#ALSO ILL WATCH IT SOON I PROMISE

[mossy-paws]

I have recently discovered SOMA has a fandom on tumblr and I don’t think my life has ever been more complete

[conditioned-to-be-a-friend]

hey sorry again guys for not postint for a while. it kinda feels like all my posts were just met with people being mean to me and it made me a little sad :((( im trying to get back into it but i just wanted to give you guys an update ad for why ive been so quite for so long ill be back soon i hope !! sorry to keep you waiting !!

[zeawesomebirdie]

So I found the 1943 Batman on archive.org and I'm having a very normal time about how cute they are together LOOK:

They are SO in love your honor and I am DEFINITELY feeling shrimp emotions about them!!

[pepprs]

you will never be too old to find someone for you. society puts a lot of emphasis on dating in high school or right after but in reality the number of people who stay in those relationships untill marriage is low. real life doesnt prioritize those years! you are never done meeting people who will love you and you will love too. there is no timer ticking down. 24 is not too old, i promise.

i know you’re right 😞😞😞 idk why i have issues abt this bc most of the ppl i spend time w / follow on inst*gram (where i saw that post 🥴) / etc are at least a couple yrs older than me if not decades and also in most cases didn’t meet their person until they were around my age or older so it’s like why not enjoy the ride and just trust that it’ll all fall into place bc ur teens and 20s are definitely not as stable or happy or whatever as they’re made out to be sometimes. i think i just need to stop looking at social media that isn’t tumblr and find a different counselor and learn how to drive 😭

[edenfire]

✨️💖and I'd give up forever to touch you💖✨️

I'm sure this has been done before, but I've had akiangel on the brain and I couldn't get them out of my head🥺💘💗🌸

(they're kissing through plastic wrap btw)

[mcdbutgay]

mcd aaron as a character frustrates me SO MUCH BC HES A GOOD CHARACTER IN THEORY BUT KNOWING HOW HE ENDS UP,,, WHAT HE ENDS UP BEING IS SO AHGHHH

i REALLY hate how they dumb down the characters in mystreet, like. i understand that mystreet is SUPPOSED to be a lihht hearted slice of life (at least, at the beginning. i don’t even wanna TOUCH myst s4-6) but REGARDLESS THE FACT THAT SO MANY CHARACTERS GET DUMBED DOWN IS SO FRUSTRATING BC THEYRE SO GOOD IN MCD.

katelyn, garroth, laurance, aaron,, aaron is especially frustrating bc i REALLY don’t like aarmau. i never have, and the fact that it essentially DOMINATES mcd/myst at a certain point is annoying. also the fact that he’s so mysterious and cryptic in mcd is SO COOL but then he only turns out to be some guy. GOD. i hate this stupid show.

then again i am only going off of what i remember, which is from when the episodes originally came out YEARS ago. i could toootally be wrong about a lot of stuff since im nowhere NEAR being done with mcd but still its nice to vent (currently on s2 ep24 as of me writing this)

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Jace and betrothed unable to wait until their wedding night to have sex??

Request: Jacaerys and his future wife fooling around because they are horny and scared they will die before getting married. I don’t want my boy to die without tasting the greatness of sex

How did this smut piece get to 2.2k words? 😳

Warnings: 18+, smut, masturbating, fingering, p + v, 

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

‘’I’m scared, Jace,’’ you confessed as you stood by the banister of Dragonstone castle, watching as Vermax and Silverwing flew together over the bay. Hopefully Silverwing will lay eggs when you and Jacaerys have children. ‘’The war is getting closer to us. Soon, we’ll have to get on our dragons and battle against the enemy. We…we might die.’’

Death was inevitable during a war. Especially one with dragons, as Rhaenys once said. Team Black had already suffered a couple of losses — Lucerys, Rhaenys, Ser Erryk —, but more would come. 

‘’The thought of what’s coming is terrifying, but we can’t let ourself be paralyzed by the possibility of dying,’’ Jacaerys said, his hand securely on the handle of his sword. He had taken the habit from Daemon, whom he looked up to in certain aspects. 

You looked down at your bare hands on the top of the banister. ‘’I’m not scared of death, I’m scared of dying without ever calling you husband.’’ 

A few weeks before the petition of Driftmark, you and Jacaerys had announced your betrothal. Rhaenyra had a feast in celebration, proud and happy that her eldest son would marry without any politics involved. The wedding should have happened in the summer, but the King fell to his illness and from there unraveled a series of unfortunate events that postponed the wedding.  

‘’When the war ends and I sit on my throne, we’ll have a large celebration in the Red Keep,’’ the Queen had promised.

But you were tired of waiting. 

‘’Every night, as I lay in bed, I think of you and our life if there hadn’t been a war of succession. I would call you husband, my prince husband, and we would not be sleeping in separate beds across the castle. No one would be chaperoning us from afar and we would not get scolded for sharing ‘too long’ kisses.’’

Jacaerys put his hand over yours on the bannister, sharing the same feelings. He wanted to call you his wife and glare at whoever dared speaking wrong to you. He wanted to spend the evening alone in your shared chambers, eating cakes and talking about your day until one of you fell asleep first. He wanted…he wanted to take you to his bed and have a family with you. Not whilst the war was going. He could not deal with the stress of his pregnant wife going to battle on her dragon. 

A few days later, you were sitting in your settee, reading in your nightgown when you heard a light knock on the door. You raised your head from your book, and saw that a piece of parchment had been slipped beneath your door.  

Meet me when the moon is bright. Careful when you take the stairs, Ser Godric is keeping guard.

The message was not signed, but you recognized the handwriting. 

When you judged the moon was bright enough, you slipped a robe over your nightgown and quietly walked down the corridor to take the stairs to Jacaerys’ chambers. You listened carefully for any guards, not wishing to get caught sneaking to you betrothed’s chambers at the hour of the owl. It would make quite the scandal amongst the servants and the staff. 

You knocked delicately on the door and bit your lip as you waited, your stomach bubbling with excitement. Within a few seconds, the door opened and Jacaerys pulled you inside. 

The room was quite dark as the sun was asleep, only the fire of the hearth and a few candles on a table as sources of light. You noticed the small crumpled balls of parchment on the study, assumingly drafts of his message to you. It had to be not too suggestive, but also not too plain that you would not want to come.

‘’I didn't know if you were going to come,’’ Jacaerys said, his lips curved into a shy smile. 

He was wearing just a tunic and wool trousers. It felt strange to see him without his doublet and riding gear. His dark brown hair was messy and his cheeks flushed from what you could make from the light. He looked so different from the usual picture-perfect prince. 

‘’You asked to see me.’’ 

Jacaerys stepped closer. He raised his hand to stroke your cheek, then your hair, which he seemed taken by. ‘’I didn’t know your hair was so long. You always have them up in braids or pins,’’ he said, his tone soft with wonder.

A slight smile tugged at your lips. ‘’What is it that you wanted, Jace? I doubt you summoned me her to talk about my hair.’’ 

‘’I’ve been thinking. About us.’’ He paused for a moment, looking into your eyes. ‘’The Gods have been unfair to us. So let’s not wait for them to bless and unite us.’’

Your brows drew into a light frown. ‘’Jace, what do you—’’ you began, but he stepped closer, his forehead resting against yours. 

He stepped closer, the fire in the hearth reflecting in his eyes. ‘’Do you love me?’’ 

‘’With all my heart,’’ you replied without hesitation, your eyes filled with sincerity. 

‘’Let’s not wait, then. I…I don’t want to waste our time together waiting for this damn war to be over to take you to bed.’’ 

Jacaerys placed his hands on your hips and pulled you flush against him, his grip loose, giving you time to pull from his grasp if you wanted it. But you didn't. 

Instead, you looked up at him and kissed him, closing the remaining space between you. You kissed him like you've done many times before, only this time you didn't have to pull away every twenty seconds to check if a maester, guard or the Queen was around. You’ll never forget the embarrassment you felt that day…

Jacaerys whimpered as you pulled his bottom lip with your teeth, and pressed you against him, desire spreading through his veins, hot like dragonfire. With less layers between your bodies, you could feel the warmth of his chest through your nightgown, and his...little friend stiffening in his trousers.

‘’Someone is excited,’’ you murmured with a giggle as you broke the kiss to plant a trail of kisses down his neck instead. 

He let out a low moan, tightening his grip on your hips. ‘’I cannot control it when you’re around. Especially when you kiss me.’’ Jacaerys captured your lips into another kiss, and tingles caressed your spine and tickled your lower stomach. 

His hands grabbed and pulled at the material of your robe and nightgown, and you rolled your hips, igniting more of his dragonfire. Jacaerys moaned at the contact, louder than he intended. Your own cheeks turned red, realizing you were starting to reach an intimacy you had never breached before.

‘’I’m nervous,’’ you whispered, biting your lip as you thought of getting intimate. 

You placed your hands on Jacaerys’ chest, distracting yourself from your mind. His heart was beating fast, probably just as nervous. 

‘’We don't have to do anything if you don’t feel ready to.’’

You shushed him with a finger to his lips. ‘’I want to.’’ 

To prove yourself, you untied your robe and placed it on the back of the settee, right next to Jacaerys’ sword. The prince's breathing quickened, his dark eyes fixated on your fingers as you unlaced the ties of your nightgown, slowly unraveling the knot. You sucked in a breath as you pulled it down your shoulders, letting it slip down your body until it reached the floor.

Silence greeted your naked body, and you felt shy suddenly. You almost reached for your robe to cover yourself, but your betrothed sensed your uneasiness and stroked your cheek before taking off his tunic and trousers. He found it unfair for you to be naked while he was still clothed.

Once you were even, he guided you backwards towards his bed. The headboard had a large dragon engraved in the stone and seemed a little bigger than yours. The sheets were pale, and over top was a deep red blanket made of velvet to keep warm from the winds coming from the bay.

Jacaerys sat on the edge and, with an expression of fascination, he reached for your breasts. He made sure to be gentle, sliding his thumbs gently over your rapidly hardening nipples. ‘’By the Sevens, you’re beautiful,’’ he marveled, stars in his eyes. 

‘’I can say the same, my prince.’’ You pressed your palm over his chest, smooth and warm.

Jacaerys smiled, that one soft and genuine smile he reserved for you. ‘’I love you,’’ he said, his hands caressing your side in small, gentle circles. 

‘’I love you to— Aah,’’ you whimpered as his hand reached between your legs, stroking your slit clumsily. He didn't know what he was doing, and lacked finesse as he bumped against your clit at random moments, but it still felt amazing. 

He checked on you, wanting to please. ‘’Does that feel good?’’

‘’Yes.’’ 

His fingers were getting slippery from your arousal, making it easier to slide against your cunny. You’ve done it to yourself a few times, alone in your bed. 

‘’Can you put one inside?’’ 

Jacaerys’ fingers were a bit thicker than yours, and longer. 

He nodded. 

A breathy moan left your lips instantly, pleasure sparkling as your walls clenched around his middle finger. 

‘’Like that?’’ Jacaerys slid his finger out, then back in, repeating the motion as you grabbed his shoulder. 

‘’Yes. Again.’’ 

He listened to your needs, almost forgetting his own as his cock remained untouched against his stomach. It was engorged and painful. While one hand was busy pleasuring you, he wrapped his second around his cock and jerked himself. 

 You noticed and thought of helping him, but Jacaerys added a second finger and your knees almost gave out. The feeling was overwhelming, but you craved more. 

You pushed Jacaerys away, and clambered over his lap. His gaze met yours, equally filled with lust. With a nod from your lover, you reached down to grab his cock and lined it at your entrance, sinking down slowly, inch by inch. 

