#Beat only by the chase in London

[ryoukio]

Sire.

[fun-esta]

Ok, hear me out guys 🗣️📣

If I were in Christopher's shoes, and Joker just brought my soul from the depths of hell to revive me and be free to pursue my life goal again, and in return he asked me to be his playmate/companion/friend in this dramatically sensual way in the rain, I would completely rethink my sexuality, my heart would be already in his hands for him to tear it apart, i would bite my lips to not moan, and my highly death-driven ass would say yes without a second's hesitation 😭

[with-my-calamitous-love]

YOU SWORE THAT YOU LOVED ME, BUT WHERE WERE THE CLUES?

katsuki bakugou x reader

after your break up, katsuki talks shit to make his tortured heart feel better. inspired by my shitty ex boyfriend who still won’t let me rest.

inspired by so long, london

“i’ve never opened up to anyone like this.” you whisper, like fairy lights through the mist. his strong, chiseled arms hold you close, laying on his bed, wrapped up in his love.

“thats okay.” he whispers, uncharacteristically soft. “i’m here, babe.”

he pulls you in tighter as if you’re drifting away. he doesn’t stop trying to make you laugh, chasing the look of your smile lines and the the sound of your melodic laughter. he’s given you his youth, all his love and everything that he is. he loves these moments, late nights past the clock. he could stare into your eyes forever.

you loved this place.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

“they were too emotional.” he says, two beers deep in the bar you heard great things about. his friends, kirishima, denki, and sero, all have mixed reactions, but he doesn’t really care for them. “they’d talk about it too damn much. always go on about how important communication was.”

kirishima had the sensible nerve to point out that communication is, in fact, important, and emotional availability is a virtue. katsuki responds by taking another swig of the alcohol and coming to terms with the hangover he was bound to have the next morning.

how much sad did he have in him? oh, the tragedy. how he stooped down to this level, fucking up your name to make himself feel better about losing you.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

“i wanna try. for you.” he says, holding up flowers and standing next to a candlelit dinner. its completely spontaneous, something you stumbled upon while coming home from a long day. you remind him he doesn’t need to do this, and he tells you he wants to.

he looks gorgeous in this light, illuminated by nothing than that flickering warm glow. its moments like these you truly get to know katsuki, seeing his kindness he insists he’s too gruff for. truthfully, he’s soft.

“don’t act so surprised, dumbass.” he smirks, that shit eating grin giving you more than just butterflies. you take the flowers from him and return with a sweet kiss to his cheek, one that gets his heartbeat going. “i love you.”

“i love you too, kats.” you smile, already making plans to surprise him back.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

“they made me try so hard.” he complains over a family reunion dinner, annoyed by his moms pestering. his mom loved you, and wondered why katsuki and you would ever separate. he gives her the same story- that you were too emotional and too needy. “got damn exhausting.”

your spine was splitting from carrying this dead relationship up the hill. he only slightly flipped the script, however. both of you were exhausted. he insisted there weren’t any signs, while you knew for a fact that you gave many.

even as he held you at night, your bones were weary. sure, he held you and gave you warmth, but you still felt that chill of loneliness. its a feeling you can’t quite shake. at some point, his heart stopped beating for you. cpr was no use.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

“do you think about our future?” you ask, sitting in his embrace on the couch. though he pauses for a moment, his answer is definite.

“lets pick out your ring tomorrow.” he smiles, and your heart pounds. such small words that hit so huge. right now, he swears he loves you. he has you waiting at that altar for him, because he thinks he’ll meet you there.

and for a minute there, he means it. he does want to marry you. he does want to love you for all eternity, and to get you whatever pretty ring you want. there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that he would. he’d tell you everyday how he cant waits to finally be your husband.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

and there you were, left waiting at the altar.

“they didn’t wanna marry me.” he professes to his adoring fans and newscasters alike, giving into their incessant begging and nagging. he gives them an answer he knows will shut them up quick, and it does.

he frames as if you abandoned the ship. but the truth? you were going down with it. if your love died young, you’d challenge those waves, sink into the cold waters and make that vessel your resting place.

you held tight to his resentment, even though everyone around you said it wasn’t right. you shouldn’t be this scared to lose someone. towards the end, you weren’t sure if he wanted to be there. katsuki wasn’t sure either.

he drained the colour from your face as you watch the news clippings. you’re mad as hell. because you loved him.

[applecherryandpears]

That time Noel car chased Liam to stress that Wonderwall’s indeed about a girl

So... this was supposed to be Wonderwall's single cover:

The photographer (Michael Spencer Jones) had brought Liam to Primrose Hill in London to take that shot but both were interrupted by what he described as a "black cab that came to a screeching halt". From that said running cab, came out Noel, allegedly shouting that Liam - "our kid" - was not to be on that cover as Wonderwall is a love song, about a girl. According to Michael, Noel downward hated the thought of Liam being on the cover.

The girl on the actual cover was a Creation Records employee in the exact same pose:

So, being incredibly grateful for the mental image this article gifted me with, I decided to make a post summing up the many Wonderwall meanings according to Noel.

Disclaimer : I think Wonderwall's about Liam, just putting it out there.

My own thought is that Noel can't say this because, and to quote him "it would look bad" see this interview excerpt about the song dirty shirt in 1997:

"Meg is the girl in the dirty shirt. (...) Liam will read this and say, You fucking wanker! Because he thinks all the songs are about him. He even thinks Wonderwall is about him. So he'll be telling me it's a geezer in a dirty shirt really, except I couldn't say that because it would look bad."

Apart from the absolute chaotic reaction of having the lead singer star on the cover of the lead single, Noel, I think, obviously wanted Liam to sing it, initially.

Liam had been given a choice between this and Don't look back in anger by Noel, who stressed many, many, times throughout the years that Liam didn't like the song when he first heard it (I'd say covertly disappointed). Also he gave different versions of whatever Liam said about it : 

But Liam, first time he heard "Wonderwall" he said, "That's puff's music, I'm not sing that." For weeks and weeks and weeks he wouldn't sing it, and then he heard me singing it and then he knew. in 1996  "(pissy voice) Wonderwall, it's fucking dance record, innit? All that hip hop drum beat - we're not a fucking dance group. Of course, once he's sung on it it was the best record ever made." "I said, ‘You’re singing one or the other, but not both.’ He hated Wonderwall. He said it was trip-hop. There speaks a man who’s never heard trip-hop." In a recent interview "Everyone in the band went, 'I'm sorry but I don't f*****g think so," "I remember Our Kid saying, and I'll never forget this, 'Why are you writing reggae songs?' And I was like, there speaks a man that has never heard reggae."

In 2023, Liam confirmed that as he first heard Wonderwall being played “I didn’t like it at first, I thought it was a little funky.” And Bonehead, added, “It sounded like a reggae song to me. The first time [Noel] came in, I was like, ‘What the hell’s that?”. (Far Out Magazine).

Which I get as Noel's acoustic version is very different from Oasis version with Liam on vocal. But anyway, Noel often mentioned that when Liam's reluctant to sing one of the songs he pretends he will sing it himself and this way Liam like clockwork jumps on it, and that's exactly what he said for Wonderwall + told Liam it will be a hit, and immediately, Liam wouldn't let go of it.

So my guess is that the 'choice' was just a snare to make Liam do what he wants, as Noel likes to do.  And also a bit of power play at hand there in an attempt to ground 1995 firework Liam and as Noel said again in 2023 "to have a song on his own" as he was getting annoyed by Liam walking out on him.

"The only time I laid down the law was Wonderwall and Don’t Look Back In Anger. "I was so fucked off with him walking off stage and me having to take over and do the gig. I remember thinking, if I’m going to do this, I want a big fucking song to sing." + "I said, ‘You’re singing one or the other, but not both.’

Liam said between 1995-96 “When Our Kid went, ‘Right, you’ve got a choice, “Wonderwall” or “Don’t Look Back In Anger,” ’ it done me head in,” the singer told NME. “I said, ‘I wanna sing both, you dick.’ But I chose ‘Wonderwall’ ’cos it was right and it happened. But I don’t think I could have sung ‘Don’t Look Back In Anger’ the way he sung it. And when I hear it I think it’s great.”

Additionally in 2023, Noel kinda slipped and said "I'm glad I chose that one" after saying Liam chose it when a record label person said it would be their big hit.

But what is interesting is as their relation deteriorated Noel changed the Wonderwall story:

Around 1996-1997 "I wanted to sing Wonderwall because the guitars are accoustic but our kid insisted that he wanted to sing it. So I said Alright im going to do DLBIA"

In 1997, in the book Getting High: The Adventures of Oasis by Paolo Hewitt, he wrote "according to Owen Noel wanted to sing wonderwall which makes perfect sense, he had written the song with Meg in mind, it was the only way he knew how to properly express his love for her with the song detailing her struggle to find work but celebrating her ability to bounce back against the odds. So we finished Wonderwall, and Liam's Right I'm singing this one. And he did a blinding vocal a brilliant vocal."

in 1998  Noel went "I always wanted to sing "Wonderwall", but I'm glad he sang it 'cos he sings it better than I do."

or when asked on a TV show in 2000 'If I wrote wonderwall I wouldn't want to give that to my brother to sing', Noel said that he did not but they had a long heated debate on who will sing it and in the end, he didn't have a choice because Liam's 'bottom lip went too far down towards his kneecaps' 'he looked very very sad' and he said alright he will sing the other one don't look back in anger.

And only recently in 2021, he went back to the original story:

“He wanted to sing ‘Don’t Look Back In Anger’, but it became apparent during the recording that ‘Wonderwall’ was going to be the tune. If I’m being honest, I shouldn’t have sung either of them because I wasn’t really a singer then.”

I mean every critic agrees that Liam gave one of his most impressive vocals singing that song "both cuttingly sharp and heartbreakingly warm at the same time" Noel said he '"had no idea, even after the first album, that Liam could sing like he did on 'Wonderwall,'" and that he did " a sterling job (...) ‘Wonderwall, ‘Hey Now’ and ‘Cast No Shadow’ were literally one take. He delivers my songs spot-on. He knows." So it's a bit strange that he didn't just go on saying that like other songs such as Slide Away Liam's delivery gave it a special edge.

Personally I think it has to do with the meaning of the song for their relationship. There is a lot of hope and commitment in that song all while acknowledging the anger and difficulties of a relationship.

An other thing that struck me as important was, in an oasis book it was reported that while watching Wonderwall win some chart thing on TV Noel turned to the person writing and started going on about how high the wibbling rivalry was on the charts in comparison to the oasis tracks. So what came up to his mind was the 'Liam fight track' while listening to the song, weirdly enough.

And about the meaning --->

Originally, Noel attributed this song to his then girlfriend Meg Matthews as we know. She was compared to a schoolboy's wall to which posters of footballers and pop stars are attached, Noel told Select magazine

"It's about my girlfriend. She was out of work, and that, a bit down on her luck, so it's just saying, 'Cheer up and f---in get on with it.'" After Liam's and Noel's infamous interaction with their Father, he even told her directly as much albeit gave it a a more romantic meaning "Fucking hell Meg, you're meant to be my wonderwall and you were fast asleep when it all went off. What kind of Wonderwall are you?" or when a cover of the song came out and she thought Noel had plagiarized the song he wrote for her he told her " 'No, honestly, I did write about you...!"

Now, idk how reliable he is but their father said that the wall actually existed and it was Noel's and Liam's :

"both Noel and Liam's original ‘wonderwall’ was actually the wall of the bedroom they used to _ share as children in their — ex-council house. ‘They called it their wonderwall" "in 1983 they both started writing on the wall, bits of songs, poems, favourite bands, football teams. In one corder Noel wrote 'I love Diane Jones’ and underneath in the same writing, “Liam _ is a puff”. They'd fight terribly about who had the most writing space. | didn't touch it for years but | wallpapered - it before Christmas."

Meg has been written at the time as "The only girl he had met who came close to being as important as his music and the one who understood him better than almost everyone else."

But Noel then stuck to the following version about the song's name, that it came from Wonderwall Music the debut solo album by George Harrison and the soundtrack to the 1968 film Wonderwall, (She lives next door to a man who becomes fascinated with her, so he slowly makes holes in his wall so he can watch her through it. This is the "Wonderwall.").

Meg said that "George Harrison wrote the music to the film Wonderwall, so that's the reference, but to me it's about being his wall of strength. His solidity." She never asked him directly and found out the meaning in the papers months later. So idk if this is her interpretation or if Noel said something about the actual meaning.

Then in 2003, in Q magazine's 1001 Best Songs Ever, Noel backtracked, "The meaning of that song was taken away from me by the media who jumped on it. And how do you tell your Mrs. it's not about her once she's read it is? It's about an imaginary friend who's going to come and save you from yourself."

and In 2023 Noel pinned him saying the song was about Meg on this specific cover "We did the cover and there's a girl on the front, She had long blonde hair, she looked like my then-wife, Meg Matthews. Doing the interviews for the thing [later], and they say, 'Is this about your wife?', and what do you say? No? So you say yes but it's not about anyone in particular"

Yet Noel admitted it was a romantic song in 1998 : You don't write a song like Wonderwall if you're not romantic. I am. I'm a dreamer and a romantic. Liam is too.

and later

First of all, “Outside of England, it’s the one we’re famous for all over the world, and it annoys the fuck out of me,” Noel Gallagher once said. “It’s not a fucking rock and roll tune. There’s quite a vulnerable statement to it.”

So while I don't think this song is about Meg, it is definitely an emotional song that strips him bear.

More importantly, years later after hell broke loose in Oasis, Noel praised Ryan Adams's version and declared he is the only person who ever got the song “Wonderwall” right. Ryan Adams played it as part of his album "love is hell" and said that "It occurred to me that I was singing it from the perspective of someone in danger of committing suicide. (...) It's someone saying, you're my last hope. But in the second verse, that hope it's not happening, and I'm singing like that".

I don't think it's coincidence that after all the issues they had Noel was the one who mainly sung that song himself live in the late 90s and then gave it a tone of devastation and sorrow as he switched to playing it Ryan Adams way for a long time. The collapsing of their relationships brought out the frustration rather than the hope in the song.

As to Liam and Noel's thoughts on the songs, while around 95 they weren't critical of it, seemed quite proud of it, and Noel even said it was part of his favorite/best songs with Live forever, they changed their tunes years later, that said it could only be due to the reluctance and irritation of being seldom seen as 'that band that did Wonderwall'.

For example Noel claimed in 2006 "I don't much like 'Wonderwall,' but the effect that song has on people, I can't deny it," he said. "Great music is in the ear of the beholder." and that it's one of his least favourite Oasis songs because it's "unfinished". If I could somehow twist time and go back there, I’d probably pick a different song for our calling card. Probably Some Might Say."

But one comment from Liam struck me as extreme even for him, In 2008, Liam said during the press run for Dig Out Your Soul, “At least there’s no ‘Wonderwall’ on there. I can’t fucking stand that fucking song! Every time I have to sing it, I want to gag." So it could be its popularity or the fact Liam had lost his voice, but I've never heard him talk so critically about an Oasis song, it sounded personal. Just like when Noel recently said he's glad he's singing that one as it's a better song.

So I still think that while they're honest saying they don't want Oasis to be summed up to one tune, but their uneasiness playing the song live was due to its meaning. Noel even stressed the band couldn't find a way to play it right live, which is not exactly true, considering the famous live where Liam stares at Noel during the chorus.

So there's that.

[chaoticloving]

cock blocked

harry styles x reader

summary: harry gets cocked blocked by a couple of cuties

warnings: shower sex (f oral, m masturbation)

Harry loved mornings like this.

He loved the sound of the fan on high speed, as insisted on by Y/n, he loved the sound of the city of London in the streets below, but most importantly, he loved the feeling of his body wrapped around Y/n--and, of course, the other way around.

Harry had picked Y/n up from the airport late last night. Harry might've chugged a couple cups of coffee to stay awake and get himself on the time zone Y/n was currently in. It worked to get him through the drive to Heathrow and back, not to mention the "i've miss you so much sex" that they were both desperate; but it was fair to say that Harry was beat by midnight and needed a good lie in.

The couple was in Y/n's flat, but they weren't alone. Marmalade, or Marney, is the precious black Scottish Terrier with little legs that like to scamper around and cause havoc for Harry. Then theres Sugar, a white Persian cat thats a true cutie. She sleeps the whole day but always makes time to 'talk' to Y/n or Harry by meowing and responding to whatever the couple say.

Y/n only has one rule: no pets on the bed.

She doesn't even allow for outside clothes on her bed--which Harry got an earful of when he once tried to take a nap while wearing clothes he wore on his walk over, but now thinking about it, she might of been trying to just get him naked.

Continuing on, the pets know never to to jump on the bed or really ever go into Y/n's room, they only go in when Harry is staying over. And without a doubt, either Marney or Sugar (sometimes together) would always tickle Harry's foot that finds it's way out from under the covers. They are Y/n's little devils that Harry just loves so much.

"Mhm, babe, scoot over." Y/n mumbles, slightly breaking from Harry's grasp to spread out more.

Harry grumbles from not being able to spoon and hold her as easily as before, but come up with the great idea of star-fishing right on top of her. Y/n groans when his weight is put on top of her.

"Don't know why you're complain'." Harry mumbles. "You got more room now."

"So thoughtful." She said, sarcasm coming though her groggy voice. She patted his bare back, hand coming up though his hair to continue on with her sleep.

Harry had the same plan. That was, until he heard scratches coming from the closer door.

Harry silently groaned as he removed his face from Y/n's neck and looked at the door in which pro red the couple from the little monsters.

"Your kids are up."

"Practically your kids too." She mumbles, pushing Harry off of her body to get up.

"No! Don't get up!" Harry whined. "Need at least another hour of beauty sleep."

"Think you need a bit more than an hour." She joked.

"You're so mean. Why am I still with you?" Harry smiles, flipping over to look at her as she comes back to the bed.

"Because I am amazing." She answers simply, sitting on his lap and leaning her head just above his. "And I'm really hot."

Harry smiles boyishly, a cheeky smile creeping over his face along with a slight blush. "Don't forget sexy." His hands come up to rest on her waist, fingers dancing along the bare skin. "And beautiful."

He kissed her, sitting up so he could add his tongue and to do a bit more than laying there and looking pretty.

Y/n rolled her hips, causing Harry to let out a moan. "Fuck, only you could do this to me, love."

Y/n wickedly smiled against his cheek, continuing her assault on his neck with her lips.

The first time Y/n heard whimpering, she thought it was Harry just being extra needy this morning, but when it was accompanied by scratching at the door, Y/n knew it was her other baby's that needed some--much less intimate--love.

She kissed Harry on the lips, sitting up with his lips and groin chasing her. She went to the door and was met with her pets at the door.

"I did not just get cocked blocked by a fuckin' dog and cat." Harry said in disbelief. Y/n giggles but leaves Harry's line of sight to presumably feed the cock blockers.

Harry sighs and gets up, he's uncomfortable in his boxers as his halfy is causing it to be a little tight around the groin--it never fails to boost his confidence, though.

He walks to the connecting bathroom, turning on the shower and brushing his teeth so he could get rid of the morning breath. He soon strips and enters the shower, letting the warm water sooth his skin.

He hears the bedroom door shut and the footsteps of his love. Y/n takes off her (Harry's really) shirt and jumps into the shower with Harry.

"The baby's just wanted their breakfast." She mumbled apologetically, kissing his lips. "Want me to make it up to you?"

"Maybe later." Harry mutters, trailing kisses down her neck then breast without any signs of stopping. "Right now I want my own breakfast."

“Mhm. Not so sure on that line.” Y/n mumbled, hand slowly going into Harry’s hair as he crouched down.

“Want me to try again?”

“Nope.” She pushed Harry’s head right into her cunt, Harry more than welcomed the action though.

Harry kissed the sides of her thighs next to her pussy, before sucking gently on her clit. Y/n’s hold on his hair grew tighter, both of them moaning in unison.

