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cressidagrey · 14 days ago

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The Attic Room

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Felicity and Oscar broke the same school rules every night for three years.

Notes and Warnings: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mention of Underage Sex.

Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

They never once got caught.

In retrospect it bordered on impossible.

They broke the same school rule every night for three years and never got caught.

Technically, it was about ten different violations rolled into one: curfew, unauthorized presence in dormitories, misuse of the staff staircase, unsupervised cohabitation—plus whatever regulation covered “two students sleeping in the same narrow twin bed every night.”

Technically, boarding students weren’t supposed to sneak into each other’s rooms past curfew.

Definitely not the girls’ dorms.

And absolutely not up the narrow, creaking staircase that led to the attic room at the very top of the oldest building on campus—the one with the slanted ceilings, crooked windows, and that draft in the winter no amount of heating ever fixed.

It started in 2016.

They were 15.

Felicity had the worst room in the school.

Everyone said so.

Which was exactly why Felicity got it.

They hadn’t said that out loud, of course. They’d told her it was “for upperclassmen who value quiet” and “a bit removed, but private.” But everyone knew what it meant.

Too intense. Too strange. Too smart. Too hard to place.

So she got the attic.

And she never said it, but she was kind of glad.

It was the attic room—tiny, slanted, too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter. The radiator clanked like it was haunted.

Nobody wanted it.

But she took it. Gratefully. Quietly. Because it was far from the housemistress's office, and it had a door that locked, and because nobody ever checked it after curfew.

Which meant Oscar could get to her.

It had started their second term, when the nightmares were worse than ever—cold sweat, gasping, shaking so hard she once cracked the plastic of her retainer.

Nobody understood.

Oscar did.

He had the room three floors below hers and the kind of memory that remembered things no one else noticed—like when her hands started trembling during meals. Like how she never screamed when she woke up, just stared at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed her.

He didn’t climb ivy or scale the gutter pipes or do anything heroic.

The staircase was ancient and half-blocked by an unused storage room. Nobody patrolled that wing. Nobody cared. Nobody ever noticed the quiet boy with the soft steps and the too-serious eyes slipping into the attic room every night at 11:03 and leaving again at 5:30 a.m., when the world still felt soft and half-dreamed.

And Oscar had always been good at finding the quietest paths.

One night, just past midnight., she heard the stairs creak.

Carefully. Slowly. One by one.

Then the soft knock—two short, one long. The knock they’d agreed on in whispered study halls and library corners.

When she opened the door, he looked sleepy, hair a mess and hoodie half-zipped. He didn’t say anything. Just held out a hand, and when she took it, he crawled into the too-small twin bed like he belonged there.

And he did.

For three years, he came to her every single night he was at Haileybury…when he wasn’t busy racing.

Never missed one. Not even during exam weeks or rainy nights or the time he twisted his ankle during a cricket match and still limped his way up four flights of stairs just so she wouldn’t have to fall asleep alone.

They broke every rule in the book.

No visitors. No lights after hours. No boys in girls’ quarters. But nobody checked the attic. Nobody cared about the girl in the room with the water-stained ceiling.

They should have. That room was where everything happened.

It was where she learned to sleep through the night, tucked into his chest.

They never really meant for anything to happen.

At first, he just held her. Let her shake. Let her breathe. Let her fall asleep in the curl of his body, warm and steady and safe, which had never really meant anything to her before he showed up and made it mean everything.

Oscar never asked what the dreams were about. Never tried to fix them. He just climbed in beside her like that tiny bed was big enough for both of them, and wrapped an arm around her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And it worked.

The nightmares didn’t go away—but they didn’t swallow her whole either. Not when she had something to hold onto. Someone.

They slept chest to back, tangled knees, breath synced so closely that sometimes she wasn’t sure where she ended and he began. He’d press a kiss to the back of her neck before falling asleep. She never told him, but it was the one thing that could stop her shaking on the bad nights.

Then came their first kiss.

It wasn’t dramatic. Just…inevitable.

They were talking, forehead to forehead, knees knocking together, and she was laughing about something—soft and breathless and alive—and he looked at her like she hung the moon. And then he kissed her like he’d been waiting to his whole life.

And maybe he had.

She never forgot the way he looked afterward either—rumpled and pink-cheeked and stunned with affection, like he couldn’t believe this was his life.

Sometimes she still couldn’t believe it either.

Their first time had been there too.

Months later, she held his hand and whispered “yes” when he asked if this—they—were ready. It was clumsy and sweet and quiet and a little too fast and a little too intense and everything they were at sixteen.

Afterward, he kissed her shoulder and whispered, “I love you.”

She whispered it back.

And the radiator clanked like a blessing.

***

Oscar hadn’t realized how badly he missed her until he saw her again.

He had counted the days.

Every single one of them.

47 days since he’d last seen Fliss—since they’d curled up together in the too-small twin bed beneath the sloped roof of her attic room, limbs tangled and breathing steady.

47 days since Felicity had kissed his collarbone and murmured sleepily about constellations and university applications and how this time next year, they’d be free.

No phone. No texts. A few letters—clinical, cautious. Like someone else had read them first. Which he knew, deep down, was probably true

So he’d waited. And counted.

And now, finally, they were back at Haileybury.

It was the first day back in their last year—mid-September, hot and dragging—and the courtyard was full of luggage and overlapping greetings and housemasters calling names over the din. But he only saw her.

Felicity.

Standing by the edge of the courtyard, her usual navy cardigan pulled tight around her frame, hair half-tied like she’d done it in a moving car. Her shoulders were hunched, eyes down, like she was already trying to disappear.

And she was so thin.

Thinner than she’d been in June. Her cheeks hollowed out. Collarbones sharp against the fabric of her shirt. Her smile—when she finally met his eyes—was more ghost than real.

He didn’t say anything then. Just walked up to her, let his bag drop to the grass, and wrapped his arms around her without a word.

She flinched.

Just slightly. A twitch.

And then melted into him like she’d been holding her breath all summer and had only just remembered how to exhale.

That night, after lights out, he took the old staircase like always. Avoided the creaking steps. Knew just where to press his palm against the wood to close the attic door without a sound.

She was already curled on the bed when he slipped inside, the blanket pulled halfway up her chest. A glass of water sat untouched on her nightstand.

She smiled when she saw him.

Not a ghost this time.

Something real.

He crossed the room in two steps and kissed her forehead. “Hi.”

And she flinched.

Not just startled. Flinched—like she expected pain. Like she’d learned it.

Oscar’s heart sank so fast it felt like gravity had doubled.

He knelt in front of her.

“Fliss.”

Silence.

“Will you let me see?”

At first, he didn’t think she would. But then—wordless, trembling—she reached for the buttons of her cardigan and peeled it off. Then the shirt beneath it. She turned around slowly, like her body had betrayed her and she was apologizing for it.

Oscar’s world cracked.

He stopped breathing.

Her back was covered in it.

Belt marks. Raised and raw. Some healing, some new. Deep bruises blooming across her ribs and lower spine. Angry, broken skin that had clearly been left untreated. One cut near her shoulder blade looked infected—swollen, red, and weeping.

Oscar sat perfectly still.

Then: “Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay. Alright. We’re going to fix this.”

He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t press. She was already trembling too hard, and he couldn’t stand the thought of adding more weight to her bones.

He found the first aid kit she always kept under the sink, the one they’d used before for sprained wrists and stress headaches. He opened it without asking. Laid out what he needed.

Antiseptic. Cream. Gauze. He cleaned each wound as gently as he could, whispering soft apologies every time she hissed in pain.

Her breathing stayed shallow. She didn’t cry. Just stared at the wall like it would crack open and swallow her whole.

When he was done, he wrapped his arms around her without asking.

He didn’t ask what happened. Didn’t ask why. He didn’t need to.

He knew what summer meant for her. He’d always known.

Oscar had always known Felicity’s parents were strict.

Not the "no phones at dinner" kind of strict. Not the "home by curfew" kind.

It was the kind of strict that hollowed a person out from the inside and called it raising them right.

They expected brilliance—flawless, polished, relentless brilliance.

First in every class, head of every club, effortless perfection. A girl who made top marks while staying quiet. Who looked put-together but never proud. Who never cried. Never stumbled. Never once failed.

Felicity had learned early on that there was no room for error. That being exceptional was survival. Anything less—anything merely good—was met with disappointment. Silence. Or worse.

Oscar had known this.

But this… this was different.

This was escalation.

This was not getting better.

“Was it your dad?” he asked quietly, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

She hesitated. Then said, “Yes.”

“Jesus, Fliss—”

“I failed chemistry,” she whispered.

Oscar stared at her.

“What?”

“I got an ninety-three. They told me to get over ninety-five. I didn’t. I made a mistake on the equations.” She said it like it was a confession. Like she'd crashed a car. Like she'd burned a house down.

“That’s—Fliss, that’s—” His voice broke. “You don’t get beaten for a test score.”

She wrapped her arms around herself like she was trying to stay upright. “In my house, you do. I missed one question,” she said, voice brittle. “And then they said I didn’t smile enough at the dinner party they hosted for the ambassador. That I embarrassed them.”

“That’s not your fault.”

“They said I disappoint them, and then they reminded me of the consequences. And I always think—next time I’ll get it right. But I never do.”

Oscar’s throat burned.

“I watched my mum count calories for me when I was ten,” she added. “I’ve had tutors since I was five. I’m not allowed to decorate my room at home. I’ve never been allowed to choose what I wear, or how to cut my hair. When I told them I didn’t want to apply to Oxford—when I said I wanted to take a gap year and learn how to fix cars—they locked me in my room for three days and said I’d thank them later.”

She wasn’t crying. But he was.

Because she said it all like it was normal. Like it was her fault.

And he’d always known her parents were strict. But this was control. This was abuse. This was someone taking every beautiful, brilliant part of her and trying to hammer it into something that performed on command.

“They told me if I wasn’t brilliant, I was nothing. That I was already a disappointment because I’m not beautiful. So I have to be perfect. Or there’s no point.”

Oscar closed his eyes. Just for a second. To keep from screaming.

He reached forward and very gently touched the edge of one of the cuts.

“You’re not a disappointment,” he said. “And you don’t have to be perfect. You don’t even have to be good. You just have to be.”

Her chin trembled.

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” he said fiercely. “Don’t you dare apologize. This isn’t on you. This is on them. For treating you like something to control. Something to sharpen until you bleed.”

Oscar couldn’t breathe.

He wanted to shake the world. To drag her parents out into the open and make them see what they’d done. To tear down the foundation of every expectation they’d ever poisoned her with.

“You’re okay,” he murmured. “You’re here. I’ve got you.”

She buried her face in his shirt.

Oscar didn’t let go for a long time.

And when he finally pulled back, when he gently cupped her jaw and tilted her chin up so she would look at him, his voice was steady in a way it had never been before.

“This is the last summer they’ll ever get,” he said. “I swear to you. Never again.”

Felicity blinked.

“We turn eighteen in April,” he said. “We graduate in May. You’re not going back there. I don’t care what we have to do. I’ll figure it out. I’ll talk to someone. I’ll go to hell and back if I have to, but I’m not letting you walk back into that house ever again.”

She shook her head, not in disagreement but disbelief. “Oscar, they’re my parents.”

“They don’t deserve to be.”

She was crying now. Silently. One tear slipping after another, like she couldn’t stop them anymore.

Oscar wiped them away with his thumb. Kissed her forehead.

Then her cheek.

Then the corner of her mouth.

And when she finally kissed him back, it wasn’t out of gratitude or desperation—it was out of the smallest flicker of belief that maybe, just maybe, he meant it.

That maybe she’d make it.

That maybe they’d make it.

Later, after she fell asleep curled against him in that terrible twin bed—bandaged, exhausted, but warm—Oscar lay awake staring at the ceiling, already planning. April 6th. Their eighteenth birthday. May 26th. Graduation.

They just had to make it until then.

And then she was his to protect.

No more hidden bruises. No more whispered excuses. No more being punished for being human.

Never again.

***

They never got caught.

Not by the housemistress, not the prefects, not even by the one teacher who everyone swore was ex-MI6.

Felicity still didn’t know how they never got caught.

Maybe it was dumb luck. Maybe it was the universe offering them one small miracle. Maybe the housemistress knew all along and simply never said anything.

It was the worst room in the school.But it was where Felicity Leong found everything.

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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megwritesriddles · 5 months ago

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Sweetest Nectar ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Being at Hogwarts at university-level had it's perks, such as unsupervised days in the greenhouse with Neville. Reader finds herself in an unfortunate position thanks to a flower in the greenhouse and Neville has to figure out how to help while being a gentleman and preserving their friendship.

Tags: Sex pollen, Mildly dubious consent, Fingering, P in V, Unprotected sex, Begging, Friends to lovers, Minor yearning, HogwartsUniversity!AU, Post-war/Eighth year, Virgin!Neville (he just is, I don't make the rules), Too much backstory, Sentient Hogwarts, Silly fluffy ending.

Word count: 11.1k

all fandom masterlist | hp masterlist | read it on ao3

Authors note: Can you see why I've been gone so long??? This had zero business being 11k words but I'm a chronic overexplainer so here we are!! Skip the first 9 paragraphs if you don't care about any worldbuilding. Continuing my 'Neville gets muscular as he gets older' agenda as per. The last line is so dumb... Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

P.S. this is technically day 23 of my kinktober but it's january so lets not talk about that

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Hogwarts worked in mysterious ways, with its own indecipherable motives. This much had always been true but was especially recognised lately. Once rebuild efforts had concluded after the war, Professor McGonagall, like every headmaster before her, bar Severus Snape, had sent out invitations to recent graduates to join the Higher Education program, a two-year program that would prepare its students to become a professor in any chosen field, subject to meeting entry requirements of the course. Demand for this program was higher than it ever had been, so many recent Hogwarts graduates felt like they had missed so much time at Hogwarts, that they were willing to come back on the program just to make up for lost time. At first, McGonnagal thought of shutting the whole thing down or at least raising entry requirements for joiners; there wasn’t exactly enough room in the designated Higher Education quarters for all the applicants. And though the regular student population had dwindled significantly over the course of the war (best not thought about too hard), it seemed wrong to try and room adults with 15-year-olds just to fit everyone in. The night before she intended to send out the letters of amendment to the required marks, McGonagall felt bizarrely compelled to go on a stroll around the castle, feeling drawn down a route she didn't often find herself going. There, she found a brand new door, behind which were brand new living quarters, just big enough for all the applicants. Although she should have been relieved, McGonagall was initially rather frustrated by this. Why now did the blasted old castle decide it could build, when nearly all summer long volunteers had been slaving away to restore the castle? The windows glittered as if to wink at her, she decided that the daft old thing must have liked the attention. McGonagall found herself relieved, she too felt that the recent graduates were not ready for the career world quite yet, having had not only their final year of study lost to the war, but the years before that tarnished by looming threats and incompetent bumblers. Also, there was an urgent need for qualified teachers of magic, so the more the merrier, even if most of them would only use it as a springboard into something else.

You had always been a shoo-in either way, although you never got to sit your NEWTs, the honourary grades you were given were stellar, supported by fantastic results in your OWLs and overall fantastic conduct in class. The blemishes on your record from the Carrow's note-taking were wiped, leaving your record squeaky clean. You received your acceptance letter and list of supplies and felt like you were eleven again. Everyone was required to specialise in a subject, and while you'd had a couple in which you had adequate grades which you might have chosen, you went for Herbology in the end, as it was something you loved. In all honesty, you liked Professor Sprout the best and were eager to train under her.

As soon as you received your letter, you wrote to Neville. There was no doubt in your mind that he would be studying under Professor Sprout alongside you, despite not even knowing if he had applied to the program initially. He quickly confirmed this suspicion when he wrote back to you, saying he had a sneaky feeling about you as well. The two of you had become fast friends in the sixth year, both being in Advanced Herbology. You'd known each other a little here and there before that, but in this class, your friendship truly formed. The class was very small, as the interest in Advanced Herbology was low, most careers only required a decent grade in standard Herbology, so even those with interest had to prioritise other things for the sake of their future, such as Potions or Charms. There were only the two of you and a pair of Slytherin girls who, despite seeming genuinely very passionate about the subject, refused to converse with the two of you and whispered amongst themselves all the time. This was fine with both of you, as you had each other, taking time to study together, walking to and from class, and working efficiently during any pair work. The two of you had been ripped apart during the war, you had to steer clear of Hogwarts for your safety, and Neville, being intensely monitored by the Carrows at the time, refused to write to you and risk revealing your location to them, so you had been out of contact for quite a while. You wrote to him again on his birthday and had been corresponding a little since, but things felt slightly stunted. You hadn't seen each other in so long and Neville was never the best when it came to socialising.

Arriving at Hogwarts once again had been intensely bittersweet. So many good and bad memories to try and process all at once, it felt overwhelming. You'd had to step outside during the sorting but found yourself far from alone out there. So many people were broken. You apprehensively made your way over to Hermione and said hello. She pulled you into a tight hug, as you hadn't seen her for a long time either. You listened as she explained about Harry and Ron, that they didn't want to go into teaching, and though she'd explained over and over that most people that do the program don't end up teaching, they'd still refused to come. Trying to make the most of it, she tells you it'll be nice to spend time with other friends for once and you nod along. She is somehow specialising in three subjects, she'd wanted to do more of course, but it hadn't been allowed. Trust Hermione to work herself to the bone happily. You'd made it to your room later that night, a private room with an en-suite, which felt awfully fancy for Hogwarts, and settled in. Being back was an odd feeling, you could see the cracks in the stone everywhere you looked, there was pain everywhere, yet so much good to try and find.

To your complete relief, when you started your first day in the Greenhouses, things fell back into place with Neville instantly. At first, you'd greeted him with a hug, which had been awkward as he hadn't been expecting it, but very pleasant once he figured out what was going on. Soon after this though, as Professor Sprout set you her first task (to prepare some plants for her third years), things were back to as they were, perfect. You worked together well, talking and laughing easily, and though occasionally the chat went sour and the mood fell, this was happening with everyone lately, a byproduct of the war, there was so little to talk about that wasn't tarnished that it was a wonder the two of you were able to laugh as much as you were. Neither of the two girls from advanced Herbology were there, and although this initially saddened you both, you conceded that there could be many reasons for it. There weren’t many Slytherin returners, there never had been, but after the war especially, the turnout was pathetic. Most Slytherins avoided their peers after the war for fear of ostracism, which was fair as people had some pretty bad opinions on them but sad because there were several Slytherins who hadn’t been on the wrong side of history who were still facing hostility.

The course was a lot of independent study of assigned texts and essay-writing, but all day on a Tuesday and half a day on a Thursday, the two of you were in the smaller greenhouse behind the ones for teaching, working on various projects, which also sometimes required your attention out of teaching hours. This greenhouse was set aside initially for research purposes at Sprout’s predecessor's request, but now was being used to train those in the higher education program. Despite this greenhouse being smaller than the two nearer the grounds, it was still fairly large and complex. Upon entering, you came into a little cloakroom, where you would have to don your aprons and gloves before entering, with a sink in the corner for washing up when leaving and entering. The next room was the main growing area, growing various plants that weren’t dangerous but were still perhaps best kept out of the reach of the younger students. There was a long wooden workbench in the middle of the room for potting and taking notes and whatever else you might need to do. Off of the opposite end of this room, there were three doors, one that led to a small room which was always kept humid and at tropical temperatures, one which was always kept cool and dry and one lockable room in which more dangerous plants were kept, such as venomous tentacula or fanged geraniums, only to be accessed with Professor Sprout supervising.