The intensity of the sensation had you gripping at each other, needing to anchor yourself to something. It was unpleasant at first, feeling a pressure and a stinging inside your intimate tunnel. You felt full in a way that was impossible to describe.

Feeling your fingers dig into his skin, Jacaerys kissed your shoulders and neck to sooth you, trying his hardest not to move by fear to blow too soon or hurt you. It was overwhelming for him too — the feeling of your tight walls squeezing him.

You rose up slightly, and then sank back on with tenderness. Jacaerys moaned deeply with you, his head dropping against your collarbone. He closed his eyes, his hands squeezing your hips as you moved up and down again, the pressure around his cock heavenly.  

Your bodies moved together in a rhythm, becoming one. 

When your legs fatigued, you let Jacaerys know and he moved you on the bed and laid you down on the rich velvet. He adjusted himself to the new position, his dark curls falling like curtains around his face as he thrusted into you with long deep strokes.

‘’Kiss me,’’ he demanded.

You complied, winding your arms around his neck and rocking your hips to meet his thrusts until you reached your high with a broken cry. 

Seconds later, Jacaerys pulled out and spilled onto your thighs, not wanting to deal with the consequences of having sex out of wedlock. 

The bed creaked as he collapsed beside you, breathing heavy. As if an invisible string was pulling you to him, you rolled on your side and clung to him, needing to be close after sex. You stayed that way for a long time, relaxing with your head on Jacaerys' bare chest. Your legs felt like jelly, still dizzy from the intense emotions and the overwhelming pleasure. 

You wished you could suspend time and stay there with him forever. But a soft yawn brought you back to reality.

‘’I must leave,’’ you said, feeling the tiredness catching you. It was difficult not to be lured to sleep when you were cuddling under the covers and Jacaerys’s hand was stroking your back gently.

His arms caged around you, protesting. ‘’Stay.’’ He nuzzled into your neck, his voice muffled. ‘’It’s a command from your prince.’’ 

His tone was unserious, but it still made you guilty and sad to leave him. 

‘’I do not wish to leave and sleep in my bed alone, but I must be found in my own chamber when the maids come in the morn.’’ 

Jacaerys sighed, rubbing his face into your hair. ‘’I know,’’ he said, his voice a mixture of resignation and frustration. 

Reluctantly, his arms slowly unwound from around you and you peeled yourself from him, releasing a small hiss when you sat up. The septa had warned you about the pain after breaking your maidenhead. It wasn’t unbearable, only sensitive when you moved. 

‘’I didn't hurt you, didn't I?’’ Jacaerys immediately asked, his eyes filled with concern as he checked on you.

You shook your head and smiled, washing his guilt away. ‘’No. You were perfect, Jace.’’ 

He knew it was untrue. No one was perfect the first time. 

You struggled dressing back into your nightgown and robe, having to fight with Jacaerys’ lips trying to kiss you and his arms pulling you against him. You gave him a last longing kiss before slipping out of his chambers, promising to see him to break fast. 

—

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[sunnami]

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

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

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

wc. 24.1k.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(When will your cursed lullaby finally end?)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How repulsive.

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

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

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

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

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

What a bunch of insufferable fools. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quite,” replies Lily, lips firmly pursed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alas, it is not Persephone Parkinson you head towards. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Reveal yourself,” you whisper curtly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He furrows his brow. “What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Children.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A firebird caws in the distance.

And, scene.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink, dumbfounded. “Harry dearest, I don’t believe that is necessary—!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Occlude! Occlude—you must occlude immediately! 

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

That, after all, is how you learned.

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

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

What’s wrong? 

The question echoes in your head. 

Ha! 

You scream inwardly, if they only knew! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Turns out, you are not fine. 

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

 —

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t bloody care,” you snide.

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How arrogant.

How very Gryffindor of him. 

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’ve made it all too easy for you. 

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

Sirius staggers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Has loneliness ever felt so suffocating before? 

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

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

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

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

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

When does duty end? And when does life begin? 

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

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

You want to go to sleep already. 

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

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

You miss your cat. 

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

You want to die.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your blood runs cold.

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

Dimwitted fool.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry’s dragon has broken free from its chains. 

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

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

“Daphne!” 

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

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

“Daphne, get away from there!” 

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

But there is nothing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Has kindness ever felt so real before?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You believe her.

You believe her with all your heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How confusing.

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

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

(Hogwarts is the best!) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything changes on the eve of your sixteenth birthday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lily says thank you, by the way.” 

“Oh? For what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Agatha Fawley closes her eyes, and you understand perfectly. 

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

“You will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Do not let them see you are afraid.’ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, how easy they make it for you. 

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

Marlene lunges.

(You are so tired of it all.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hate her. 

You hate her with all your heart. 

But even monsters need a heart to breathe. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bile rises to your throat. 

Tears fall from your eyes. 

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

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

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

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

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

You pass out in her arms. 

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

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

You are tired. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You toss the newspaper into the fire. 

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

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

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

Maybe. . . 

If you move a few inches forward. . . 

If you just fly. 

You’d be free. 

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

I don’t care. 

Go away. 

I want to die.

If I disappear, would you care? Would anyone? 

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

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

You let your weight shift over the window. 

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

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

You sigh. 

Maybe tomorrow, then. 

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

You shrug. “Nothing to talk about.”

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

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

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

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

You stay silent. 

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

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

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

You nibble on your bruised lip. 

Could you really? 

Maybe just this once. 

You’re only human, magic as you are. 

You take one step forward. 

Then another. 

Another.

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

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

To do what is right. 

To endure. 

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

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

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

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

Your mother. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s not!” you scream.

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

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

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

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

Tom snarls, “Good.”

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

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

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

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

“Mum, wake up, please!” 

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

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

“Kill her!” Voldemort rages into your ear. 

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

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

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

There’s a faint smile on her face. 

“I’m. . . sorry.”

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

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

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

Tom Riddle. 

“Avada Kedavra!”

He will know your pain.

Not today, not tomorrow.

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

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

[manmuncher777]

I am BEGGING YOU to write something about Aegon being literally OBSESSED with the reader, like to the point that it’s dangerous.

a/n - I love this idea, I think it matches Aegon’s character so well. I felt super motivated to write this so thank you my love. I hope you enjoy. xoxox

⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆ 𝘼𝙚𝙜𝙤𝙣 𝙏𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙮𝙚𝙣 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 - 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩 ⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆

𝐍𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬

NOT proofread lol. If you have sent a request I promise I will get to it, one fic takes me a while to write so ill try to get to it asap. LOVE YOU

𝐀𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐲

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 - 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞(𝐀𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐮𝐩), 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐯, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

Aegon craved you. Aegon needed you, if you weren’t around, he would loose his mind.

For a few years now you had been one of the maids that Aegon had, starting in the lower ranks before being the personal lady to the king. Of course Aegon had others, but you were different, you were special. You saw the king for what he truly was - a broken young man. And instead of hating him for it, or offering him some fake pity. You helped him.

You could understand why he so craved the support, you had witnessed his family interactions, and heard the gossip that would travel through each servant of the crown. You understood he had a complicated relationship with his family, and a lot of external pressures to deal with. Every encounter that one would expect to be private was known by every maid, cook, cup bearer and servant. So after having heard so much over the years, you felt empathy for the king, aware of his lack of someone to talk to.

So on that fated night when you came in to change the kings bed sheets and found him crying, thats all you were, just someone to talk to. Aegon had never had this before, never had such a simple kindness been shown to him. And for that he was ever grateful. This greatfulness soon blossoming into something more. A deep sense of caring, a deep obsession. This would soon form a routine for you. Not long after that night he told his mother he wished for you to be his main lady, of course his mother had worries about this, but accepted his proposition. Most evenings instead of completing your nightly chores (Aegon had this duties bestowed upon someone else) you would sit with the king in his chambers, and listen. He would treat you with such respect and kindness that it was enjoyable for both of you. You would share his wines - some of the finest you had ever tried- and eat his food (he would have the cooks prepare his extra dinners and fruits to snack on because he wanted you to have them). Some nights were filled with lighthearted talk, some with laughter and drinking, others were filled with deep emotion. All of which you enjoyed.

“hello Issa gevie hāedar” he would say to you each evening with that handsome smile on his face. my beautiful girl

He would watch you enter with a glint in his eyes, each time you would knock in the same pattern so he knew it was you. That was a sound he soon began to adore.

You never understood valyrian, but it warmed you to know he gave you nicknames.

“Hello my king” you would blush in response before sitting on the edge of his bed, beggining your nightly conversations.

Aegon never failed to ask you about yourself also, but you rarely kept on the subject. You knew he was the one who carried the heaviest burden of all. You wished to relieve some of that pressure.

Aegon loved how shy you were, it was so much fun for him, to watch you blush under his gaze. He loved it, loved the effect he had on you. So of course he couldn’t just leave you there sitting so far away from him, soon the sitting on the edge of the bed each night became lying next to him, both sat up with pillows behind you. That soon became him resting his head on your lap, looking up at you. And every now and then, it would end with you holding each other. Nothing scandalous. Just enjoying each others embrace.

Soon Aegon got bolder, wanting to watch you become a blushing mess around him. He would reach up slowly towards your face, brushing some strands of hair behind your ear before gently caressing your cheek. Of course your skin would burn with the sensation of his hand touching you for hours after it had actually occurred. As if his touch awakened something inside you.

You cared for the king greatly, but you weren’t a fool. You knew that if anyone found out about what went on each night you went and visited him - despite it being nothing overly scandalous - you would be put at risk. You knew it wasnt a good situation to be in. There were already rumours that you were sleeping with him, some of the other maids even being bold enough to ask you if you were sleeping with the king to which you had aggressively denied. But it did nothing to stop you visiting him. There was just always a voice in your head warning you not to get too close.

But there was that part of you, whenever you saw him that would swoon over how handsome he was, how beautifully his hair was frame his face, and how his violet eyes would sparkle in the candle light. how good he smelled and how nice it was to feel his muscular frame next to you. Everything a young maiden craved in a man.

Aegon would even go as far to gift you smalls things, flowers being left in you quarters, books you would like and beautiful ribbons for your hair. Aegon had even had a necklace made for you, a beautiful delicate chain with a singular dragon on it. as a symbol of him.

a symbol that you were his.

So when he found out that you had requested the night off as it was your birthday, and you were allowed it, he was furious. Of course he wanted you to have a good name day, but you could’ve spent it with him, he wouldve got you anything you desired. In fact you didn’t even mention to him it was your name day.

He sat waiting in his chambers for you as he usually does, only to be met by one of the older maids who would serve for him.

“Where is y/n?” he snappily asked the woman who had only just graced the king chambers

“In the town my lord, celebrating her name day”

Not saying another word he stormed out of his room. He was angry, not at you of course. never angry at you. He merely wished you had told him, he wouldve joined you, had a gift made for you. Anything.

The wooden doors of the servant quarters smashed open with aegons force, stopping the movements of all inside.

“which one of you knows where y/n is this evening?” he asks, scanning the room for anyone who looks like the have the answer

“Her uncles tavern your majesty, the red anchor” one piped up

Once again in silence he stormed out. The red anchor, he had probably been there before on one of his evening out, he couldn’t remember. no matter, he would find it.

Determination flowed through the young prince. He couldn’t understand why you wouldnt tell him. Honestly he didn’t even know what he was going to say when he found you, but to have a night without your presence already felt crippling for him.

His steps echoed on the castle walls, each step carrying him closer and closer to his destination, you. As he passed through the halls, he was spotted.

“My king, where are you off to in such a hurry tonight, the hour is late” Ser Arryck asked from his post.