Harry’s hand started to move from her hips; his left arm went to her ass, grabbing it and pushing her forward to get her pussy closer to his mouth. His right hand trialed down to his hard cock, practically throbbing from the small bit of sensation from the water droplets. He gripped it tight, just like Y/n would do if she was hand job, and then slowly stroked down and up, just to edge himself.

Y/n was starting to ride Harry’s face, pushing her hips slightly forward and back to make use of Harry’s tung, while she started ti breath heavy and moan. Harry, ever the pleaser, paralleled her movement with his tung to help her hit that pleasure she was seeking. Harry, not to mention, also matched that movement with his right hand on his dick.

“I love you H.” She moaned, eyes pressed together as she was about to reach her climax.

Harry just nodded, getting close too, before cumming on the shower floor as Y/n came on his face.

Harry trialed kissed down her thigh, then slowly stood up. Y/n kissed him as he was to his normal height, letting her hands go over his toned stomach.

“Sorry I wasn’t there to help you.” She mumbled, referring to Harry’s masturbation.

“You helped me more then ever lovie.” He promised. “Now lemme do your hair and wash you down, just stand and look pretty for me, yeah?”

[pasdasin]

Wicked Game

wolverine x vampire!reader

an: wowowowow im so so happy yall are liking this, i found a discrepancy already from previous chapters so pls don't think too hard about the time line bc honestly idk where we are even at either!!

ch 4

warnings: cussing, Logan is mean to Charles, blood mentioned, idk what else

previous -- next

~~~~~

The feeling of the blood sticking to your body made you feel dizzy. It had been so long since you had fed from a person, let alone Logan and you wanted more. You needed more. Frenzied was the only true way to describe how you felt. You needed to eat.

A hundred and fifty years of denying your primal instinct finally caught up to you. You had a taste for warm, orgasmic blood and you were willing to do anything you could to get more. 

You wandered the walls aimlessly, thankful for the final exams happening the next day. You stumbled around, pupils blown wide as you frantically searched for your next meal. Anything with a beating heart would do, you just needed that sweet, metallic liquid. 

Where are you going y/n? You turned your head, the voice startling you. Come to my room.

Desperately you chased the soundless voice. You chased it, listening to the beating hearts of the children sleeping peacefully in the dormitories. Finally you reached him, Charles.

You entered the room and paused, suddenly aware of your appearance and mental state. 

“Oh my god. I’m-”

“Enough y/n. Sit.” He mentioned to the end of his bed. “You won’t hurt me. I trust you”

You listened to his instruction, shakily sitting and playing with your hands. 

“There you go. You are very loud tonight, drowning out the sounds of everyone else. I can now see why.” You stared at him silently, bringing your hand up to wipe your mouth of the dried blood. “Have you thought about my offer? Are you willing to go?”

“I think I have to go” You told him, thinking about Logan. 

“Are you sure? You know where you’ll end up don’t you?” You stared at him and nodded.

“If I don’t, this will happen again. I’ll drain him dry.”

“I understand why you feel shame. What happened to those girls were not your fault. You are not a monster.”

“We both know that's a lie, Charles.”

“Then avenge them” You let the words sink into your soul. This would be the only way you could truly live with yourself. “Kill the man who did this to you. Alex doesn’t know. Just us.”

Charles wasn’t comfortable with the death of mutants. You knew that all too well. Killing this man would give him piece of mind. Using your hands to do it would give him deniability if anything were to go wrong. 

You understood what this meant to him. But to you this was closure. You will kill the man who tortured you. 

---

The next morning you sat in  the passenger seats of the blackbird and watched as the ground grow smaller. Alex was controlling the jet for the most part, occasionally asking you to flip a lever or press a button. He didn’t talk much the flight over, noticing how you were in a completely different headspace than him. 

The flight was relatively quick considering the distance traveled, you’d have to remember Hank for upgrading the jet’s engines. As Alex landed the jet in the private airfield owned by the Xavier family estate, you stared out the window recalling the last time you were in London. 1913, right before the first world war. By then, Logan was taken by the scientists for the weapon x project. It was just you wandering the streets, searching for any trace of him. 

“Did you hear anything I just said?” You snapped your head to Alex. “You’re lucky you’re hot” You frowned at his response. “I said that the hotel is just a fifteen minute walk from here. I already put the jet in conceal mode, so are you ready or are we gonna stare at that tree for like thirty more minutes?”

“You don’t have to be such an ass about it.” You told him, unbuckling your seatbelt and joining him off the jet. 

“I just like to tease you okay? Lets get going” He said, holding out his hand to you. Raising your eyebrow at the gesture, he sighed. “We are supposed to be a couple on their honeymoon. Did Charles tell you anything?”

You grabbed his hand but it felt wrong. It wasn’t as warm as Logan’s or big. Alex was soft and comforting, but not in the way you found Logan’s hand. You weren’t sure why this feeling was creeping into your heart, but maybe it was because this was the first time someone other than Logan touched you like this, ever. 

Chalking it up to the fake intimacy of it all, you put on a brave face and walked in step with him, heading to the hotel.

---

“You better speak up you wheelchair fuck. Where the hell did. you. send. Her?” Logan was stuck in his own frenzy now. Angry at you for up and leaving. Angry at Alex for being a dick head flirt. Angry at the bald man in front of him for not explaining a thing.

“Logan, calm down. y/n is safe with Alex. They are just doing recon on a uprising mutant cult in London.”

“You should’ve sent me, not her” He growled. 

“Why do you care so much Logan?” Charles wheeled closer to Logan, not afraid of what he was capable of. 

“I don’t care!” Even Logan couldn’t believe himself. It was pathetic really. Denying himself the pleasure of her love, but indulging in every intimate interaction they had. He had been in love with her for so long, but something was holding him back. 

Maybe it was the fear of not having his feelings returned. Or maybe even the fear of loosing his oldest companion, the one person who had never judged him. 

“London. She is at 578 Trekshile road, the hotel. Room 327.” Charles told Logan, hearing his inner dialogue. “I have tasked her with killing Morgue.” 

His eyes snapped to the Professor. “What?”

“Go to her if you must.” With that, Charles left the room. Logan was stunned. Morgue was the cruelest person he had ever encountered. You had spent years with him until you had found Logan after the weapon x program ended. From your stories, Logan should’ve killed him years ago. 

All he had to do now was find a way to London. Luckily for him, the silhouette of a blue, devil tailed boy had walked passed the door.

“Kurt, come here I need a favor”

~~~~

Tag list: @captain039 @twinky-wink @fuckmachine42069 @honeybeedrabble

an: kurt my baby <3, also Morgue is my oc, based on Morgz 💀(only in name)

[dreaminrainbows]

Happy 28th lovies!

September was such a hectic month, i had three concerts in the span of a week, one of which was Louis', the end of the Festival Louis Era, the start of uni and my fav F1 driver being dropped (i was also deep in my Veronica Mars feels for a chunk of the month). It has been a rollercoaster of emotions to say the least but here are all the fics i read this month that made it a million times better!

Consider leaving comments and kudos, feed your authors the attention they deserve!

My Hands at Risk, I Fold by yourgorgeouscolors | [43.7k|

"Sometimes, when Louis first wakes up, he thinks he’s back in the hospital, and panic hits him." Or, Harry is a famous popstar, Louis is a famous football player and one injury changes everything.

Deemed and Delivered a Crime  by LetTheMusicMoveYou/ @letthemusicmoveyou28 | [35.4k]

Harry keeps his voice low and calm. “I need you to listen very closely because I’m only going to say this once.” When he’s only greeted with silence on the other end, Harry continues. “For every hair that is harmed on Louis Tomlinson’s head, I am going to break one of your bones. And then when you’re reduced to a pathetic little pile on the floor, my men and I are going to kick around your limp carcass in my garden for footie practice. Do you understand?” There’s a few more beats of silence, before the voice on the other line answers. Still sounding calm and unbothered by Harry’s creative threat. “I’m glad you received our message Mr. Styles. Are you ready to settle on a suitable sum for Mr. Tomlinson’s release?” (Or the one where Harry is the most feared mob boss in London. Louis is his ex-husband who left that violent life two years ago to teach Uni. His peace is shattered when he’s kidnapped by Harry’s rivals).

you are half of me (and I am all for you) by angelichl/@angelichl | [24.7k]

One Direction, an obscure indie rock band, is about to embark on their first cross-country tour, living out of Louis' beloved van named Patricia. Harry is in love, and Louis is oblivious. Or is he? Featuring skinny-dipping in Texas waterfalls, getting lost in the desert, stargazing under the New Mexico sky, performing in front of crowds that grow in size each night, and falling in love on the road during the greatest summer of their lives.

Please Tell Me That You've Got Me by ColourfulSuitmoon/@colorfulsuitmoon | [20.6k]

“This was a pleasure, ladies. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Louis says. He then turns to Harry and gives him a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow too, kitten.” Harry is stuck staring at the door where Louis just disappeared through. “Did he say…” Harry starts. “Kitten,” Florence says with a nod. “Harry…” “No, it’s just a fluke. It doesn’t mean anything,” Harry says firmly. Or a world where the nickname your soulmate will call you appears on your chest on your 18th birthday and Harry wakes up with the only name he hates.

Chasing Feelings by Neondiamond/@neondiamond | [20k]

When homicide detective Louis Tomlinson first gets assigned to work with detective Harry Styles, the newest addition to the Doncaster police station, on the biggest case of his career, he’s less than enthused about it. There’s a serial killer on the loose, and Louis has no time to waste working with a newbie, despite how attracted his inner Alpha may be to Harry’s sweet scent. Along the way, he finds he may have been too quick to judge the Omega.

Language Of A Petal by bittersweetsin/@bittersweetsin | [15k]

“Wait, you're reading Divin-“ “-Divined Souls? Yup,” Harry finishes for him. Starving off a grin, Louis says, “Have you actually been stalking me all this time and just lied about not knowing me?” “Guess we’ll never know.” or Louis is a librarian, and Harry comes in all the time to return books he’s finished reading. Every time Louis opens the book to check for any damages, there’s always a flower hidden in between one of the pages, specifically on a paragraph that has a deep meaning.

Heat and Greet  by HoldingOnToChaos/@holdingontochaos | [12.4k]

Harry and Louis are co-workers who are excited to represent the company they work for and do an important presentation at a week-long conference in Yosemite. It's just their luck that Harry slips into heat while there. Panicked at the thought of missing the presentation, Harry asks Louis to help him through it. And how could Louis deny the omega he's been dreaming about since they met?

I Feel It When My Heart Beats by QuickedWeen/@becomeawendybird | [10.6k]

Harry offers to be her best friend Liam's fake date to his work Valentine's Day party, and the night takes an unexpected turn.

One Minute Old by crimsontheory/@ireallysawanangel | [9.2k]

“And he left you,” Niall interjects, the venom clear in his voice. “That asshole left you high and dry and broke your heart.” Of course, Niall remembers that. Louis may have told him everything—minus the sexy parts—and Naill, being the overprotective mother friend that he is, took offence to that. “He didn’t break my heart,” Louis refutes. He was hurt and confused by it but he wasn’t heartbroken. And apparently, he’s still hurt by it if the way it felt seeing Harry yesterday was any indication. “You were pretty smitten with him and then you spent days moping around your apartment after he left. I think that’s called being heartbroken,” Niall points out. “Okay, okay, I was upset. We get it,” Louis says, trying to move past it. This isn’t ‘poke fun at Louis’ emotions hour’. “Anyway, I called to tell you that he showed up at my door yesterday.” “To beg for your forgiveness I hope.” “No, he’s—” Louis stops, unsure how to phrase it. “He’s pregnant. And I’m the father.” Or, a one-night stand of Louis' that he never thought he'd see again shows up at his door six months later.

Ride My Sleigh Tonight  by kingsofeverything/@kingsofeverything | [9k]

In exchange for free food and drinks at Liam’s office holiday party, Harry pretends to be his boyfriend. But this is not that story.

Tight As A Tourniquet by reminiscingintherain/@reminiscingintherain | [7.4k]

“Mum?” “Yes, poppet?” “Could I do your job when I’m a grown-up?” “I don’t see why not, sweetie,” she agreed. “You can do anything you want, as long as you put the work in, and dedicate yourself to it.” Louis Tomlinson has always wanted to be a midwife like his mum, but in a world where it's expected for Omegas to be the caregivers, how is he going to manage his career when he presents as an Alpha?

Now That I've Found You by allwaswell16/@allwaswell16 | [6k]

Harry Styles has a great job working for his brother-in-law’s construction company. He has just one small problem. His concrete sub-contractor just quit, and he needs a foundation built as soon as possible. One fateful turn brings him exactly what he’s been looking for—an experienced concrete construction company that happens to be owned by the most beautiful man he’s ever laid eyes upon. Or Louis is a long haired, sweaty construction worker. Does anyone really need to know more than that? Harry doesn’t think so.

There's No Better Love by QuickedWeen/@becomeawendybird | [5.3k]

Louis has just started seeing this girl, and he can't stop thinking about her. Turns out the power of positive thinking is real.

The Nest by Blue_Green28/@bluegreen28fics | [5k]

Harry is a very particular omega who doesn't like to have items of Louis' in his nest until he secretly starts to steal them for it. or, 5 times one of Louis' personal items is missing and 1 time he finally finds them.

Profound Bond by babyhoneyhslt/@babyhoneyheslt | [4.6k]

Harry Styles, an Angel Of The Lord, is sent on a mission to save hunter Louis Tomlinson from the deepest pits of Hell in order for him to fulfill Heaven's plan.

The World Will Open Its Arms by lululawrence/@lululawrence | [4.5k]

Harry scrubbed at the countertop. It wasn’t even dirty, but it was three in the morning and the girl who was supposed to relieve him over an hour ago never showed. He was now on hour ten of his shift and his feet hurt and his back ached and he was trying not to cry, thanks to more fucking judgmental alpha truckers who could smell it on him. Of course they could. He practically lived at the diner. The entire place reeked of it. Unbonded pregnant omega.

Alone and Back Again by LadyLondonderry/@londonfoginacup | [4.4k]

Harry Styles has very few enemies, and even fewer friends. On the outskirts of the village, past the stream but before the river, sits a small one-room cottage, cool in the summers but draughty in the winters. In that one room cottage sits a cooking pot over a fire, a smaller selection of woodworking tools, and a nest of furs that is the pride and joy of one lonely omega. Or, what does one do when a feral alpha shows up in town ready to be executed?

The Rose & Dagger  by galastyles | [4k]

The first time Harry went to a session at The Rose And Dagger, he told himself it was a one time thing. The second time, he said it was to get the idea out of his system. By the fifth visit, he stopped making excuses.

Up on the Roof with a School Girl Crush by HelloLovers13/@hellolovers13 | [3.9k]

Harry was just trying to get some work done and have a quiet night in. He did not expect to become host to a drunken Louis, who had overestimated his Halloween costume's ability to fly.

He's An Angel  by cc_horan28/@cc-horan28 | [2.7k]

As the sun set over the horizon and they reeled their lines in, Louis saw a glint off the beach. They began to head back to where the horses were tied, and the glint solidified, turning into a vague shape that was… Coming out of the sea? Louis couldn’t believe his eyes as he saw what looked like a man just walk out along the shoreline to where their rides were tethered. The shopkeepers and locals were all whipping to stare at him, but the man seemed completely unbothered.

Just a Little Taste, Babe by allwaswell16/@allwaswell16 | [2.6k]

Harry’s been pining over Louis Tomlinson since their sixth form days. Now, he’s backstage at Louis’ concert and trying not to embarrass himself.

HOT TO GO! by allwaswell16/@allwaswell16 | [2k]

When Harry does something weird at the barricade, he leaves Louis’ show devastated and hoping he can somehow make things right. Or the accidental pervert fic

A Tight Space  by haztobegood/@haztobegood | [2k]

Niall pushes the bedroom door open. A huge mass of brown fur bolts between his legs. Louis startles with a hand to his chest. “What the fuck was that?” “Oh, that’s the cat. I told you Liam found a stray a few days ago. That’s him.” “Are you sure that’s a cat?”

and in those rare moments by we_are_the_same/@so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed | [2k]

London, May 23rd, 2025 Interview with Harry Styles, popstar, bisexual icon and philanthropist, by Louis W. Tomlinson.

for your eyes only (i’ll show you my heart) by moon_rose25/@darkinfinity | [1.9k]

Louis quickly opened his eyes and scanned the room, his eyes stopping on the sofa on the far left side. There was a man, turned with his back towards Louis, and based on his slow rise and fall of his back he guessed he was sleeping. If he had to guess, it was probably an omega, based on the faint scent. Or omega Harry has touch depri and finds comfort in alpha Louis’ scent

How to Fire a Tailor by LadyLondonderry/@londonfoginacup | [1.8k]

Harry Styles is a tailor. His best paying customer is an eccentric duke. Also Niall is there.

Singing Like a Bird 'Bout It Now  by QuickedWeen/@becomeawendybird | [1.8k]

Dr. Louis Tomlinson is worn to the bone, but only has a few patients left before the end of the day. One of those appointments takes quite a few twists and turns.

Cosy Cashmere  by red_panda28/@red-pandaaa | [1.5k]

“Hey,” Harry smiled back, stretching out a hand. “So, I was thinking,” Louis started as he stepped closer to the couch, tangling the finger of his unoccupied hand with Harry’s. “We could go get some new nesting stuff for my upcoming heat? Well, I’m gonna go anyway, but I thought I’d ask if you’d like to come with me.” “Alright, give me like, fifteen minutes to change and then we can go,” Harry said. OR Louis and Harry go shopping for new nesting stuff

Curiosity by HelloLovers13/@hellolovers13 | [934]

Fae Harry lets curiosity get the best of him. Human Louis is intrigued.

Expresso by reallynotmemoi/@reallynotmemoi | [880]

Louis falls in love at first sight with a boy from his Tuesday lectures, and proceeds to make a fool out of himself in front of said boy. But maybe not all is lost…

****

saccharine desire by DaddyAlphaLouisBabyOmegaHarry/@bottomhaztoplou | [682]

During Louis' rut, a new kink is discovered.

Tumblr only allows me to add 30 pics BOOHOO!!

Anyways Happy reading!

Don't be shy leave comments and kudos!

You have no idea how appreciated they are!!

[mschievousx]

now and then | b.b.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc

summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she loves her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.

series masterlist

n. interlude: violet

violet has always been a strong woman. to take care of seven children and another one on the way, there was no questioning her abilities. just like how a wise wife makes for a strong husband, a loving husband makes for a happy wife.

and violet is beyond happy with her family right now.

with the addition of the silvas, she found a new friend of her own. the adults met in a ball hosted by the queen. the silvas were fairly new in central london just months after arriving from the countryside with a thirteen-year-old boy and a four-year-old little girl.

the patriarch is a military general, she learned. it must be hard for the children and his wife. and so, she bonded with the viscountess silva—sharing her worries and moments in the married life and vice versa.

the boy, she has met. he was an outgoing child and played with her two eldest sons the most. lance was a smart one—very knowledgeable about politics and its science but not offending. he would join her sons whenever their father would discuss about the duties of a viscount and all that it entails.

the little girl, she only met after a year. violet expected her to be a shy, reserved child. oh, how wrong she was.

on their first meet, loraine had no problem in directly asking why she has six children. she was not offended, of course. the girl was simply curious, and violet answered that it is what happens when two people love each other so much.

she did not expect, however, that little loraine would turn to her parents and ask them, do you not love each other so much? violet did not know how to react. fortunately, armand ruffled his daughter's hair and replied, you should thank the heavens the walls are thick.

his wife slapped his arm immediately with a laugh of her own. oh, how quirky the silvas are.

the peculiarity of the said child did not end their as they currently find themselves at the bridgerton's garden. the now six-year-old girl neared the viscount and viscountess on the side as she lost in the game against the bridgerton daughters. the sons and lance were playing cards on the next table.

raine sat on the grass as she looked up to the adults, "lady bridgerton, your husband is lovely."

violet smiled, reaching for her husband's hand as the man laughed at the child's remarks.

