#Harry Potter Oneshots

[atypicalamortentia]

Firsts || Severus Snape

Synopsis - You give your potions professor his first blowjob.

Warnings - NSFW.

Notes - All characters are 18+!

Word Count - 0.8k.

[Caffeinate Me]

Professor Severus Snape, potions master, had it down bad for you, his final year student. 

With a wave of his wand, the door slammed shut and the lock latched. You were sitting on his lap, frantically kissing. Your mouths smashed against each other with a deep desperation. You smirked into his lips as you felt your potions professor grind against you, begging for more. His hands were around your waist as he pulled you closer until you were flush against his chest. Then, he pulled away. “We shouldn’t do this,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Sir…” you whispered back, gulping softly. You were about to continue your sentence when he attacked your lips again feverishly. You knew when you called him ‘sir’ it had him weak at the knees. 

You let out a soft moan as his tongue forced its way into your mouth, swirling around your own, fighting for dominance. His hands were still planted firmly on your waist, grasping at the clothing that was surrounding your hips. Oh how he wanted more from you. 

It was like you could read his mind as you began grinding against him, eager to feel his clothed erection against your most intimate area. You let out a muffled moan against his lips as you continued to grind yourself against him, and he couldn’t help but do the same. The man was close to cumming already and you had barely even touched him. 

You hopped off his lap and gave him a cheeky grin before getting onto your knees. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, breathing heavily. 

“Just relax for me sir,” you whispered, unzipping his trousers. You looked up at him with those big doe eyes and smiled, fluttering your eyelashes at him. 

Were you really about to do this here?! 

You tugged his trousers down with a bit of help from the potions master himself and pulled his cock out of his grey boxers. It was positively huge, something you didn’t expect, and his slit was already leaking with pre-cum. Your mouth instantly began watering at the sight in front of you and before you had even had a chance to think about what you were doing - sucking off your potions professor in the potions room - you were already leaning forward to put his thick cock in your mouth. He tensed as you leaned forward, but immediately relaxed upon the warm heat of your mouth around his length. 

“Shit,” he groaned, throwing his head back against his wooden chair. You took him all the way into your mouth, so far back that you were gagging on his cock, tears in your eyes as you looked up at him. The sight drove him wild and he began to fuck your face slowly. You continued to make eye contact with him, admiring the way his face was flushed red and sweat was threatening to spill from his brow as he concentrated on the amount of pleasure you were giving him. You tried to smile at him, but the sheer length of his cock in your mouth made it almost impossible. You swirled your tongue around the tip, licking up his slit and forcing him to shudder underneath you. “Shit - just like that,” he whimpered, hands making their way into your hair as he continued to thrust his hips into your face. 

“You taste so good professor,” you mumbled around his cock. The vibrations of your words around his length sent him absolutely feral and he began to fuck your face faster. You gagged a few more times as the force of his thrusts continued to get harsher and harsher. He was using you like you were some sort of toy, and you were completely okay with that. You knew this was his first time and you wanted it to be pleasurable for him. 

“Ah - I’m going to cum Y/N,” he groaned loudly as his movements picked up in speed. You hallowed your cheeks and continued to suck like your life depended on it until he spilled his seed down your throat, his hips stuttering violently. When he was finished, he retracted his cock from your mouth and placed his hand on your jaw to prevent you from opening your mouth. “That’s a good girl, swallow it. Swallow all of it.” You did as you were told, swallowing every last drop he gave you whilst still maintaining eye contact. “Such a good girl.” 

He released your jaw and smiled awkwardly at you as you stood up from your kneeling position, rubbing at your red raw knees. “That was certainly interesting, sir,” you smiled. “But next time, I get to cum.” 

He nodded, nerves fluttering in his stomach slightly, but he was too caught up in the afterglow of cumming to truly focus on your words. With a small peck on the lips, you turned to leave, leaving the potions master alone once more. 

Professor Severus Snape, potions master, had it down bad for you, his final year student.