Professor Sprout would only tutor the two of you on Thursday, so with the exception of the first few weeks, the two of you were entirely alone from 9 am to 4 pm on a Tuesday. Although it sounded a little salacious when you told friends, the truth was that most Tuesdays you were both too busy for anything to happen. Not that anything would of course, but certain assumptions were made when people heard you were alone together for hours with what they assumed was an easy subject. Mostly your days were full of tending to the plants, having to frequently refer to your notes for how each should be cared for (how much water? what temperature should the water be? do they require singing to?), observing any plants that were the subjects of your essays and preparing plants so they would be safe for lessons with younger year groups.

It’s a Tuesday like any other. Neville is carefully planting some seeds across the workbench from where you’re delicately pruning a particularly active flitterbloom bush, setting the clippings aside to send to the potions department later. One of Neville’s research subjects is observing what methods of growth acceleration work the best and cause the least damage to the plants they’re applied to. He has been planting, growing and replanting dittany over and over for weeks now, but was still gathering more data as he came across more and more methods to test, and each had to be tested several times over to rule out external factors.

Your research was on the merits and drawbacks of pruning, and which plants took best and worst to the practice. Pruning was useful as it allowed more ingredients to be obtained from individual plants for potioneering purposes, but generally was thought to be harmful to the overall health of the plant. You were attempting to write a definitive list of which of the 25 most common plants used in potions could be pruned and which couldn’t, which to your surprise had hardly been researched before as the belief of its harmfulness had permeated the field since 1870 and most Herbologists had steered clear of it since. Your research seemed to be proving it wasn’t nearly as harmful as thought.

The two of you chat idly as Neville uses a pipette to apply various growth potions to the soil of his newly planted seeds and you carefully measure the regrowth of a stem of the flitterbloom bush that you pruned a few weeks ago, struggling as the stem swayed about.

“I can’t believe Hermione talked Ron and Harry into actually joining the course next term,” Neville hums, extracting exactly 5 millilitres of potion from a bottle with his pipette. You scoff.

“For real this time? They keep saying that yet nothing ever comes of it,” you shake your head, scribbling down your measurement on the parchment beside you.

“Yes, really, two new rooms have appeared in the boys' dorms with their names on them, if Hogwarts knows, it must really be happening,” his tongue sticks out slightly between his teeth as he concentrates on dropping the liquid right in the middle of the little pot. Not wanting to throw his research, you wait until he’s done to reply.

“Perhaps Harry and Ron don’t even know it themselves,” you joke, making Neville chuckle.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the castle decided it for them,” he carefully pushes the cork back into the top of the potion bottle. “The castle is quite odd lately, perhaps it has whatever its equivalent of brain damage is from the war, it’s acting much more blatantly,”

“How so?” you tilt your head in his direction, soothing your finger over the agitated stem that you just had to hold taut for measuring.

“I’m sure you’ve heard all the stories of people getting stuck in rooms with the people they like, doors literally disappearing until they confess or otherwise!” Neville laughs, carefully moving his pots back to their designated spot on the windowsill. With his back turned, you can’t help but glance at the door despite yourself, wondering if it’s still there. It is. You quickly avert your eyes from the door as he turns back toward you. “It’s why there’s suddenly all these couples popping up, sure the castle has always been a little cheeky, but never so obvious before, it all started with the higher education wing appearing overnight and it’s seemingly been madness since,” he shakes his head, picking up another batch of pots containing little sprouts at various heights that he has to measure.

“It’s sweet how many people have liked each other and not even known… has it always been people who like each other stuck together?” you ask, stroking your quill, feeling the soft tufts beneath your fingers.

“As far as I’ve heard, each time it’s happened it’s ended well,” Neville shrugs, rifling through his bag for his measuring tape. You glance at the door again, seeing it still there. Unrequited, you figure, that door will stay right where it is.

“I wonder where the brain of the castle is if it even has such a thing… it is sentient in some ways, so there must be an equivalent right?” you ponder as he loudly removes his books from his bag and thuds them onto the workbench.

“The room of requirement? For some reason that comes to mind… a fire in your brain can’t be good,” he chuckles, his voice slightly strained as he peers under the table for the offending measuring tape.

“You can borrow mine,” you suggest softly as he comes up with nothing.

“No it’s fine, you need it,” he waves his hand dismissively, standing up from his stool. “I’ll fetch mine from my room, I’m fairly certain I know exactly where it is on my desk, can’t believe I forgot it again,” he grumbles the last part to himself. “Be back in 15, watch my plants,” he smiles, although you can tell from his sheepish look that he’s embarrassed to have forgotten something yet again. Luckily, you could head back to fetch things at any time at your level, no longer having to ask to go to the toilet or anything like that. There was no one here to ask. You smile back, watching as he enters the cloakroom. A few moments later, you see his heavily blurred figure heading up the hill through the heavily rippled glass of the greenhouse windows. In the newfound quiet, you return to your work, hearing only the spray of simulated rain in the tropical growing room.

Finally finished with the flitterbloom, you stand to retrieve your next plant, a valerian bush, for pruning. As you move to stand and step forward, you feel an odd pressure at your ankle. Stepping forward anyway, you realise too late that your foot is hooked on a support between the legs of your stool, sending both you and the stool off balance and toppling over toward the room-length counter that holds all the various plants. Reflexively, your body twists and your arms come up to shield your head as you thud loudly into the solid wood surface, causing a choir of wobbling pots, luckily with no ensuing crash of broken terracotta, you had to count your blessings somewhere. A dull pain throbs through your body, starting from the side that crashed against the counter. Thud! A yelp rips from you as the stool, still twined with your leg, falls onto your thigh. Luckily, it is only light and will leave a small bruise at most, your side colliding with the counter on the other hand…. You shut your eyes tight, feeling utterly embarrassed about what just happened despite being alone. You weren’t normally this clumsy and you were sure you looked a mess, an undignified heap on the floor, too shocked to stand up or even open your eyes yet. In the permeating silence, you sit on the cold stone floor and try not to cry, from the shock more than the pain.

A violent sneeze overtakes your body, the action of it hurting your side. You sniff and cough, dust seemingly surrounding you. You must have jostled some old dusty plants that hadn’t been touched in a while when you collided with the surface. Surrendering to the coughs and sniffs that wracked through your pained body, you wait it out until the dust subsides, grabbing your bruised side as you double over with violent sneezes and sputters. Finally, a deep breath of clean air, you sag against the counter and try to gather yourself now you can breathe properly once more.

“It was exactly where I thought it was…” The door from the cloakroom creaks open in the silence as Neville enters, clutching his measuring tape. “I can be so scatterbrained,” he huffs, his eyes sweeping the room at the height he expects you to be. In embarrassment your eyes squeeze tighter, not wanting him to see the mess you’d gotten yourself into. Upon not seeing you, he glances around for any evidence you might be in one of the back rooms, though not thinking of a reason you would be.

“Down here,” you squeak, your voice hoarse from coughing. The words itch your throat and you splutter slightly once more as he rounds the workbench and spots you on the ground. You give a sheepish smile, finally having opened your eyes. It’s painfully obvious from your stool-adorned leg what happened, you just hope he doesn’t think any less of you. He shouldn’t, he has a reputation for being clumsy himself, but you can’t help but worry. “I fell,” you rasp pathetically.

“Are you alright?” he surges toward you and kneels, immediately examining your head for any bumps, rubbing over your scalp gently. The action makes your cheeks heat up, but you try to ignore it.

“I’m okay, I landed on my side,” you reply as he carefully removes the stool from around your leg and stands it back up beside the workbench. His arms wrap around you and he carefully lifts you to stand, you yelp as the movement stretches your side and he shushes you gently.

“It’s alright, there we go… just—,” he holds you steady until you’re stable on your feet. When he lets go of you, it feels oddly painful deep in your stomach, but you brush that off.

“Thank you,” you whisper shyly.

“Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?” he asks, bringing his hand up to feel your skull once more, worrying over whether you might have been badly injured. You lean slightly into his hand without meaning to.

“No I promise, it was just my side and my thigh,” you insist, inwardly wishing he’d brush his hand against those spots to check them. For a moment his hand moves like he might, but he stops himself.

“If you’re sure,” he inspects you once more, hovering behind you as you sit back down on the stool, trying to brush past this whole incident. “Can I grab your plant for you?” he offers. “Which were you going for?” you want to complain, but his eyes are wide and earnest and you know he wants to help.

“The valerian… and could you pop the flitterbloom back for me?” you request, hesitantly testing the tender skin where the stool collided with your thigh, wincing at the throb of pain that followed your touch. Neville dutifully returns the flitterbloom to the counter, then places the valerian bush before you. Behind you, you hear him gently pushing some of the pots that had moved when you smashed into the counter back into place. You flush and keep your head down, pretending to inspect the valerian bush but not being able to focus. Your brain feels a little fogged up, you assume from the shock of the fall. Not wanting to alarm Neville in any way, you grab your tape measure and pretend to measure the leaf regrowth. He quietly moves around the workbench, bringing his pots over to your side of the bench and sitting down beside you to resume his work, his brows furrowed in concern for you. “Really, I’m okay,” you chuckle, but the weakness of your voice does little to reassure him.

“It’s better if I sit here, just in case something happens,” he says, more firmly than he usually says anything. That side of him was new since the war, this ability to stick up for himself in smaller situations. He’d always known how to stick up for the greater good, but little things like this, he would allow himself to be walked all over, too scared of losing a friend. Now that he has more confidence, he’s not so afraid to dispute his nearest and dearest, knowing you’re unlikely to end your friendship with him over this. And if you did, it would be weird and not his fault anyway. The tone of voice is also on the newer side and it stirs something in your belly.

You sit side by side working on your respective projects. Well, Neville is working, you’re more just going through the motions while your mind hovers elsewhere, not allowing you to focus on what you’re meant to be doing. Maybe you were concussed… but you hadn’t hit your head during the fall, so what was wrong? You take a few deep breaths, trying to slow your heart which still seems to be beating slightly fast. Slowly but surely, your body starts to feel a little warm. You glance to make sure the door to the tropical room hasn't opened as your cardigan starts to feel a little stuffy. No matter where you look in the room, you can’t find any source of excess heat. A puff of breath breaches your lips, you’re growing uncomfortable now, the heat only seems to rise and rise. With great unnecessary difficulty, you wrestle yourself free of your cardigan, throwing the wretched thing on the ground beside you with a grunt. Neville gives you a confused look, but not yet seeing anything obviously wrong with you, returns to his measurements. There is relief from the warmth that was engulfing you, but only for ten minutes at most, as soon you are sweltering once more. An awful voice at the back of your head tries to convince you to throw off all of your clothes, but you keep it together, merely squirming in your seat, rubbing your thighs together to try and quell the growing ache in your belly that your mind isn’t quite registering yet. In a last-ditch effort, you sip some water from your lukewarm water bottle, the relief it provides is even shorter than before. Your head whips around now, searching fruitlessly once more for the source of this despicable heat, but finds nothing. Neville is unfazed beside you, still wearing his sweater and looking perfectly comfortable. The only thing you can think of is that Neville must be radiating the heat, as nothing else could explain your sudden discomfort. You reach your hand out toward him, trying to gauge if it gets warmer the closer it gets to his side. This finally catches his attention and when he looks up, he’s met with your flushed clammy face and dilated pupils.

“Whoa! Is everything alright?” he sputtered, leaning back slightly as if worried you’re contagious. This upsets you and you let out an unseemly whine.

“I’m hot,” you huff, pushing your hair back from your face to get more cool air on your skin. “Really hot,” Neville’s eyes brush over you for a moment as he considers just how hot you are, before promptly snapping himself out of it.

“You do look a little… feverish,” he agrees, reaching out and touching the back of his hand to your forehead. You lean forward into the touch, moaning softly. Your skin is burning and slightly tacky with sweat, which makes Neville frown deeply. How could you have suddenly developed such a terrible fever? He pulls his hand back, but you immediately whine and claw at his arm to pull his hand back. Too baffled to protest, he lets you pull his hand to your cheek and watches you lean against it happily. He gently runs his thumb over your cheekbone before catching himself. “Are you alright?” he enquires once more, keeping his voice soothing.

“Don’t stop touching me,” you pout, looking up at him through your lashes with a look that is wholly inappropriate for an academic premises. He swallows.

“Wha-what?” he stammers, watching as you nuzzle against his hand.

“It helps the heat… don’t stop,” you whimper, reaching out to try and pull him closer by his sweater, but not being strong or focused enough to do it. This failure pulls another whine from you. Neville’s mind reels completely and he has to look away from you to compose himself, though he keeps your cheek cradled in his palm. What was going on with you? Were you ill? His eyes find the spot where he’d found you on the floor just earlier in his attempts to avoid the sultry unexplainable look you were giving him. “I need you to touch me,” you mewl, making him shiver.

“I’m not sure that’s–” he cuts himself off when his eyes land on the plant on the counter above where you fell. Lamprocapnos libidinosus, also known as the dripping heart, a magical relative of the bleeding heart flower in the muggle world. A common ingredient in lust potions and aphrodisiacs, highly dangerous in the wrong hands due to the potent amorous effects of its spores. Neville vaguely remembers Professor Sprout's warnings that one of the PhD students was being allowed to grow it for research and to steer completely clear of it. A warning he’s sure you would have headed if you hadn’t been tumbling toward it. Even from afar, he notices a couple of burst spore pods. “Oh no…” he mumbles to himself, dropping his hand from your cheek. You immediately protest but he stops you short. “When you fell… you didn’t happen to breathe in any dust, did you?” his voice shakes slightly, this cannot be happening to you. He always thought they shouldn’t have the plant growing in this greenhouse, even if only experienced herbologists were allowed in. Accidents happened as he knew all too well, and now his vague fears had become a biting reality.

“Yeah, why?” your voice is soft and sweet as you paw at him, trying to get him to hug you, or presumably something more. Neville flushes brightly and shoots upright, making a mad dash for his textbooks, still on the workbench from when he’d been searching through his bag. You wail at his absence, feeling the heat that had reduced to a low simmer return to a full boil. “Please…” you sob at him, not even knowing why you want what you want. “Just hold me, comfort me,” The look in your eye has him breaking, and if he remembers what little he’s read about the plant, you must be rather uncomfortable right now. He returns to your side and allows you to cling to his arm, bumping your head into his shoulder like a loving cat, while he frantically searches for the information he needs to help you. After several panicked flick-throughs, he locates the page.

Lamprocapnos libidinosus; also known as the Dripping Heart or the Flower of Lust.

At the top of the page is information entirely useless to this cause, the best season to plant, how much light is needed, etcetera, but finally Neville finds what he’s looking for under the ‘uses’ section. It’s tough to focus on reading when you’re practically trying to get under his sweater with him, pushing the knit material slightly up his side, your fingertips brushing his abdomen and making him jolt. He pushes your hand away but pulls you into a hug to silence your outcries, which you’re more than happy to sink into. He’s hugged you plenty of times so he pretends this is perfectly normal as he wills his brain to digest what's in front of him on the page. It’s hard to keep this pretending up as he can hear you sniffing him and moaning deeply at the smell of his shower gel, mixed with just a hint of sweat, which in this state only fuels your arousal, acting as a pheromone, worsening your need.

He skims the section frantically. Inhalation of the spores will lead to overwhelming feelings of lust even in small doses, however, the dose may affect who this lust is directed toward. Smaller doses will only worsen lust toward people already lusted after by the infected person, while larger doses will cause these feelings of lust to latch onto whoever is around, no matter prior relationships. The infected person will pursue their object of affection at any cost, they will be unable to focus on anything but the lust that has overtaken them. These feelings of lust, if left untreated, can cause extreme discomfort in the infected person, high fevers, intense symptoms of arousal (such as fluid secretions), shivers, brain fog and other symptoms varying by person and dose. The only way to cure the infected person of these symptoms and return them to full faculties is to have them reach climax.

It seems that you have chosen him as the object of your affections. Neville looks down at you as you hug him tight, continuously trying to slip your hand beneath his jumper. Out of selfish curiosity, he heads for the plant to try and determine how large of a dose you got and whether you may have already experienced feelings of lust toward him before the effects of the plant. When he moves away, you practically sob.

“Please don’t!” you wail, diving for him and into his arms once more. For now, you seemed to be mostly content just being held in his arms, and it’s clear you find it painful when separated from him for even a moment, so Neville has to relent. He delicately lifts you, and although having you wrap your legs around his hips hadn’t been a part of his plan, he supposes it does help keep you steady. He blushes brightly as he walks over to inspect the flower. He’s never held anyone like this, so intimately. Your skirt rides up where your legs wrap around him and he has to tear his eyes away before his thoughts become too inappropriate. You like the sight as much as he does. “You’re so strong,” you purr in his ear, your voice much lower than normal. He shivers and you feel it, the knowledge you’re having some effect on him overtakes your lust-addled brain.

“Th-thank you, I’ve been exercising a lot since the war,” he mumbles, counting all the burst pods on the plant. He counts five, but he’s not sure if that’s considered a large dose or not. Probably, but the pods do look rather small.

“Mmm, it’s so hot…” you purr, trying to wriggle against him. Neville’s face turns red and he practically drops you, but holds you steady so you don’t fall once more once your feet touch the ground.

“Don’t say stuff like that!” he yelps.

“It’s true,” you pout. “I need you,” you try to hop up into his arms again but he holds you firmly on the ground, practically shaking. Really, this should’ve been a dream come true for him, he’d had feelings for you practically since the day the two of you met, but he felt disgusted with himself for every wave of excitement that passed over him. You were burning up, your cheeks brightly flushed, a deep ache at the pit of your belly and an ever-growing wetness in your underwear. All you could think about was how it might feel to have Neville soothing the fire inside you with deep strong thrusts, you moan aloud, if you focus enough you can almost feel it. “I bet you’re big, I bet you’d fill me up so well,” you murmur, looking up at him seductively.

“I- Merlin…” Now Neville feels overheated, he tries to push you away a little but you aren’t letting him. The image of filling you up won’t leave his head no matter how much he commands it to. It doesn’t help that you’re now trying your best to reach his jaw to kiss it.

“Please…” you beg once more. “I need it so badly…” his resistance crumbles for a moment and his hands drop from your sides, allowing you to rush forward and attach your lips to his jaw. His eyes slip shut and he whimpers as you hold him close and lavish his neck and jaw with attention. His arms wrap around you, hands gently skimming your back as you continue to pepper him with kisses. “Please,” you whisper against his skin, your hand dropping to the buckle of his belt. The feeling of you tugging at his belt makes his eyes shoot open. He realises in a sudden flood of shame what he’s allowed you to do. You’ll hate him for this once you’re back to normal. He grabs your shoulders harshly and pushes you away. You squeak as he sits you on one of the stools, your eyes filling with tears at the rejection. You’d been so close to what you needed, and now with this newfound distance from him, you were in pain once more, a horrible throb in your stomach.

“Listen to me,” he breathes shakily. “We can’t do this, you’ll regret it as soon as it’s over,”

“No, I–”

“You’re not in your right mind, you don’t know what you actually want,” he asserts again, reminding himself more than anything. He takes a deep breath and thinks. The only way to cure you according to the textbook was for you to reach climax. In colloquial stories about the plant, he’d always heard that orgasm would have to be reached with the help of another person, but the book didn’t stipulate this, maybe this was the answer. You could do it alone. His cheeks were flushed bright red as he opened his mouth once more. “What you need to do is… er… I’m going to take you into the cloakroom, alright?” he swallows, cautiously pulling you up from the stool onto your feet. You would need to sit somewhere to do this presumably and sitting on the stool or the workbench in here could lead to falling and disaster all over again. The best place he could think of was the bench in the cloakroom where people could sit to remove their shoes. You would have the wall to lean against and wouldn’t be sitting on the cold stone floor. Beneath you, he lays out a towel and then helps you to sit down on top of it. The towel was intended to make you more comfortable, but he considers with a blush that it might be necessary for other reasons also. He clears his throat. “Now, you have to… er… get yourself… uhm…” he can’t seem to make himself say the words. With a soft tug at his sleeve, you pull him to kneel between your legs, your faces nearly level given how much height he has on you.