Aegon not even bothering to stop responded to the man with haste “I have some business to attend to in the city, I wont be gone long.”

“The hour is late my king, allow me to accompany you” Arryck was walking too now, having to match the kings pace that didn’t show any sign of stopping. confusion clear on his face about why he was determined to go alone.

“No, I don’t need any assistance. I will go alone” Aegon was getting more and more angry as the seconds passed. Angry that he couldn’t see you, angry that Ser Arryck was trying to stop him from seeing you.

“My king, my apologies but I must come with you into the city, if it is found that I allowed you to go with no protection I could be expelled from my position” Ser Arryck wasnt wrong, kingslanding was a dangerous place, and selfishly he feared that if something bad were to happen to the king he could be worse than just expelled, it put his life on the line. He has sworn to protect his king. But Aegon wasnt feeling rather empathetic in this moment, Arryck couldve been on fire and it still wouldnt have stopped him.

“Fine then ser, as you king I command you that I will not be accompanied this evening. Is that fucking clear?” Luckily for Aegon this conversation had allowed him to get closer and closer to the door, but it didn’t stop the rage at Ser Arryck’s questioning. If Arryck did come with him, then Aegon risked putting you in danger also, he understood that for the moment no one could be aware of the unique relationship you shared.

“Your majesty please-“ Ser Arryck had made the fatal mistake of touching the king. He had stopped Aegon in his tracks by gripping his shoulder. Aegon couldn’t explain where the flash of rage came from, but it gave him the strength to twist around, landing a punch directly of Arrycks nose. The punch catching the knight so off guard that it sent him flying backwards. His armour clashing against the stone as he fell. But Aegon didn’t stop there, he mounted Ser Arryck - landing multiple brutal shots to his face, aegons fists becoming bloodied from the mans face.

How dare he try and stop the King from seeing you. How dare he try and stop Aegon from being with you. No one was every going to take you away from him.

Aegon only stopped when he was sure Arryck was unconscious. arrycks face was bloody and bruised, already swelling with the punches it had just recieved. And without a second thought Aegon left him there.

Finally, he thought. finally out of the castle and one step closer to you. He swiftly grabbed one of the cloaks he would leave stashed outside of the doors incase he wished to make a speedy night time trip into the city. Yet with even the hood pulled up over his head, it couldn’t even block out the thoughts of you. you were like a drug and Aegon was going through sever withdrawals. He missed everything about you, he missed the scent of roses you would bring into his room with you, he missed the way you laughed, he missed the sound of you saying his name. He missed being able to glance down and see the dragon necklace sitting perfectly presented just above your tits.

He couldn’t believe it, hes always thought of you romantically, thought of how you would look on his arm, as his wife. But hed never felt this way about you, you had always been with him. so when you were finally taken away from him, it sent him crazy.

He could feel himself getting more and more overwhelmed the further he went into the city. To any other onlooker he looked drunken and crazed. In truth he felt like he was going through some kind of frenzy. His head was snapping and pinning in each direction, scarred he would miss you in the crowds of people, his steps becoming messy and unbalanced due to him not looking ahead.

His mind was playing tricks on him, making him think that he had seen your beautiful silhouette on the side of the street, only for it to be a shadow and nothing more.

With everything going on around him his mind started to race, kingslanding was a crazy place at night. The street performers displaying their talents with flames in al different colours flying about the place, a man on stilts in the distance making his way though the crowd. Fortune tellers on the sides of the streets calling aegons name as he passed the. Groups of drunk people, fighting, fucking and laughing. He couldn’t take much more of this. What if you were out here and in trouble, what if you were with someone else.

Aegon couldn’t take much more, he grabbed the nearest person to him which turned out to be a drunken old woman who was shouting with a bunch on gamblers at a card game

“Where is the red anchor?!” He had the woman by both of the shoulders, demanding in her face for her to tell him

“Your stood in front of it you fucking blaggard.” she said unhappily wrenching herself from him grip before returning to her jeering at the ongoing card game.

Aegon could scream. If only you knew what effect you had on him. He was certainly about to show you. There it stood in clear letters on the sign hanging above the tavern “The Red Anchor” with the corresponding symbol underneath. Without waiting another second the tavern doors were shoved open by the king. Who was eagerly scanning to find you through the crowds of busy drunk men.

He had been here before, many times. He recognised the layout. He couldn’t yet spot you so deeper into the pub he dove, walking much slower now into the main bar area, hoping to arch a glimpse of you

And as if the Gods had answered his prayers, there you stood. In centre stage of the room, there you were stood by the bar, talking to the man on the other side. Your uncle Aegon assumed (And hoped he was right).

You looked so different, so free. You wore a beautiful dress that complimented you well, it was simple but the nicest you could afford. The colours and style suited you perfectly. much nicer than the uniforms you had to wear at the castle. Your hair was down and flowing freely unlike when you wear it up at the castle. Aegon could tell you were in your element. You looked ethereal, a smile gracing your features as you chatted with those around you.

Aegon was about to make Hi way over to you when out the corner of his eye he spotted it. A fat drunk man making his way over to you, predatory look in his eyes. Aegon watched as the happy girl you were moments ago now shrivelled at the mans advances. You clearly having turned him down because the mans expression changed, him placing a hand on your shoulder and pulling you closer to him.

He was touching you, he was touching what belonged to Aegon

Zȳhon gevie hāedar. his beautiful girl

Wishing seconds Aegon was next to you. The hand that was previously resting on your shoulder was now pinned against the wall with a dagger through the palm. Aegon’s dagger.

Rage filled Aegon as he slammed the man into the wall, pinning him there tightly, staring into his eyes. The man screamed out in pain, only silencing a few of the near by people, the rest of the tavern paying no mind. Aegon could tell by the mans face he was scared. good.

“Don’t ever lay a hand on her again” He gritted out in the mans face, eyes wide and bloodshot. Aegon ripped the dagger from the mans hand causing him to let out another agonised scream before silencing himself due to the feeling of the same blade being pressed up to his throat.

“Do you understand me” The cowards in front of Aegon merely mustering a nod yes to his question.

god Aegon wanted to kill him, Aegon wanted to cause him so much pain. To drag it out and make it as gory as possible. How dare he lay a single finger on what belonged to the king. How dare he make you uncomfortable and try to damage something so perfect. Aegon couldn’t remember feeling a rage like this, it was like nothing he had ever felt before. He had never felt so protective over you before. It took everything in him not to push that blade into this scumbags neck, but he didn’t want to do that in front of you. So with a sigh he let the man go, who quickly ran out of the tavern.

You were still yet to recognise Aegon as he still had his hood up, so it was a shock for you when this hooded man grabbed you by the arm and lead you through the busy crowds of drinkers and locked you both in a storage room.

“what in seven hells - Aegon?!” once the man finally pulled his hood down to reveal himself, you were shocked. Aegon was your saviour, the one who so violently apprehended the man previously bothering you. But why, how on earth did he know you were here. why was he here?

You didn’t actually get to ask him any of these questions before he trapped you in a searing kiss. He pinned you up against the wall - the stone of the wall biting into your back slightly. You moaned into the kiss as the Kings hands held onto you waist. His body was pressed into yours as he kissed you hungrily. All the many days of wanting, the house spent obsessing over you and the feelings of tonight’s events all put into one kiss. And you could feel it, feel all the emotions - hunger, lust, desire maybe even love. You kissed him back wiht just as much passion, the kiss as fulfilling for you as it is to him. One of your legs now wrapping against his wait, hid rigged hand gripping your thigh. Pushing himself into you with a light groan. Your hands found his hair, gripping at the silver strands as he tongue enters your mouth.

Finally he gets to taste you. He could taste the ale you had been drinking on your tongue. He broke the kiss only for a second to look at you. Gods you looked perfect. Your lips now pink and plump from your kiss, hair slightly dispelled and dress begginging to bunch up at the sides. Your chest heaved slightly with a light pant as you tried to catch you breath. Your cheeks coated with a dusting of blush. You were the image of beauty. He could still se your shy nature on your face but was sure you were a lot more confident tonight.

“Aegon…What are you doing here.” you whispered, your leg still wrapped around Hi , his face mere inches away from yours.

“I couldnt take it anymore. I must have you, I must call you mine. No one else will ever come close to you again.” he confessed, hunger in his eyes as he speaks to you. His frame towering over you as he watched your eyes widen at his words

“Aegon-“

“Tell me you want this too gevie hāedar. Tell your king what you need.” he whispered, lips brushing against your ear. beautiful girl

You were silent for a second, no longer. And in this second thousands of thoughts flashed through your mind, what were you going to do after this? what would be the consequences? But those thoughts were clouded with want, and there was nothing in that moment that wouldve stopped either of you.

“I want you Aegon.” You whimpered, completely at his mercy.

This was everything the young king had dreamed of and more. His beautiful blushing girl looking up at him, begging for him. Needing him like he needed her and who would he be to decline such a polite little thing. A smirk graces his face before his lips are on your again. His tongue invading your mouth. You moaned again louder this time as you could feel his hardness pressing into you.

When you were back in the castle he would take his time with you, exploring you with his hands, his mouth. UNtil he had every inch of you memorised. You were his now and no matter the consequences, everyone was going to know it. You were untouchable with his favour. But until he could get you back in the castle, he needed you right now.

He pushed the skirt up, bunching it at your waist with desperation as he kissed at your neck, nipping at the skin lightly just to get those beautiful noises you made. He would never be able to forget how you sounded. His toungue licking and sucking at the sensitive skin while his fingers brushed over your already wet cunt. He cold feel it over your underclothes, and couldnt hide the chuckle that left him when you moaned so sweetly.

“Are you enjoying yourself Byka mēre?” he questioned, and you could hear the smugness in his voice. You could only bring yourself to nod. Your head already fuzzy. little one

“Oh my dear, don’t tell me you’ve already gone quiet, I’ve hardly even touched you yet” his face now back in view, smirking at you. His fingers now working their way past your underclothes - gently brushing through your folds. You gasp at the feeling, innocent little eyes begging for more.

“Tell me, has anyone ever touched you like this before?”

“No, my king” Gods, he felt his cock throb in his pants, what a naughty thing you were using his title like that. Maybe not so shy as he thought. He would be lying if his heart did jump at the idea of being your first. He felt it was right, he would be the only man to ever touch you in this way

“Good girl” he whispered, before pushing one of his fingers into you, watching as your mouth hung open in pleasure. Slowly he began to pump him finger inside of you, before taking another and gently pushing it inside. You were glad for the busy night in the tavern because you couldnt control your moan. Your head lolled back against the stone and your hands gripped aegons forearms tightly, squeezing him. You hadn’t felt anything like this before, it was amazing. With every thrust of his fingers Aegon’s palm came into contact with your clit, the sensation jolting through you, giving you goosebumps all over. You whined and moaned, unable to do anything else but take it as he watched you, smile on his face. He was proud to be the one that left you crumbling beneath him. Your leg hooked around his waist for support, you worried your legs would give out. A strange sensation began to build in your stomach as Aegon kept the same torturous pace, listening to the sounds of your we cunt as his finger would leave you hole briefly to play with you folds, seeing you cry out at the teasing.

“Feels so good Aegon, please don’t stop.”

“I wouldnt dream of it my love.” he says, completely true. All he wants is to give you what you deserve, the pleasure that you deserve. He can feel you tightening around his fingers now, he can tell your close

Your whole body is on fire with pleasure, not only at what his finger are currently doing to you, but the whole situation, his handsome face smiling down on you as you come undone for him. You cant control the moans coming from your mouth as the feeling grows

he leans down right next to your ear and whisper to you, “let go for me Issa jorrāelagon”. my love

And that was all you needed. All you could think to do in that moment was scream his name as you came all over his fingers, the feeling far more intense than you expected. Black clouded you vision as his fingers never stopped, coaxing you through your orgasm. You barley had enough time to catch your breath before he was kissing you, pulling himself free of his trousers and lining himself up at you entrance.

