#also i have no idea how to front-face it. so.

[sunnami]

❝watch me, don't touch me, love me, don't hurt me.❞

[title is from ive's accendio. gif not mine.] summary. you are the fop of the wizarding society, known for your shallowness and careless display of wealth, but as hogwarts faces another threat, the marauders and lily, find themselves drawn to you and the secrets hidden under your facade. (harry just wants to know what is going on.)

pairing/s. marauders x reader. (james potter/lily evans/remus lupin/sirius black/reader.)

wc. 24.1k.

tags. enemies to lovers, angst, hurt but the comfort is later, fluff(ish), i try slow burn for the first time (it hurts.), this is highly self-indulgent idgaf, set during goblet of fire but i decide what goes, voldemort isn't the only character who can revive from the dead, BITCH. OH, LMAO I FORGOT, THIS IS FOR THE DILF AND MILF LOVERS SDKJFHSF they're married, but remus and sirius keep their name for legal and plot reasons. adult marauders and adult reader! and i was careful this time to not use any specific pronouns or gendered terms so everyone can enjoy the pain!! every1 is hurting 2nite. proofread kind of, so we die like. . . harry potter?

cws. here we go... canon-typical violence, vivid description of injuries, pain, and blood, emotional abuse, trauma, self-destructive tendencies, minor character death (non-canon), pureblood society practices, voldemort is his own warning, brief mention of war, brief scene with abducted children, panic attacks, depictions of mental illness, suic!dal thoughts, bellatrix lestrange is also her own warning, morally-grey reader.

a/n: this is inspired by my most favorite finnick odair fic EVER! obviously, i won't ever reach that level of greatness, but i've had this idea in my head ever since i read that story. sometimes, i just want to cry at night to feel something, LMFAO. halfway through writing this story, i got insecure, so thank you to this eye-opening comment on reddit that i found that will forever change how i look at reader inserts: “for me, a reader should be faceless, but not soulless.”

to my dearest friends and readers, i hope you enjoy this world that i've written for you ueueue. (the next and final part is fluffier, i promise.) will upload to ao3 soon!

act i. dear god, please save the little man.

“RITA, DARLING, do get your wretched little quill for this one. I heard from a wee birdie that Vittoria Zabini was spotted in Rome, and not just wearing last season’s designer collection, but on her honeymoon, of all things! Can you believe it, dearest? If I remember correctly, this must be husband number five now.”

Like a wingless canary in a gilded cage, you are forced once again to sing for red-lipped witches and their grating laughter, and for wizards with their fat bellies, graying hair, and leering eyes. How kind of Narcissa Malfoy to host these decrepit creatures in her manor garden—and thrust the role of main attraction onto you. There you are, lonesome badger, dressed in the finest tulle for everyone to ogle at. A ballerina in a music box, turning, and turning, and turning.

(When will your cursed lullaby finally end?)

Isadora Bulstrode cackles. “Gold-digging wench must be at it again.”

As predicted, Rita Skeeter greedily whips out her Quick-Quotes Quill. The bloodthirsty journalist preys hungrily at your every word—and you’re more than willing to satiate the irritable, little pest. “Riveting.” She pushes her glasses upwards with a quirk of her lips. “We may have tomorrow’s front page in our hands.” 

Lavinia Nott brings the teacup to her mouth, her gaze slicing towards you. “Do tell us more. Where ever do you get your information from?”

You hide a coy smile behind the fine porcelain. “Why, Lavinia dearest, if I reveal my secret now, I might have to kill you!” The drove of ladies giggle amongst themselves as Lavinia sips her tea impassively. You play these people like a fiddle, and they’re none the wiser. But even vile women have to play their parts in the cruel world forged by mad men. Yours happens to be the most ill-fated of them all. 

“A shame you decided not to pursue the same path as your mother, but that is alright—not every one is fit to work.” The Selwyn matron raises her brow, offering you a tight-lipped smirk.

“Oh, Elinor, my love, I’m surprised you’d even suggest such a horrible thing!” Your grin grows wicked and wider. You know perfectly what the wizarding society thinks of you: the orphaned heir, the shallow socialite who only cares for gallivanting about in pureblooded extravaganzas. A status you’ve so carefully fashioned; utterly beloved and adored by these people, flowers falling at your feet with so much as a whisper from your lips. 

Your gaze drifts to a familiar crowd of people to the side. It’s the pack of lions and The-Boy-Who-Lived. There they are, the marauding bunch and their displays of loyalty and whatnot; hideously coordinated outfits, but capturing the world’s attention constantly and effortlessly. 

How repulsive.

In spite of that, you are intrigued. They are the section that plays out of tune in the orchestra you have been conducting for years.

And so you bid your goodbyes to the witches; they fawn and beg for you to stay for an hour more. You pout your lips and say with faux sympathy, hand flying to your chest.  “Oh, don’t worry, my dears! I’ll be back soon enough after greeting some of the other guests. You lovely ladies might tire of me if I stay for too long.”

Melina Traverse brushes you off. “We could never! You know you’re like family to us, pet!”

With a delighted gasp, you say, “Don’t tell Narcissa, but you’ve always been my favorite Slytherin.” The venom flows endlessly from your lips. You owe your life to only a handful of people. Narcissa Malfoy, who raised you when your mother no longer could, is one of them. Finally, you’re able to sneak away from their freshly manicured talons as they tittle-tattle amongst themselves.

Once your back is turned to the rest of them, you roll your eyes until your head begins hurting. 

What a bunch of insufferable fools. 

Still, the show curtains are wide open and the sun is yet to set. You have another audience that is awaiting your next number. 

“Oh, my, my, my! Is it truly the Chosen One in our midst?” You approach the horrid family of Gryffindors—nearly doubling over in laughter at the speed with which their faces fall at the sight of you. How refreshing, you think to yourself. It’s been so long since you’ve seen people who wore their hearts on their sleeves. “Cissa and I didn’t think you’d even respond to our invitation—but this is just brilliant! Lily, darling! How long has it been? That dress looks utterly divine! Is that Charmeuse silk? The purple simply brings out the color in your eyes! And your skin, my love! Just glowing! Tell me—have you been trying those snail facials? I hear they’re all the rage nowadays.”

Sirius grimaces, cheeks turning ashen. “Bloody hell, I’m going to need a drink for this. A strong one, too.” 

“You’re at a garden party, Sirius darling,” you remind in jest, flamboyantly motioning to the grazing table. “The elves are serving Darjeeling, jasmine, chamomile, berry blends, spiced orange, silver needle, and my personal favorite, chocolate mint!” There are strings of lights wrapped around the tree branches; floating lanterns and the hydrangeas creeping on the stone walls. You put a hand over your heart, smiling knavishly. “From the Malfoy family, to yours, we sincerely hope you enjoy your brunch.” 

Lily deeply inhales as she intertwines her fingers with James’s, a polite smile on her face—an odd pang in your heart at the show of solidarity. (She questions how sincere can a Malfoy really be.) “Y-Yes, well, it’s so good to see you, too. We’re grateful for the invitation, especially since it’s for a rather honorable cause.” 

Ah, pure-hearted creatures really do get on your nerves. Lion hearts; words dripping in honey, limitless bravado. You’ve changed your mind, you’re sick of it all. A flash of vindictive glee crosses your face as you abruptly grab her hand, wrenching it away from her husband’s. “We just knew you’d see it that way! You probably see yourself in those Muggle children, eh?”

Lily recoils, as if struck by hot iron, shoulders tensing; slowly, she peels away her hand from yours, long lashes blinking away her shock.  “You and Narcissa must be raising a lot of money, then.” She eyes the marble fountain adorned in white roses, the harmonizing gnomes nearby, self-playing harps, and the scrutinizing stares from afar. “I never knew you cared so much about Muggle children.”

“Well, I suppose it must be done for all the pudgy-cheeked brats in the world,” You callously wave away her words with a sigh. Unbeknownst to most, all the charity proceeds come from your own Gringotts account. That is the one real thing left in your miserable life.  “As staff at Hogwarts, the children must come first, wouldn’t you agree, Lily flower?”

“Quite,” replies Lily, lips firmly pursed.

James enters the fray, hand snaking around Lily’s waist; jaw taut, seeming to regret ever entering the snake den. “Have you met our son, Harry, already?” He turns to the fourteen-year-old at his left side, gently patting Harry’s back with a crooked smile. “Haz, this is an old classmate of ours.” James gestures to you, and you offer the Potter spawn an amused smile as he blinks owlishly at you. The poor thing has gone frigid from the wintry cold, despite the summer sun overhead and blooming coneflowers; and you wonder if he must have run into Draco and Lucius before coming to the garden.

So this is the child the Dark Lord failed to kill, you muse. You only wish that you could have seen that monster fall to the ground lifelessly, defeated by an infant and his courageous parents. How fitting for men like Lucius Malfoy to follow in his footsteps; the blind leading the blind. Your grin stretches from ear to ear as you take his hand in yours. Clearly, he’s never held a girl’s hand before, as he limply shakes your hand, awkwardly spluttering his greetings. “What an honor it is to finally meet the savior of the wizarding world.” 

“Why, you look just like James when he was younger, always strutting around the corridors.” Your eyes drift to the lightning scar on his forehead, a testament to his and Lily’s survival against the killing curse. “And such clear-cut emerald eyes; truly your mother’s son. Tell me, Harry dearest, you must be quite the heartbreaker at Hogwarts.”

His doe-eyes harden, and your brow quirks in curiosity. (So the littlest lion can growl, after all.) “Oh. . . not really.” His hand hangs back at his side, fists coiling. The robins chirp merrily as they fly by, his parents carefully watching the scene unfold; water endlessly splashing in the fountain. Harry’s voice deepens as he continues, “I couldn’t be. My friends and I barely have time for anything else. There always seems to be something going on at the castle, apparently.”  

“How interesting—Elsie!” You bark at the quivering house elf as Harry stumbles on his words. “Get Mister Potter and his company a plate of macarons—serve them our finest tea, as well.” 

Harry winces as the elf apparates at once. “There’s r-really no need for—”

Your gaze, sharp as a knife, slices to him, as the corners of your painted lips bend contemptuously. “Have you heard the news, dearheart?”

Harry looks to his father before shrugging. “I don’t think so.”

“If Mister Lupin here has so graciously informed you,” you begin tantalizingly, eyes cutting to the rugged werewolf at Lily’s side; his back stiffening at the mention of his name, “Otherwise, keep this between you and me, Harry darling. Hogwarts will be hosting a rather important event this year—and I do love a good party—so you must have noticed the rise in appearances from the Ministry.” You gesture to the top Aurors at the DMLE towering over Harry, Sirius and James. “More than that,” you continue with a sly cant to your voice. “There will be a few new additions to Hogwarts’ staff. Among them, of course—is yours truly!”

“And to do what, exactly?” Sirius blurts out incredulously.

“Be a teacher, of course!” you feign ignorance, bashfully furrowing your brows. “Why else?”

“Brilliant!” Sirius chuckles scornfully. “So, the children will be learning about French designers and frilly dresses then, I presume?

“Is that truly all you think of me?” you ask, gasping melodramatically as you circle the rim of your empty teacup. 

“You want to know what I think? Or what everyone thought behind your back at Hogwarts?” Sirius scoffs with a cock of his head. “You’ve always been the belle of the ball, no bloody doubt about that. But I’ve always wondered if there was anything more to your head than just air.” 

He runs a hand through his dark curls, lips twisting into a sneer. “But I reckon nothing has changed since then. You’re just the same insufferable, vapid wench as you’ve always been.”

“Sirius. . .” Remus quietly calls. “That’s enough.” 

Your expression falters—but your mask cannot afford even a moment of rest. A jarring note in the lullaby plays as the ceramic ballerina stops turning. You let the minutes pass by fleetingly; it seems the self-playing chordophones have changed their tune, as well. You watch as the canary diamonds in your bracelet glint against the sunlight. (You are growing tired of the blinding show lights, unrelenting crowd, and never-ending play. Where is the reprieve, you wonder, for the tormented primadonna and her aching soul?)

The strings are now dipped in blood as your tears polish the stage. Your joints have twisted, bent, and danced. You wonder, how long must it be until you are rid of the starring role?

You muster a coy smile, fluttering your lashes at the heir of the most noble and ancient House. “Such crude language, Mister Black,” you say, albeit your voice has gone mellow; nails drumming against the table surface as the guests mingle with one another. The unbearably dull conversations buzz in your ear. You notice Draco and Astoria Greengrass heading for the glasshouse. You consider stealing her lace parasol and whacking Sirius with it, and the thought fills you with immense joy. 

Unfortunately, they are your guests, and you are nothing if not the most polite host. “Perhaps, I am not the only one who hasn’t grown out of their immature habits,” you say, eyeing his shoulder-length hair, spiky ear piercings, and leather jacket. That damned leather jacket of his. It irks you that he and his kind can show insolence freely without bearing any repercussions. (But you’d die before you ever feel envy for a man like Sirius Black.) The sun fades behind the clouds, and your mask slips perfectly into place once more.

“What is it that happened again? Between you and Severus Snape in sixth-year?” You tap your chin pensively, taking cruel satisfaction in the stutter in Sirius’s breath and Remus’s parted lips, ever stupefied. You gaze fiendishly at Remus. “Oh, silly me, I’ve gone off topic. Well, anyhow, I just wanted to say, I believe the students are in rather good hands this year. I just hope Dumbledore doesn’t accidentally let an infected beast roam the halls of Hogwarts.” 

Your eyes flash impishly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mister Lupin?”

Lily curls her lip viciously. “Just what exactly—?”

“Elsie has returned, master.” The house elf bows her head just as the antique bistro table is circled with macarons, cucumber sandwiches, miniature cocktail buns, and slices of pound cake. Lily retracts her hand, grinding her jaw as she swallows the words in her throat.

“You may go, Elsie, thank you.” With a guileful smirk, you levitate the teapot towards James and Harry, dutifully filling their cups; steam soon arising from the Chinese porcelain. You nod at the group. “It’s jasmine pearl,” you explain haughtily. “Carefully handcrafted tea from harvested leaves and flowers. Such exquisiteness that you won’t be able to find anywhere else.”

“Do enjoy your tea; Cissa and I made sure to spare no expense for our guests.” The teapot carefully lands back on the table. The sinfonietta ends, and so does your time with this particular audience. What misfortune, that you won’t receive your flowers for today’s performance. You pivot on your heels, flinging them a lukewarm goodbye. “Do excuse me, for I must tend to the new arrivals. I believe I see Missus Parkinson over there by the koi pond. Cissa might have my head if I neglect my responsibilities.”

You turn your head, tossing a wink at Lily. “Today, after all, is for the children.”

Alas, it is not Persephone Parkinson you head towards. 

You briefly exchange tepid pleasantries with Lavinia Greengrass before walking past the koi pond to the edges of the garden, far beyond prying eyes and ears. There, like a brooding Dementor drifting through a frozen lake, waits your true target. Sadly, it is only a dour-faced professor, a long time confrère of yours, to be precise. There are only a handful of people to whom you are indebted. Severus Tobias Snape is one of those few. 

With a flick of your wand, you covertly cast the silencing charm upon the elusive spot Severus had chosen. There is no need for these edacious vultures to prey on your conversation. They are better off with their tête-à-têtes and syrupy pikelets. You drown out the chamber orchestra’s symphony, the clinking of champagne glasses, the rustling leaves and ringing wind chimes. “Severus darling,” you say liltingly, feet shuffling to his side as you playfully ghost your palm against his nape. He barely spares you a glance as a breeze courses through the rippling lake water. “You’re missing out on the festivities, you know.”

“Have you finally finished tormenting Narcissa’s visitors?” he drawls, at long last acknowledging your presence and sharply raising a brow at your saccharine-sweet smile.

“Why, I’d never dare to do such a thing,” you reply with a theatrical sway of your head. “I simply conversed with the ladies and had a delightful run-in with your old flame, Lily. Do you remember her, my sweet? Ghastly red hair, pale skin, and, oh, those green eyes. It must be infuriating to look like that,” you rattle away to the only entity willing to listen to you in his company: the wind.

“Spare me,” he drones, lips curved impatiently.

You moue. “Ever the bore, you are, Severus. Shall I fetch you a platter of brandy snaps?”

“Shall I sit around while I wait?” Snape’s lips contort into a sour grimace, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “The Dark Lord himself might even find time to rise from his grave.”

“Severus dear, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to tell me something.” You eye him slyly, mouth tipping into a smirk as a dragonfly hovers by the waterline, avidly stalked by the dwarf frog on a lily pad. “So,” you pry, “did you have something important to tell me? I promised Mister Goyle I’d have a drink with him.”

The frog splashes into the lake, and the dragonfly flutters away without a care. Severus clandestinely slips a piece of paper into your palm as he swivels around, dark cloak billowing. “Ensure that nothing traces back to you,” he snarls. “Clearly I do know better, Severus.” You toy with the paper between your fingers, a sense of exhilaration running up your spine. “Not to worry,” you say with a clipped smile, a serpentine glare in your eyes, “I always do as I am told.”

(Severus, not for the first time in his life, wonders if the Sorting Hat made a mistake when it sorted you into Hufflepuff.) 

act ii. tonight, let’s start the masquerade.

THE NIGHT GROWS weary, and so do the alleys of Knockturn; neglected as your hooded figure navigates through the brick road, only the caged owls and flickering stars to notice your presence. You fainly traipse amongst the shadows, a moment of surrender from the spotlight and malignant eyes; a brief interlude in the performance. Past the hanging doll heads in the windows of Borgin & Burkes, you find a lonely shop. Inside the locket of your ring, lies a slip of paper that had been given to you earlier this afternoon. Well, Severus, you think to yourself, idly twisting the ring on your finger, let’s see where you sent me to this time.

And so, the stage actor calls for a costume change. “Alohomora.”

With one last glance at the dimly-lit passage, you enter the boutique. The brass shop bell accompanies your entrance, but no owner appears to greet you—and if there was, well, you have quite a unique way of saying hello. Your fingers feather across the dusty bookshelves, eyes raking through the broken staircase, the faint scent of ginger, rosemary, and mugwort pervades the room; a shattered crystal ball sits in the center of the shop desk, ripped paintings on the wall. A grimace pulls at your lips as you come across a familiar ivory mask. A Death Eater mask—it’s warm to touch; recently worn, perchance. You bury the strong urge to set it on fire. 

There’s a shift in the air, a creak in the floorboards—in an instant, you whip your wand out from its leather holster. 

“Reveal yourself,” you whisper curtly.

To the naked eye, there is only one intruder in the dingy parlor. To you, however, there is an obscure silhouette of a stranger covered by a glimmering veil. You hold onto your wand resolutely. If it was an enemy, you’d be blown into the walls by now. “This isn’t an ensemble stage, you know,” you chuff impatiently, “I’m not fond of sharing the spotlight with lineless extras.” 

The disillusionment charm slowly unveils, and you wait unblinking, until you see a familiar face standing before you. Mid-length curly hair that falls over gray, dagger-like eyes, the irksome scent of tobacco, and a frightening similarity to his elder brother. 

There are exactly five people you’d risk your life for, and right now, you’re digging the tip of your wand into their neck.

“Mister Regulus Black,” you greet with a playful edge to your voice, eyes narrowing. “Severus didn’t mention we’d be running into each other tonight.” 

“That’s because I didn’t tell Sev I’d be here,” says Regulus, dimples poking out as he swats your wand away from his throat. “I might go mad if I have to stay inside for another bloody week, there’s only so many times I can re-read Good Omens—and by the way, did anyone ever tell you how dramatic you are? Lineless extras, really?” 

You hide a fond smile with a roll of your eyes, whirling around to browse the glass cabinets and leather journals on the table, returning to the task at hand. “And so you thought going outside and risking someone seeing you in the open was a good idea? Reggie darling, I often think about the possibility of Walburga dropping you on the head as an infant.” 

Regulus shoves his hands inside his trouser pockets as he hovers over your shoulders like a lost, overgrown duckling. “Wasn’t it Cissa’s soirée today? Did you jinx the statues like I told you to?” 

“Who do you think I am?” you say haughtily, pausing in your search to half-heartedly glare at him. And after a moment’s pause, you jerk your shoulder and coyly respond with a side-smirk, “Of course I did. The young Mister Flint nearly screamed his head off.” You hum reminiscently, “truthfully, it’s been quite a while since I heard Draco laugh like that these days. For breakfast, I hear about the Granger girl, and then for lunch, I hear about the Weasley children, and for dinner, it’s an hour-long spiel on the famed Harry Potter.” 

Regulus chortles in amusement as he hops onto the shop counter, kicking back his chunky boots. “And, then? Did you see my brother?” 

“Oh, darling, I did more than that,” you mutter offhandedly, leafing through the paraphernalias and foul-smelling potion flasks. 

“How was he? Is he doing well? Merlin, I think it’s been so long since I saw his face.” There’s a lapse of silence between you and Regulus. A lizard scurries across the room, chasing after a line of ants. The younger wizard taints the quietude with a long, frustrated sigh. “Sorry, I just. . .” He slumps his shoulders in resignation. “I wouldn’t have to ask so many questions if. . . if I could just. . .”

“I don’t understand why I have to hide from my own family.” With a jagged whisper, he says, “I feel like I’m losing my mind. Like I can’t believe that I’m really here, I don’t even know if I exist sometimes.” 

You grimace as you turn to look at him, hand flinching as if wanting to reach out to him. Instead, you avert your gaze and continue scouring the room. “It’s for—”

“My own good, I know,” Regulus blows a strand of hair away from his forehead. He jumps off the counter with a hardened stare. You glance at his back as he bends to pick at the marks on the floor. At times like this, you remember how small and young Regulus had been when you found him moribund from lake inferis. What a cruel price to pay in exchange for his survival, you think. 

For Regulus Black has to remain dead to the wizarding world, stuck in an interminable masquerade, waiting until the hour is up for his performance. 

All the world’s a stage, and for the best of the actors and actresses, it seems the production never ends. 

“How long do you think it’s going to stay like this? For you, me, Sev? For Cissa?” As he stands on his toes to inspect the top of a dusty cupboard, Regulus veers his head to peek at your expression, frowning when he finds none. (You’ve no answers for him, after all; the entirety of your life was spent wondering that exact same question. All you know is that the show must go on until the audience tires of the starving artist.) “Never mind, let’s just focus on finding whatever you were trying to find here.” He walks past his reflection in the vintage carved mirror. “What are we looking for, anyway?” 

You wish to offer solace to a cherished friend, but duties are meant to be fulfilled. For now, to do what is right must come first. Your fingers slither up the side of a bookcase, a wooden ladder resting against the shelves. The mahogany is freshly varnished, the stench of glue is prominent, and deep scratches indent the floor. It’s an empty treasure cove, barely anything displayed on the racks. You grit your teeth as you realize it’s been well-maintained compared to the obsolete state of the room. “Here,” you rasp, abruptly snapping your head to look back at him.

He furrows his brow. “What?” 

You beckon him to the corner of the room from where you stand, wooden planks creaking as you push at the bookcase. “Help me with this, Regulus. There could be something behind it.” You clench your jaw as you lean your weight onto the cabinet frame.

“Why don’t we just, I don’t know,” Regulus cocks his head as he waves his wand in the air. “Use magic?” he offers discreetly, as though divulging a century-old secret. “I suggest Bombarda for maximum efficiency.” 

You stare at him vacantly. “Regulus dearheart, I hold a stupendous amount of tolerance for you, but there is absolutely no way we are drawing attention to ourselves via explosion spells in the dead of the night.” 

He grins boyishly before ushering you away. “Alright, alright, I was only taking the mickey out of you.” Soon after, Regulus deftly mutters a levitation charm, his wand steadfast as the bookcase slowly detaches from the floor. You take a couple of steps backward, lips pursed as you observe Regulus concentrate on his work. 

You note to yourself to have a conversation about Regulus’s restlessness with Severus. It could pose a liability and pull the curtains on the entire pasquinade. “Careful,” you keep a tight watch on Regulus’s pinched brows, his hovering wand, and the steadily moving bookshelf. 

“Like taking jelly slugs from a first-year,” he says flippantly, beaming at you as his dark curls sweep over his eyes. 

You give him an exasperated scowl before side-stepping his quip as you descry a faint outline of a door in the plastered wall. You feel a rumble in the ground, muffled noises behind the shrouded entrance.  “Ready your wand, Regulus,” you say grimly, hand reaching for the doorknob, looking back in time to catch his smirk fade into a distant expression, “I believe what awaits won’t be as simple as that.” 

A grave tenor disquiets the room, your free hand already grasping for your wand. Regulus stands at your side, nodding as you take a sharp breath. He offers his back to you, in spite of the looming danger. (A sadistic part of you finds comfort in his presence tonight, but neither of you can truly share the burdens of your harrowing façades. Tomorrow, you play the lone star once more; and he, the dead brother and son. But today, you must simply share the stage.) 

You twist the knob until a click pierces the heavy silence.

You wait with a bated breath, expecting creatures and spells to come hurling in your direction. The room ahead is enshrouded with darkness. You share a terse nod with Regulus as a ball of light appears at the tip of your wands. Regulus moves to take a step forward, but you block him with your arm. “I’ll go first,” you say breathily, curtly glancing at the Death Eater Mask. “It could be cursed the moment we step inside.” Regulus presses his lips into a white line, clearly unhappy with your decision, but relents nonetheless. 

Rough, travertine flooring begins where the woodwork ends; a gust of wind howls into the dark chamber. Wordlessly, you call for your patronus to investigate inside; thin, silvery wisps floating in the air, its light hauntingly beautiful against the unilluminated dungeon. You hear heavy chains dragging across the ground and the harmony of timid footfalls. A drop of water falls onto the cracked stone. Regulus grinds down on his jaw as he readies his wand. 

After an eternity of waiting, you snap your wand to set the torches alight. 

A pronounced chill runs up your spine; a stutter in your breath. You nearly stagger at the sight unveiled before you. If you had been a weaker wizard, you’d have dropped your wand already. “This. . .” you say hoarsely, eyes wide, blood simmering in your veins. 

Children.

Little ones as young as ten-years-old, barely coming up to your stomach, staring up at you with bloodshot eyes. Their skinny arms are covered in grime and wear pathetic rags for clothes. Moss grows in every corner of the room. Emaciated mattresses on metal beds. “Bloody hell,” Regulus growls, chest heaving. “What the fuck?” 

“It’s a prison,” you whisper, horrified. There must be more than twelve children standing before you. Bile rises to your throat. You worry about your wand breaking in half, but the overwhelming sense of dread traps you in position. 

“Are. . . are you with the bad men?” A brave, young girl with owlish eyes protectively steps forward in front of her companions. “No,” you answer gently, bending down on one knee to meet her eyes. You were neither good, or bad, but there is no magic on earth that would make you harm these children. 

Regulus calls your name. “They’re Muggles,” he hisses angrily. “I don’t sense any magic from any of them.” He exhales in frustration. “What the hell are they doing with Muggle children?” 

You grind down on your teeth, nearly dizzy with anger. You forgo a response to Regulus in favor of clasping your cloak around the trembling child. Soon after, you blanket the room in a warming charm. “Tend to their wounds,” you say sharply. “I’ll see what I can do about the chains.” And you will do something about those shackles, if it’s the last thing you do. “We’re going to get you out of here, I promise,” you tell the girl, stolid as you pat her head.

Except, the brass bell rings once more and everyone stiffens in alert. The children begin whimpering amongst themselves. Slow, deliberate footsteps reverberate from the shop into the icy-cold room. The hairs on the back of your neck rise.

“Move out of the way!” you yell, veins straining against your neck, just as you’re blown into the stone walls. 

Regulus screams out your name, but you barely hear anything over the ringing in your ears; through blurring vision, you see the children and Regulus unharmed. Relief floods through you as you sluggishly rise from the floor. There’s a large crater in the wall from the impact; luckily, the tethers to the chains were demolished, as well. “Get them to the safehouse,” you order, blood trickling from your lips. You hardly feel your arms and legs; there’s an ache in the back of your head, your spine feels as though it’s been snapped in half. You’re definitely going to feel this tomorrow. Regulus hesitates to leave, hands laid on the shoulders of the children as he glowers at the newcomer. “Now!” you bellow gutturally. 

A muscle ticks in Regulus’s jaw, but as he finally apparates with as many children as he can, you finally stop holding your breath. “It’s okay,” you reassure the wee boys clinging onto each other for comfort, limping to their side. “I’m rather strong, you know. Stronger than any of the bad men.”

In every duel, you allow yourself to be hit only once—driven by your inhuman desire to feel something other than the  emptiness of your unbroken charade. 

(And for years, you have waited for anyone to say these two specific words: Avada Kedavra.) 

“Go,” you instruct gently, brushing away the tendrils of hair from the little boy’s forehead. “Hide and wait until my companion comes for you.”

“And as for the ill-mannered invader,” you crane your head towards the entrance of the chamber, eyes raking over the tall figure’s bloodthirsty stance and flittering cloak. There’s a lack of silver mask, but you know well the stench of foreboding decay and malignity. At the speed of light, you aim your wand, “Confringo!”

You watch with a spiteful grin as the stranger is blasted across the room. The walls and ceilings threaten to crumble, and you can only hope that Severus won’t be too cross with you in the morning. You point your wand at the uninvited guest’s heart. Nothing will trace back to you, that much you are certain of.

After all, no one would suspect a vapid, insufferable boulevardier to be the greatest spy of the wizarding world.