[fear-less]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 say my name and everything just stops

pairing: harry potter x reader

warnings: ron & reader in an established relationship , pervy harry, male masterbation, smut, harry wanking it to a photo😸, that’s all i think idk

a/n: well well well…i’m back after what 3/4 weeks?😭 so here’s smut that was written in like 20 minutes

He felt… so fucking perverted about his thoughts of you, the way his entire body froze when your breasts squeezed over his chest, the way his hands lingered on your waist when all he wanted to do was lower them further, cupping your ass while you squealed, hitting his chest with those pretty giggles escaping your lips. “Can you help me out?” You asked with those doe-eyes. Harry was sure he would do anything you asked if you gave him that look. Any fucking thing. He nodded breathlessly, no words able to push past his lips as he watched you in awe.

Ron’s absence left Harry feeling uneasy, likely held up in some line to get what he wanted. Harry couldn’t shake off the guilt he felt as he looked at you, his mind painting vivid scenarios of you under him, craving more until he lost control. He struggled to contain his desires, a constant battle against his own urges. However, everything seemed manageable until you casually brushed past him, reaching for whatever it was you needed next to him.

It was a completely unintentional gesture on your part, most likely insignificant to you. However, the way your curves seamlessly fit against him, your proximity causing a stir in him, was uncharted territory for Harry. Mentally, he couldn’t help but envision you both as if you were naked. This realization hit him hard because all he could think about now was being intimate with you from behind, enjoying the captivating sight of your figure melding into his, your soft moans urging him on, his hips moving rhythmically, and his cock filling that perfect spot he often dreamed about.

He craved the thought of losing himself in a passionate frenzy with you, where your thoughts were consumed by him and the intense desire between you. He longed for you to be utterly captivated, pleading for release, desperate for more. The bulge in Harry’s pants was undeniable evidence of his arousal, with his cock straining against the fabric, pre-cum dampening the area. The urgency was clear; if he didn’t address this soon, he feared he might lose control entirely.

“I really need to use the bathroom, can’t hold it much longer,” he feigned, and you glanced up at him. “Oh! It’s fine, I’ll stay here; Ron doesn’t have many people ahead of him anyway,” you reassured with a smile. “Are you sure?” Harry asked, subtly concealing his erection with his hand. “Absolutely, I’ll give you a heads-up when Ron and Hermione return,” you replied cheerfully, waving him off.

He stumbled into the bathroom, letting out a sigh of relief as he locked the door behind him. Harry. He was convinced you were unwittingly tormenting him. Moving swiftly, Harry removed his trousers almost in a rush. He scolded himself internally, knowing he shouldn’t indulge in these thoughts. Yet, the vivid memories of you persisted, the way the short skirt highlighted your curves, how your lips moved as you focused on Ron.

Every memory of you transformed into a tantalizing fantasy, his mind conjuring images of your lips enveloping him, your tongue teasing him, and those innocent eyes gazing up at him. Harry couldn’t resist any longer as he crawled into bed, attempting to muffle his sounds of pleasure while freeing himself from his boxers. His cock responded eagerly, throbbing harder as he teased himself, spreading pre-cum along the tip with a hiss of arousal.

His throat emitted a deep groan as he shut his eyes, his trembling hands gliding slowly up his throbbing length. Harry’s mind was consumed by thoughts of you, aching with desire. His cock felt almost feverish in his grasp, pulsing with insatiable need. He craved you desperately, imagining you quivering beneath him, yearning for every part of you, begging for him. He longed to be inside you, expressing his love as he filled you completely.

The intensity of his desire surged as he envisioned filling you completely, not stopping until you were overflowing with his cum, coating your inner walls. His grip on himself tightened feverishly, his knuckles turning white with the force. But Harry disregarded the discomfort, driven by the vivid images of you that fueled his arousal. This overwhelming passion was unprecedented for him, feeling like he was losing control, utterly captivated by you. You were like an addictive substance, impossible for him to resist, and it tormented him knowing he couldn’t satisfy his craving.

Despite his efforts, Harry struggled to contain his moans, his mind inundated with explicit images of you. He envisioned you with your mouth agape, tongue eagerly awaiting his release, craving the sensation of his warm essence cascading down your throat. “Fuck—fucking slut,” he uttered involuntarily, intensifying his grip on himself. “Such—such a pretty baby for me, yea?” he praised in his mind, picturing you in vivid detail.