He waited, looking for you to signal to him you wanted this. you nodded and he sheathed himself inside you. The slick from your orgasm allowing him to slide in with ease.

You both moaned in unison as the feeling, both being so close to each other finally. And he was about to show you how much he craved this. Aegon couldn’t hold off long before he was pistoning inside of you, his pace hard and fast. The feeling of you being so tightly wrapped around him causing guttural moans to leave him. Gods you felt amazing, better than anything he imagined, better than all the nights he used his hand while thinking about how good you would look on his cock. His imagination falling short of this moment.

A slight sheen of sweat coated your skin, your tits basically bursting from the top of your dress as his cock pounded your tight hole. Once again the necklace he gifted you taking pride of place on your chest. Your eyes rolled back so beautifully, struggling to stay on him. Your moans consisting of his name and a string of curses.

All you could do was tell him how good he felt. Good being an understatement, you could basically feel him throbbing inside of you. He was big, stretching you out so perfectly, hitting a spongy spot inside of you that had you seeing stars. When his pelvis connected with yours, it would brush against your clit. The pressure against the bundle of nerves causing you to tighten around Aegon. Which made him release the most delicious sounds you had ever heard.

Aegon looked down, watching where you both connected, this moment was surreal, all of the anger and stress from earlier now melting away each time he plunged into your soaking cunt. He watched himself slip in and out of you, his hard cock coated in your wetness. Already he could feel himself nearing his end, he wasnt surprised, all these days spent dreaming about you had him riled up more than ever.

One of the hands that was gripping your hips so tightly travelled down between you both to rub at your clit, the squeal you let out not going unheard by Aegon.

“So good for me my love, you have no idea how long ive waited for this.” he huffed out “so beautiful”

Your legs were quivering and you were glad you had him ther to support you or your legs would have failed you, the same feeling building in your stomach began, only stringer this time. The stimulation from his finger and his cock was almost too much for you to handle

“My king!” you squealed out as his thumb drew quick circles on your sensitive bud.

“I know little one” he muttered to you sweetly as you feel apart for him once more. Your orgasm hitting you even harder this time. Clenching around Aegon so tightly that he couldnt hold off anymore, his hips stuttered before he bottomed out inside you.

You could feel him throb as his seed filled you. Both of you left panting for breath, staying as you were fore a moment, with him inside you. He kissed you once more, much gentler this time.

“you are mine now Issa gevie hāedar” my beautiful girl

[trivia-yandere]

tape

before leaving for college jungkook doesn't know when he'll see you again after this week and wants something to remember you by… @mother2monsters @darkuni63 @sweetempathprunetree @momnomnom @yoongiwantsme @chimmisbae @whipwhoops @prettyxxxplease

word count: 1.969

warning: car sex, pseudo incest, oral sex, smut, dirty talking, protected/unprotected sex, coercion, handjob, manipulation, creampie, video taping, dub-con,

series masterlist | part one | part three

“You don’t have to record everything.” you say, panting. Your eyes, glossy and full of tears, glance up at Jungkook who’s heaving. “You have enough content.”

Jungkook blinks his eyes a bit to look at you - cheeks puffy, eyes glossy and lips wet with saliva. Your hand softly strokes his cock as you await your answer. 

“Of course I do.” Jungkook responds. He places his hand on top of your head, glancing up at the camera shining directly at the two of you. “Who knows when we’ll be doing this next.”

Jungkook loved taking pictures of you - he made it a routine. It was easier, of course, because you were his (step) sister. He took pictures of you randomly around the house, sometimes some of you and him together. At school when the two of you were together, he’d snap some pictures and it was never considered weird because you were his sister.

Some pictures were just for Jungkook’s eyes only - the ones where he would sneak up on you in the shower or the pictures he would capture while you were beneath him. You allowed him to take pictures of your naked body because he promised it was just for him to see - and it was kept privately hidden deep in his phone that only he had the access to.

Jungkook wanted something to remember you by - something that he could look back on. It wasn’t like you had an illness that was so incurable that you’d die - or that he was going off to war to never see you again. You and he were both going to college; separate ones. 

And as months went by and graduation had come and gone, he knew he only had a limited amount of time with you.

Jungkook wanted more and more pictures and videos of you - whatever he could get. He took every chance he got to shine his camera in your face especially while you were so fucked out and moaning his name desperately. 

Tonight was no different. This was going to be your last night with Jungkook and then you’d be on your way off to prepare for your college move-in day and soon, he’d do the same. 

You snicker. “We won’t be doing this again.” you say, feeling his lips kiss on your neck. “I’m going to college and so are you.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Jungkook murmurs. He’s glad that you’ve already discarded your shorts long ago - all he had to do was push your panties aside or rip them off (whichever was easier). “You’re only a three hour drive away.”

“Driving three hours away for pussy is insane.” you respond, feeling Jungkook’s hands slide down your back to cup your ass. Your tongue swirls on the tip of his cock, eyebrows raising.

“Allowing me to fuck you in my car in the middle of an empty parking lot is also insane.” Jungkook retorts with a sudden chuckle. He licks his lips as he watches you. “Allowing me to fuck you at all is insane…yet we do it.”

You roll your eyes but even you could agree with Jungkook. You had allowed him to get away with a lot - taking your virginity months prior was one of them; allowing him to continue to fuck you was another. 

But you told yourself that this was just something you were going to do for now and take to your grave - as would Jungkook. 

You don’t respond and instead decide it was better to continue your sucking. You take Jungkook back fully into your mouth.

You recall the first time you’ve done this and how horribly it was. But that didn’t make you stop - you were determined to know how to do so before college and Jungkook was the perfect candidate. “Add a little pressure to it…” Jungkook had said, wrapping his own hand around yours to guide you. He then begins to guide your closed fist up and down onto his cock. “You don’t have to go too fast, but anything slower than this is a bore…” he instructs, eyelids watching you as you get the hang of how exactly he wanted you to jack him.

Jungkook adored having to teach you how to pleasure him - you were such a curious person and naturally, like him, always strived to be better. It was a matter of time until you knew exactly what to do with your hands and mouth to get his toes curling and his legs shaking.

You bring Jungkook out of your mouth to pump him a bit - your touch was his favorite. Your hands are always soft and gentle, even when you wrap them firmly around his cock. Your tongue circles the tip of his cock, eyes watching his every reaction. You run your tongue over the swollen head, passing his slit with each lick. You enjoyed watching Jungkook become the submissive one who depended on you for pleasure - thighs shaking, mouth agape and releasing such filthy moans. 

There’s a salty taste on your tongue and you know it’s precum instantly. 

“You’re teasing me.” Jungkook grumbles, gripping your hair slightly. 

“We have all night.” you say, muffled. “What’s the rush?”

“I want to fuck you now.” Jungkook responds, voice deep and pleading. “We have to be home in an hour anyways. You know how dad is.”

You release the tip and watch his cock spring back, pre-cum and saliva dripping from it. “Fine.” you tell Jungkook, already lifting from your position to sit in his lap. “Where’s the condom?”

Jungkook always came prepared, going through his pockets to remove the small, golden square package. He hastily rips it open and discards the package lazily beside him. You’re hovering above him, waiting for him to put the condom on.

“Okay.” Jungkook places his hands upon your hips, guiding you down towards his cock. 

You release a low sigh when Jungkook enters you fully, your walls automatically clenching around him. Even with the amount of times the two of you had fucked, you could never become accustomed to him inside of you.

Jungkook, however, is inpatient. He wastes no time in placing his hand beneath your thighs and thrusting upwards. He assures you’re in line of vision with the camera - he needed good material masturbation while you were away.

Jungkook is a greedy person, he wants all of you. As he continues his thrusting inside of you, your breast bounces in his face, the tank top not being able to hold them any longer. As your breast spills out, Jungkook takes the opportunity to pop a nipple into his mouth.

“You’re so deep…” you moan, your nails digging into Jungkook’s shoulders for support. His breathing increases, his tongue suckling on your nipples needily and his hands go to grip your ass.

Jungkook pushes you away slightly, you now lean between the passenger and driver seats. Jungkook groans as he watches you - so fucked out and full of lust. He begins to thrust, his hand against your stomach for support.

“Your pussy’s so wet, Y/N.” Jungkook scoffs, eyes glancing at how good you were milking him; it’s almost a shame he wore a condom. He couldn’t imagine how heavenly you felt bare. “It’s because you love me that it’s like this.”

Jungkook loves touching your bare skin and his hands never settle on anything for long. He grips your breast as he fucks into you, he holds your neck, your waist - whatever. Now, his hands trails down slowly, thumb pressing firmly against your clit. 

Jungkook hisses, “So, so, wet.” he twirls his thumb against your clit, only fucking into you deeper. “Aren’t you going to miss me, Y/N? You’ll be going to college and sex would never be the same with anyone else.”

Maybe Jungkook was selfish, he’s admitting to it. But he could never fathom anyone else having you in these positions - no other man getting to have their face between your legs or getting to touch the soft, gentle skin of your body. Another guy didn’t deserve to feel how wet and tight you were, or hear your soft, sweet moans.

You yelp when you feel a hand around your neck - and it causes you to clench even tighter around Jungkook. He was angered now at just the thought of you leaving him and allowing someone else to do what he could do to you with such love and care. 

“You’re such a whore, Y/N.” Jungkook grunts, pounding into you angrily. Your moans increase, along with the squelching of your pussy. “How many guys are you planning on fucking?”

Jungkook’s grip on your neck grows tighter at your response. “However many I feel like.”

You loved teasing Jungkook ever since the pair of you were children. He rarely gave you a reaction until now and you were going to milk it. 

“So does anyone get to feel your pussy?” Jungkook snarls, releasing your neck to hoist you back up. Your arms are holding the passenger seat for support. “I always knew you’d grow up to be a bitch.”

Jungkook’s insult don’t faze you, maybe because he was fucking you entirely too well. You have no control whatsoever and Jungkook has it all. He thrusts roughly inside of you, dark eyes shining in lust and anger; jealousy. His hands roam your body, gripping your breast and suckling your nipples. He bites along your neck and shoulders, hands gripping and slapping your skin.

There’s a kiss pressed firmly against your lips; deep and full of greed. Even now, Jungkook cannot fathom to think about someone else kissing your lips and it angers him to know that it’s something you’re going to allow.

“I want to cum inside of you.” Jungkook releases your lips and pushes you off of him. 

You stumble in the backseat, eyes widening at his request. 

“You can’t-”

“Why not?” Jungkook is already pulling the condom off of him. “It’s not fair you wouldn’t let me. I love you.”

Jungkook discards the condom out of the car carelessly. “Don’t you love me?” Jungkook asks with a tilt of his head. “If you’re going to have sex in college, I should at least be the first one to feel you bare.”

Jungkook hovers above you, wrapping you in an embrace. Your back is towards him and his hand dips between your legs to rub along your clit. Your mind is hazy and you don’t realize that Jungkook is already inching inside of you.

“Your pussy feels so good, Y/N. You love me, right? You’d let me…” Jungkook trails off, entering deeper inside of you. His body shudders at the new feeling that the condom wasn’t allowing him to endure. 

Jungkook begins to thrust, his twirling of your clit never ceasing. Your walls tighten around him heavenly that he never wants this to end. If he could fuck into you like this - raw - the entire night, he would. It’s something he deserved - he was the only person who would ever truly love you.