A firebird caws in the distance.

And, scene.

act iii. where’s your soul? where’s your dream? do you think you’re alive?

“APPEARANCES ARE OF utmost importance.” You stand in the front of the Great Hall, sun rays streaming through the large, stained windows, wooden tables pushed to the walls; accoutered in a black velvet capelet with gold trimmings and vintage dragonhide boots.  The sleeves of your blouse are lined with handwoven, gothic lace; trousers made of the finest yellow satin. It is a testament to your House—the cete of badgers. (You seize everyone’s attention—whether the two Aurors in the corner like it or not.)

After a descanting introduction, you are given center stage before the students of Gryffindor and Slytherin. With a swing in your step and a wrest in your voice, you continue, “That is why the Headmaster, Dumbledore himself, invited me to personally facilitate this year’s Tri-Wizard Tournament. As hosts of the event, excellence is expected of us. Professor McGonagall has graciously allowed me to take charge of your lessons, particularly in the art of dancing.” Your eyes gleam as you offer the young fourth-years a graceful reverence. “And our first lesson begins straight away.”

The crowd of students transfigure into a sea of curious eyes and flabbergasted whispers. You derisively watch the chaos unfold with an amused grin. Yet, you’re not the least bit worried. You’ve charmed even a flock of Dementors before, the creatures having been drawn to your voice, ostentatious stature, and the dark depths of your soul; like a bee to a field of flowers. A class full of awkward teenagers should be more than easy for you. 

“Now, now, children,” you clap your hands as you make your way to the heart of the room, leaving a trail of softening murmurs. “The Yule Ball is a revered tradition, an exhibit of togetherness that has lasted for hundreds years.” You lift your nose up in the air as the girls look at one another, barely able to hide their giddy smiles and discreet glances across the hall. “As such, it is my venerable duty to oversee your etiquette in and out of the ballroom.”

(Sirius rolls his eyes from where he sits besides James.)

“Mister Filch, if you please.” With a flutter of your lashes and a poised smile, you beckon for the school caretaker who flounders to the gramophone. You wink at the young miss Pansy Parkinson who stares up at you in awe. Soon thereafter, you hear the soft melody of Léo Delibes’s Valse. Coppélia, you simper to yourself—a story close to your heart. (You’ve always found a winsome irony in a marionette like you dancing to the enamel-eyed girl’s song.)

“A dance, while enjoyable by one’s lonesome, is best savored with a partner,” you begin vivaciously, eyeing the gentlemen in particular. “Your date for the night must be aware that you’ve chosen them out of your own volition and undue necessity.” Your stare drifts to the coterie of young Gryffindors, tittering mischievously. “Shall we have a demonstration from the House of courage and splendor?”

“No one?” You raise a brow curiously when you’re met with silence and averted gazes. You then utter the scariest phrase a professor could say to their students: “I’ll choose the lucky student myself.” 

You survey the pack of lion cubs, drifting through the tuffs of flashing red hair; gangly boys raucously kicking and pushing at each other to volunteer for your teach-in on ballroom dancing. You flash the students a vexatious grin. “Mister Harry Potter?” you call out to the ashen-faced boy with your hand outstretched. “Why don’t we let the Chosen One set an example to his peers?” 

Hollers and cheers break out across the hall; not withholding the mirthful giggles of the doves on the other side of the room, wonderstruck by his green eyes and lightning scar. You motion for Harry to join you on the pseudo dance floor. The Weasley twins take delight in clapping and wisecracking into his ears until Harry reluctantly rises to his feet, a blooming shade of red on his neck and cheeks. 

“As you approach your partner with the grace of a majestic stag,” you acclaim to the class whilst Harry approaches you with a wry grin and hands shoved inside his robe pockets, “And not a newborn foal.” You place your hand in his, “You may now invite your lady to dance.”

“Or your beau,” you add spiritedly, eyes gleaming as Harry chokes on his saliva.

You pat his back as the music comes to a sweet-sounding crescendo. “Dancing is about connection,” you turn to the students with a stern gaze. “If your posture crumbles, there goes your confidence, as well. At all times, you must maintain eye contact,” you say sharply as you tilt Harry’s chin and correct the arch of his arms. “Remember, it’s not ballroom if there’s no trust. Lean onto one another, and then. . .” You lay your palm onto his shoulder. “The feet should follow the music.”

Unfortunately, Harry runs on two left feet and both persistently evade the music. On the umpteenth time he stumbles on your shoes, he’s appraised by snickers and low whistles from either side of the  hall. The Weasley twins in particular seem thrilled by Harry’s flailing arms and bewildered expression. Along with the two Aurors who’ve skipped their aurorly duties to patrol the castle in favor of heckling their ward. “You’re doing it wrong, James!” shouts Sirius through cupped hands, shoulders shaking in laughter. 

“Why don’t you try it, Padfoot?” Harry retorts back to him; thick hair flopping over his eyes as he grates his teeth. You’re given no warning as Harry extracts himself from your grip and stalks over to where Sirius and James sit comfortably. 

You blink, dumbfounded. “Harry dearest, I don��t believe that is necessary—!”

“Go on then,” says Harry, jerking his head. “Show us all how to do it.” 

To the side, Ron guffaws into his fist, brought nearly to tears. (Earlier he was apprehensive about the class. “We’ve got a whole new professor just for twirling around and all that girlish stuff?” he had asked in disbelief before entering the Great Hall.

“Shut your mouth, Weasley,” growls Draco Malfoy as he shoves past Harry and Hermione to head inside the hall.)

Sirius grins roguishly, having the gall to bat his eyes in confusion. “Who? Me?” He chuckles before forcibly slapping James’s back with the flat of his palm. “No, no. The honor should go to the debonair of his time.” Trenchant eyes flicker with mischief. “Have at it, James. How will the children ever learn without a proper demonstration?” 

“Go on, Sir Prongs!” exclaims one of the red-headed twins. “Show us how it’s done!” 

Alarmingly, the bespectacled man resigns to his fate, a deafening ovation as he shrugs his robes off, generously revealing his broad shoulders in a tight, black turtleneck; a leather wand holster across his chest; long legs framed by pleated trousers. You bite down on your tongue as James draws closer to you, a hint of a smirk on his lips. With an unerring arch of his back, he holds out his hand for you to take, “May I have this dance?” 

Your breath stutters—if only for a moment. One cannot deny that James Potter is deviously more appealing to the eye than the dance partners you’ve had during Narcissa’s galas. Perfectly-carved cheekbones and golden hoops dangling from his ears; bright, hazel eyes girdled by rectangular glasses. “Well,” you say, pursing your lips as you slip your palm into his. “If you must.” 

In contrast to his son, James needs little-to-no guidance from you. You’d have assumed that much, considering that both James and Sirius grew up in pure-blood customs. The warmth of his hand on your back is scalding. He spins you along to the song’s aria; the two of you gliding effortlessly through the soapstone floors. Any more closer to him and you’d be able to hear his heartbeat. “There will be lifts, turns, and dips during a waltz,” you inform the class as you demonstrate a twirl vine. “You will rise and you will fall together with your partner. Understand?” 

James chuckles at the wistful sighs and horrified groans that erupt through the Great Hall. “You’re good with the children, you know,” he remarks cheekily as he gently lowers you to the ground, hand steadfast on your waist. You hear his unsaid words clearly: Sirius thought you’d be downright rubbish at it. 

“Well, Mister Potter,” you say breathlessly, clasping your arms around his neck once more. “To some of the students here, frilly dresses and French designers are their entire world.” Your chin all but perched atop James’s shoulders; the scent of his famed Sleekeazy potion and vetiver—dew on fresh grass on a warm sunny day—fills your senses. You cast a sniffy glare in Sirius’s way, to which he responds with a raised brow. 

“Bit shallow, isn’t it?” he murmurs, chest rumbling and his breath hot on your ear. 

You scoff. “One could argue the same for a young Seeker who’s been given their first ever broom.” 

James Potter has the nerve to smile at you. And as you move to extricate yourself from his hold, James mindlessly lets his hand fall from your waist to your hip—incidentally, where you’ve been nursing a heavy fracture. Sore bruises from chasing vampires the night prior as you were out hunting allies of the Dark Lord from the first wizarding war. Although you had drowned yourself in pain relief elixirs, it seems you’re more sensitive and hurt than you thought. 

Even statues of white gold chip and fade over time—you’re reminded of this fact quite painfully. You roughly push James away from you, hissing in pain as you cradle the left side of your hip. Memories of crimson-stained teeth and rotten, pale skin flash before your eyes. You remember the stench of blood, and the feel of their nails slashing into your thighs. But most of all, you remember their ear-piercing shrieks just before you drive the stake into their chests, one by one, until you have left a graveyard of vampires in the outskirts of an abandoned mansion. 

James furrows his brow immediately as you cave in on yourself. (Even Sirius surges to his feet.) “What’s wrong?”

Occlude! Occlude—you must occlude immediately! 

With a sharp inhale, you close off your emotions for anyone else to see. “It is nothing of your concern, Mister Potter,” you respond blankly, as though your soul is locked far away. “I do believe we’re done here.” You step further away from him. Your attention shifts to the students as you fold your hands behind your back, lips curling into a virulent smile. The weight of your mask is comforting; you’ve forgotten how to breathe without it. “Now, let’s have the students pair up and practice what they’ve learned so far. I’ll have no patience for dilly-dallying and nescience on my watch. You’ll dance until I tell you to stop. You’ll practice until the soles of your feet are sore and raw.”

That, after all, is how you learned.

The class goes by accordingly; you maintain a distance from Sirius and James, turning a blind eye to their burdensome sympathy. (Gryffindors and their bleeding hearts—it always unnerves you how easily the avowed Marauders get deep under your skin.) You nip at the students’ heels, righting their poor footwork; looping the music until you are certain they’d hear it in their nightmares. To your surprise, the round-cheeked Neville Longbottom takes all your instructions in stride. From the moment that you allow Filch to lift the tonearm, the students practically fall to the floor, heaving; some forsaking their long robes and tying their hair in flimsy ponytails. 

As the students retreat from the Great Hall, you slink away into the crowd of Slytherins, desperate to avoid a particular duo of Aurors—no doubt ready to probe you with questions. A numbing panic claws at your chest; black spots swallowing your vision. Emotions—how putrid. The students’ discordant chatter overwhelms your hearing, more than the ringing in your ears. The unyielding, outré stone walls feel like they’re closing in on you. Still, you keep your head above the water, enduring every staggered breath. You must. 

What’s wrong? 

The question echoes in your head. 

Ha! 

You scream inwardly, if they only knew! 

While you had been expecting either James or Sirius to ambush you, you do not expect to see Draco Malfoy shouting your name as you flee down an empty corridor. 

The miniature Lucius Malfoy stands before you, grimacing as he clenches his fists tightly. “Are. . .” Draco’s expression contorts morosely. “Are you alright? Theo and I were worried that the blood traitor upset you.” he spits his concern as if it were acid. Little snakes and their keen eyes. 

“Mind your language, Draco,” you reply cuttingly, eyes flashing as you lift your chin. And for his question, one that you’ve been asked numerous times over the years, you have only ever had one answer. Despite the scars on your back, the tremors in your hands, the aching of your heart, and the endless bruises on your limbs, you tell him: “And do not ask what is not needed to be.” 

“You’re hurt, aren’t you?” he presses further, mouth pinched. “Don’t treat me like a dim-witted child because I’m not!” 

A hand lays on his shoulder, and to your chagrin, Severus makes his appearance, lips downturned and his gaze filled with subdued apathy. Your day is about to get worse. “Perhaps, it is best if you leave this discussion to the adults, Draco.” Snape drones, leaving no room for debate. He tightens his grip on the younger wizard. “I will not be inconvenienced to explain to Minerva as to why you were dawdling in the corridors.” 

In true Malfoy fashion, Draco sneers in disdain. He rips himself out of Snape’s grasp with a scoff. As he storms past you, you sigh and pat his side. 

When Draco disappears into the corner, you release a deep breath as you prepare for the onslaught to come. “Just get it over with, Severus,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, the pounding in your head growing more unbearable by the second. 

You see his nostrils flare as Severus turns to glare at you. “I wonder,” he says through gritted teeth. “If you are actually capable of following direct orders—of using that near-empty brain of yours!” His upper lip curls back into a snarl, as he scours the empty hallway for any prowling ears. “Your stunt made it to the Daily Prophet. You were asked to proceed tactfully, were you not?” 

You lean against the wall, rubbing at the temples of your head. “And I’ve done my part. Every last one of them—dead by my hands. A problem you failed to deal with for the last two months. That I settled last night. Remind me why you’re still chittering into my ear, Severus darling?”

“Do not play coy with me,” he replies brusquely. “I’ve heard the students tattling about it as though it were the most interesting event in their pathetic, insolent lives. The Embris Mansion burnt down to the ground. There are talks of a vigilante, a good-for-nothing do-gooder. You got sloppy!”

“And if I did—so what?” You retaliate, chest heaving as you step into his face. Truthfully, this isn’t the first time you’ve had this conversation with him. Over the years you have left some sort of mark on your work. Not a phoenix, but a firecrest. Wings outstretched in flames. All eyes are on the ungovernable hero, the Firebird—and never on you, the foppy socialite. “Would it be so perverse to want even a slither of recognition, Severus?” 

“Do not forget your duty,” he taunts venomously, the cords in his neck going rigid. “To the greater good you so earnestly fight for. Your duty to your mother.” 

“Do not talk about her!” you all but shout, magic sizzling in the air around you. 

“Then see to it that there are no more mistakes going forward!” Severus juts his chin, baring his teeth in contempt. 

After a few long moments, he continues with a resigned exhale, dragging his palm down his face—as though you are the perplexing one. “This. . . Moody has developed a habit of emptying my cupboards.” 

“And why, pray tell,” you retort gruffly, “should I care for this oh-so special cupboard of yours?” 

“It contains ingredients for Polyjuice potions!” he proclaims angrily. “Get to the bottom of this. I’ll not have a blithering fool like Pettigrew get to the students again. Do what you must, I have no interest in understanding the workings of your mind—as long as you do not draw unnecessary attention to yourself.” 

The sound of footfalls break you apart as Severus nimbly lifts the Notice-Me-Not charm he had cast earlier. Within seconds, you find Remus Lupin rounding the corner. He’s dressed in his usual baggy, gray jumper; jaw clean-shaved, and pinkish scars against his skin. A well-loved quilted coat over his shoulders—handmade by Lily, you presume. You notice the mismatched otter socks peeking from his loafers. Remus saunters down the hallway with tired eyes and a feeble smile as he stops right in front of you and Severus. He has a rather tall frame, slender even, despite his hunched shoulders. 

“Snape,” Remus nods to him, gaze flickering back and forth as he attempts to discern what had transpired—well, you’re certainly in no rush to tattle and cry into his arms. 

“Professor,” he says to you, an ever curious smile on his face. “You’re looking quite peaky. Is something the matter?”

“I am most certainly sound and fine, Mister Lupin,” you respond, irritated, as you wobble on your feet. You are at your wit’s end—how bothersome of it all. “Should you not be on your way to your next class, Professor?” you bite tiredly. 

Remus shrugs, hazel-eyes crinkling in amusement. “Mad-Eye is taking over my next class. I thought it would be good for the students to learn from a veteran Auror. I’m sure he has much more experience to offer than me.” 

You scowl, his humility smothering you painfully. “Well, I’ve no interest in dragging my feet around. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a prior engagement with my cat and I’m afraid I’ve left her alone for too long.” 

And as fate would have it, when you make haste for your quarters, you falter in your steps; lurching as your vision goes blurry. Your breath snags in your throat as Remus catches you by the waist. “Perhaps, we should get you to Lily,” offers Remus as he sets you upright, brows pinched worriedly, ignoring Snape’s eye roll in the background. 

“I said I was fine!” You blurt out, cradling the front of your head as you sway backwards; now seeing two Lupins and two Snapes. “Merlin, are all Gryffindors this bloody meddlesome? Must I repeat myself? I am fine—!” 

Turns out, you are not fine. 

The last thing you see before losing consciousness is a pair of brown eyes with flecks of gold, more beautiful than any full moon you’ve ever seen. 

 —

You wake up to a dry, sore throat; the bitter scent of infirmary disinfectant—a Muggle’s touch, no doubt—and concoctions of various healing potions. Your head is still pounding, but somewhat bearable. The room is small, privy to only teachers, you conclude—although, it is the very first time you have ended up in the infirmary. Remus Lupin would feel your wrath, you’d make sure of it. Your back stings as though it were doused in Dittany recently. As you nearly break the flower vase in an attempt to reach for the empty glass, the door creaks open—and in comes Lily Potter with her husbands.

“Am I in hell?” you eye them bitterly. 

“No,” says the youngest matron, dressed in her own version of the nurse’s uniform. Red vest over her white blouse, and a long, plaid skirt with pockets. Soft red hair tied back with a pink ribbon. Albeit, her expression is anything but sweet and delicate. “But you’re in my office, which means you are now under my care—therefore I’d like you to explain why you have vampire toxins in your blood.” 

“And I would like to return to my quarters now, please,” you respond haughtily, referring to the private bedroom professors were offered in the castle. “I’ve nothing to explain to someone who administers the diagnostic charm on my person without explicit permission to do so!” you exclaim, releasing a shuddery breath as your head throbs agonizingly. 

“You will listen to me—seven hours ago you were this close to paralysis!” Lily shouts right back, eyes glaring defiantly—she may have adhered to you in Malfoy’s territory, but no power holds more authority than an acclaimed healer over a patient. “If you had been a Muggle, you’d be dead ten times over.”

“Well, now that we’ve established that I’m alive and well, I suppose we have no more pleasantries to exchange, Lily darling.” You tear the flimsy blanket from your legs, grimacing at the bandages covering your skin. 

“Not before you tell us where those bruises came from,” Sirius demands, voice low and knife-like eyes on you. 

“Must have been the Nargles,” you reply sarcastically. No one would care for a bonny doll ripping apart at the seams and gathering dust on a child’s shelf. “They’re quite frisky this time of the year, didn’t you know? My good friend Xenophilius wrote about those creatures a long time ago. Good read, I’d say.” 

“Are you capable of taking anything seriously?” cuts Sirius with a snarl, tendrils of hair curling around his face; hints of tattoos peeking out from his leather jacket. Vermillion satin shirt clashing against his pale skin. The lingering smell of lit cigars only reminds you of Regulus, and so you tear your gaze away from Sirius. 

“Sirius, let’s not scare her off now, love,” Remus admonishes, softly resting his palm at the back of Sirius’s neck, before he stares at you with honey-dripping eyes. You have a desperate need to run away. They’re an uncharted danger that you aren’t familiar with navigating—and you figure young Harry wouldn’t appreciate you treating his parents like a rabid vampire. “We just want to know what happened, you looked worse for wear when we brought you to Lily and Madam Pomfrey,” Remus placates, treating you like a crow with its wing snapped in half. 

You sneer. “If I am not dead, then these wounds hardly matter to me.” 

Lily gasps, a sound so soft only the wind could have possibly heard it. “How could you say that?” she asks, hand flying to her lips. “Of course it matters, you had lost so much blood while we tried to get the toxins flushed from your system.” She stares at the puncture mark on your arm, before peering over at Sirius. “We nearly couldn’t find a match to your blood type. Sirius. . . Well, he’s a universal donor and he didn’t even hesitate in giving you his—”

“Giving me what?” you echo lowly. “What did Sirius give me, Lily?”

“Blood,” Lily says firmly. “He gave you his blood so you could live.”

“How dare you?” you seethe, chest rapidly rising; digging your nails firmly into your palms as you stare furiously at Lily. “You had no right!” You scream until your throat is sore; your magic overflowing until it shatters the nearby vase of butterfly weeds. 

Rage tunnels your vision; heart hammering against your ribcage as you move to carelessly rip at the bandages over your wounds. “You had no right! You had no fucking right! I would have never done the same for you! Get out! Get out!” 

“Get out!” You hurl the glass at the wall across from you, narrowly avoiding Sirius’s head; anguish tears itself from your voice and you barely notice James flinch from the intensely flickering lights. 

“You think I’d be grateful?” you scoff, a burning heat spreading across your chest. “You think I’d be indebted to any of you after this? Is that what you wanted? What a fucking joke!” You laugh irately as you gasp for air. “I’d rather die!” 

When you run out of items to throw at them—pillows, shards of glass, and crumpled flower stems—you sit on the bed, shoulders violently shaking as you cough yourself sick. 

“I. . .” Lily begins, swallowing the lump wedged in her throat. “I understand. . . But I am the castle’s nurse, as long as you are under Hogwarts’ protection, I am keeping you alive no matter what.” 

“I don’t bloody care,” you snide.

Her eyes flash to James. “We’ll leave you to rest, then.” 

You stay silent, vacantly staring at the reddened welts on your hands. It’s not until you feel James’s arms around you and his chin hovering above your head that you realize you’ve stopped shivering. “I’m sorry,” is all that James whispers into your ear as he lays you to sleep with an inaudible charm. The chill of his magic is the last thing you feel before your eyes flutter to a close. 

—

You wake up in the infirmary once more. This time, you lay stiff on the mattress, absentmindedly gazing at the plain ceiling; your chest falling and rising ever-so slowly. The stink of a Calming Draught is painstakingly familiar. A low humming sound tells you that you aren’t alone—but you barely flinch from their presence, too tired to do anything but close your eyes. “Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me. . . . something. . . they’re okay,” murmurs one Sirius Black, tapping on his thigh as he rests his back on the rustic chair. 

If Sirius wants an encore, he’d have to drag the fight out of you. You’re utterly drained from your emotional palaver earlier. “Didn’t know you were into Muggle songs, Black,” you chortle bemusedly.  

Sirius halts in his singing as a forceful silence falls over the room—you distinctly hear the moment Sirius’s hand drops to his thigh, most likely taken aback by the sound of your hoarse voice. You feel the weight of his eyes on your bandaged arms and legs. A few seconds pass before he responds, his words but a faint breath. “After today, I believe that there is much to be uncovered for the both of us.” 

You don’t bother replying—you’d have Obliviated them instantly if it wasn’t illegal to use on Aurors. 

“We know it was you,” says Sirius out of the blue—your blood turns icy-cold on command, wondering if he’s figured out about the wizard behind the Firebird. “On the first day of term, someone had left a basket of freshly-brewed Wolfsbane potions enough to last him for the entire year,” he explains further, leaning his elbows on his knees as he stares at you unwaveringly. “I almost didn’t believe it, but a Marauder has his ways.” 

(His son with an invisibility cloak and a handy, enchanted parchment.) 

“Thank you,” he says, guttural with emotions. “It means more to Remus than you think.”

“Your gratitude is misplaced, unfortunately,” you rasp, coiling your fists tightly, stubbornly intent on avoiding his eyes—not wanting to get caught in the storm within. You exhale with a ragged sigh. Severus was right, you had been sloppy. And this is what carelessness leads to. “Don’t delude yourself, Mister Black, I couldn’t care less what happens to you or your family.”

Sirius chuckles, like he’d expected such a response from you. “Well, do what you’d like with my gratitude, I don’t care, just know that you have it,” he says, rising from his seat. “It’s past midnight, by the way. Lily’s left you some dinner in case you woke up hungry.” 

Your eyes drift to the nightstand. There’s a steaming bowl of spinach rice with mushrooms, and a plate of honey cinnamon bars. But your gaze lingers on the bouquet of snapdragons and orchids placed in a ceramic vase. 

“She believes home-cooked meals help the patients heal faster,” Sirius tells you, carefully observing your reaction—but there’s none to be found. He purses his lips into a thin, white line.

As he makes his way to leave, Sirius pauses, hand resting on the doorframe. “You know,” he begins quietly. “The thing about magic—it can fool the best of us into thinking we’re indestructible. But, you’re not as inhumane as you’d like us to think.” Sirius veers his head to look back at you. “Take that mask of yours off sometimes, yeah? You’d see the rest of the world clearly if you did.” 

That is all you hear from him before the door clicks shut, and you’re left alone with your thoughts.

How arrogant.

How very Gryffindor of him. 

You push the flower vase closer to the edge of the bedside table, indignantly eyeing the watercolor art. The room reeks of Lily’s kindness. Lions and their constant need to see the goodness in everyone. Take off your mask? You’d give your entire Gringotts account to wear the kind of rose-colored lenses they have—they’re more pestilent than you realized. No matter, it’s high-time you reintroduced yourself to the Marauders, anyway. 

If you take off your mask, they would find nothing but a barren soul.

—

It seems your newfound parasites have forgotten who you truly are—but you have no qualms in reminding them why exactly you’re called the pureblood society’s darling. 

For the week or so, the Daily Prophet features you out in luxurious restaurants, a new partner each night hanging off your arm. International Quidditch players, foreign models, esteemed opera singers, and even Muggle celebrities. Men and women are captured in moving photographs, avidly fawning over you. 

You’ve missed three classes in favor of shopping in France; Flooing back to Hogwarts, stinking of bordeaux and rosa centifolia. Painite gems nestled around your neck, glittery sapphires lining your wrists. On more than one occasion, you’ve seen McGonagall lift her chin in distaste at your behavior. 

“Well, that’s certainly a speedy recovery,” says Lily one afternoon as the owls take the Great Hall by storm. Rita Skeeter’s new article about you is plastered on the front page, apparently you’ve gotten into a catfight with an Italian seamstress. She risks a glimpse of you from the other side of the long table, laughing away with Professor Sinistra. The sound is scraping against her ears, yet Lily can’t help but feel disappointed.

Your desk is littered with mails from admirers, invitations to galas and fundraisers. The students can’t help but notice this fact as they’re brought to the dance floor each morning. (Each day, you rewind Coppélia’s song—her wishes, and her pain—but you plan to ignore the ballad until blood trickles from your ears.)

“Mumma’s just about ready to send her a Howler,” you hear Ginevra Weasley saying in passing after class. The young red-haired girl nearly bumps into Hermione’s shoulder as Ginny dips her head low, prattling excitedly, “Called the Professor a tart, even.”

Hermione stops walking, scrunching her nose. “Really?”

“Yes, yes,” Ginny nods. “But enough about all that—have you seen the news this morning?” 

Hermione looks up, lips wrinkled in thought. “The one about the Professor being seen in Muggle London? I thought that was rather stale for a headline.”

“Not that one,” Ginny says exasperatedly, rolling her eyes. “The article about the Firebird. Remember what happened during the World Cup? When You-Know-Who’s followers came and raided the entire campsite?”

“That would be pretty hard to forget, Gin,” Hermione replies softly. 

“Well, the Firebird’s gone and hunted a few of them,” Ginny tells her, eyes brimming with awe. “Found their hideout and left them half-dead for the Ministry to find. No Malfoy, though, which is a bloody shame.”

At your desk, you sip your jasmine pearl tea with a knowing smirk.

On the first of October, your previous Head of House invites you to the greenhouse for an overdue get-together. Naturally, you greet Pomona Sprout with gift baskets overflowing with glacé treats, packets of tea, scented candles, and dried berries. She huffs in fond exasperation before instructing you to grab a pair of cotton earmuffs and gardening gloves. And, well, you don’t mind playing the part of a slap happy third-year under her gentle care. It’s a role you enjoy more so than others. 

“You’ve been worrying me these days, dear,” Professor Sprout tells you earnestly as she wrestles with the Flitterblooms. Hoo-hoo chicks flutter around in their cage while the uprooted baby Mandragoras screech nearby. You feel the weight of her gaze, much like a knitted blanket draped over your shoulders on a cold, autumn noon. “The other staff have been expressing their. . . concern,  as well.” 

You busy yourself with planting the Wiggentree in its pot, allowing only a moment to raise your walls of Occlumency. You know that she couldn’t possibly be a threat, but you would not allow someone else to expose you bare for others to see. (You loathe the thought of Sirius’s blood flowing through your veins.)

You know that concern is shallow at best, forged from fear of the students being influenced by your frivolous escapades. 

At your silence, Sprout continues on, “We always tell the children that their Houses will be like their second family during their time at Hogwarts.” You hear her draw in a long breath, gingerly placing the flitter tentacles on the ground. “I hope you understand that the same is true for the professors. We take care of each other, substitute teacher or not.” Pomona’s hand is leaden on your shoulder. “After all, you were our student before anything else. The Sorting Hat gave you to me, and what a darling blessing you have been, even until today. When I look at you now, I see the same young first-year student who was afraid of everything and afraid to come out of their shell—but do not forget, I will always be on my children’s side no matter what.”

How poignant that the first person who truly welcomed you to Hogwarts, is one of the only people who can see through you despite your protective barriers.

And so, the puppet show begins—like a lifeless ragdoll, you peel the deer-leather gloves off your hands, blinking away any hints of emotion. You stand tall before Pomona, dusting flecks of soil off your dovetail skirt. “No one has been on my side. Not then, not now,” you say as you snobbishly arrange the brim of your sunhat. “But do not be mistaken, Pomona. I have been fine on my own and a change still remains to be seen.” 

In another life, you would have happily embraced her comfort and affection—but the fate of a lonely starlet is cruel. You’ve made your bed of thorns and wilted roses, and there you shall lay when there is no one left but yourself. 

“Today was lovely, Pomona, thank you.” It is one truth you’ve permitted yourself to offer—a shred of humanity in exchange for her kindness. The dirt beneath your nail beds is real; so is the ache in your back and the sweat dripping from the side of your head to your chin. But you cannot feel any more than that—you forbid yourself. The Mandrakes fall silent, and you bid your goodbyes to the professor.