"I want to get married." she added with a pout.

"oh? who do you have in mind?" the viscountess asked the little silva.

raine looked up and away as if contemplating hard, "someone like your husband."

edmund laughed at her response as he brushed her hair, "darling, i am afraid there is only i."

the girl clicked her tongue and let out a small groan, mimicking an adult, "no one alike at all?"

"well," he began, trying to think of who could possibly be like him, "my eldest is probably the most similar to me."

at the mention of the eldest, raine grimaced immediately, "anthony? eugh..."

she did not think twice to express her disgust despite the fact that they were just on the adjacent table. the said son turning to her and spoke in a teasing tone.

"as if i would marry a cheeky brat like you."

"as if i would marry an old rake like you." she did not miss a beat in replying, sticking her tongue out to mock.

the adults were nonetheless shocked at the girl's words, their brows raising followed by a soundful laughter from edmund.

"raine!" lance called her for a scolding. he has no problem of her sister calling them rakes because they honestly are. it is only because of the parents present.

anthony placed his cards down instantly and stood up, set to chase the girl as the latter scrambled to run herself, using benedict's seat as a shield.

"ben! stop your brother!"

he snickered at the panic of the little one facing his eldest brother, "oh, no. you are not involving me on—"

"have you no guts?!" she challenged and he immediately found himself putting an arm in front of her to block anthony away with a laugh.

violet, on the other hand, laughed at the whole exchange as well before whispering to her husband, "are we going to ignore how the girl knows the word?"

edmund only chuckled with a nod to their third son, "she learned it from colin."

the viscountess had to close her eyes. of course she would learn it from her own sons. yet, a smile was tugging at the ends of her lips.

her family was quirky as well in their own way.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

with nothing to do, most gathered in the drawing room: violet having her tea while listening to her daughter, francesca learning the pianoforte, eloise reading a fairytale, daphne teaching francesca, colin and his newspapers, and benedict with his paint and canvas.

out of all of them, raine took interest in whatever the second eldest son was doing.

"ben, what are you doing?" she said as she peered from his front behind the canvas.

"i am trying my hand at painting." at the mention of art, she immediately went to his side to see him in action.

upon observing the canvas though, she frowned, her face contorting almost in disgust.

"rubbish. it's just messy lines."

"it's—" benedict turned to violet at once for help, "mother, do you hear her? are you letting the child talk like that?"

just to tease her son, she chuckled with the girl, "loraine's not wrong, dear. they are lines."

he sneered at his mother, "i am getting to it. this is the process."

raine continued to observe his piece in a very contemplative and serious manner, putting her fingers on her chin in thinking. in just no more than fifteen seconds, she shook her head sidewards disapprovingly.

"do not pursue it, ben." the mentioned man glaring at her intensely.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

it was a fine afternoon, with no issues so far. thank god! she cheered. it was rare to have a moment of silence in their home with her children.

rightly so because just as she was about to take a bit of a biscuit, eloise came running inside with immense hurry.

"mama, come!" she exclaimed, dragged her mother without any warning.

"what is happening?" violet asked with worry.

her daughter exclaimed, "raine climbed a tree!"

"what do you mean she climbed a tree?"

she exited their house, only to be greeted by his sons gathering near the tree. violet looked up and lo and behold—there indeed sits at a branch of quite a high tree a seven-year-old loraine.

"oh god," she placed a hand on her chest in concern.

benedict can be heard persuading the young silva to come down, "raine, get down. it is dangerous."

the girl looked down on them with a cheer in her voice, "have you seen how it looks up here? it's amazing!"

he exhaled tolerantly at her excitement, "yes, i have. come down now."

"no, everything looks more wonderful here." she stubbornly replied.

benedict had no choice but to tap anthony, gesturing for him to position himself directly below the girl. the latter nodded, understanding what he is planning.

he patted the trunk a couple of times, finding where he can settle his grip. as soon as he did, he climbed it with ease, reaching the girl on the left branch. he settled beside her, trying to find the right chance, looking at anthony below them.

"see?" raine turned to him with the widest innocent smile he has ever seen, "this way, you can be a few feet closer to your father."

he paused, not knowing what to respond. it was childish, really, but it was also one of the best things someone has ever said to him. and so, he raised his hand to her head and ruffled her hair.

his warm feelings did not last long though as the girl opened her mouth to speak once again with a grin.

"i doubt you can paint something like this."

he glared at her intensely, "stop talking about my painting."

"stop painting."

he gritted his teeth at that, placing a hand on the young silva's arm, "good bye."

"ben—"

and she was not able to continue what she was about to say when it was immediately replaced with a yelp as she fell. anthony caught her with ease, letting her down as she was struggling against him.

"that was uncalled for!"

violet let out a breath she did not know she was holding during the entire exchange. that trio will be the death of her.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

armand has arrived back from his duties after two months. the viscountess silva wasted no time to invite the bridgertons for a sleepover in theirs. the silvas may be just a family of four, but they certainly had a lot of room in their home.

the bridgertons arrived in the afternoon—violet insisted that they will have lunch at theirs prior because it would be too much for the silvas to shoulder four meals.

after they have settled and dispersed to do their own things while their parents bonded, the eight-year-old marched to where they were in the leisure hall, finding violet's second eldest too with his pad and brush.

"benedict, you fool!"

he turned to her with a look of clear confusion, "what now?"

"why are you using my equipment as models?"

ah, yes. across benedict were raine's glasses, flasks, tubes, and beakers, arranged carefully in an aesthetic manner.

he looked back in front and realised that it was hers. at first, he really thought they were lance's and the latter even allowed him to use them when he asked permission.

he turned back to her and shrugged, "i have been painting flowers and vases and fruits. i would like to try a new one and glasses are perfect to experiment with since they are transparent."

"what did my innocent tools ever do to you..."

she walked towards her things and returned them carefully to their respective places before she turned to grab a stool. the young silva placed it in front of him at the right distance, sitting with her back straight

"now, go on."

benedict raised a brow on what she was tryimg to do, "do you want me to draw you?"

she gave him a sarcastic smile, not wanting to concede, "no, you want to draw and i just happened to be here."

he conceded but not without a shot of his own, "if it comes out plain or unpleasant, know that it is not my talent but you."

she let her mouth fell at his comment, only picking it up when she turned to her mother for support.

"mother! are you really going to let him speak like that?!"

armand, along with the two viscountesses, laughed at their banter.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

it was fairly a normal night, unless you take in the fact that it was the death anniversary of her mother. it has been six years, and while it has been long since she could laugh again, an air of longing still remains.

and so, the fourteen-year-old asked daphne and francesca to play the piano of a concerto they all wrote together—raine wrote most parts, considering that it is a tribute for her mother. she took her violin and stood beside the piano, the family gathering close to hear them play.

it was not a single-themed piece. all throughout the music, you could hear notes that dripped of grief and loneliness, yet of joy and relief at the same time. the three of them were playing flawlessly, embodying every message and emotion they wanted to convey.

"do not look at her like that. she is a child."

violet muttered as small as she chould after noticing her son's gaze at the young silva.

"i am not." he turned to her mother right away, denying what she said with a fearful look at the same time—as if he was caught doing something he should not, "i am simply wondering."

he turned back to their performance, trying to control his expressions as what his mother said shook him even after his denial.

"she is interesting, smart, and funny." he complimented with awe to dismiss the previous idea, "and quite artistic too, it seems."

he laced his voice with a familiar smirk on his lips just as they ended their piece, "god really has his favourites."

the lady in question smiled serenely, walking to her father and hugging him in a comforting manner. with lance away on his duty, it was only him and her. however, right now, the bridgertons are proving to be a good source of solace.

violet pushed the topic behind, following her son's humor, "are you now envious of the child?"

"no," he said, eyes never leaving her form, "i am admiring."

the matriarch could do nothing but trust his son—trust that he knows what to do, understands it cannot be now, and cares to wait for the right time.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

they have gathered at the bridgerton's garden once again for a fine day. this one is surely void of any problems, i assure—if you could just please ignore gregory and hyacinth chasing each other, colin and eloise arguing about social matters, and benedict glaring at anthony's back.

honestly, violet is grateful for at least two children of hers that could converse peacefully with one another.

"stop staring daggers at your brother." she said discreetly, trying not to move her lips in fear of the pair in discussion hearing. she sat with her tea settled on the table, observing her children with benedict beside her, sketching on his pad.

"i am not." he firmly denied once again, eyes going back to his drawing as if invested on it.

she hummed dismissively, completely not believing him this time, "anthony is simply teaching her his duties."

he dropped his pad on his lap and turned to his mother, "what for?"

recounting what the girl's father and her talked about days back, she divulged, "armand will pass the title again to her when she debuts."

benedict was honestly surprised by that. lance, who has been the viscount for three years, died two years past, making armand the viscount again during this time. now—or three years from now, to be exact—he would be passing the title to his child again.

"why? it is not a duty for someone so—" he paused, trying to find the words as he turned to her as if she was the answer itself, "pure."

violet understood what he meant. however, she would also beg to differ. the girl was a bundle of things. she was almost frightening—a jack of all trades and master to all.

"she is quite capable, i can see. if anyone is going to be it, it is her."

lady bridgerton continued as benedict ultimately closed his pad and placed it on the table. before she could do anything, he was already well on his way towards the pair.

they both raised their heads from the papers they were discussing and turned to him, anthony asking him, "what are you doing here?"

he raised his eyebrows, pitch going high as he defended himself, "can't i be interested of my brother's tasks as well?"

"you never are." the elder indifferently shrugging.

he insisted, "well, i am now."

raine narrowed her eyes at the man interrupting what she likes to call as her 'time to be pretentious'. she dismissed as well, "stop bothering us, ben."

benedict scoffed and let out a mocking chuckle at that, "oh, i am bothering you now?"

she nodded with ease, clueless of his internal emotions. she grinned at the idea that just came to her mind.

"unless you are going to marry me... because i would gladly let you whisk me away."

"no!"

benedict firmly rejected after a short pause, retracing his steps back to his mother again. he left them be, but not without tapping his brother's arm in good nature. a gesture that says he is not taking it seriously. yet, there was a grumble in every step he took away from them. his mother, however, knows best.

violet certainly did not miss the way her son's mouth stammered before saying no without conviction.

taglist: @aadu2173 @imgondeletedis @pumkiinpasties @rebleforkicks @perseny @everavenclaw @datingbtr

[thetravelingtyper]

On the same page...(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader Bookshop! AU) pt 1

After a disastrous breakup, you, an American author, escape to a little London bookstore with your best friend. However, when one patron takes a certain interest in you, you wonder if your story has been finished after all...

Part 2, Masterlist

“You used to get it in your fishnets

Now you only get it in your nightdress

Discarded all the naughty nights for niceness

Landed in a very common crisis

Everything's in order in a black hole

Nothing seems as pretty as the past though

That Bloody Mary's lacking in Tabasco

Remember when you used to be a rascal?”

Smooth lyrics picked with a bass line and beats in on the radio, your ears perked up and catching the beginning of fluorescent adolescent you sighed. The song wasn't helping your down mood and you pick up your phone, ignoring the 10+ missed calls from your ex, and changed the song. After shuffling for a moment another piercing ring lit up your phone.

God leave me alone!

You sigh to yourself and toss your phone back on the counter of the bookstore as the door rings, announcing a customer. Your eyes flick to the door as a tall man enters. Lightly buzzed hair looks soft in the light and you catch yourself staring a little and he grins at you. You welcome him in and he nods then heads towards the history section. You watch how he carries himself. Strong and steady with a soldier's confidence. You think a little about it, the strength those arms carry before your phone rings again...

Your hand flies to your phone and you finally silence the poor thing, the buzzing remaining like a dying animal, a fit allusion to your past relationship. You remember the glittering smirks of the ladies and your fiance's grin, eyes shadowed with greed as you stood in a winning dress. The bastard ruined your image and your future with one moment, pulling the girl to him for a steaming kiss. Flashes of lights as the crowding press pushed past you and left you in the dark.

Glittering lights turned to stars as you left the gala alone, pushing the cheating bastard and your ‘friends’, truthfully venomous colleagues, to the back of your mind. You had gotten back home to your flat, packed everything you could, and kicked it to stay with a friend. You could imagine the headlines. “Downbeat author loses job and life!” You groan wipe a hand down your face and force yourself into the present.

You stand and shift your weight from foot to foot. It was a practice Sam had taught you when you both first moved out. His extended family was in the publishing business and owned a bookstore in London proper with an attached apartment on top. It was easy for him to steal his best friend away and across the pond for a new life chasing words through the drizzly streets of London.

Put yourself in the current moment, and learn to reset yourself if needed!

His warm voice rings in your ears and you smile, stretching and taking stock of the current moment. It was currently 5:36 on a Thursday, it was the middle of February so it was cold outside, currently not raining but cloudy. If you look you can see covered strangers pass back and forth outside the windows of the bookshop.

It had been a few months since you settled in but they were full of meeting Sam’s family and getting your writing career back on your feet. After the shame of the breakup, you had taken an extended break from writing. However restful for you, your manager was insistent on getting a book finished by the middle of the year, or year's end at worst. So you dutifully spent your time manning the bookshop and writing when you could bear to. But every time you opened that blank white screen you grimaced, seeing...

A large thunk on the counter makes you jump. Your eyes and mind darting back to the present.

“Aye sorry lass.” A thick Scottish voice apologizes and you catch first his smile, he's teasing.

You shake yourself out of it and reach over the counter to grab at his book, A History of Military Maneuvers.

“You certainly chose some dense reading material,” You quip at him as an easy smile lights up your face as well. You take the book and bag it, mentioning the price as he passes you a card.

“It's not too bad when you live it.” He explains simply. That would explain the physique.

“Did you serve?”

“I did once, not anymore. Took one too many and it put me on the sidelines. I found quieter work around the city.” He says it calmly but you catch his hand and rub his shoulder. It seems a sore spot for him. You think of your career back in the States and frown.

“I don’t blame you,” a hurt passes over your eyes. Your writer's brain latches onto his character. He seemed to enjoy part of his career, but you can see the injury in your mind's eye now, one moment normal then the next some career-ending injury.

“What do you do? I've seen you in the store before.” He brushes a hand through his hair a little ashamed.

You raise a brow,

“Been watching have you? I am an author back in the States for your information, Mr…?”

He grins at you and offers his hand across the counter,

“John, John MacTavish but my friends just call me Soap.”

You return his handshake. His hands are rough and completely engulf yours, a fact that makes your heart skip a beat at the realization.

His phone then rings and he pulls away from you to check it. 

“I got to get this love, but it was nice finally putting a name to the face. I'll be seeing ye around.”

With that Soap takes the bag and makes his exit into the cold evening. With his departure, you feel your spirits lift. Maybe, you think flexing your hand, there is a story to be written after all.

[whorediaries-09]

i wanna be yours;

pairing- sirius black x barista!reader warning(s)- tooth decaying fluff. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- totally self indulgent.

masterlist for the 'the seven lives'

the slut club

if you like your coffee hot let me be your coffee pot

he doesn’t fancy coffee much, he’s more of a tea person.

much to his dismay, james drags him to the one of the small downtown cafés in london. james likes his sweet coffees, it helps him focus, he insists. sirius thinks it makes him more inattentive; if that were to be possible. he thinks his friend would still be chasing colourful butterflies or pet dogs that curl up near sirius’ legs.

however, the feeling quickly dissipates. when his eyes fall on you. you’ve got your hair up in a messy bun, writing down orders on a piece of paper. a slight smile curved upon your lips. the apron you wear is dirty, and he imagines it smelling like freshly baked cookies and coffee. he feels his heart skip a beat when you turn your head around at the sound of the charms above the door jingling. the smile on your lips broadens, the soft sunlight reflecting your features.

he feels a weird warm sensation calm down over his nerves, as you wave to his friend.

‘hi james, what can i get you today?’ you ask. even your voice is ethereal.

‘just the regular, darlin’- he jolts sirius in his ribcage, causing him to stomp on his foot, ‘-and whatever this dolt likes,’

his hand grips his ribcage as the pain of the soft blow dissipates over his body. he rolls his eyes, and he walks nearer to the counter, behind which you stand, taking in the sight of you. you chuckle softly, and he thinks it’s music to his years. he’s pretending to trail his eyes over the menu, trying to choose what he wants. truth be told, he has no idea about what he’s seeing. cappuccinos espressos, lattes, americano, they all seem fancy, foreign words to him. he chooses the safest option, to not make a fool of himself.

‘i’ll have a masala chai, please,’ he says. james stares at him in silence. he watches his eyes as you walk away back into the kitchen, he knows that look. it’s been years since he’s seen it on his friend’s eyes. but he knows it, he remembers it.

‘okay so one caffé mocha for james and one masala chai for-?’ you speak. sirius thankfully enough, catches up to your words. he leans closer, letting his hips sabotage the counter,

‘for sirius,’ he whispers, as if a secret to be kept between you and him. he doesn’t miss the flush on your skin or the way your eyes cradle over his appearance or way you unconsciously lean slightly closer to listen to him. you nod, everting your eyes.

‘one masala chai for sirius,’

it’s the best one he’s had, he thinks.

*-

you smudge the sticky lip gloss on your lips, fixing stray strands of hair on your head. it’s silly you think, to expect sirius to come back to the café. he wasn’t with james the other day he came in. but still, a part of you heaves hope that he’ll come in.

to maybe, just ask your name.

you’re busy eating your lunch, balancing yourself on a tool while reading a book. it’s not a very lovely book, with weird phrases and graphic descriptions containing nothing very interesting, but you think you’ll survive. it’s just for time pass, you convince yourself, letting the taste of your lunch relish on your tongue. it’s not a very busy day, with only a few customers dropping by, along with james. so, you’d finally convinced him to try something new out of the menu. he’d reluctantly chosen a caramel iced frappe. he was a very picky person, and you remembered how remus had introduced him to coffee, the first time he’d walked into the shop.

you never saw remus again, james became a regular. a picky person thing you supposed, to drink something new from the only shop they knew and liked.

you wondered whether sirius was a picky person too. it was a strange looming feeling, one that echoed into your brain and made you feel like a teenager high on hormones. but who wouldn’t be? the man exuded an aura of charm, his words and voice as smooth as velvet. it was idiotic you supposed, to be enamoured by somebody who didn’t give you more than his name.

still, it makes your stomach turn happily with dopamine, when your hopes turn into reality and the forsaken man that had been on your mind turns up. he carries a very chubby baby in his arms. you silently appreciate the flexing veins on his tattooed biceps as he walks towards you.

‘the chai was fire,’ he says. his eyes wander over to your uniform, trying to catch your name tag. there’s none he realizes, before his eyes fix on your face.

‘maybe you’ll try a coffee today?’ you say, a shy smile on your face.

‘surprise me darling,’ he says. the way the r rolls off his tongue makes you stomach do somersaults.

‘i’ll try my best,’ you say, dashing off into the kitchen.

it’s a hazelnut mocha caffé you bring back. you’re not sure whether he would appreciate the slight nut like taste on the drink, but it’s still worth a try. more cliched than a try really, bringing a cute customer your personal favourite drink.  

you write his name on the cup with as much precision as you can on the curved surface. try to make the dots on the i’s look more carefully drawn along the paper. you silently hope he notices your effort.

‘what have you got, for me now, hot stuff?’ he says, a cheeky grin on his face. he enjoys the tiny flush the appears across your skin and how you bite your lip at the nickname.

‘are you flirting with me because your kiddo has eaten up the cookies on the counter?’ sirius’ eyes wanders to the baby in his arms, and he grabs a tissue to wipe off the dust of his cheeks.