“Doesn’t it feel good, Y/N?” Jungkook murmurs against your ear.

You nod your head hastily. The feeling is new; better. You never felt Jungkook’s bare skin inside of you and now with direct skin to skin, the euphoric sensation increases tremendously. 

Jungkook isn’t going to last long - not when there’s mountains of senses going through him. “Come,” he murmurs against your ear.

You turn your head to face Jungkook and instantly, he presses his lips against yours. His thrusts are sloppy and he’s determined to make you cum alongside him, rubbing along your clit hastily until he feels you trembling beneath him.

Jungkook never came so hard in his life. He’s twitching inside of you, cum reaching deep and even then, the pair of you never cease from kissing.

series masterlist

[thragedys]

Midnight Visitor

Sol x Reader

Synopsis: Thanks to the takeout you ate last night, the effects of food poisoning from poor catering have finally kicked in, hitting you when you least expected it. To ensure you’re properly cared for, Sol takes the duty of watching over you.

Word count: 1.8k

Includes: Gender neutral reader, sick reader, Sol being soft, affection, trespassing, jealous Sol (+ more!)

After undergoing a series of nausea and intense dizziness, Sol insisted on walking you home despite being out in the city with him and Hyugo. It was as though all life was drained from your face, the only support you had while walking was Sol’s arms holding you upright. 

Food poisoning… Should’ve never eaten from that takeout place with less than three stars in their reviews.

Grabbing the key from your bag, he unlocks the door and escorts you inside, directing you to your bedroom while you whine and hold your face in your hands. Even the slightest tilt of your head would send you spiralling sideways, a recipe for disaster as your stomach decides to conjure its own storm.

Inside the kitchen, Sol spots a paper bag. The logo of the company which made you unwell is there, presented in a large font. Retrieving his phone, he snaps a picture of the logo, alongside the contact details printed on the back. He’ll deal with that later. Currently, he has more important things to tend to. You.

Rummaging through your cupboards, he successfully finds some medication that will ease the aches in your stomach. As for your dizzy head, the best thing he can do for you is close your curtains and encourage you to get rest. Fluid intake is also vital, it’ll aid dehydration. Returning to your side with a glass of water and some pills, Sol places them on your bedside table and sits on the edge of your bed.

“Are you okay? Let me feel your head.” Sol sighs, placing his palm flat on your forehead.

“Sol…” You whine, one hand remaining on your stomach and the other clutching his free hand.

“You’re not that hot, yet. Leave your window open—”

“No! No, I can’t! You’ve seen the news…”

“You will be fine, I promise. Fresh air will make you feel a lot better.” 

“I’m sorry for burdening you with this…”

“Don’t be. I’d rather it be me taking care of you than anyone else.”

“I’ll buy you a—”

“No. Sit down.”

“Ugh, Sol—”

“Rest.”

“I’ll buy you a thank-you gift when I’m better…” You mumble, pouting at him as he leans against the doorframe.

“Send me a text or call me if you need me. Doesn’t matter what time it is.”

“Text… Call… Yeah.” You repeat, rubbing your eyes while burying your head into the pillow.

“Don’t forget, take your medicine.”

“I’m gonna take it… Now.” You reach over and drop the pills into your mouth, then take a small sip of the drink to wash them down.

“Goodnight. I hope you feel better soon.”

Before leaving, he waited until he heard your breathing pattern change, signifying that you were asleep. Alongside the medication, he slipped in a sleeping pill, its dosage strong enough to keep you out for the correct amount of time. 

As if he would leave you alone so easily while you’re sick.

Right now, however, his main concern is dealing with the business that made his soulmate ill, after all, what good is a company in operation if its only achievement is casting a vast majority of its customers extremely unwell upon eating their cheaply sourced food?

Upon arriving back at his apartment, he stripped from his usual attire and threw on a set of his darkest clothes, a matching surgical mask to cover what remained exposed on his face. A complaint wouldn’t be enough, they clearly racked up enough of them online but did not change a singular thing about their selfish ways.

It was just after midnight when the streets were soundless and the civilians were tucked away inside of the safety of their homes. Strolling down the deserted sidewalk, Sol stops outside of a building, comparing the logo to the one saved in his photo album. A perfect match. 

Subtly, Sol explored the perimeter, tracing the outline of the building before returning to the front. It’s no wonder why all of their customers become unwell, the amount of trash that remains behind the building is piled up, much taller than him. 

There is no point in teaching those who do not wish to learn. An ignorant mind reflects an ignorant heart. Only the careless would profit from neglect like this.

Flicking his lighter on, he tosses it to the ground before walking away, the flicker of flames igniting in the distance as he glances back. It won’t be long before a passerby calls the fire department, but that’s no concern to him. When the authorities see the state the building was in previously, they could rule it out as the impact of an unkempt business.

His feet led him back to your apartment, the open window a much easier entrance for him as he climbed up. After all those locks you’ve bought in the past, he’s surprised you never gave up your safety protocols. Securing his footing, he creeps back into your bedroom, kneeling beside you as you rest peacefully in your slumber.

You are so beautiful. Every feature of your face was crafted with tender hands. He traces over your lips with his index finger, slowly drawing his hand back.

“Hi, Pumpkin.” He whispers, leaning in to press his lips against your cheek. “I’m going to check your temperature again.”

This time, Sol uses the back of his hand. Thankfully, he would say you are around average, partially a slight bit higher than usual.

“Good… You’re going to be okay. You might be sick tomorrow but I’ll come over to make sure you aren’t alone.”

“You like having me here, don’t you? You feel so safe, so loved.” He strokes your hair similar to how you would pet a fragile animal. As his hand ventures under the blanket, he comes in contact with something.

“You still sleep with the plushie I bought for you? You…” Sol’s smile expands, his cheeks lighting a subtle shade of pink. “You must love it. Or me. I hope it’s me.”

In your sleep, you moan, your body beginning to shift. He strokes the side of your arm, calming you down as you endure whatever dream is unfolding. After a while, your body stops with its relentless motions and goes still again.

“This is our special time together. It’s my favourite part of the day.” Sol’s lips curve up, his eyes filled with adoration as he clutches your plushie close to his chest. “I’ll make it smell like me again, don’t worry.”

“Mph…” Your lips moved, but he couldn’t decipher the sound that left them.

“Hm?” Sol pinches your cheek, a procedure to test if you’re awake or not. 

You must be mumbling to yourself since you didn’t respond to his touch.

“I’m guessing you missed smelling me then. That’s cute.” When he finished rubbing the plushie against his flesh and clothing, he tucked it under your chin. “You’re cute.”

“He doesn’t deserve you, you know?” Sol mumbles, sinking onto the bed beside you, fingers toying with your hair.

“He would never do the things I have done for you.”

“I know you prefer me. It’s okay if you don’t want to admit it right now. I can wait.” He rolls onto his side, your face now in view. 

“You make it hard for me to leave every single time…” His pitch was low, an almost pouty tone as he nuzzled his head against your chest. Lifting your limbs, he wraps them around himself, drawing the blanket over both of your bodies this time.

“I’ll just stay like this for a few more minutes… Then I have to go.” Sol closes his eyes, the therapeutic beats of your heart are a soothing melody to his ears.

…

Sunlight filters in through the curtains, a bitter breeze hitting your clammy skin. Compared to yesterday, you’re feeling a lot better, the only thing remaining is the dull ache in your stomach. Rubbing your eyes, you squeeze your plushie, only to hear a strange noise. 

Last time you checked, this plushie shouldn’t be able to communicate. Shooting your eyes open, you find a mess of green hair sprawled out on top of you. 

“Sol?” You rub your eyes again, unsure if what is in front of you is reality or a fever dream.

“Yeah…?” Sol mumbles in response, his body shifting. Then he goes still, springing up from his previous position. Shit.

“I thought you left last night.” 

“After you took your medicine, you asked me to stay. You went out like a light but I made sure that you were okay.”

“Did you have this on yesterday?” You tug at his hoodie. “I’ve never seen you wear clothes like this before.”

“These are my comfy clothes, that’s why. I keep the hoodie in my backpack.”

“Oh…” That food poisoning must have hit you hard to leave you so delirious. “Thank you for staying with me.”

“…?” Sol flutters his eyelashes while your hands cup his cheeks, drawing him near. Your lips plant a peck on his forehead, a suiting reward since he went out of his way for you.

“Ah… You shouldn’t have to thank me… It’s what anyone would do.” Sol rubs the back of his neck, a flush spreading over his face.

“I feel sick. Like I’m going to throw up.”

“I’m not surprised. Let’s get you to the bathroom. Get all of that food out of your system for good.” Sol stands first, offering his hand to assist you to your feet.

“I don’t like vomiting.” You mope, refusing to move despite your stomach cramping further.

“But it has to come out. You’ll be okay, I’m right here.” He grabs your hand, squeezing it gently.

The only option is to get up if you don’t want to clean your bedsheets. Swiftly shuffling between rooms, you kneel before the toilet and allow your body to regulate itself, removing the foreign pathogens that invaded your meal. Sol rubbed your back, making the process easier. There wasn’t a lot of retching, but you still felt that familiar burn in your throat when you were finished.

“Any more?” Sol pats your upper back and you shake your head.

“I’ll cook for you this time. No more buying from trashy food places.”

“But they’re cheap…” You puff air into your cheeks, taking your toothbrush which he handed you to remove the bitter taste from your mouth.

“My meals are free. Don’t be ashamed to ask.” Sol takes a final glance at you before heading back to your kitchen, scouring the cupboards in search of something to work with.

For you, he would do anything. Make anything. Even if it’s from scratch. No matter the simplicity or complication of a request you have, he will ensure that you get what you ask for. You don’t deserve anything less. If only you were aware of the lengths he has gone and is still willing to go for you.

[velvetesrs]

Duty and Sacrifice | Hotd

Pairing | Aemond x Reader/Y/N

Warnings | Mentions of incest between siblings. 

Word count | 3032

Authors note | I haven’t written in a while and it shows but I’ve been working on this while I was in the bathroom and this might be a one shot or a short series leading into the murder of Lucerys.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Aemond would never admit it to you directly but he was fond of the way your hair was reminiscent of your mother.

The glossy red, like a promise of an unforgettable autumn, the smell of lilac blooms and gooseberry wine, trailed behind you as you came to sit next to your mother. you didn't look like the traditional Targaryen.

Despite Helaena being your twin you looked almost nothing like her, where as she was thin, gentle blue eyes and icy white hair. You were fire, bright red hair, full breast, your dark violet eyes being all that made the common folk shy away from naming you a bastard.

You had grown into your womanly figure early, your large bust that was extenuated by your tight stomach from years of training made all noble twats talk of you senselessly which made him ill at the thought of it.

Somehow you looked like the perfect mix of your eldest sister Rhaenyra and Your Queen mother, Alicent.

He loved playing with your curls, thoughts of how they'd look wrapped around his hand as he made you cum ferociously on his cock ran rapidly through his mind.

But there was an innocent light to it as well, Aemond loved his mother, and you mirrored her perfectly. no matter how unkind and stiff she was to you all. You were the opposite, you may have stolen her likeness in appearance but you were kind, gentle and loving, all the things she wasn't.

Having a motherly role to your idiotic drunk of a brother and your sweet twin sister.

Aemond also enjoyed having someone look after him, without the same judgement and expectations the Queen had for him.

He loved the way your hands felt on his face, while you sobbed cleaning his blood away, the fire in your eyes as you stood to defend him, covered in his blood.