The sunlight on your skin is real as you step outside, and so is the sound of clamoring students heading for the greenhouse. Sixth-year students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw hurry down the hill. Their unrestrained laughter and carefree smiles are real. And so is the unwashed blood on your hands; the killing curses that have fallen so easily from your lips, and the ghosts that haunt you as the moon arises. Perhaps, you could withstand it all if it means the children would live through a real future without the sins of people like you. 

(But why is it that every time you distance yourself. . . there always seems to be someone calling out to you?) 

Cedric Diggory, your godson, yells for you with a grin that stretches from ear-to-ear. You watch as his yellow scarf swings with each hasty step he takes. Cedric crosses the gap between you in under a minute, strands of wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glimmering eyes. It’s an unsolved mystery as to how you and him were sorted in the same House. 

“Your shirt is wrinkled, Cedric,” you tut, straightening his tie. “Do you go riding Hippogriffs in your spare time?” 

Cedric chuckles wholeheartedly. “Father told me to tell you that you’ve been invited this weekend for a dinner at Hogsmeade,” he says, cocking his head as a cheeky simper erupts across his face. “That is, if you aren’t busy.” 

You raise a brow—sly little badger, he was. Harrumphing uppishly, you swivel to turn your back to him and say, “Tell your father that I’m choosing the venue, lest he chooses some primitive pub in the village.” You draw out the distance between you and Cedric, tossing your parting words into the chilly breeze, “Tell him I’m paying for everything, too.” 

His hearty laughter cuts through the hillside as you make your way back to the castle. Thinking you have the last word, you don’t expect him to yell once more: 

“I’m going to enter the tournament this year!” 

You’re certainly taken by surprise, but you don’t slow your pace. An imperious smirk tugs at your lips—well, at least you know where you’re placing your bets. 

A day before the esteemed guests are set to arrive, you run into Sirius and James—much to your annoyance. It’s just your luck that the evening prior you were hunting down a known member of Greyback’s pack. You played a little cat-and-wolf deep in the depths of a forest, hungrily isolating him from the rest of its family. Though this lycan was unturned, you walk away with claw marks on your back. Still, you hope that Greyback licks his wounds and feels the burden of this particular loss. However, you feel that dealing with James and Sirius will be much more difficult than bringing a werewolf to its knees.

After all, this is the first time you come face-to-face with them, nearly a month after your incident in the infirmary. 

“Auror Black, Auror Potter,” you say liltingly, the rhinestone tassel clinking in your hair as you swirl to face them with a devious leer. “What can I do for you today?” 

Sirius scoffs in disbelief. “So it’s like that, then? Like nothing ever happened?” 

“Partying around, missing your bloody classes, parading all over the castle like you’re better than everyone else. We thought you changed. You know, I actually thought there could be something real to you under all that,” he punctuates his words with a harsh laugh, sneering at your blinding jewelry. “Guess we were the fools, eh?” 

James stares at Sirius, a grim expression flashing across his face, before he shakes his head. “It just doesn’t make sense. What we saw at the infirmary—that’s not something anyone forgets.” He gazes at you with grief in his eyes. “It’s like you’re two different people.” 

“It’s disappointing, really,” Sirius bites, his lips curling into a snarl.

They’ve made it all too easy for you. 

“What are you so frustrated for, darlings?” you say in faux sympathy, stalking towards them as you tap at your chin; a sickly-sweet pout on your lips. “What were you hoping for? For all of us to become friends? We’re not children anymore, my loves!” you exclaim histrionically. “Did you actually fall for my little trick at the infirmary? The care parcel I left your husband? Didn’t you know my mother drafted the anti-werewolf bill?”

Sirius staggers.

“The real me?” you giggle incredulously. “What you see is what you get, dearest—don’t go searching for what doesn’t exist. It’s not my fault you fall so easily for a pretty face.” You tilt your head, fluttering your eyes as you drag your nail up James’s chin. “Not every damsel is in distress, you know.”

Your eyes slice towards Sirius with a coy smile. “Maybe if you had followed your head more often than your naive, little lion hearts—you wouldn’t have driven Regulus to his death.” 

James recoils away from your touch just as Sirius flinches, eyes flashing with anger—Sirius digs his nails into his palms, chest heaving as he stares at you in disgust. You expect another stab in the chest from him, and so you lift your head up high, daring him to say another word. (You hope they stopped trying after this—that they would leave you alone to rot in your stage of lies and dutiful sacrifice.) But you don’t plan for James to step forward, shielding Sirius away from your gaze.

“You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen,” says James, words dripping in sincere revulsion. “Can’t believe I thought anything less than that.” 

You smile widely, despite the tightening sensation in your chest. “Are we done here now, gentlemen?”

They would learn—this is who you are beneath your masks and pretenses. 

The thirtieth of October brings about a cold you’ve never felt before. As you await the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, the outside corridors are teeming with students, eyes hungry with anticipation. You lean against the wall, exhausted physically and mentally, hugging your worn-out shawl closer to your shoulders. 

The skies are exceptionally gray today—you’ve had to drag yourself out of bed earlier this morning, limbs heavy as lead. The teacup in your grasp is scalding to the touch—you find that nothing hurts more than the ache in your heart. The children are particularly rowdy at the moment—each time you close your eyes, you see the hatred in James and Sirius’s eyes. 

Has loneliness ever felt so suffocating before? 

When winged horses make their way from the heavens, the clamoring grows louder—yet all you hear are their words. 

‘You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen.’

‘I actually thought there could be something real to you under all that.’

You would not weep—not for yourself, and not certainly for them. 

Sometimes, you wondered if you were hurting too much to even be considered alive. Did your marked flesh even count as skin anymore? Worthy to be cherished with gentle touches and tender lips? How much more did you have to do until the guillotine finally fell? 

When does duty end? And when does life begin? 

Madame Maxine and her drove of Veelas descend from their carriage; awestruck gasps and intrigued murmurs echoing along the corridor. When the Beauxbatons Headmaster comes to stand before you, you instinctively sink into the role of a diplomatic host—that is, after all, why Dumbledore hired you. With a nod of your head and a pleasing smile, you greet the first of your guests to arrive. 

“What a relief that you made it safely to Hogwarts, Madame Maxime,” you tell her in a saccharine-sweet tone. “If you please, Mister Filch here will guide you to the dormitories where you’ll be staying while Hagrid will take care of your horses.” 

You want to go to sleep already. 

Finally, as a large ship emerges from the Great Lake—a sense of relief floods through you. Only one more person to greet and you’ll finally be able to return to your quarters, welcoming feast be damned—you’ve done your part for today. Igor Karkaroff and his students make their presence known; imposing statures and foreboding glares. The castle nearly crumbles from Viktor Krum’s entrance, Hogwarts’ Quidditch players eager to catch a glimpse of the prodigal Seeker—well, you could care less about such a barbaric sport. 

Karkaroff presents you a slimy leer as he presses a kiss to the back of your palm—the dig of his long nails into your skin is a pleasant feeling, to your surprise. “Dumbledore did not inform me we would be greeted by such beauty. We would have arrived earlier, otherwise.” 

You miss your cat. 

(Sirius’s eyes roll all the way to the back of his head when you giggle and melt in Karkaroff’s wretched compliments.) 

You want to die.

—

Chaos erupts the next day. The Goblet of Fire has chosen a fourth champion—Harry Potter himself. No one is more enraged than his mother, Lily. The Aurors on duty, James and Sirius, struggle to contain the students’ horror and verbal lashings. Some have taken to accusing James himself of putting Harry’s name in the goblet in the name of family prestige—predictably, it’s Draco and Pansy who lead that revolt. But you don’t expect for Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan to be swayed by the baseless gossip. So there’s a crack in the pride’s loyalty to one another, you surmise to yourself. 

Like a Niffler drawn to shiny objects, you follow the Headmasters and professors into a room, away from all the ruckus. 

“Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?” the wise Professor Dumbledore asks calmly.

The atmosphere is beyond wintry—you note the biting criticisms in their eyes, particular between Fleur and Madame Maxime. Lily hides Harry from their scrutiny, proud and unyielding despite being shorter than the Beauxbaton champion. Across the room, you find Severus and Remus engaged in a muted, albeit wound up argument. 

Everyone looks to the morose Bartemius Crouch Sr., awaiting his decision with a bated breath. You sympathize with the man—for a fleeting moment—for if looks could kill, Sirius’s tempestuous glare would have dragged him six feet under. 

“We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.”

Your blood runs cold.

Ludo Bagman appears to be pleased with his colleague’s decision—you see no reason why he shouldn’t be, he’s only ever put his odds in the thrill of the game. “Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front!” 

Dimwitted fool.

You scoff. “In a room full of Headmasters and Ministry leaders, surely one of you can find a way to unbind young Potter’s name from the tournament.”

“Err. . .” Ludo’s gaze flickers from Dumbledore to Crouch Sr. Madame Maxime and Karkaroff nod emphatically in agreement, forcing him into a corner with a ragged chuckle. “There’s nothing to be done, the Goblet of Fire has gone out.”

“Do you or do you not have a wand, Mister Bagman?” you reply, piqued; crossing your arms over your chest. “If the rules were written by a wizard, surely it can be unwritten by a wizard. Teaching an Unforgivable to a first-year would be more difficult than that.” “It is not as simple as that, Professor!” Bagman cries. “But you are welcome to try a hand at it.”

“So we just let a child run to his death, then?” you seethe, nostrils flaring. “I never knew the Ministry was teeming with incompetent men. Shall I steal your job from under your nose, Ludo dear?”

(Harry’s brows pinch in confusion. He does not expect for you to care so much.)

“He’s got to compete. They’ve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?” says Alastor Moody as he limps across the room, flask in his hand. You fall silent, an unnerving chill slithering down your spine. Something about this man did not sit right with you. You pull the sleeves of your blouse further down your arms. 

“Maybe someone’s hoping Potter is going to die for it,” Moody growls in response to Fleur. “Over my dead body!” James snarls, veins rigid against the column of his throat, eyes simmering in anger. 

“Yes, yes, Potter, we all know you’d die for your son,” Moody remarks offhandedly, taking a large gulp of the liquor in his flask. 

“It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it,” Dumbledore counters in an attempt to placate the tense atmosphere. Lily’s sharp sob engulfs the outraged clamors of the two other Headmasters. “Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do. . . .”

The glass sculpture of a long-haired mermaid shatters into fragmented pieces as you bump into the table; just about ready to flee before you do anything rash like point your wand at Crouch Sr. himself. Before you exit the room, you catch sight of Cedric’s eyes—worry and uncertainty pooling within his gaze. You slam the door hard enough until the wood splinters. 

Harry Potter is imprisoned by his fate as the Chosen One—and it seems time has imprisoned everyone at Hogwarts, yourself included. 

The first task for the tournament arrives defiantly, without care for Harry and his loved ones. You have only been to the Quidditch field twice—today happens to be the second time. Everyone is bundled in their wooliest sweaters and warmest jackets; although, Hermione did have her portable bluebell flames. You stare at it with envy. 

“Oi! Professor, over here!” One freckled Weasley twin—Fred, you guess—beckons for you to sit by their swarm of red and gold. He pushes Ron away to make room for you beside Minerva. 

“Thank you, Mister Weasley,” you say quietly, sniffles falling from your frost-bitten nose. 

It’s quite odd—you’d have expected to be sitting with Professor Sprout and Amos, amongst your sett of badgers. But it’s not half-bad. You don’t erupt in flames when Minerva holds onto you, shrieking, as Fleur narrowly avoids her dragon, awoken from its trance. You don’t particularly mind either, when the Weasley twins bump their chests and holler into Ginerva’s ear when it’s time for Viktor Krum to face the Chinese Fireball.

“We got a traitor here!” George snickers when you flinch and yelp for Cedric as he fights shy of the Short Snout’s fire, and cheering breathlessly when he eventually captures the golden egg. You glare at George mirthfully, wondering where your fight and heat has gone. 

“Please excuse me for a moment,” you say, rising to your feet as the judges mull over their scores for Cedric. “Minerva,” you nod to her, and she offers you a hint of a wrinkly smile. (McGonagall thinks that if anyone can talk back in the face of a Ministry chairman in defense of her students, then perhaps she’s misjudged a professor or two.) 

Your cheeks grow numb from the cold as you cross the swarm of Beauxbatons students, past the flock of Ravenclaws. Harry’s match is underscored by the deafening cheers; the stands  rumbling from the yells for his name. You’re nearing the territory of yellow banners and black insignias, trumpets blowing into your ears, when the clamor and hurrahs turn into terrified gasps; students rushing back from the edge. You don’t understand the fuss until you look back at the arena. 

Harry’s dragon has broken free from its chains. 

You join Professor Sprout and Severus in herding the students away from danger—spotting James and Sirius across the arena, hastily reinforcing the protective barriers around the stands, uttermost precision in their wandwork. While Harry dances a life-threatening waltz, you hurriedly clear out the space closest to the banisters. Your breath hitches as the Hungarian Horntail wreaks havoc below, inducing quakes and showers of fire. 

But more frightening than any dragon, you hear the bloodcurdling scream of a student.

“Daphne!” 

The Greengrass heiress, Astoria, cries vehemently as Draco holds her back from rushing to the front of the stands. 

You scour the area frantically—there, only a few feet away from you, lies a fear-stricken Daphne Greengrass, staring right into the eyes of the Horntail. Its teeth bare, growls like thunderstorms, and the rising scent of embers and ashes. 

“Daphne, get away from there!” 

You hardly hesitate—you run to her, desperation pushing at your legs, terror holding your heart captive. As the dragon screeches in preparation to breathe fire, the nearest Aurors miles away—each gasp for air is torn from your throat. In a blink of an eye, you grab Daphne into your arms and shield her from the Horntail. The crowd bellows in fright—you close your eyes, preparing for even the most excruciating of pain. 

But there is nothing. 

Just you, Daphne, the Hungarian—and Remus who’s pointed his wand at the onslaught of flames, redirecting it up into the sky as Harry grabs the Horntail’s attention, now zipping freely on his broom. 

Remus looks back at the both of you in relief, drawing his wand back in his pocket. “Are you alright?” he asks you first, a weary tenderness in his eyes. 

You tear your gaze away from him, checking on Daphne instead; cupping her pale cheeks and wiping the tears from her eyes. “Are you alright, Daphne? What do you feel? Come, darling, let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey—can you stand? Here, put your arm around my shoulder.” 

“T–Thank you, Professor,” stammers Daphne as Astoria rushes to her, the pair of sisters blubbering and crying. The blonde-haired girl nods to you and Remus, “Both of you. I–I don’t know how I’ll repay such kindness.” 

“Don’t worry, Daphne,” says Remus, smiling as he offers her a lemon-flavored treat. 

He steps back to make way for Lily to fuss over Daphne, his eyes straying to you, oozing with sincerity as he rubs his handkerchief to your cheek. He grins at you and your heart skips a beat. “My kindness is freely given.”

Has kindness ever felt so real before?

act iv. you wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me. 

“THE CHILDREN ARE terrified, Missus Fawley. Just last week, we had another incident. All the windows in the kitchen—shattered! The little ones couldn’t sleep for days.” 

You hear the orphanage matron’s voice behind the bedroom door. You’re allowed but a moment of playing with your ragged, plush animals, before the matron comes barging inside. (How rude, you think to yourself. Hasn’t she ever heard of knocking before?) Although, unlike all the other times, she has a lady right on her tail. This woman is much taller than Sister Thompson, certainly more beautiful-looking, too. Not that you have anything against Sister Thompson’s wrinkly face and foul smile. 

No, this woman walks with her head held up high, dressed in a burgundy leather coat that clearly costs more than the thin rag you call a shirt. This must be Mrs. Fawley, then. Her black heels click against the rusty, wooden floor; you watch impassively as she bends down to your eye level. She takes you by surprise when she grabs ahold of your chin, slowly turning your head from side to side. 

“So this is the child,” Mrs. Fawley muses, red lips quirked. Haunting blue eyes stare back at you; hair dark as ebony falling to her waist. “You may leave, Sister Thompson. I would like to get to know my future ward.”

The matron widens her eyes. “Missus Fawley, I strongly advise against—!”

“You misunderstand me, Sister Thompson,” says Fawley, a sharp edge to her voice. “That was not a request.”

A strange sense of victory fills you when Sister Thompson bows her head in response, tossing you just one sour glare before exiting the room. The rickety door clicks shut and Mrs. Fawley returns her attention to you with a low hum, eyes raking over your form once more. You wonder what she’s thinking about; wondering if it’s the vast difference between her neatly-pressed clothing and your rumpled dress shirt. Many have visited the orphanage before, but none have spared you a second glance, not with Sister Thompson scaring them all away. (You suppose there is no appeal in adopting a child with temperamental issues who can make other girls’ noses bleed.)

“Show me,” Fawley commands, breaking the quietude; her voice stern, yet hypnotic. Much like the first notes of a pied piper’s song. For a few moments, you don’t understand what she’s asking for, until realization dawns upon you. You drop the plush toy’s limbs—seconds later, the teddy bear waves its hand as though it’s gained a soul. If this had been a wooden doll with a long nose, it would be saying: ‘I’m a real boy!’

Fawley chuckles, leaning back with a pleased look. Your head falls to the side in confusion—when you had shown this little trick to Daisy Anne and Annaliese, they’d begun to throw stones at you, screaming and saying that you were a witch. You don’t try to play with the other children anymore after that. Rather than being afraid, Missus Fawley seems to be happy with you. “My name is Agatha Fawley, special adviser to the Wizengamot, daughter of the Sacred Twenty-Eight,” she tells you, and you don’t have a lick of comprehension. “What do you know about witches and wizards, darling?” “I don’t know, maybe. . .” You scrunch your nose, making the stuffed elephant twirl the bear with just a glance—Fawley tilts your chin upwards, demanding your utmost attention. “That they aren’t real? Or if they are, they should be burnt at the stake?”

Agatha Fawley hisses, a low sound that sends shivers down your spine. You wonder if you’ve angered her. The toys fall back to the floor lifelessly. “Damned Muggles—! Is that what they teach these days?” She shakes her head. “No, never mind. What matters is what happens from now on.” “Are you going to adopt me?” you dare to ask, gaze falling to the floor, heart hammering against its confinements.

“I will,” she affirms and your eyes grow wide, breath stuttering in your throat. “But if we are to become family—there is one thing you must do for me.”

“Anything!” You all but scream in her ear, a plea for her to take you away from the orphanage; far, far away from hurtful words and a room that echoes your loneliness back to you. 

“Never lower your eyes.” She smiles, teeth bared into a snarl, reminiscent of a prowling fox. “You are magic, my darling. And I will be your mother. No one on this earth can make you kneel in surrender.”

You believe her.

You believe her with all your heart.

But, you would learn that even monsters can call themselves ‘mother’ and embrace you with open arms. 

The Fawley Manor is large—larger than the orphanage, and that was a place you couldn’t fully explore due to its largeness. There must be a thousand rooms, as far as the eyes can see. It’s like a princess castle coming to life—akin to the ones you’ve read about in storybooks. Missus Fawley’s home nearly touches the sky. There are tall trees, wide grassfields, and glimmering lakes. You gasp and cover your eyes with your hands as the chauffeur drives past the marble sculpture of naked ladies. (“Think of them as Goddesses bare to the mortal eye, dearest,” says Fawley when you yelp and sink into the leather seats.) Then, the family butler, maids, and chef come to greet you, all smiling at the new addition to the manor. 

You meet Elsie, the house elf—your first real encounter with magic. Well, besides Missus Fawley turning paper into crystalline butterflies in the car. Elsie is a tiny, wrinkly creature who wears five different-colored knitted hats atop her head. She can’t seem to stop shuddering while speaking, too, as if drenched in cold, invisible water. But you look into her big eyes and you decide to be her friend forever. 

“Get settled into your room, and then we’ll have you acquainted with the rest of the staff,” Fawley says after she ushers you into a room—a bedroom just for you, where you won’t have to listen to anyone else’s snoring or fight to the death for a blanket on a cold winter storm. The bed is bouncy and soft, not unlike the cardboard they’d given you at the orphanage. Your shelves are stocked with toys and books. 

Then, you remember that in exchange for all this, you must do your best in school. That is one thing you aren’t looking forward to. 

But, how bad could a school be if it’s filled with magic? 

You happily imagine smelly trolls, dashing unicorns, talking ghosts, and floating crayons. 

For your first week in the manor, you enjoy glazed desserts, fluffy pillows, and silken clothing—and on your second week, you are reminded of your duty to the family you’ve been brought into. Something bigger than studying in a faraway magic castle. Missus Fawley introduces you to her long line of ancestors. You stumble on your footing as the portraits shuffle around and gaze upon you with curiosity, some with a more heated glare than others. They call you a funny term as you walk past. Mudblood. But, Fawley tells you not to worry. You are now her child before anything else. 

The family crest is chiseled with gold; you squint your eyes to make sense of the inscription: Virtus in Arduis.

“Virtue in hardships,” Agatha explains in her dulcet tone. As you featherly trace the emblem with your fingers, Fawley leans down to your height, clearing her throat; her expression impossible for you to read. “I brought you to this family because I saw potential in you. I sensed great magic from your person. But we all have our duties. Magic gives, and magic will take.”

“The wizarding world is in grave danger,” she tells you firmly, gripping the curve of your jaw with an intensity that frightens you. “Will you help me fight for the greater good?”

You blink.

You just got here and now you have to fight for a world that you never even knew that existed?

“Greater good?” you echo in disbelief. “F-Fight? Fight who? I’ve never even fought in my life! Making Daisy Anne’s nose bleed w-was just an accident!” 

“I will be with you every step of the way,” she vows fiercely, the tips of her nails digging into your cheeks. “Tell me, do you understand? You will do what is right without any recognition at all. Think of it as a performance, my love. And I’m preparing you for your role in this world starting now.” 

The ingénue in this act you have to play involves studying endlessly, practicing your wand work until Fawley is satisfied, and familiarizing yourself with every shelf in the library from dawn until dusk. You don’t understand why you must memorize every charm and every incantation—but Missus Fawley reminds you that you are bound to her and your responsibilities. You don’t want to go back to the orphanage, cold and alone—so, you acquaint yourself with parchments and quills, swallowing the discomfort when the nib harshly rubs your skin raw. 

On your tenth birthday, Missus Fawley gifts you with a closet overflowing with chiffon, taffeta, and organza. Lace parasols, pretty shoes, and wide-brimmed sun hats. The chef surprises you with a three-layered cake, the constellation icing charmed to flicker like real stars in the night. It’s the best birthday you’ve ever had. For the first time, you feel like your life is actually celebrated. 

The next day, your adoptive mother says with utmost exigency, “This time next year, you shall be off to Hogwarts, but that means your debut in society is drawing near. The wizarding world will officially acknowledge you as my child.”

“When that happens, vultures will flock to you as though you were a corpse.” Her eyes flash dangerously. “And you will become one, unless you learn how to fend for yourself. The most ruthless of us all can be adorned in pearls and dressed in ball gowns. Appearance is everything in this world—do not let them see that you are afraid.” 

And so, you don’t tell her that she’s petrified you to the bone.

“As the sole heir to my fortune and properties, you must understand how to navigate, not only the wizarding world, but this treacherous domain, as well.” Missus Fawley straightens your back, harshly tapping you once more to spread your legs at a more acceptable distance. “To be envied by all—the perfect host must always be ready to receive their guests with attention and politeness.”

When you wince, or move to massage your sore muscles, she barks at you, “You must always be composed, even in near-death. If you crumble—if you let even a single person know what you’re truly feeling, all this will be for naught.”

The burden of her words is heavier than the textbooks she shoves in your hold. 

“Control them before they can control you,” Fawley explains as the seamstress measures your waist and arms. “Exert your influence in a conversation. Not only in words, but your stature. Present yourself accordingly. Jewelry and clothing can be your armor when you cannot draw your wand.”

You grumble under your breath when the seamstress accidentally pokes you with a needle for the nth time. 

“Smile when flattered, giggle when offered a dance, and curtsy when greeted.” Fawley glares daggers at you when you hiss in pain. “But most of all, do not let any of those cretins know that you are fully aware of the power you wield over them. Anyone can be a puppeteer if they want to be. You’ll just be the greatest of them all.”

(But even a master of puppets has someone pulling their strings from behind the curtains.)

Elsie stays up with you each night, carefully pouring ice-cold water over your head, and playing with the floating bubbles to distract you from the ache in your legs and arms. “Elsie will give Master her hat!” the young elf says one evening, pulling the topmost beanie from her head and laying it on yours. She tells you a bedtime story before tucking you beneath the covers of your queen-sized bed. You fall asleep to the sound of grasshoppers chirping and portraits murmuring to one another. 

Then, you get your first taste of a pureblood skirmish. Missus Fawley had taken you to Diagon Alley, months away from the first of September—a letter in your hand with all the materials a first-year would need for their classes. Safe to say, you’re more than excited. (“Oh, mother, look!” you exclaim, pointing to the various shops—and also remembering the rule of calling Agatha mother out in public. “A sweet shop! Fortescue’s ice cream parlor! Mother, can we go there? Please, please, please!”) Fawley smiles at your wide-eyed wonder, your hand in hers—today is a special one, she decides. You’re allowed a bit of fun. Especially since you’ve shown unfathomable progress in your studies. 

You get your very first wand at Ollivanders—and now this world of grumpy goblins and jumping chocolate frogs becomes even more real. You hardly let go of your wand, a tingle of exhilaration running through you each time you brush your fingers against the finely-carved wood. Even Missus Fawley is pleased with the wand that chooses you. Later, you’ll be given three hours to practice your charms again, but you find that you don’t mind—not when you’ve learned that you can now read books under the covers when Elsie turns the lights off.

As you exit the shop, breathless and flushed with a hunger to explore more of this world you’ve been given access to, you and Fawley run into one of her friends. This must be one of the scary people she’s warned you about. Sharp cheekbones, unfriendly gray eyes, and a stern demeanor. You immediately suck in a breath and school your face just as Agatha has taught you. 

“Walburga!” Fawley greets with a lovely smile, but you notice that it doesn’t reach her eyes, not like when she smiles at you for growing another inch taller. She brings her hand onto your shoulder. “What a pleasant surprise, my dear.” She peers at the two young boys hiding behind her, much like you were doing now. “Oh, my! Is it that time already? I’d forgotten young Sirius was set to go to Hogwarts this year. You must be overjoyed.” 

Walburga is a tall lady, taller than Agatha, even. She hums, lips quirked, chin held up high. “Fawley,” Walburga responds, rather displeased. “Talking my ear off, as usual.” Her trenchant eyes land on you and her smile curves into a sneer. “And who might this little one be?” 

You risk a glance at Missus Fawley before offering the other woman a sweet, half-curtsy. “Madam Black, how do you do?” you smile at her, gaily revealing your name and the gap in your front teeth—the two boys snicker and your eyes instantly narrow into a glare. 

Walburga stares you down harshly. “How adorable.” Her eyes slice to the two boys behind her. “Sirius, Regulus, introduce yourselves.” 

Missus Fawley laughs, a grating sound—much like warning bells—as her eyes flash dangerously at her, hand tightening on your collarbone. “What a relief to know that Sirius will at least have one friend already before they arrive at the castle.” 

“But—oh, dear, look at the time.” Agatha quickly casts the Tempus charm before looking at you aghast, eyes wide as saucers, mouth parted dramatically. “I promised the Daily Prophet a photoshoot today! It is my thirty-first birthday soon, after all. I’d give you tips on how to capture this look, but, Walburga, it seems you’re embodying the housewife fashion perfectly.”

“Ta-ta!” She plants two, airy kisses on Walburga’s cheeks before waving the three goodbye. 

“That,” Fawley whispers into your ear as she snuggles the side of your face. “—is exactly how to do it.”  

You collapse in your bed that night, wondering just what you’ve gotten yourself into and what kind of world you’re about to live in.

How confusing.

All this time, you thought that Missus Fawley had been preparing you for an intense entrance exam. Why else would she make you study twenty-five hours a day and eight days a week? But as it turns out, all you had to do was sit on a chair and have Professor McGonagall put a talking hat on your head.

“Hufflepuff!” the Sorting Hat proclaims, and the table of yellow and black welcomes you with open arms. You sit next to a boy named Amos Diggory. Later in the night, you’ll share a dormitory with a kind girl named Amelia Bones. 

(Hogwarts is the best!) 

The holidays arrive in the blink of an eye and you find yourself standing at the steps of the manor once more. Agatha Fawley waits for you by the door, engulfing you instantly in a hug that shields you from the falling snowflakes and biting winds. Hot cocoa with marshmallows and gingerbread cookies await you in the grand dining room; you even get a crotchety greeting from Isolde Fawley the Third’s portrait. Elsie crumples to the floor and sobs at your arrival. 

“So you were sorted there,” Fawley mutters to herself, a worried expression contorting her face. The fireplace crackles as a winter storm rages outside the manor. You lay on her lap as she absentmindedly pats your head. Stories of your first few months at Hogwarts fall from your lips without pause. “This would go smoother if you had been sorted in Slytherin, however; but no matter—it’s not what I expected, but we can make do. The Diggorys and Bones’ are purebloods, so maybe not all hope is lost. But you need to get more acquainted with the Greengrasses and the Malfoys, Druella Black’s daughters as well.”

