is literally on fire— mattheo glares and frowns at you, lacking any bite, only a silent plead for you to stay.

sometimes, if the frustration is still bubbling inside him, things might become... sexual. intimate, even.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

the smooth and comfortable skin of your thighs serves as the most marvelous pillow for mattheo, offering him a half laying, half sitting position as he cuddles close to you.

for the life of him, this is an unspoken secret between you and him.

how would his best mates, hell, how would the entire school react if they knew how fast mattheo riddle, the supposedly tough and dominant slytherin, comes so fast like this?

mattheo hums and moans lowly, his lips curled around your nipple, sucking at the soft skin of your breast. his arm embraces your body, keeping you close— the other hand cups your other breast, much more gentle than the hungry, insatiable way that he makes you moan, his lips making your chest so, so sensitive.

that calloused hand of his squeezes your other breast, however, each time your hand tightens around his aching length— mattheo can't help but become a bit rougher as well.

fuck, mattheo can't think. he can't think, he won't be able to form one single thought at all.

so you guide him.

your voice is like the light of a lighthouse, guiding him through the darkness and intensity of the sea. mattheo swears that your voice never sounded this good, sultry and pleasant to his ears.

the moans he lets out from how your hand pumps at his length are sinful. do you have to be so cruel? no, you're being kind— taking care of him so, so well. your hand moves torturously, up and down, feeling how he throbs around those fingers that make his hips buck.

please praise him for doing so well. for once, mattheo doesn't complain or feels the need to be stubborn— do you want him to look at you? he will. is he supposed to lick or suck? he'll leave hickeys marking his territory, but please praise him. he's doing so good for you.

🗯️ : what do you say when i'm being so good to you? hm?

m : thank you. fuck, thank you so much, please don't stop. thank you, thank you...

the roles are usually reversed; mattheo is the one to dirty talk more during your intimate moments, to tease and provoke you— however, there's some strange kind of comfort and even relaxation during these occurrences, when mattheo riddle lets someone else take care of him, instead of being the one in charge all. the. time.

do not mention this to anyone either; mattheo will deny it with his life. five minutes later, as soon as you're alone, he'll give you a look that silently begs you to ignore him.

mattheo is a pda man. nevermind if you're in the privacy of your dorms, or in a crowded hallway; he likes to be touching you, with one arm wrapped around your shoulders or waist, at least holding hands.

during these times, however, mattheo becomes clingy. unbearably so; he'll hug you close, nuzzle closer, trying to have you as close as possible.

and the thing is, the word almost left his lips, once that he had been way too distracted to hold his tongue.

m : fuck, mm—

🗯️ : hm? what was that, love?

m : ... nothing, nothing. nevermind, and not a word about this.

if mattheo riddle already was embarrassed about breaking his tough guy demeanor, well, it would be a cold day in hell before anyone finds out that he almost called you mommy, this one time.

🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.

— i'm so sorry for taking so long with this drabble </3 i've been doing really slow with my rq; i'm having a really hard week :( but i'm (slowly...) working on all of them! 🗯️

the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷

[hopelessromantic5]

King Arthur happens to be traveling through Ealdor the exact day the citizens decide they’ve had enough of Merlin.

Labeling him too dangerous, they tied him up on the pyre in the center of town.

As long as Merlin had been alive, he’d never seen this pyre lit.

He would’ve just gotten himself out of this situation with his ‘gifts’ if it weren’t for his poor mother.

The villagers would never let her live in peace if he magically disappeared.

No, this was the only way she could go on living, even with a broken heart.

He didn’t fight. He didn’t really hear much of what they spit at him. But he could hear his mother wailing at him, to save himself, to do whatever he must do.

He’d resigned himself to an early death.

Tom, the town representative, started spewing some righteous words at him. New Religion words that didn’t quite make sense to him, but that’s to be expected. He is, himself, a creature of the old religion, if prophecy is to be trusted.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, serpent?”

Merlin opened his mouth to tell his mother that he loved her, but he stopped short.

In the distance, he could hear a sound.

The beating of hooves on hard, cold dirt.

Visitors were approaching.

It must be fate, he thinks.

As the horses drew closer, the villagers slowly turned their attentions away from him.

Merlin simply hung his head, letting the Earth he loved so dearly decide which way his life would swing.

“What is the meaning of this?”

A calm, steady voice came from behind him. Deep and concerned. Merlin wished he could see the man.

“My lord,” Tom bowed, as well as he could, which was strange.

Upon realization, Merlin’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, were these visitors noble? They never had nobility stay long enough to make comments on anything, only ever just passing through.

“I asked you a question.” The voice said again, with all the authority of someone who’s used to using it.

“This man is a sorcerer, sire. We were just-“

“What has he done?”

“Sire?”

“What has this man done to call for these extreme measures?” When no one answered him immediately, he rephrased.

“Surely there must’ve been a crime committed?” As if it’s a question.