Before he can stop you, you kiss him. His brain stops functioning for a moment, all he can do is wrap his arms around you and kiss back, so intoxicated by the way your lips move against his. He didn’t have much experience with kissing, but there was no doubt this was the best kiss of his life. You moan against his mouth and it sets all his nerve-endings alight, making him push even closer to you in desperation. For you, the kiss is a sweet relief, cool water washing over your overheated body, but even so, you need more. There’s an incessant throbbing between your legs, a horrible feeling of emptiness that you know only Neville could fill. Trying to urge him on, you brush your tongue against his lips, hoping for entry. You’re allowed in for one tantalising moment before he pulls away with a start when your tongues graze against each other. The whine that rips from your throat is downright pathetic, but you don’t have the faculties to care at that moment. You look at him through your lashes, watching as he fights to regain his composure, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Never in his life has he felt as weak as in this moment, rendered so malleable by his desire for you. The two of you are friends. How will you react when you come back to normal and discover he let you kiss him in this state? That he’s allowed his selfishness to get in the way of what’s right? He jumps to his feet, ignoring your cries and protests as much as it pains him to do so.

“Look, the textbook says that the only way to cure you of this is… a uh… a climax,” he blushes and chokes on the words slightly. “I’m going to keep watch outside that nobody comes in, all you have to do is… you know…”

“Get myself off?” you supply in a sultry voice.

“Yes, exactly,” he clears his throat, turning to leave you alone.

“Nev, please… I need your help… I don’t want to do it alone,” you plead, your voice soft and needy.

“No, you can do it alo– oh… wow,” he exhales heavily as his eyes reach you once more. In an effort to persuade him, you’d pulled up the hem of your skirt and spread your legs, revealing your thighs and your soaked panties to him. The cold air makes you shiver but doesn’t actually cool you down in the slightest. It takes a great deal of strength to keep Neville from lunging himself at you. You look positively delicious, the wetness of your panties allowing him an outline of your most intimate areas, the skin of your thighs soft and plump and enticing. If he was even a slightly feebler man, he’d already be on his knees, devouring you through the thin, damp fabric. Just imagining how you might taste has him weak in the knees. “Oh Merlin…” he breathes, feeling his erection, which has been slightly present for the last half-hour or so, straining painfully against the zip of his jeans. The needy seductive look on your face almost breaks him, he takes a step toward you, causing you to light up, before he stops himself and just stares. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, unable to help himself. He watches you squirm in response.

“Please, I need you,” you beg, unbuttoning your shirt as he observes. The garment falls to the ground, leaving you in your plain bra. Neville doesn’t seem to mind how simple the garment is in the slightest, his breath hitching as you reveal yourself.

“I really shouldn’t” he tries again, but he cannot rip his eyes from your body.

“I can’t do it alone, I feel so empty,” you whimper, spreading your legs further. “Please, fill me, I need your cock,” Neville nearly faints at those words, at the pleading way you say them, at how desired you’re making him feel. His legs carry him forward before his brain can catch up and he sits beside you on the bench. His brain finally does catch up just in time to stop you from sitting in his lap.

“Maybe I can help a little, but we can’t… I can’t uh… I can’t ‘fill’ you,” he gives in, despite knowing he probably shouldn’t. He had heard many times that another person was needed to reverse the effects of the Dripping Heart, so it was likely he did have to help, given the fact you hardly seemed satisfied with the idea of getting off alone. He could still be as much of a gentleman about it as possible. He knew the both of you had limited sexual experience, he himself was a virgin and though he wasn’t sure about you, he would guess you were in the same boat or had only had one partner before. With both of you having so little experience, he didn’t want to go all the way, as for you it would likely be regrettable. You plead with him softly, trying to climb into his lap still, despite his strong arms holding you at bay. Each plea weakens his resolve and he knows you know it because you’re babbling now.

“Please, please Nev, I need you inside me, to fuck me, I’ve never needed anything so badly, please, I know you want me too,” he deserved a medal for being able to resist you for this long, most other boys would have given in the second the girl of their dreams said something even remotely flirty, but he was somehow just barely resisting your pleas to have sex with him.

“Sit down,” he implores you, and you quickly obey, batting your lashes at him. “I’m going to help you, okay? But you need to stay still and just… take what I give you, don’t ask for more, okay?” These words seem to excite you, you squirm and nod, eagerly allowing him to spread your legs. His shaking hand rests on your bare thigh for a moment as he takes a few composing breaths. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do, it was something he had dreamed of incessantly, but now it felt like it could ruin his life if he wasn’t careful. You tug softly at his arm, trying to get his hand where you want it, bucking against the air.

“Please…” you sob, clenching around nothing as you look at his large hand against your thigh. He shushes you gently.

“I’m about to, just give me a second,” he stammers, trying to sort through his brain for any information he has on how to do this. He averts his eyes, figuring you wouldn’t have wanted him to see you so intimately, even if the damp fabric of your panties had already given him a pretty good look. Slowly, he places his hand on the apex of your thigh, shivering at the damp warmth he can feel radiating from your core. You mewl. Despite the pain in his neck from the position, he keeps his eyes locked on the wall behind you, pointedly ignoring how arousing the sounds you made were. Gathering his courage, he carefully slips the tips of his fingers past the fabric of your underwear and groans aloud at how wet you are. Your nectar gathers on his fingers and for a moment he just gently swipes them up and down to gather as much as possible, hearing your desperate moans as you lean your head on his shoulder. He never knew a woman could be this wet, and sure perhaps the flower was exacerbating it, but the thought still had him unendingly aroused. The angle wasn’t quite right, so he removed his hand, whining in unison with you at the separation. Your essence dripping down his fingers was like a siren song, trying to lure him to lick his fingers clean and finally get a taste of you. How could he ever explain that to you later? To his infinite regret, he doesn’t bring them to his mouth, sliding his hand into your panties once more, now from the top. This angle works a lot better, your hips immediately buck as his fingers slide over your clit.

“There, please, right there,” you beg, and he’s glad for the advice. A little unsure but determined (no point backing out now, at least he might be able to cure you), he relocates the spot that makes you shiver and whine. Your reaction tells you exactly when he’s found the little bundle of nerves once more and he takes a deep breath, before gently beginning to circle his fingers around it. It’s something he remembers hearing in the common room, and it seems it was good advice as soon you’re panting in his ear like a dog in heat, mewling his name softly. He can’t believe the noises you’re making, the sinful way you’re saying his name, it’s like perfect torture, it takes a lot out of him not to look. “Yes, fuck… Nev…” you whine, feeling the syrupy pleasure coursing through your body. “Yes, yes! More!”

“More?” he croaks, unsure what you mean by that. As a guess, he tries circling faster, and though you definitely seem to like it, your hips canting up into his touch, he can feel you shaking your head against his shoulder.

“Need you inside,” you cry, making his cock twitch in his jeans.

“We- we can’t do- that,” he stutters, although he’s never wanted to more in his life. He wholeheartedly agrees with your pained sob in response, but he knows it’s for the best. “How about… er… my fingers? Inside?” he gulps, flustered that he’s even in a situation where he can ask such a thing.

“O-okay,” you whimper. Neville fumbles around for a moment, trying to figure out where to put his fingers. It would be much easier if he could see what he was doing, but he’s already decided he shouldn’t. The fact that he touched you will no doubt be mortifying enough once you’re back to normal. With a little guidance from you, he very slowly and cautiously presses two fingers into you, making you gasp in pleasure. You’re wet and warm and tight around his fingers and he practically drools imagining how you might feel around his cock, almost cumming on the spot just thinking about it. Merlin, he was such a pathetic virgin, maybe he should be taking the chance and losing his virginity now, but it just doesn’t feel right when he doesn’t know how you’ll feel about it afterwards. He presses his forehead to the cool wall to calm himself down and prevent him from looking at how you took his fingers in, withdrawing them just slightly and then pressing them back in. The sound that comes from you makes Neville’s heart skip, so lewd and sinful and full of ecstasy. He wants desperately to kiss you, but he knows he shouldn’t.

At your renewed pleading, he starts up a steady pace, thrusting his fingers in and out the way he wished he could with his cock, feeling filthy for even thinking it. The wet sound that each thrust made, accompanied by your wanton moans makes him feel like he’s the one who has been infected by the flower, so crazed with desire. Could there have been some pollen on you that he inhaled when he helped you up? It didn’t seem impossible, but he was also a young man, they weren’t exactly notorious for being level-headed when it came to sex. You lean heavily against him, gasping against his shoulder at each press of his fingers, the coil in your belly twisting tighter than it ever had before. You mumble incoherent pleas and he simply shushes you, not trusting himself not to give in to you if you keep talking.

“Thumb,” you breathe between vulgar moans and though it takes his sluggish brain a moment, he realises what you want. He presses his fingers deeper, fumbling a moment before his thumb grazes your sensitive bud, making you sob in pleasure. His large deft hand pleasures you like it was made for it, all you can think of is the bliss he’s giving you as he hits all the right spots over and over. Your hand flies up, nails digging into his arm as you realise you’re dangerously close to exploding, despite the bite of your nails, he doesn’t let up his pace, too addicted to the sound of your moans to slow down now. “Nev… I’m–” you cut yourself off with a shout, pleasure shooting through your body like you were struck by lighting. Your muscles tense and tremble, your eyes rolling back in your skull, walls contracting around his fingers hard. The pleasure goes through you in strong waves, drowning you in it, not allowing you respite from shivers and moans for even a second as it wracks through you. You’d never felt anything so intense and all-consuming before. Neville feels your essence gush onto his fingers and though he should be relieved it’s over, he finds himself disappointed that he has to stop doing this, hearing those bewitching sounds. Gently, he removes his hand from you and guides your skirt back down your thighs so he can finally look toward you again. His fingers are covered in your essence, creamy and mouth-watering, the only thing that’s able to stop him from having a taste is your hand still clinging to his arm. He waits for you to gather your breath, silently smug he was able to help, but also petrified of what happens next.

“Are you alright?” he asks delicately, shifting his erection away from your back now that you might actually register it. You open your eyes and look up at him, which immediately makes him frown. Your pupils are still almost comically dilated, your cheeks still pink and clammy, and though it could just be from the aftermath of your orgasm, he immediately knows something is still wrong.

“I feel better… but not entirely,” you whisper and Neville bites his lip. Great. He stands to wash his hands in the sink, and during that brief period of absence, he watches you become consumed by the effects of the flower again, pleading for him to come back. He splashes water on his face and takes a deep breath. You had reached climax, he may not be an expert in female orgasms but he knew what he just saw and felt, so what was wrong? Was the plant in the greenhouse genetically modified in some way? Would he have to call Professor Sprout to ask for help? How exactly could he explain that he’d already given you an orgasm and it hadn’t worked? Looking back, he should have taken you to Madam Pomfrey the second he’d realised what had happened to you, but he thought you would have found it too embarrassing. Now things would be infinitely more embarrassing for the both of you if you sought out help. Lesson learned, just because he’d survived a war it didn’t mean he could deal with anything life threw at him alone. He feels you approaching from behind and turns around, allowing you to sink into his arms. “Stay with me,” you plead, holding him close.

“Okay,” he sighs, because what else can he do now? “I’m here,” He caresses your bare back and tries to forget what he just did to you, but he can’t. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, kissing your forehead without thinking. “I’ve made a mess of things, we did all that and you’re not even cured,”

“Why won’t you fuck me?” you whimper. Your boldness doesn’t even surprise him anymore.

“Because it’s not what you really want, you’d never forgive me once things got back to normal, I was just the only person around for the pollen to latch onto,”

“But that’s what the pollen wants, maybe that’s the only way to cure it, I don’t just want an orgasm, I want you inside me,” you suggest. He’s glad you’re slightly more lucid from the relief of your climax, but you’re still not entirely yourself, your voice slow and sluggish like wading through water when trying to formulate logical thoughts. He can’t deny the way his cock, which had softened slightly, was coming back to life at your words. “Please…” you nuzzle against his chest. “I promise you, I want this even when I’m not… whatever I am right now,” you chuckle. He sighs. He doesn’t quite believe you but he’s running out of ideas of what to do, and your friendship is presumably ruined anyway. Maybe he’s making excuses for himself, but it feels more and more like there’s only one thing for it. He prays you’ll remember how much you begged and how hard he tried to be a gentleman and not hate him, even if you avoid him for the rest of your life after this. “I need you,” you whisper and he gives in.

“Forgive me for this,” he pleads, before lifting you into his arms and moving back over to the bench, sitting down and letting you straddle his lap. You smile at him softly, fluttering your lashes. At least the orgasm before made you a little calmer and more agreeable. If nothing else, if he gets you to orgasm again, you might be even closer to normal. He pulls you to his chest taking a moment to embrace you for what he worries may be the last time. You nuzzle into him eagerly. “I’m a virgin, you know?” he mumbles into your shoulder, not knowing why he feels the need to say it. Those words seem to embolden you, you paw at his chest.

“I promise it’ll be good, please…” you purr. He wonders how you might have reacted if you were your regular self. Would you have found it sweet? Would you have pitied him? You probably knew, everyone knew, but you never mentioned it to him. He allows you to pull off his sweater, lifting his arms and watching you discard it across the room. When you lean in to kiss him, he doesn’t even pretend to put up a fight, holding the back of your neck and kissing you back, pouring all his unspoken feelings into it. He tries to keep it slow and gentle, but you’re far too eager, and the heat starts mounting fast. He pushes away all his doubts, telling himself he can enjoy this, or else it would be even more of a waste. The t-shirt that was under his sweater is next to go, as he pulls away to allow you to rid him of it, he studies your face, still flushed and feverish, but so beautiful, full of lust. His hands fall, one to your waist and the other to your cheek, pulling you back in, pressing his lips to yours and sliding his tongue between them. You moan against his mouth, whimpering a soft sound, a thank you or a plea for more, it’s unclear. He groans back in agreement with whatever it was you intended to say. Your tongues languidly swirl together, caressing one another affectionately. Feeling your warm hands on his bare chest makes him shiver, feeling as you explore the newfound definition of his abdomen, only light, but still a change. In turn, he presses a few kisses to your chest, shakily reaching up to rid you of your bra. It falls away and his cock twitches at the sight of your bare breasts, his breath hitching. He could have never hoped he could see you like this, could have never hoped for any of this, and yet here you were, whining and guiding his hands under your skirt. He runs his hands up and down your thighs as he kisses and sucks at the supple skin of your breasts, giving himself some time to enjoy this despite your hurry. Under different circumstances, he would have liked to have left a mark and asked you to give him one in return, but he knew this was crossing a line as if a million lines hadn’t already been crossed today. At this thought he changes his mind and sucks a tiny mark into the centre of your chest that he’s sure will fade in a few hours, staring at the light pink mark a little wistfully. “Need you inside…” you whine, despite enjoying his affection. There’d be time for that later, but right now it felt completely imperative for him to be inside of you, fearing you might explode if he didn’t give you what you wanted.

“Alright, I get it,” he sighs, placing a few more lingering kisses on the swell of your breasts. Your hands find his belt buckle and without him stopping you this time, they make quick work of it. There’s an awkward shuffle as he helps you lower his jeans around his ankles, but once you’ve settled back in his lap, you take in the sight before you. He looks big even through his boxers, just like you predicted, thick and slightly longer than average. Just the thought of him inside you makes you moan and claw off your skirt with no regard for whether it survives the encounter. Neville’s overheated back presses against the cool wall as he leans back to watch you. He doesn’t bother feeling insecure, as you look like you’ve struck gold as you drool over his length, he supposes in this state you would have been happy with anything. His hands slide up and down your sides, being gentle, taking in the sight of your body, so perfect. He wishes in the back of his mind that this won’t be the last time he sees it, but hope feels too dangerous given the circumstances. He helps you slide your panties down, groaning softly as he spots a string of arousal fluid connecting you and the fabric for a while. You want him so badly. His boxers soon follow and he hisses loudly as your hand wraps around his length. “Oh Merlin…” he whimpers, bucking his hips into your hand. “Fuck, I need you,” he parrots. The ghost of a smile crosses your face as you recognise the words as your own.

“You have me,” you whisper, shifting your hips so you’re above his cock, holding him steady as he twitches. Deep brown hooded eyes stare into yours, he can’t believe his luck. Unable to wait any longer, you sink down onto him. Neville’s eyes squeeze shut in pleasure and he grabs your hips to slow you. You feel perfect around him, warm and silky and inviting, engulfing his whole being in sickly-sweet pleasure. He pulls you close, embracing you as you moan in his ear. Slowly, he lowers you down the rest of the way until your hips are flush with his. For a moment, he simply hugs you and kisses your neck.

“Feels so good,” he pants in your ear. “So good,”

“You fill me perfectly,” you whine, squirming in his lap for friction. “So big…”

“Yeah?” he coughs, trying to sound smooth but failing, causing him to chuckle nervously. “I won’t last, I’m sorry,” he rubs his hands up and down your spine. “I wish this could last forever,” He lets go of you and leans back against the wall, his hands settling on your hips, taking a moment to admire the sight of you on top of him, him inside you. You feel him twitch within you. “Take what you want, love,” he encourages you to move. There’s no point in him trying to remain in control, all he cares about is that you reach climax, he’s bound to anyway. The nickname makes you even needier somehow, the way his voice is deep with desire. Your hands find his shoulders for purchase, eyes meeting for a moment. You’re both flushed and blissful and the look in his dark eyes shoots a jolt through you. He’s always been attractive, but to see him like this, vulnerable, needy, chest-heaving, it was something else. On his advice, you begin lifting yourself up and lowering yourself down onto his cock, moaning unabashedly with each motion. He stretches you open in the most delicious way, exactly how you’d been picturing all day, or for several years really, perfectly endowed. He relaxes and closes his eyes, groaning and whimpering as you move. Every rock of your hips stokes the flames in the both of you, sending you both toward a common end faster than you regularly might.

“Thank you,” you purr between moans. “I’ve needed this so bad,”

“I know,” he chokes out with a tired smile. “I’ve needed it too,” he gently massages the fat of your rear as you ride him, watching in bliss as he disappears inside of you over and over. Your moans rise to a fever pitch, your pace faltering slightly as your climax approaches.

“Yes! Yes!” you practically scream, all your senses heightened as you slam your hips down against him. His face scrunches up in pleasure.

“I’m going to– Ahh!” he grunts, body trembling as he releases thick ropes inside of you, whining with the aftershocks as you continue using him to chase your high. It’s so close, you can’t give up now. Neville’s hands weave into your hair, pulling your face down to his to kiss you. Your tongues meet messily as you struggle to focus on the kiss, preoccupied with your orgasm that is on the tip of your tongue. Heat pools strongly in your abdomen, and you feel the familiar ecstasy of the coil snapping in your belly. Your movement immediately ceases, walls spasming around his length as you moan loudly into his mouth, grabbing him and holding him as close as possible. Your vision whites and your brain goes blank, your whole body twitching violently. He tries his best to soothe you through it, but the pleasure isn’t allowing a single thought to form in your mind for several moments. Finally, your muscles relax and you collapse against him heavily, chest heaving with effort, skin slick with sweat. You vaguely register him removing himself from you and wiping you with a towel, but the corners of your mind are fuzzy and you just cuddle closer to him. You sit in silence for a long while and you nearly fall asleep against his shoulder when he speaks up. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” you hum. He tilts your chin up towards him.