You hide your frown against her legs. You really liked Amos and Susan, Bellatrix was just downright mean to everyone, even calling this one girl, Lily, a Mudblood, too. But if mother wanted you to try, you might, but only once. If Bellatrix didn’t want to be your friend, then there’s no helping that unhinged witch. (At least the Prewett twins’ pranks were funny. Bellatrix once snuck inside the Ravenclaw tower to leave a dead pig’s head in the girls’ dormitory just because.)

On the twenty-fifth of December, Agatha Fawley throws a gala just for you—masqued as a fundraiser for Muggle children in need. (None of the families cared about them, you would realize later on.) The ground nearly rumbles from the number of guests she’s invited. From your bedroom window, you spot a few familiar faces. Sirius Black, who stands out from the crowd like a pale bean sprout; his cousin, Bellatrix, who’s already taken to yelling at the staff; Lucius Malfoy, the Flints, and the Parkinsons. Your head goes dizzy. 

As long as you don’t trip during your entrance, everything should be fine, right? Right?

(You one-hundred percent trip in front of everyone as you descend the stairs. The sound of James Potter and Sirius Black’s laughter haunts you.)

But other than that, the Yule event goes by smoothly. You don’t fall flat on your face when greeting Cygnus Black and Druella Black née Rosier, and mother is thoroughly satisfied when you smile in the face of Walburga Black and Abraxas Malfoy. You stay in the corner after welcoming your guests, sitting in your chair like an abstract painting forbidden to touch; whilst the Prewett twins and James teased Elsie until she cried from anxiety. Sirius also goes out of his way to congratulate you for growing all your teeth in. 

You don’t understand why Mother is so scared of these people.

But you’ll understand virtue in hardships soon enough when you receive your first tutoring in ballroom dancing. Instead of sapphire earrings or a trip to France, Missus Fawley has a different gift in mind for your fifteenth birthday. She surprises you with a tutor—you’re bewildered at first, arguing that you’ve consistently been at the top of your class. (“Madam Hawthorne is not here for your academics, my darling,” Fawley explains with her red-lips stretched in a foreboding smile. “Dance is a beneficial skill for any host to have. You’ll practice until your footwork is perfect. You will dance until I say you can stop. And when your feet are aching and bleeding, you will keep dancing.”) 

Each night for your summer holiday, you go to bed, sobbing into your pillows, body trembling from Madam Hawthorne’s cane. 

Everything changes on the eve of your sixteenth birthday.

Like all the years before, Missus Fawley invites the entirety of the pureblood society to the manor. 

You stay with Narcissa and Andromeda, gently placating their concerns when they ask about your unnatural quietness—truthfully, you could no longer breathe in the flounced dress you’ve been forced to wear; the sides of your feet raw from constantly practicing with Madam Hawthorne, head aching from the lights and obnoxious perfumes; stomach gurgling. Bags under your eyes from revising endlessly for your N.E.W.T.S. 

Eyes drooping and neck craning from exhaustion, you don’t at all expect for James Potter to emerge from the crowd; wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glasses, wine-colored suit melting into his dark skin. He holds out his hand to you with a boyish grin. “May I have this dance?” 

You blink, frozen solid for a few moments until Narcissa softly nudges your side. “Y-Yes, if you must,” you splutter, placing your palm in his. 

He leads you to the dance floor as the orchestra plays a song perfect for a waltz along a flower field; your eyes glued to his back. The chandelier hangs overhead as James settles your arms around his neck in one swift motion. You almost step on his feet, spluttering your gratitude when he steadies you by the waist, the heat of his hands permeating your layers of clothing. 

“Isn’t it odd that the birthday celebrant wasn’t dancing all this time?” he says, pulling you in for a twirl. 

“I assume the others were all too afraid to deal with my mother,” you reply timidly. “She’s quite overprotective, you see.” 

“Who? That tall lady over there by Missus Black who’s currently glaring at me?” James chuckles into your ear as you step closer to hear his heartbeat. “She couldn’t possibly terrify me.”

“Lily says thank you, by the way.” 

“Oh? For what?”

“Letting her copy off your Defense Against the Dark Arts essay—she’s downright shite at the subject. Don’t tell her I said that, though.”

You laugh along with him, and you find that you could rest in his arms forever.

But, as your dance with him comes to an end, so does your wistful reverie. 

When most of the guests have left the scene, and when the lights have dimmed, Mother presents to you her real gift—your debut in the wizarding society. She leads you to a room, one where you’ve never ventured before. It’s deep past the cellars, where cobwebs and dust bunnies grow. (Before you enter, Narcissa grips your hand firmly, a look of dread and urgency in her eyes. “Be brave,” is all that she says, encasing you in her arms.) 

In this dark room, you see Abraxas and his wife, Walburga, Cygnus, the Notts, the Goyles, and more people you recognize, all dressed in their finest black cloaks—as though it were a funeral instead of a birthday. In the center of it all, is your mother, Agatha, with a man kneeling in front of her. 

“What is this?” you ask in alarm, frantically searching for answers. The man struggles against his rope, binds, screams and pleas muffled by the cloth shoved in his mouth. The sight of his bruises makes you all but retch. “Mother, what is going on?” 

Walburga is the first to step forward, her lips painted blood-red against her ashen skin, curving into an edacious smile. She cradles the back of your head to her chest. “My lovely dear, it has been the utmost privilege watching you grow. Your mother is certainly proud of you, we all are. Tonight, just as our sons and daughters before you, we offer you our blessing on this very special day.” 

“You know of the Unforgivables, right, my child?” Her voice is a sweet, ruthless cadence in your ear; her touch, like worms crawling on your skin as she places your wand in your hand. You bite down on your tongue, swallowing each breath as the walls threaten to cave in on you. Your fingers forcibly shake in terror and you worry that you might snap your wand in half if you aren’t careful. “The Cruciatus, the Imperius, and—?”

“The killing curse,” you breathe out, ever-so stiff in her hold. You watch as Abraxas kicks the man to the ground; you dig your nails deep into your palm to keep from flinching. 

“That’s right, little one,” says Walburga, tracing your jaw with a morbid sense of satisfaction. She holds your chin in place as Abraxas tears the cloth from the man’s mouth. It’s worse now. You hear his desperate begging and his guttural cries for help. “Muggles,” she spits the word out like venom. “Look at them. They’re filthy. Infecting our blood with theirs.”

“Kill him,” Walburga says, a delicate whisper, as though she had asked for a cup of tea. “Kill him and you’ll have proved your worth to us.” 

“No! No, please!” The man struggles against Abraxas’s arms. “Please! I have a family! A c-child!”

You stagger backwards, nearly losing your grip on your wand. You look to your mother for help. “I—!”

“Kill him, pet!” Bellatrix cackles from across the room, teeth bared viciously, eagerly beckoning for you to come forward. “Make sure you mean it! Otherwise it won’t hurt!”

“You know the words,” says Walburga, lifting your pliable arm—a puppeteer controlling its ragdoll. “Say it.”

The man before you is real. He’s a real person with a real family anxiously waiting for him to come home. His children worried sick for their father. How can they just stand there and expect you to kill him? “Mother, please—I can’t. I w-wont.” Your breathing grows labored, hot tears pricking your eyes; the man screams and yells, and the sound echoes ceaselessly in your ears. “I don’t. . .  I don’t understand.”

Agatha Fawley closes her eyes, and you understand perfectly. 

Each sob wrecks your body and the tears endlessly flow from your ears, you hiccup and shiver; blood pooling from the bite in your tongue. “I can’t do this—please!”

“You will.”

You close your eyes just as a flash of unforgiving green shoots from your wand. “Avada Kedavra!”

The man falls limp to the floor, and so does your wand. Walburga coos and drowns you in a sea of shallow praises, the men offer their congratulations, but all you hear is the sound of a lifeless body dropping to the ground. 

A man who you just killed by your wand, in your home. 

That night, the four walls of your bedroom bear witness to your anguish—you cry until you throw up on the floor, body lurching and quivering on the freezing red oak. 

“Do you get it now?” says Agatha as she enters your room, the faintest of sunlight streaming through the windows. She bends down and cups your face in her palms. “This is your world from now on.” 

You rip her hands away from you, gritting your teeth. “I don’t want to live in your world—not anymore! I don’t care about all this! Magic, wealth, and all these things mean nothing if I have to kill innocent people! You’re a monster!” 

“Good.” Fawley’s voice is cold as she stands up, lifting her chin as her eyes glaze impassively. “That means you’re ready for your next lesson.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said I was done!” you retort, sore from crying.

“Don’t you see?” says Fawley, pausing underneath the door frame, gaze ruthlessly slicing towards you. “We will destroy them from the inside out. Walburga, Abraxas, Tom Riddle. All of them, one by one. That is our true duty.” 

As she turns to leave, she adds coldly, “Ready yourself. I’ll be teaching you Occlumency during your summer break.” Then she slams the door shut, leaving you all alone in your room. 

When you return to school after the winter holidays, you’re forced to pretend that you hadn’t taken the life of an innocent Muggle. 

‘Do not let them see you are afraid.’ 

“Unfortunately, flaming red hair and hand-me-down robes will not complement my dress—it’s crimson taffeta, you see, handcrafted only by the finest tailors in Italy,” you say dismissively to the ragtag of Gryffindors before you, Vittoria Zabini and Isadora Bulstrode giggling at your side. The Prewett boy visibly wilts and you almost give in—almost. But everyone must play their part in this world. You know that if you show a sliver of weakness, Vittoria and Isadora will be happy enough to report to their mothers—vying for the pedestal you’ve been put on by their parents. 

For the final blow, you scrunch your nose in disgust, slamming your Divination textbook close. “Can you even afford anywhere in Hogsmeade for a date, Prewett?”

(Walburga would Avada you herself if she caught you in such a place with such a wizard. You’re more terrified of what she might ask you to do to Gideon—someone she deems as a blood traitor. You refuse to utter another Unforgivable. You just won’t.) 

“Oh, you cruel wench!” Marlene McKinnon steps forward and before anyone could take another breath, she slaps you in the face. And, finally, you feel something other than the guilt of taking someone’s life.

Your cheek stings from the impact, your ears ringing with the sound of your friends asking if you’re alright and Dorcas Meadowes roaring about how you deserved it—well, you’re not about to disagree. You move your jaw about, cradling the side of your face as you sigh impassively—oh, it’s nothing compared to the etiquette lessons of Agatha Fawley. “My mother will certainly hear about this, McKinnon.”

“You and your mother can kiss my arse!” she shrieks, eyes ablaze.

“Gideon didn’t deserve that, and you know it,” Lily argues fervidly, eyes sickle-shaped as she looks back at the Prewett twin’s dejected expression. “How could you even say that?” 

“How could I not, Lily darling?” you reply off-handedly with a roll of your eyes.

Lily flinches. In her gaze, all you see looking back at you is the Muggle father who had cried out relentlessly for one last glimpse of his children. She stares at the badger emblem on your cloak with disdain, and you with a great deal of pity. “You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen.” 

She has the softest voice you’ve ever heard, but it hurts you all the same. 

You’ve scrubbed your skin raw in the bath, hoping that you’d wash the feel of your sins off your hands—it’s all for naught. Agatha might be a monster in your eyes, but you’re the fool that played right into her act.

You get to your feet, meeting her eye-to-eye. In a low whisper, lips close to her ear, you say, “There are far worse creatures out there, Evans. You’re lucky you’ve been born only a Muggleborn.”

Fortunate that she won’t ever have to play the role that you’ve been forced to. You feel an overwhelming envy towards her—effortless beauty, pure and untainted hands, a kind heart that draws in every one and every person. Compared to her, you must be a dirtied, black swan in a lake that’s only meant for white swans like Lily Evans. 

And she will have more charming princes and truehearted fairies on her side than you could ever hope to gain. 

“Say another word and I will tear your hair from that pretty head of yours,” Marlene snarls, pushing Lily behind her.

Oh, how easy they make it for you. 

You smile in delight. “So you think I’m pretty?”

Marlene lunges.

(You are so tired of it all.)

Every night of your summer holiday, you spend it writhing on the floor, Agatha’s lessons on Occlumency taking its toll. She grows harsher, stricter, and more apathetic than the sun beating down on the manor windows. (“Again!” Fawley demands as you collapse to the ground, drenched in sweat and your head numb from her probing. “Do you think the Dark Lord will be lenient with you? Get up! We’re going again! If you want this to end, you will endure this without error!”) 

While your peers are out swimming in lakes and racing around in Quidditch brooms, you’re stuck within the confinements of your home. But you are not that naive, you’ve seen the headlines of the Daily Prophet. A coalition known as Death Eaters have begun making their mark on the wizarding society. There are rumors of a great, sinister power rising. People go missing everyday, and you worry that this might be the world that your mother has been preparing you for all this time. 

But why you? Why must you carry this burden all alone? Who will pick up the pieces of your battered soul when the weight of your burden crushes you entirely? 

There are times when you wish you never left the orphanage at all. 

A week into your summer break, you find out that your mother is dying. Violent coughing, dizzy spells, jaundiced skin, her eyes bloodshot, and the healer frequenting her bedroom quarters. You’re not allowed inside, of course, but you can hear her feeble voice and the doctor’s stern orders. 

You also learn that she’s absolutely insane—but that is a fact you’ve come to terms with years ago. One night, during dinner, you’d let it slip that you have your suspicions of a classmate being inflicted with a lycan’s curse. Agatha Fawley reacts just about as one would expect her to. 

“A werewolf? In Hogwarts?” Fawley staggers to her office, the tower of neatly-piled documents and research reports from the Ministry now fluttering to the floor. “No, no, no. . .” she utters to herself, panic seeping within her skin. It’s the most frazzled you have ever seen the great Agatha Fawley. You stare at her unraveling from the threshold of the room, unsure of what to do. “Dumbledore has gone mad! That old loon! What was he thinking? Sheltering a beast within the castle!” 

“Don’t worry, my dear,” says Agatha as she reaches for you, a ghastly smile on her face and a near-empty look in her eyes. Your brows pinch together in confusion—you hadn’t been worried about that student at all. “I’ll have that monster out of the castle in no time. The Ministry will have no choice but to listen to me.” 

“That’s it,” she mutters, haphazardly grabbing for her feather quill and blank parchment. “Perhaps a law to forbid werewolves from ever integrating into society. School, house properties—can you imagine if they manage to infiltrate the Ministry? Everything I’ve worked so hard for!” 

“Mother?” you call out hesitantly, crossing the distance, hand outstretched as Fawley slips on her footing, a muttered profanity under her breath. The woman before you is unrecognizable, a sallow casing of a moribund soul. “Mother, please, Remus is no threat to the castle,” you plead, ripping her hand away from the quill. “You can’t do this!” 

“Do not tell me what I can or cannot do!” Agatha seethes through her teeth, chest heaving as she glowers at you. “Everything I have done, I have done for you! Yet, you still continue to fight me? I should have left you in that orphanage to rot while I had the chance!” 

“Well then, why didn’t you?” you scream, pushing her away as the words force themselves out of your throat. “Maybe that Muggle father would have still been alive if you did! Maybe I wouldn’t have to suffer so much! To hell with you and your duty!” 

Fawley laughs to herself, a weak and feeble sound. At first, you think it’s in response to you, but then you watch her drag her palm down her face, unblinking when her fingers appear to be drenched in blood. You take a step forward and there’s crimson trickling down her nose, a pallid contrast against her skin. “Ha,” she chuckles once more, keeling over to the ground as she stares up at the ceiling, blood on her flesh. “Merlin, what have I done? I–I’ve gone too far—even the Gods cannot save me.”

The despair in her voice is confounding. “Come here, my love,” she croaks from the floor, reaching out to you with bloodstained hands. Reluctantly, you sink to her side, gnawing on your lower lip as she cups your face in her palms—how many times have you been in this position before? “I’m sorry,” she sobs, shoulders trembling. “Oh, my darling, I am so sorry. I’m afraid I’ve doomed the both of us.” She traces the frame of your jaw and cheekbones. “My child, my beautiful child. What have I done? Will you forgive me?” 

You realize that this must be the consequence of living in a constant lie. To be an imitation of a human person, with no room for grief, rage, fear, hope or even a semblance of love. You stay silent, drowning in the arms of your adoptive mother. “I am to die soon,” says Agatha with utmost finality, eyes boring into yours. “But you are better than me. Braver. Far stronger than I have ever been. I know this must be the heaviest burden a child can carry, but you must understand that the fate of this world is at stake. I am so sorry, my love, but I must leave this duty to you.” 

She lets her head hang limply. “I-I am tired, as well. I’ve pushed away everyone and anyone for this. To do what is right, to endure what is hard—that is what I’ve lived by all these years.”

“And so must you.” Agatha has been mourning all this time, but not for her life. 

You hate her. 

You hate her with all your heart. 

But even monsters need a heart to breathe. 

A month passes by in a blur, and you are now set to meet the ill-famed Tom Riddle. You know that he was a student of Professor Dumbledore; that Narcissa is extremely terrified of him, and that Lucius Malfoy idolizes him to a fault. (“This is the moment I have been preparing you for all these years,” your mother tells you, shields of Occlumency glimmering in her deep blue eyes. “Do not let him in no matter what.”) Soon thereafter, Missus Fawley apparates the both of you to the Malfoy manor. 

The dining room is bleak, befitting of a Malfoy; curtains drawn, fireplace idly crackling, and hushed murmurs upon your arrival. All eyes are on you, and you’re lucky to have dressed in your Sunday best. At the head of the table, you see Tom Riddle, with Abraxas and Cyprian Nott sitting on each side. You hear something large slithering across the polished floors—your breath hitches at the sight of a monstrous serpent curling around Tom Riddle’s chair. The glass chandelier chimes overhead and you wish it would fall from where he sits on his shrewd throne. 

(You find Regulus Black sitting beside Narcissa, cheeks flushed, body quivering as his skin pales to a deathly color; holding onto his left arm for dear life. And, your heart just physically breaks. You don’t understand why this is the world you must live in.) 

“Come here, my dear,” Tom Riddle hisses, urging you forward with a serpentine leer in his eyes. You feel like a circus lion forced to perform its tricks. 

Tom Riddle is handsome—you notice begrudgingly. A menacing kind of beauty that entices the weak and preys on the vulnerable. (You would not be one of his victims, you vow, raising your own walls against him.) His gaze drills into your own—instantly, you feel his magic snaking around in your head, searching for hidden truths. The sensation is staggering, dizzying, and you’re nearly brought to your knees. You clench your jaw at his Legilimency—obstinate bastard. 

“This one is lasting longer than your son, Abraxas.” Riddle chuckles, his finger tracing the curve of your jaw, as Abraxas forces a smile. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he leaves your mind. You release the breath you’ve been holding for the last thirty seconds. He finds none of your secrets, and you suppress a vindictive grin. Riddle glances at your mother. “How fascinating.” 

You wonder if his intrigue will keep you alive for another day or bring you closer to your death. 

“My Lord,” you greet windedly as you press a kiss to the cold signet of his ring. “What an honor to stand before you today. Although, I could have done with a more polite greeting from you.” 

Bellatrix snarls at you in warning. “Do not speak to the Dark Lord that way, you insolent brat!” 

“Enough, Bella,” Tom rasps, flicking her concern away, barely so much as sparing her a glance. “I’ve no need for a little girl to come to my defense.” She visibly wilts at his dismissive words and you almost feel pity for her—almost. Then, you remember this is the man who treats the Cruciatus curse like a treat to give away freely to children—now, you pity Bellatrix fully. The curly-haired girl twitches at the sight of him toying with his wand, Nagini’s forked tongue flicking in anticipation. 

“Tell me, my dear,” says Riddle, trailing his gaze down to your arm. “Has your mother arranged a marriage for you yet? Much like our dear Cissa here.”

You grow frigid in his hold. “Not at all, my Lord. Mother thought it best if I focused on my studies before anything else.” 

Tom hums in thought, eventually releasing you from his clutches. “I see. . . Then, have you considered other ways of pledging your allegiance to our cause?” 

Instinctively, you hide your left arm from his sight. “My Lord,” you begin, wondering how much longer you can address him as such without throwing up in his lap. “The only reason there isn’t much backlash to your. . . merciful endeavors is because Mother and I have ensured that the Daily Prophet’s eyes are elsewhere. The Ministry is blindsided, and no one expects a mondaine darling to be under your influence,” you say, desperation pouring from each word. 

You don’t want to carry his Mark. Not ever. You can endure it—you can endure it all so long as you aren’t eternally condemned to his name. 

“Take that away, and you’ll face significant repercussions,” you threaten boldly. “I promise you that. They look away because of me.” 

For every village and family terrorized, you had shifted the public’s attention to your facetious behavior. Throwing galas left and right, appearing out in public with various partners—you had done it all to bury the looming war. Rita Skeeter is at your beck and call. For every attack, your face is plastered on the front page. For every cry for help, the Ministry is busy dealing with trivial matters that your mother has proposed—such as anti-werewolf bills. 

And Voldemort would never notice that you’ve been thieving covert information from right under his nose and delivering it anonymously to a rising organization known as the Order of the Phoenix. 

(You’re also not pleased that they share similarities to your non de plume, the Firebird, but you suppose that is the least of your worries.) 

If Molly Weasley comes across a sealed letter on the steps of Grimmauld Place, with complete details and addresses of Death Eater hiding places, it is no one’s business but the Order’s—and yours. 

For every life taken, you remember that Muggle father in your mother’s cellar. It may not be today, it may not be tomorrow—but you’ll dismantle the pureblood society yourself. All of them, one by one. 

Tom Riddle smiles, and you realize that no one threatens him and gets away with it unscathed. 

A day before you’re set to return to Hogwarts for your seventh-year, the Malfoy Manor is pervaded by your gut-wrenching screams. 

There you are, little Firebird with your wings clipped, writhing on the floor of Lucius Malfoy’s guest room—the Cruciatus curse surging through your veins like molten lava threatening to burn you from the inside out. You hear Narcissa and Missus Fawley’s voices blend into a cacophony of panic. They’re shouting for various things: warm towels, bandages, essence of Dittany, and water. Regulus’s hold on you is tight, near-suffocating, even. 

But you don’t feel anything other than the mutilated flesh of your arm. 

You scream, cry, and scream again—you feel his magic over and over again. Branding you. The ink blends into your skin—but it’s not your skin anymore. A part of you now will always belong to him. 

Bile rises to your throat. 

Tears fall from your eyes. 

(How cold is the floor? You don’t even care anymore.)

And, the worst part is that no one can see it. Riddle charmed it perfectly to coalesce against your skin tone. But you see it. You see the skull and the stupid, wriggling snake. You see Tom Riddle’s monstrous glee as he drives his wand into your arm—Abraxas and Lucius holding you down as you thrash and flail. Your only reprieve was your mother was there, cradling your head to her chest, blocking out their malignant laughter. (You can’t believe you never noticed, but your mother had been branded, too.) 

“I’ll. . . kill him,” you say to yourself, blood and saliva trickling from your lips. If it is the last thing you’ll ever do, you will have Voldemort’s head on a silver platter. 

“Don’t be foolish,” Narcissa scolds, tipping your mouth upwards to swallow the drops of Dittany. “None of us have the power to do that. We just have to make do with the life that we’re given.” 

“I promise. . .  you,” you gurgle through the searing pain, gasping for air, clawing at her arms. “I’ll destroy them all.” 

You pass out in her arms. 

When you awake, you’re on a train to Hogwarts, left arm bandaged and hidden under the sleeve of your school robes. 

You don’t bother attending your classes—seeing no more purpose in Transfiguration and Herbology when you’re just a pawn in someone’s, everyone’s plans, apparently. The professors express their concern when you no longer turn in your homework or assigned projects. Once again, you barely see the need to. Your meals during breakfast, lunch, and dinner go untouched. You stay away from Narcissa, Vittoria, Isadora, Lucius, and Regulus. Your only friends, Amos and Amelia, stay away from you, too, having seen news of your promiscuity in the Daily Prophet. You scoff internally—you’ve never even had your first kiss yet. But even that seems like a distant dream. 

You are tired. 

How much longer do you have to play this part? How much more of yourself do you have to give? 

You’re only seventeen—how can you even hope to defeat Voldemort like this? 

The castle walls have dulled, and you drift through the corridors like a wearisome ghost. The once colorful world that you have been brought into now pales in the face of curses, spilt blood, and the Mark on your arm. You wonder what would happen—if you just run away now. 

Why should you be the one to bear the burdens of this duty thrust upon you? Why do people like James Potter and Sirius Black find loyalty and a real family within Hogwarts, and there is no one willing to fight for you? 

Perhaps, you have no one else to blame but yourself. 

Rita Skeeter publishes her article on the growing rift between you and Vittoria Zabini—claiming that you had stolen her beau from her.

You toss the newspaper into the fire. 

Some nights, you don’t bother returning to the Hufflepuff dormitories anymore. You know what they think. You know what they say behind your back. 

For the third time this week, you find yourself at the top of the Astronomy Tower, legs dangling from the edge of the window, eyes blankly staring at the horizon—if you run towards there, you wonder how long it will take before they find you. The cold nips at your cheeks, but you barely feel anything other than a gnawing emptiness.

Your gaze falls to the ground below, thirty, fifty meters from where you sit. 

Maybe. . . 

If you move a few inches forward. . . 

If you just fly. 

You’d be free. 

“Oh, I didn’t know this window was occupied.” You loosely turn your head to find Remus Lupin standing before you with a crooked grin, hands shoved in his pockets as he awkwardly shuffles one foot over the other. He raises his arms up in surrender. “I guess I’ll. . . find somewhere else to brood.” 

I don’t care. 

Go away. 

I want to die.

If I disappear, would you care? Would anyone? 

You rest your head back on the windowsill, hugging your legs to your chest. 

Starlings chirp and fly past you—how liberating it must be, to soar in the skies. But all you can do is watch enviously. Powerless, little songbird with no more lullabies to sing and no more wings to fly with. 

You let your weight shift over the window. 

Maybe if you fall, you could see what it’s like to fly. 

“H-Hey! Don’t—!” Remus quickly snatches your hand and pulls you into his embrace—the both of you tumbling to the floor. You feel his chest heaving, arms trembling around you, and the sound of his rapid heartbeat. His eyes are wide as he looks over your face for any injuries. “Why would you do that? Are you mad?”

You sigh. 

Maybe tomorrow, then. 

“Oi!” Remus pokes your shoulder. “Don’t just ignore me! You scared the piss out of me, you know? Bloody hell.” His shoulders slump in relief, and he takes another peek at you—just to make sure you’re still in front of him. “A-Are you okay?” he asks softly, afraid to spook you further away. “Do you want to talk about it or anything?” 

You shrug. “Nothing to talk about.”

His gaze flickers from you to the window ledge. “I think that’s a big something to talk about, honestly. B-But I get it. Really. No judgment.” 

An unwilling chortle escapes past your lips. Remus Lupin and his marauding bunch of lions would never understand the burden you have to carry each day for the rest of your life.

Remus scratches the back of his head with a wolfish grin. “Hey. . . listen. We don’t know each other all that well—so this is going to sound terribly weird. But would you like a hug?”

He opens his arms wide enough for you to fit—and you stare at him in horror. “C’mon, then. It really seems like you need it. And honestly, I kind of need it, too, especially after a scare like that.” 

You stay silent. 

He shakes his hands, beckoning you forward, golden hair flopping over his eyes. “I don’t bite. Promise. One hug and we’ll go on pretending like we don’t know each other tomorrow. Marauder’s honor.”

“I haven’t done anything to deserve your kindness,” you say with a prominent sneer—certainly not kindness from him. It must be another prank of theirs. You wait for Peter Pettigrew and Sirius to jump out and spray you with garlic juice. 

Remus smiles. “I think you’ll find that my kindness is freely given.” 

You nibble on your bruised lip. 

Could you really? 

Maybe just this once. 

You’re only human, magic as you are. 

You take one step forward. 

Then another. 

Another.

Until you fall right into his arms, and you inhale the scent of honey, milk raspberry chocolate, and cedarwood. The warmth of his arms around you is real. His voice is real. He whispers cruel words into your ear, “You’re alright, love. Let it out. I’m here.” You burrow your head deep in the crook of his neck. The sound of his heartbeat is real. He tightens his hold around you, and the ground underneath feels real. For a few moments, you don’t feel like you’re floating away into oblivion. 

Maybe you’d stay alive—for a few more days. 

To do what is right. 

To endure. 

Perhaps, tomorrow will be easier—if such kindness is real, maybe you’re allowed to seek it for yourself every now and then. 

But your nightmare doesn’t end when you’re awake—it takes you by the throat when you find yourself summoned to the Malfoy Manor on Hallow’s Eve. 

You’re not the only one caught by surprise. One by one, Tom Riddle’s followers apparate into the dining room, stumbling inside with a bewildered expression. Their Dark Lord has called for them in the dead of night—it must be for something important. You stiffen, sinking into Lucius’s shadow. You search for your mother but she doesn’t appear to be anywhere in the room. Someone brushes their hands against yours—Narcissa. She stands by your side, face impassive, her pupils frantically trying to make sense of the situation. 

Then, Tom Riddle finally apparates into the room, startling you for a fraction of a second. Not far behind is Abraxas, Cyprian, the Lestranges, Bellatrix, and finally—

Your mother. 