‘he’s not mine, i’m his godfather. it’s james’ kid,’ he explains, letting out a soft chuckle at the baby’s antics.

‘father like son i suppose,’ you drawl, handing him the latte. he looks at the cup, wondering what you’ve got him for a surprise. he hopes it’s not one of the sweet things’ james’ buys. it’ll make him sleepy, and he won’t be able to take care of harry as he’d promised.

‘how much do I owe you -?’ he stops mid-sentence, in a dilemma to use nicknames or not. he wants to know your name, let it simmer on his tongue before he lets it out. thankfully, you get the deal. so you give him your name.

he thinks it’s beautiful.  

*-

‘hi baby, what are you drawing?’ your voice is soft. you hand sirius his masala chai, rutting your hips against harry’s side of the table. he fiddles with his crayons, drawing random scribbles on the piece of paper. his striking green eyes stare at you, before he blabbers, his words not so clear yet,

‘a motohcych!’

‘ouhh,’ you hum, pushing your fingers through the mop of curly hair atop his head. you scratch your nails softly on his scalp, enjoying the sound of his chuckling.

‘is it prehhy?’ he asks, a shy smile on his face as he finishes scribbling on the paper. you’re not able to make out much from the black colours, but the innocence in his voice makes your heart melt. you press a kiss on his chubby cheek, and he giggles,

‘it’s very pretty,’ you say, bopping his nose.

‘whah do you like? i wihh drawh thahh’ he says, struggling with his words. you find it adorable. but when you speak out your answer, it’s more for sirius than harry,

‘flowers maybe? like yellow ones?’

*-

on a particularly busy day when, sirius walks in your café, it’s not a very empty space. and neither are you to be found anywhere. he hopes you’re in the kitchen somewhere, preparing your coffees. over the times he’s come over, he’s learnt you’re a shy thing. he’s not much of an observer, but somehow you make his eyes stop. you make him observe and learn things.

so sirius puts the bunch of flowers he’d bought on the table, alongside a note for you.

when you find them, they’re barely blooming, buds of yellow flowers. it makes your heart flutter when you find his note. a boost of serotonin runs through your body as you sabotage the tissue, searching for his number. it’s dumb, you think, but it’s also a hope that blossoms within you. you however find none.

you’re distracting by your name being shouted across the kitchen, asking for a hand in help.

*-

you’re freezing, as the rain patters over the sidewalk, just barely missing your shoes under the sunroof. you urse yourself for not bringing in your umbrella or a raincoat. now you’re stuck under the rain, with nowhere to go until the rain stops.

you’re saved by an angel with red hair who comes along the way, carrying an extra umbrella, with a toddler curled up in her arms. her eyes are striking similar, an emerald green you could recognise anywhere.

‘harry?’ you ask, looking at the toddler. he flashes you a beautiful grin, throwing grubby hands at you. you pinch his cheeks, smiling.

‘you must be lily,’ you say, turning to the woman. she stares at you flabbergasted, her mind seemingly rendering to her memories,

‘how do you know me, sweetie?’ she says, giving you an extra umbrella.

‘sirius- um well he comes to the café very often. he usually brings your adorable kid around,’

her eyes scan your features, as a look of realization dawns upon her. she squeezes your shoulder, slowly walking away into the rain. it pitters over the plastic of the umbrella, and she smiles, a soft look in her eyes.

‘give the umbrella to sirius, the next time you see him,’  

*-

sirius is jittery when he walks into the café. he hopes to catch you, even though he knows it’s not your shift. but there’s something about the aftermath of rain and petrichor which heightens his hopes. he tousles with his raven dark strands, hoping he doesn’t look too bad. you’ve made him shy. in a way, where he’s too intimidated to speak his feelings out directly. but he’s a man with plans.

his heart threatens to jump out of his chest when he finds you there. it’s the work of gods, or perhaps the work of his faith. he walks towards the counter, and you catch his eye. he thinks your eyes carry the most magnificent twinkle when you see him. your eyes linger on his lips a tad bit longer for it to be just friendly and his heart almost jumps through his ribcage. he’s almost forgetting his plans when you smile so sweetly at him. for a moment, he thinks it’s meant just for him.

‘hi darling,’ he greets, leaning towards the counter. his hips jolt at the metal, and he takes out his phone. you nod, acknowledging him.

‘do you think you can help me with…a crush?’ he says. he watches your breaths stops in your throat, as a dark sadness reflecting in your features.

‘maybe,’ you whisper, a quiet disdain succumbing your voice. you don’t meet his eyes. over the time he’s observed you, he realised that you don’t meet anybody’s eyes when you’re sad or angry. it’s a way of bottling up your emotions and eating them up till your stomach churns.

‘you wanna see a picture?’ he asks, trying to not react to the sadness on your face.

‘sure,’ you say. his heart almost shatters when you keep your head low, not meeting his eyes. he unlocks his phone, sliding it between your face.

your reflection stares back at you, and you jump. with surprise or glee, he can’t decipher. the sadness on your features has dissipated, your eyes glowing with hope and emotion. he stares at his reflection in your eyes, and he thinks he’s the prettiest reflected through the colour of your irises. he bites his lip when you don’t say anything.

he’s waiting in contemplation, wondering what your next move is, when you lean against the counter, closer to his face, breathing him in. he secretly thanks himself for chewing on a gum before he came in.

‘i think you should just ask her out on a date. she’ll be foolish not to say yes to you,’ you say, your eyes full of mischief. you’re grinning, as he counts the wrinkles beside your eyes.

‘you think so?’ he says, leaning closer, and almost brushing his lips against yours. almost letting himself taste you. he thinks if he has a taste, he won’t be able to stop himself from devouring you, from ravaging you apart.

‘i bet so,’ you say, smiling before your hand cradles his face, pushing his lips upon yours. he groans, capturing his lips with yours. he tastes coffee and vanilla on your tongue, melting away into his tastebuds. he loves it, he thinks, when you slide your arms across his neck, pushing yourself deeper into a passionate fury of build-up tension and hormones. his heart flutters with serotonin, and he tangles his fingers into your hair.

he doesn’t fancy coffee much, but he’s never found it more endearing than this moment.

*********************************

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking (if you want to be tagged, reply under this post!)

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Me & the Devil P.3 (Final) 🌑 | Harry Potter Imagine

Takes place during DH1 & 2

Part 1 & 2 Here | HP masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Black!Sister reader x HP characters (platonic), Severus Snape x reader (platonic/semi-romantic)

Content Warnings: major character death, violence, physical assault (Lucius gets his ass beat) profanity, major angst, illusions to sex, NSFW, slight cannon divergence, mentions of torture and blood, set during the book timeline of the 1990s, but follows the movies. Reader is written with having psychopathic/sociopathic traits | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 11.7k

Requested yes/no

Premise: The Second Wizarding War reaches heightened tension as Harry Potter and his friends find themselves on a scavenger hunt for Voldemorts Horcruxes. For Y/n Black, after escaping the Burrow following the Battle of the Seven Potters, she wonders just how far she'll go to ensure she's free from the Dark Lord's bounds if Harry Potter prevails. Unfortunately, with war comes sacrifice, and Y/n must suffer the consequences. Even if means she doesn't get to see a new world without darkness.

Note: I have finally finished this HP miniseries and feel so good about it. But then it reminds me how many series I have yet to finish + requests and I think 'I need to get it together'. I still have my MIB fic I'm working on AND I have an idea for Cooper Howard from Fallout. Anyways....I'm alive and I hope you enjoy this last part after a much-anticipated wait. I gave it all the angst.

————-------

“Where the hell have you been?” were the first words shouted at Y/n upon her return home. Snape sprung from his chair, mirroring her disheveled look. He appeared to have gone through hell and back. “You were supposed to return hours ago.” 

“I got a little caught up,” she groaned, waving a hand as she beelined for the kitchen. Obviously not in the mood for the argument about to occur. Snape followed after her.

“I figured,” he stood in the doorway, watching her reach into the medicine cabinet and rustle through until she found the bottle of aspirin. “I searched every corner of London--thinking you fell from the sky and was laid in a ditch somewhere---only to find out from Yaxley of all people, you’d been on the back of Bill Weasley’s Thestral.” He didn’t say anything else, but the tone of his voice indicated Snape knew where Y/n had been.

Yeah she wasn’t getting out of this conversation.

Throwing back the asprin, Y/n chased it with wine and let out a sigh, “If you already know ... .why bother--.”

“Because I want to know how you could be so stupid--!” Snape clenched his fists, face turning red by the amount of anger he was itching to release. “To get yourself taken by the Order!”

Y/n, matching his emotion from having to deal with the events of the night, slammed the glass down so hard it shattered. Not caring it cut her hand and blood was now leaking. “I’m sorry, Snape. Next time a Thestral slams into me mid-air, I’ll let myself fall from the fucking sky. Save you from having to deal with my recklessness any longer. Since it’s causing you so much stress--goddammit--.” she hissed, the pain in her hand settling in. Muttering a spell, the wound closed and Y/n rinsed the blood off in the sink. “How the hell was I to expect the Delacour girl to do what she did?”

“Where did they take you?” Snape demanded, moving to stand beside her. At a closer look, he spotted the bruises and abrasions. His question changed, voice softening, “Are you alright?”

“Splendid,” she spat, drying her hands without looking at him. “Better than I’ve ever been.” She flinched when the man gently took a hold of her wrist, turning to him in surprise. 

“I mean it, Y/n. You’re covered in bruises and it's obvious you’re in pain.” The anger returns on Snape’s face. “Did they torture you?” Y/n scoffs, finding his assumption amusing. 

“Torture me? You humor me, dear husband,” her playfulness was back. Snape muttered something along the lines of ‘Merlin’s beard’ though she saw his eyebrows relax. He still held her wrist, and Y/n noticed the bruises starting to disappear. Snape was performing non-verbal healing spells on her.

Over the course of their marriage the two had moments of affection. Mostly to keep up the act in front of others, but every now and then there’d be private ones. Such as the current scenario. Snape making their tea in the morning. Y/n buying his potion ingredients when his stock is low. Sitting on opposite sides of the couch while reading. Having dinner together, even if it's in silence. 

And, on rare occasions, the two experienced their shared needs with each other. 

Again, neither would call it love. Romantic attraction was nonexistent to Y/n and she knew she’d never be able to love. Snape understood this, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the same. Unable to see himself loving again after Lily. 

Once he was done, and the bruises were gone, Snape let go of Y/n’s hand, “Tell me what happened.”

“What’s there to tell,” she mumbles, leaning against him slightly. “When I woke up, after being stunned and a rather harsh landing, I was tied to a chair and asked to answer some questions.” Snape tensed, but Y/n continued, “Bet you can expect what their negotiations were if I cooperated.”

“Azkaban. Albeit a lesser sentence.” She huffed, cranking her neck with a nod.

“Yeah I wasn’t thrilled with that,” tilting her chin up so it rested on his chest, Y/n smirked wickedly, “they tried to use Veritaserum on me.”

“Oh,” he raised a brow, fighting his own smirk. “And how’d that go?” Her response was a shrug.

“I may have caused some trouble.”

The man chuckled, not surprised by the answer. “I’d expect nothing less.” Stepping to the side, Snape poured them each a glass of wine. “And how did you escape?” Handing Y/n hers, the two clicked glasses before bringing the rim to their lips. Y/n answered once the bitter taste passed through her throat.

“I stirred up a storm. Genuinely.” Y/n mentally patted herself on the back, impressed she managed to pull it off. “A tad shaky if I must admit, but It had them off their feet.” They finished the wine, Snape taking the glasses to put in the sink. Y/n stretched her arms, turning on her heel to exit the kitchen. “Well if you don’t mind, I’m going to treat myself to a bath. Tonight has left me quite spent,” reaching the doorway, she stops and turns to Snape, mouth curling up and eyes turning a shade he knows all too well. Heat coursed through his body as he watched her tease the stings of her corset, painting his cheeks with a light blush. 

“Care to join me?” 

In the following months after the Battle of the Seven Potters, Y/n’s time was once again spent in the attic of Malfoy Manor. Spell books and potions kept her busy while Snape was at Hogwarts for the term, a place Y/n avoided like the plague, as the newly instated headmaster. Anytime the school was mentioned she wanted to throw up. The memories of her short time there were a painful reminder of the life forced upon her. Knowing she’d never come to him when he needed to meet urgently, Snape either traveled by Floo or crossed school grounds to apparate. Letters were sent consistently.

Y/n could’ve remained at Snape’s home where they had resided during the summer. But that meant being completely alone. And while she may hate her family and enjoy isolation in the attic, the mere presence of people in the mansion provides comfort. It kept the voices in her head from being too loud. 

Tensions were high at the manor. With Lucius back and Bellatrix unable to shut up, Y/n’s peace and quiet was constantly disturbed. Draco had been kept home, and if Y/n were being honest the sound of his cries at night both annoyed and pitied her. Then when he wasn’t staying hidden in the shadows, Voldermort turned up to wreak havoc. 

The news of Potter infiltrating the Ministry spread like wildfire. Dolores Umbridge had been stunned mid-trial for a muggle-born witch, the necklace belonging to Salazar Slytherin ripped from her neck. Voldermart was furious. Fightenly so. He sent every Death Eater not in his close circle to find and capture the boy. Groups of Snatchers ordered to bring Harry to the Manor. 

‘Can I ever get a break?’ The thought crossed her mind a dozen times a day.

Then on the first day of May 1998, Y/n’s mere linger of peace was disrupted by commotion downstairs. With a huff, she discarded her book, pocketed her wand and descended the many stairs until she reached the living space. As she entered the scene she was stunned beyond belief at the sight of Harry--whose face was disfigured--Ron, and Hermione. They were fighting against the Snatchers holding them, though they froze when they met her eyes. 

“What is this?” Y/n approached the group, where Bellatrix was screaming about finding Draco. Narcissa and Lucius stood to the side, the former addressing her first. “These men believe they have Harry Potter,” Narcissa flinched when Bellatrix screamed again, “but we’re not exactly sure.”

‘Are you that daft?’ Y/n wanted to say. Anyone with eyes and a decent memory would know it was Harry Potter. Even with the spell to make him unrecognizable, he was with a Weasley and the Granger girl! That should’ve been their confirmation. Narcissa met them all in Diagon Alley after Lucius’ arrest, so either she was just too stupid or was stalling to prolong the inevitable outcome. 

Y/n bit the inside of her cheek, tension rising in veins. Snape was going to tear into her if something happened to Potter. And while she could care less about his friends, Ron was a relative and Hermione was one hell of a young witch. The kind that garnered respect from seasoned magical beings. They needed to get out of the manor alive.

“Well, make sure your boy doesn’t get us all killed,” Y/n scoffed when Draco arrived. Pale in the face with sweat beading at his forehead. Wanting nothing more than to apparate away from the chaos. 

Bellatrix pushed Harry down to his knees, gripping his hair in her hand to pull his face up. The boy groaned, Bellatrix addressing Draco, “Well?” He gulped, blinking rapidly as he looked between Harry and his aunt.

“I can’t be sure.”

“Draco,” Lucius grasped his neck with a stern hold. He too was filled with anxiety. “Look closely. Listen if we are the ones to hand Potter over to the Dark Lord,” behind him, one of the Snatchers raised his brows, moving closer to the duo. “Everything will be forgiven. As it was, understand?” Draco nodded, and their moment was interrupted by the snatcher.

“Now we won’t be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy.”

“You dare to talk to me like that in my own house!” Draco flinched at his father’s shout while Narcissa jutted in. 

“Lucius,” her hand latched onto his arm, pulling him away from their son. Lucius relented, allowing her to guide him back a few paces, still visibly annoyed by the snatcher. Bellatrix gestured for Draco, “Don’t be shy, sweetie. Come over.” He let her take his hand, drawing him down to his knees so he was level with Harry. 

Y/n’s heart pounded against her chest. Gritting her teeth to the point they might crack. Casting a glance to the teens, Y/n saw their pleading eyes. Begging for escape and to not hurt them. Y/n turned away, focusing on her sister and nephew. 

“Now if this isn’t who we think it is, Draco, and we call him, he’ll kill us all. We need to be absolutely sure.”

“Shouldn't you know, Y/n?” Lucius suddenly accused, making the room go quiet. The woman in question snapped her head in his direction, eyes narrowed in challenge.

“What makes you say that?” 

“You were taken to the Burrow that night. You said it yourself to the Dark Lord, the Order questioned you.” He gestured to the teenagers, “weren’t they there?”

“Might I remind you I was rendered unconscious by a thestral and stunned several times, Lucius,” her tone was hard. “Forgive me if my memory is hazy.” Offering a shrug, Y/n continued to deflect, “I was busy formulating an escape plan rather than taking attendance of those present.” Lucius didn’t accept the answer. His expression made it well known. 

“Typical,” he spat, “Even when given the opportunity to locate Harry Potter and those associated with him, you fail to rise to the occasion.” Y/n saw red.

“Do not speak to me about rising to the occasion, Lucius, when you have brought failure to the Dark Lord on more accounts than I can count.” She saw the way he faltered and smirked, “Who was it that took the coward's way out by saying he was under the imperius curse instead of acting on his own free will?” As she inched closer Lucius stiffened and stepped back. Narcissa reached for her husband while glaring at Y/n, who paid her no mind. “Who relished in their new found freedom instead of searching for their Master they were oh so devoted to?”

Behind her, Bellatrix had a devilish smile, enjoying the way Lucius shrunk under her sister’s gaze. 

“Are you not the one who failed to bring him the prophecy?” Y/n mocked, tapping a finger to her chin, “oh yes, in fact you caused the damn thing to shatter. And got yourself caught by the aurors in the process. Bravo, Lucius. Well fucking done.” Her words echoed with a round of applause. “You are pathetic.” 

“Do not talk to him like that,” Narcissa got in her face, though it did nothing to intimidate the younger witch. “He has done more for the Dark Lord than you could ever know.” The scoff Y/n let out irritated Narcissa. 

“If you’re talking about giving up his wand I hate to tell you, Cissy, but that was more like taking candy from a baby,” Rolling her eyes she added, “And opening your home to him, please. The Dark Lord took claim to your home because he sees your husband for who he is…” Y/n leaned in making her sister step back. “Weak.” Y/n hadn’t even noticed Lucius in front of her before it was too late. His hand came up to strike her across the cheek, leaving an angry red mark behind as the force of the slap caused her head to turn. 

Hermoine gasped, a look of horror matching that of Narcissa. Ron, Draco and Harry were wide-eyed, meanwhile the snatchers just appeared awkward. 

They all waited for Y/n to react. She was breathing heavily, but otherwise silent. Then, with a deep inhale, she slowly turned back to Lucius. Any color in her eyes was gone. Completely black and soulless. 

Just like she didn’t have time to react, the same was bestowed on Lucius. Y/n’s arm wound back as far as it could go before launching, causing a sickening *crack* as her fist made an impact with his jaw. The force was so great it sent him to the floor. Narcissa screamed, Draco stumbling away as his father fell beside him and Harry. 

Lucius groaned, the taste of metallic filling his mouth. Blood dripped down his chin. He felt pressure on his chest, glancing up wide-eyed to see Y/n had straddled his chest and began punching him. Narcissa screamed for her to stop while Bellatrix laughed in the background. Y/n’s rings cut into Lucius’ skin, painting her knuckles red. As he brought his arms up to protect himself, Y/n focused her assault on his ribs. 

It was obvious by the absolute crazed expression she bore, Y/n had years of pent up fury releasing with each attack. She looked murderous. Craving blood. Craving pain. It was all she knew. Thanks to her dear sister and brother-in-law. Thanks to her family. 

After two minutes which felt like a lifetime, Y/n was tackled off Lucius by Narcissa. Immediately the older witch tended to her husband, while Y/n picked herself off the floor, cranked her neck and dusted off the dirt on her dress. 