“Open your eyes, love,” he implores softly, to which you flutter them open. He sighs a great sigh of relief, seeing your pupils shrink as they react to the light, dilated now a regular amount, and the flush on your cheeks is much less than before. “Do you still need me?” he asks.

“Don’t go,” you panic, holding him closer, but then you realise what he means. “Oh… no, all I want is to maybe have a nap,”

“Thank Merlin, I couldn’t have gone for another round,” he jokes stiltedly. You giggle, cuddling closer once more. “You don’t hate me then?” he mumbles, as if worried he will have reminded you to hate him, gently pushing some hair from your face.

“No, you… saved me,” you shrug.

“Saved seems dramatic,”

“Well, who knows what would have happened to me if you’d just run away and left me alone? You didn’t have to do what you did, but you did it for me,” you lean up to kiss his cheek. “You gave yourself to me completely, just to save me from discomfort,”

“Trust me, it was my pleasure,” he laughs nervously and you gently swat his chest. “I’d do anything for you,” he whispers, kissing your forehead with a barely contained tenderness.

“Yeah, you’ve proved that,” you grin, kissing his cheek again. “And I for you,”

“You’d have had sex with me if I’d been the one to bump into the plant?” he prompts, sliding his hand up your bare side affectionately.

“Of course, I’d have done it way sooner too, not wasted time being a ‘gentleman’,” you tease. “Thank you for that though, it was sweet of you, even if it was unnecessary because I don’t regret it one bit,” you promise him, kissing his lips tenderly. He embraces you tighter for a moment and then loosens his grip.

“We should probably leave, I bet it's past teaching hours now,” he sighs before helping you up and to dress. Your panties are well and truly ruined, so you’re forced to go commando under your skirt. Neville wraps his sweater around your hips to help prevent it from flipping up as you walk through the grounds back to the dorms. He finds it difficult to dress himself as you keep eagerly kissing him, but finally get himself presentable, only to be pulled into another kiss. It’s not desperate or lustful like before, more playful and excited, and he’s happy to accept them. “I take it you like me,” he chuckles as you hug him tight, his arms around you in return.

“Loads,” you sigh into his t-shirt.

“I do too,”

“My room? I promise we can just cuddle and sleep,” you suggest, smiling up at him.

“Hey, give me a few hours, I might be raring to go again,” he jokes.

“Well then definitely my room so I can help you out, I owe you one, don’t I?” you giggle and wink. He blushes slightly and shakes his head.

“That plant has made a monster, come on,” he takes your hand in his. “Let’s go before someone notices and starts asking questions,” he opens the door into the greenhouse, accio-ing both of your bags over, as well as the open textbook from the workbench. “Stupid inaccurate thing,” he grumbles, stuffing it in his bag. You merely giggle at his frustration. As you turn to leave, you’re met with a gleam of magic, the door to the outside of the greenhouse rematerialising. The two of you exchange a look, neither of you had realised the door was even missing amidst the whole debacle, but it must have been, or else it couldn’t have reappeared. Hogwarts had forced the two of you together, it was likely your fall hadn’t even been organic in the first place. You knew you weren’t usually so uncoordinated.

“Huh,” Neville blinks, checking that the door now works, wondering when exactly it disappeared and how he had missed it. You scoff and shake your head in disbelief before the both of you laugh earnestly.

“Hogwarts is a total perv,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

hey you! want to get tagged in my work when it comes out? click here! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

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always-just-red · 1 month ago

Note

hii! i have a request!

the mc/reader has a pet cat and adores cats so rafayel will have to accept that his beloved bride has a furry little companion bc them and the cat are a 2 for 1 deal and the cat is basically their baby and there’ll alway probably be a cat in the home forever

ty!! adore ur writing!

Aww thank you anon!! As a devoted cat-person, I'm THRILLED to finally be sharing my vision of cat-dad Raf. 🙂‍↕️ This fic felt so personal in the end, I swear I can't write Raf without it accidentally becoming this window into all the intimacy I want but don't have 😭 Anyway!!! Dedicating this to my babies, Floof and Velcro!

Cat-Sitting

Rafayel x Reader 🎨

Summary: Was it really a good idea to leave Rafayel and your cat unsupervised?

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, established relationship

| Word count: 2.5k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Captain Jenna indicates the large, glass monitor behind her— a finger dragging across it, zooming in on a smaller section of the virtual map. “There’s been an insurgence of Wanderer activity here, and—” another swipe of her finger— “here, so we’ll be increasing patrols in these districts. While public safety remains the priority, we should be investigating any unusual fluctuations of…”

You’re so, so tired. Your chin is resting on your hand and your leader’s briefing is starting to sound like a bedtime story. Sat beside you, Xavier is looking similarly uninspired. The blue of his eyes is glazing over. His eyelids are drooping. When he blinks, it’s slow and unfocused.

Your phone buzzes and it feels like you’ve been doused in cold water; your heart jumps. Glancing around, thankfully no-one but Xavier noticed. His gaze flits over to you with lazy interest as you reach into your pocket, checking your phone under the table. It’s a text from Rafayel: your cat is broken??

You frown, ever so slightly. Before your mind has any time to run away with that ominous message, another notification comes through:

[Silly fish <3 has sent an image]

With one more furtive check that no-one’s watching, you tap at the screen, opening up your messages. You squint down at the photo. It’s your cat, perched on the arm of your sofa. She looks perfectly content, and decidedly unbroken.

Rafayel texts: it had legs before, right?

Again: where

And again: where are they???

You have to consciously hold back your smile. Your cat’s legs are tucked away underneath her; you can’t see them in the photo. ‘Loaf’, you surreptitiously text back.

Rafayel responds: ???????????

You close your phone as more messages come through. You don’t have to read them to know it’s the same emoji, over and over: artsy birb, lying in a puddle of tears. You’ve silenced your phone so it no longer buzzes. Jenna is drawing patrol routes on her map. Xavier leans over to you, whispering: “How’s the first-time cat-sitter?”

Without saying a word, you move your phone under the table so he can sneak a peek at it. There are now twenty-three unread messages. Twenty-four. Twenty-five.

Xavier chuckles under his breath, and this time, you can’t help but smile. Jenna turns, locking both of you in a steely-grey stare. Xavier gives her a grin, and you give her a double thumbs-up. With a sigh, she goes back to her presentation.

…

“So I said, ‘what am I supposed to do? Not kill the Wanderer? Y’know, the Wanderer tearing its way through a street full of people— just because it’s a tiiiiny bit different than normal?’ And get this! He says, ‘yes.’ He says, ‘you should have taken some time to study it, brought me data and samples.’ Can you believe that?”

You laugh quietly as you finish up typing your latest report. You can believe that, actually. If a Wanderer broke in through the window of this building right here, right now, you’re pretty sure Nero would be sat with a clipboard, taking notes. “C’mon, what did you expect?”

“Uh… some empathy, maybe?” your colleague frowns.

“Yeah, that’ll be the day.” Your phone rings in your pocket, and you whip it out with business-like efficiency. You’re on autopilot. “Hello?” you ask, opening up the next set of gloriously exciting blank text boxes on your screen.

“Cutie!”

It’s basically a yell. You narrow your eyes at your monitor, inputting your name, your badge number. “Raf,” you return apathetically. “What’s up?”

“Code red. Code red!”

“Mmhmm?” You don’t know what that means.

“You have to come home. Right now. It’s an emergency!”

“Is it, though?” Your keyboard clacks, only stopping when you have to check today’s date before filling it out on your form.

“Are you even listening? I said code red. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“Yup! Gold star for Rafayel.”

“Seriously?! I’m trying to tell you that your precious little angel’s in trouble.”

Was that supposed to be your voice? You don’t sound like that. “I’m sorry you’re in trouble, Raf.”

“No!” he squeaks. “Not me! The— oh for the love of the ocean, the lobsters, the sharks and the crabs— can you just get here? Please?!”

For the love of all of those things, hmm? You chuckle. “Okay, okay. I’m on my way. Hang in there. Okay, angel? Little angel fishie. Ooh! Angelfish!”

There’s silence from the other end. “…You done?”

You hit enter on your keyboard. “Please, we both know you’re blushing right now.”

…

You stand at the door of your apartment— home early from work, courtesy of the old ‘family emergency!’ card. It’s sort of nice, honestly; you can’t remember the last time you got to play it. Family emergency… You think of you and Rafayel, your little cat, and Reddie. There’s a warm feeling in your heart as you open the door.

That feeling is gone when Rafayel snatches you by your arm.

“Quick,” he says, dragging you towards the lounge, “quick, quick, quick!”

No ‘welcome home’ kiss means something’s wrong. Actually wrong. Your bag tumbles from your shoulder; you have to skirt around the coffee table to keep from crashing into it. “Whoa,” you mumble, “Raf, slow down. What happened? Tell me what happened.”

“Look!”

At last, your arm is released. Your heart is in your throat as you do look, and—

You’ve got to be kidding.

Your cat has moved from the arm of the couch, but she didn’t make it far. She’s snuggled up like an adorable croissant— one paw over her face. You realise, fairly quickly, that the ‘emergency’ lies in what she’s found a nest in: a crumpled heap with a criss-cross pattern. Cream, navy, and red wool, all squished up beneath her. It’s Rafayel’s cardigan.

“Aww!” you coo.

“Aww?” Rafayel echoes. “That’s all you have to say— aww?”

You’re not listening. You crouch down beside the couch, leaning in close. “Hi baby,” you coo again, tickling at your cat’s paw gently. She lifts it, one eye half-opening. You smile, and the eye widens more— filling with your reflection. “Has the big, bad fishie been bullying you today?”

She makes a tiny chirp as she stretches her front legs.

“That’s a lie!” Rafayel snaps.

“Oh no!” you sympathise— pointedly not with the man behind you. “What did he do, huh? This is a safe space. You can tell me.”

Both of your cat’s eyes are open now, still heavy with sleep. She speaks back to you: matching your tone with a soft-spoken meow.

“I see,” you tut, nodding. “And then what?”

She meows again. You gasp.

Suddenly, Rafayel is on his knees beside you, jabbing a finger towards her face. “You traitor! We had a deal.”

Your cat stares at the finger. Yawns— briefly an eldritch horror: all sharp, shining teeth— before curling a paw over it. Rafayel goes still. His eyes shine with the quiet panic you see when you brush a hair away from his forehead, or sweep a tear from his cheek with your thumb. It’s so soft; he doesn’t know what to do with it. You smile knowingly. He sees you and clears his throat, his hand slinking back.

“Okay,” he mutters to himself, “I have an idea. Lemme just…”

He pinches an edge of the cardigan. “What’re you doing?” you ask.

“You ever seen that magic trick? With the tablecloth? I’ve just gotta…”

“No!”

He’s biting back a grin as he adds: “But if I’m fast enough—”

“No, Raf!” you giggle as you intercept him. He laughs in a small, genuine way too, his hands shooting back to the cardigan every time you manage to wrestle them off of it. You have to pry at his fingers. Catch them before he sends your cat on an unscheduled flight across your apartment.

Inches away, she watches your scrabbling hands, completely unperturbed. When Rafayel gives up— his fingers relaxing in their tangle with yours, his laughter dwindling— she blinks drowsily.

Time feels slower, and somehow forgiving. You lay your head down on the sofa. “Do you really want your cardigan back?” you murmur, because your cat is asleep again.

Rafayel slumps, mirroring you as he pulls your hand close to his lips. “Nah.” His voice is like warm, orange light, and he kisses the tip of your forefinger. “It’s okay. What’s mine is yours, cutie. And what’s yours is—” he falters, looking towards the bundle of fur beside you.

You hum appreciatively, letting him plant one, two more kisses before you pull your hand away. “Wait here,” you breathe, pushing yourself back up onto your feet.

One expedition to the kitchen later, you return with a small bag of treats. You find your previous seat on the floor, then reach into the bag— pulling out a small, fish-shaped biscuit. “Look,” you chuckle, wiggling it through the air like it’s swimming, “it’s you.”

“Ha, ha.” Rafayel rolls his eyes, cheek still squished against the couch.

He needs more convincing, so you make the fish swim in his direction, stopping just short of his nose. It floats patiently before him, persisting even when his face wrinkles. You wiggle it one way. Then the other. This earns you another eyeroll, but he does at least smile.

You flick the fish over to your cat. She’s awake in an instant, mouth snatching it up: teeth splintering it with a crack. You swear you see the colour leave Rafayel’s face. You hand him the bag of treats, and with a pout, he starts to set up a trail of them: leading across the sofa. There’s a mournful sigh for each he lays down. Even the odd, whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Give it a rest, will you?” you huff. “I watched you eat an entire seafood platter last night.”

He narrows his eyes at you, holding your gaze as he puts the next treat down deliberately slowly. Behind him, your cat has stood, stretched, and is now pottering along, crunching away without a care in the world. Rafayel reaches for his cardigan, giving it a shake before threading his arms through the sleeves.

When the crunching stops, he turns— another treat caught between two of his fingers. Your cat takes it carefully, delicately, and she chirps as those same fingers tickle the top of her head. A contented purr underscores the moment. Rafayel smiles as he plays with her ears.

Then he catches you watching him, your eyebrow raised. “What?” he asks self-consciously.

You scoff. “Code red my ass.”

…

Rafayel doesn’t really know when you fell asleep.

Your head is on his shoulder, and his pencil moves mindfully slowly: a quiet scratch, scratch as it waltzes over his sketchbook. The room has gone dark. Tangerine light has stopped spilling from the windows, and he can’t reach any light switch, so he settles for the bleedings of the TV. Cool blues. Pale greens. The space around him flickers, and there are voices, too: broadcasters, droning on.

He hears it, even though he’s trying not to. “Another Wanderer attack”, they report. “Indicative of a recent, worrying insurgence of incidents.” Updated statistics. Civilian casualties. Hunter casualties.

Rafayel’s pencil has stopped. After a moment, he sighs— pressing a kiss to the top of your head you don’t feel, and will never know the weight of. He forces himself to look back down. Draw the shapes and the lines of the things that distract him from that feeling in his chest.

Someone is watching him.

His gaze wanders up, finding eyes across the room. Your cat is studying him from afar, sat with her tail curled neatly around her paws. He pokes his tongue out at her. She chirps back. He returns to his sketches, and half a minute later, she lands on the arm of the couch beside him, having pounced gracefully up. She doesn’t deserve any more of his attention. His pencil moves up and down, up and down, and she’s transfixed by the end of it. She lifts a paw, and—

“Nuh uh,” Rafayel warns, his eyes still on the page.

The paw waits. Rafayel chuckles. He raises the pencil, waggling it in the air between them, and her pupils go wide as she bats at it. With one sweep, she brings it closer to her mouth— bites down. Crunch.

Rafayel tuts: “Monster.”

Thankfully, she’s soon bored by the game. She sits, watching him expectantly, like he must have another one lined up for her. He doesn’t, so he turns his sketchbook towards her instead.

“What d’you think, little co-conspirator?”

The page is full of sketches, mostly of you. There’s one of you sat at your kitchen island, sipping some tea and looking like you wished you were back in bed; your hair was a mess. There’s also Reddie: soft, flowy lines and shimmering, monochrome scales. In one corner, your cat is sleeping with her legs tucked underneath her. ‘Loaf’ he’s written next to it, with a crude, tiny sketch of some bread.

Your cat isn’t looking; she’s staring past the page, at the real you. With a half-formed meow, she leaps onto his legs, making a beeline for yours. “Nope!” he says, blocking her path with the sketchbook. “Sorry, kitty, but our brave hunter needs to rest.”

She tries to get past him, but for her every movement, his sketchbook moves too: always one step ahead. With another, more indignant meow, she starts to tread circles on his lap. Then she kneads at his leg, claws sinking in. “Monster,” he whispers again, drawing air through his teeth. “Relax, will you? Jeez.”

His thighs are still being treated like pincushions, so he lifts her gently, his other hand reaching behind him. He knows what she wants. His cardigan is draped over the back of the sofa, and he drags it onto his lap—straightening it out as he grumbles, “this is extortion, you know.”

The cat is lowered back down, and she curls up in the wool of his cardigan, like that had always been the plan. A purr begins to rumble, deepening as Rafayel pets at her head, running fingers— aching from sketching— through the warmth of her fur. Her eyes are sleepy. Rafayel yawns, his head drooping to rest against yours.

His fingers move mindlessly, enjoying the softness while the television talks of tragedy, and he doesn’t notice.

#🖋rach is actually writing #rafayel x reader #rafayel #love and deepspace #lads rafayel #lnds rafayel #l&ds rafayel #qi yu #rafayel x mc #rafayel x you #lads x reader #lads #lnds #l&ds

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yanderenightmare · 1 year ago

Text

Gojo Satoru

TW: NSFW, noncon, yandere, stalking, death of nameless character

gn reader

Thinking about Gojo bumping into you on his way to buy sweets and getting mortified when sensing how you pass through his infinity like it isn’t even there – touching him hands-first like it’s only normal.

And the way you look at him, all spluttering apologies – without a single clue – how you quickly walk away like it was no bigger deal than mildly embarrassing.

And he’s left there, stunned and stuck to the ground he stood on, suddenly feeling stripped naked.

He had to follow you – naturally. Can’t let the biggest threat to his life just walk around unsupervised. Obviously, he has to keep tabs on you now – every single day – your constant whereabouts, where you work and study and loiter and live, and who you communicate with.

It’s all platonic at first – nothing romantic. He’s stalking you, but it’s for safety reasons. There’s no telling who’d potentially find out about your dormant technique and use it against him.

But keeping his six eyes on you every hour he could spare all day and night of every week, eventually, he can't stop himself from starting to see you as something more than just a threat…

He's not blind to it either – he feels the change in the pit of his stomach – in his heart – in his balls even.

He blushes when you take your clothes off to go shower – needs to swallow thickly, watching you walk about your apartment dressed only in undies and a comfy T – smiles when seeing you dance around to music he can’t hear from where he’s perched on the rooftop on the neighboring building – tugs on his cock to the sight of you touching yourself, trying to time his climax to yours.

He’s not watching you for the right reasons anymore… he knows that, but he just can’t seem to stop.

You’re so normal, he’s obsessed with you. So addictive in your mundane routines. Messy notes, chewing your pen when scrambling for an exam – making another easy-fix dinner – picking up the same hoodie from the floor before throwing yourself out the door to go work your minimum wage job – coming home late only to collapse on the sofa with a random episode of some dumb sitcom playing on the TV.

He wants to be your boyfriend – imagines himself going to your school and sitting next to you in the lecture hall, studying together at cafes, watching movies in bed, wearing his varsity jacket, squeezing your ass as you ride him in someone else's bedroom at a party that got way out of hand, cumming on your face and apologizing for it when you give him head on his birthday.

He’s teetering on thirty and has killed more than he can count – both curses and humans – and here he is – fantasizing about having a college sweetheart who doesn’t even know his name…

It would be healthy for him to stop – he knows that, knows it’s becoming dangerous – but he thinks it might be too late now – all he does is try and get closer…

He thinks about enrolling in one of your classes, thinks about moving into your apartment complex, and then he thinks about taking you.

He’s watching you have a nightcap with a boy he thinks he recognizes from your class – you’re both drunk and it’s obvious where things are going...

There’s a devil and an angel sitting on his shoulders, whispering in his ear – but he can't tell which one’s which anymore. One is telling him to leave – to allow you some privacy... but the other tells him to barge in – to crash through the window and rip the guy’s head off by the scruff of his chin.

There’d be blood on his hands, but at least he’d finally be able to touch you…

He glues his hands together – tries thinking clearly – but closing his eyes only results in seeing you gasping and moaning while getting fucked by someone else and it makes him feel like he’s about to lose his shit.