Fawley looks worse for wear, her skin sinking into her bones, clothes tattered, and her face littered with bruises. Bellatrix drags her across the floor, hair wrapped around her hands. 

You move to stop Bellatrix, anger blinding your vision—Narcissa tightens her grip on your wrist, subtly shaking her head. You rip your hand away from her. 

“We have found a traitor in our midst!” Bellatrix cackles, throwing your mother to the ground—your fists clench, swallowing each lump in your throat with rage blinding your vision. “I caught the bitch helping the McKinnons escape!” 

“No,” you whisper, dread knocking you backwards—it just isn’t possible. The two of you had always been careful. Bellatrix hits her again, and you have to restrain yourself from marching forward and cursing her from where she stands. 

One moment of weakness, that is all Tom Riddle needs. He finds you in the crowd with ease. The crowd of Death Eaters part like the red sea, and you steel yourself with Occlumency before you are sharply pulled forward, the mark on your left arm blistering as though a hundred needles are driving into your skin repeatedly.

“If the mother is a blood traitor, the child is sure to follow!” Bellatrix hisses, spit flying into the floor, her eyes gleaming with maniacal glee.

Voldemort cruelly holds your jaw in his hand, nails digging into your flesh, threatening to break through your bones. “Is this true?” he asks, drawing blood from your skin. “Tell me!” 

“No!” you cry out, kicking and punching to get away from his hold. “It’s not—let me go! That is my mother! You’re hurting her! She’s sick!”

“That,” Riddle’s eyes flash with hostility, breath hot on your skin, “is a betrayer to our cause.” 

“She’s not!” you scream.

“How did she find out, then?” Voldemort flings you to the ground—immediately, you rush to your mother, gathering her in your arms. Tom Riddle cocks his head and you’re blasted into the walls—you feel his Legilimency trying to force its way in, exploiting your pain and shock. But you won’t let him in. He’ll have to pry your memories from your cold, dead body.

The pain is searing—you’re being torn apart from limb to limb. Your mark is burning, head throbbing from a concussion, and still fighting against Riddle’s magic. Through your blurry haze, you see Lucius holding Narcissa back from running to you. “We’re not traitors!” you cry out desperately, crawling pathetically to your mother’s listless body. “I swear!”

Voldemort sneers just before he points his wand at your mother. “Crucio!”

“No! No! Stop it! Please! Please, stop it!” you beg on the ground as your mother helplessly writhes on the floor, the Cruciatus curse reducing the once austere Agatha Fawley to a whimpering mess. “You’re killing her!”

Tom snarls, “Good.”

Bellatrix digs her claws into your neck, her laughter resounding throughout the manor—you swallow the sobs down your throat as she drives her wand into your flesh. “Your mummy over there is done for. But you—our precious jewel, you can still prove your loyalty to our Dark Lord.” 

She puts your wand and closes your fist over the wood—your eyes grow wide as you thrash in her hold, screaming as she forces you to look at Fawley. “Kill her. And you may live.” 

“Just say it,” Bellatrix whispers in your ear. “Two little words. You’ve already done this before, pet—the second time should be easy enough!”

“No!” you knock your head back into her nose, slipping away as her hold loosens and she screams profanities at you—but to your misfortune, Voldemort captures you, like a defenseless bunny running into a starving snake. 

“Mum, wake up, please!” 

You cry out helplessly, sobbing as Voldemort forces you to watch the life gradually fade away from her blue eyes. Her magic envelops you—and you remember warm holidays spent by the fire, Muggle storybooks before bed, surprising you with breakfast in bed for your birthdays. It’s a warm feeling, a stark contrast to Tom Riddle’s invasive magic. Her voice echoes in your head one last time.

“Thank you for showing me what love feels like, if not for a moment. I am sorry I could not show it as a proper mother would.”

“Kill her!” Voldemort rages into your ear. 

You watch as Fawley’s eyes drift to a close, an act of resignation. “It’s okay, my darling,” she whispers tiredly. “I. . . can rest now.”

For the second time in your life, you point your wand at someone’s heart—this time, it’s your mother’s. 

“What are you waiting for?” Bellatrix asks, twitching menacingly. “Kill her! Before I do it myself!” 

There’s a faint smile on her face. 

“I’m. . . sorry.”

Those are Agatha Fawley’s last words before you take away her life.

The incantation falls so delicately from your lips, an act of mercy for the woman you once called your mother and your greatest tormentor. 

But your eyes are on one person and one person only.

Tom Riddle. 

“Avada Kedavra!”

He will know your pain.

Not today, not tomorrow.

But you’ll destroy them all, one by one.

a/n: THERE IS KISSING IN THE NEXT SCENE I PROMISE.... AND TRUST MY LILY LOVERS WE WILL GET OUR REDEMPTION ARC SKDJHFGKJH and sirius lovers too,, but yall are well-fed every day so.. next part has the yule ball, likee,, there's no way THAT becomes angsty.. if you saw a plot-hole, no you didn't just CRY and enjoy sdhgsdf... come tell me what you thought!! (if you have any constructive criticisms, just come to my dms BUT PLS BE VERY GENTLE.... oh and don't hesitate to tell me if i accidentally wrote anything super specific like height, skin color, etc.!!) i promise to better in the final part!!!! (there's only two parts to this fic.) I LOVE YEW I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS STORY AAAAAAAAAAAA

[maybcnksgf]

defending you ; remus lupin x black!reader 𐙚

☆

summary: remus lupin knows when to keep his mouth shut, and as do you. until it comes to each other.

warnings: swearing, violence, bullying directed at both remus and reader & slut shaming directed at the reader.

a/n: in love with my protective!marauders so here's this !!! also, snape has his suspicions of remus in this, just to be clear.

check out my masterlist & send in any requests <3

remus lupin knew when to keep his mouth shut. he knew when not to react and how to stay under the radar, but that didn't stop you from not keeping your mouth shut for him.

you knew it was going to be a rough day when your defence against the dark arts professor unexpectedly changed the lesson plan from banshees to lycanthropes.

remus, if he had known prior, would've faked an illness and skipped out, too uncomfortable with the wandering eyes and the permanent fear that someone would find him out.

instead, he sat beside you at your shared desk, having been there for too long now to get up and leave and ultimately cause a scene. more eyes on him was the last thing he needed.

you had kept his hand in yours, feeling it squeeze and tense and shake throughout the entirety of the class, and you were sure all the skin of his bottom lip was bitten clean off from his nerves.

everything was okay for the majority of it. the professor was surprisingly respectful in his delivery and you, james and sirius spent the whole time calling out immediate answers to his questions. the three of you, for obvious reasons, knew everything like the backs of your hands and tried your hardest to avoid any snarky comments from other students for the sake of poor moony, who remained dead silent.

everything was okay until the group of slytherins opened their mouths.

you'd left the classroom with the three boys, grip still tight on remus' hand as he let out a relieved breath, glad to be out of there. you didn't, however, make it that far down the corridor before you heard snape's voice.

"those freaks need to be studied in mental hospitals. that professor had no idea what he was talking about, still calling them humans. they're monsters, that's what they are-"

remus sighed as he felt the inevitable coming on. the four of you stopped in your tracks, and in no less than a few seconds you'd whipped around and had your wand pointed directly at snape.

"i think it's you that has no idea what you're talking about, right severus?" you challenged.

james stood protectively beside you, ready to jump in if you needed him and sirius stood just behind, arms folded and a proud smirk on his face.

"i think the lady asked you a question, snivellus," james piped up, sporting a similar smirk to your brother as he raised his hands in mock defence. "i'd answer her if i were you."

malfoy snickered behind snape, not knowing the true intent behind his words as the latter stared back at you, head tilted with a gross sort of grin as he looked between you and remus. "did my words hit a little close to home, black?"

remus just sighed again, head bowed in slight humiliation as the rest of you tensed up.

"fuck you, snape, i swear to merlin-" you seethed, grip on your wand incredibly tight as you started towards him before you felt a gentle hand on your forearm pulling you back.

"it's not worth it," remus spoke softly into your ear, his voice conveying more hurt than he would've liked.

you didn't lower your wand, still breathing heavily as you remained in place. snape was still grinning at you and it took everything in you not to hex him into oblivion.

james moved to stand in front of you to get your attention and also put some distance between you and snape. "we'll get him later, yeah? i swear."

"trust us, we have a plan," sirius clamped a hand down on your shoulder, his signature smirk returning as the three of them pulled you away.

- 𐙚 -

true to their word, the marauders had pulled of a series of pranks on snape that left him too terrified and humiliated to even leave his dorm, the last two turning his hair semi-permanently pink and breaking him out head to toe in bubbling warts.

remus had seemingly gotten over what was said by the end of week, and snape hadn't left the slytherin common room in days.

it was the following saturday afternoon, and the five of you were scattered about by the fountain in the courtyard. you, remus and peter were studying for the upcoming charms exam whilst james and sirius... pretended to.

remus was just about to test you on your recently read chapter when a shout from across the courtyard rudely interrupted.

"oi, gryffindors!"

"here we go," james spoke proudly, smirking to himself as he pushed himself up off the ground. "and what is it you want on this fine afternoon, mulciber?"

the slytherin boy in question stalked over to your group, malfoy and avery in tow. "did a fine number on our snape there, didn't you?" he spat in james' face, sizing him up.

the rest of you stood up at that, sirius particularly fast as he threw an arm around james and flashed mulciber an innocent grin before scrunching up his face in disgust. "oh mate, you might wanna get your mouth cleaned out before getting too close to my james here."

you snorted out a laugh at your brother and mulciber sneered, shoving him away by the shoulders. "you keep quiet, black. you think you have any right talking to me?"

"snape got what he deserved," you spoke up, narrowing your eyes at the group of boys as you got between him and sirius. "you should teach your friend to keep his big nose out of where it doesn't belong."

avery barked out a laugh, your attention turning to him as he joined mulciber's side. "you're funny, little black. all bark and no bite, aren't you?"

peter stood back, eyes wide in fear and remus, remaining his usually calm self, tensed up and took a step closer to you when avery jabbed his finger into your chest, only for it to be slapped away by sirius with an angry "don't fucking touch her".

"alright, avery. that's enough," remus spoke up, his voice firm as he rested his hand on your lower back.

avery did nothing but laugh again, not taking his eyes off of you. "you're nothing but the gryffindors' little slut, aren't you?"

sirius suddenly shoved him back with an angry force just as remus stepped in front of you, his voice scarily calm as he spoke. "the fuck did you just say?"

"you heard me," avery shrugged, clearly unfazed by sirius' actions as his smirk grew even more. "i bet she gets passed around you all like the little whore she is. is she good?"

you stumbled back into peter in shock, his words ringing through your ears as the blonde boy wrapped an arm around you.

"if you know what's good for you, avery, you'll shut your fucking mouth," remus seethed, his eyes never leaving avery's face as he slowly moved closer towards him.

the boy didn't answer him and instead turned his attention back to sirius as he lowered his voice, sneering at him evilly. "i bet you join in on the action too, don't you? some sick fantasy you blood traitors like to indulge in, huh? regulus is the only worthy one out of you three, you ever invite him to join?"

sirius exploded in a fit of rage and james grabbed him as he lunged towards the slytherin, holding him back before he'd kill the guy. "who the fuck do you think you are, avery?! i swear, you're so fucking dead!"

"you'll be done with her soon enough," malfoy joined, shrugging his shoulders casually as he sneered at remus, stalking towards him. "maybe then you'll let us have a go, yeah? she was meant to be one of us, after all. she may be a blood traitor but she's hot as-"

a sickening crunch interrupted him as remus sent his fist reeling directly at his nose, nothing but pure rage seeping through his veins as he sent punch after punch to avery's face.

"remus!"

james and sirius watched in shock for a moment (both quite frankly more than happy to let remus beat him to a pulp, and in fact cheered him on for the first two or three hits) before your pleading voice snapped them out of it. they each grabbed one of remus' arms and narrowly avoided getting an elbow to the face as they dragged him off of the half-unconscious boy.

"you even look at her again and i swear to godric you'll be spending the rest of your lives in the hospital wing."

the two other boys scrambled to grab avery and ran off towards the castle, terrified of remus' sudden outburst.

"alright, show's over you fuckers!" sirius called out to the relatively big crowd that had formed around you all, who reluctantly dispersed out in different directions. "give us some bloody space!"

"well that felt good," remus chuckled quietly as he shook his hand a few times.

you just stared at him with wide eyes and your mouth dropped open slightly. "you.. you just-"

"fuckin' hell, moony that was bloody brilliant!" james broke out into a cheer, him and sirius praising him and re-enacting just how brilliant it was as remus laughed quietly again before turning to you.

he gently took you from peter's grip and raised his eyebrows as he looked down at you, going back to his usual gentleness. "are you alright?"

you didn't quite know what to say, looking up at him slightly starstruck as you just nodded your head and stumbled over your words. "yeah, i- yeah."

he gave you a gentle smile and cupped your face with his non-bloody hand before leaning down for a kiss, conveying all his usual love and softness into it as if he didn't just completely wreck avery's face.

the sounds of gagging filled your ears and you broke away from remus with a soft laugh at james and sirius' antics.

"don't forget that's my sister, moony! merlin, what that fucker said about us is going to haunt me forever."

[danikamariewrites]

Use Your Manners (SMUT)

Cassian x reader

Notes: I need this man in ways that I cannot describe. Also Rhysand makes an appearance which may lead to a part 2.

Warnings: smut, light choking, voyeurism, dom/sub dynamics

You moaned and clawed at Cassian’s back, pleasure coursing through your body. Being apart for three weeks was too long to be separated from him, and his cock. As he pounded into you Cass held you tight to his large body. Like you would slip away from him if he couldn’t feel you against his chest.

“Gods sweetheart, never again. Never leaving you again.” You moan at the sweet words. To have your mate all to yourself again was truly a gift.

His hips stutter for a moment before his thrusts turned into deep, concentrated strokes. You whine as he pulls away from you to lean on his elbows, his eyes glazed over, though you know that look isn’t from being buried inside your cunt. You hold his face, whimpering for his undivided attention again. Shushing you, Cassian leans down pecking your cheek. “Rhys needs to ask me a question.” He whispers in your ear. “Now, I want to get this over with, so can he come in, and I promise we won’t stop.” Cassian’s words strained as he kept up his languid strokes. He smirks at you, his eyes dark with lust at the thought of showing you off.

You have to admit, the idea of Cassian fucking you in front of the High Lord was hot. It had you clenching around his cock, causing him to groan. He let out a breathy laugh that tickled your pointed ear. “So is that a yes sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you say breathlessly. Growing desperate for Cassian to pound into you again. He kisses your forehead, murmuring, “Good girl.”

Scooping you off the bed Cassian sits against the headboard, keeping you on his lap. Pressing kisses against your chest up to your neck your head lolls back, eyes fluttering. Cassian grips your hips to turn you facing forward. The kisses and bites moving down to your shoulder.

“Come in.” Cass calls out. As the door opens he starts thrusting into you again. Rhys slowly makes his way in coming to a stop next to the bed. That signature smirk pulling on his lips.

Cassian pulls you down on his cock, hard. You let out a loud moan, digging your nails into his thighs. “Greet our guest sweet girl.” Cassian teases. He grasps your hair pulling lightly so you look up at Rhys.

“H-hi Rhys.” You stutter. Gods you can’t even think. You just wanted to yell at them to get their conversation over with. Clawing at Cassian you whimper. He picks up his thrusts again.

“Good, sweet girl.” You let out a sweet giggle as you continue to bounce on him. Cassian could tell you craved more from him from the way you angled yourself. You needed him deeper.

You couldn’t even comprehend the words the males behind you were exchanging. You were completely consumed by Cassian.

Before you could beg for more Cassian wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you up while he got on his knees. His other hand squeezed one of your breasts, sliding his large hand to hold your throat.

Your breath catches at the new position. A shiver running down your spine. Cassian let out a deep chuckle. You jump at his breath on your ear as he whispers, “Rhys says you're doing so good for me. Say thank you to your High Lord and you get a reward.”

Resting your head in the crook of Cassian’s neck you look up to meet Rhys’s violet gaze. “Thank you, Rhys.”

“May I?” He asks Cassian while staring at you. “Go ahead.” Rhys traces a finger down your cheek, hooking under your jaw before falling away. “Next time I’ll invite Feyre. She’d love how responsive you are.”

Your walls clench around Cassian’s cock. The thought of all four of you in one room has a new wave of arousal coursing through you. “You want that baby?” Cassian whispers. “Uh-huh,” you breathe out. You ground your hips down on him. Begging for him to move. It feels like Cassian has been still for far too long.

Cassian slams into you, pulling out as far as he can. A high pitched moan bordering on a scream falls from your mouth. Your eyes screwed shut from Cassian’s cock finally hitting that sweet spot inside your cunt.

Caught up in your pleasure you didn’t hear Rhys depart. Just the door closing. Cassian didn’t reposition you, his moans telling you he loved this position too.

“Fuck, you feel so good like this. You were such a good girl, using your manners and showing Rhys all those pretty sounds.” His voice gruff as he concentrates on your highs. “Fu-fuck Cassie. So good,” you babble out along with a few stuttered moans. You were close. So fuckig close.

Cass tightened his grip on your throat. Your eyes fly open so you can stare up at him. Watching his rugged face full of lust as his eyes watch you closely. Scanning your body for your tells.

Your thighs start to shake as your stomach tightens. Your walls fluttering, your body begging Cassian to come.

As your release rips through you, you go limp in Cassian’s hold. He holds you up, going faster and faster. You feel his come paint your walls as he keeps pushing into you.

His chest heaves as you both relax. “Cass,” you breathe out. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “That was perfect.” Cassian carefully pulls you off him, turning you to lay on his chest as he calmly strokes your hair.

“You ok?” Cass whispers. You let out an approving hum, snuggling closer to him. “My perfect, sweet girl.” He says, pulling the covers over your bodies.

[000-pawz]

press play! (bnd) ˚ · .

bnd as male leads , ot6 , fluff , slight angst , movie/film tropes, loosely (!!!) inspired by random movies/dramas/books i've seen and read (with song recs <3)

more under the cut!

a/n: me pretending that all of these are real dramas so i can escape into my silly little fantasy land >___^ <3 also thank you so much for 400+ followers!!! i know i haven't been as active lately, but seeing the sweet messages in my inbox and your genuine reblogs keeps me going for sure. i don't deserve all of this love and support, and yet, i've managed to find my place here. thank you guys!!! my little strawberries ‧₊˚ 🍓 ⋅ ☆<333

sungho ˚ ⋆｡˚ - the "i have no idea why i like you, but i do" lead

university, streetlights, jackets, sunsets, fond eye rolls, sharing books, lunch dates, faint smiles, polar opposites, long calls, gardens, bouquets, lattes, butterflies

to put it simply, you are somehow everything sungho tries his best to avoid in life. disorganization, clumsiness, carelessness, and above all, making a fool of himself; four things you seem to have perfected. you always show up to lectures 30 minutes late, panting heavily as you clutch your backpack to your chest. your professor and everyone else in your course is used to your tardiness by now, so no one bats an eye—but when the only available seat left is next to sungho himself, he starts to mind. first, you ask him for a pencil, and then, you ask him what’s going on, and then you ask him how his handwriting is so neat. sungho responds to you in curt words, never sparing a glance your way as he tries his best to keep his focus on the lecture. but you keep. asking. him. questions.

he knows that you aren’t dumb. you somehow managed to get accepted into this school under a rigorous major, and you haven’t dropped out so far, so there’s no way you don’t know how to keep up. in a way, he sees you as a little yapping chihuahua who laughs way too loudly, and he sighs everytime you wave brightly to him across campus, cupping your hands around your mouth to tell him to wait up so you guys can walk to class together. it seems as if you’ve already claimed yourself to be his friend after your limited, brief interactions. great.

somehow you always manage to find him when he's studying at a cafe, pulling out the chair in front of him to plop down and pester him about what he's up to (and you always manage to convince him to buy you coffee just so you can leave sooner). you purposefully take the spot next to him everytime you show up to class, nudging hi sfoot under the table so you can pull a funny face at him or sneak him a lollipop under the table.

sungho likes to believe that he’s indifferent to you. you’re just another obstacle he has to navigate through in order to finish his day. but he realizes you may have struck a little deeper into his heart than he originally thought when he notices you sitting solemnly on a bench on his walk back to his apartment. you’re dressed up in a nice outfit and he can tell you’ve put in a lot of effort to your appearance, but under the glow of the streetlights, he notices your smeared mascara and wet cheeks, your purse clutched tightly between your fingers. you’re mumbling to yourself as you fiercely wipe at your face with the back of your hand, something about “that asshole” and how you’re “so dumb”. sungho doesn’t know what comes over him as he hears those words, but he finds himself stopping directly in front of you, watching as you slowly tilt your head up to meet his eyes. 

“you’re not dumb,” he says, staring down at you with such sincerity. you sniffle a bit, tilting your head at his figure in a confused manner.

“sungho? what are you doing here?” you ask quietly, your voice shaky as you try to stop your tears.

“you aren’t dumb,” he repeats again. “it’s late. you shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”

you don’t respond other than blinking owlishly at him. in this moment, he realizes how beautiful your eyes are, glimmering despite the tears pooling at your waterline. a cord in him strikes; he doesn’t like seeing you without a smile on your face.

sungho shrugs off his jacket before leaning down to drape it over your shoulders, giving you a soft smile before offering his hand out to you. “may i walk you home?”

and from that day on, sungho seems to have opened up his heart to you. he asks if you want to visit a cafe after class, helps you catch up in schoolwork, his eyes lingering on your bright smile—and each minute he spends with you, he falls for you more and more. he’s not sure how you feel about him; he can’t read you quite yet, and he’s not quite sure why he likes you so much, but he thinks it’ll be worth the wait, as long as he gets to be by your side.

˚ ⋆｡˚ riwoo - the "i'll look after you, no matter what" lead

bustling city, dinner dates, gentle hands, puppies, headlights, midnight talks, watching the stars, wishes upon dandelions, breakfast in bed

it’s riwoo’s second year working at this company—and subsequently, his second year dealing with his inconsiderate seniors and selfish boss. so when you, the new, sparkly-eyed intern, are assigned two giant stacks of paperwork to go through on your first day, riwoo immediately empathizes with you. when it starts to grow dark and most of your coworkers begin clocking out, you find yourself trapped at your tiny desk with at least 3 more hours worth of work to do. 

you’re basically falling asleep, your eyelids slipping shut every few seconds before you finally doze off. riwoo watches you from across the office and some part of him feels guilty at the thought of leaving you all alone here. so instead, he makes you a cup of coffee and brings you a snack, placing it quietly at your desk. he even leaves a few sugar packets next to the mug because he’s unsure of how sweet you like your drink.

and then he waits. he exhaustedly types away at his keyboard, his knee bouncing under his desk to keep himself awake. you finally wake up an hour later with a tiny yawn, stretching in your chair before sleepily blinking at the scene in front of you. he watches as your eyes widen at the coffee and snack before looking around the office, locking eyes with him above his computer screen. he gives you a small smile and wave, to which you return, mouthing out a ‘thank you’. if you’re going to be working overtime, he’ll be there with you.

and it becomes a thing. riwoo makes sure you eat as you work through the mistreatment from your boss, comforting you when you stress cry in the breakroom, taking you out for dinner when you clock out and making sure you get home safe with a small reminder to get some sleep. you find yourself falling his selflessness. he works through those sleepless nights with you, cheering you on with shy smiles and quiet encouragement. before you know it, riwoo becomes your rock.

as you wait for the bus to head home, riwoo jogs up to you, his chest rising and falling quickly as he attempts to catch his breath.

“riwoo, hi,” you greet with a small, tired smile. riwoo’s cheeks are flushed red, his hands tucked deep into his pockets as he returns your smile with a weak one. 

“hey, y/n. i just, um… i wanted to ask you something before you leave…” he starts, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. your bus is nearing your stop in the distance, so you stand, adjusting the bag on your shoulder.

“yeah, what’s up?” you ask, meeting riwoo’s eyes. they’re big and round, glossy as the headlights of passing cars speed by. your heart flutters in your chest at just the sight of him.

“i was wondering if i could take you out? on a date, i mean,” he stumbles out, pressing his lips into a thin line once the words escape.

“like a date date?” you clarify. you guys hang out all the time and you have to admit that you’ve started to want more. riwoo is the sweetest, most giving person you’ve ever met and you think you’re already in too deep.

“yeah. a date date.” at his words, your entire face lights up, quickly nodding your head as you answer. 

“i would love to.” right then, your bus pulls up to a stop, so you give him a tiny smile, motioning toward the doors. “ i’ll call you when i get home, okay?”

“okay. yeah,” he breathes out with the brightest smile on his lips. “get home safely.”

“i will!” you wave enthusiastically through the doors before they close behind you and riwoo watches you through the windows with a small smile until your bus disappears down the road, his heart light in his chest.

from there, one date turns into two. and then two into three. and then suddenly, you’re at his apartment playing with his puppies while he cooks you guys breakfast, the sunlight beaming through his sheer curtains. even if the weight of the world is falling on your shoulders, you deem it impossible to feel down around your ray of sunshine.

riwoo always waits with you for your bus, letting you rant to him about your day, or things you're interest in, or to just tease him about how he dropped a stack of papers that day. and you never forget to text him when you get home, going to sleep with a smile on your face as you reread the long paragraph he sends to you about how proud he is of you and how he can't wait to see you tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. in this big city full of hustle, bustle and noise, he is your solace.

jaehyun ˚ ⋆｡˚ - the "everyone wants me, but i want you" lead

road trips, rooftop hangouts with friends, bright smiles, street vendors, shared hoodies, soccer games, skateboards, sparklers, bonfires, sunny days

ever since you moved onto campus for university, you’ve had a crush on myung jaehyun. from his silly smiles, to his friendly nature, to his cute nose and cheeks. you like everything about him. the only problem is that everyone loves myung jaehyun—in fact, you can’t name a single person that doesn’t know and love him. so you’ve managed to keep your feelings to yourself for the longest.

you were in the same friend group from the very start, with your roommate dating his roommate, the intermingling of your circles was bound to happen. and in all honesty, you couldn’t wish for a better group of people to be around. you guys always go on road trips together, visiting different cities and towns to sightsee and explore. you attend jaehyun’s soccer games with your friends, cheering him on from the sidelines only to celebrate with drinks in someone’s dorm room after another win. the proximity is inevitable, and the first two years of college pass by before you can even blink. by the end of your second year, you and jaehyun became closer than you would’ve ever thought. but it always remained at that. close friends.

it’s the night of your friend group’s annual bonfire—something you’ve been looking forward to all year. you’ve been worrying about your future: what would happen when you graduate college, whether you would move away or not, would jaehyun ever like you back. but mid-summer is your favorite, especially when the tide is low, everyone has sparklers and drinks, and the night air is light and fun. your bathing suit clings to your skin after your friends had splashed sea water on your earlier, but you don’t mind it. it’s a break from your own thoughts.

you notice jaehyun sitting in the sand near the bonfire, shivering a bit, so you grab an abandoned blanket from someone else’s chair and skip over to him. when you drape it over his shoulders from behind, he looks up at you, his eyes scrunching up with the smile that overtakes his face at the sight of you. 

“hey,” he speaks, looking you up and down. you feel your body heat up under your skin, returning the smile with a small one of your own before taking a seat next to him.

“hey. you okay?” you ask, your eyes searching his face. usually, jaehyun is at the center of all the action, but tonight, he seems quieter than usual. the bonfire is warm on your skin, illuminating the sand in front of you.

“yeah, i’m okay. just thinking,” he says weakly, flashing you a tiny smile before looking back at the fire.

“about what?” you pry, bumping him with your shoulder. he looks especially good tonight, with his wet hair and soaked t-shirt, his tanned skin washed in a hue from the fire. you’re snapped out of your gazing when he speaks, though.

“you,” he says bluntly. he doesn’t look at you, but you’re staring holes into the side of head. 

“what about me?” you nearly whisper, your voice almost drowned out by the loud laughter of your friends at the shore. jaehyun watches the fire for a bit before he turns to look at you again, his eyes glimmering with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“how pretty you look. how pretty you always look,” he says. you scoff at his words, bumping his shoulder again.

“stop playing around, jaehyun. i almost thought you were being serious,” you nervously laugh, looking down at the sand.

“but i am,” he replies quickly. “i am being serious. you’re beautiful.”

when you meet his eyes again, they’re boring into yours with an intensity you’ve never felt before. something so foreign and yet familiar at the same time. you can’t do anything but whisper a thank you before your friends are rushing over to drag you guys back to the water. some part of you is unsure of whether that was just another passing comment made by jaehyun. he jokingly flirts with his friends all the time. what difference would it be when it’s towards you? 

but when jaehyun texts you the next morning to meet him on the beach, and you see an entire picnic set up with flowers on the sand, you realize that maybe he wasn’t joking. he’s standing there with his arms awkwardly spread out in a ‘ta-da’ manner, a shy smile on his lips as you near him. the sun isn’t fully risen yet, so the sky is still slightly orange near the horizon. he looks softer like this, with his puffy morning cheek and his messy hair.

he confesses that your friends gave him the extra push to confess and helped him set everything up for you. over chocolate covered strawberries and french toast, he finally confesses that he’s had a crush on you this entire time and almost went crazy from keeping it a secret. the morning started with shy gazes, soft touches, and laced fingers as the ocean waves lulled you. with your head rested on his shoulder, you finally feel content. maybe the future won’t be so bad.