Without hesitation, Harry reached for his wallet tucked inside his trousers, retrieving a picture of you as he felt himself nearing climax. He studied the image intently, a string of curses escaping his lips. In the photograph, you stood beside him, and there was Ron. A surge of anger coursed through his veins at the sight of Ron, knowing that these feelings were utterly wrong. Yet, every fiber of his being resented Ron for having you. His thumb instinctively covered Ron’s face in the picture, his grip tightening as he fixated on you.

You looked incredibly beautiful in the photo. Your hands were delicately wrapped around his waist, leaning towards him with a radiant smile that made you look so genuinely happy. The dress you wore was stunningly small, emphasizing your curves, and your breasts were snug against the top, driving Harry wild with desire. His grip on himself tightened as he pictured you naked, imagining you squirming beneath him. “Please, Harry,” your voice echoed in his mind.

“Please, Harry. Cum inside of me,” he envisioned you whispering, your voice filled with longing. “Please, baby.. need your cum.” The image of you batting your lashes at him, tears glistening in your innocent eyes, intensified his desire. Harry relished in the fantasy of you begging for his release, fueling his need to fill you completely. The mental image of his essence spilling inside you consumed his thoughts.

Harry reveled in the fantasy of you begging for his release, his desire to fill you completely with his essence. The thought of you pleading for him flooded his mind, igniting every inch of his being. “Please, Harry, wanna be filled with your load,” he imagined you whimpering, the desperation in your voice driving him wild. “I’m gonna make you mine, honey,” he promised, his arousal heightening as he envisioned claiming you completely. “Shit—gonna fuck my load into you, yeah, baby?” he groaned, his strokes growing more fervent as he gripped the picture tightly. “Make you my fuckin’ cum dump,” he cursed, consumed by the desire to have you completely. “I’m yours, Harry,” he envisioned you mewling for him, and that final thought pushed him over the edge.

He released his warm essence over the picture, his loud groans of pleasure echoing in the room. He couldn’t stifle his satisfaction as he admired the image, his cum adorning your pretty face in the photograph. Just as he thought he was caught, you called out for him, and Harry froze in panic. He quickly covered himself as you yelled about Ron and Hermione being done waiting in line. Relief washed over him, knowing you hadn’t heard his explicit thoughts. You were indeed a tempting distraction, pushing him to the brink every time.

[mentally-in-northern-italy]

how did it end? — e.r.

Pairing: Evan Rosier x fem!reader

Summary: Estranged after graduating from Hogwarts, you haven't seen Evan in years when he finally elects to find you again — but his timing isn’t quite right. It never really is.

Word Count: 2.2K

A/N: Do I have 56789 assignments due over the next week? Yes. Did I still choose to finish this year-old drabble up? Also yes. Is it still a drabble? Not really. Not sure if people read for Evan, but here is the drabble that was promised a while ago. Reader and Evan's relationship at Hogwarts is open to interpretation. I really hope I can get my Cedric fic out bc it's rotting in my WIPs.

—

It was tolerable, you suppose, but only just. 

The stench of booze mingled with sweat far too often, and the air carried a perpetual weight to it that was hard to ignore. The warmth was nice, yes, but the heat frequently bordered on oppressive on autumn nights such as this one, when the pub was full of bearded wizards and graying witches, boisterous and loud. 

Working the bar at the Leaky Cauldron, you had long deigned, was a wholly mindless pursuit, though, and for this, you were glad. At this time of night, no one cared enough to engage in small talk, much too drunk for anything civil. Plus, most were regulars, with orders plainly memorized and simple, satiated often with a glass of Firewhiskey or a Butterbeer and at times, an easy—

“One cup of tea, please.”

The sentence carries a lilt much too familiar, playful and teasing, an amused smile concealed somewhere in between and the request just as odd. You don’t have to look up to know who it is, and he can tell. He revels in it, his undeterred smugness radiating off of him and spilling over the counter he’s currently leaning against. 

“This is a pub, Rosier, if you haven’t already noticed.” You don’t look up, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. Though, you can’t do much to hide the slight quiver of your hand as you pour out some Firewhiskey and his small, exhaling laugh tells you he has taken note of it immediately, as subtle as it may have been.  