Her sudden calmness is an eerie sight to the teenagers in the room. Both Ron and Hermoine glanced at each other in horror by what they witnessed. Harry remained frozen, wondering just how the hell they were going to get out of the manor. Before the Malfoy’s and Blacks snap again and end with them killing each other. 

“Are you out of your mind!?” Narcissa shouted, removing her wand to begin issuing healing spells. The man looked like he just got out of a bar fight. On top of the cuts from her rings, noticeable bruises and obviously broken nose. His tattered breathing indicated she likely broke a rib. Blood spilled from his mouth, but thankfully for him it didn’t appear that he lost any teeth. 

“He’ll live,” was her response, sounding disappointed by the fact. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to drown myself in fire whiskey while you all figure out if this is Harry Potter or an imposter before we die due to your incompetence.” 

Narcissa shuddered, anger seeping off her as she sent daggers to the back of Y/n’s head. “How dare you?”

“How dare I?” She spins around, challenging Narcissa to say more. “He raised his hand to me and I’m in the wrong? He had it coming.” 

“You called him weak! He went to prison while you fled the Ministry and left him to fend for himself. After all we’ve provided you--allowing you into our home, sit at our table, dine with us….” Narcissa lists off, “You once were a pleasant person to be around and respectful. To be so ungrateful for what we’ve done for you is an insult to---.” Now that was the wrong thing to say.

Y/n lost it. 

“You had me sent to fucking Azkaban!!” Her voice echoed off the walls, ordering everyone into silence. The outburst sent a chill amongst all in the room. The Malfoys were rather petrified. Especially Draco who was still kneeling behind his parents. For Narcissa, her eyes glazed as she took in her once sweet and innocent baby sister. The woman who stood in her place lacked any empathy, much like their eldest sister. Only Y/n’s rage was a direct result from those who failed her. Plus the circumstances she endured.

Harry realized this during their encounter at the Burrow. Thinking back to what Sirius had told him that time in Grimmauld Place. Y/n wasn’t always the demented Death Eater she became. Her confessions at the Burrow depict a case of a woman who’d betray Voldemort in an instant if it meant she could escape. 

“Half of my life wasted--because you and your husband chose to sell me out to the Aurors instead of protecting me!” Hatred was the only word to describe the venom in her tone and eyes. “I was fifteen, Narcissa, fifteen.” Water filled Y/n’s eyes that she refused to release. “You let them drag me to that house,” she referred to the night the Death Eaters gave her the mark. The same night they tortured the Longbottoms. “I confided in you. I told you what they forced me to do. I had no choice in the matter, Cissy.” She spit out the once endearing nickname. Like it was acid in her mouth.

Pointing her wand up slightly, Y/n gained satisfaction at the fear. Nearly whispering, she grinded her teeth, “when I came to you--after it was done--terrified out of my mind, I trusted you to keep. Me. Safe.” Each word had her stepping closer to her sister, “that my sister would have my back. Not rat me out the moment the Ministry came knocking at her door so that she, her pathetic husband, and her spineless, spoiled brat of a son--.” Narcissa gripped her wand. Angered by the insults of her loved ones, despite them being slightly true. Y/n dismissed her emotion, “--can live happily ever after. Peacefully, as though they never supported the Dark Lord when behind closed doors…,” she hissed, no longer caring they had an audience, “They are the most cowardice hypocrites in the history of the world.”

The more she drew closer, the tighter the grip Narcissa had on her wand. Ready for any sudden attack. Lucius glared at his sister-in-law with hatred. Meanwhile Draco looked like he wanted to vomit. He barely remembered his aunt before she went to prison. And their interactions since her release were brief. Now the image of her before him sent an awful pit in his stomach. 

Y/n had no plans of cursing anyone, but she’d be damn sure to put the fear of God himself in her relatives for all the pain and anger they’ve caused her entire life. “So no. I will not offer sympathies to your family, Narcissa. Nor shall I feel grateful for your sacrifices. Dear Lucius only got a lick of what I experienced in Azkaban. And Draco got his arse saved by Snape in getting out of killing Dumbledore. Meanwile I had to spend fourteen years in a cell--cast away in the middle of the fucking ocean--for something I had no control over.” Y/n dropped her stance, tone becoming bored as she finished her rant off with, “You can all die for all I care.” 

Desperate to leave Y/n started in the direction but was stopped by Bellatrix. Saying they were not finished and must get back to the issue at hand. Narcissa continued tending to Lucius, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. 

“You’re not sure it’s Potter, so don’t call him,” Y/n said as if it were obvious. Praying she did not give away any suspicion of the truth. “What else is there to say?” 

“What else?” Bellatrix threw out her hands, “There is a blood-traitor and mudblood with him!” She received a roll of the eyes.

“Not every ginger haired wizard is a Weasley, sister.” 

“What’s wrong with his face?” Draco changed the subject, Y/n mentally thanking him with a smirk to her brother-in-law in victory.

“Yes, what is wrong with his face?” Bellatrix echoed, addressing the snatchers. Meanwhile Y/n watches the stare off between Harry and Draco. The silent conversation happening between them. And when Harry’s eyes flicker to her, Y/n knows he’s questioning her all the same. ‘Why are you not saying anything? You know it’s me.’

“He came to us like that. Something he picked up in the forest I reckon.”

“Or ran into a stinging jinx,” she counters with a whisper. Her wand raises in the direction of the other captors. “Was it you two?” Bellatrix moves hastily, “Give me her wand. We’ll see what her last spell was.” Narcissa gently places a hand on her son, nudging him to stand and move away from Harry. Y/n stays quiet, keeping a firm gaze on the boys and turns away when Harry gives her a pleading look. 

Bellatrix gives a mocking laugh at Hermoine’s reaction, “I got you.” Suddenly her laugh is cut short with a gasp. Eyes locking on the shiny weapon in the hands of a snatcher. “What’s that?”

The sword of Gryffindor.

Hearing her gasp, Y/n leans to the side to get a better view, only to freeze. Blood drained from her face upon seeing the sword. Which was supposed to be locked away in the Lestrange vault at Gringotts. Dread consumed Y/n, followed by confusion and anger. How the fuck did they get the sword? If Voldermort discovered Bellatrix failed to keep it contained he’d have all their heads on a silver platter.

And by the nervous whisper of her sister, Y/n knew Bellatrix felt the same. “Where’d you get that from?” 

“It was in her bag when we searched her,” the snatcher replies calmly, “reckon it’s mine now.” 

Bellatrix moves so quickly everyone is unable to react. Stunning the man, the sword flies into her grip as she spins and incapacitates the snatchers. Y/n follows in suit, petrifying the snatcher closest to her. Shocking the group as they move away from the chaos. 

“Are you mad!!” A whip shoots from Y/n’s wand to wrap around his neck, choking the leader while Bellatrix occupies herself with strangling Greyback. Both witches have crazed expressions, scaring the kids and even their sister. 

Y/n pulled the wip down with force, bringing the snatcher to knees where he then fell to the harsh ground. She kept her grip, moving to Bellatrix while dragging the man along. He grunted and groaned until she finally released the hold, but not before bringing it up and igniting a hard smack to his face. 

“Get out!” Bellatrix ordered, the snatchers struggling to rise to their feet and catch their breath. Keeping her wand raised, Y/n watched her sister grip Ron by his jacket, “Cissy, put the boys in the cellar!” Narcissa grabbed Harry, then Ron when Bellatrix pushed him toward her. “I want to have a conversation with this one,” Hermoine felt like she was going to vomit. “Girl to girl!” 

Wormtail met Narcissa at the top of the stairs. Dragging the boys down as they attempted to fight him off. They were pulled out of sight and thrown into the cellar, Ron shouting after Wormtail as he scurried off. 

Y/n watched Bellatrix inflict torture on Hermoine for only a few minutes before dissociating. The screams from the girl brought back painful memories. Memories of the Longbottoms. Their lost gazes with each curse. Flinching, Y/n squeezed her eyes shut. Picturing Alice and Frank Longbottom withering on the floor. It made her want to jump from the window. Or light herself on fire. 

Her mind was racing. Brain pleading to do the right thing. Opening her eyes she saw Narcissa, Lucius and Draco huddled in front of the fireplace. God she wished Snape was there. He’d know what to do.

And deep down, Y/n knew too.    

When Bellatrix ordered Wormtail to bring Griphook from the cellar, Y/n took the chance to follow him. The decision was made right there. Fuck the outcome and if it cost her her life by the end of the day. Maybe she could manipulate it in her favor. 

Creeping down the stairs, Y/n heard Ron demand for Hermoine to be let go, the woman turning down the corner to see Wormtail’s wand raised at the boy. 

“Get back!” Ron stepped back but his glare never strayed. Y/n had reached the bottom of the stairs right as Griphook approached Wormtail. The traitorous Griffyndor narrowed his eyes at the witch. “You’re not supposed to be down here,” his tone held suspicion.

“And who are you to tell me I’m not, rat?” The name cut him deep judging by his reaction. Y/n kept her chin high, “I merely want to inspect our guests again. After all, we want to be sure this boy is Harry Potter. Correct?” Wormtail was nervous under her stern gaze, but he didn’t believe her for a second.

“I must confirm with--argh!” Peter was thrown back into the bars as Y/n’s hand closed down on his neck, constricting his airway. The action caused those in the cellar to jump by the sudden action. Squeezing, Y/n leaned closer to whisper in his ear. 

“You will go upstairs with the Goblin like you were ordered to and say nothing. Do not cross me, rat, I will know if you do.” He grunted as Y/n shook him, adding, “I’m sure my husband would be more than pleased to deal with you if you chose to speak freely rather than follow your orders and stay quiet. Understood?” At his rapid nod, Y/n let go of the man, a coughing sput releasing from Peter before he pushed Griphook to start going up the stairs. 

Once they were gone, Y/n turned her attention to the teens, leaning against the side of the wall with a bored expression. “You’re a long way from home, Harry Potter.”

The boy in question clenched his jaw, “You knew it was me this whole time.” The statement resulted in a scoff. 

“Of course I did. Which is hilarious considering I am probably the only person up there who’s had the least interaction with you, yet for some peculiar reason…,” her tone was mocking, “no one else is confident in their speculation. Well except Draco,” she shrugs, causing Harry’s eyes to widen slightly. “Why he’s remaining quiet is likely for the same reasons I am. But who am I to throw him under the bus to my sister?” 

“Seems a bit odd you’re not,” he commented as he approached the gate. Moving so they were directly in front of each other. Only the bars separating them. They were so close Harry noticed the puffiness of her cheek where Lucius struck her. Plus the tiny specks of blood on her neck that must’ve splattered when she beat the man. It made him shudder, “Why is that?”

“Call it a promise I made to a friend.” 

“A friend?” he countered with a scoff, “I find that hard to believe.” A chuckle left her lips, bouncing against the walls. “Like anyone from the Order would align themself with you without telling the rest.” Now that humored the witch. The fact he went right to believing it was someone from the Order she was in contact with was hilarious considering the little deductible that took place months prior. 

“You’d be surprised with how secretive the Order can be. Even the man who established it in the first place kept many things,” that got his attention, tensing with his hands clenched into fists. “Dumbledore,” the whisper of his name sent a wave of emotion through Harry. Anger, sadness. He hated the way Y/n said it in a mocking tone. “Yeah, I really don’t care whether you believe me or not. But the idea of you dying today is something I cannot let happen.”

Harry became confused, brow raising. What the fuck was she playing at? First she plays dumb to her family by not identifying him. Then she does nothing when they drag the boys to the cellar, where several of Harry’s supporters are being held captive. She sits back while Bellatrix harms Hermoine. Now she’s insinuating she wants to help them escape?

She has to be fucking with them.

“What game are you playing?” His question surprises Y/n.

“Game?” 

Anger replaced the confusion by her lack of remorse. But then again he was foolish to believe a death eater like herself was capable of such. “This! I don’t understand what side you’re on. It’s obvious you’re not completely loyal to him--you’re actions today prove that.” Y/n mentally cursed herself for being obvious. If Harry caught on to her, much like Snape did, then how long before Voldemort and those closest to him did. “You say and do things that make me think you know more than you’re letting on,” her expression faltered, Harry clocking it with a mental victory. “You saved Bill for reasons not even you can explain. You hate your family. Which is your only redeeming quality--.”

“Ouch.” 

He ignored her comment. “What do you gain from this? Why are you not screaming for Vold--.” Y/n launched herself at the bars, grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket to hold him against the gate. Ron moved to help, but was frozen upon Y/n raising her wand at him.

“Don’t say his name!” She whisper-screamed, face painted with fury and fear. Harry snapped his jaw shut, watching the woman frantically look around as though in search of something. Or someone.

“Do you have a death wish, Potter?” she finally said once deeming it was safe. Yet her heated expression stayed locked on Harry. “Surely you should know by now saying his name will attract unwanted attention.” Muttering curses under her breath, Harry heard her call him, “stupid boy.” 

Struggling against her grip, Harry was amazed by Y/n’s strength despite it having been displayed twice now in the form of beating her brother-in-law and assaulting Wormtail. She proved herself at the burrow to be a powerful witch in the sense of magic. But Lord he would not want to go toe-to-toe with her in a fight. 

“Let me be clear, Potter,” her grip tightened, Harry grunting as his head pressed against the bar. “I personally don’t care about the outcome of this war. Whether you vanquish him or he kills you once and for all, what matters to me is my freedom in the end. Either in the form of walking away from this world in one piece, or entering the pits of hell waiting for me.” She paused, staring so deep into his eyes the boy shuddered, “Ideally, it would be best suited for me if you came out on top, Potter. That way the mark on my arm no longer makes me feel like a dog on its leash. Tracking my every move--giving him power over me. I want it gone.” 

Harry hadn’t thought of it that way. But now with her confirmation of his speculations, Harry was confident in Y/n’s disloyalty to Voldermort. Which now made him question her marriage to Snape. 

“You doubting my role among his ranks proves to me you’re actually a smart boy. Like Snape, you’ve caught on quick to my ulterior motives.” The confession made his eyes widen. Fully convinced their union held a deeper message than simply two Death Eaters finding love in the midst of a war. 

But what did that make of Snape? The question plagued Harry’s thoughts. 

“You’re right to accuse me, Potter, and you’d act the same if in my shoes. I’ve suffered enough,” her voice fell to a whisper. “Tortured, beaten, locked away in a cold, dark, cell for half my life…..I’ve watched family members die, I’ve watched them lose themselves to madness--while trying so hard to prevent my own descent,” she leans closer, “Which I obviously failed to do. There’s nothing left for me to give anymore.” 

Her grip on his collar loosens, allowing Harry to lean slightly away from the bars to get some space. However her hold still stays, “I don’t expect you to understand, and I’m not asking for sympathy. Hate me all you want when this is over. I know if you come out on top I’ll be locked away forever, but somehow, and I’m not exactly sure why, a piece of whatever soul I have left is saying you need to get out of this mansion.” Finally she released Harry, the boy stumbling back by the slight push she gave. 

Y/n cleared her throat, chin held high. “So, are you going to shut up and listen to what I have to say? Or are you going to be a little boy and get you and your friends killed tonight with your impulsiveness?”

Harry said nothing. Maintaining the intense eye-contact that would’ve sent any other person running for the hills. Her cold, dark eyes were far opposite of the warm, loving ones her cousin Sirius possessed. His aura drew people in. Hers made them repulsed. 

Everything in Harry screamed for him to reject her proposal. To somehow figure a plan out on his own or act on survival instinct.

But it wasn’t just his life at risk. His friends were in danger, as were the innocent people captured like Ollivander and Griphook. He needed to be smart.

A simple nod had the ginger beside him flabbergasted. 

“Are you mad!” Ron chokes, appalled by the idea of working with the Death Eater. He looked at Harry like he had two heads. “You want to trust this psychopath?!” Y/n wanted to laugh at the insult, but instead settled for a smirk, frightening the boy even more.

He wasn’t wrong if one were to get technical. Y/n portrayed both psychopathic and sociopathic tendencies. Any professional would clock in an instant. Much like a psychopath, Y/n’s charming, lacks a sense of remorse and love, and uses relationships for her gain. Then on the other hand she’s impulsive, unpredictable, explosive when provoked and will resort to physical violence. Look at what she did to Lucius, Wormtail, and now Harry. She, however, does appear to have an attachment to Snape--often aligned with sociopaths. But again, though Y/n may care for him to a degree, she is still using him to further her goal. 

Harry gave Ron a frustrated look, “You got any ideas?” They all knew the answer and the silence indicated as such. Sighing in defeat, Ron glared at Y/n, who only returned it with a smirk.

“That settles it,” her cheeky expression focused on Harry. A non-verbal deal sealing itself right there. “Shall we begin?”

Everything that happened once the boys emerged from the staircase was a blur.

After summoning Dobby, the former Malfoy house elf who Y/n at one point enjoyed the company of prior to Azkaban, Y/n took her place in the foyer once more with the rest of her family. She’d laid out carefully to the boys and elf what to do once she left them. Dobby first transported the other prisoners to a location Ron suggested. Then Y/n incapacitated Wormtail on his way down to the cellar as she passed by him, dragging the traitor out of sight. 

When she returned upstairs she noticed the skeptical expression Narcissa directed at her. Y/n didn’t let it get to her, instead focusing on the task. Hermione laid on the ground, barely moving. With Bellatrix occupied with interrogating Griphook, Y/n went to check on the girl. Immediately Hermione made a sound and flinched away, but Y/n grasped her arm firmly causing her to still.

“If you want to leave this manor alive and in one piece with your friends, you ought to stay quiet,” Y/n whispered in her ear, followed by the utterance of a healing incantation. Hermione obeyed, however she was stiff like a stature against Y/n’s touch. 

Most of the spells were non-verbal as to not draw attention to them. And while Draco and Narcissa were well aware of what Y/n was doing, one death glare from the witch had them turning away. Bruises started to disappear. Cuts slowly healed. Y/n could not do much for the mental torture Hermoine endured, but she at least could sooth the physical injuries. Frowning at the sight of ‘mudblood’ carved into the teens arm, she issued most of the spells at patching the skin there, leaving only a faint trace of the words. Hermione visibly relaxed, even squeezing Y/n’s hand in a silent thank you. 

The older witch could only imagine the thoughts racing through her head. Wondering what the hell Y/n was doing and if she were serious about getting them out. After all, she did nothing to stop Bellatrix and instead disappeared when the torture began. Yet here she was. Offering a flicker of hope by healing her wounds with claims of helping them escape. 

Once satisfied with her work, Y/n stood up and backed away from Hermione until she was pressed against the wall. 

Then all hell broke loose when Bellatrix implied killing the witch. Harry and Ron were to wait for Y/n’s signal but given the circumstances they said, ‘To hell with it,’ and ran up with wands shooting off spells left and right. Disarming Bellatrix and initiating a two-vs-two duel with Draco and Narcissa. Y/n couldn’t even bask in the joy she felt watching Lucius get blasted away with a dramatic “ah!”, she had to act fast. 

Taking the discarded knife, Y/n dragged a shrieking Hermione to her feet. Pulling the teens back to her chest, Y/n placed the knife level with her neck with a hiss, “follow my lead.” Hermione froze, tears leaking down her cheeks. Y/n walked her to the middle of the foyer, until they were beneath the chandelier, “Stop!!” The fighting ceased.

“Drop your wands,” Bellatrix ordered, but the boys were too focused on Y/n and Hermione to listen. Angry and betrayed at jumping to conclusions, Y/n quickly penetrated their minds, “Tread carefully boys,” Their faces consorted into shock, the woman shushing them with her gaze before they could react aloud. “Let’s not fuck this up more.”

Bellatrix shouted again, “I said drop’em!” obeying, their wands hit the floor with a *clank*. “Pick them up, Draco, now!” The blonde boy hurried to retrieve the wands, Bellatrix gliding up to where Y/n stood. “Well, well, well. Look what we have here.” Leaning into Hermione’s space, the witch whispered in a taunting tone. “It’s Harry Potter. He’s all bright and shiny and new again.” As she spoke, Harry’s face returned to normal. The effect of the stinging jinx wearing off. 