He performs the rituals with his fingers without even noticing – making the hand gestures – his breathing thick before he mouths the words beneath his breath. “Infinite Void…”

You don’t know what’s happening – you’re drunk and unsure if you should be dialing nine-one-one or an ambulance. The guy you’re with is having a seizure, frothing at the mouth and spasming on the floor until suddenly falling limp.

Your breathing is sharp. You think he’s dead. You throw up. The shock makes the tears stop for a brief moment before you start hyperventilating, crying harder.

You’re shaking, and it’s hard holding the phone still – let alone dial any number. Before you can, there’s a knock on the door.

You’re not thinking clearly, naked and wrapped in just a thin sheet as you rush to greet the sound. You don’t recognize the man, but for some reason, you’re spilling your guts to him anyway – rambling about the dead guy in your bedroom.

You’re panicked, and it only takes a curt minute before you’re throwing yourself at him – hugging him tightly – your hands ice-cold on his neck, skin-to-skin without any respect to his infinity – latching onto him for dear life as if you know exactly who he is and how much he loves you.

But of course, you don’t...

You’re just in shock – having just witnessed a boy die. Completely clueless as to how the man you were clinging to so desperately was going to take you back into that bedroom where that boy was lying and do to you what he was going to do before he killed him.

5K notes · View notes

monserelates · 16 days ago

Text

TANGLED ; James Potter

part lll of the series Dumb Decisions

⇨ summary: The bond starts pulling. Literally. You and James struggle to stay more than a few feet apart without the universe throwing a tantrum. The professors are watching. The Marauders are plotting. And your friends are catching on way too fast for your liking.

⇨ warnings/notes: use of y/n, reader has hair long enough to put in a bun, curse words, minor inconsistencies ?), accidental magic injury, mild angst, shared emotions, denial, mutual pining, professors whispering about it in the staff room, platonic marauders x reader shared sensations, magical tether hijinks, accidental touching, denial galore, platonic friendships, magnetic bond effects, chaotic Marauders.

⇨ a/n: hope you enjoy this chapter and I apologize in advanced oopsss

⇨ word count: 4.2k

The first thing James registered was warmth.

Not the kind of warmth you get from blankets or firewhiskey, but the kind that curled into your chest and stayed there. Something soft—hair, maybe—was tickling his jaw, and a steady rhythm of breathing matched his own.

He cracked one eye open.

And nearly went into cardiac arrest.

Y/N L/N was sprawled across his chest in the Hogwarts library, arm slung over his middle like they’d been together for years. Her legs were tangled with his, her cheek pressed right against his Quidditch jersey, and her fingers were curled slightly, like she’d fallen asleep mid-spell.

James blinked at the ceiling. Hard.

Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Don’t panic.

The memory trickled in slowly. The two of them had been studying—well, “studying” in the loosest possible sense of the word. She was trying to write an essay. He was trying to distract her. A lot of eye-rolling. Some very dramatic sighs. Then a shared yawn. Then—

Boom. Sleep.

In the restricted section.

With her on top of him like a bloody lullaby.

James knew he should move. Say something. Wake her gently. Something gallant and respectful, like "Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty."

But then she let out the tiniest sigh and nestled closer.

Nope. He was staying here forever.

Unfortunately, fate—or more specifically, Professor McGonagall—had other plans.

“Mr. Potter.”

The voice was crisp. Deadly.

James’s soul left his body.

Y/N stirred.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said again, this time from above, hands folded and expression as unreadable as a locked Gringotts vault. “Miss L/N.”

Y/N blinked herself awake, eyes unfocused, then froze as realization dawned. Slowly—horrifyingly slowly—she lifted her head from James’s chest and sat up, face turning the shade of a particularly ripe tomato.

“I—uh—we—” she stammered.

“It’s not what it looks like,” James tried.

McGonagall’s eyebrow rose to unprecedented heights.

“Oh, so the bond dragged you into a nap? In the library? With her leg wrapped around your calf like ivy on a castle wall?”

“Er,” James said eloquently.

“Let me make myself clear,” McGonagall said, voice silky in a way that promised eternal doom. “If I catch the two of you tangled in a broom cupboard, corridor alcove, or library again, I will start docking points. And no, Mr. Potter, I don’t care if the tether dragged you there.”

She paused. Then added, “I am this close to creating a ward that shocks the two of you every time you touch unsupervised.”

Y/N opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked at James like this is your fault, which—fair.

McGonagall turned on her heel, robes swishing like thunderclouds. “Detention tomorrow after class. For public entanglement.”

They sat in silence for a beat.

Then James whispered, “Public entanglement?”

Y/N shoved a book at his face. “Don’t.”

He grinned anyway.

McGonagall enters the staff room with a neutral expression and a teacup in hand. The chatter dies down as she clears her throat.

"For anyone keeping track—Miss L/N and Mr. Potter have just earned themselves detention for being found... intertwined... in the Restricted Section of the library."

A dramatic silence.

Then—

Flitwick nearly falls off his chair. Sprout lets out a scandalized gasp. Slughorn cheers. Binns wakes up.

Professor Vector immediately slaps five Galleons into Hooch’s hand.

“They made it to the Restricted Section?!” Pomona cackles. “Oh, that’s the most romantic thing I’ve heard all week.”

“Did you dock points?” asks Flitwick.

“No,” McGonagall says. “But I did threaten to.”

She sips her tea with an infuriatingly satisfied smirk.

In the corner, Dumbledore is slowly pushing a lemon drop toward the “Engagement by June” betting box.

He wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t.

James Potter, Quidditch Captain, top of his year in Transfiguration (well, tied with Remus), and alleged heartthrob of half the Hogwarts female population, did not get nervous about detention. Or girls. Or girls in detention. Especially not girls he maybe-sort-of-possibly-wanted-to-kiss again. Especially not Y/N L/N.

...Bloody hell, he was so nervous.

He reached the dungeon door, hand hovering over the handle like it might explode. A moment later, it creaked open on its own.

Y/N was already inside.

Of course she was.

She sat cross-legged on the stone floor, arms crossed, hair pulled up in that loose bun that gave him chest pains. The firelight flickered across her skin like something straight out of a poem. She’d shoved her hair behind her ear three times in the last two minutes. Each time, James had to stare at a dusty bookshelf to keep from combusting.

He could still feel the way she curled into him. Her face in his chest. His hand resting on her hip like it belonged there.

He’d barely slept since.

Because when he saw her, he didn't see the fierce, independent, surprisingly good at quidditch girl she showcased, but instead the actual Y/N. The one who defended first years when the mean seventh years started taunting them, the one who cared a little bit too much about her grades but wouldn't say anything, the one who makes sure to buy something for everyone every time she goes on a trip so no one feels left out, the one that made him fall hopelessly in love with her.

Now, she sat across from him, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her wand levitating a sponge over the floor like it offended her. Her lips were set in a tight line. Her eyes wouldn’t meet his. Her silence was worse than hexes.

He scrubbed harder.

“Could you not flood the entire corridor?” she said flatly, glancing at his over-saturated mop trail.

James huffed. “Could you not levitate your way out of actual work?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, sorry, I forgot you’re Head Boy and a certified martyr.”

He looked up, smirk sharp. “You’re one to talk, Miss I-Sleep-In-The-Restricted-Section-With-My-Soulmate.”

“Not my soulmate.”

“Yet.”

She threw her sponge at him. He dodged it, but just barely.

It splatted against a bookshelf behind him and slid dramatically to the floor.

They stared at each other.

Neither moved.

Something shifted in the space between them. The air snapped, thick and electric. Her breathing hitched. His fingers curled against the tile. The bond wasn’t tugging, not physically—but he felt it. Like gravity. Like inevitability.

“You said my name,” James murmured. “In your sleep.”

Y/N blinked. “I didn’t.”

“You did.”

She looked away. “It didn’t mean anything.”

James stood. “Then why haven’t you looked at me all day?”

She stood too fast. “Because you’re annoying, Potter.”

He took a step forward. “Because you’re scared.”

“Of what?” she snapped.

He didn’t answer. Just stared at her—wide-eyed and stunned by how beautiful she looked when she was angry. Her hair was frizzy from the humidity. Her cheeks were pink. Her lips—God, her lips.

And she was looking at him like she hated how much she wanted to kiss him.

James swallowed hard. “I’m not going to blame the bond.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I’m not doing that,” he said. “I’ve blamed it for every little thing these past few weeks—every glance, every touch, every time I wanted to crawl into your bed and just stay there. But not this. If I kiss you, it won’t be the bond. It’ll be me.”

A pause.

The candles flickered.

“Then what are you waiting for?” she whispered.

He kissed her.

And it wasn’t gentle.

It was hands-on-skin, teeth-on-lip, pressed-against-shelves desperate. Her fingers tangled in his hair. His hands gripped her waist, pulled her closer, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat. She moaned into his mouth, and he lost the thread of every thought except her.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss you came back from.

It was the kind that changed everything.

She pushed him against the shelf, breath ragged. He kissed down her jaw, her neck, and she gasped when he found the place behind her ear that made her knees buckle. He caught her. They moved like they’d always been meant to.

Like fate was done waiting.

And then—just as quickly—it ended.

They broke apart.

Panting.

Shaking.

Not looking at each other.

The silence was deafening.

James took one shaky step back. She didn’t say a word. Her lips were swollen. Her eyes glassy. His heart was pounding so loud it made his ears ring.

He cleared his throat. “Right. So that… must’ve been the bond.”

“Sure,” she said quickly. Too quickly.

James nodded. “Definitely.”

Neither believed it.

He could feel it in his chest—an ache blooming somewhere behind his ribs.

Because if it was just the bond, then maybe he could survive this.

But if it wasn’t?

If she’d kissed him back because she wanted to, not because magic made her?

Then he was already too far gone.

He sat down and picked up his sponge, pretending to focus on the floor like it held the answer to every spiraling thought in his head.

Ten minutes later, the door burst open.

“Oi!” Sirius’s voice echoed off the stone walls.

James winced, shoulders stiffening. He didn’t look up.

Footsteps approached.

“Are they… scrubbing?” Remus asked, confused.

“They’re not hexing each other?” Lily added.

Marlene popped into view. “Wait—they survived?”

Dorcas elbowed past her. “Is the Restricted Section still standing?”

James kept scrubbing. Y/N had gone statue-still beside him.

Sirius sniffed the air dramatically. “Why does it smell like regret and unresolved sexual tension in here?”

Lily elbowed him. “Shut up.”

“They’re being weird,” Peter whispered. “Even for them.”

“They’re being guilty,” Marlene muttered.

“I give it three days,” Dorcas said under her breath.

“I give it one,” Remus replied.

“Put me down for twelve hours,” Sirius grinned.

“Put me down for never,” James finally muttered.

Everyone paused.

Then laughter erupted.

Sirius looked smug. “Ooh. What did you two do?”

But before anyone could investigate further, Lily grabbed them all. “Alright, let’s go. Give them space. They look like they need it.”

“They look like they need a cold shower,” Dorcas quipped.

The group filed out, voices trailing behind them. “Oi, Remus, you owe me five Sickles—”

“Only if they stay together—”

“They’re not even together—”

“They’re definitely something—”

And then the door shut.

Silence again.

James dropped the sponge back into the bucket and sat with a heavy thud.

He didn’t look at her.

He couldn’t.

Because if she only kissed him because of the bond, then breaking it would ruin him.

But if she kissed him in spite of the bond…

Then he was already in love with her.

And that, frankly, was much worse.

The moment the door shut behind them—Sirius and Lily and all the bloody banter echoing away down the corridor—she broke.

Not out loud. Not dramatically. But quietly, like a crumpling letter. Like something precious folding in on itself, unread and discarded. She didn’t even realize she was shaking until she noticed how tightly she was gripping the edge of the desk.

The one he’d kissed her against.

She let go like it burned.

Because it did.

Everything burned. Her lips. Her chest. Her throat. That place behind her eyes where the tears kept pressing, threatening to spill but refusing to fall. She didn’t want to cry over him. Over James Potter, who had kissed her like he couldn’t breathe without her, and then blamed it on the bloody bond like it was nothing.

“Right. So that… must’ve been the bond.”

And she had nodded.

Like an idiot.

Like she didn’t feel his hands trembling when they touched her face. Like she didn’t taste the hesitation and longing on his tongue. Like he hadn’t told her just hours ago:

“If I kiss you, it won’t be the bond. It’ll be me.”

Well.

Apparently that was bollocks.

She made it back to the girls’ dorm in a daze. Didn’t even remember walking through the corridors or saying goodnight. It wasn’t until she was sitting on the floor of her dormitory, back against the bed, her arms wrapped around her knees, that she realized her legs had been shaking the whole way up the stairs.

She stared at the carpet.

And then she hated the carpet for being beige.

And then she hated herself for hating the carpet when the real problem was that James bloody Potter had kissed her like she was his whole world and then ripped it away like it meant nothing.

Footsteps approached. The door creaked open.

“Y/N?”

Lily.

Of course it was Lily. Lily-who-could-read-through-Y/N-like-a-book-Evans.

There was a pause. Then: “Oh no.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N croaked.

“Yeah, and Sirius is subtle.” Lily shut the door behind her and padded across the room. She crouched in front of her, frowning. “What happened?”

Y/N opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood.

“He kissed me.”

Lily blinked. “Wait. He kissed you?”

She nodded.

“Like… actually kissed you?”

Y/N gave her a look. “Do you think I’m crying like this over a hypothetical kiss, Evans?”

“Right. Fair. Just checking.” Lily sat beside her, tucking her legs under her skirt. “So he kissed you. And then what? He panicked?”

Y/N snorted, a bitter, broken sound. “He blamed the bond.”

“Oh,” Lily whispered.

“Yeah. Oh.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

Y/N pressed her palms into her eyes. “He said—earlier, he said if he kissed me it wouldn’t be the bond. It would be him. He looked at me like it was him. Like it was real. And then right after—immediately after—he just backed off and blamed it on the bloody magic.”

Lily made a sound of sympathy.

“I can’t even be mad at the kiss,” Y/N whispered. “Because it was perfect. It was…” She swallowed. “It was like everything I’ve ever wanted and didn’t know how to ask for. I felt seen. And wanted. And then he just… took it back.”

Lily nodded slowly. “Maybe he’s scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of how much he wants you.”

Y/N let her head fall back against the mattress behind her. “He could’ve just… not said anything.”

“James?” Lily snorted. “Not saying anything? Love, you’re asking the sun to stop shining.”

They both laughed, but Y/N’s faded fast.

“I hate that I still want him,” she admitted quietly. “Even after that. Even now.”

Lily’s expression softened. “Do you think it was really just the bond?”

“No.” Her answer was immediate, fierce. “Not that kiss. That wasn’t—couldn’t have been—just magic. I know what fake feels like. That wasn’t it.”

“And if it wasn’t the bond?”

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

“Then he lied to get away from me.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable.

Then Lily said, gently, “And if it was real, and he’s just pretending it wasn’t so he doesn’t have to deal with it?”

Y/N blinked. “Then… I guess I’ll find out when the bond breaks.”

“And if it breaks,” Lily said slowly, “and he still wants you?”

Y/N closed her eyes.

“Then he’s going to have to do more than kiss me and run.”

She exhaled shakily. “Because the next time he kisses me… it better not be something he can blame away.”

Lily leaned her head against Y/N’s shoulder.

And neither of them said a word for a long time.

Because really, what could they say?

Y/N had gotten everything she wanted… and it still didn’t feel like enough.

Not when the boy she loved kissed her like a confession— and walked away like it was a mistake.

James Potter was fine.

Perfectly fine.

He had kissed Y/N in a dusty classroom during detention, and sure, it had been intense. Sure, she’d looked at him like she felt it too. And fine—maybe, maybe—his heart hadn’t stopped hammering since. But that didn’t mean anything.

It was the bond. Obviously.

Obviously.

He was FINE.

So why was Sirius looking at him like he’d grown a second head?

“Mate,” Sirius said, lounging on James’s bed and tossing a Chocolate Frog into his mouth, “you’ve been scrubbing the same spot on your glasses for ten minutes.”

“I like clean lenses,” James muttered, turning away.

“Clean lenses don’t make you pace for an hour,” Remus said without looking up from his book.

“I wasn’t pacing.”

Peter nodded helpfully. “You’ve circled the room nineteen times. I counted.”

“Okay, first of all—creepy. Second of all, I’m just thinking.”

“Thinking about her,” Sirius said.

James glared at him. “No. I’m not. I’m thinking about Quidditch.”

“Quidditch?” Remus snorted. “You haven’t mentioned Quidditch once since the cuddle scandal.”

“Which was—again—because of the bond,” James snapped.

“Oh, now it’s the bond?” Sirius raised a brow. “You mean the same bond you said wouldn’t matter if you ever kissed her?”

“That was before she turned into a bloody enchantress and hexed my brain.”

“She didn’t hex your brain,” Peter mumbled.

“I don’t like her!” James exploded.

Silence.

Then Peter stood up and started ticking off fingers.

“You know her schedule by heart. You wait for her after every class. You gave Peeves detention because he startled her once. You growled at Amos Diggory when he looked at her. You’ve written her name on your parchment more times than I’ve written mine on essays.

"Oh! And you bought her favorite chocolate last week even though she never told you what it was.” Sirius added.

Remus looked up from his book. “And you sleep-talked about her last night.”

James turned red. “That’s not—That’s—You don’t know that.”

“We do,” Sirius said. “You said, ‘Don’t leave. The library floor’s comfy if you’re here.’”

James covered his face with both hands.

“This is getting out of hand.”

“Mate,” Sirius said gently, “you’re in love with her.”

“I’M NOT.”

They all stared.

“I’m not in love with her!” he insisted, standing up so dramatically he knocked over the ink bottle on his nightstand. “In fact—do you know what? I’m going to prove it.”

“Please don’t do anything stupid,” Remus sighed.

“I’m going to kiss someone tomorrow at the party.”

“Oh God,” Peter mumbled.

“Who?” Sirius asked flatly.

“Whoever!” James declared. “Anyone! Someone who isn’t her. Just to prove I can.”

Sirius exchanged a look with Remus.

“Right,” Remus said, slowly. “Because kissing a random girl to prove you’re not in love never backfires.”

James ignored them. “You’ll see. I’ll kiss someone at the Gryffindor party tomorrow and feel nothing. And then you lot will finally shut up about Y/N.”

He flopped onto his bed with a dramatic huff.

“I do not like her.”

Silence.

“Sure, James,” Sirius said, patting his shoulder like he was a delusional patient. “Whatever you say buddy.”

James rolled onto his side, facing the wall.

He was fine.

Totally, completely, heartbreakingly fine.

Right?

The dorm was alive with Dancing Queen, by ABBA playing, the sound of laughter and glitter.

Marlene had dumped every cosmetic spell she knew onto the floor, Lily was charming curls into Dorcas’s hair, and Y/N—well, Y/N was trying very hard not to think about James bloody Potter.

“Turn,” Marlene ordered, tugging Y/N by the shoulders. “Merlin’s tits, you’re tense.”

“I’m not tense.”

“You’re vibrating like a Niffler in a jewelry store,” Dorcas added, grinning as Lily shoved her head down to finish curling a stubborn strand.

Y/N sighed and sat back as Marlene fussed over her. She let her. The pre-party ritual was sacred.

There were lip glosses floating in mid-air, shoes abandoned mid-transfiguration, and at least three enchanted mirrors arguing over who was hottest. The answer, obviously, was all of them.

“Okay, show me the dress,” Lily demanded.

Y/N hesitated.

Dorcas nudged her with her foot. “Don’t make me summon it.”

“Fine,” she muttered, and stepped out from behind the privacy curtain.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Lily’s mouth dropped open. Dorcas whistled low. Marlene clutched her chest like she’d been struck.

“YOU’RE WEARING THAT?” Marlene shrieked. “Y/N, he’s going to combust.”