Merlin’s mother pulled herself out of shock and brought herself forth.

“He did nothing, sire.” She spoke firm and unmoving. She must’ve seen hope in this man that Merlin had yet to lay eyes on. “He’s only ever used it for healing wounds and helping our gardens in the winter. Please have mercy on him, my lord. He is my only son.” Tears started falling as her voice broke. She finally met Merlin’s eyes again and he smiled at her, weakly.

“So this man-“

“Sorcerer.” Corrected Tom. What a dick.

“This man, did nothing but heal you and help you survive and this is how you repay him?”

Again no answer.

The man seemed to gesture at Tom, walking towards the town elder, and bringing him finally into Merlin’s line of sight.

The doomed boy nearly gasped.

Silver and red bled together in the sun, armor and finery melded like roses in white sand.

The man-the lord…the knight? He had golden blonde hair, that shone like it’s own light.

Blue eyes made even more obvious and striking surrounded by unblemished, sun-kissed skin.

“You seem to be leading the horde. Tell me why?” No, answer. “Cut him down.” A command. The stranger’s face was a hard, blank line.

Funny how, even then, he didn’t feel like a stranger. But Merlin was in no state to remember it.

“My lord, I do not think that would be wise. Your father was the one to wage war on magic-“

“I am not my father. Cut him down.”

Merlin swallowed. Uther Pendragon was the only person in his mind that waged the war on magic, that began the purge. Which means this man could only be his son, Prince Arthur.

What a prince he was.

Well, King, now.

No wonder every person in the vicinity practically dropped to their knees upon his arrival. They’d all heard stories of ‘The Just King’ that now reigned over Camelot. Giving whatever he could to his citizens that needed it most, never turning anyone away who seeks shelter. Merlin had heard the same as everyone else. Seeing the King in person now, he was in awe.

“I will not endanger the lives of all who live here.” Tom turns back to Merlin with the lit torch.

Merlin held his breath, but the second Tom turned away from him, the King pulled his sword. It made the loveliest sound as it left the sheath.

The sound of salvation.

Tom had the tip of a majestic blade directed right at his throat, as the King spoke again.

“I said, cut him down.”

The look on the King’s face was one that could kill.

Merlin wondered momentarily why he cared so much.

Finally someone from the crowd stepped forward with a knife and began to cut away Merlin’s ties.

Hunith leapt forward and engulfed her son in a hug, while also somewhat holding his body upright.

He did not want to let go, considering he thought he would never get to hug his mother again. But the entire village was watching them.

As was-

“What is your name?”

It was phrased as a question but spoken like a command. Merlin knew it was directed at him without opening his eyes.

He did, reluctantly, release his mother and turn to the golden King, facing deep blue eyes head on. Never cowering.

“Merlin.”

The King must’ve seen something in him. Something every other person was blind to or chose to ignore, simply because he was a peasant. He took a step closer and Merlin could hear the tiny tink of metal pieces on his shining armor, as he did so.

“Well, Merlin.” He said, as if trying it out for himself. “Seeing as I’ve just given you your life, I’d like to ask a favor.”

Merlin’s curiosity was peaked, to say the least. King’s didn’t ask favors, they took whatever they wanted.

King Arthur did not wait for a reply to continue.

“I’m in need of assistance. And I could use someone with a gift like yours, specifically.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes in minuscule doubt. Doubt of intentions, doubt of his safety.

The King somehow knowing his exact thoughts said

“Of course you would be permitted to come back when you are needed. And when I have accomplished my goal, if you wish, you can leave. I will not keep anyone against their will. I am simply offering.” A small smile played on his mouth. Flush pink lips. He also held up his hands as if to say ‘I will not harm you’.

Merlin’s gut told him to follow this man.

Terrifyingly, his intuition told him to follow this man, practically a stranger, anywhere. Everywhere.

Merlin felt a pull he’s never felt before. In the moment, he assumed it was immense gratitude for saving his life.

Merlin turned to meet his mothers eyes, he already knew what she was going to tell him.

“I think it will be good for you. To get out for a while.” She smiles softly.

“Will you be alright?” He whispered, glancing at the crowd still gathered around an unlit pyre.

“I’ll be fine.” She grabbed him in a bear hug, like she always did. “And if they boot me out, I’ll come find you.”

Merlin sighed into her shoulder.

“Alright.”

When Merlin turned back, the King had turned his eyes to the ground, giving mother and son a moment of privacy.

Merlin was starting to warm to him already.

“Can I pack first?”

King Arthur met his gaze then, doing that half smile thing, again.

“I suppose.” He nodded. “But don’t dawdle we need to move if we want to make it back before sundown.”

“Yes, sire.” The title which usually held reverence and respect, was laced with sarcasm. He didn’t seem to think twice, as he strode away towards their hut to gather his things.

If Merlin had looked back, he would’ve found a fully beaming King looking after him and about six knights with faces of complete shock.

And perhaps, one knowing mother.