Aemond never could grasp how you could love them all so much, even Rhaenyra and her bastard children, you'd stand before anyone and swear on the Gods that they were legitimate just because you knew what being Queen meant to her.

"Come Aemond, I must clean your bandages" you whispered amongst the crowd not to draw attention to his injury. It had been many moons since it happened but unfortunately being struck in the face during training cause the gash to bleed once more.

He stood unaffected by your words. still shy to show it in fear you may think him a monster like the other ladies of the court.

"They will be even more frightened by you if you are to bleed out in front of them, Brother" your soft scent floated through the air like a fragrant flower as your hand brushed against his, "Come" you urged noticing everyone's attention on the king as his health steadily declined.

It seemed the whole court was on edge that day, all attention on them as if Viserys was to die in moments and they'd kill each other reaching for his crown.

The stress was beginning to eat you alive, and the last thing you needed was Aemond to be in more agony knowing how badly it hurt your heart to him in pain.

You walked along side of him after excusing yourself from the commotion, not daring to grab your elder brother's hand until you were away from the crowd.

"Are you alright, my love?" Aemond hummed watching you audibly sigh gripping his hand tightly. "It is just the weigh of what is sure to happen soon" you mumbled.

You loved Viserys very much, he had never paid much attention to you in comparison to Rhaenyra. However you'd helped him build his mini statues of king's landing as a child and that moment cemented a love for your father that even his lack of care for you didn't sully.

"He will die soon" you stated walking into Aemond's chambers, his scent was more pungent now in his room.

He smelt like trees after it rained, clean and crisp with a hint of the strong Pine trees that sat outside of the sept he was frequenting lately. It was comforting and relaxing to be so fully immersed in what seemed like the essence of your big brother.

Your hands made quick work unlatching his eye patch as you settled in front of him, "does it truly trouble you this much sister? The thought of him dying?" Aemond questioned darting his good eye away from your face. He couldn't bare the idea that you'd look at him with disgust even though you were often the only one he'd allow change his bandages.

You quickly wiped away the blood leaking from his wound, applying a salve you made to keep away the infection, "your sapphire is irritating it again" you said softly ignoring his question, your plump lips almost touching his nose as you got closer to see it.

He pushed you away gently, pulling his eye patch back on with a hiss, "it is fine as it is, if Aegon had been mindful of his sword this wouldn't of happened"

You sighed watching him put away your things you kept in his chambers for times like this, "it 'twas an accident" you mumbled looking down.

"You baby him far too much" he groaned in almost annoyance before he caught the look in your eyes, "he isn't as innocent as you believe Sister"

You had been angry at Aegon for harming your brother but when he gave you the puppy dog eyes you couldn't help but defend him.

Still you felt bad that you had forgiven Aegon so quickly thinking that Aemond would be mad at you, but you couldn't bring yourself to be unkind to him.

"It is fine Y/n it will heal just as long as I have you to care for me" Aemond said walking up to you, he pulled you into a hug, letting your scent mix with his in a deliciously sensual way.

You blushed pulling away from him, "Always brother" you cleared your throat, "we must go back"

He nodded disliking how quickly you put distance between the two of you, he gripped your hand, "let us return then"

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Aemond knew something was wrong with you, you didn't seem ill nor did your smile fade from your beautiful face but still something was off, he noticed at first at dinner, when you excused yourself early. Something you rarely did if not on your moons blood which he had written down so he could help you track so he knew for a fact it wasn't that.

If he hadn't been watching you so closely he wouldn't have noticed you putting your food into napkins underneath your Gown pocket as if saving it away for some reason.

The most unusual part of your sudden illness at dinner was you rushed to your chambers with your handmaiden. You liked to prepare for bed alone.

He knew it was wrong to follow you but when he knocked on your chamber door it creeped open slightly as if not to show too much.

You face was flushed as you glanced up at him, "Yes, Brother?" You questioned with a soft smile pretending to droop your eyes to mimic exhaustion.

Your hair was wet, a sprig of lavender behind your ear, something else unusual, "Nothing, just making sure you are well" he replied narrowing his eye in suspicion.

You nodded, "Very well, I'm off to bed Sweet dreams" you rushed to say as you shut the door in his face.

He stood there shocked for a moment before turning away, you were up to something and even though he knew it was wrong to doubt you he couldn't help it.

Your footsteps were nearly silent as you snuck from your chamber, a hood resting over your head and a dark shift covering your commoners clothes.

Aemond stood just far enough in the shadows to follow you as you went to flea bottom.

He watched as your Princess like presence turned into one much like the other people in walking at night. You had been here before he noted, you knew exactly how to cover your tracks and how to hide your true identity.

If he was any other it would've been easy to lose you amid the crowds of people covered by the moonlight but your glossy hair peaking through the hood was a dead giveaway.

You stopped at a door, knocking twice. He watched as a woman emerged wrapping you tightly in an embrace, she smiled at you with tears in her eyes and her hands shook as you gave her a bag he hadn't noticed you had.

"This will be enough to live comfortably in Pentos" you said quietly, brushing a hand through the woman's tangled dark hair, "you will have your own home and never want for anything"

The woman let out a sob, covering her mouth, "Thank you My Princess, I-i am forever in your debt I cannot repay you" she pulled you into another hug.

You didn't seem disgusted by the obvious dirt on the woman's clothing, nor the stench of the streets.

"I have one request" you said with a grin "may I see him once more please" Aemond watched as she nodded hurriedly rushing back into her shack.

Much to his surprise, in her arms was a baby. it's hair white as his own, small fat fingers reaching up to touch your face and you held it with such care as she passed it into your arms it made his heartbeat rapidly.

"Tell him that his Father was a brave knight that died at battle, he was a good man but he couldn't stay to care for the two of you" you told the woman glancing down at the baby with love in your eyes, "and that his Aunt loved him so much that she could hardly bare it"

You had tears in your eyes as you handed the woman back her child, "there will be a man here shortly named Erick to safely bring the two of you to a boat, after that it shall be smooth sailing" you pulled something else from your bag on your hip.

"Enough food for tonight but I made sure the boat is ready for you with accommodations" you nodded stepping away, "I hope you have a good life Ellesa, you're a good woman"

She smiled at you watching as you kissed the boy on his head, "Farewell My Queen" she whispered. You laughed pushing her arm playfully, "Farewell my friend"

As she walked back into the small hut that he assumed was her home. You turned around and caught his eye, "Brother" you said slowly approaching him.

"It is Aegon's" he stated obviously referring to the child. You nodded, falling into step with him, "Yes"

You held your hand out awaiting his as you always did when you walked alongside him, "Not the first she had by him either, the others died due to illness she couldn't afford to heal" you had no reason to keep the truth from him and knowing you could always trust him you didn't wish to.

"She was his favorite whore, he introduced us once and I took a liking to her as well just not in the same manner" you murmured pausing your steps as Aemond stopped to stare at you, "he took you back to the Street of Silk?" he all but growled in anger at their older sibling.

You laughed, rubbing a finger on his furrowed brow, "No, he'd brought her to me" he sighed calming down a bit, "you've bedded her?" He asked in quiet surprise.

"No" you shook your head, "she was simply a friend i had grown close to, but if mother were to find out about her she'd have her killed, the babe as well" 

"mother wouldn't do that" Aemond disagreed, as cruel as she could be he couldn't imagine her doing such a thing. "she'd never harm an innocent woman and her child"

You snorted as the two of you continued your walk back to the red keep, "you'd be surprised what our mother would do to protect our family's name"

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You had a difficult relationship with your mother, you loved her like no other but you saw the looks she gave you, the tone she used when she addressed you.

Your mother didn't like you very much, she loved you, of course as she did all of her children. But she couldn't bring herself to like them not when her life had to end to bring all of yours to fruition.

The Queen didn't blame you but she could never shake the feeling as she looked at your face so similar to hers in her youth.. so similar to Rhaenyra's.

You heard her before you saw her as you turned the corner in search of Aegon, "You are no son of mine" the words so harsh it made your heart sear with sadness.

"I am sorry" Aegon whispered out, "I am sorry I am not perfect like you" there was a stillness in the air before the sound of a slap.

You quickly walked into the room to see Aegon on the ground, his cheek bright red, tears in his eyes and your Queen mother standing above him.

"Mother" you called for her hesitantly, "I believe Grandfather was looking for you, The septa mentioned it to me" you mumbled as she turned to you.

Her eyes closed and she shook her head, "very well" she cleared her throat looking down at Aegon once more, "Excuse me Sweetling" she said as she walked past you.

You rushed to Aegon's side helping him sit up but he stumbled falling onto your lap, the stench ale heavy on his tongue, "Why" he whispered laying his head down on your lap, "why does she hate me" he asked you.

Sighing you brushed the hair from his face, "Mother is troubled much like us Aegon, Do not doubt her love"

He laughed drunkenly, "She is cruel, just like father they hate us" you felt your heart drop not knowing what to say, you couldn't argue you felt the same as he did.

"Why couldn’t she marry us" he mumbled suddenly into your gown, "I told her it was you I preferred, did you know?" He questioned and your heart sank.

You didn't want to marry Aegon, not because it disgusted you, but because you knew the type of man he was, A wanton man with selfish needs and he could never put aside his childlike behavior not even for your twin, His wife.

“No I did not brother” you whispered, your hand brushing the curls back, “she knew it would hurt me if you weren’t mine” he bitterly slurred out.

Silently you thanked your mother for not approving the proposal, You’d always be there for Aegon but you could never stomach his ways.

"She hates you the most" he lazily laughed looked up at you, "you look so much like her she can't bare the sight of your face"

You already knew that. Rhaenyra was actually the one who’d explained it to you in your youth, she’d found you crying underneath a table after tea with your mother, she had insulted your embroidery you’d made for your father and Rhaenyra wiped away your tears.

You were never enough to Alicent, you indulged your self in your studies, you sought out religion just to gain praise that never came, you were the prettiest girl in court yet she always had criticisms about your appearance or your poise.

You watched as his glassy eyes closed and he fell asleep but you continued running your hand through his greasy hair, his words heavy on your mind.

"What did he do now" you heard Aemond say as he leaned against the wall near you, "mother seemed upset"

You were quiet, "she hit him again, told him he wasn't her son" you murmured.

The soft snores filled the gap in the absence of conversation, "how can you love him" Aemond broke the silence watching you closely. "He is terrible, you've seen it firsthand cleaning away his messes, he doesn't deserve it"

You paused your movements, "because if i do not who will? Hel cannot comprehend most emotions, Father hates us, you cannot stand him.” You swallowed taking a shaky breath, “He is right, Mother hates me as well but i am strong unlike him, Aegon is weak he cannot handle the pressure placed on his head.

Aemond came to sit next to you, "she intends to send me away" you stated looking up at him, "to the grand sept the learn the ways of septas"

He nodded watching your face closely, "how do you know this?" You giggled shaking your head, "you learn quite a bit with kindness Brother"

"You do not wish for that?" He asked grabbing your smaller hand, it always fit with his like the missing piece to a puzzle as if you were made for him. He swallowed at the thought of you moving far away from him where he couldn't protect you.

You sighed, "To live a life under false religion just to please the woman that wishes i didn't exist does not sound too appealing to me"

"I am a Targaryen i belong here with my family" you stated in Valyrian, "I am not a Hightower no matter how much I resemble them they will not force my dragon to rot in the Pits because I cannot bring him with me"

"You asked me before if I was truly upset by the idea of father dying but to be honest I am not, I'm more afraid of what mother will do after he's gone" you whispered.

Aemond gripped your hand tighter as the mother tongue came from your soft lips, the beautiful words sounding like a song.

"What if I propose an idea to mother" he hesitated to ask in fear of what you would think. You hummed in confusion, "What is it?"