“I have noticed actually,” you can feel his eyes linger on your hands before darting to your face. “Unfortunately.” He adds, with a furrow in his eyebrows and a slight grimace as he looks around the pub with poorly concealed distaste. 

It’s much too late now – your peripherals have betrayed you – and your self-control has long since run dry. You catch his gaze as it settles back on you.  

The first thing you take note of is how different he looks since you saw him last — the blonde hair has lost a fraction of its luster, though still gorgeous, and his eyes have circles beneath them, telling of his exhaustion he does well to hide otherwise. His shirt is unironed, though tucked into his trousers neatly, and his jacket is thrown haphazardly over his shoulder. It’s oxymoronic in the most infuriating way possible and so Evan.

His grin, you notice with weary eyes though, remains the same, unwavering: blinding, almost to a fault, its shine reflected in his eyes as he takes you in. It’s a feeling long-forgotten, to be looked at this way by him. 

“You’re still as pretentious as ever, I see,” you say with a raise of your eyebrows. “Did you miss high tea this evening with your elitist friends? Or have they finally come to their senses and declared your company entirely dreadful?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, as if lost in thought, his eyes drinking you in slowly. “Oh, how I missed that sharp tongue of yours.” 

Your face grows hot at the implication. “You’re still just as insufferable.” 

He only grins as he leans forward, eyes sincere but mouth plainly amused. “And you're still just as beautiful.” 

You ignore the praise with a pointed determination he doesn’t quite like. He opens his mouth to say something again when a loud cheer erupts in the background and the simultaneous turn of heads is almost automatic, identical grimaces on both of your faces. An old wizard has fallen onto his arse in the most untoward manner in his drunken stupor. You blink as if it’s the tamest thing to have happened tonight and Evan shakes his head in what can only be described as disbelief. 

“Charming place you’ve got here,” he notes, tone thick with sarcasm and a hint of condescension that you’ve come to expect from him. You can see his arms resting on the counter now, as he sits, his jacket thrown somewhere behind him. The white fabric is rich but revealing as the warm glow of the overhead light shines on the skin underneath. You divert your gaze.

“Isn’t it?”

“Though it’d be infinitely more so if you could, indeed, fix me a cup of tea, love.”

You don’t spare him another glance as you uselessly dry off a cup. “I’m sure your house elves will do well to put aside their contempt for you for a few minutes and fix you a cup or two, if you were to ask nicely enough, love.”

“I prefer asking pretty barkeeps for my cups of tea, thank you very much.” 

“And I prefer denying such requests.” 

He goes quiet finally, his ring-clad fingers drumming on the counter as he sits. He wears an infuriatingly perfect smile still – you don’t think he has stopped smiling since he’d stepped foot into the pub – and his eyes are holding yours, as if in silent challenge. After a moment, he speaks again.

“Edmund!” He calls to the other barkeep, covering the far end of the counter. He knows his name. You try to act unsurprised, though you’re anything but. “A cup of tea, please?” 

“Coming up, Rosier!” 

He turns back to you, smirk smug and victorious. You grip your washcloth tighter. 

“You’ve been here before,” you remark plainly. 

“Very perceptive.” He rests his face on his hand, propped up on the counter and smiles wryly.

“And yet, you’re back,” you mock, a mirthless hint of a smile on your face. “You must’ve found the establishment thoroughly enriching.” 

He pretends to be deep in thought. “Well, I could never quite find what I’d been looking for all the times previous.” 

“Cups of tea? Yes, I’m sure they’re hard to find in London.” 

“Pretty barkeeps, actually. You don’t work many shifts here.” 

You scoff, though your cheeks burn at the astute observation. “Edmund isn’t pretty enough for you?” 

“Oh, he is,” His gaze only shifts when a cup of tea floats to him and he winks at Edmund in thanks. What an obnoxious gesture, you think. “But he’s not nearly as difficult.” 

“And you prefer them to be difficult?” 

“I prefer them to be you.” His sincerity catches you off guard, unsure eyes snapping to him at once. He hides his amusement in the cup as he sips slowly. “So yes, excruciatingly difficult.” 