˚ ⋆｡˚ taesan - the "everything sucks, except you" lead

big school, skipping stones, handwritten notes, late-night bus rides, comfortable silence, dirty shoes, convenience stores, headphones, lingering gazes

han taesan always tries to stay out of the spotlight. he keeps his head down, his hood up, and his headphones on—in a way, he feels like if he can disappear from other people’s lives, it wouldn’t be so hard to disappear from himself either. he doesn’t have any friends, and if anything, people seem to act like he doesn’t exist at all. he’s okay with that. it’s comfortable. that is, until you come along. 

he’s not sure how he’s never noticed you at first. maybe it’s because you’re just like him; you stay out of the way, you don’t speak to anyone, and you’re simply going through the motions. he’s not even sure if you go to the same school. he first sees you on a late bus ride home, near the back. your head is leaning on the window, your face blank and solemn, with one earbud in your ear as you watch the passing city through a blur. taesan doesn’t know what it is about you that intrigues him. let it be the way your sweater is a few sizes too big, or the melancholic look in your eyes, or the way those same eyes meet him from across the bus, piercing and inquisitive.

he sees you again at the convenience store a week later, pushing around noodles in a cup with your cheek in your palm, staring down at your food with no intentions of taking a bite. even in the harsh lighting of the store, your face stops him in his tracks. your eyes follow him as he pretends to not notice your stare, his heart pounding in his ears with every movement. and when he makes it up to the counter to pay, you’re gone, as if you were never there in the first place.

he doesn’t see you again for a while; not until he runs into you on his walk home, sitting on a swing at a vacant park. your shoelaces are untied, and you’re watching the way they flow in the wind. your unreadable gaze intrigues him in ways he’s never felt before. he’s always told himself to not get involved, to not get attached, and to not get in the way. but his feet seem to have a mind of their own as they drag themselves towards you. the sound of his shoes against concrete catches your attention, and he watches with shallow breaths as you lift your head to face him.

“your… your shoes are… um, untied,” he stutters out, moving his headphones to rest around his neck before pointing at your laces. you don’t say anything, but you do follow his gaze down to your shoes, cocking your head.

“can you tie them for me?”

the request is odd, especially for the first words he ever hears you speak, but he finds himself unable to decline. he kneels down by your shoes before taking a quick glance up at your face, his palms growing sweaty with the way you watch him. with shaky fingers, he helps you tie your shoes before he stands back up, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“you, um… i see you around a lot. what’s your name?” he doesn’t know why he asks, but some part of him is overwhelmed by curiosity. he knows why he is the way he is, but with you… you’re an anomaly that eats at his mind. he wants to know you. 

“y/n,” you say quietly, looking up at him from your position on the swing. taesan nods with pursed lips, averting his gaze for a second.

“i’m taesan.” when he speaks, the corners of your lips perk up ever so slightly, nodding softly in acknowledgement. something about your faint smile makes his stomach churn and his head spin. he decides then and there that he would like to see you more often; and subsequently, your smile too.

“nice to meet you, taesan.”

“nice to meet you, too. y/n.”

from there, you guys meet every now and then. taesan likes to place his headphones over your ears to show you new songs, and you like to share earbuds on the bus ride home together. he slips little notes about his day in your pocket before you get off with a little p.s. to meet him at the park before sunset. you pick clovers and tie them together to make bracelets, sitting on the swings as you bounce conversation back and forth. 

there’s no judgment from the outside world in the little bubble that you’ve created with him. and if he starts falling for you with every curious gaze and passing smile, he barely notices the shift. with you , existing becomes natural. there’s no guilt, or shame, or need to hide from yourself. it’s you both against the world.

leehan ˚ ⋆｡˚ - the "i wouldn't mind living with you" lead

new to town, seashell necklaces, oceanviews, birds in trees, sunrises, midday strolls, the youngests in the neighborhood, cooking together, white t-shirts + flannels

it’s not easy living in a new town, far away from the city that you grew up in, but you can’t bring yourself to regret anything. you wake up the the sound of beach waves and boats docking, the grandmas of the neighborhood leave fresh food on your doorstep, and you get to gawk at the beautiful man that always seems to be at the shore collecting seashells. he’s the only person near your age in the entire town, but for some reason, you haven’t spoken to him yet. maybe it’s because of the way that he’s always alone at the shore, or running around the town helping everyone he can. 

leehan, they call him. a few of the grandmas have encouraged you to talk to him, saying that it’d do him well to have a friend his age. yet, something about him is unapproachable—let it be because of his long wavy hair or those flannels he wears way too often. you can’t place your finger on it. so you stick to admiring his bright smile from afar, taking in the way he speaks with fishermen as if he grew up in the water himself, or the way he assists the grandmas in caring their groceries home. he’s entrancing, moving with swiftness and speaking with intention. an aura of confidence follows him around like a glowing shadow. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have a small, small crush on him by now.

you sit at the beach with your knees pulled up to your chest, the soft breeze kissing your cheeks as you gaze out at the water, the sun sparkling against its gentle waves. moments like these remind you why you moved here. your escape. although, you’re too wrapped up in soaking up the atmosphere to notice the figure moving to sit beside you, and the clinking of seashells is what pulls you out of your trance. you jump a bit at the sun block of sunshine, shielding your eyes to look up at the culprit. 

the handsome, handsome culprit who’s currently holding something out towards you with a small smile on his lips, the wind blowing his long hair into his face. in the midst of your shock, you manage to drag your eyes down to his hand—it’s a handmade necklace, made of white string and polished shells from the shore. the shells are an assortment of light blues, whites, and pinks, perfectly complimenting each other, replicating where the setting sun meets the sea. it’s gorgeous.

“made something for you,” he starts, his smile lopsided and charming. his head is cocked in a playful way, his eyes slightly squinted from the bright sun. he’s even more gorgeous up close. “y/n, right?”

“uh, yeah,” you stutter out, too distracted by the way the sun hits his face so perfectly.

“i realized i haven’t given you a proper welcome yet,” leehan speaks as he hands you the necklace, his voice deep and gentle. your eyes flickered back up to his sparkling ones, quickly shaking your head in dismissal.

“oh! no, it’s okay. i’ve seen you around enough times,” you laugh as you avoid his eyes again, running your fingers over the shells. leehan hums in response, his eyes watching your fingers. alone like this, up close, his atmosphere is affable and soft—nothing like the unapproachable man you’ve seen from afar. 

“so, are you liking it here? i heard you moved from the city.”

“i do like it here, actually. i couldn’t ask for more,” you speak, finding his eyes again. leehan’s are curious, sincere, and inviting in all the ways that makes you want to keep speaking. so you do. you tell him about why you came here, how you’re starting a-new and leehan, with a wide smile, offers to be your personal guide around town. 

you end up meeting up every morning for a walk by the beach, watching the sunrise as you exchange stories about anything and everything. leehan teaches you how he makes necklaces from seashells, his favorite recipes to cook, and where to find the quietest spots in town when you just need a break from it all. you’re falling for him—with his chivalrous, kind-hearted nature and warm smile—but you don’t mind it at all. you really do like it here; especially if he’ll be around too.

˚ ⋆｡˚ woonhak - the "i'm secretly in love with my best friend" lead

small town, childhood best friends, neighbors, growing up together, coming of age, grassy fields, tiny markets, bicycles, fireflies, shorts + graphic tees

woonhak's big smile has been a constant in your life for as long as you can remember. some of your earliest members are of making mudpies and catching fireflies in jars together, playing tag in the long grassy fields that border your town. you guys are partners in crime, drawing silly pictures in chalk outside of your neighbor’s houses or riding your bikes down to the store to buy all of the mango popsicles in stock with your pocket money. 

in your eyes, woonhak is just… woonhak. he is familiar. existing with woonhak was as easy as breathing to you. you remember teasing him when you lost your first tooth before him because it proved that you were going to be more mature than him, or when you took your training wheels off first.

your parents are best friends, and it also helps that he lives directly next to you. you guys have sleepovers all the time, using flashlights under the blankets as you pull funny faces at each other, sharing stories about past crushes or what show you’re currently watching. woonhak knows everything about you and you know everything about him.

your favorite spot to meet up is the flower field behind your house. the grass is so tall, it reaches up to woonhak’s chest, the flowers spotting the green with blooms of yellows, pinks, and purples. it’s quiet there, and you guys are free to discuss whatever and whoever. that’s where you are when you’re watching the stars one night with woonhak by your side, his arms tucked behind his head. you mirror him as you talk about something woonhak did earlier that week.

“you’re so cute, hakkie. still the same after all these years,” you laugh, covering your mouth with your hand so your voice doesn’t echo too loud. at your words, woonhak sighs, a big one that catches your attention. “huh? what’s wrong?”

woonhak shakes his head, looking straight up at the sky. “i just… sometimes you say things and it reminds me that you still see me as a kid.”

you turn your head toward him at that in confusion. “what are you talking about?”

“y/n, what am i to you? honestly.” his words come out so quick, you don’t have time to linger on the sharpness in his voice. 

“you’re… you’re my best friend, woonhak,” and you’re telling the truth. the answer is simple. woonhak is your best friend.

woonhak is silent for a bit, the crickets and frogs in the distance filling in the lack of noise. his gaze is far off as he stares up at the night sky, his body framed by grass and flowers. for the first time in your life, you can’t read his mind and it terrifies you.

“we are best friends, right?” when he remains silent and your heart drops a bit. “woonhak?”

suddenly then, he turns his head towards you, the side of his face illuminated by the glow of moonlight. his eyebrows are slightly furrowed, his cheeks flushed red from the humidity of summer nights.

“what if i wanted to be more than that?” he whispers, his gaze locked intensely on yours. you feel your heart stop in your chest, your palms growing sweaty from more than just the heat.

“more… more than best friends…?” you repeat dumbly. it’s as if you’re short-circuiting, all of the words that were once on your tongue dying off one by one.

“i…” woonhak sighs dejectedly, turning back up to face the sky. “i like you. i like like you. a lot.”

at the words, something in you clicks. something about the way your eyes always linger on his bright smile when he shows up on your doorsteps at the crack of dawn. something about the way your stomach churned when that girl from fourth period asked woonhak out last year. something about the way he links your pinkies together when you walk side by side, and the way he cups your face when you cry to him, and the way he holds you with so much security and love.

your lips move faster than your mind, sitting up quickly to look down at him with a wide grin. “i like you too. i like like you, woonhak. a lot. too.”

you aren’t sure what any of this means for your relationship, or for your future—but as woonhak laces your fingers together to press a small kiss to the back of your hand, any worry or doubt dissolves with the wind. you’re here now with him and for you, that could be more than enough. more than you’ve ever dreamed of.

reblogs are greatly appreciated! thank u...<3

masterlist

[authorhjk1]

If you don’t mind, can you tell me how does each member of SNSD suck dick? Also give a very brief description of how they each of them do it. OT9 of course, please and thank you

I like this one. Feel free to send more ideas like this. (Poll at the end, so please make sure you check out the end)

Taeyeon

Taeyeon is very proud of how good her skin looks despite her age. She loves to kneel in front of you, while you are standing. She would always start by lying your cock in the middle of her face, marveling at how big it looks from below. She loves to worship it too. Giving you small, gentle kisses, while letting you enjoy the smoothness of her skin. She would almost never use her hands, taking pride in only needing her gorgeous face and her mouth to make you cum. And when you do, she loves to get her face painted. She is convinced that your cum is part of the reason, why her skin looks so good.

She is more gentle and loving all around.

Jessica

I have to say, that I'm not that familiar with Jessica. But I do think, that she is more like a princess, so her blowjobs would be similar to Taeyeon's and Yuri's. Mostly soft and caring. I think she would like it, when you tell her how well she is sucking you off. A little praise here and there, and Jessica doubles her efforts.

She also loves it, when you cum on her face. In fact, she always takes a selfie of herself after every facial. You can't even count how many pictures she has on her computer. Every single one of them are her, her face painted with your cum.

Sunny

I honestly think that Sunny isn't a big fan of blowjobs. If you ask her, she would give you one. But, usually she would only see it as quick foreplay, not a standalone act. And I doubt she would like to receive facials. Not sure about swallowing though.

But, all that being said, if she really loves you and you ask for it, I'm sure that Sunny wouldn't even complain about it. If she did it often enough, she might start actually liking it.

Tiffany

While Taeyeon is very proud of her skin and facial features, Tiffany likes her own lips the most. And she likes to see your cock completely covered in her lipstick, after a great blowjob. She always carries one or two of them around in her purse, just in case the two of you are down for some fun while being outside the house. She has so many different shades and colours of lipsticks, her collection is probably more expensive than your car. Dark red, pink, black and the last one she bought, one with glitter, just to name a few. But the very first thought on Tiffany's mind, when she buys a new one, is how it would look, smeared on your cock.

And when a store does offer samples, the two of you quickly disappear for a while to "test out the product in advance".

After a sloppy and rough blowjob, Tiffany almost likes the sight of her lips and corners of her mouth smeared with her lipstick just as much as the sight of it on your cock.

Hyoyeon

Hyoyeon is a combination of Yoona and Sooyoung. It depends on her mood. Sometimes, she loves it when you're rough with her, using her mouth like a toy. And on other days, she likes to be the one in control.

Her blowjobs are usually messy, no matter who's in charge. Her spit would always be everywhere. Your cock, her lips, chin and thighs, when she is kneeling. Nothing is off limits to you in regards to where you want to cum.

Yuri

Yuri is quite similar to Taeyeon, when it comes to her body, especially her face and skin. She loves to take care of herself, which means that most of your days end with you, covering every inch of her face with your cum.

But compared to Taeyeon, Yuri likes it a little rougher. On the days when she is really horny, she lets you use her mouth however you like as long as you reward her with your cum. But most of the time, she likes to suck you off, while you eat her out. It's a win win for the both of you.

Sooyoung

The main reason Sooyoung likes to give blowjobs, is the power she has over you, while she is giving you one. She likes to watch your face twitch with pleasure, while she tries something new every time. It always the same thing that finishes you though. Sooyoung, staring at you, demanding that you cum for her. Doesn't matter where you are. In your car, at home, in a dressing room at the mall, Sooyoung loves to count down from ten, once she senses that you're close. Just before you blow your load, she tells you exactly where she wants it.

Yoona

Yoona loves to get used. She prefers it, when you gently stroke her hair and slowly lean her head against an unforgiving surface. A wall, the edge of a bed, or the mirror in the practice room at SM, you name it. You would then slowly slide your cock into her mouth, telling her how pretty she looks like that. And once you start fucking her face, Yoona would moan around your cock in delight. She would do anything to make you feel good, while you basically nail her head against the hard surface behind her.

(Might be slightly inspired by her colors chapter, although I only realized after writing this that it actually matches)

Seohyun

Seohyun is usually too shy to ask for anything intimate. When she does want your cock, she would just rest her head on you lap, while watching a movie, and accidentally brush against your crotch. Or she would just wait for you to initiate something on your own.

I can see Seohyun as someone who has a breeding kink. She would love it, when you squeeze her waist during sex, while you pump your cum into her. And it even shows during her blowjobs. Or rather after. Because she would always make you blow inside her mouth. Then she would spit it out, into her hand, before moving it towards her pussy. She would finger herself, stuffing your cum deeper and deeper into her belly.

Now for the poll.

I originally planned on writing a series with SNSD. But thanks to one of you guys, I now have ideas and plots for at least two series.

So here it goes:

Hope you guys are having a good day. Don't forget that there is also a link at the top of my blog currently, so you guys can vote, if you want me to focus on a couple of request, like commissions, or not.

Stay healthy!

[azlrse]

Cuddle headcannons of malleus and idia please 👉👈

➳ cuddlebug (malleus draconia/idia shroud x gn!reader; separate)

cw: kinda short cause still on writer's block, characters might be ooc, overall fluff

a/n: my freshmen year in pharmacy school has ended like weeks ago (yayy!! and had really good grades ngll) and had lots of time to write sum fics for you guys ^^

malleus draconia 🐉

i feel like malleus himself would be the first one to initiate into cuddling you just because he's curious on how warm you were comparing to him. bro's really curious since in his culture and heritage, mothers would initially cuddle their egg/babies and giving them with love. malleus, however was deprived with this opportunity since his mother is barely present when he hatched from his egg.

at first, your boyfriend is slightly nervous when asking you this question since the two of you are dating for at least 5 months. you just looked at him and said, "why are you asking this question? you know I'm really comfortable with you cuddling me. im just waiting for you to cuddle with me." as you extended your arms in front of him.

malleus just went 🥺 and 🥰 as he picked you from the floor and proceeded to lay the both of you into his bed, making you shocked from the sudden action but quickly relaxed as soon as you felt his head being placed on the crook of your neck. malleus loves it when your hands are caressing his face as he stared at you with adoration and hearts in his eyes and tends to kiss your hand while your hand are being cupped to his cheek.

most of the time, he's the big spoon in terms of cuddling but if he's the one having a really bad day, he's the one laying on your chest being the little spoon. malleus would also love the cradle position and the half spoon since he loves holding you on his arms.

idia shroud 💠

you're going to be the one who would proposed the idea on the subject of cuddling with him because this guy, won't be the one to initiate cuddling cause he would die of shame asking you to cuddle so good luck with him (even tho i loved him sm).

even though idia loves you (like a ton), he's gonna wait for you to ask him if you would like to cuddle with him. bro's not the type to make the move first aside from asking you out (thanks to ortho's reassurance that you liked him back)

he's also not used into physical touch so you better be patient with him, it may start with his head on your shoulder and escalated into hugging you from behind as you lay down on his bed. idia would love it if one of your leg in placed on his thigh when he plays something on his computer/console.

idia's concern regarding cuddling you is his hair but you quickly reassured him that you loved his hair so much on how comfortably warm it is in his air-conditioned room. he would whine if you are not touching his hair if the both of you are cuddling together (only you and ortho since he is really uncomfortable on others touching him, including his long hair).

probably he dreams on having you on his lap when he plays a game or just relaxing with you while talking about his interests and kisses your face while holding you (he's quite shy on kissing your lips yet hehe)

Do not republish, edit, or repost to other websites.

Reblogs and likes are appreciated! 💕

[ladycaramelswirl]

definitely not old

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

A/N: Did I create an extremely improbable scenario just to suit my need to create another highly improbable scenario? Yes. Do I care that it’s unrealistic? No. Please forgive any typos/ grammatical errors. 

CW: suggestive content, but not explicit (like 15+?). Use of y/n one time. (Technically this would probably warrant one of those hostile workplace environment seminars like they had for Derek and Penelope. But it’s funny? Idk this isn’t serious.) Sassy Hotch. Crack plot tbh. 

Also I know the timeline doesn’t really make sense, because JJ is a profiler and Emily and Rossi exist, but I imagined Season 1 Spencer while writing this! I guess it’s 2005? Btw I do not know how tapes work, so just pretend it makes sense please. This is so unserious. 

Summary: reader wife and Hotch are private people; the BAU team is nosy. Spencer is just constantly in the right place at the wrong time. 

Enjoy!

——————

The screen in front of you depicted horror - just not the kind the BAU was used to. The UnSub had confessed to leaving a message in an old tape. He had already been arrested, but you were all hoping it might contain something that might help the conviction stick. Only he was extremely paranoid, so not only had he left the message in a code, but he had spliced it into a tape he thought people were least likely to watch. His p***. It was the last thing to do for the case and everyone was trying to help. You all sit at the round table, and Spencer shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. Derek laughs at his shyness and Emily laughs at the very unrealistic movements. She and JJ tilt their heads at the shape the two on the screen have put themselves into. 

“That does not look comfortable”, JJ mocks. 

The words are out of your mouth before you think. “Trust me it’s not”. 

Everyone at the table snaps their heads to look at you. 

“Damn Mama”, Derek laughs. “Who are you doing these moves with?”

You try to hold back a laugh. You were not ready to share about your sex life with your colleagues, no matter how close you were. Plus you’re pretty sure Aaron would not appreciate it. 

“That is inappropriate workplace conversation”, you say, pausing the video. “And you’re going to miss the next series of code”, you tell him, trying to get him to revert his attention back to the video. Emily grins at your attempted evasion.

“We already got all the code. She just doesn’t want us to tell Hotch she’s capable of all that. Doesn’t want to make the old man feel bad”.

“He’s not old. He’s only 5 years older than you”, you remind her. She puts a hand on her chest in mock offense like you’ve stabbed her. You roll your eyes. “And this is still inappropriate”.

“So it wasn’t Hotch”, Derek laughs. 

“You’re just annoyed because you haven’t tried it yourself”, you deflect, moving to sit next to Spencer who seems to actually be doing his job. 

“I’ve seen her do yoga and she’s very flexible, so if she couldn’t do it I don’t think you can”, JJ tells Morgan. 

“Oh you have no idea what I’m capable of”, he teases, which earns laughs from around the table. “I’m better than the old man for sure”. They all start laughing and talking about you and Hotch. 

You roll your eyes. “Wasn’t old in bed last night”, you mutter under your breath. You startle at the sound of a book hitting the floor and see Spencer’s bright red face. JJ, Derek and Emily look over in curiosity at what they might have missed, but you ignore them, attempting to give Spencer an apology for making him uncomfortable. He moves to drink his coffee in an attempt to avoid more of the conversation. Only he chokes on it because Hotch enters the room. 

“Have you finished working out the code?”

Everyone’s heads snap to him - JJ, Emily and Derek wearing matching grins. Hotch eyes you patting a coughing Spencer’s back.

“Are you alright?”, he asks. 

“Yes! Good! I’m good!”, Spencer squeaks, afraid Hotch is going to ask him why he’s so nervous. Aaron looks to you for some answers but before you can tell him it’s nothing, Spencer suddenly stands up.

“Got the code! Going to call the local PD. DA is waiting”, he warbles before you all watch him run out of the room. Hotch turns back to the rest of you. 

“Well then that wraps it up. Go home now, get some rest”, he instructs. Everyone starts packing up. You and Hotch walk towards the door when he realises there’s only 6 of you in the room. 

“Where’s Dave?”, he asks.

You’re about to tell him Rossi went to the bathroom when the Italian walks back in. Rossi immediately notes the paused video.

“Wow that looks uncomfortable”, he remarks. Everyone smirks in your direction. Hotch snakes an arm around your waist and looks at the screen. Then at you. 

“It was, wasn’t it?”

He smiles at the jaws dropping to the floor. 

“Good night everyone”.

—————————

A little bonus scene:

In his office later:

“You heard us talking before you came in the room didn’t you”, you question your husband. He was so private, he wouldn’t have said something like that otherwise. 

“They called me old”, Aaron grumbles, but his tone is amused. “Just wanted to shock them a little”.

You make your way over to his side of the desk, pulling him to stand up beside you. 

“Well Agent Hotchner, I have to tell you, there’s been some speculation about your performance”, you taunt. “Care to prove them wrong?”

“Last night wasn’t enough proof?”, he laughs raising an eyebrow. You run your hands up his chest and behind his neck, pulling him close. 

“The results were inconclusive”, you tease. He grabs your hips and traps you between himself and his desk, his mouth trailing kisses down your jaw. 

“Well I can’t have that kind of speculation going around”, he murmurs into your skin. Your breath hitches from the sensation of his lips on the sensitive spot on your neck. But instead of continuing, he pulls away and meets your eyes in a conspiratorial grin. “We should do an in house evaluation as soon as possible”.

You open your mouth to reply when the door swings open, Spencer finding you sandwiched between Hotch’s thighs and your blouse rumpled. His mouth drops open and suddenly all 187 iq points mean nothing when his brain loses function.

“Oh- I- um- sorry!”, he manages before running away. You stare at the slammed door then back at Aaron and burst into giggles. He drops his head to your shoulders and sighs. 

“I feel like a teenager”, he groans.

“At least you don’t feel old.”

—————————

Bonus bonus: 

Still in the conference room: 

“I want to go back to 10 minutes ago when I didn’t know this information”, Emily moans. 

“I think I need 5 more minutes before I can form a coherent thought”, JJ laughs in disbelief. Spencer walks back in.

“I finished my report. Where’s Hotch and y/n? Can we go home?”

“Probably doing it in his office for all we know”, Derek mutters.

Spencer’s brows furrow in confusion. “Doing what in his office?”

Rossi raises an eyebrow at Emily. “Is this kid serious?”

She shrugs back at him. 

“Spence, Hotch says we can go home. But you should probably report about what local PD told you before you go”, JJ tells him.

Spencer nods and makes his way to Hotch’s office. The rest of the team watch him walk away.

“You think we should have told him to knock before going in?”

“Probably.”

The sound of a high pitch yelp and the slam of an office door echo down the hallway. 

“Oops.”

[msmk11]

Marauders era hcs: how they would react to you filming a sexy dance for tik tok

James

At first he’s a little dumbfounded

And entranced. Mans is the biggest simp for you so ofc he’s drooling a little

But then he snaps out of it and is like, the fuck? This is for MY eyes only

Jamie literally walks over and stands in front of you, blocking the camera from seeing you

When you try to go around him he just grabs you by the waist and firmly pushes you back again

He also pulls out the “scary bf” look, even though he’d never actually hurt a fly, by crossing his arms across his chest and staring at the camera (flexes those muscles babyyyy)

Afterwards, he does beg for you to give him a private show ;)

Remus

He thinks you look mega sexy- though he always does

But we all know Remus is possessive af and that shit will NOT slide with him.

He stalks over and instantly grabs you, throwing you over his shoulder

Your phone is left behind as you pout and kick your legs, begging for him to let you down

Ofc, he doesn’t.

Not until you’re upstairs at least…

You’re so in for it

Sirius

If anything, I actually think you’d be the one to catch him filming a dance….but anyways!!!

Sirius walks in on you filming and his jaw drops. He just stands there the whole time thinking about how gorgeous you are.

When you’re done he finally walks over and he asks you not to post it.

You think it’s cuz he’s mad, but then he tells you that he just wants you to refilm it- with him in it.

He begs you to teach him the dance and you guys spend the next hour practicing

FINALLY you film it and y’all nailed it

Sirius is an influencer you can’t tell me otherwise

Peter

I’m actually certain he’d already be in the room with you when you’re filming because he just loves to watch you in you’re element/having fun

BIGGEST cheerleader and supporter

He is hyping you up with every take

Definitely blushing A LOT

Also, not nervous at all for you to post it. He completely and totally trusts you.

Lily

Mad as hell when she catches you doing it

Not because she’s jealous or possessive (though I totally think she could be)

She is offended you didn’t ask her to join you :(

She loves doing TikTok dances!

When you apologize to her she just pouts and ignores you

It takes some doting and petting to put a smile back on her face

She finally agrees to forgive you but makes you film the dance on her account instead of yours

(You can’t even be mad or annoyed because she’s so precious)

Marlene

It is actually her idea to film it

She has the dance down already and teaches it to you

She definitely leaves you feeling a little flustered as she teaches you

And when you film it.

You’re sort of a stuttering, blushing mess in the video and all the comments point it out

The cheeky bastard just smirks when you whine to her about it later

Dorcas

When she catches you filming the dance, she acts completely unbothered (even though she does actually think you look good)

Thinks you’re a complete and utter tease :)

Two can play at that game

She flirts like crazy after you’re done filming it but ignores your own advances

Leaves you a flustered MESS

You pretend to pout but you’re actually just more determined now to get her attention

You basically have to beg her !

Mary

So Mary definitely did the trend before you did and it drove you crazy

She looked so good in it

So of course you have to get her back

You put your ALL into learning this dance

When she gets the notification that you posted, she is shocked at what she sees

She leaves her place on the couch and goes to find you in your room

You know what happens next

Regulus

You are dead meat my guy

When he catches you he is FUMING

Yes he thinks you look sexy. But you are HIS. No other bitches should lay their eyes on you

He is snatching your phone up instantly and throwing it across the room

He then starts kissing you possessively

Teaches you a lesson that’s for sure

No chance you’ll be able to hide those hickies…

(Makes sure you delete the video)

[jaeyunluvr]

WEBS OF DESIRE (p.sh)

warnings :: SMUT MDNI kissing, bondage, cursing, pussy licking

perm taglist :: @pockettwinzz @alvojake @miss-conjayniality @seunghancore

tagging :: @minhosimthings

notes :: this is written just to spite hazel (lovingly) i love you my baby <3

you angrily stomp down the stairs inside your home as you walk away from sunghoon. you knew being an oh so great saviour was a difficult job but you seriously didn't wish it didn't snatch your boyfriend away from you. spiderman should've just stuck to being a nice friendly neighbourhood dude with some webs.

you've tried to be understanding multiple times but him missing out on a date for your third anniversary snapped something in you.

the little black dress that you chose for your special day, wrapped your perfect body deliciously. sunghoon's mouth fell agape when he saw you as he entered your bedroom but as his eyes travelled from your body to your face, your expression gasp softly and that's when he knew he fucked up.

he tried apologizing multiple times and you almost softened at his tone but your anger and disappointment kept taking over you. so you continued reasoning with him despite knowing deep down that it wasn't his fault. you kept walking away when he tried to hold your hands and speak and so you ended up barging down the stairs into your living room.

sunghoon had enough. he knew you were just acting up and didn't mean any of the words you said and he also knew how to put you back in your place.