“No he isn’t,” she snapped, face warm. “And it’s not about him.”

Lily raised an eyebrow. “Then who’s it about?”

“Myself.”

They all blinked. Then, unanimously:

“Awwww.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but smiled. The truth was, the dress was about her. It was tight in the right places, soft where she liked it, and made her feel—well. Made her feel like she could forget James bloody Potter for five seconds.

If he could pretend nothing happened during detention, then she could pretend she didn’t care.

Even if her heart was still doing somersaults from the kiss.

Even if her lips still tingled.

Even if the bond between them had been vibrating ever since.

“Okay,” Lily announced, standing. “Everyone, get your shoes. This is our villain origin story.”

Dorcas raised her wand. “And our soundtrack?”

“Cursed girl anthems only,” Marlene said seriously. “We're going to ruin lives tonight.”

Y/N grinned.

It was going to be a good night.

⸻

The Gryffindor common room was transformed into a maze of flickering lights, music, and drunken teenage chaos. Someone had spiked the pumpkin juice, Sirius was DJing with a cursed Victrola, and James—

James was spiraling.

From across the room, he saw her enter.

His chest actually stuttered.

Y/N was laughing, glowing, radiant. She walked in like she owned the air. The bond between them thrummed—tight, electric.

And then, as if it sensed the storm coming, it began to flicker.

“You’re staring,” Remus said.

“I’m not.”

“You are,” Peter added helpfully. “You haven’t blinked.”

James turned sharply. “Shut up.”

Sirius appeared, drink in hand. “You okay there, loverboy?”

James scowled. “I don’t like her.”

“Whatever you say mate, It's not like you memorized her class schedule, or her perfume, or that weird thing she does with her quill when she’s thinking.”

“I did not—”

“You hummed the song she braided her hair to last week,” Remus added dryly.

“Okay, that’s—look, I’m fine,” James snapped. “You know what? I’ll actually prove it, I'm not a coward.” he scanned the room."I'm going to kissssss.....Samantha Goldstein. She's hot, right pads?"

Sirius blinked. “I mean yeah but Y/N is lowkey hotter-”

“I don’t care.”

And he didn’t. Or he was trying not to.

So when a drunk Samantha in a glittering silver dress smiled at him from across the room, James did something stupid.

He kissed her.

Right there. Center of the common room.

He didn’t even see Y/N freeze.

⸻

She did.

Y/N had been mid-sip of a drink Marlene swore was “completely harmless” (it wasn’t) when she saw him.

James.

Kissing someone else.

The bond between them, which had been glowing like a golden thread around her ribs, suddenly flared.

Then—

Snapped.

It felt like a whipcrack. Like something inside her had been cut loose. For a second, she couldn’t breathe.

Across the room, James staggered.

Everyone felt it.

The magic in the air shifted—sank low, fizzled, then vanished.

Sirius turned, eyes wide. “...Shit.”

Y/N shoved her drink into Dorcas’s hand and walked straight out of the common room, head high.

She didn’t cry.

Not until she made it upstairs.

⸻

Back downstairs, chaos reigned.

“The bond broke,” Lily whispered.

Remus rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s not supposed to happen.”

James stood in the middle of the room, staring after her like he’d just killed his own Patronus.

Sirius clapped him on the back. “Congratulations, Prongs. You played yourself.”

Samantha looked between them. “Um—should I go?”

“Yes,” the Marauders said in unison.

James didn’t move.

He just kept staring at the stairs she’d disappeared up, still tasting someone else’s lipstick, and hating himself for it.

The bond was gone.

And the worst part?

He still wanted to run after her.

The dorm room door slammed open, and in stumbled Y/N, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, laughter spilling out like it didn’t quite belong.

“Hey guys! I’m… I’m perfectly okay!” she declared, swaying dangerously on unsteady feet as Lily, Marlene, and Dorcas hurried after her, breathless from chasing.

Y/N flopped onto her bed with a dramatic sigh, a crooked smile tugging at her lips. “Honestly, this is exactly what I wanted. The stupid bond? Broken. Gone. Poof.” She waved her hand as if shooing away a bad memory.

“And James Potter?” She hiccuped, giggling like it was a joke only she got. “He can finally leave me alone. Life’s great. Perfect, really. Peachy, even.”

Lily knelt beside her, voice gentle but firm. “Y/N, you don’t have to pretend with us. We saw what happened.”

“I’m fine.” Y/N’s words slurred a little. “I mean, isn’t this what I asked for? Freedom. No magic dragging me around like some… like some… stupid marionette.” Her laugh cracked, turning brittle.

Marlene exchanged a look with Dorcas, then smiled softly. “You’re not alone.”

Y/N’s grin faltered for a heartbeat, then she pressed her fingers to her temple like she could squeeze the pain away. “No, really. I’m stronger without it. Without him.”

“But we saw him,” Dorcas whispered. “Kissing her.”

Y/N’s eyes snapped open wide, then she laughed again — but it wasn’t a happy sound. It was the sound of someone trying to break through their own disbelief. “Yeah.” She nodded. “I saw. And you know what? Good. I deserve better anyway.”

Lily reached out, touching her hand. “You deserve so much better.”

Y/N stared at the ceiling, voice distant. “I just… I don’t want to feel anymore. Not the bond, not James, not this stupid mess.” Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the brave act cracked. “I’m supposed to be fine. Right?”

Her girls didn’t answer.

Because no matter how loud she tried to shout it, no matter how many drinks she downed or how many jokes she cracked, they all knew the truth:

Y/N wasn’t fine. Not yet. But maybe, with them, she’d get there.

...

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#the marauders #james potter #marauders #all the young dudes #james potter x reader #remus lupin #james fleamont potter #fanfics #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #james potter fanfiction #james potter oneshot #james potter fic #james potter fanfic #dumb decisions #monserelates #james potter angst #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #x you

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revelboo · 1 month ago

Note

I really want to get sandwiched between meg and optimus, may I request some?

Sure! 🔞 Mass displaced mechs 🌶️

@drabbletron thanks for helping me brainstorm on this one

Interludes Pt 4

Megatron x Reader, Optimus x Reader

• “Lead by example?” Megatron mutters and Optimus vents at him. But doesn’t argue with him. And it’s still strange to see both factions, even neutrals, mingling with each other and humans. Head turning, Megatron watches a group of humans flock to Rodimus, flirting to try and get a moment alone with him. The thump of the bass and the strobing lights the humans like put him on edge, but there’s no backing out. He’ll never hear the end of it from Optimus if he does. And he doesn’t really think the other mech will go through with it, anyway. He’s not going to be the one to back down, though and he can’t deny some curiosity about the little organics. How long has it been since he’s let his guard down, took someone to his berth?

• Servos flexing as Optimus studies his people, it feels good. No more factions, no animosity. At least, that’s what he wants to believe. Realistically? Knows this peace is fragile that it can be destroyed so easily. And he’s afraid to leave Megatron unsupervised, afraid the former warlord is going to hurt one of the humans he’s set on bedding, because Megatron is right. They should lead by example. Which is why he’d approached him about sharing. So he can step in and intervene if necessary, because it’s hard to trust the former warlord. Unable to really forgive everything.

• Sweat slicking your skin as you slip off the dance floor and the scintillating press of bodies, you’d come so close to dragging one of the big aliens to a shadowy corner. Stretching your arms over your head, you turn and almost run straight into one of the giants, a massive hand wrapping around your upper arm to save from stumbling back and landing on your butt. And he’s big, his red and blue friend just as tall, both of them towering even over a lot of the other Cybertronians. Yes, please. Biting into your bottom lip, when he gently pulls you to your feet and your body slides against his heated frame to make his optics flare, you feel wicked. Because you know humans are like catnip to some of these guys. That they’re addicted to the feel of fucking humans and you’re curious enough to be willing to ride one of them into the dawn for the experience. It’s why you came here. Forgetting your shitty ex by getting under someone new.

• You’re a bold one, smile mischievous as you push yourself back with a hand braced against his modesty plating. Knowing exactly what you’re doing. “Looking for some company?” Megatron growls, because if he’s going to do this, he wants a willing partner who’s not intimidated by him. And you’re definitely that, knowing the fact that humans don’t know them, don’t know their reputation and that humans are ignorant to their millennia long war, makes them even more fun for Cybertronians to play with.

• “Always,” you purr, voice low as Megatron leads you to the counter to get a room token and he follows. Not about to leave you and the warlord alone. You’re so tiny next to Megatron. “Are we making it a party?” You ask, looking over your shoulder at him and his venting roughens. Because, it’s certainly occurred to him. That the war’s over and he’s allowed some fun. A respite. ‘Do you mind?’ He asks and you grin, reaching to grab his servo in a small hand. “I like parties.”

• Two of them? Your friends aren’t going to believe you. You can’t believe it yourself. Letting the gray one open the door and usher you into one of the infamous backrooms, knowing some people would kill to be in here. Glancing at them as you start stripping, the gray one is watching you, but the red and blue one is frowning at him. Tension? Maybe they’re not friends. “I’m Megatron and this is Optimus,” gray rumbles, jerking a servo at his buddy. Definitely not friends and you wonder what the story is. “What’s your name, little one?” Those red optics slide over you hungrily as you walk backwards to the plush bed and sit, thighs spread slightly in invitation as you tell them your name. And they’re both staring now.

• Smirking at the way Optimus is staring at you as you ease back on your elbows, he slides a palm over your thigh, pushing one of your legs up against your chest, momentarily fascinated with how flexible you are. Still half expects you to change your mind as he frees his spike, his hard length resting against your belly as he leans over you and for a moment, there’s a worry about you being able to take him. And you’re laughing at him like you know where his processor just went as he curls his hips, sliding the underside of his spike against you. Feels you grow slicker with every slow, torturous slide. Startling when you hook your other leg against his hip and he shifts against you, the head of his spike slowly stretching you and your breath hitches. Growling a warning as Optimus drifts closer and sits near you. Watching him. “Oh, you’re big,” you whimper as he sheaths himself and you’re all wet heat, so unbelievably tight around his spike.

• Can’t look away as Megatron begins moving against you, hearing your breath catch and the wet sound of the former warlord’s spike pumping inside you as you make little, needy noises. And he imagines how you’d feel wrapped around his spike, feeling like a voyeur as he reminds himself that he’s protecting you, making sure Megatron doesn’t get too rough. Doesn’t mean to free his own spike, to fist himself watching Megatron begin to move faster, hips rocking against you as you moan encouragement.

• One’s jerking himself off, the other’s spike stretching you until you feel every ridge as he ruts against you. And Megatron pins your thigh tighter against your chest, hips pumping as those optics lock with your eyes and it’s too intimate. Doesn’t feel like a casual fuck anymore. Not when his expression softens into something needy and frightening. Because emotion isn’t supposed to be a part of this. Hips rolling as he sheathes himself and cups your hips to lift them a bit, you’re coming apart suddenly, crying out as he smiles down at you. Looking almost affectionate as he keeps bucking until he’s snarling with his overload to fill you.

• Venting raggedly, he reluctantly slips free and your legs fall against the side of the bed. And he growls when Optimus slides off the bed, flips you onto your belly and sheaths himself. The prime’s hips pumping urgently, obviously pent up and taking it out on you. Not that you’re complaining. You’re moaning, fingers fisting in the bedding as Optimus ruts against you with barely controlled strength. Before snarling, hips rocking frantically as he overloads and collapses onto an arm over you, venting loudly. “Apologies,” Optimus growls, sounding horrified with himself and you look back at them. ‘How soon before you can do that again?’ Primus, you’re perfect. Because if you liked that, he can definitely do better. Frag you so thoroughly you won’t be able to stand and then he can carry you home. Fragging keep you. “My turn,” he snarls at Optimus and the Autobot leader growls a warning, hips rocking against you, not wanting to leave your wet heat, yet.

#transformers x reader #megatron x reader #optimus prime x reader #megatron #Optimus Prime #valveplug

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stray-kaz · 2 months ago

Text

The Sleepover : a Yeon Sieun x f!reader oneshot

Summary: Sieun's dad is away for the weekend. He invites you to your first sleepover. Unsupervised.

A/N: this is a continuation of Sleep Study, some time down the track. They're probably heading towards eighteen, so please, only those of suitable age. Warm intimacy ahead.

Sieun waited for you when school had finished on Monday, leaning against the brick wall, patient and quiet. Doleful eyes becoming soft the second they rested on you and his hands came up to hold your hips as you leaned into his body.

"Hi" you said softly, and he shifted so he could gently press his forehead to yours.

Unnoticed by both of you, Suho passed by, grinning and rolling his eyes. You two were so far down the rabbit hole, he was surprised either of you could still see in front of you. He knew Sieun was nervous as hell about something, and he was pretty sure he knew what it was.

"My dad is away on a work trip this weekend" Sieun says finally, his fingers digging a little more firmly into your hips through your skirt.

You nodded, listening and enjoying the feel of his chest against yours. His heart was beating a little erratically, which was unusual. He hardly ever displayed fear or nerves, and when you were kissing, you were too busy wondering if he could feel your heartbeat to worry about the state of his.

"Do you want to come over and stay Friday night?"

His question was barely a breath and you had to ask him to repeat it. He did and your heart doubled in speed, your ribs barely able to contain it. Sieun waited, watching you, accustomed by now to the stunned silences that arrived whenever he asked you a personal question. Do you want to come over and study? Can I be your boyfriend? What's your favourite flower? What's French kissing? And now this.

He prodded your cheek lightly and your eyes snapped to his.

"Remember to breathe" he murmured, smiling faintly.

You shivered slightly and bit your lip on a smile.

"Yes" you answered him, eventually. "I would like that. Shall I bring snacks?"

Without really thinking about it, Sieun dragged one hand up and down your back, pressing you even closer against him. Your nose pressed into his shoulder and you simply...deflated, whole body going boneless. He loved when he had this effect on you, when you could barely stand up because of the butterflies rioting in your stomach. When you felt so safe with him and you knew he could hold you up.

"Snacks sound good" he said quietly.

In the middle of the week, Sieun found himself standing in the scariest pharmacy aisle in the world. Birth control products and pregnancy tests mocked him with their shiny boxes. He didn't know what he was doing here. Or he did. Sort of.

He didn't know for sure if it would happen, but he had to be ready in case it did. Hope fluttered feathers in his chest.

Suho had told him he needed to communicate with you, ask questions, learn what you liked and didn't, talk you through...? Whatever that meant. But you liked him how he was. You said so. At least once a week. He just had to hope you still liked his silence in his bed. If it got that far.

His mind returned unwillingly to the task at hand, staring at each and every different kind of condom known to mankind. Plain, ribbed, flavoured? What size? His head spun. There were fewer choices to make in an exam.

Older guys came and went, glancing at him with amused eyes as they made their choices and left him there, standing alone and increasingly more confused. Until, finally, one man in his twenties took pity on him. He picked out a plain box and handed it to him.

"Sometimes simple is best, kid" he said, raising an eyebrow. "Don't think so hard about it. If you're here, she already likes you, right? You're halfway already!"

He clapped him on the shoulder and Sieun blinked, closing his fist around the box. He nodded slowly in lieu of a bow, and went up to the counter to pay, unable to look the female cashier in the eye. He shoved the box into his backpack and pushed through the door, headed out into the dark for home.

At home hidden away in his room, Sieun sat at his desk, hunched over an anatomy book, occasionally shooting rapid glances at his desk drawer, hyper aware of the box of condoms stashed at the back of it. He pored over the diagrams of female anatomy with the hard focus of exam prep.

He didn't know if you were going to allow him to touch you, but if you did, he needed to be prepared to know where he was going. He had some idea. Kissing you up to now almost always ended with you climbing into his lap and making soft kitten noises as you rubbed against him, gone a little mindless with need while he tried to figure out where to put his hands.

So, clearly, your body responded to his.

His bedroom door opened without warning and he hastily covered the anatomy pages with a school work book as his father poked his head into the room. A flicker of suspicion passed in his eyes, but then it was gone as quick as it had arrived.

"Have you eaten?"

Eyes a little too wide for innocence and heart pounding, Sieun nodded.

"Yeah. I'm good."

A beat passed and his door closed again. He sighed in relief and went right back to the drawings.

A familiar arm slung itself around your shoulders and you tilted your head to look up into Suho's smiling dark eyes.

"So...big weekend ahead for you guys, huh?" he asked you, waggling his eyebrows.

You shoved him, but he hardly budged, laughing.

"Shut up, Suho" you retorted, elbowing his side. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think I do" he argued, grinning. "Your first sleepover!"

You were saved from having to bluster your way through a response by the warm, strong hand sliding into yours and the hard, flat look Sieun shot Suho.

"Stop pestering her" he muttered. "Go find your girlfriend. Bother her instead."

Suho shot him a delighted grin.

"I think I will."

He loped back down the hallway and Sieun squeezed your hand.

"Ready? Do you have your pajamas?"

You shook your head, turning a delicate shade of pink.

"No. I thought I could borrow some of your clothes instead?"

Sieun's steps faltered slightly as he swallowed hard. He couldn't lie; the sudden image in his head of you padding around in his clothes sent a bolt of lightning right through him.

He was brought back to the corridor by you squeezing his hand and quietly saying his name.

"Sieun-ah" you murmured. "Is that okay? If it's not, I can go home first to get pajamas."

Sieun shook his head, eyeing you sidelong.

"No" he said, his voice coming out harsh and gravelly; he cleared his throat to fix it. "No. It's fine. I have...clothes you can wear."

Your answering smile kickstarted his heart and he bit his lip remembering the secret hidden in his desk drawer at home.

The TV was off, its screen black. The lights were dimmed, the living room warm and easy with impending sleep. Empty snack packets covered the low table. You lay with your feet curled up on the couch, your head on Sieun's lap, half asleep, his hand shaking slightly as he petted your hair. You were still in your uniform, and his eyes kept straying to the spot where the hem of your skirt met your thighs.

You yawned and his hand stopped. You reached up to pat the back of it, urging it onward.

"Why'd you stop?" you mumbled sleepily.

He smiled at the blank television screen.

"You're falling asleep" he murmured back. "I think it's time for bed. You can shower first. I got a towel ready for you."

You lifted your head and stumbled up off the couch, pausing only to grab clean underwear from your backpack before heading into the bathroom.

Sieun's head moved in the direction of the sound of water running and he closed his eyes to the knowledge that you were probably naked now. Naked and in his home, alone. Just the two of you together.

He stood up and started pacing, wearing a path in the carpet as he imagined hot water sluicing down your body, turning it pink, sliding past all the places he hadn't touched yet.

He had driven himself nearly insane by the time you walked back in, but his eyes and his entire demeanor softened when he saw you in his white hoodie. It swamped you in soft fabric, and from just beneath the hem, peeked a pair of his boxers, whisper soft against your skin.

You stuck your hands in the big front pocket and smiled shyly at him.

"It's comfy" you told him, quiet in the sudden silence. "Thank you."

Sieun didn't say anything. He just strode for you, cupped your face in his warm hands and took your mouth with a gasp of barely suppressed need. You whimpered in response and he growled quietly against your lips; your knees failed and he wrapped an arm around you to hold you up, flush against him. Chest, stomach, hips, all pressed close. Weak fingers gripped his rumpled collar, anything to ground yourself.

He breathed you in, sucked on your lower lip, bit at it, bruised it. Fever gripped him as your hands dug at his shoulders, found the heated sides of his neck, tunneled into his hair. The one person he didn't mind touching it, he wanted your hands in it.

You tasted like peppermint toothpaste, the last thing that had passed your lips, and he knew he probably tasted like whatever sour candy you had forced him to try, but he didn't care and you clearly didn't, judging by the battle you were fighting with his teeth, to get past and touch his tongue. You found it, sucked on it, his knees shifted hard under him.