You hum, as if in agreement. The poorly lit interior of the pub doesn’t possess the capability to dull the shine of his eyes, or conceal his handsome – albeit tired – face, as much you would’ve liked it to. There’s a new scar, you notice, that he’s acquired just above his lip and you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from asking useless questions you would regret verbalizing later. 

“You look well,” his eyes follow you as you work, warm and curious. You don’t hate the feeling as much as you should and you try not to bask in the feeling – as short-lived as it may be.

You huff, now blatantly aware of the stains on your work blouse, your unkempt hair that is a stark contrast to his perfect locks. “I wish I could say the same for you.” Even posed as a jest, the statement sounds ridiculous uttered to someone like Evan. 

He decides to indulge you. “No? Less handsome than before?” 

“There wasn’t much to start with, so I must evaluate accordingly.”

A chuckle that feels too much like a reward. “Cruel, as ever.”

“Honest, more like.”

“I’m something of a masochist, I suppose,” he stretches, leisurely and cat-like. “I quite missed your jabs in Paris.” It’s a plain-enough admission. He missed your jabs, not you. You remind yourself of that over and over. He’s clamant in that way, lazes in attention from wherever he can get it. You’re not special. You never were.

Paris, though. You savor the bit of detail he has provided you on his endeavors, something he has otherwise elected to keep quite secret ever since graduation. There isn’t much you know about him anymore – who he spends his time with, what he’s up to. Though, there are rumors. It’s a time of war, after all, and he’s a Rosier.

“I’m sure you didn’t miss them for long. I hear the French are revered for their candor. Did they also call you a bumbling idiot every chance they got?” 

He traces the rim of his teacup slowly, as if he’s coyly willing you to take note of the movement. You oblige involuntarily. He’s satisfied with the quick flicker of your eyes enough to give you a smirk. “Not quite. ‘Devilishly handsome’ were the exact words used, I believe.”

An amused exhale from your lips. “Your mother may be French, Rosier, but she doesn’t count.” 

He laughs and its sound hangs in the air around you in a way that makes it hard to breathe. “You know, I’m not sure you’re very good at the ‘customer service’ bit. Are you this rude to all your customers?”

“Just the unwelcome ones.”

He hums. “You’d quite like Paris, I think.” He changes the subject with all the nonchalance of flipping a page of a book you haven’t quite finished reading but have become bored of nonetheless. You note the redirection with interest. 

“What were you up to in Paris?” You oblige as your curiosity trumps your ego. You’re aware of the staunchness of the question, of the sudden heaviness that now hangs around the two of you in the pub.

“Familial obligations, and the like.” Automatic, much too rehearsed for your liking, but you can tell it’s true, at least in part. He has a tendency to look away when he lies and so far, his eyes have been set stiflingly steady – on you. He rubs his forearm absent-mindedly. “I didn’t want to come back.”

You bite back a bitter laugh. “Why did you?”

He looks down into his cup. “The tea isn’t the same.” 

“I’m sure.”

“And I searched far and wide, believe me.”

“A valiant effort.” You scrub the grimy countertops absent-mindedly. 

“Oh, I’m anything but.” He sips his tea again. Offhandedly, he adds, ���If I had been more brave, perhaps I would’ve stopped your engagement sooner.”

Your eyes snap to him at once but he remains indifferent, glancing into his cup and reading the leaves as if he’s in Divination. You try to hide your surprise but you can’t do much to mask the break of your voice. “What– How did you–”

He finally meets your eyes with a smile that borders on bitter. “Congratulations, by the way,” he says slowly as if he’s letting the words mull in his mouth and turn sour. Another cheer erupts in the background, a stark contrast to the absence of a celebratory cadence in his own voice.

You breathe shakily. “Is that why you’re here then? To bend me to your many whims and tell me not to marry him?” The drumming of your heart is steady and disturbing.

“Would you like me to?”

Yes. “No.” 

“Why aren’t you wearing your ring?” He asks, as if the question had been lodged inside his throat the whole night and has finally broken free. You avert your gaze. He’d always had a knack for asking questions you couldn’t quite voice the answers to.