"yn come back here." sunghoon spoke, his voice a little commanding. this fueled you even more. he had no right to speak that way when he was in the wrong.

you ignored him and continued walking away. you heard sunghoon sigh behind you and you let out a yelp when you felt a force yanking you backwards by your waist and your back hits sunghoon's chest as he wraps his arms around you firmly.

"fucking leave me alone." you harshly speak as you try to escape his tight embrace and he smirks pushing you against the nearest wall, twisting your arms behind your back careful enough not to hurt you. he holds both of your wrists together with his one hand and the other grabs your waist.

he presses his chest into your back as he traps you against the wall and whispers. "yn you know im sorry right?" his tone was suggestive, definitely, though he tried to apologize with sweet words.

you don't answer. "i'll take that as a yes. but i do owe you so let me show you how much i love you, hm?"

he gently lets your hands go, knowing you've given into him.

"do you even have any idea how fucking pretty you look right now?" he says, as he unzips your dress down to your waist. his hands slip inside the clothing, around your waist as his lips start pressing the softest kisses to your back.

you shiver at the contact and sunghoon chuckles softly. his hands move to remove the straps off your shoulders. his lips immediately nip at your skin on the top of your shoulders and his kisses travel to your neck.

your neck falls back into the dip of his shoulder as his hands move to cup your breasts. his lips continue to work against your soft skin at your neck as he strains to reach the front of your neck from behind.

your dress pools at your waist as sunghoon flips your around, his hands resting right above your pelvis at your sides, his dives into a passionate kiss. he effortlessly slips his tongue into your mouth as it starts exploring the familiar corners.

you bring your hands to wrap around his neck but he catches a hold of your wrists, bringing your right hand to grab both of them with his left, as he pins them to the wall right above your head.

within seconds you see the white fluid shoot out of his wrists capturing your hands against the wall.

"hoon what-"

"shhh" he presses his finger against your lips as he brings his tongue out nastily, drilling it into your mouth harshly forcing it between your lips.

as much as you hated being restricted, the thrill and the pleasure you were gaining was immeasurable. sunghoon's hands roam all over your body, grabbing a handful of your flesh and squeezing it lightly wherever he could.

he's kissing you with so much intensity, you fall out of breath within seconds.

"hoon" you breathe out as you gasp for air. as much as you wanted to have his lips back on your almost immediately, your lungs were not ready for it yet.

"relax princess. it's just the start yeah?" he speaks as he drops to his knees, pulling your dress off of your body. he tosses the clothing aside as he comes to face your bare lower body.

his lips instantly attach to your inner thighs as he sucks at your skin gently. within seconds his lips reach your clothed clit and sucks harshly on your sensitive bud. you let out a loud gasp, your eyes roll back in pleasure and your finger clenched, nails digging into your palm.

the absence of having something to hold onto was frustrating but the way his tongue worked between your thighs was making you dizzy.

the feeling of not being able to run your fingers through his hair was torture but the grip of his fingers on your thighs had you crumbling right there.

his tongue left your clit as it moved above and sunghoon started sucking on every inch of skin he could find, leaving marks all over your body. his lips latched onto your boobs as he sucked one of them desperately and his free hand started kneading the other.

his lips moved to the dip of your neck, raking his tongue painful slow up towards the back of your ear. you could hear sunghoon's breath and his tongue felt warm against your skin.

his hands dropped to your waist and he wrapped his strong arms around your tiny body pulling you closer and closer into him, as he nipped harder at you neck. sunghoon wanted to feel all of you, touch all of you everything at once.

his hands then slips down into your panties,b his middle finger spreading your slick all over your clit.

you whimper as soon as you feel his touch down there and let out a loud moan.

"you're so fucking wet for me baby I thought you were mad at me" his finger dives into your hole immediately followed by another, as you clench around him.

"hoon f-fuck!" strings of curses escape your mouth as he continues to draw his fingers in and out of you. every time he pulls back, he comes back in with a force larger than the previous one and it drives you over the edge.

your legs were starting to give up but sunghoon's firm grip on your waist helped you stay in position.

the webs hold your hands in position and it's getting irritating as every second passes by. you couldn't hold him, your nails couldn't dig into the skin of his back, your arms couldn't pull him closer than he already was, your fingers couldn't grip his locks at the nape of his neck.

everytime your mind wandered to the fact that you couldn't touch him in return, he managed to bring you back to how fucking insane it actually was.

the feeling of being completely in his control, the feeling of utterly being used and the feeling of offering yourself to him in all ways.

sunghoon continues to pleasure you. your head spins as he eats you out roughly, devouring every ounce of pussy you had to offer.

you feel your insides clench as your orgasm finally washed over you. your hips grind over sunghoon's face as your whole body shivers while you cry out in pleasure.

he continues to lick and suck gently at your now very sensitive clit which makes you whine. it was almost like he was riding his own high, the taste of you on his tongue was heaven to him, he never wanted it to end.

he senses you squirming a lot which snaps him out of his trance. he looks up at you and oh what a sight. your completely fucked expression, the strands of hair that stuck to your forehead, your breast which heaved up and down with exhaustion. it drove him insane.

he stands up and kisses your lips gently. "you look so fucking pretty, darling." he sighs against your mouth and kisses you once again.

with that, and a smirk on his face, sunghoon's hands leave your waist and he takes two steps back, slowly walking away.

"hoon?" your eyes widen at his actions. "park sunghoon i'm fucking stuck here for two whole hours?!?"

being the menace he is, he slips into his suit and raises his hands up in defense, shrugging lightly. 

“I swear to god, come back here!”

"i'm so sorry baby but the friendly neighborhood spiderman gotta save the world!” 

[fryingpan1234567]

superheroes and social media

do you KNOW how often I see a cute trend on ig or tiktok or anything and I’m just like “man that would be cute for (insert hero ship)”

but that’s an issue because like… putting your face on the internet is DANGEROUS🙅‍♂️

I had. an idea. to solve all the issues!

as fun as it is to imagine the RobinOfficial account having 4 million followers, I think it’s more fun for everyone to have accounts that only follow and allow following in the caped community

so basically Instagram for just superheroes

the ones whose identities are known can post their faces, and the ones who are still under the radar have a close friends list that consists of the people who do know them

a very few amount of people who aren’t heroes are allowed on this Super IG

including Lois Lane, whose entire presence is standard mom posts but with like. Superkids and other Kryptonians. you get it

uhh Bernard Dowd too but he only follows Tim and Steph

Alfred, who only posts the Manor and London with captions like poetry

Selina Kyle because she already had a regular account but B was like “oh that’s dangerous now that we’re affiliated”

she was like “well how am I supposed to fuel my ego with no instagram for people to thirst after me”

B sighed and was like “well,,,,,”

Harley Quinn fluctuates between being banned and interacting with EVERYONE’S content with offensive amounts of emojis

anyways tell me WHY Conner Kent has the most iconic page on the internet

it’s full of these aesthetic photo dumps and crackhead videos of YJ doing dumb shit

also Tim. he’s got chaotic gen z billionaire vibes and most of his stuff is on his close friends list because B doesn’t need to see the REALLY dumb shit he gets up to

yeah they’re both hot and yeah they’re both elite pages. but Kon’s is Sabrina Carpenter energy and Tim’s is P!ATD energy so they’re different flavors of slay

on the opposite end of the spectrum we’ve got B, who has four posts, all exactly 365 days apart

it’s the yearly Father’s Day family portrait

Dick Grayson does that millennial vlog thing but Not

“a day in the life of a 24 year old cop (who also happens to be a vigilante)”

also a compilation of clips of him jumping off buildings, some taken by him and some by other people

can you IMAGINE this dumbass with a gopro

Red Bull wants to sponsor him what can I say

he lets his favorite villains follow him

WHEN I TELL YOU BILLY BATSON HAS THE MOST FAMOUS PAGE OF ANYONE IN THE COMMUNITY

because he was a public figure ANYWAYS. this is the idiot who used to walk around charging people’s phones with his powers and taking selfies for cash. people know him

so Captain Marvel has this crazy account with him doing memes and slo mo compilations of him punching guys from his body cam

his most hit post is a video where he found a cop harassing a bunch of kids on the street (who he happened to KNOW) and without saying anything at first just kindaaaaa walked over and fried the cruiser’s entire inner workings

“yo, copper! I think somethin’s up with your system, man!”

while the cop was trying to figure out how to start his fucking car again, Billy herded the kids down the sidewalk and they all took off running, giggling like maniacs

Damian Wayne doesn’t post a lot, but when he does, it’s to match with Jon

I mean like taking pictures of each other from across the same table and the captions are each half of a whole song lyric, stuff like that

his personal favorite is actually their softlaunch— they found an entire wall of mirrors at the planetarium on a date, Jon had his right hand on Dami’s waist and the other in his pocket, and Dami was standing in front of him, holding the phone with his right and tilting Jon’s face down with his left to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. neither of their faces are in it and it was Damian’s wallpaper for a WHILE

my babies ANYWAYS

Diana Prince posts exclusively about her favorite ice cream shops

Bart is the kid whose note is always like “in the hospital👍” / “sick again” / “hate broken ribs I can’t eat seven burgers in this condition” / “got possessed by a death god again :/ third time this week” and it’s like jesus man can you catch a break

can you imagine finding fucking Superman has a verified instagram account but it’s private so you can’t even follow freaking SUPERMAN

Duke Thomas is thoroughly over his siblings’ shit and there’s a ton of videos of them being dumbasses with captions like “someone save me it’s two in the morning”

anyways A COMPILATION OF TRENDS

“nobody move, there’s blood on the floor” for LITERALLY any ship it’s so funny

“what? you’re not coming to my tea party? Bethany, I made BISCUITS” with increasingly low res crack pics of Red Hood falling off of things, generously edited and posted by Tim Drake

dance trends with Steph and Cass

“guess which outfit is whose” with Tim and Steph but they’re both in their Robin uniforms

Tim making a cringey thirst trap edit of Jason who in response posted a clip of Tim tripping his own gear and setting off an alarm

“wearing the same outfit so no one can tell us apart” and it’s all the Batkids in their Robin uniforms (most of which barely fit) ((Bruce and Alfred cried))

the Superkids did the same thing a few days later and dragged Clark into it

not-quite-thirst-traps where they just kinda stand there over music but everyone in normal comments would’ve gone crazy

calisthenics trends. Thanks

it’s like a THING between all the Titans where they’ll sneak up behind each other, yell “THIS IS SPARTA,” and kick each other off roofs

someone sneaking up behind Jason while he’s belting Seasons of Love

MOTORCYCLE CONTENT

somewhere out in the world there’s a shaky, blurry video of Robin, Superboy, Spoiler, Blue Beetle, and Beast Boy dancing to and half-singing-half-yelling Tell Your Girlfriend

if you think of any more social media trends or videos or pics you see that remind you of a hero tag me because I’m obsessed with the idea of these idiots on socials

[penelope-potter]

Your Scent~

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Alastor X Fem! Owl Hybrid! Reader

Summary: Alastor and you became good friends, which was changed later when he discovered how much he liked your scent~

Warnings: Smut (Oh gosh I can't write this, this won't go well)

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It was the day you started to try out Angel's different kinds of perfumes as your good friend Alastor started to act weird. Angel and you were friends too- but the kind of friendship neither of you have a crush on another. However- you sat once again in Angel's room and chatted about everything that came into your mind. Today he came up with the topic of past live story's. "You know I loved the perfumes these days. They smelled actually nice, rather than the shit Val force me to put on..." He holds up a pink bottle and smiled. "But this baby here is my favorite." He unscrew the cap and holds the pipette right in front of your face. You sniffed on it and smiled. "Hey this smells good! It's giving me nostalgic vibes." "Very funny!" "No really, I can totally imagine yourself dressing up like a bad bitch running down the old streets with your partner in crime. How romantic." You blinked and laughed as he pushed your elbow. "Come on, try it on you'll smell like a snack with this on!" He said and came closer, you bend backwards. "Whoa wait, why should I smell like a 'snack' again?" He rolled his eyes playfully. "Well I don't know maybe because your tall hotty will start to fall for you then?" He wiggle his eyebrows at you and you laughed it off. "Oh yes totally. I already see him drooling all over me just because I tried on one of your perfumes!" You joked and shook your head. "You won't regret it. A good scent can stuck into someone's memory, even in his." He dripped a few drops from the liquid on your neck and rubbed it into the right places. It smelled really nice. Like berry, leather and vanilla. Everything was fine until you started to wear it a week long. Angel's curiosity if the demon would actually hit on you was shattered in pieces then, because he only seemed irritated most of the time you cross paths with him. He looked after you with an itch in his eyebrow but never said anything.

It confused him more than he would ever admit. The perfume you wore smelled much too sweet for his opinion, and it ruined your whole appearance. He asked himself why he was fretting about something so mundane and unimportant, and tried to ignore it. But it got worse when you started to pick another scent today. You were walking down the kitchen, not even fully awake yawning when he smelled it between the coffee and eggs. The scent of lemon and cherry's. The static of his presence got so loud you had to cover your ears. "Alastor? Is everything alright?" You asked him suddenly, and he stopped in his movement to lead the cup to his mouth. "Of course. Why not?" He said, his expression annoyed. "Your static sounds a bit more...angrier today." You sad, placing your elbows on the kitchen table and smiled at him. Your hair stood up in all directions and your eyes were still a bit groggy. A pathetic view of you. No it was not, he actually liked the view of you in this way. He only realized it now that he liked your hair when he touches it, and how soft it feels. He also likes the warmth of your body when he lays and hand on your back. And he also realize that he likes your smell the most. Your natural scent which would made him go wild to just smell it once more. It was far more intense and much more suiting for you than that pathetic excuse for a 'perfume'. He couldn't understand why you put such colognes on yourself, when your scent already was enough to drive him insane.

"You smell different." He said, shocked about himself that the words just slipped out of him. He turned around as you started at him with wide eyes. "Uhm...yes. It's Angel's perfumes. I tried them on." You answered, he fiddling with his cup, which was long empty. "Hmm I personally don't like the idea of you putting on pathetic, much too sweet liquids on you dear..." He turned around and bends down on you so you pushed away as your nose almost touched his. "So you don't like it?" You asked, your heart hammering against your rip cage. “Darling your smell alone could make any guy tripping over his feet to be close to you.” The heat rushed into your cheeks. "Uhm... I didn't know you liked my scent so much..." You could only say, his smile more thin and his eyes itched. "Oh I didn’t knew it either up until now.” You smiled shyly. "Is that so?" You scratched the back of your hands, your wings flutter in excitement. "Maybe I should wash the perfume off then." You laughed as you still could feel his gaze resting on you.

"Oh dearest I would be more than happy to help you with that..." You looked at him as his smile grew more of lust and admiration. It took the courage of a lifetime to give him the answer you gave him. "Good then. Let's go." You stood up a bit too fast as he catches your chair from crashing on the floor, his body near to yours. "Good manners darling." He gently took your hand and leaded you with him. Your heart dizzy you could only feel him in the moment. He doesn't lead you into your room but in his instead and closed the door behind him. It was the second the door fell into place as your mind was set back in reality. What the fuck did you think you were doing?! "You- you don't have to actually help me you know... I just-" "Hm-hm." He raised his finger and came closer to you, titling your chin upwards. "Why not letting it happen and talk afterwards? Because right now darling, I'm ravenous for you..." You closed your mouth again and just nodded. You would have never expected that this will lead so far, but you seemed to not care at all. He was right you can talk later about it, because right now it felt so good as he helped undressing you, the air hitched cold on your skin. You were only in your underwear now as he came so close to you that your bodies touched as he took off his coat and wrapped it around your shoulders. His hands slowly finding their way to your back and your bra which he carefully unlocked and you slightly jumped by the sudden touch of his sharp claws. He was a bit unexperimented with his movements but it calmed your nerves to know this was nerve wrecking for him too. You could feel his hands shaking as you stopped him from going further away from you. "You will get wet when you'll help me..." You said and pulled on his bow tie exposing his neck. "Easy dear...I'm sure the image of my body will terrify you..." He said, holding your hand to stop the movement. "It won't. You know...I'm sure a woman would also be lost for air seeing such a body." You smiled slightly waiting for his respond of using his own words against him. He closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself. "I guess I'll have to play a part in this too don't I?" "Yes you do." You let your hand wander over his chest to his buttons. "Don't say I didn't warned you." "Oh don't be so silly. Since when do you feel so self conscious? Not because of me." He laughed. "As if you're not worth starting wars for..." You stopped and looked at him shocked, he did the same. The words were slipping out of him more than usual, and it made him nervous. "Wow...no one ever said something like this to me." You smiled and unbuttoned the last button of his shirt and his fluffy chest came into your view. "What a pity to not being able to see what a beauty you are. Not only for you personality but also for your appearance..." You chuckled and raised your hand. "May I?"

His mouth closed smile gotten wider. "Oh how rude from me, I didn't asked you earlier. I guess you don't have to ask me too then." You smiled and were careful. You two were now almost completely undressed, and his body made you more nervous than the fact that you're basically also exposed too. His slender waist and the deep scars forming a pattern like tiger stripes around his chest and hips. His little deer tail looked so fluffy it was a scandal he hides it. "Like I said. Drop-Dead Gorgeous." You said smiling. He laughed. Genuine. "God you are too sweet for me. I'm afraid of not controlling myself after washing this...stuff away from you dearest." He said close to your ear as you shivered.

He was leading you into the shower he made with a simple snap running. The water was warm as you stood underneath it, his coat long slipped over your shoulders as he hold you close to him. You tried your best to keep your eyes where they should be as you admired his wet appearance. The soap he used smelled like lemon and ginger. It was not too sharp but it let you realize that this was how he smelled all the time. You smiled as you stood with your back facing him and enjoyed the caressing as he stopped for a moment. Suddenly you felt his hands wrapping around your torso and you slightly jumped as he placed his chin on your shoulder. "And? Better?" You asked smiling. "Much better." He sung. "I guess now I'll be rather smelling like you." "In this case everyone will know that you belong withme…" You smiled. “So, this was all a plan huh?” You joked as he turned you around to look at you, the water dripping from his ears on his shoulders. “Oh if this would have been planned darling, I would have done it much sooner. But I guess I only realized it now.” “What?” You asked him as he bend down, his mouth close to your ear. “That I would kill for calling you mine.” His voice brought shivers down your core as you placed a hand on his cheek. “In this case- you don’t need to kill someone. I accept the offer.” He took your hand and pulled you closer with the other. “Is this just your mind playing tricks on you or a you serious dear? Don’t play with me please.” Your smile dropped slightly. “I would never play with you Alastor. I hope you don’t change your mind either.” “Never.” He sung. You raised an eyebrow. “Show me that you mean it then.” He looked at you a moment before his teeth showing smile made you nervous. “Darling did I not showed you already? I would have never exposed myself like this with some mindless toy…”

You scanned his features and smiled. “You are a mystery Al. Never know what to expect from you.” He raised his hand and held your chin to lift it a bit. “So tricky. I like that.” He said chuckling. “I guess I’ll have to show you otherwise.” He kissed you out of nowhere and his hands trailed over your back. You wrapped your arms around his torso too as you could feel his nails tracing down your hips. The kiss deepens as you could feel he getting braver with each second as he carefully let his hands hover over your ass as you smiled against his lips and pulled his hands on it. He jumped a bit and stopped to look at you. “Got so brave, what’s wrong?” You asked innocent and he actually looked like a mess. You even got to hint a slight blush across his features, and finds it adorable. He said nothing and just pushed you against the wall while the water kept hitting you both on the head and continued to kiss your neck. You gripped his hair stronger as his hands wanders over your body until his hands find their way to your sides. His left hand trails over your rips as you could feel them on your breast. You gasped against his mouth as he growls and his grip tightens around both of them now. His body pressed against you as you could feel his lower part tickling yours. “We should not be doing this…” You said breathless and he leaned his forehead against yours. “Oh we should not be doing so many things darling but since we’re already in hell I guess this is what we are supposed to do…” He chuckled and you smiled. “Yeah you’re probably right.” You let your own claws trail over his back until you found his deer tail which you slowly gripped. He jumped a little for you to notice and his eyes grew wide, his smile thin. “Don’t go too far dearest. I might not be able to control myself. I already told you...” “Yes and I told you to go ahead. I can handle it you know?” You grinned and he took a moment to admire your beauty. You pushed a strand of hair out of your face, your claws sharp and long. He wanted to feel those on his back, or your soft breasts in his hands. It was strange really, he never craved such nasty things, and yet here he is- in the shower with the only woman in all of his life that he wants to do all the things he ever heard what others were doing. Suddenly he can understand the lustful things they said, because right now he was more ready than before. You smiled widely, your sharp teeths showing. “What do you wanna do now buck?” He blinked a few times, as he looked into your lidded eyes and grabbed you at your hips again, pushing you against him. “Why don’t we bring this to something more exciting and do the talking later, songbird?” “Great idea.” You sung as he pressed his lips against yours once again and lifted you up. You spread your legs to hold on to his slender waist as you took his sharp featured face in your hands again. You could feel how hot you got and how he’s gotten too. His fur was silky and the scent of him drove you insane. You started to bite his lower lip as he let go of you to trade little bites on your shoulder. You gripped his own shoulders so hard you had to control yourself to not hurt him. He wouldn’t matter though,

because right now you were are all he could think of. You warmth, your scent. Between the soap of his own he could still smell it. The scent he never thought could make him so out of place once it was gone. “You taste so good, darling.~” He said and he meant it. Your lips tasted like the flowers in front of his house in his past life before. Or the sweet smell of when he came home and only his mother and him were there. You taste better than his first taste on human flesh and you thrilled him more than his first crime. You were able to consume him in ways he would have laughed it off if someone had told him this morning. “And you smell so fucking good.” You said and rolled your hips against his length as you could feel how it affected him. His claws dig deeper in your ass as he brought you into position, his cock rubbing at your cunt. You slid your hand at his hard cock and smiled as he groans. “You are so hot right now.” You said in a way to encourage him because his eyes told more than his stiffened smile. He was not used to this, and you would have never thought that he would do such sinfull things with you. Since it’s his first, you wanted to make sure he feels nice. You were glad you two were in the shower, because it makes things easier. You smiled as he looked at you, his cheeks flushed in a beautiful reddish color and his pupils delighted, as he looked at you lips. “Shit… I want you dearest I can’t help myself-” “Then don’t fight against it. It’s just me remember?” You winked and started rubbing his hard cock in slow motions as he let go of another moan. He grabbed you again and started to bite your neck as he pushed your hands high above you, holding you trapped between him and the wall. His chest was pressed against your breasts and his cock tickled your cunt. “As I said before sweetest. You are worth starting wars for.” He hitched close to your ear. You could feel how his hand find it’s way to your cunt once again as he thrusts two of his fingers inside it. You groaned and digged your nails in his neck. “You like that hmm?” He sung as you rolled your hips to release the feeling which was bubbling up your stomach. But he doesn’t let you enjoy it for too long because he stopped and pulled out, only for thrusting his cock into you. You moaned and helped him with a last push as you could feel him shudder. You smiled as you hitched as his hands were all over you while rolling his hips in a steady tempo. You could hear him moan and he hitched as you pulled his hair while you let your head fall back as he licked your neck. “Faster.” You let off breathless as he grabbed your ass again and lift you up to press you against the cold wall behind you. “Giving orders now naughty girl?” He said breathless. “Just guiding you, sweetheart.” You whisper as he continued to thrust into you faster and kissed you deep. He tasted like coffee and mint and the smell of him is driving you insane as you almost reached your climax. He let go of your mouth as you looked into two now black eyes. His antlers grew third the seize but his smile was still the same.

“Who’s naughty now? Are we a little exited buck?” You teased and grabbed his black antlers to hold on to as he keep pushing inside you, his head now in your direction as you looked at each other while you moaned and he does the same. You reached your climax almost the same time as him and let go of his antlers slowly. You two gasped for air as he laughed and let his head fall against your shoulder. “Enjoyed it?” You said, smiling too. Your heart pondered in your chest and he was still shivering as a result of the excitation. “Very much dearest.” He came up again, his eyes now his normal red and his antlers the right size. He cupped your cheek and smiled softly. “This was kind of thrilling. I never experienced something like this before.” You smiled. “I know. Therefore I’m honored I could be your first. Glad you liked it.” You laughed and pressed a kiss on his cheek. He laughed back like two teenagers as he trailed his nails over your scalp. “I hope I didn’t made a fool of myself…” “No, no It was great.” You let your gaze wander up and down on him. He catches you trailing your nails over his back in a soothing motion. “Well then…” He cleared his throat awkwardly while trying so hard to not look on your lips as you grinned. “...I think we should dry us up.” “Good idea.” You looked up at him, waiting for his reaction. “What, lost your tongue?” You teased, his eyebrow twitched. “Teasing thing you are-” You laughed and turned around as he stopped and kissed you one more time, his tongue exploring your mouth once again but slower this time. He snapped as you let go of each other and a towel appeared around your bodies. Your hair was dry and also your feathers, just like his. “Thank you, Buck.” “My pleasure, little songbird.”

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oh my gosh i did it, this was so weird to write it for the first time and I hope I don't fucking blame myself here right now... QwQ

[liaslullaby]

Help to relax | Kageyama Tobio

You are Kageyama's tutor and you can't understand how he keeps failing, so you two decide to apply other study methods that have worked before.

Contents: afab!reader, mommy kink, public masturbation, fingering, praise, blow job.

Word count: 4K

+18 MDNI—Explicit content

"How come you're a genius at volleyball but an idiot academically?" you asked seeing the black-haired man's answers to his homework, he said nothing just crashed his head against the table in front of him, causing all the other people in the library will look out to see what had happened and they will look at you two with a bad face because of the noise it generated.

"I don't understand the use of learning all those things" he complained without raising his head.

"You need to learn them if you want to pass your classes" you reminded him leaving his homework on the table to massage your temples, your classes already had you tired enough and what's more, helping Kageyama for at least three hours every day was exhausting, everything your body wanted was to be able to relax a little "Besides, Suga has a lot of faith in you, you can't give up just because the classes seem useless to you."

Tobio sighed and raised his head, there was a red mark on his forehead from the previous blow. After helping him for a while, you had discovered a couple of things that helped motivate him, the mention of Suga being one of them, since the black-haired man really didn't seem to want to disappoint him.

Koushi and you were classmates in a couple of courses, he knew firsthand how smart you were so he believed that your help would be beneficial for his kohai and he begged you to give him a couple of lessons so he could improve in his classes. Since the gray-haired man found out that Tobio had entered his own university, he took him under his protection, his paternal sense did not allow him to abandon him just like that in this new stage of his life.

You took one of his few tests in which he had excelled, you looked at it trying to understand what difference there was between that and the rest of the homeworks or tests in which he had failed.

"How did you do so well in this one?" you asked confused, until an idea crossed your mind "Don't tell me you cheated"

"Of course not" he defended himself, looking at the test in your hands then his cheeks suddenly turned red and he looked away to the side "Our study techniques were different for that test... Remember?".

Most of your study sessions were practically the same, the only thing that varied was the place, sometimes you two went to the library and on other occasions you went to his house or he went to yours.

"Do you feel that you study better at home?"

"That's not what I mean" he answered embarrassed, his strange attitude didn't help you understand what he meant exactly.

"Could you be more specific Kageyama-kun?"

"Do you remember the time at your house that you said I should relax?" suddenly the flashbacks attacked you and now his attitude made a lot of sense, you didn't even understand how you could have forgotten that night. Your cheeks also blushed a little but you didn't let that get you, you looked at the black-haired man, his hands were on his knees holding them while he refused to look in your direction, he was obviously nervous and that seemed cute to you, so you decided to play with him a bit.

You moved your chair towards him slightly and leaned enough so that your chest barely touched his arm, he sighed and closed his eyes, he didn't want to move away but he was embarrassed by where you both were.

"What's wrong Tobio?" you whispered approaching his ear, you were taking advantage of the fact that the table was at the back of the library in an area where the shelves separated it from the rest of the people, no one ever peeked out there unless that they were looking for a specific book or that there was someone making noise like the black-haired man had done before "Do you want me to help you relax again?"

He swallowed and clasped his hands on his knees, the memories of the last time you helped him relax suddenly hit him causing his member to start waking up. You put one of your hands on his thigh making matters worse for him.

"Senpai" he murmured, still avoiding meeting his gaze with yours, you chuckled at how shaky his voice had sounded with that simple word.

"Are you tense Tobio?" Your free hand went to his hair, you began stroking it sending shivers down his back as your nails brushed the nape of his neck. He shifted in his seat so you decided to stop, moving away from him to settle into your seat "Calm down I was just kidding with you."

You took his homework again to check what he had to review but suddenly the black-haired man's hand landed on your knee, drawing your attention. You turned to look at him strangely, he still wasn't looking at you but he began to make circles with his thumb.

"Kageyama-kun, what are you doing?"

"I may need a little help" he muttered embarrassedly, you directed your gaze to his hand and then to his pants, quickly understanding what he meant when you appreciated the bulge that was beginning to appear. You put your hand over his and approached him again.

"Did you get hard just because my breasts brushed against your arm?" You brought his hand up your thigh raising your skirt a little, making him look at you in horror at what he thought you were about to do. Your other hand went to his abdomen, you pulled his shirt up enough to reach under it and start running your nails over his abs.

His breathing began to change and his hand tightened around your thigh, his eyes focused on your lips which you moistened slowly trying to provoke him.

"I asked you a question" you reminded him bringing your face closer to his.