“Just in time for the Dark Lord.” Y/n loosened her grip on Hermione, air catching in her throat as she sent Harry a panicked look. Bellatrix however, appeared pleased, “call him.” Heads turned to Draco. Save for Y/n, who caught movement in the distance. Locking eyes with the figure, her head gestured up to the chandelier. Sending a mental message of what to do. They were gone in the blink of an eye, Y/n peering at her nephew like everyone else. 

Draco was visibly nervous and scared, shuddering under his father’s scrutiny. Unable to perform the task even when told a second time by his aunt. Lucius pushed past him, glaring at Harry as he pulled his sleeves up to reveal the Dark Mark. The ink became darker when his hand raised over it. 

Suddenly, the eerie sound of creaking interrupted the intense silence. Eyes drawing up to find Dobby perched on the chandelier, his hands occupied with unscrewing the latch keeping the mighty object attached to the ceiling. Despite instructing the elf, Y/n couldn’t help but utter, “oh dear.” 

The latch released, Bellatrix shrieking as Y/n shoved Hermione away before bringing her arms up at the last second. The last image she saw before the world became black was Ron catching the girl. Noise drowned out until eventually, all became silent. 

When she woke God knows how long later, Y/n was in a daze. Her head pounded, body ached. Vision disoriented and any sound was muffled. A gentle touch on her shoulder brought her back to reality, her senses coming together to form a clear picture of her surroundings. When it finally did, Y/n found Snape seated in a chair beside her. The man dressed in his usual black clothes minus the dramatic robes. Dark circles beneath his eyes, like he hadn’t had a pleasant night’s rest in ages. 

“What the hell,” her voice croaked due to the dryness in her throat. Coughing, she sat up and was immediately met with a glass of water thrusted in her face. Taking it Y/n downed half the glass, a couple droplets spilling down her chin. “Thank you,” she wiped them away, adjusting her position on the unfamiliar bed. Snape placed the glass back on the nightstand, helping Y/n move so she was upright with her legs hanging off the side of the bed. 

Glancing down, she realized she was still in the same dress from the manor. “How long was I out?” Part of her feared the answer. 

“About six hours. It’s just past midnight.”

“Mmp,” she stretched her neck, brushing hair from her face. It was the morning of May 2nd. Scanning the room, Y/n squinted, catching the lit fireplace and stained glass windows first. Followed by the striking detail of the walls covered in moving portraits on the opposite side of the room leading to an office space. Some of whom were glaring at her. 

It hit her then where she was. 

Hogwarts.

“How’d you know?” Pushing off the bed, Y/n made a beeline to the table displaying a vast collection of alcohol. Reaching for the fire whiskey, she poured herself a glass and downed it in one go. 

“Your sister,” he responded, not moving from his seat, hands clasped together, “Narcissa was rather adamant I come to retrieve you after the little spectacle that took place tonight.” Y/n let out a chuckle lacking any humor, pouring herself another whiskey. 

“I’m surprised she’d do such a thing. Considering I humiliated her and her family in front of people. Would’ve thought she’d finish me off while I was down.” Snape narrowed his eyes, disapproving of her statement. Y/n only returned the look, twirling her glass, “It’s what I would’ve done. You should’ve seen the number I did on Lucius.”

“The fool put his hands on you,” Snape’s voice had an edge to it, anger seeping through. Shocking the witch by the sudden shift in his demeanor. “Had I been there he would’ve lost them.”Oh… Now that had a spark filling Y/n’s stomach. Almost like arousal.

She brushed it off with, “I’d be a little offended if you didn’t, husband.” Her teasing made him roll his eyes, “Besides the masterpiece I created on that swine, the words I had for my dear sister were not pleasant and frankly would’ve had her laying into me if she had the balls to. Had the roles been reversed, I don’t think I could have let her live.” Y/n scoffed at herself, sipping her drink instead of gulping it, “Quite the hypocrite aren’t I?”

Snape stayed silent, only responding with an expression that read, “You said it, not me.” Y/n shrugged, not finding his indirect opinion offensive. Instead she opted to ask the question plaguing her since she woke up, “What have you heard recently?” Snape inhaled sharply. 

“He’s angry. Very angry.” Y/n stiffened, setting her now empty glass back on the table. He continued, “I did not stick around for what he had in store for you sisters and brother-in-law, my only concern was getting you here after Narcissa called. But….there’s been a shift. We all can feel it.”

Y/n tightened her jaw, processing the news with a nod. “Any word on the boy's whereabouts.” Snape raised his brows, face conforming to one she knew all too well. Snape read her like a book. 

“You mean if they escaped safely?” The accusation did not come as a surprise. “You’ll be pleased to know they did.” Snape noted her sigh of relief, but did not comment. By now the married couple easily picked up on cues and communicated without saying anything. He didn’t need her to tell him her role in helping Harry Potter escape the Manor. He already knew. “Where did they go--I have no clue,” Pausing to shrug, he added, “Likely the home of someone they trust. But it won’t be long before….”

“I know,” Y/n interrupted with a whisper. Squeezing her eyes shut as she leaned against the table. “We’re in the endgame now.” 

The creaking of the chair filled her ears, followed by footsteps. Opening her eyes when she felt Snape gently place his hand on hers. Stroking her bruised knuckles with his thumb. 

“We’ll get through this,” He told her confidently. “I promise if it’s the last thing I do, you’ll get your freedom when this is all over.” 

Breath catching in her throat, moved by his words, Y/n raised her free hand to caress Snape’s jaw. Offering a small, but sad smile--surprising both of them by connecting their lips briefly in a short, sweet kiss, as her eyes glossed over, “as will you.” 

Almost 24 hours later

Running. She was running. Faster than ever, the words of Lucius echoing in her mind, overtaking the screams of the raging battle behind her. “He’s with the Dark Lord,” was the answer to her demand for Snape's whereabouts. Dread consumed her. Drowning the witch as though she had been pulled out to sea. 

Voldermort pausing the battle only to summon Snape had to be anything but good. Lucius confirmed her suspicion by how scared he looked just telling her. Like he expected her to kill him right there for finding Snape and bringing him to the Dark Lord. Instead Y/n shoved him away and broke into a sprint. Heading straight for the docks. 

“Harry--!” Hermoine’s warning was overshadowed by the fast approaching footsteps. The teens gripped their wands, ready for an attack only to freeze at the sight of Y/n running through the doorway. She met Ron and Hermonie’s eyes first, only to draw them to the side, where she was met with a grieving sight. The teens swear they saw her knees buckle, a sound of anguish leaving her throat.

“No-no-no!” Y/n pushes past the teens, kneeling down in a hast and practically shoving Harry to the side. Y/n cups Severus’s face in her hands, eyes filling with tears as blood paints them. “No-no, Severus! Severus!” She frantically looked him over, horrified by his state. His throat was cut, the woman placing a hand over the gaping wound, and bite marks cut into his clothing. 

“Oh God. Sev, you can’t--you can’t leave me,” her chest tightened, tone dropping to barely a whisper. “Not like this. Not like this.” They were supposed to survive the war. Together. They’d made it this far, after so many obstacles and death around them. Y/n and Snape had to live. 

Otherwise what was the point in going on in life. 

The trio were at a loss for words. Stunned by the scene in front of them. Of course they knew the two were married, but it had been revealed at Malfoy Manor it was simply a matter of convenience. Not believing love played any role in the marriage. However, witnessing Y/n in complete despair over Snape made them think the opposite.

They watched in silence. Harry’s attention on Y/n. Her body shaking, face distraught and unsure of where to begin. Snape was losing consciousness, and it was obvious he was running out of time. Clutching onto Y/n’s forearms, the man's eyes softened in a way Harry had never seen. “I’m here,” Y/n caressed his cheek with the hand not holding his neck together. Comforting him. Like she knew he wasn’t going to make it and wanted to make sure he left the world knowing at least one person cared about him. 

Well, she was the only person.

Snape’s eyes turned glossy, flickering between Y/n and Harry. It broke whatever was left of Y/n’s heart seeing him cry. Full of pain and minutes from death.

Something in his tears made her stiffen, and by Snape’s reaction Y/n knew exactly what it was. “Take them,” he pleaded to Harry, the boy confused and looking to the Death Eater for answers. Snape whimpered again, “Take them, please.”

“His tears,” Y/n turned to Harry wide-eyed, a shaky hand reaching out, “get me something--quickly!” He relays the order to Hermoine, who presents a small vial from her bag. Passing it to Harry, he extends it to Y/n, who snatches the vial and opens the top with her teeth. Her rapid movements slow as she gently presses the container to Snape’s cheek. Teardrops falling down until the vial is filled to the brim. They glow against the glass.

“Take them to the pevensie,” Snape’s voice was hoarse, Y/n handing the vial to Harry with care. Pocketing it, Harry glanced up when Snape whispered, “look at me.” Against her palm, Y/n felt his pulse begin to slow. Beats growing apart by the second. 

A knot formed in her throat. Clenching onto his hand like her life depended on it.

Harry stared into the eyes of the man he hated most in the world. Realizing the words were meant for him. More tears ran down Snape’s cheeks, “you have your mother’s eyes.” And with one last squeeze to his wife’s hand, catching her gaze, Severus Snape took his last breath. Head falling limp against the glass, sending Y/n into despair. 

Whatever remnants of her heart broke into a million pieces. Grieving the loss of her only friend and companion. 

Her sobs echoed, the teens watching with solemn faces as the woman brought the now deceased Snape into her arms. One hand on his head to lay it against her chest, resting her chin on his own, the other wrapped arm around his shoulders. Cradling him without any care of the blood coating her skin and clothes. 

None of that mattered to her. 

Her only focus was the man in her arms. 

The sight of Y/n gently rocking Snape was too emotional for the teens. Hermione wiping away moisture from her cheeks, sniffing as she leaned into Ron, whose eyes also shined. They had no words to describe how they felt watching a Death Eater like Y/n--who’d they witnessed her violent nature first hand--in hysterics over Snape. Who’s marriage to him was something they questioned. Believing it to be a ruse. 

However, witnessing the tragic display, they began to think otherwise. 

“We may have not loved each other like we wanted to,” Y/n’s whimpered, opening her eyes to meet Harry’s. The heartbreak shined through, “But he was my peace.” More tears rolled down her cheeks, arms tightening around Snape’s shoulders, resting her cheek on his hair. Another sob left her, “It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

Another five minutes passed. Hiccups replacing the witch’s outpour of cries. When it slowed and came to a halt, Y/n didn’t bother wiping away the residue. Letting the tears mix into the sweat and blood. 

Her head that had been previously turned away from Harry to hide into Snape’s hair maneuvered so it was facing him. Never letting go of the man. “You should go,” the roughness of her voice matched her state. Red eyes that the whites were barely noticeable, puffiness in her cheeks. “There’s not much time before he runs out of patience,” he referring to Voldemort. Harry tensed, and Y/n gestured to the vial in his hands, “I don’t know all of what he wanted to show you, but if it’s what I think it is….” Harry heard her gulp, “then you’ll understand the things he--and even I--had to do.”

‘Had to do?’ Harry wondered, his expression giving away what he was thinking by the way Y/n shook her head. Unwilling to give him the answers right there. Whatever it was, Harry was anxious at finding out. Remembering the events of the last year in an attempt to identify clues. 

A truly difficult task considering all the shit that happened since the previous May. 

“Please,” her croak brought him out of his thoughts. Harry looked up from the floor to see Y/n on the edge of another breakdown. But she held it together, holding Harry to a firm gaze. The next words leaving her mouth giving only a mere indication of what the Boy who Lived had in store for him when he tapped into Snape’s memories. 

“Don’t let it be for nothing.” 

19 Years Later….

Gray clouds covered the sky like a blanket in west Cornwall. So thick, not even a glimmer of the sun’s ray peaked through. Cool winds breezing, making leaves fly in the air. From above gentle rain fell, hitting the umbrella Narcissa held as she crossed into Blackmere cemetery. The gate creaked behind her, causing a black crow that had been perched on the brick to fly away. 

Draco stayed in the car, allowing his mother privacy after she denied his request to join her. The woman was adamant about going alone, “I’ll only be a moment, darling. Keep the car warm for us.”

Umbrella in one hand and a single white rose in the other, Narcissa followed the pavement trail to her destination. Passing the many tombstones of her relatives, including her young cousin, Regulus. Her movement slowed to read the words engraved on the stone, ‘Born 23 April 1961 he was taken from us at seventeen. Beloved son, and friend: we who loved you will watch for you in the night sky; for surely you will race across the heavens faster than any star’. 

Offering a silent prayer in respect, Narcissa continued down the path. Passing her parents, aunts, uncles, more cousins. Her head tipped a brief second when she strolled by Bellatrix’s. Finally she reached the plot she came for, knot forming in the back of her throat as her eyes landed on the tombstone.

A monolith of black marble stood about two feet and drove into the ground surrounded by a plethora of white Camellias. The only bit of color that stood out was the small bouquets of peonies, carnations, and lilies leaning against the stone. A tell tale sign her sister Andromeda, Mrs. Weasley, and Hermione had already stopped by that morning. 

The flowers from Andromeda were expected. But, even after nearly 20 years, Narcissa still found herself surprised by the gesture from the other two. It had been a few years after the war when the woman caught the two in the cemetery and demanded to know why they were there that Narcissa discovered why. 

“She saved my son,” Mrs. Weasley brushed away a tear that escaped, “And my daughter. Had it not been for her my Bill would’ve died that night. In the Astronomy tower. She could’ve easily left him there…but she didn’t. And Ginny,...” Molly couldn’t get the rest of the words out, becoming emotional, “For that, I’ll forever be grateful.” 

Hermione felt the heat rush to her cheeks, stuttering slightly, “There were many times she had the opportunity to sell us out--to give up Harry. At the burrow, the manor,” the girl flinched, the memories too painful to recall, “even during the battle. She chose not to. And while I know it was mostly for her own personal gain, I can’t help but feel indebted to her. Her actions saved my friends and I. For that alone, I will pay my respects.” 

Stepping forward, Narcissa placed the white rose on top of the monolith. Fingers trailing along the smooth surface before moving back to draw her eyes down. Lingering her gaze on the black & white photo next to the writing.

Carved into the marble, the engraving was simple yet elegant, ‘Y/n M/n Black: Born 10 June 1967 -- Died 2 May 1998, Finally Free.’ 

Narcissa held back the tears as she bowed her head, having cried enough over the last 19 years since Y/n died. She always thought back to those last two days. The manor. The battle. The speckle of hope at rekindling their relationship Narcissa felt when the two connected in the woods……

Narcissa let out of a breath of relief she hadn’t realized she’d been holding when Y/n emerged from the treeline. Falling into step with the rest of the Death Eaters as they marched towards the castle. The sun barely peeked out of the horizon, the light competing with the fires still burning within Hogwats. 

“Where have you been?” Narcissa whispered when she felt Y/n beside her, careful not to draw any attention to them. Glancing ahead she spotted Bellatrix skipping alongside Voldemort. “We’ve been looking everywhere--.” She cut herself off when she finally turned to her sister, horror filling her eyes by the amount of dried blood she saw. Her hand instantly came up to grip Y/n’s arm, “My God, what happened to you.” Her eyes searched for the source of injury, “Are you still bleeding--?”

“It’s not mine,” Y/n breathed, body aching from exhaustion. Voice dry and hoarse, in desperate need of water. Relieved, Narcissa loosened her grip, however the worry in her heightened upon seeing Y/n’s eyes glossen. Something she hadn’t seen in 17 years. “Severus…..” 

The witch gasped, peering at Lucius to see if he was listening, only to find him staring ahead. Narcissa gulped, moving her hand from Y/n’s wrist to her shoulder, “Is he…” The shake of Y/n’s head, followed by her sharp inhale was enough of an answer. Narcissa’s heart plummeted to her stomach. 

“Is Draco….”

“He’s in the castle,” Narcissa lowered her arm back to her side. An overwhelming amount of guilt surfaced at the fact her son was alive and well, but Snape--the man who protected him and her sister’s husband--was dead. 

“And you're certain because….” Y/n’s blank tone trailed, side eyeing her sister with a matching expression. Narcissa paled, but remained strong, not meeting her stare.

“I just do,” hands clasped in front of her stomach, holding them tightly.  “And I will find him if it’s the last thing I do.” Y/n studied her, observing for any cues that would confirm the doubt she had of her sister. Once satisfied, she turned away, although the nagging feeling something was off remained. But she was too tired to question it. 

It was then she noticed Hagrid tied up, trailing behind them carrying something in his arms. She’d always had a soft spot for the gentle half-giant. Remembering how he’d always be the first to greet students at the beginning of the term. Always a kind face, bringing an ounce of joy to the girl when all else around her was darkness. Seeing him bound was like a dagger to Y/n’s chest. Then bile rose to her throat when her eyes focused on the figure he held. 

“Is that who I think it is?”

Narcissa turned to see what Y/n was looking at, stiffening immediately and snapping her head forward. “Yes.” 

Y/n wanted to scream. Scream until her voice disappeared. Her jaw hurt by how hard she was clenching it shut to prevent herself from lashing out. Grinding her teeth to the point she feared they’d crack. Y/n wanted to curse at the world. 

It had all been for nothing…..

Feeling the fury radiate off her sister, Narcissa made the impulsive decision to say the truth before Y/n attempted to kill Voldermort herself. Having pieced together the younger witches animosity and disloyalty to the Dark Lord ages ago. With her husband gone and assuming the boy who’d be the saving grace dead, Y/n was a ticking time bomb. 

Leaning close, practically shoving herself onto her sister, Narcissa made it look like she had stumbled and Y/n caught her to the Death Eaters. Face hidden by her hair, Narcissa’s voice barely kissed against Y/n’s ear, “He’s alive.” 

A cold chill ran amongst the witch, Narcissa felt it. Indicating her sister heard her loud and clear. This was then met with Y/n taking Narcissa’s hand. When their eyes locked, Narcissa saw what Y/n was trying to convey, to which the woman nodded. An exhale released from both, Y/n removing her grip and the two stayed silent for the remainder of the journey. 

When they reached the courtyard and Voldemort began his speech, Narcissa felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. Turning to find Y/n watching her closely, face full of sorrow and dejection, even regret. 

“I wish things had been different,” she said softly, startling Narcissa. Then she offered a small shrug accompanying a sad smile, “maybe then we could’ve been friends.” Friends. Not sisters. 

A lump formed in Narcissa’s throat, water lining her eyes, “I would’ve liked that.” A moment passed between them. Both wanting to say everything, yet unable to put it into words. Narcissa broke the silence with the small phrase that summed up the last 17 years. 

“I’m sorry.” For everything, she wanted to add but felt it wasn’t welcomed. She only hoped her sister got the message. 

Y/n’s face never changed, relaxing her shoulders with her deep exhale, telling Narcissa she did. 

“I’m sorry too.” 

Narcissa sighed as the memory came to an end, tilting her head up at the sky. It still pained her after all these years. Wondering where it all went wrong. One moment Y/n was beside her, listening to Voldermort demand loyalty from the other side. The next she’s lost in the chaos following the reveal Harry was alive. Narcissa had initially believed Y/n apparated off the grounds like many other followers had done, the Malfoy matriarch taking her son and marching away from the castle with Lucius following behind. She truly believed Y/n had beat them to the manor, only to find it empty. Then when her sister failed to arrive home that night, Narcissa brushed it off as Y/n laying low. Her worst fear being Y/n had been arrested. Dragged back to Azkaban for all eternity. 

Narcissa prayed it was the first theory. Refusing to believe her sister had become a prisoner again. 