“I think you should go,” you breathe.

“Is this to spite me?”

“To spite you? Who do you —” Anger envelops you. Only he would assume that your marital arrangements were solely to spite him.

“Do you love him?” He presses, abandoning the feigned nonchalance and speaking with an urgency that unsettles you.

“Leave.”

“Do you?”

A pause you’re not sure how to fill. “What does it matter?” 

His eyes search yours and seem to find the very thing you’ve worked so hard to conceal. His gaze softens. “Don’t marry him.”

The soft admonition knocks the air out of your lungs. You only gape at him, hurt and angry at his audacity. “How dare you?”

He stays still, unspeaking and unmoving, as if he, himself, knows he has stepped over a line. He purses his lips to stop himself from saying anything else. Pushing the empty tea cup aside, he stands and dons his coat. “I’m going to go,” he says quietly. 

You grit your teeth further. You should’ve expected this by now. Of course, he was going to leave after completely derailing your life. “What–”

“I’ve said what I needed to say,” he speaks again, shoving his hands into his pockets like a petulant child. “Don’t marry him.” He repeats, expression serious and solemn for the first time tonight.

You open your mouth to reprimand him but he interrupts you.

“Please,” he exhales and his plea is almost too quiet to hear amidst the bar chatter. But you hear it all the same and something twists in your chest at the uncharacteristic ask. He turns to go before you can say anything else. You can only watch him leave, gripping the counter until your knuckles turn white.

Only after he leaves the pub do you see a napkin perched on the counter, where he sat just moments ago. 

9568 Highfield Road, London, W69 1QB

In the case that you change your mind.

Love, E.

The napkin crumples in your hand with unprecedented force.

You deliberate.

With a huff, you shove it in your pocket.

[sumsumstrashbin]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐦𝐚 ~ 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ✧

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 𝟏.𝟕𝐤

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐮𝐩, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐛. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 (𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫), 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐠𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐜𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐟. 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐟𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬. 𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐲 𝐚𝐮!

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

You and the Marauders had been friends since your sixth year at Hogwarts. Your friendship with them began in the library one day while you were studying for a test. They had decided that you would be the victim of their prank for the day, sneaking up on you and causing your books to levitate and fly right out of the library. 

Instead of letting them feel the pride of another successful trick, you decided to get them back. After spending the night brewing a very special potion, you carefully constructed a prank on them the next day. You promised Nearly Headless Nick that you would find him some rotten roast beef in exchange for his help. At breakfast, the ghost stole an item off of each of the Marauders, causing them to chase after him. As they ran out, you slipped a bit of potion into their drinks before returning to your seat casually. 

The four boys entered the Great Hall again, out of breath from their chase through the halls. They all collapsed into their seats, downing their drinks without a second thought. 

It only took a few moments for the potion to kick in, much to your delight. They were all chatting normally, when their voices started to transform. Within a matter of seconds, their voices were high-pitched and squeaky. Thanks to you, they spent the rest of the day with highly irritating voices that no one could bear to listen to.

They were completely shocked that anyone managed to prank them back, and they highly respected you for that. Although you found them annoying at first, they quickly became some of your closest friends.

Soon after becoming friends with them, you and James began facing constant pestering from the other three: they constantly spoke of how the two of you totally liked each other, and that you’d be a great couple. Of course, both of you denied it and continued to stay friends. 

After graduation, you made sure to stay in touch with them. You would often see them multiple times a week, visiting them in their shared home or hosting them at your own. You and James had managed to deny your feelings for each other throughout seventh year and up until now. Well, until last week when he finally mustered up the courage to ask you on a date. You were shocked, but you had been hoping that he felt the same way since you had met, so you happily accepted his offer. He was equally surprised to hear you agree, but made sure to give you no time to second guess your decision. He gave you a date, time, and location, and left immediately. 

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

It was the day before your date with James, and you were spending the evening babysitting your godson, Draco. You and Narcissa met at Hogwarts, as she was a prefect when you started. Although she was much older than you, she quickly became an older sister figure, and the two of you remained close. When Draco was born, she granted you the role of being his godmother, as she trusted your good nature and believed that you’d be a better option than Bellatrix. 