"Jagi" he panted, breaking free to hold his forehead to yours. "Do you want - "

"Yes" you whispered fast. "Do you?"

He opened his eyes slowly to look into yours, his pupils swirling vortexes of desire. He glanced down at the same time he pushed impossibly nearer to you and you felt the proof of how badly he wanted to. Uniform trousers couldn't hide much. He heard you bite back a moan, forcing it back down your throat, felt your fingers curling, tightening in his hair. He sighed.

"Bed."

You nodded and he led you into his room, trying to ignore the uncomfortable press of his zip. He was used to the feeling from the too short, always interrupted minutes of your weight in his lap, pressing down, needing but never getting. He wondered if after those times, you dealt with the aching problem yourself, or if, like him, you couldn't bear to because it wouldn't be the same.

Now. Now...you could fix it together.

And also now...now you were pressing at the front of his pants, gentle pressure from your palm turning to more eager pushing when he grunted quietly at your touch. The fingers of your other hand snuck towards his zip, even pulled it halfway down before he stopped you, briefly shaking his head. You looked at him, waiting. His mouth twisted slightly, as if he didn't want to admit the words but needed to. So that you understood him.

"If you touch me first, it'll be over before it's started" he said, voice low. "I haven't...done anything since you fell asleep on my bed. I've been holding out for you."

Your eyes widened, blinking between the apparent strain in his pants and the slightly devastated look on his face.

"Oh" you said in the quietest, most desperate voice he'd ever heard.

Then your hands were on him, plucking at the buttons on his shirt until they loosened, and your longing gaze dragged from the golden column of his throat revealed by the loose collar to the surprising broad of his chest and the smooth planes of his stomach. At your insistent tugs, Sieun shrugged out of the white shirt and let it drop to the floor. He felt your eager eyes all over him, committing him to memory. Then all of a sudden, unable to wait again, greedy for him, you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, open and heated, the familiar ache building between your thighs.

You pushed and he went, stepping back to sit on the edge of his bed, your sweet familiar weight sinking into his lap dragging a whimper up his throat. You matched your hips to his, already beginning the slow easy grind that swept all thoughts clean out of his head, and yours.

Sieun kissed like you were fragile, blown glass ready to shatter if he held you too tight, a contrast to his usual firm grasp on your hips as you moaned unintelligible sounds into his mouth. As if now that his dream was coming true, he was afraid to let it. So you took his hands and led them up to your chest, molding his palms against the shape of your breasts through the thick fabric of his hoodie you wore. The animal howl he released into your mouth sent a dart of heat right down through your belly, and you gently squeezed his hands over you.

"It's okay" you mumbled against his lips, gentle and swollen pressed to yours. "Touch."

He learned you through the hoodie while you touched him in turn, his face hot beneath your questing hands, his shoulders sloped and warm, arms strong and quivering leading to where he touched you. Your favourite part of him now you'd seen it, his stomach, tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed, as you traced it, gently at first and then firmer.

"Sieun, you're so..." you murmured against his mouth, trying to pull the best word from your heat befuddled mind. "...good."

He sighed and stroked a firm hand down your back, landing on your ass and pushing you against him. You rocked slowly, and he felt you suddenly holding your breath, trying to concentrate instead on the pulse building between your thighs.

"Jagi" he whispered, and pushed his hands up the front of his hoodie on you to rub gentle thumbs over your nipples.

You bit your lip on a quiet whimper and shifted faster over him. Sieun stopped kissing you to watch your face, smoky brown eyes wide as you flew apart on his lap. You slowed and melted against him, nuzzling into the side of his neck as your hips twitched continuously with tiny aftershocks. He rubbed your back and murmured broken words of praise into your hair.

"Yah" he said softly. "We don't have to if you're done."

You shook your head and stumbled backwards off his lap on trembling legs.

"No, please" you begged, desperation edging your tone. "I love you, I want you, Yeon Sieun."

His pupils blew wide as a planet and you hurried to pull his hoodie off over your head, sending your hair flying into disarray. He didn't notice your hair. He noticed the sweet flare of your hips in his boxers, the softness of your stomach and the peaks of your breasts. Your chest rose and fell rapidly under the intensity of his gaze, your cheeks flushing his favourite colour.

Then, surprising you, Sieun got up and moved around you to his desk, pulling open the drawer and fumbling inside it. He tossed something onto the bed and your eyes followed it, widening slightly when you recognised what it was. Then you heard the soft shuffle of his pants coming off and tried to turn, but he was already right up behind you, only three layers of cotton between you and what you really wanted to be inside you.

And then there were only two layers as he shucked off his boxers and pressed himself against you, gently rocking until you whined and spread your legs so he fitted in between them, his arms wrapped around you, one hand spread over your stomach.

"I'm sorry if I'm quiet" he mumbled. "I promise I'll like it."

You let out a soft pleased sound and Sieun carefully grabbed the sides of his boxers you were wearing, hooking his thumbs into the sides of your underwear and pulling them both down together. You stepped out of them and he rose up behind you again, reaching around to slip an eager hand down over your stomach and lower, fingers softly swirling until he found what he was looking for.

You cried out in surprise, jerking forward slightly, and Sieun pulled you gently back to him with a hand firm on your hip, intent on learning. He toyed you out of your shell, teasing, drawing lazy figure eights then faster, tighter circles, until you were shaking against him and keening loudly and his fingers were wet and slick.

"I knew I could do it if I studied hard enough" he muttered, seemingly to himself.

You choked on a laugh and fell forward onto the bed, crawling away from him. He was mesmerised by the slow sway of your hips and became suddenly too aware of how painfully hard he was. He watched you flip onto your back, knees apart, and reach to pick up the box he'd tossed earlier. You opened it and pulled out a foil packet, holding it out to him.

As Sieun ripped it carefully open and followed the instructions to the letter, you climbed under his covers. He followed you hastily, a faint chill chasing him now that he wasn't touching you. You clung to him, wrapping your arms and legs around him, feeling him prod your inner thigh.

He kissed you, sweet and slow, until his breath came too heavy to concentrate on anything but the hard weight of him pressing just out of reach of where you both wanted him. He reached down to touch your thighs, ease them further apart for him, pressed his lips to yours, one, two, three times.

"I hope it doesn't hurt" he whispered to you, his words shaking slightly. "I'm not going to last long. I hope it's okay."

You kissed him again, sucking lightly on his lower lip before he had to pull away to see what he was doing. You watched his expression get hazy and heard him moan a curse as he looked down at you, warm and expectant for him.

The brief pressure, the tiniest spark of pain, were nothing compared with his tightly closed eyes, jaw so tense it might shatter and the fact he had stopped moving entirely out of fear he wouldn't even make it all the way in before filling the condom. You reached up to touch his face, stroking his cheek, brushing your thumb down his nose.

"Sieun" you murmured. "You okay?"

He nodded tightly.

"Yeah. Just...wait for me? I - I can't...I don't want to come yet."

You nodded, then tilted his head down so you could kiss him, your mind going pleasantly blank as you breathed him in and your hips started moving on their own as they always did whenever you were kissing him. Sensation pushed solidly through you and you gasped, head throwing back just in time for Sieun to groan a strangled noise into your throat.

You barely knew what you'd done, but your body was singing it to you, all chords humming and blazing at once: he was inside you. You stretched languorously and Sieun rocked gently, desperately deeper inside you, keening quietly. You gazed up at him, wonderstruck, hitching your hips with each of his careful thrusts.

He was quiet, but not totally. The room filled with soft moans, the slip of sheets on skin, the barely restrained desperation of trying not to come too fast.

But he couldn't help it. You were too good, too warm and wet and sweet wrapped around him, crying out to him each time he moved. You cried his name, fingers in his hair, and he was gone.

He finished with a gasp of your name and a shudder, spilling out and collapsing onto your chest. You held him tight, still warm and full of him. Until he started to worry the condom might break and slowly eased out of you to get rid of it.

When he returned to his bed, he was blushing and shy, shoulders rounding. But you sat up, still naked, and hugged him, fierce and close.

"You're perfect" you whispered in his ear. "Let's do it again tomorrow."

You had never seen him smile so big.

Tagging: @writingmysanity

#liss writes #weak hero class one #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class one fanfic #weak hero class 1 fanfic #yeon sieun #yeon sieun x reader #yeon sieun x f!reader #yeon sieun x female reader

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unconventional-lawnchair · 10 months ago

Text

Casual

Sirius Black x Slytherin!Reader

In My Room Chance Pena

Masterlist

Summary: Sirius falls for his most recent hook up, and she refuses to cave to what she wants}

Wc- 6697

Cw: Not proof read- Use of {Y/N}, sexual themes and scenes(literally opens with smut), cussing, Sirius is kinda a butt and broken hearted, Marlene my beloved, Jily my beloved}

Taglist- @otterlockholmes

If someone asked your peers what was one thing about you that they would say described you best, it was that you liked control.

The fear of the unknown, or better, uncertainty wasn't something you necessarily found charming. Things needed to be handled in an exact science, nothing spontaneous, no surprises.

Not that you weren't into a little fun, but even that came down to a basic formula to you. From parties, to schoolwork, to free time, and of course, to relationships. You would certainly be a RavenClaw if you weren't so ambitious.

That's why, when it first came out that you and Sirius were ‘talking,’ everyone was baffled. In hindsight, it made sense. He was a play boy who never really settled down, and you were a player yourself. Commitment meant opening your schedule to influences outside of your control. A whole other human’s thoughts and feelings, that just didn't fit into your mindset.

That meant a whole new set of rules you weren't ready to create. A whole new ecosystem to tend to. Of course, that also meant foolish things like jealousy, possession, passion. You'd rather stay as far away from that as possible.

So hooking up with Sirius was easy. It was a quick fix to clear your mind and just have a break. You had been seeing each other for months. It started over the summer when James invited you and Lily to the Potters’. You both were left unsupervised for an hour, and what were two wound up teens to do?

This symbiotic relationship followed you into year seven. You and Sirius hardly truly talked before then, but now, talk was truly on the back burner. You'd both find your release in each other and you'd leave. Simple as that. He would have someone to release any tension without having to work for it and you had your own relief without commitment. It was perfect.

Until it wasn't.

See, last week you broke your own rule. You usually never stayed over at Sirius’s dorm. You both agreed it was too intimate, but you were both exhausted, and you figured staying with him once wasn't a horrible idea. He did not complain.

Since that night, he had been acting strange. Stranger than usual, that was. He would avoid you outside of your rendezvous, suddenly too busy with Quidditch practice, without James, and personal study. You ignored it, you were never close to Sirius before so you didn't think too much about him not spending time with you.

Then came tonight. You ran your hands on his bare chest, nails raking down his flawless skin towards his abdomen. His head was thrown back in a loud groan, the music from downstairs keeping it from being anyone's but yours. Your hips rutted cruelly against his pelvis, slow and daunting. You had been at it for an hour now, your bodies were hot, sweat slipped from your forehead as you threw your head back when you managed to roll right into a sweet tender spot.

The sound you let out was ungodly, and Sirius was losing it. Fighting against his tie you used to restrain his wrists. Even in his predicament, he refused to give in. When you faltered, growing closer to coming undone, he cursed and began to thrust up. The slapping of skin was loud and horrific, and paired with his groans and soft moans, your unholy exhales and blubbering nonsense you managed to slip out your lips, it sounded more like a porno scene than a dorm room.

Your legs began to shake, you pulled your nails from his freshly pink skin and ran your fingers up his cheeks and into his hair. You closed your eyes and bit your lip, meeting his thrusts in an animalistic way. His eyes were transfixed on you. How your body was glowing in the moonlight from the window, with a thick sheen of sweat and indented skin where he bit you too hard. You looked like a masterpiece to him, something he never wanted to give up.

“I love you.”

The words slipped through his lips before he could stop it. You both reached your hazy highs. You gave a croak of a moan and fell limp against his form. He was panting and huffing as his cum coated your insides. It felt so perfect. It was perfect for him.

Then, you were untying his wrists, carefully climbing off of him too soon, and the euphoria cleared, and he knew what he had done. He watched as you got up, grabbing his towel and patting yourself dry. Tossing it onto his lap without another word.

He sat up on his elbows and watched as you got ready, putting on the thin black dress that started all of this.

“You're not staying?”

You wanted to ignore him. You wanted to snap and shout at him. If there was anyone you knew who could have kept this just a hookup, it was Sirius Black. And he betrayed your trust. And that made it so much harder.

“No.”

Sirius gave a dry laugh and fell back against his bed sheets. Running his fingers through his hair as he looked up at the ceiling. Merlin, this felt too damn familiar.

“Is it too late to pretend that didn't happen?”

You gave your own sarcastic laugh, grabbing your wand and shoes. You looked back at him, his eyes were wide and glossy, already rimming red. You were unsure if it was from the salt of his skin invading his eyes, or if he was about to cry, but you were weak to his looks. All of them.

You sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with your heel straps.

“When?”

“What?”

“When did this become more to you?”

You could practically hear him flinch. To you. There was nothing to you. This meant nothing more than sex to you, you made that clear, but hearing it made Sirius ache.

“It always was.”

“What?”

“I’ve loved you. Since year five.”

You covered your face and groaned. You wanted to be sympathetic, but you were mad. He had been using you, this whole time, for some fantasy in his head, in a world where you were his. It made your stomach turn with guilt. How dare he make you feel guilty for this. He sat up and rubbed the back of his neck, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“We're done.”

“Wait-”

“Goodnight, Sirius.”

He tried to reach for you but you had already slipped on your shoes. You walked out the door as Sirius stumbled after you. Putting on his boxers and trying to follow after, not even thinking of making himself not look like hot sex.

“Hey! See ya, {Y/N}!” James called from the doorway and Sirius met his eyes trying to leave. James looked down at Sirius bewildered, he was usually long since asleep after your time together, or at least smoking in bed. His friend looked so defeated. He felt it too. “Woah, you okay mate?”

“Fuck.” Sirius hissed and leaned his back against the wall and looked up at the ceiling. James sounds of concern falling on deaf ears. Why the fuck did he say that?

~~~

“You're staring again.” Remus muttered as he stabbed his eggs with his fork. Looking up to see James’s desperate look, begging Remus to take pity on the sad fool. Remus was officially a prefect, he didn't have to stay up at night listening to Sirius’s woes about you.

“Not creepy at all, by the way. Just…” He sighed and shook his head. “Sorry, I can't lie to him. She won't even come and eat with us anymore, which also means he's banished Lily to the other side of the table too. We're lucky she even comes to our common room to hang with us.”

James rubbed his temple and Sirius scoffed, looking at Remus’s firm expression. “I've banished her? I have? Bloody hell, I caught feelings for one girl and it's my fault she ran with her tail between her legs?” It was two weeks! Two weeks and she refused to talk to him outside of pleasantries.

“Watch it, Pads. You were the one who went too far. Who confesses while they're balls deep in someone?” Remus snapped back and Peter gave a squeak of distress, coughing out a few eggs.

“Wait, what happened?” Peter whined out.

“Sirius confessed to {Y/N}. Not to mention he’s been skipping practice. Slytherin almost beat us!” James muttered and Peter looked like they said he hexed Dumbledore himself.

Remus scoffed at James' concerns.

Another thing about your reputation, everyone knew. Everyone knew you refused to entertain commitment, but Peter was also startled by Sirius’s confession.

“You confessed?” Peter questioned with an open slack mouth.

“Yes, wormtail.” Sirius snapped back.

“Woah.” He mumbled and Remus sighed.

“Let's get your mind off it, Pads, let's go smash bludgers at each other until we get told off by Pomfrey, ya?” James prodded and before Sirius could respond, he was interrupted.

“You will do no such thing. Your mother would look to me if you came back with a battered head, it's a big enough target as it is.” Lily spoke from behind him, wrapping her arms around James shoulders as he leaned back and their lips met. She broke the kiss and giggled at the love sick look on his face. “Yes ma'am.”

She rolled her eyes and pulled back slightly, looking at Sirius with a soft pitiful look and he sighed through his nose. “She told you?”

“Well.. we are best friends, she was bound to.” Lily offered cautiously as James leaned his head into her sleeve and began to nibble on her robe like a damned goat, trying to let out all his bundled up affection. Lily quickly pinched his ear to reprimand him. Making him huff with a whine.

Sirius rolled his eyes at the affectionate display and Lily attempted to move but James just wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, pulling her flush against his back. She rolled her eyes harder this time.

“On a scale from one to ten, how bad is it?” Sirius mumbled and Lily shook her head.

“Well, she feels betrayed, Sirius. She feels like you've been indulging in what isn't yours.” Sirius looked down at his food and poked around at it before he tossed his fork down. “I wasn't indulging. What we had was consensual-”

“But dishonest. And we warned you.” Lily quipped sharply and Sirius flinched a bit. Lily was always a mother-like figure, but she was especially defensive of you.

“Sorry, I just..” Sirius his voice cracked as he rubbed the bridge of his nose and Lily sighed.

“I know..” She whispered. “You did this to yourself, Sirius.”

“I know.” He whispered. He felt defeated.

Lily leaned her head on James, curtaining his face with her long red hair, the brunette is in absolute heaven with his nose pressed to her neck.

“Sirius, just be careful, okay? She's made it clear she's not going to stop her.. life over this.”

Sirius' jaw clenched. He didn't even think about that. Someone else having you the same way he did.

That was a new hell.

When you were seeing Sirius, you both agreed to keep things exclusive, you both agreed that it would keep you both safe to not involve anyone else. Sirius was quickly learning that was a mistake.

He couldn't find himself entertaining a girl without thinking of you, even casuals that he had seen before you just reminded him of the way you looked in his eyes as you commanded his soul to bend to you. Their touch reminded him of your sharp nails wracking down his back as he held himself above the one woman who could truly ever break him.

Weeks without you was torture. He missed the intimacy, of course, but also you. He meant it when he said he fell for you years ago. Sirius was much in the same boat as Remus, he didn't think he deserved the more sweet love in life.

You weren't gentle, you were genuine and to the point. Blunt, no filter and rather brash. It was no wonder the girls seemed to love you. Lily was stern and more parental, Marlene was a party animal but a helpless romantic, Dorcas was hard to read but she had the same blunt air about her, and Mary was more of an observer. You tied them together like a bow. Lily's more rash side, Marlene's more rational side, Dorcas’s honest side and Mary's voice.

It also meant you were all these things to the boys when you met them. Remus and you were naturally drawn to each other, both enjoying the more quiet things. It helped you had prefect rounds together. James and you fit a lot like you'd expect, a much more stern voice of reason to his utter stupidity. Peter even bonded with you, in small comments in passing and clever one liners between you two.

Sirius, however, had to admit he thought you were nothing more than pretty. When Lily introduced you to the group, you fit in far too easily, not to mention you were a Slytherin. Though, your more no bullshit and cut throat attitude quickly turned his indifference to infatuation. It helped that you didn't even spare him the time of day in most cases.

His ideal type.

The attraction was purely sexual. It was supposed to be casual. The shared flirts, the snarky comments, the deathly teasing, only to be followed by your endless heart. When you sat with him after a bad Quidditch accident, when you sat him down and forced him to study for potions because he was failing and just didn't care. You were always there to help him out of the stupid shit he got himself into.

Yet, over the two years you'd known him, that was the most that happened between the two of you. You could hardly call each other friends, because you did that for everyone. He felt like he was nothing to you, just someone to nag and dote on. Your words always meant the world to him, and you picked them carefully, but they were never just his.

Until you were in bed together. He couldn't just let that go.

Now he had to manage to keep himself calm when you were around, because your friends were his and his were yours. He would never make them choose, and honestly, he was selfish. He wanted to be around you in any way he could.

He regrets that now.

Lily and Marlene had brought down an empty glass from their dorm room from Merlin knows what, insisting everyone gather around for a game of truth or dare.

Eventually, everyone was situated around the bottle. James was on the couch, Lily practically on his lap. Remus was on the other side, leaning back and already drinking whatever Peter had brought from their dorm room. Marlene was dancing around the room to a random AC / DC record, with her school skirt hiked up to show off her thighs, and a rich red crop top, just her tie hanging loose around her neck. She was singing a bit off key, but in a charming way.

Sirius would usually find that to be the most captivating part of the night, but every time he even glanced at her he could only think of how you would only ever dance when he coaxed you off the couch. How you'd act so terribly annoyed, before melting into his arms and laughing along with his terrible dance moves. You both would make absolute fools of yourself. It was his favorite part of the night.

Peter got up from his spot across from Sirius as someone knocked. He hurried over to the portrait and opened it, and in came Mary, Dorcus, and you.

Sirius felt his breath hitch and he looked away. James seemed to notice this, but before he could say anything to save the poor boy, Marlene gave a delighted squeal and ran up to you and Dorcas, arms around both of your shoulders. You glanced at her and both you and Meadowes shared a small hidden smile.

“Let's get this started!” Marlene shouted, you winced away at the volume right against your ear. Dorcas just looked taken. You playfully pinched her cheek and she giggled, hurrying over to sit right next to Sirius. You thinned your lips at the sight, you didn't expect them to try and rekindle whatever they had before, but if they did you.. you could be happy for them, you think. That bubbling in your throat was just left over betrayal.

Sirius, however, had his eyes narrowed on you. You ignored it, turning to start and idle conversation with Dorcas who seemed just as unsettled about the position. You put your hand on her back and rubbed it a bit as you looked at Mary who sat on your other side. She shared a sympathetic look with both of you and you bit your cheek. What was that for?

“Who's first?” Remus spoke up to break the tension, and Lily raised her hand. “Oh! Oh! Me!” She quickly spun the bottle and it twirled around to land on Peter.

The game was going steady like that, shots taken for people who refused to do their dares, pretty outlandish and good natured. Eventually, this had devolved into a modest level of chaos, until Marlene spun the bottle. She was clearly a bit tipsy, and her filter had long been dissolved.

You were still trying to keep up the sportsmanship of the game, but when Marlene asked you truth or dare there was no way in hell you'd say dare, terrified she'd ask you to streak or scream bloody murder in the middle of the courtyard. Two dares she's done before.

“Truth.” You mused with a smile and tilted your head.

“Is it true you have a new boytoy already~?” Marlene purred and leaned forward with her chin in her palm. Your face filled with dread instantly. Really? Already? She made it sound like it was some horrible offense. You were sure Sirius had found someone else too, you were never anything more than what happened between the sheets.

Your eyes flicked to Sirius, and he looked stunned. He wasn't even breathing, and you felt a sharp pain in your chest. Feeling the need to justify yourself.

“W-well, it's nothing. But yes, I guess?” You muttered out and Sirius leaned his head back and you winced. What else should you have said? Should you have lied for his sake? Did it matter? Again, you and Sirius were hardly friends.

Lily watched the interaction with wide eyes, watching as you stammered in uncertainty. Waving your hand around in aspiration. Her eyes widened and she hit James best before he could interrupt, gesturing to you. His eyes widened as even James -can't take a hint- Potter caught on to what was happening. No…

Marlene gave a gasp and leaned forward. “Woah, no wasted time, huh, {Y/N}.”

“Is it that big of a deal?” Mary offered in a quiet voice, trying to cut in. Marlene finally seemed to take the hint, and quickly stammered out and back tracked.

“N-no, of course not, just curious.” She muttered on about and tried to quickly encourage you to spin the bottle, but your eyes were locked into place by Sirius’s.

“So uhm,” Sirius cleared his throat and looked away. “Who is it?”

“Does it matter?” You whispered back. It was like you two were in your own private world. Mary put her hand on your shoulder and Dorcas slipped her hand around your lower back. Both trying to comfort you threw the confrontation. It was like everyone could see what you felt before you even knew it.

“It does to me.” He muttered in a low voice and you looked away, slowly hugging your knees and biting your cheek.

“... Barty Crouch.” You mumbled and he gave a bitter laugh, making you close your eyes.

“Really?” He practically shouted and you quickly pushed the girls off and began to stand up. “My brother’s best friend?” He gave a bitter laugh as he watched you gather your things.

“Thank you guys for tonight.” You smiled at the group, quickly trying to defuse the situation, Remus waved his hand and stood up, ready to walk you back.

“Yeah, go ahead. Walk away, again.” Sirius raised his voice and you flat out ignored him, shaking your head and walking to the door. “There she goes folks!” He shouted across the room and you simply sent him an interesting gesture over your shoulder. He scoffed.

The second the portrait closed he kicked the bottle across the room and stomped off to the stairs. “Good fucking riddance.”

He prayed it was missed, but the watery tone in the base of his throat was so painfully obvious.