Aemond looked down at his brother laying his head in the lap he had decided was his, "I shall Marry you"

[octoberautumnbox]

Best Job Ever

Kep1er Kang Yeseo & Male named character, Female named character

Categories/warnings: smut, office, public, oral, blowjob, hair pulling, facefucking, needy

Word count: 1.6k

a/n: rushed and bfh and quickie sorry its kinda bad lmao ill do better next time also thanks to @hoaqinrw for beta read :DDDD and yes kep1er once again on cooldown

Yeseo almost fights for her spot in the 6:54 a.m. elevator, nearly pushing away some other office chimp just to get to her floor as quickly as possible. Her smile never leaves her face as she rides up the stories, and it couldn't be a moment too soon before her first task of the day arrives. 

“Ding!” goes her phone's tracker app, and she opens it to reveal a name and desk number. Her smile grows wider as she reads the contents of her screen as she thinks to herself, “This is gonna be a great day.”

The elevator doors slide open and a cool blast of air conditioning meets her face. Yeseo looks around and sees all her colleagues hard at work, and brimming with pride she thinks about how much help she offers to everyone with the work she does. Excitedly, she hurries over to plop her things down onto her desk before going off to her first assignment.

“Good morning, Mr. Lee,” she greets as she bows respectfully to her senior. He waves back, evidently in a phone call that Yeseo couldn't have seen, and he motions for her to get straight to work. 

With a cheery smile, she kneels in front of Mr. Lee and unzips his pants for him. She eyes his cock with hunger, licking her lips at the imminent deliciousness to enter her mouth, and plants a wet kiss on his tip. 

Her senior watches her start her first job of the day while still on the phone. He places his hand on her head and pats, urging her to hurry up. She gets the message and collects a small amount of saliva on her tongue before dragging it up his length. The young girl notices him grip his phone ever so slightly tighter, and she knows she's doing a good job.

“Poor Mr. Lee,” she thinks, “so early in the morning and already so stressed. I have to help him out.” After she sufficiently coats his yummy cock with her spit, she takes him up to half of his length and sucks hard. Luckily his phone call ends at that moment, and he groans just as he puts it down. He pats her hair, telling her he likes it, and she smiles cutely at the feedback, her eyes twinkling with contentment.

Yeseo's courage to take more of his cock grows to almost match the actual size of what she has to take in her mouth. Mr. Lee is one of Yeseo's most favorite seniors to serve, and she promised herself to be able to take all of him one day. With her newfound surge of confidence, she plunges herself into his crotch, feeling his tip slip past the center of her tongue, and it hits the back of her throat. She gags deliciously, and Mr. Lee feels it on his cock, causing it to twitch. With another groan, he places both hands on her head to keep her in place, and the feeling of his dick stuck in her throat and messing with her breathing does something to her: Yeseo starts feeling moisture in her own crotch too. 

The young girl gags again, desperately this time, and her patron relents. He lets go of Yeseo's head and she pulls back immediately, but not so carelessly as to let him feel any of her teeth. Lines of spit connect her lips to his cock, and yet a happily teary-eyed Yeseo allows herself no downtime. She wraps her smooth and delicate fingers around his throbbing cock, giving long and slow strokes, not to make him cum just yet, but to keep him occupied while she collects herself. If his load is going anywhere, it'll be on her tongue and down her throat, and Mr. Lee expects no less of her. 

Yeseo regains control of her breath once more, and she dives back in. She takes him all the way again, and this time she only gags the right way. Mr. Lee once again holds her head in place, and Yeseo, ever the hard worker, takes the opportunity to lick wherever her short tongue could reach on his shaft. 

The way Mr. Lee grips handfuls of her hair tells her that he loves it, and Yeseo prepares herself for what's to come. She knows her patron well, and she's happy to be doing such good work. She readies her throat, and despite the tears welling in her eyes, she shoots a seductive wink at him, telling him she's all set.

And he complies: his grip tightens and Yeseo savors the feeling of him yanking her hair as rough as he can. With no additional warning than him pulling back slightly, he pushes back into the young girl's throat once more. Yeseo holds absolutely no control anymore whatsoever, and she's reminded that it's exactly how Mr. Lee likes it. To him, she is nothing more than a warm and wet hole for him to use, and she wouldn't have it any other way. 

He gets into a rhythm, and soon his thrusts into her throat have Yeseo gagging again. Lewd sounds continuously escape her, a steady and deep gluck-gluck-gluck emanates from the young girl's mouth in between moans of pleasure. This is her second-most favorite part about servicing Mr. Lee: the way he fucks her cute little face gets her going like no one else, and when he's free and Yeseo has no immediate tasks, he's so very kind to return the favor. Deep down inside, Yeseo feels selfish for wanting it, wanting him; he must be busy.

She settles and contents herself with getting her face fucked by her favorite patron, never mind the growing wet spot between her legs, “why the fuck is Mr. Lee so hot?” “Snap out of it, Yeseo! You have a job to do!

And yet, she can’t control herself: her fingers reach into her wet panties and she plays with the lips of her pussy. Between the rough facefucking she’s getting and the pleasure she gets from her own fingers, Yeseo steels her will to hold off from cumming just yet. 

Despite this, though, she can’t deny that with everything she’s going through right now, her fingering her swollen clit, her senior fucking her throat-pussy the way she likes, her vision blurring with tears, her mind getting fuzzy from lack of air…

Yeseo almost doesn’t hear Mr. Lee groan loudly, one last time. Thankfully she does, and she relaxes her throat even more for him. He pulls her head in and shoves his cock as deep as it can go, and he lets everything out: all at once, his hot and delicious cum floods Yeseo’s throat, the warmth slithering down her throat. Her eyes cross as she starts to sputter, and the sheer amount of cum she’s receiving renders her useless, mindless. It starts spilling out of her mouth, “Such a shame, what a waste of his yummy sperm,” until it starts spilling out of her nose too. The young girl is almost completely limp with bliss, never mind her own orgasm, she’d be lucky to survive the next two minutes without air while she takes the load of her life, “When will it end?” “I hope not soon…”

And she snaps awake again at his command; Mr. Lee yanks her off his cock by the hair, and he takes a moment to admire his handiwork: Yeseo’s face is properly fucked, her makeup ruined, and his baby batter decorating her features like it’s the best thing she’s ever had. In some ways, it is, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Yeseo’s heartbeat picks up again when Mr. Lee’s hand touches her cheek. She knows exactly what this is: it’s her turn. He leads her to meet his gaze, and without breaking eye contact at all, he lifts her onto his desk, legs wide apart, pussy covered by the thinnest, wettest, most ruined-looking pair of cute floral panties anyone has ever seen. She relishes in his gaze, and she loves the way his mouth waters while ogling her needy crotch. Yeseo wishes he would “just take me already. Just fuck me. Please–”

“Ding!” goes her phone’s tracker app, and she reaches to pick it up. A swipe and a couple seconds of reading later, and she meets her patron’s eyes once again. The look on his face tells Yeseo only one thing: he’s disappointed that she has to leave him. 

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Lee,” she mutters with regret, getting off his desk, “Miss Kwon is calling. Please feel free to call me again when your timer resets.” 

He helps her down, the gentleman he is, and holds her steady while she wobbles. Yeseo faces him properly, and she bows a deep bow of respect to her senior. “Thank you very much.”

~~~

Yeseo emerges from the restroom after cleaning herself up and making sure her mouth is perfect once more. She thinks back to the remarks section of her second task of the day: “Miss Kwon is ovulating today. Please exercise proper oral hygiene to avoid any accidents.” 

She makes her way to her office, “We can be as loud as we want in here,” and knocks respectfully. She fixes herself once more, and the door opens to reveal a woman not much taller than she is, but older, wiser, and needier than she can imagine. 

“Come in, Miss Kang. I’m afraid you’ve got your work cut out for you this time.” She leads the young girl under her desk, and Yeseo looks up with the most adorable eyes.

“Please don’t hold back, Ma’am. Have me any way you like.” 

~~~

a/n: like i said bfh and also quickie and rushed lmao sorry

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I request headcanons for Calcharo, and Jiyan with shy gn s/o?

Jiyan

He doesn’t mind your shyness, not one bit.

He’s not exactly someone who can actively engage in socialising, especially not when most of his time was spent on the frontlines talking about strategies, supplies and coming up with ways in which they would avoid having mass casualties.

So if anything he’s the last person to judge you on your shyness. It would be unfair.

Jiyan is the person you go to for comfort, for advice because he brings you a lot of clarity and certainty unlike any other that you feel as though you could go to him for anything and he would try his best to help you, which is true.

He didn’t mind it when you practically tried to hide yourself behind him whenever there were people talking to him, he just reached a hand behind him in search of your own and holds it reassuringly until the group leaves, where he would then ask if you were okay.

Jiyan would much rather spend time with you in a secluded spot away from everyone, watching the Gulpuffs swim by as you both sat underneath the shade of a trees then be anywhere else if it made you happy.

He’s always preferred moments of peace and quiet after dealing with the chaotic and unpredictable situations he’s use to on the front lines, is sometimes he finds it hard to make his body relax and enjoy life when his eyes were always looking for the next big threat. So being in those moments of peace and quiet with you made jiyan relax easier as he had someone he deeply cared for to share this moment with.

He’d even find it even more peaceful if you were to fall asleep against his side, comfortable with him enough to allow yourself to be in a vulnerable position as he’s left to watch over you as you slept, always guarding you from everything and anything that would do you any harm.

Bonus if he falls asleep soon after, resting his head atop of yours and it acts as a cute moment to look back on with fondness and gratitude that you stayed by his side.

Jiyan worries that might not always be there for you due to his duty as General, he also worries that he might not make it back to you one day, that one day he’ll see you for the last time before going back to the frontlines to face the new threat.

So he makes you promise to plant a flower just for him if that were to ever be the case and you hugged him as tightly as possible in response, muttering that he wouldn’t die, jiyan wordlessly hugged you back equally as tightly, internally wishing that your words held truth to them for the future was always uncertain; now more then ever.

Calcharo (I love this Vergil/sepihroth looking beauty)

Another man who doesn’t care whether you were shy or not.

At first he might’ve intimidated you but after several instances where you were shown that he was far from the stories -or misconceptions as he’d call them- that you’ve heard about him and his group.

He’s a gentle and sweet man when you saw past the perpetually grumpy, brooding air about him.

He’s more or less protective over you and wants to keep you safe from anything and everything, human or not, no one was safe from his wrath if he were to be made aware of you being in any danger.

So Calcharo tries to stay close to you however he can so that he could keep an eye out for shifty characters with ill intentions, he does not tolerate it when people take advantage of people who couldn’t stand up for themself, it was pathetic and cowardly in his eyes and he want about to let you be their next target.

He’s a man of few words but that’s because he mainly lets his actions do most of the talking. So if he saw there was something you’d like but couldn’t find the voice to speak about it, he would silently stalk away and come back to present you with the thing you wanted in hand.

Calcharo could read you like a book and knew what you wanted and needed by a few simple bodily gestures. He wanted you to feel comfortable with him and he knew that takes time because he too took time to get accustomed to having someone in his life.

‘Do- do you ever get tired of me?’ You asked one day and Calcharo could tell it took all the willpower you had just to come up to him and say it.

‘What do you mean by that dearest?’ He said as he watched as you internally fight to get the words out and growing frustrated with yourself when you went to open your mouth, only for nothing but silence to come out.

‘Take your time.’ He calmly reminds you and you took a deep breath.