But her hopes were crushed upon the arrival of Professor McGonagall and a member of the newly reformed Ministry of Magic two days later. Only it wasn’t to deliver the news Y/n was in Azkaban. No.

It was a death notification. Two at that.

While Bellatrix’s death was straightforward the details of Y/n’s were still unclear decades later. From what McGonagall informed her, Y/n had been caught in an explosion during the final stages of the battle in the Great Hall. She and Ginny Weasley in a 2v1 duel with Rabastan Lestrange, when suddenly a Death Eater caught them off guard by casting bombarda maxima, resulting in Y/n to push the girl away. Witnesses reported seeing Y/n thrown off her feet by the force of the spell and through the stained glass window behind her. Her screams echoing as she fell and the debris followed her down. 

 They never found her body. Based on the location, it was presumed Y/n died on impact when she hit the lake from the height of the fall. Sinking to the bottom. Whatever was left of her was likely torn by the creatures inhabiting the waters. 

The images of Y/n’s suspected death haunted Narcissa’s nightmares for months. Lucius woke up to her cries every night. Offering comfort as best as he could considering affection was not a common occurrence for the couple. And while he had the same distaste for his sister-in-law as she did him--still holding a grudge for when she beat him to a pulp--at the end of the day his wife lost her sister. Both of them in one night. She and Andromeda were now the last immediate family members of the noble and ancient House of Black. 

Everyone else was dead. 

Sighing, Narcissa began to speak. Pretending the casket in the ground contained her sister’s body and not empty. “Scorpius starts at Hogwarts this fall. Draco is at his wits end. Understandable really,” she hummed with a small frown, “with all that’s happening with Astoria, I reckon it won’t be a pleasant year.” Thinking of her grandson, Narcissa’s heart breaks a little. “But I hope Scorpius manages to find some solace at school. He’s already packing his trunk even though there’s still two months until he leaves,” she laughs softly, “Last week he found your spell books…..”

Drawing her gaze down, she finds Y/n’s picture. Looking absolutely beautiful in her white dress and simple veil, taken the day of her wedding to Snape. The image enchanted, capturing the moment she gave a genuine smile to the camera. A rare sight. The way she laid against the chair’s armrest with the window light coming through made the photo look like it was straight from the 1950s. Not to mention how timeless Y/n appeared. It was one of the very few pictures Narcissa was able to find of her sister. And it was her favorite amongst the bunch. 

“He’d snuck into the attic one morning. Lucius about had a fit, and Draco didn’t know what to do,” Narcissa closed the umbrella, the rain had stopped. “They’re in a safe space, need not to worry. But seeing as Scorpius is ambitious like the rest of us--no doubt he’ll be in Slytherin,” her tone had a hint of playfulness, “I find they’ll be in his possession soon enough. We promised, well I promised, that he can have them once he’s in his fourth year, if he maintains good grades.” 

Another sigh leaves her, shivering at the sudden breeze. “You know, part of me believes I’ll never find closure when it comes to us, Y/n. Or with your death,” her chest tightens, “Not having your body makes it hard to really move on. Plus, there are times where I swear I see you at the treeline of the Manor. Or strolling the streets of London,” her eyes flicker to the dirt, “Makes me have the slightest hope….that maybe, you’re still out there…..” A shiver ran down Narcissa’s spin as the words left her mouth. It was the first time she’d said them aloud. And after holding the sneaky suspicion of her sister being alive to herself for 19 years, she felt a weight lifted off her shoulders. 

“That maybe you survived the fall and conjured up an extravagant escape. I often picture you made a life in America--or are currently traveling the world. You always said you would when you were a child. A foolish thought I know,” her chuckle was dry, laughing at herself for even considering the idea. “It would do me right to believe like everyone else. But if by some chance I’m right,” her bottom lip quivered, gathering the courage to say the words she desperately wanted to say. “I understand why. At first I was enraged--feeling betrayed that you’d go that far. But after many years of reflecting…I can’t bring myself to be angry if you did fake your death.”

Another pause, “After all, what you wanted most in the world was your freedom.” Leaves crunched beneath her boots as she shifted her stance, “Free from this world. Free from us. Free from everything. I cannot blame you for wanting peace. I’d be a hypocrite to view otherwise.” Especially since she was able to avoid prison time with the rest of Voldemort’s followers because of what she did. 

Narcissa looked at Y/n’s picture once more. Watching the moving image repeat to commit her dazzling smile to memory. Wanting to remember her as the once beautiful kind soul she’d been before Azkaban, instead of a walking Devil historians painted her to be. A narrative Narcissa found herself battling lawsuits to erase. Even with Harry Potter revealing details of Y/n’s role in protecting him during the war, people still focused on the horrible things. 

That’s how she was remembered. A crushed, darkened soul. 

As Narcissa stared at the headstone one last time, she was completely unaware that a few feet away, perched on the monolith of their parents, was a black crow watching her intently. Listening to her every word.

And what the witch didn’t know, what she failed to realize after all these years, was that this crow had been coming to the cemetery every year. On the same day. Sitting in the same spot. Watching her place a single white rose on the grave, which the crow would carry away once Narcissa departed. 

Flying through the skies without a care in the world, now that she was free.

“I hope wherever you are, Y/n, you’ve found peace.” 

[drarryspecificrecs]

2024.04 ~ Top 7 longest fics posted on AO3

1. He’s a good boy now by Basilface [M, 299k]

►Harry doesn’t know what to do with himself after the war. He pushes away his friends, seeking solitude until he stumbles upon a mysterious mosaic, made from one of the windows that had been shattered in the recent battle. The artist leads him on a wild goose chase to obscure their identity, unknowingly garnering the hero’s fixation.

2. Within the Hollow Crown by @into-the-midst [M, 114k]

►Lucius failed at the Ministry, and Draco is sent to Hogwarts with a cryptic warning that he will be tasked with an unknown mission. He expects to spend his sixth year on prefect rounds with Pansy and finally beating Potter on the Quidditch Pitch. He never expected his new roommate to be Voldemort himself, or that Voldemort's obsession with trophies would apply to him.

3. Unknown / Nth by @heyjude19-writing [E, 107k]

►A life partly forgotten; a love story remembered out of order. Harry resents this past version, the one he can’t access on demand. The one who looks at home in Draco Malfoy’s arms.

4. this heaven of mud by @garagepaperback [E, 94k]

►A love story told in two somewhat unreliable parts, over six years. Featuring secret shagging, to friends, to the 'how is it fair for someone to say your name like that' sort of friends, to, finally, someone you could call a home.

5. The Pan-Dimensional Frisbee by @dracoandthehounds [M, 60k]

►Harry, Ron, and Hermione accidentally stumble their way into multi-dimensional travel. Together, the three try to find their way home, despite the detours Harry keeps taking with each new version of Draco Malfoy they find.

6. Passing Stranger by @lettersbyelise [E, 53k]

►Five years after the war, Harry, listless and depressed, stumbles upon Draco Malfoy playing the violin in an underground bar in Muggle London. The catch? Draco lost his memories five years ago. Ignoring his friends’ advice, Harry befriends an unwitting Draco, overlooking the fact that their mutual attraction might not survive if Draco’s memories return.

7. cigarettes and full moons by organboner69 [T, 43k]

►During the war, Draco had been bitten by Greyback. Draco now has to return to Hogwarts to finish his N.E.W.Ts- not only with the whole school against him, but now a werewolf. Harry Potter of all people has been ordered to watch Draco until the end of the year. How would he keep being a werewolf from him?

—

※ Word count: 1k ~ 10k

※ Word count: 10k ~ 40k

Bloody Business by IlliterateBastard [E, 10k]

Code One-Eight-Seven by Hashi2 [E, 36k]

Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (Ft: Draco Malfoy) by sailortzu [G, 39k]

Poison by @dracowillhearaboutthis [E, 16k]

Twelve to dinner, an angsty murder romance by HedgehogWrites [M, 28k]

—

Ongoing Fest/Exchange

※ Fics would be listed elsewhere.

Draco Tops Harry Fest 2024 | @dracotops-harry

[actual-changeling]

Every night, Crowley sleeps curled up in a bed dusty from years of disuse, slipping under the sheets and trying to preserve the touch of Aziraphale's scent in the air.

Every night, Crowley dreams.

It is always the same dream, scene by scene, word by word, and yet it never feels familiar or fails to pull him deeper into the depths of his mind.

When he opens his eyes to the shimmering reality of his subconscious, he is watching the sky break open, a thunderstorm of rain hailing down on London. The interior of the bookshop is comfortably warm, his sprawl across the armchair intentionally effortless, and the noise of darkening pavement and wet tyre tracks almost drowns out the light ding of the door opening.

The world narrows down to the glowing outline of his angel, dressed in white with eyes the blue of blooming magnolias, and Crowley is frozen no matter how desperately he tries to move.

Every time Aziraphale walks towards him, reaches for him, and it is then, with one of his palms pressed to his cheek and the other gripping his arm with a white-knuckled tremor, that Crowley is ripped from his stupor.

"You came back," he says, his voice echoing and his vision growing blurry.

"Of course I did," Aziraphale responds every single time. "I love you."

The kiss tastes like saltwater and rain, an ocean breeze tinged with bergamot, a cloud of dust picked up by a gust of wind in spring, inhaled with a smile and sunshine on his face. It tastes exactly like Aziraphale is supposed to taste; his mouth is soft, his body is moulding to the shape of Crowley's.

"I missed you," Crowley whispers with unmoving lips. "Don't leave me again."

When he tries to open his eyes, he can't, and the warmth of Aziraphale's body flows apart, dissipating into the darkness, dragging him out of the deep and towards the surface, towards dawn, quickly enough for his ears to pop and a scream to stay stuck in his throat. Every night, the dream ends the same way.

Oh, Crowley.

He wakes, gasping around shallow breaths, his heart beating fast enough to make him dizzy. Even with the sheets clenched in his fists and his body shooting upright, Aziraphale's words sound as clear as they did when he first spoke them into existence.

Nothing lasts forever.

Every morning, Crowley swears to himself to stop sleeping, to never close his eyes again, to leave the bookshop, and to run as far away as he can until he finally finds a place untouched by the angel.

Every night, he ascends the stairs, unlocks the bedroom door, and slips back beneath unmade sheets, chasing the taste of their kiss.

Pain, Crowley knows, is not what makes a nightmare, nor is it terror, fear, or heartbreak. It simply tells him that he had something, someone, worth losing, and even though the shape of his loss is the only thing he has left, it's better than not feeling him at all.

Nothing lasts forever, Aziraphale leaves him every single night, and they will never get the chance to try and outrun time.

[celmian]

"Cooking for Alfred" Damian Wayne x OC's short fanfic.

/Adult Damian (University)

/warnings/ Dirty joke, (18+) language/

Hi, first of all this is just one of the part of the main fanfic I have been written. The oc is now dating Damian and she wants to cook for Alfred on his birthday. You can follow-up the main story in AO3. The fanfic is called 'Damian Wayne x OC : Hunting the witch'. English is not my first languages so, I hope I didn’t mess up anything.

Also, the oc name is Celine Constantine. She is John Constantine's daughter. Hope you enjoy.

_________________________________________

“…Celine, didn’t you used to tell me that you know how to cook?”    “Well, cooking is not baking...”    A picture of two teenagers approaching adulthood walking chaotically in the kitchen… Around the counter island there was powder and the egg panels all over were probably a strange sight that happened in Wayne Manor…a sight that Alfred Pennyworth would not have allowed to happen in normal situations because he wouldn't have to bother cleaning up the mess later. 

...but today is Alfred's birthday. 

  So Celine has a crazy idea. As a resident, she wanted to give him a surprise. So, they have Bruce take the old man into town while the two young men,Celine and Damian, prepare a homemade birthday cake for the butler. The witch Constantine claims to have worked behind the stove at Fine Dining restaurant before...Damian doesn't know in which position. But from the looks of it, she isn't a dessert chef definitely... 

“...Okay, I'm just one of those people who helps prepare the cold kitchen where they serve appetizers and such...but back when I'm in London, I always cook for myself. I just never made dessert. That’s all.” The girl immediately defended her cooking skills. “The pasta with grilled vegetables that you ate the other day was made by me...” With that, both of her hands are now placed on the hips..    “Really?”    Damian Wayne had known that his girlfriend liked to help Alfred prepare food…but he thought she might just be chopping vegetables, preparing meats, whatever like that. Instead of making her own menu like she claimed. 

…The other day, the pasta that Damian packed to eat at university for lunch was so delicious that he asked Alfred to make it a daily menu. The old man smiled suspiciously. It wasn't him who made it, but it was the witch. 

“…Shall we make pasta instead then?” the young man suggested as his head recalled the rich flavor of the fresh pasta and grilled mushrooms, he had eaten the day before…    “It's Alfred's birthday, Damian. We must make a cake...”  

“But the others will come here soon…we have to prepare other kind of food anyway. Why don't you go take care of the savory and leave me here with the cake?” Both Richard Starfire, Raven the witch, and Stephanie Brown...including Tim Drake will be here today for the old man’s birthday. So, if they both waste time on one cake, they won't get anything done into pieces. The young man waved his hand and chased his girlfriend away from his dessert making area, earning a look of pouty face from Celine Constantine. 

"..You? Are you sure you know how to bake?" The girl looked at her boyfriend's face judgmentally... 

“Better than you do.” His hand moved towards the first cake that had been baked, which was so crumbly and incomplete that the whole thing had to be thrown into the trash… Only then the black-haired witch calms down and walked away to do her own duties as well... 

A long time had passed and the whole kitchen was quiet…no sound except the sound of boiling water, the sound of beating eggs, and other sounds of cooking. Celine walked back around to find her boyfriend in the dessert kitchen area, which was also quiet. She saw him in an apron Standing and squeezing cream into a round disc of something. With diligence and expert look. The young girl watched as those slender, beautiful fingers gently put the round plates together. so, she couldn't help but tease him about how skilled he was. 

“You make macarons? Wow. I didn't know that I slept with the Master Chef of dessert every day.” ...This French dessert is so hard to make. Even Celine couldn't make it through just baking a cake...but this Baby Bat showed off his skills in making macarons? Why he’s so annoyingly talented? 

Damian didn't answer…he shook his head and wiped the sweat from his chin. That's when the young girl came to help. using the handkerchief that was placed on his shoulder to wipe away the sweat that was flowing down the small frame of his chin before smiling at the face's owner.    “..Does this mean that if we get married you will be the househusband? Hmm? Dami?” 

“Dream on.” Damian shook his head, expanding his words as he looked proudly at the work on the table. “...Housework is a duty that we must help on both sides. And I have to go to work…Father's company will soon be mine. If I only act as your butler, who will run the company? Hmm, Celine?” Those words weren't very serious... The young man kissed his girlfriend's head as a thank you for helping him wipe his face before walking off to explore the savory side..    “…You....You make a heck lot of pasta.” Deep voice hurriedly commented on the amount of fresh pasta that the young girl had prepared in a pot for the people coming to the party to eat.   “Well, don't you remember the last time Dick ate the entire pot of meatballs by himself?” Celine reminded the young man of Bruce's birthday back in the middle of the year when the eldest of the family accidentally ate a meatball that Alfred had made for everyone all by himself.  “You’re right. Richard must have eaten it all by himself.” Damian Wayne immediately agreed…he nodded before quickly helping his girlfriend clean up the kitchen. Prepare a plate for the guests who will be coming to the old butler's birthday dinner in a few hours. 

In the evening, Bruce, Alfred and Stephanie, who went to help Bruce, arrive at the manor with Damian, Dick, the two girls from Titans, and Tim Drake is waiting. Of course, Damian briefly relents with Tim to stop his eldest brother from eating all the food before the birthday owner arrives.    The old man walked into the house, filled with joy. Starfire and Raven were the ones who brought out the cake. The remaining people sang songs of blessing to the talented butler. Damian stood and applauded silently. Dick sings off-key and loses his voice as Stephanie tries to save the song from crisis but failed. And after Alfred blew out the candles, they all gathered around the grand dining table of the mansion that was full of guests today…    “..This pasta is very delicious. Miss Celine, did you do it yourself?” The old butler was happy… that today he didn't have to prepare huge quantities of food himself. But what will the condition of the kitchen be like? This is something to worry about.    “Yes.” Celine smiled as she proudly watched Richard gobble down her pasta from the pot… 

“...What about macarons? Did you make it yourself? It's just as delicious as the one my friend brought from France.” Tim tried to compliment the new girl in the Bat House that he hadn't talked to much before Damian put down his fork and a smile curled his lips. It was then that Red Robin knew exactly who the person that made this tray of macarons was. “Oh my gosh…”  Tim shook his head, his hand hurriedly put down the dessert… but after a while he reluctantly picked it up and ate it again.    “Wanna bet on who made the cake?” On Dick's side, his hand was still holding the fork around the pasta. Turning to Bruce, who had been eating quietly by himself for a long time… The Dark Knight shook his head. Looking at the large chocolate cake with candles that had been sliced ​​up by Raven and Starfire for the party. Those blue eyes looked at the cake for just a moment and then responded immediately. 

“It’s Damian, obviously.”    “But I think it’s Celine,” Dick quickly bets against…    “..Ahem, Master Bruce, Master Richard. Gambling is not a good behavior to do on this kind of celebration....”  The birthday man sitting next to Bruce couldn't help but cough after hearing that conversation… He took the cake from Starfire and held it in his hand before considering it without tasting it. “I think they both do it together.”    “Accept the bets” Nightwing gave the old man a challenging smile before turning and asking to the two young men who the winner of this bet would be… “Hey! Little D! Celine! Who made this cake?”    “It’s Damian.” …and the answer from the young witch made Alfred stunned because even though he was the one who taught Damian how to bake, he had no idea that the boy would be able to use what he had taught him to do it all by himself. Dick was annoyed but managed to get a smile from Bruce as the old butler and Nightwing took a cash from their pockets and paid the manor a bill each. 

…and soon after the cakes, pasta, macarons, and all sorts of food were eaten by the people in the house, most of whom was Dick, the guests gradually left. They left Alfred a gift. Stephanie left the baking equipment. Damian gives him a cookbook. Dick gives him a new suit. Raven and Starfire buy him a new portable oven. Bruce gave him gloves and a winter coat, but Celine unexpectedly gave the same book as her boyfriend… 

“Damn, I didn't know we were going to buy the same book... and it's the exact same one but in a different language,” the young witch complained about when Alfred has to have the exact same gifts but in difference language without nobody knowing it beforehand. “...And why are you buying a Chinese text cookbook? Shouldn't those things have to be transported by ship?” The two young men were cleaning up the house while Alfred was sent to sleep by Damian. Meanwhile, Bruce handles company work before leaving on late-night patrol. And Celine complains loudly about the gift she has just given the old butler. 

“...Chinese recipes should be read in Chinese. Do you think Pennyworth couldn’t read Mandarin?” Damian frowned at the witch's question. She usually likes to buy books about the same story but in different versions or sometimes in different languages. But today she suddenly complains to him about it… “You can't read Chinese? Can’t you?” So, the young man made this assumption.    …and damn, Damian Wayne really has good instincts for matters that don't matter. 

The girl rolled her eyes, and the young man knew immediately that she was complaining about the whole Mandarin language stuff because she couldn't read it herself…    “I swear to you. Damian…if you start speaking Chinese to me. I'm going to suck your dick until it's rotten-”    “-下流 (Xia Liu)” …and of course, the mouthy young man wasn't easily fazed by that threat. He chuckled before starting to spit Chinese at the other person after knowing that she wasn't good at it...well, he's always been like this...loves competition like a psychopath.    “坏蛋 (Huai Dan)” But then the black-haired witch immediately shot back… she put down the powder box she was holding and put it on the countertop with a look of trouble on her face amidst the young man's bewildered expression.    “..I thought you couldn't speak Chinese?”    “When did I say I couldn't speak Chinese? I just couldn't read it.”  Celine raised her eyebrows with a defiant expression on her face…    “Then from now on, I'll send you a text in Chinese-”    -wad!    And then the box of powder that had been put down in the first place flew towards Damian Wayne immediately as he continued to annoy her. The witch already knew that an ex-assassin like him would definitely be able to catch that thin cardboard box. So, she crossed her arms over her chest, as her boyfriend caught it with precision and looked towards her.    “Did you know…one of your bad habits is throwing things when you don't get what you want?” Damian had seen Celine throw a pillow or sometimes an entire cigarette box at her father...sometimes she had a good reason for doing that. Sometimes there is no reason at all. Celine Constantine was spoiled rotten by her irresponsible father. But she is a spoiled person who knows that she has a bad personality…so Damian can accept it in somewhat of of way.