"I-I, eh, I..." He swallowed, trying to find the words that wouldn't make him sound as perverted as he was feeling for getting turned on by just his memories and that first little touch.

"You what, big boy?"

"I want to make you feel good, Mommy" he murmured sliding his hand under your skirt until he found your underwear, he waited for your permission and you nodded just before joining your lips with his. You separated your legs a bit and he took the opportunity to caress your clitoris on the fabric of your panties.

You bit his lower lip to then make your way and take control of his mouth, he pushed your underwear away and then continue with your clit making circles on it while you lowered the hand that you had on his abdomen to his jeans.

"Kageyama, L/N-san" Suga's voice behind you made you separate from the black-haired man just in time to turn around before Koushi appeared.

The blue-eyed cheeks looked too red for his liking and he had moved his hand away from you but you didn't do the same, you left your palm on his bulge just putting your sweater on him under the table.

"Senpai" the minor whispered under his breath trying to avoid the gray haired man from hearing him as he saw him approaching the two of you.

"It's good to see that you two are trying hard" Koushi mentioned smiling.

"Everything is to help Kageyama in his classes" you commented returning the smile, you gently began to move your hand over the fabric of the black-haired man's pants, for which he began to clear his throat trying to resist your provocations.

"Are you alright?" Suga frowned, examining his kohai's face carefully making the boy worry "Your face looks a bit red, aren't you getting sick?".

You put your free hand on his forehead pretending to take his temperature, also taking the opportunity to take him with your other hand and place your thumb on his tip making slight circular movements. He just closed his eyes fighting to contain himself even though you were making it very difficult for him.

"You're right Sugawara-kun, it's a bit hot" you didn't know how you could have said that without laughing but luckily the words came out naturally from your mouth without generating any suspicion in your classmate "Maybe we should stop for today Kageyama".

"No!" the black-haired man quickly narrowed when he felt how you tried to move your hand away from his member by saying that, he clearly knew that you were not referring to studying. The confused look of the gray haired man made him regain his composure, he coughed a few times bringing his hand up to his mouth as if he wanted to avoid covering the rest with germs and then he placed both hands on the table "I mean, I'm fine, we don't need to stop now."

His last sentence is dedicated to you especially and you couldn't help but chuckle, Suga suspected the black-haired man's strange enthusiasm towards the study but decided not to give it much importance and shrugged.

"If you're so motivated, I'm not going to interrupt you anymore, I just wanted to come and leave you the notes that you lent me L/N-san" he searched his bag among all his belongings until he found the folder with the notes that you had given him, he took it out and placed it on the table sliding it to you "it helped me a lot, I really appreciate it."

"I'm glad to hear that Sugawara-kun" you felt Kageyama's erection grow even more, which pushed you to go a step further, you reached your hand towards his belt to unbuckle it "You know you can ask me for help anytime you want".

The youngest did not understand how you could be so skilled at removing his belt without making a sound, but his greatest concern came when your hand managed to remove the button on his jeans and lower the zipper, knowing that his face was about to become a real work of art, he rested his elbows on the table and then made a fist with one of his hands that he covered with the other just before resting his forehead on it.

"Are you sure you're okay, Kageyama?" Koushi questioned worriedly, the blue-eyed man bit his lip hard as soon as you managed to get within reach of his member and the soft palm of your hand wrapped around it, being totally a slave to what you wanted to do with it. What he was able to do was nod, restraining himself from making any sound because it might backfire on him.

"Don't worry Suga-kun, I can take good care of him" you reassured him giving him a comfortable smile and moving your hand over Tobio's cock slowly.

For him it was torture, his lack of experience was winning and he felt that he wouldn't be able to keep hiding for much longer. For you it was a whole other story, the idea of masturbating Kageyama in the middle of the library with Koushi in front of you without even having a slight clue of what is happening had your panties completely wet.

"I guess you're right L/N-san, I couldn't leave him in better hands" you agreed as you increased the pace making things even worse for Kageyama. Suga closed his bag and then raised one of his hands waving it as a farewell "Please treat him well".

"I promise I'll do it" you raised your free hand returning the gesture as you watched him walk away, you waited a minute after seeing him disappear between the shelves to bring your mouth closer to the blue-eyed ear, lick his lobe and then whisper to him "That was close, don't you think so?"

"Faster Mommy, please" he said turning his face towards you, you smiled at him when you heard his words, you hadn't even noticed how needy he was until that moment.

"You are so impatient" you complained but you still complied with what he asked, you increased the speed causing him to let out a moan unintentionally. You instinctively covered his mouth with a hand and then turned around, the librarian appeared peeking between one of the shelves and you smiled innocently at her "Sorry, he just banged his foot against the table, it won't happen again".

She looked at you, not very convinced, but she looked tired enough that she didn't mind digging into the subject further, she just sighed and turned around to go back to her desk.

You kept your hand over the blue-eyed man's mouth and giving him an annoyed look you slowed down the pace, he knew perfectly well how much you disliked him doing things without first asking for permission and moaning was one of them.

"Bad boys didn't get what they want Tobio, you know that" you remembered him coming to a complete stop, your brow furrowed, jaw clenched, and eyes darkening with the anger in you. He swallowed and though he wanted to whimper because you stopped but he knew that would only make things worse.

"I'll be quiet Senp... Mommy, I promise"

You sighed then began to move your hand again, tightening your grip around him causing him to bite his lip in order to prevent any sound from coming out of it, he wanted to keep his promise no matter what. You changed hands for a second to bring the first one closer to your mouth and lick it completely before continuing with your work again, providing a new sensation to the black-haired man, who hit his back against the back of the chair and threw his head back breathing heavily.

He wanted to clear his mind and think about anything other than you in order to last longer than usual but it was almost impossible, even more so when you took your sweater from his lap and leaned down to take it with your mouth, he almost let out a grunt at the first trace of saliva that you let fall on its tip before encircling it with your lips delicately.

You went down his entire length taking him completely, he clenched his hands into fists and held back as much as possible, you had to admit it his willpower was greater than you thought. You got motivated the second time and it was then that you picked up a little more speed going up and down on him like there was no tomorrow until you felt how he shifted in his chair, he had reached his limit.

"I'm..." knowing what he was about to say you raised your left hand and covered his mouth before picking up the pace, making it impossible for him to take much more. You felt the thick liquid begin to fill your mouth and you tried to swallow it all but a little ended up escaping from the corner of your lips.

You got up and cleaned up the remains with your sweater, which you should wash very well after that. Kageyama was trying to catch his breath as he pointed to your mouth indicating that there were still traces of that substance that exposed what you had just done.

"I'll never get used to the taste" you commented after cleaning your mouth. You threw the item of clothing on the ground next to your backpack because you didn't want to have it on you anymore, you took one of the blue-eyed's books to open it and place it in front of him "You better concentrate henceforth".

"But I still don't make you feel good" he placed his hand on your thigh again looking at you innocently. Usually you would have scolded him for wanting to keep wasting time, however, you could feel your panties soaking wet and some help would really come in handy.

"Do you think you can do two things at the same time?" He nodded self-assured, so you lifted your skirt giving him permission to touch you as he had done before and pointed to the book "Eyes on the book, Tobio".

He nodded again, you closed your eyes when you felt his fingers again on your clit and you heard his voice read the book aloud, the words came naturally from his lips as if he were totally focused on the book alone.

You sighed, letting yourself be carried away by the sensation of pleasure that began to run through your body, he began to increase the pace, almost making you moan, but you controlled yourself very well. You brought your hands to your breasts massaging them on your blouse, you tilted your head back with your mouth slightly open and allowing soft sighs to escape from time to time.

Kageyama noticed what you were doing and felt the enormous need to turn around to appreciate the image of you enjoying his good work but he couldn't take his eyes off the book, you would notice if he stopped reading and he was worried that you wouldn't let him continue if that happened. So he just gave little glimpses out of the corner of his eye as he licked his lips.

"Fuck, you're doing great" you managed to make your voice sound as normal as possible even though your breathing was ragged. He smiled and then decided it was time to get your panties out of the way, running his middle finger a couple of times over your entrance before going back to your clitoris playing with it now completely naked and at his disposal.

The sound of footsteps in your direction alerted you making you come back to reality, you snapped your eyes open and quickly settled into your chair, you thought about asking the black-haired man to remove his hand from your vagina but it would probably just be a person looking for a book that wouldn't pay much attention to you and it wouldn't take long to leave, so you decided to just repeat the tactic from before you picked up your sweater from the floor to put it on your lap.

"Just let them go" you indicated resting your elbows on the table, he nodded and continued reading as if nothing was happening, letting his hand rest on your thigh.

A couple of guys appeared from between the shelves pushing each other, they were quite similar to each other and then you could recognize one by his blonde hair.

"Atsumu? Osamu?" You asked causing his gaze to meet yours, both of them recognizing you immediately.

"Y/N-san!" The blonde exclaimed excitedly approaching the table where you were being followed by his brother. "We didn't expect to see you around here."

"But it's nice to see you Y/N-san" Osamu mentioned smiling, you felt Kageyama's hand squeeze your thigh at that moment but you just ignored it.

"I didn't know you two came to this university how come I didn't see you before?"

"We started this year, we took the first year after graduation to travel" Atsumu explained, he took out his phone and searched it quickly for the photographs of their trips to show them to you, he let you see them while they went to look for the books for what had gone to.

They had been in different countries, mainly in Europe and they both looked very happy, which you knew probably hadn't happened most of the time because you knew them since high school so you were used to seeing them fight most of the time.

Atsumu looked at you out of the corner of his eye while he was looking for his book, which you might not have noticed but the blue-eyed one did, causing him to bring his hand to your clitoris again, massaging it without caring about the threatening look you gave him. This time his movements were much faster and wilder which only made you feel even better.

"Did you like the photos?" the blond asked, approaching the table again, you nodded, returning the cell phone to him and just at the moment you wanted to open your mouth to speak, the black-haired man decided to leave your clit to go to your entrance and insert one of his fingers into you without warning making you jump for a second "What happened to you? Are you ok?"

"Yeah, it just gave me a spasm" you lied, you tried to kick Kageyama's leg under the table but that didn't stop him from digging deeper into you, enjoying what he was doing. A small laugh escaped him as he pretended to continue immersed in the book

"And who is your friend?" Osamu questioned paying attention to the man next to you for the first time.

"Oh right, I didn't introduce you. Kageyama-kun, they are Atsumu and Osamu, they were in my high school" the blue-eyed boy looked up from the book, completely neutral, and greeted the twins with his free hand. Under your skirt he began to enter and leave you at a steady pace, making everything worse for you "Miyans, this is Kageyama Tobio, he entered this year and I'm giving him tutorials to help him in his classes."

Osamu greeted him politely while Atsumu only decided to ignore him as he had been doing since he arrived, which again the black-haired man noticed, he knew that the only thing that interested the blonde there was you because he hadn't taken his eyes off you since they arrived. With that in mind he added a second digit, sinking even deeper, you tried to close your legs fearing how close he was to your G-spot but he stopped you using his thumb and little finger to keep them open.

"Do you think you can help me too? I'm having problems in a couple of classes" Atsumu asked, scratching his neck, again the black-haired man didn't let you answer since he reached your G-spot, you bit your lip hard, suppressing a moan and unintentionally squeezed around Kageyama, which made his face broke into a triumphant smile, to which the twins paid no attention. "If you can't, it's okay."

"Let me check my schedule and I'll let you know" You answered with a shaky voice worrying them both, Kageyama's thrusts were taking you to the limit and if you didn't get rid of the Miyans quickly they would probably be there to witness your orgasm.

"Are you really okay?" Osamu said surprised by the way you were behaving.

"Sure, I'm just a little tired... why don't you ask the librarian about the books you're looking for? Maybe someone else already took them" you rushed to say when you felt the knot in the lower part of your stomach, your legs were shaking and you weren't being able to resist much more, you were sure that your seat was completely soaked under you.

"It's a good idea, come on Tsumu"

"I hope we can see each other soon Y/N-san" the blonde winked at you before leaving to follow his brother between the shelves of the library, as soon as you lost sight of them you turned to Kageyama who pretended to continue concentrating on his book but didn't stopped entering you with force.

"To-bio"

"It feels good Mommy?" He asked innocently, you thought of scolding him for what he had just done but instead you took his face in your hands to join your lips with his.

A couple more thrusts from him were enough for you to reach your orgasm, completely covering the black-haired man's hand in your fluids and you took the opportunity to moan into his mouth. Then you separated from him and even with your heavy breathing you brought your lips close to his ear to whisper to him.

"You're a good boy, Tobio"

"Did I do a good job?" he ask shyly.

"You did an excellent job"

[toomanythoughts2]

I think something we don't consider enough about Toki is that he grew up basically in front of all his fans. Like, whether or not you subscribe to the idea that Toki was a minor (16/17) when he joined Dethklok or a young adult (18/19), it's still very apparent that Toki grew up in front of the world. He went from a nobody, farmers boy in an abandoned village in Norway to being on stage to millions and millions of people in the blink of an eye.

Like, no wonder the fans think he's the cutesy one, he was literally the cute baby of the group. I bet there are fans that put side by side photos of when Toki first joined, baby face, to his adult, modern version. Toki is basically a child star to some degree. But that's also why people underestimate him so much because he was introduced to the world as a minor or very young adult and then grew up, but still stayed excatly where he was. He never branched out, so he's stuck in this child-rememebered position.

But there's also so many cute or shitty things that could have happened in that time to influence how people saw him. Gig went on super late, got really sleepy and was allowed to nap. Got his first interview done, was socially awkward and nervous. Got his first paycheck, went and bought toys and showed them to the paparazzi before getting escorted away. Had his first few drinks, got incredibly sick and left the party early. Gets asked questions he doesn't know how to answer, immediately asks for help from someone in the band in front of the interviewer. Got hurt while touring, wanted to be patched up by a band member or Charles. Just like in DSR when he's talking about how happy joining the band made him while singing "I Believe", he probably took every chance he got to tell interviewers and whatnot how happy he was to be part of the band and that he loved them very much.

Like, there's so much missing content between the beginning of the band to the start of the series. 10 whole years of Toki (and Dethklok) growing up under the public eye. Idk, I just love pre-klok Toki but there isn't much Post-Klok Pre-Series Dethklok.

[spacegoblin2106]

Ok, so Remus has had a crush on Sirius for a short while now but he knows that Sirius could never want him in the same way so he does a pretty good job of hiding it. But then one full moon Moony starts to act strangely towards Padfoot.

Moony doesn’t leave Padfoots side the entire night. Nibbling his ear, rubbing up against his side, rolling around on his back right in front of him, even building a den and insisting that Padfoot sleep in it.

And the next morning, when the others tell him about this, Remus turns bright red and can’t seem to speak without stammering. So Sirius does some investigating.

There’s not much in the library on werewolf behaviour besides the usual prejudiced stuff so Sirius looks to the behaviour of wolves and comes across mating rituals, which seem to line up pretty perfectly with how the wolf was acting the night before. Moony was performing mating rituals for him?

Remus had told Sirius before that while he looses his sense of self during the full moon, his wolf from still retains his core feelings and desires. Could that mean that Remus fancied him? Wanted to be with him?

Sirius doesn’t even bother putting the books away. He practically runs to Griffindoor tower and slams the door to the dorm room open, waking a still groggy-from-the-night-before Remus. Sirius grabs him by the face and kisses him until they’re both breathless and starry eyed.

Anyway, I just really like the idea of Moony being a big softy, especially towards his Padfoot. I also think it’s hilarious that Remus “emotions are there to be repressed” Lupin having his feelings outed by his wolf form.

[themcsspot]

(I found this on Pinterest and it said the creator is (@2L9l2Aa8UCL0IGJ) on X)

One Up | Part 2

Chapter 1, Chapter 2 - Attempt & Re-plan

Brief Synopsis - Gojo tries his hand in the competition. Getou comes up with a plan that puts both men on an even playing field.

(Also posting on AO3 - 100yenman)

“Hey, Y/N,” Gojo began, his voice oozing with such confidence.“You free?”

‘What?’

“Uhm, no, s-sorry,” Y/N replied in a flat, awkward tone. She had a bad habit of doing that when she was nervous and talking to strangers.

Upon hearing her answer, Y/N could’ve sworn she saw his face twist into a form of surprise. It was odd. Every time she saw Satoru around campus he radiated confidence, from head to toe.

As quickly as his confident expression disappeared, it reappeared. “Oh, c’mon, you been here long enough. Take a break with me. Only for a bit.”

Y/N must look like a deer in headlights. ‘Was he asking to hang out with me?’ She managed to break her eyes from his and scanned the room. More eyes were on them than before. Students, who were sitting near her table, must've heard Satoru’s request. 

“Fine, let’s go,” Y/N gave in to the boy’s request, mostly to get away from all the eyes. “Where’re we going?”

Satoru grabbed her hand, catching Y/N off guard. “Follow me.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Shoko, who was mid-smoking a cigarette, perked up. “Hmm, who’s Satoru’s newest victim?” 

Mei Mei looked in Shoko’s direction, seemingly curious. But, she already had a good idea who it was. “Oh, her,” . . . “She’s in for a real fun time, isn’t she?” 

“Ain’t that right,” Shoko agreed as she blew out more cigarette smoke.

“Well, I’ve got to go,” Mei Mei waved goodbye and made her way from Shoko.

 Mei Mei had to make sure nothing happened between Y/N and Satoru. She wanted this competition to drag out longer. The more Y/N gets comfortable, the worse the rejection will be. It was truly unfortunate that she valued drama rather than her “friendship” with Y/N.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Satoru’s plan was simple: Take Y/N to his apartment under the guise of just hanging and then the rest would be history. It’s a good plan. Geto is going to be busy at school pretty late, so it’ll just leave Satoru alone with Y/N. He couldn’t believe how easy it was going to be to win. 

He took a glance behind him and saw the weird expression on Y/N’s face. ‘Maybe I should make conversation with her. After tonight I’m not gonna speak to her ever again.’

“You’re quiet back there, what’s on your mind,” Satoru questioned, slowing down his pace to walk beside her rather than in front of her.  

This caught Y/N off guard a bit, he didn’t talk about the whole “journey”. Just leading her to an unknown destination as his hand engulfed her’s.

“Uhm, Where’re we going,” Y/N asked awkwardly. 

Why did she allow him to drag her this far? She could’ve separated herself from him when she was away from prying eyes. It was times like this that she wished she could say the words ‘no’ more often.

  “How about we go to my place,” Satoru proposed. “We could just chill.”

‘His place? This is not a good idea.’

The parking lot came into view and he could see his lavish car in the distance.

Before she could respond, her phone buzzed. She had to pull her hand away from Satoru’s with a bit of force to retrieve her phone. It was a message from Mei Mei.

‘Odd, Mei Mei never texts or calls me.’

-

To : Y/N | From : Mei Mei

Hey Y/N I need your help

It’s urgent

I’m outside your dorm room

-

‘It must be urgent if Mei Mei’s texting her out of all people.’

“I have to go, my friend needs help with something,” Y/N stated. “Sorry.”

Y/N turned her back and began to walk away, leaving Satoru shocked and alone. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Y/N finally made it to her dorm room after a long walk, but no Mei Mei in sight. 

‘What the hell?’

-

To : Mei Mei | From : Y/N

Hey, where are you?

Mei Mei?

-

Y/N waited for a response, but after a minute or two went inside her dorm. She slammed her door in frustration and sat down on her bed. Today has been the most eventful day of her short time being here. She needs to sleep for at least 12 hours to recover. 

She changed into some comfortable clothes and lay down with a groan. 

Y/N hopes nothing will be weird tomorrow.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

After the shock wore off, Satoru made his way to his car and then drove off. He drove with the windows down, his hair flowing gracefully as the cool air hit him.

As he drove through the streets of Kyoto he began to dwell on what happened a while ago. He was beyond confused; he'd never been rejected by anyone before.  But, he guesses that’s why Mei Mei chose Y/N for the competition. Truly a challenge.

…

Satoru entered his empty apartment and went straight to his room. ‘This could’ve been a good night, but no~’ He opened his massive walk-in closet and gathered some clothes for a shower. ‘I could just wait for Geto, but he’d be too tired. Damn.’

After a long, hot shower he lay in bed with just a bath towel around his waist. He scrolled through his phone for a while before putting it away and staring at the ceiling. He thought about Geto, his university life, and weirdly enough, Y/N. He couldn’t get over the rejection. Satoru thought about the competition so intently, that it was almost alarming.

Before he could brainstorm a plan he heard the door open. ‘Geto. He must’ve finished early.’ He rushed up from his bed and made sure to slow down his pace when he got closer. He couldn’t seem desperate. He walked into the kitchen and saw Geto’s back facing him while he was getting something from the refrigerator.

“You’re back early,” Satoru said and he leaned against the kitchen island.

Geto faced him with a cooled water bottle in hand. He eyed Satoru and smiled. “Were you comfortable while waiting for me?” He walked to the kitchen island and leaned against it, opposite of Satoru, still facing him.

“Something like that,” Satoru replied.

“How was your little outing with Y/N,” Geto questioned before taking a sip of the water.

“How do you know about that,” Satoru probed. “Tell me.”

“It wasn’t hard to find out, Satoru,” Geto replied. “It seemed you were a little bold with your advances, hmm?”

“Whatever, I wouldn’t even call it a date,” Satoru stated. “She didn’t even reach close to my car.”

Satoru’s statement made Geto chuckle, making Satoru a bit confused.

“What’s funny?”

“You. You’re clueless.”

“Well then, offer me some insight if I’m so clueless then, Geto.”

“You have a reputation, Satoru,” Geto began to explain. “You can’t just lead the girl to your car and expect her to drop her pants once she makes it to the apartment, y’know?”

“Then what’s your plan, wise one,” Satoru questioned.

“You’ll see and you’ll be impressed.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

October 16th

It was so early, yet so sunny as Y/N walked to her class. She would’ve skipped, but she was sure the professor was announcing a big project that included partner work, so she couldn’t miss it. In this class, she shared with most of Satoru and most of his friends. 

‘There’s no way he didn’t tell them about yesterday.’

She groaned and pushed forward on her way to class, she was almost late.

She walked into class, where a majority of students already filled the room, she could’ve sworn she saw a few eyes follow her to her seat.

…

After at least an hour of listening to the professor ramble on, he finally began to assign the trios that would be working together on the project. 

‘Hopefully I get good partners.’

“Shoko Ieiri, Mei Mei, and Kento Nanami, you guys will be paired up.” The professor stated.

Most of the class had been selected for a group she was getting closer and that was making Y/N more and more anxious by the second.

“Suguru Geto, Satoru Gojo, and…”

‘Please don’t say me. Please don’t say my name!’

“...Y/N, you guys will be paired up.” 

‘FUCK!'

…

Satoru, upon realizing this must’ve been Suguru’s plan, smiled knowingly at him and Suguru returned the same smile. 

What a dangerous duo.

[hoarah-babylon]

First DLC session completed!!!!! Gonna talk about my findings under the cut

Waiting for me at the cocoon was a familiar face from the trailers. Hi Leda!!!!!!! Got to have a closer look at her armour, her belt looks just like Miquella's ring.

The converging gold threads on the cape made me think of the Miquella's needle, and also the Godslayer Greatsword

She told me to go touch his wrinkly arm so I did. I was expecting a cutscene but no, just gave it a little tap and off we were! Which is also fine, I think I was just hoping for the interaction with the arm to reveal something about the nature of how we got to the shadow realm.

When I got there though..... man

I honestly wasn't expecting my own reaction when I got to the first open area, but I cried. Like actual tears. I just love this game and experiencing new things from it I don't know man it just took me by surprise, I've been having a hard time lately too so I think it was partly relief just to have something that makes me feel happy and inspired. Thankful for this game! Ok anyway

THE WICKER MAN ! I did try fighting him later on but he's so tough. I'm leaving him for later for sure, I have no idea what to do with him right now. His attacks are undodgeable and flatten me almost immediately, I'll figure that out later. He's cool tho. I think an item I found later called him a 'fire golem'

FOUND THE BESTIES ! They had a health bar so I could have tried to kill them but I didn't even try because they are my friends. Anyway they were in front of a Mausoleum with a boss in it which surprised me I was like ALREADY?????? I think it was called Blackgaol Knight. He took me a WHILE. I kept telling myself go away and come back later, but I was locked in, like no he's going to perish now. But I got him eventually and the reward was great. I mean I can't use any of it with this build but the item descriptions... they got me thinking

Warriors of what army/loyalty? What does it mean to lose your name, or your heart? This wording is very... intriguing to me. The only other mention of hearts in ER I remember off the top of my head (aside from dragon hearts) is the DLC trailer that said Miquella shrives clean the hearts of men. HM.

So they lose their hearts by choice, but what does it mean to lose your heart? Like, literally? Figuratively? Spiritually? But I found this next part to be the most intriguing. The 'light of birth'... WHAT. DO YOU MEAN. The concept of birth in TLB has always confused me tbh, so to have something directly reference birth caught my eye immediately. And why is it apparently so revered by these knights? I have to find out more. Mama lets research :) I don't remember where I heard/read this but I remember it being theorised births came from the Erdtree rather than the typical way humans are born usually. Could it be these knights revere birth as it used to happen, as opposed to how births came to be post-Golden Order creation? Hm.

I found one of the enemies that was posted before release! The one with the uterus imagery. This one. I was surprised it was a regular enemy, from the pic we saw it looked like a boss to me. It was just chilling on one of the monuments in the field of wheat. 'Invoke divinity' stands out to me, mainly because I can't figure out what it means. If it invokes divinity, what does it define as divine? It can't be anything to do with the Erdtree, because it clearly rejects it. Super interesting. The fact it also makes you weaker to Sleep is also v interesting

New weapon type (I think)! I got jumpscared by a screaming enemy and they dropped this. I'm ngl though I think he was a bit bugged, he wasn't dodging any spells so I beat him pretty easily. oops. I'm noticing a lot of bestial enemies and items though... I picked up a bestial ash of war later on too. Who are 'the horned warriors'?

Was looking out over a cliff-edge and saw this dead dragon... it honestly gagged me because I did not expect to see dragons. Which in hindsight is maybe a bit silly of me considering Messmer has what looks like Draconic eyes. But anyway

I found what looked like a church of Marika. It was called something like 'church of consolation'. On the lead-up there were several of Messmer's warriors resting in the road. They weren't aggro to me unless I attacked first. The bigger knight in the church dropped a huge hammer that was imbued with holy damage. One of the smaller knights dropped a chestpiece

The phrasing 'forced to wage war' is intriguing - where did these people come from? Exactly how and why were they forced?

I found this nearby the church and it gagged me a bit. First of all mad that this kind of item exists, I wonder how many there are. Secondly, Marika made these for Messmer... but never again????? I'm so intrigued by their relationship, I need to understand their dynamic IMMEDIATELY

Honestly thank god they're giving us more Larval Tears. I was stressing about this even though I probably won't end up using them... we'll see what weapons I pick up. I wonder if they replenish at these sites or if they'll still be a finite resource

Shit's fucked. These people were done dirty by Messmer

But consider: this place is gorgeous despite the horrors

Found the first of Miquella's crosses! And met another follower of Miquella... why does he hate me :( is it cus I'm Tarnished? But like. I don't like the Erdtree either dude. You don't know me!!!!!!!!!! Nice armour tho. And accent. And thanks for showing me where the crosses are. I guess. Map referred to him as a 'hornsent'

Like. Ok. Why don't we just be friends. Mysterious guy. Whatever like I care.

!!!!! I thought I took a pic of the description but whatever it said something along the lines of 'a young shoot heavy with Empyrean blood. Left behind by the wounded Miquella'... so he's wounded even in this shadow realm, whatever form he's in. What are you doing fam... what's the deal....... I gotta know

Met Freyja! She was nicer. I love her Spartan gear. She said she once fought alongside Radahn (!!!) and didn't tell me much else. But she seems chill af

Now this guy... I've gotta know his deal. Ansbach, what do you MEAN you were formerly in service to Mohg. And now you're following Miquella. WHAT IS THAT BROTHER. I just... the implications???? Why did you leave Mohg? When? Were you in on the whole abduction thing? Why does your helmet/beard combo kinda make you look like Cthulhu? I have questions.

Man-fly village. Uh........ yep don't like this.

That last line sticks out to me, because of the whole, you know, Miquella the Kind thing. Be kind and ya don't get turned into a fly. Cool cool I'm uncomfortable

Oh cool the thing on the wicker ma- THE FELL GOD OF FIRE???? Is this referring to the Giant's outer god? Or one we haven't heard of yet, one that Messmer is aligned with? Haunts the sagas of the hornsent... isn't that what the guy that was shit-talking me earlier is? What is his deal. I'm not immune to a mysterious man

Blue skies?? in MY shadow realm???? it's more likely than you think :)

I also found a ghostflame dragon too which was cool but he has SO much health. I simply did not have the patience for it at that moment. But it's cool seeing so many different things from different backgrounds and allegiances.

My fave thing about the followers so far is how everyone comes from such diverse backgrounds, it's in-keeping with Miquella's whole ethos of welcoming all. But... why are they all here? How? Why has Miquella 'called' to them? Has Miquella called to them all? Now I have all these strangers motivations to worry about as well as the blonde baby's. But really I'm so excited to find more. This already has my brain whirring and I haven't even stumbled across a major boss yet!!! fromsoft you've done it again!!!!!!