‘It’s just- I know I’m shy and struggle with doing things on my own such as order a meal or making doctors appointments, but I can’t help but think that maybe you’re getting tired of me for not doing things on my own.’ You admitted to him, finally getting the weight off of your chest as you stared at the brooding man in front of you, worried about what he might say.

‘I do not grow tired of you, I don’t think It’s right of me to grow tired of you when all you’ve ever been doing is trying your best.’ Calcharo replied as he stood in front of you and slowly reach for your hand and caresses the back of it with his thumb. ‘Your shyness is far from an issue for me and you shouldn’t have to be expected to be perfect at everything just to keep a partner or a friend.’ He squeezes your hand reassuringly. ‘So no, I do not grow tired of you.’

Calcharo couldn’t care less if you were shy or not, you were his partner and he cared for you immensely, which to him should be enough proof.

He may not be the best lover but for you, he tries.

[imaginesig]

“Could someone give a message to the smallest man who ever lived”

pt2: "Ditch the clowns, get the crown / baby I'm the one to beat"

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

SMAU

The reader is a singer-songwriter who just broke up with long term fiancé Lewis Hamilton. Of course she wrote a gut wrenching album to cope.

This is gonna be a lot of shitting on Lewis— absolutely no hate! I just love a good heartbreak and the Tortured Poets Department

Also dates aren’t accurate bc I don’t have time to worry abt all that and I totally stole all of this from real life- not an ounce of originality

yn_ln

Liked by lewishamilton, mercadesamgf1, user28, and 928,928 others

yn_ln: pinky promise to always by your side 🏎️

Tagged: lewishamilton

lewishamilton pinky promise to always be by YOUR side

yn_ln ♥️

mercadesamgf1 always a pleasure to host our pop princess!

yn_ln always a pleasure to be hosted!!

user1 looks always kill in the paddock

user2 ugh to be in the F1 paddock watching my driver fiancee on weekends I'n not touring

user3 stunning!!

user4 the pinky promise makes me physically ill😭

user5 fr WHEN WILL IT BE MY TURN

carmenmmundt gorgeous! Always a good time with you 🫶

yn_ln dinner soon?

carmenmmundt yes please!!

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lewishamilton

Liked by yn_ln, user2, mercadesamgf1, and 810,298 others

lewishamilton: could’ve been better but back to work for next week

Tagged: yn_ln

user1 being a Hamilton fan used to be fun, I used to be happy

user2 the second photo is so fanfic coded I can't

user3 omg yes!!

user4 maybe Ferrari will be championship #8

user5 hottest couple in the paddock

mercadesamgf1 watch out Australia 👊💥

yn_ln

Liked by lewishamilton, sabrinacarpender, user92, and 929,290 others

yn_ln: Argentina I’m so glad we were able to dance my best dress with you! Until next time 🫶🎇

tagged: no one

user1 BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE

user2 babe wake up a dancing Taylor post just dropped

sabrinacarpender such an electric crowd!!

yn_ln thank you for your hype work

lewishamilton: wonderful show once again!!

user3 best night ever

user4 AHHH STUNNING

user5 manifesting tickets so hard rn

lewishamilton posted a story

Caption: Help me hold on to you ♥️

ynupdates

Liked by user1, user5, user9, and 819,109 others

ynupdates: Superstar Y/n L/n and boyfriend Lewis Hamilton after her show in Argentina!!

tagged: lewishamilton, yn_ln

user1 LMAO the update account rlly said she's everything and he's just Ken

user2 the wine was iconic!!

user3 omg that's my photo!!

user4 we thank you for your service

user5 you know she was jumping with joy bc of those boots

user6 omg irl! I can't imagine how her feet feel after heels all show

user7 they are so sweet

user8 get yourself a man who takes you out after work

user9 my fav couple fr fr

Twitter—

yn_ln

liked by sabrinacarpender, carmenmmundt, user9, and 928,029 others

ln_yn: Round of applause for Brazil for their incredible rain show!!

tagged no one

user1 the first pic 😳

user2 chills, literal chills

user3 the entire vibes of the whole show was wow

user4 I agree and I was watching through a fuzzy live stream

user5 anybody else need illicit affairs (angry verson) on Spotify now

user6 me me me!!

user7 Y/n make it happen

user8 it kinda felt personal ngl

user9 best night ever!! I went as fearless in a gold dress and to say I danced in a storm in my “best dress” with Y/n was incredible!!

user10 omg that’s so lucky!!

yn_ln

liked by user92, sabrinacarpender, girlsinred, and 928,929 others

yn_ln: Thank you South America for welcoming me with open arms for this leg of the tour!! I will miss you all dearly over break but rest and relaxation is important for an awesome European leg!!

tagged: no one

user1 I’m gonna miss the fuzzy live streams 😭

user2 gets some rest Queen!!

user3 I can’t wait for the second leg!! Let’s go Europe🫶🫶

user4 it’s go time to get my Eras outfit

user8 I need ideas!!

user4 me and my boyfriend are going as Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince

user9 I’m dressing in a white dress with a small veil that says “fucked in the head” and messed up makeup bc champagne problems is one of my favs

user10 I love it!!

user5 anybody else sad Lewis wasn’t at these last few shows, nor was she at any races or seen near mercades home base

user6 they’ve been together for 6 years, I’m not worried abt them spending some time focused on their jobs without each other

user7 yea and they’re really private so I’m sure they’ll catch up plenty during her break

lewishamilton

liked by mercadesamgf1, user1, user8, and 928,292 others

lewishamilton: not the results we needed but that’s what growing is all about

tagged: no one

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lewishamilton

liked by georgerussel, mercadesamgf1, user83, and 718,292 others

lewishamilton: that’s P2💪

tagged: no one

mercadesamgf1 that's our driver!!🏆

georgerussell congrats man! bloody good driving today

lewishamilton double point weekend

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Twitter—

yn_ln

liked by user4, user9, ynhq, and 918,918 others

yn_ln: All’s fair in love and poetry, April 4th

tagged: no one

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Twitter pre-album release—

Twitter post-album release—

yn_ln

liked by: user433, user94, user93, and 282,209 others

yn_ln: surprise!! "The Tortured Poets Department: Eros" out now!! This edition includes two new songs, "So High School" and "The Alchemy"

tagged: no one

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[81folklore]

i can do it with a broken heart - f1 grid

parings: gn!driver!reader x platonic!f1!grid x ex!jacob elordi

summary: after yn and their ex break up, they carry on as best they can and no one had any idea how bad they were struggling

type: social media au (smau)

notes: george is in this but he does not drive for mercedes, yn does. i also used a mixture of fem and masc pictures because i couldnt decide and thought you could just imagine whatever you wish!!

notes 2: probably the longest fic ive done so far but im pretty proud of it. the time stamps above each section are semi important so i would keep an eye on them!! also i know ive been gone for so long but i do not promise ill be back. alsoooo i know i only included a bit of the grid but i kept getting distracted and then couldn’t figure out how to include everyone!!

masterlist

march 2024

twitter

charles oh my god i cant believe my cat is finally the pfp

i have been waiting for YEARS

max yes well you better enjoy it because it’ll change soon and you’ll be back to waiting again.

lando jesus max do you have to use punctuation???

alex be glad he doesnt use captials

oscar one thing at a time lando, we dont want to scare him

max ???

lando anyway

yn mate you ok?

yourname im fine? ur scaring me you never ask how i am

lando yeah but usually your not single

lewis oh no! you and jacob split?

yourname yeah, wasnt working anymore

charles ah im sorry, that must suck😣

yourname i mean it does but its been coming for a long time so its not surprising

fernando hello! yn what is wrong? you always use emotes!

yourname theyre emojis nando, and im fine just a bit lost

fernando do not worry, i will come and find you!

yourname no, i dont mean literally just..we were together for so long i dont really know what to do now you know?

lando i get it, you wanna play tarkov with me???

yourname cheers ill get on now

george let us know if you need anything!

may 2024

yourusername

liked by mercedesamgf1, lewishamilton and 814,583 others

p✌️ was just what we needed this weekend!

thank you to everyone who came out and supported myself and the team and huge thank you to the team for working so hard all weekend⭐️

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mercedesamgf1 mega job this weekend yn👊 *liked by author*

landonorris nice to share the podium with you mate

yourusername same time next race?

user33 loved seeing you back on the podium

user2 absolutely smashing it this season

user21 more podiums please🤲 *liked by author*

user3 fourth podium of the year first p✌️*liked by author*

twitter

*pretend it says after march i changed dates around last min*

august 2024

yourusername

liked by lukehemmings, charles_leclerc and 1,124,642 others

did some reading, painting and writing

baked some good food and spent time with some good people, also got a cat…not bad for summer break☀️

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user66 AHHHHHH

yourusername ahhhhhhh

user26 cats name plsplspls

yourusername norman🐱

lukehemmings nice music👍

yourusername woah arent you the guy who wrote mum?!

mercedesamgf1 ready to see you back on the podium

yourusername always!!!!

user74 have you had funnnn??

yourusername yesss!! ive been doing lots of things i enjoy, basically treating every day as my birthday😋

twitter

*was supposed to write them instead of her sorry!! was doing two stories at once and kept getting mixed up😅*

october 2024

yourusername

liked by mercedesamgf1, gracieabrams and 1,291,638 others

p☝️ for the 3rd time this season, very very pleased

huuuuuge thank you to the team, every single one of you who worked tirelessly over the summer break and every moment since then, these have been for you⭐️

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user55 what a good season to be a yn fan *liked by author*

user6 these races have been incredible to watch, so proud

yourusername ⭐️⭐️

gracieabrams woop woop!!!!

yourusername 😝😝

user2 gracie??

user41 why have we not had any personal photo dumps yet😕😕

user88 right we miss seeing you yn!!

yourusername sorry guys😣ive been suuuper busy working on something i just honestly forgot

user41 NEW PROJECT?? WHEN?? (also pls dont feel bad we love u)

yourusername soon!! (and i love u guys too)

twitter

november 2024

yourusername

liked by taylorswift, lewishamilton and 3,689,921 others

tagged: taylorswift

i cannot believe i get to say this, but my new friend taylor just released a new album and i was able to write a song on the album

im honestly not sure how this came about but i had so much fun writing this and expressing all my thoughts and feelings in a way ive never done before

i poured my life and soul into this song and im so glad taylor is the one who is singing it and really bought it to life

send some love to my friend and go and stream THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT (most importantly i can do it with a broken heart😉)

comments have been limited

taylorswift thank you for trusting me with this song, so much love🤍

yourusername NO THANK YOU!!! i will be forever grateful⭐️⭐️

twitter

yourusername added to their story

seen by taylorswift, lewishamilton and 729,282 others

charles i feel completely betrayed yn

fernando oh no😟! what did yn do?

charles THEY DIDNT TELL ME THEY WERE WRITING A SONG??

AND WITH TAYLOR SWIFT HOW COULD YOU☹️☹️

yourname sorry charles, surprise?!

charles ill forgive you because its a good song

yourname thank you my life just got infinitely better!

yuki very good song yn! has been on repeat☺️

yourname thanks yuki, glad you like it!!

lando I LOVE IT TOO

but seriously are you ok?!

yourname yeahhh im better now

was just a lot to navigate

lewis glad you found an outlet! but remember you can always talk to any of us

yourname i know and i appreciate it, i really do

alex yn was that twitter thread right?

yourname mate youre going to have to elaborate

alex user56tweetlink

yourname oh pretty much yeah

some things were changed with taylor but not much

fernando just listened to the song yn! very nice👍well done!

yourname thank uu

max good song yn!

now

lando can you please tell me what you meant on your twitch stream!

oscar max is kind of scary

max dont make me talk about that interview next oscar!