~~~

You two didn't talk for another few weeks, you stayed away from the Gryffindor common room for dear life. Particularly after James pulled you aside and asked you to avoid Sirius, as his performance in Quidditch was suffering. Lily gave him a firm talking to after that. At first you scoffed it off, but ultimately you listened.

Things were dulling down, you went back to what you could control and the girls didn't entirely mind meeting in the prefect rooms. You were sitting in the mirror, combing your hair in the same black dress, ready to meet Barty up in the Ravenclaw common rooms to celebrate their win against Gryffindor.

“Are you sure you won’t be coming?” You hummed and looked over at Lily who gave a nod.

“Sorry, I’m sure Barty will look after you. I have to comfort a moping giant, I’ll be busy all night.” Lily exaggerated, making you smirk and Dorcas clear her throat.

“All night, huh?” She mused and Lily bit her bottom lip.

“Sometimes losing a game or two has its perks.” She cheeked and Mary gave a dramatic gasp. “Lily Josephine Evans!”

You gave her a scandalized look up and down. “Really now?”

“I have told you before, I can take punishment.” She pushed and Mary threw a pillow at her, making you laugh in absolute delight. You shook your head fondly, unable to stop the bright goofy smile on your face.

“You are awful.” You mumbled and put on a pair of earrings, wincing as you immediately were reminded of how much Sirius liked them. Quickly taking them out and standing up.

“Are either of you coming?” You asked Mary and Dorcas and Mary shook her head. “Sorry, me and Remus are going to study in the library.” She mused and before Dorcas could make another innuendo you sent her a look.

The stoic girl giggled like a mischievous first year. “No, I’m sorry. I have actual innocent things to do.”

You rolled your eyes before you waved them off. “I will see you three another time.”

“Talk to him!” Lily called before the other two muttered out their goodbyes between packing their things.

“Not a chance, Evans!” You shouted over your shoulder. You didn't owe Sirius a damn thing. Certainly not the time of day after the stunt he pulled.

~~~

Sirius was a mess. He had been unable to focus on anything but you for the past two miserable months. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to talk to you, he wanted to see you. You avoided him like the plague, and he didn't know if he was grateful or pissed about it.

He knew only one way to get rid of this aching irritation.

That's how he found himself in a small broom closet with Marleen, his lips were all over hers, his hands on her hips gripping hard at her exposed skin. Marlene was so different from you, but it wasn't hard. To close his eyes and imagine it was your fingers running threw his hair, your lips against his own.

When he moved to her neck, he felt your skin. He heard your voice saying his name so sweetly. “Fuck.. that's my girl.” He whispered against her skin and relished in the slight shiver she let rock her body. “I've got you, {Y/N}. I'm right here.” He breathed heavily.

There was a moment where both of them froze. There was a sharp stinging pain that ran across his jaw as Marlene, appropriately, slapped him. He groaned and stepped back, Marlene slamming the door open to storm out.

Bloody hell.

~~~

You made your way down the empty corridors, looking outside at the moonlit school grounds. It was quiet, just before curfew, not that you were too worried. You had wrapped yourself up in your school cloak and prayed Flinch cared as little as he seemed to about the proper patrols.

There was a loud crackling slap that rang through the silent hall, soon after, a door slammed open a few yards down from you. Your eyes snapped up to watch Marlene rush out of the room. Your eyes widened when you looked at eachother and she looked like a deer in headlights.

You opened your mouth to say something before Sirius stumbled out behind her, muttering a mouthful of apologies.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what had happened. Frazzled hair, kids bruised lips, Marlene's neck and Sirius’s… red cheek? You quickly looked away from the two and Marlene looked back at Sirius. He was staring at you with wide eyes.

She huffed and began to stomp away, leaving the two of you in an awkward silence.

“... hey.” He whispered and that snapped you out of it.

You began to walk down the hall, and he quickly ran in front of you, his hands up in front of you to try and settle you. You scoffed and looked behind you before sharply up at him. “Hey- hey, {Y/N}, it's not what you think.” He tried to defend himself. From what exactly? You had no clue.

“What? It's kind of hard to hide it.” You scoffed and gestured to his unbuckled pants. He sighed and began to fix them, your eyes looking away from him. Arms crossed as you waited for him to speak his peace. Sirius shoving his shirt into his pants to straighten himself up.

There was a long silence before Sirius spoke up again. Your eyes drifting back to him. He was a mess, he looked so apologetic. Your heart almost broke, it ached for you to just drag him back to the dorm and forget everything that happened the past few months. You blinked away the thought. No. This is exactly why you avoid relationships. You hated this hurt.

“Uhm..” He cleared his throat. “Where are you heading?”

“What?” You whispered, a bit caught off guard.

“It's not your night for rounds.” He mumbled. “I just figured, you know-”

“How do you…” Right. He would know your night schedule wouldn't he? “Ah..”

Your eyes drifted past him before you gestured to the stairs. “Well. RavenClaw is celebrating their win. Barty asked me to come.” You remarked calmly and he gave a low scoff. You took a deep breath as you prepared yourself for his next out lash.

“You just. Never went with me to the parties at Gryffindor tower is all.”

You rolled your eyes. “That's because I knew you'd be there, Sirius. You always had me those nights, didn't you?”

He stared at you and slowly nodded. “Yeah. I did.” He muttered and bit his cheek. You wanted to kiss his pout away and- Merlin what was getting into you?

“Well, if you don't mind..” You mumbled and walked past him, He quickly called out again.

“Will you uhm.. Will you be at the next game?” He called across the hall and you looked him in his eyes. He was pleading, you had never seen him so.. sad. Bruised cheek and all.

“... do you want me to, Sirius?”

“More than anything.”

You sighed through your nose. “Yes, I'll be there.”

He shook his head, slowly a shy and hesitant smile grew on his lips. “Nice.. nice.. yeah, I'll see you there.”

He stood there and stared at you for a moment. You felt like you lost the ability to breathe.

“Sirius?” You whispered and he looked you in the eyes with this sad bit of hope you knew you’d crush.

“Yeah?”

“Is that all?”

“O-oh, yeah. Yeah, I'll see you there, {Y/N}.” He mumbled and you slowly nodded. He turned and walked back to the tower.

“Yeah. See you.” You whispered to an empty corridor. You stood there for a solid minute. Debating if you should run after him or not. You wanted to. You wanted to but you knew you shouldn't.

~~~

The image of Sirius and Marlene leaving the storage room together was burned into your head. You had been avoiding him, he had a right to do anything he wanted with anyone he wanted, you had called it off.

Even so, with Barty at your neck kissing it sore and your fingers in his hair, you couldn't stop thinking about it. You went through the motions, just dismissing your own thoughts and letting Barty’s hands reach for your bra strap. He paused and you didn't even notice, still staring off out of one of the several windows. The Ravenclaw tower was just encased in them from wall to wall, and with the darkness they just looked like mirrors.

“Are you alright?” Barty whispered in your ear and you nodded.

“Yeah, sorry, just distracted.” You mumbled and he shook his head, pulling away.

“What? What's wrong?” You whispered out and he bit his cheek.

“Come on, don't play dumb.” He chuckled and fell back on a random seat in the vacant room he dragged you in.

“What?” You mumbled and he shrugged, slowly smirking.

“I may be younger, but I know that look. You have been a million miles away. I'm not gonna sleep with you while you're like that, pretty girl.”

You gave a weak and playful laugh, fixing your dress on your shoulder. “Isn't that what this is for, Crouch?”

“Ouch, Crouch?” he chuckled, standing up to pick up your discarded robe and walked behind you to wrap it around your shoulders. “I would normally agree with anything your pretty mouth uttered, but I am not Sirius. I'm not a good substitute, I can guarantee it.”

“What? Don't be crass.” You scoffed, startled with how easily he could see through you.

‘Twelve owls, I'm not an idiot.” He gave you a firm pat on your ass and pushed you on. “Go get that sad sack. I am going to go see if Evan’s is busy.”

You were stunned by the whole interaction. You bit your cheek before you turned and gave him a tight hug. He was startled by this, but slowly pulled you in. Turning you around and shoving you off.

“Okay, you're killing my buzz. Out.”

~~~

You weren't thinking. That was your excuse. When you stumbled out of the tower and walked right past the dungeons. You stopped at the fat lady, knocking on the painting and startling the her awake. She looked at you suspiciously and you gave her a nervous smile. “Just.. checking on some things.” You whispered and she seemed to buy it for the most part.

You snapped your head up as the door opened. Peter looked at you with wide eyes and you looked around him before slipping in. You walked into the common room before you turned to him. “Is James here?”

“No, just Sirius. I can-”

“No need.” You remarked quickly and turned, hurrying up the steps and leaving a baffled and confused Peter behind.

When you got to the door, you knocked quickly. You prayed no one else was there.

The door opened with a hesitance, Sirius peaked out and his eyes grew the size of saucers. “{Y/N}-”

“Are you alone?” You breathed and he quickly nodded. You stepped in and closed the door behind you. Pressing your back to it. Sirius stared at you and you bit your bottom lip. There was a long silence. You didn't even think about what you planned to say when you got there.

He reached out to grab his tie and yanked him close. His lips were on yours without much coaxing needed. He gave a sigh and forced his body against yours. The door behind you jerks at the force. You ran your fingers through his hair and he groaned against your lips. “Sirius.” You whined as his hands grabbed your hips.

“I know, {Y/N}.” He whispered and you looked away, his lips falling to your neck. “I've got you.”

~~~

The next morning you woke up just an hour or so before Sirius to sneak back to your dorms. Once you got there, you passed Lily on her own walk of shame. You both looked at eachother but said nothing of the events from the night before.

You both got ready for the day, and ended up meeting up early in the Quidditch stands. Still, no one said anything about it. “How long are these games?” You asked Lily with a shiver, covering yourself up with a jumper you had taken with you this morning. Not really thinking about having to explain why you had his clothes. Why you left the tower that morning. Really, anything,

You'd don't have to, however. Lily knew. She knew the moment you looked heartbroken at Sirius that night. She knew the separation wouldn't last.

“Could be hours. James has set records with being the quickest seeker, so could even be minutes.” Lily mused and you gave a scoff of a laugh.

“That tells me nothing, you know that right?”

Lily simply smirked at you. “Like you? This morning? Why are you wearing Sirius’s jacket?” She cheeked and you gave a guilty weak smile.

“... yeah, makes sense Lily, I hope Slytherin wins.” You teased and she gave a playful scoff.

“It will take ages!”

Eventually the girls joined and you settled to watch the game.

You were finally able to witness it, what James meant when he said you had his ‘best beater’ distracted. Sirius seemed in another place the whole game. He was being pelted with the bludger, and not as quick with sending it back to their attackers. You were actually quite into the game and startled by every attack.

Sirius however, was just hovering. Trying to piece together what last night was. He didn't see you in the Slytherin stands, and he was wondering if it would be another three months before he heard your voice again. He snapped out of it just in time to send a bludger back that was aimed right to his face. He took a few steady breaths and bit his cheek.

That almost made you panic. You shot up straight as people began to boo him. You covered your face with a groan, the Slytherin stands chanting and cheering for him to continue to fumble. You didn't really think before you launched to your feet and grabbed the edge of the railing.

“Sirius!!” You screamed over the railing and he snapped around to your voice. You both locked eyes and your breath hitched. You held his eyes for a minute before you bit your lip and leaned so far forward over the railing you might've fallen. “Just win this game already! It's bloody cold out here!”

That was all he needed. You, in his house stands. In his jumper. Cheering his name. He nearly passed out. And you turned to look behind him with wide eyes. He moved on instinct. Turning sharply to smack an incoming bludger at a distracted chaser. You cheered for him, this time Lily and Mary joined you in your rowdy cheers, as Lily pulled you back from the edge.

You and the girls watched as James spotted the Snitch, in all honesty, it was the first time you paid attention to anyone else in the game.

James and the other seeker were neck and neck, but Sirius took care of that easily, hitting the bludger at the back of Regulus’s broom and spinning him out of control and giving James the chance to secure the win.

Griffindor screamed out in victory, and Sirius landed. He ran right past James, Marlene, even Alice as they went to congratulate each other, running straight for the stands, passing Lily and only lending him a moment as she laughed. “She went to the school! Think she's sneaking off to her dorm.”

“Bloody hell she is! Not after that!” He shouted, already running off the pit and not even thinking of using his long discarded broom.

You had just managed to avoid the crowds and ran straight up the stairs. You didn't even think until you find yourself in the astronomy tower. You began to pace. You wanted him. You wanted him so bad. You wanted this so bad. The flash of Sirius coming to mind as the final horse crossed the finish line. You were in love with Sirius black. Oh Merlin, have mercy on your soul.

“{Y/N}! {Y/N}!”

Speak of the damned devil.

You turned from your perch on the railing, staring down at Sirius as he stood in the courtyard just below you. Like you were once again, watching him from the stands.

“Sirius!” You shouted down without thinking. He looked up at you and it looked like a scene from a fairy tale. He was looking at you with this stupid smile on his face, a smile you just wanted to kiss so bad.

“How did you get up there so quick!?” He shouted up at you, drawing a small crowd and you laughed. “Did you win!?”

Sirius couldn't even bring himself to be offended that you didn't stay for the end of the match. “We did!” He shouted up and you bit your lip, absolutely love struck with a bright smile. “I'm coming up!” He shouted and you closed your eyes tight, leaning forward over the edge again.

“Sirius Orion Black!” You shouted down and now a crowd was forming. But you could only see each other. He stared up at you with a quirked eyebrow. “Yeah?!”

“I-” You choked out a whisper before you shook your head.

“Sirius Black I'm in love with you! I love your stupid face! Your pretty smile! Your dumb eyes!” You shouted and he took a few steps back with a shocked look. Quickly shoving his way past the crowd to make his way up the stairs to you. You had your eyes closed, you didn't even notice as he left. “I love your stupid dance moves! I love when you hold me! I love when you make those stupid jokes no one else gets but us! I love you, Merlin I fucking love you!” You screamed across the entire courtyard, breath heavy as you slowly opened your eyes and your heart dropped. Where did he-

Suddenly, there were a pair of arms around your abdomen that yanked you from the railing. You squealed and Sirius spun you around. Setting you down and laughing as you looked up at him. Your eyes met and he bit his lip. “{Y/N}?”

“Yeah?” You whispered in faux innocence.

“I fucking love you too.”

He grabbed your cheeks and yanked you into a kiss. It was heavy and intense; your hands found his cheeks in return. You were both so wrapped up with each other, you didn't even notice a much closer audience before you heard Lily clear her throat. Sirius looked up and was greeted by Lily, Mary, Marlene, everyone. Even Peter who all seemed a bit winded. “Leave it to Sirius Black to get {Y/N} {L/N} to do something spontaneous.” Remus muttered and you didn't even seem to notice them. Yanking Sirius into another love filled kiss. Sirius had no qualms with this.

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