Because he's like that too.    “..So? Do you want me to describe your bad habits too?” The girl folded her arms across her chest and raised her head to look at her boyfriend with another look of trouble. 

“Go on…” The young man looked at those expressions. He didn't feel annoyed. Instead, he slowly walked towards his lover... a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as his girlfriend smiled back and knew that he was definitely going to find something to get back at her... 

“Let's start with what? The size of your dick? I think it should be illegal-”  

“-Celine, we are talking about my bad personality, not what you like but denies that you don't like...” Damian, on the other hand, quickly used his strong hands to gather his girlfriend's mischievous body into an embrace...watching her laughing, pretending to run away but not getting anywhere.    “..So... What about your competitive personality? I swear, if I say I like a horse's cock, you will definitely going to lengthen it to compete with the hoarse-” 

Phew!!    ...and Celine's foul mouth made the arrogant boyfriend unable to bear it anymore. He took the box of powder in his hand that his girlfriend had thrown and dumped it on her head. He knew that Alfred would definitely curse him if he saw the kitchen floor right now. But believe him, it was very satisfying to see a person with a good mouth become silent because of the amount of flour stuck in her throat. She choked, the powders are now all over the sweet face attached to that bad mouth... 

But Celine Constantine wasn't the type to give in even in the most demanding situations… She turned and smeared the powder on her boyfriend's face. Smeared white powder on his perfect body. Damian is inferior. His hands scooped up the powders that had flown onto the counter and threw them all over his girlfriend's face, causing a small war in the kitchen. The one that ended up with Alfred walking in… The old man wanted to come get some water to quench his thirst after waking up late at night. Before coming to see his nightmare come true. Two young people threw cooking flour at each other. Rubbing each other's hair like it was a fun idea...Even Richard, at his most naughty age, had never done anything like this before...Then both young adults get warned by Alfred. Damian Wayne, who even used to be a child with a loudmouth that caused a lot of troubles, but he never caused any mischief like this before. So, he gets warned too. 

…but hey! At least this time Celine didn't start it.    Didn’t she?            “I got 1 point, and you got 0…” 

After fighting until they both were satisfied, the two young people came to take a dip in the water to clean themselves together after the war ended before Damian had to go on patrol with his father... Celine acts like a little kid who likes to play with a duck. She lets the plastic ducky float on the water in the tub. Damian was forced to watch her play with it while having his lover sit on his lap in the tub. 

“Why did I get 0 points when I really am the one who started it?” His thin lips gently kissed the shoulder of the person on his lap. His eyes looking at his wet girlfriend, he is frowning while asking...    "..It's easy because I'm the one giving the scores." Celine pinches her boyfriend's nose at the same time as squeezing the duck in her hand...it very well triggers a feeling of annoyance from her lover. A strong hand squeezed that round cheek, causing her to scrunch up until he had to let go before the two of them could continue their war in this bathroom.    “I think Pennyworth looks very happy… I have to thanks you for organizing this event for him today.” After pounding his girlfriend's face until he was satisfied, Damian Wayne hurriedly changed the conversation to the serious subject before Celine could react… Her expressions changed and nodded her head softly. Continue squeezing the duck in her hand instead of getting revenge on Damian... probably because she was thrilled that her idea made the old man smile this much. 

“...Come on, don’t act like you guys have never done this before…” Celine pouted a little while Damian's smile twitched slightly at the corners of his mouth before he looked away. 

“Actually… Normally we are all busy that no one takes the lead in this matter. Richard and Drake would just stop by for lunch on the day. Gave things to Pennyworth and left… We never got together like this. Until you are the one who suggested it.” ...It was probably the nature of Bat House to always forget the most important matters outside of their night duties… They often forgot the daily lives of those around them. It's something that almost every Bat member been.    “..So, I'm glad you chose to be a normal person and stay here with Pennyworth.” Ever since Celine Constantine entered the mansion, things had started to change a little… Even though she is that kind of person who don't celebrate her own birthday but she did it for others. After receiving Damian's first birthday present. She organizes a party for Bruce. And this time it was Alfred. She comes from the house of an occult detective but doesn't want to continue being the occult detective. Like she knew how lonely their careers were…she chose to be a normal person and spent her time doing things that Damian and the other Bats couldn't. Both are things that John Constantine couldn't do either. 

She chooses to spend time with those who she loves.    Celine gently touched her lover's face when she heard that. Her hand slid down his face before embracing it. 

“...Don't worry. Damian…Whatever you feel like you can't do or find it difficult to do. I will do it for you. You don't have to say or express everything to me. Just be with me, be happy…and I will do whatever you want to do for you.” A sweet voice whispered softly, kissing her boyfriend's forehead once...it was a voice that the young man felt calm after listening to. It felt like he didn't have to try so hard anymore…it felt natural. That would be more accurate to say... 

…Damian Wayne closed his eyes and immersed himself in that embrace for as long as he could. 

______________________________________

P.s.: Damian in this fanfic became softer after dating Celine and she moved in his manor because she decides to study at Gotham's university. Her back story made her father doesn’t celebrated her birthday because John Constantine didn’t celebrate his own birthdays too. Hopefully I will post more of them in the future.

P.s.2 : Yes, She has a foul mouthed like her dad lol

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Love in the Dark: Chapter Seven

Love in the Dark: You discover an intense connection with an enigmatic dream lover, yearning for a love beyond physical appearances. As your encounters blur the lines between the waking world and the Dreaming, your grapple with the complexities of desire, friendship, and mortality. Can you truly love in the dark?

Warnings: Language.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x NAMEDFem!Reader.

Word Count: ~2.2k

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Matthew is pissed that he had missed the ball, muttering on and on about Lord Morpheus intentionally sending him out on an errand that kept him so busy he only made it back for the last hour of the ball. You had already slipped into a deeper sleep by then, blissed out by a wonderful night that had ended so intimately that you have spent the entire next day wondering if it had even happened.

You're sipping on a hot cup of coffee, watching the city of London hustle and bustle from your apartment window. The smell of rain mingles with the faint scent of the black liquid, a combination that never fails to soothe your nerves. Your mind keeps wandering back to the ball, the grandeur of it all still fresh in your memory.

Suddenly, there's a tapping on your window. Turning around, you find Matthew perched on the window sill. His dark eyes are glinting with mischief and his feathers ruffled from his journey.

"Oh, so you finally decided to show up," you quip, opening the window to let him in. He hops onto your table, knocking over a couple of papers in his usual nonchalant manner.

"Lord Morpheus sends his regards," Matthew says in a tone that makes it clear he's still sour about missing the ball. "He hopes you enjoyed yourself… and the garden? Don't know what he meant about that but…"

"Oh I did, the shoes he gave me were marvelous," You say before taking a sip of coffee and eyeing the raven. "You want to hear what happened?

Matthew cocks his head, the way birds do when they're curious. His beady eyes are fixed on you as if he's trying to piece together the story from your face alone.

"You wouldn't believe it, Matty," you begin, taking a sip of your coffee. Your fingers tap rhythmically against the mug, the warmth seeping into your skin. "The ball was something straight out of a fairytale."

A soft chuckle escapes Matthew's beak. "Oh? And how so?"

You lean back in your chair, letting your gaze wander to the ceiling as you recall the memories. "There were dreams of all shapes and sizes, dressed in their finest. Some even wore masks made of stardust and moonlight."

Matthew preens his feathers, his gaze never leaving your face. "Sounds like quite the sight."

You nod, grinning at the memory. "The music was enchanting, and I danced with a nightmare who spun me around like we were waltzing on clouds."

Matthew's caw is soft, almost a purr. "And what about Lord Morpheus? Did he dance with you?"

"Uh, no," You reply with a wry smile. "He was too busy dodging some nymphs that desperately wanted his attention… and quite possibly more."

"Oh now you have to tell me!" Matthew says, hopping in excitement.

Your eyes light up as you recount the night's events to Matthew. "You should've seen it, Matty," you begin, trying to suppress a giggle. "Lord Morpheus was like a cat with nine lives, evading those nymphs at every turn. I almost felt bad for him…"

Matthew cocks his head, clearly interested. "Oh? How did he manage that?"

You lean back in your chair, enjoying the memory. "He was graceful as a panther, slipping through their grasp every time they reached out to him. At one point, he slipped behind a group of pixies who were dancing in the air."

Matthew's beady eyes twinkle with amusement. "Sounds like he was quite the sight."

"Oh, he was," you affirm with a nod. "He moved through the crowd like water, never missing a beat. And his eyes...you could just tell he wanted out."

"And the nymphs?" Matthew prompts.

You chuckle at the memory. "They chased him around all night. But every time they thought they had him cornered, he would just vanish into thin air. I feel bad for laughing about it but it was hilarious."

Matthew caws in laughter, flapping his wings in delight. "That's the boss for you! Always one step ahead."

You laugh along with him before settling back into your chair, your mind already drifting to other parts of the night.

Matthew cocks his head, eyes twinkling with curiosity. "And what about your Dream Lover? Did you see him at the ball?"

A chuckle escapes your lips. "Matthew, you know I don't see him," you remind him gently. The warm coffee mug in your hands is comforting, the scent wafting up and mixing with the faint smell of rain.

"Right, right," Matthew caws, ruffling his feathers. "But you met up with him, didn't you?"

You can't help but flush at that, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Maybe," you reply coyly, enjoying the way Matthew squawks in protest.

"Oh come on, Kora! Don't leave me hanging," he insists, hopping closer on the table.

With a sigh, you set your coffee mug down and lean back in your chair. "Fine," you relent. "We met up."

Matthew practically preens with satisfaction. "And?" he prompts eagerly.

"And..." You pause for a moment, recalling the magic of that encounter. "We danced."

Matthew is silent for a moment, clearly surprised. Then he caws loudly, flapping his wings in excitement. "You danced with him?!"

You nod, a dreamy smile on your face as you recall the sensation of his arms around you, the rhythm of the dance. "Yes," you admit softly. "In a garden filled with lilacs."

Matthew cocks his head again, clearly intrigued by this revelation. He hops closer to you on the table, his beady eyes never leaving your face.

"And how was it?" he asks quietly.

"It was..." You pause for a moment, searching for the right words to describe the experience. "It was wonderful."

Your gaze flits to the clock hanging on the wall. The hands tick away the seconds, but to you, it feels like time has frozen. You find yourself yearning for the night, yearning for the Dreaming.

"You miss him, don't you?" Matthew's voice brings you back to reality.

You blink, shaking your head as if to clear it. "I... yes," you admit, surprising yourself with your honesty.

Matthew's beady eyes are sympathetic. "It's okay, Kora," he assures you. "There's nothing wrong with missing someone."

"But it's not... normal," you say, gesturing vaguely with your hand. "He's a dream... or nightmare."

Matthew caws softly, his head tilting to one side as he regards you thoughtfully. "Is he though?" he asks gently. "Is he really just a dream slash nightmare to you?"

You open your mouth to respond but close it again when no words come out. Matthew has a point. He isn't just a figment of your imagination; he's real in the Dreaming, and in a way, he's become real to you too. The realization is like a punch to the gut. It leaves you breathless, reeling with the implications of what this means.

You're in love. Real love. Not in lust, or in lust because of the incredible sex, but actual, unadulterated love.

"Oh, fuck me," you mutter to yourself in horror. A shocked silence follows your words. You stare at the raven, his beady eyes watching you closely. Matthew caws softly, an almost understanding sound.

"You've fallen for him," Matthew states, not a question but a simple fact. He ruffles his feathers, hopping closer to you on the table. "Hard."

"Yeah," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. You run your fingers through your hair, your mind racing. "Yeah, I think I have."

Matthew cocks his head to one side, studying you with an intensity that makes you uncomfortable. "You sure about that?"

"Matthew," you groan, burying your face in your hands. "I don't need the third degree right now."

He caws again, hopping back onto the window sill. His dark eyes watch you with a strange intensity before he flaps his wings and takes off into the sky.

The silence in the room is deafening after Matthew's departure. You're left alone with your thoughts and the realization that you've fallen in love with a dream... or nightmare.

Suddenly, your phone buzzes on the table, pulling you from your thoughts. You pick it up and see a message from one of your friends inviting you out for drinks tonight. You consider it for a moment before replying with a quick 'sure'. It's better than staying at home and overthinking things.

With a quick swipe of lipstick and a final check in the mirror, you're out the door and on your way to meet your friends at the bar. The London streets are busy, filled with people rushing home after a long day's work. You're glad for the distraction, anything to keep your mind from wandering back to him.

The bar is crowded when you arrive, loud chatter and laughter filling the air. Your friends wave you over from a booth in the corner. You slide into the seat next to them, ordering a drink as you join their conversation.

As you settle into the cushioned booth, your friends greet you with enthusiastic cheers and playful jabs. Overhead, the neon lights of the bar cast a soft glow on the group, setting the scene for an evening of banter and camaraderie.

"You're late, Kora!" your friend, Emma, playfully accuses, raising her glass in a mock toast. Her eyes are bright with mirth as she nudges you with her elbow.

You chuckle, taking a sip of your drink. "I had a raven to deal with," you reply cryptically, not missing the confused looks that pass between your friends.

"Oh?" Emma raises an eyebrow in curiosity. "Sounds like quite the story."

"It is," you assure her with a nod. "But it's not one for tonight."

"Fine," Emma concedes with a huff. "Then let's talk about us. Any juicy gossip?"

A round of laughter follows her words as everyone takes turns sharing their latest romantic escapades. Sarah's been seeing a guy who has an odd fascination with astrology. Mark just broke up with his girlfriend who turned out to be his boss's daughter. As each tale unfolds, you find yourself getting lost in their stories, letting their laughter and energy wash wash out your stress. It's a welcome distraction from the whirlwind of emotions that have been swirling around in your mind since Matthew's visit.

You listen to their stories with rapt attention, laughing at their jokes and offering advice when asked. Their tales of love and heartbreak are wildly different from yours, but there's a sense of shared love and heartbreak that comes from sharing these intimate details of your lives. Emma is currently dating a guy who she swears looks like Ryan Gosling… if you squint hard enough in dim lighting. Mark just started seeing someone new after his tumultuous breakup, a woman he met at a bookstore who shares his love for vintage comic books.

As they share their stories, you find yourself silently comparing their experiences to yours. The differences are stark and numerous, your lover exists only in dreams while theirs are as real as the bar around you. The night continues on like this, laughter echoing off the walls, drinks being refilled and emptied again. It's nice to forget about everything for a while, to lose yourself in your friends' stories and let go of your own worries. But your mind always goes back to him.

The night progresses and several guys approach your table. They're attractive, no doubt about that, but they're not him. They don't make your heart race or your stomach flip like he does. Still, you engage in light banter, smiling politely as they try to impress you with stories of their 'exciting' lives.

One of them, a tall guy with a charming smile and sparkling eyes, seems particularly interested in you. He's funny and charming and not at all unattractive. He's also very persistent. After a while, he asks you out on a dinner date.

You hesitate for a moment before agreeing. It's not like you're cheating on him, right? After all, he's just a dream... or nightmare. You can't be official if you haven't even seen if face or know his name.

Your friends cheer when you accept the guy's offer. They clink their glasses together in celebration as he grins at you across the table. Despite the cheeriness of your friends and the charming guy across from you, there's an ache in your chest that won't go away. It lingers there, like a stubborn cloud blocking out the sun.

You can't help but think about him as the night wears on. The way he makes you feel is incomparable to anything else. The thought of being with someone else feels wrong somehow. But this is reality and he.. isn't. He exists in another realm entirely. He already told you that you didn't belong and your place is within the waking.

With a sigh, you push these thoughts aside and focus on the man sitting across from you. He's nice and he makes you laugh; that should be enough for now. But as he talks about his job and his life, all you can think about is how different he is from him.

This date might be what you need, an anchor to reality,  but it doesn't change how much your heart yearns for something more... something real yet intangible. You know one thing for certain though; accepting this date doesn't mean forgetting about him or moving on from him. It just means acknowledging reality while cherishing what happens when you close your eyes at night.

Date Published: 10/8/24

Last Edit: 10/8/24

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[kei-maki]

Carstober Day 6: Nightmare

Warning: Kind of suicidal thoughts?, also hurt no comfort, night terrors

As the pool of a dreamless, comfortable darkness faded away and revealed the filtered light that seeped through the darkened clouds of London’s skies. An uncontrollable- and almost primal- fear seized McQueen’s heart as he knew, even subconsciously, the events that were to unfold.

Immediately, his chest felt heavy with guilt as he beheld the sight of his best friend- standing in the middle of the street as he urged everyone in the pits to evacuate. That night in Tokyo… it had haunted him ever since Mater had been declared missing. That’s why he couldn’t help but jump out of his car without thinking and took steps toward him as he tried to tell him he was sorry, only to feel his heart break as he saw the other back away in terror. Why was he trying to get away? That guilt and fear of losing him again was overwhelming now, and it’s what drove him to chase his best friend down the streets of the city. He wasn’t going to leave him again. Not ever. He wouldn’t let it happen.

His heart pounded to the beat at which he chased him, a rising crescendo he couldn’t be bothered to keep further track of in that moment.

That fear only increased after he saw the bomb strapped to Mater’s chest, almost paralyzing him as he started spouting nonsense he couldn’t begin to dissect right now.

The light from the sun, even if blocked by the endless clouds in the sky, was too bright. His chest heaved as movement rushed by in blurs of color. Was he still running? He wasn’t sure anymore as his body grew numb as he saw the clock getting closer and closer to zero. They were surrounded by people too, all of them yelling and bolting in different directions- all in a panicked frenzy as they saw their doom approaching as well.

The beating of the harsh drum in his ears grew louder and louder- or was it perhaps Big Ben ringing?- until it was absolutely unbearable.

How did this happen? Was it a sick karma for all the stuff he had said to Mater? He knew he should’ve probably been nicer about it, but wasn’t he still right in his points for having been upset? Maybe not. Maybe this was all his fault. Maybe they were all going to die because of him.

It was too much. Everything was too much. He felt as if he could both comprehend everything and nothing. McQueen grabbed his head and screwed his eyes shut as the robot voice of the bomb announced those final seconds.

5

4

3

2

1

…

Lightning let out an ear piercing scream as he bolted out of bed, nearly launching himself across the room.

His heart still begged him release from his ribcage, but it wasn’t as intense as it had been in the terrors of his mind. Tears filled eyes scanned the room he was in, a need to assure himself he was fine even if he knew he wasn’t.

He was alive. He wasn’t going to die. At least not now.

He buried his face in his knees as he curled himself into a ball, the only thing helping to ground him being the soft fabric of his sheets and pajamas.

God.

He was the worst.

He put everyone he’d loved in danger, all because of his stupid guilt.

He didn’t deserve them, didn’t deserve this life he’d been gifted to share with them.

They deserved so much better.

They didn’t need someone who now viewed his waking life like the nightmares that haunted him since the World Grand Prix had ended. He didn’t need to weigh them down like that.

McQueen’s arms shook as he began to properly cry, crying himself through the rest of the night so as to both fall asleep again.

Because if he did he didn’t know if he could take it.

Hope you enjoyed! :)

Also tagging @secretly-larry-daley so you can see this immediately