Draco was only a few months old, so he didn’t require much entertainment. He had been asleep for most of the time, but you kept the bassinet right by the couch so that you could keep an eye on him. While he slept, you were spending your time reading a book.

The peaceful silence of your home was broken by a knock on your door. You stood up, placing the book down on the couch and checking on Draco to make sure that he was still asleep before heading to the door. 

You opened the door to be met with a very sad and very wet James Potter, holding a soggy bouquet of flowers while his hair dripped water onto your doormat. His glasses were also covered in droplets, so he took them off to wipe them down before putting them back on his face.

“James? What are you doing here?” You questioned, taking in his soaking wet appearance.

“What do you mean, what am I doing here? You stood me up! I waited an hour for you!” He exclaimed, folding his arms. The wet bouquet of red roses slapped against his chest, causing water to flick right onto your face.

You wiped your cheek, looking at him with a perplexed look. “Shh, lower your voice. And what are you talking about? It’s the 16th. Our date is tomorrow.”

He stood there, completely dumbfounded. “What? I thought- are you sure?”

“I’m sure. You said the 17th.”

“Oh…I am so stupid. I put the wrong date in my calendar. Uh…” He looked down at the flowers, sighing before offering them to you. “I got you these.”

You smiled, taking the dripping wet bouquet from him. “Thank you, James. You’re a sweetheart. And an idiot.”

“I know, I know. But it adds to the charm though, doesn’t it?” He grinned cockily. “Since I’m here already, can I come in? We could always just move our date to today. And to your house instead of a restaurant.”

“We can, but I don’t think you’ll want to.”

“Nonsense.” He said, stepping past you and into your house. He kicked his shoes off, pulling out his wand and using a charm on himself to dry his clothes and hair. “Why wouldn’t I want to stay- oh.” His gaze landed on the self-rocking bassinet in your living room. “Who the hell is that?”

You stifled a laugh at his question. “That’s my godson, Draco. I’m babysitting.”

“Draco as in Draco Malfoy?” He asked, lowering his voice as he walked over to the bassinet. 

“Mhm. Remember how I told you guys that Narcissa asked me to be his godmother?” You unwrapped the rose bouquet, starting to cut the stems to fit into a vase.

“Right. He has his father’s blindingly blonde hair.” He snickered to himself, settling on the couch.

As soon as he sat down, Draco woke up and immediately started to cry. You cursed, putting the scissors down to go and dry your wet hands. As you prepared to go soothe him, James picked him up. “I got him.”

“Are you sure? I can come get him.” You said, wiping your hands on the hand towel.

“Yeah, of course. Don’t worry about him.” He said, beginning to rock Draco in his arms. “Am I doing this right, though?” 

You smiled at the sight of your crazy “friend” attempting to calm a screaming baby. “Yes, that should be fine.”

Draco began to settle down, and James sighed in relief. You were so busy watching them that you had stopped paying attention to what you were doing, which resulted in you cutting your finger. You yelped in pain, looking down at your bleeding finger. “Oops.”

“What’d you do?” He asked, walking over with Draco in his arms. 

“My hand just slipped. It’s nothing.’ You said, going to the sink and running the water over it. 

He shifted his position so that he could hold Draco in one arm, taking his wand out with his free hand. “Let me see.”

You shut the water off, showing him your finger. He aimed his wand at it, using a bandaging spell to wrap it up for you.

All of the time you spent waiting for him to ask you out, combined with his kind gesture of the  flowers, soothing Draco, and tending to your finger was enough to make you want to grab his face and kiss him right then and there. 

“Why did it take you so long to ask me on a date?” You questioned, looking up at him.

“Well, I didn’t know that you wanted me to. Trust me, I wanted to, and Sirius never shut his mouth about it. I just didn’t want to ruin our friendship. If I knew you were waiting for me, I would have asked the day after you pulled that prank on us.”

“Really?” Your heart fluttered at his words.

“Of course. Have my feelings for you not been obvious this entire time?” He queried, subconsciously rubbing Draco’s back to put him back to sleep.

“I guess they have been to everyone else, but not to me. I didn’t want to risk ruining our friendship either.” You admitted.

“Well, it’s certainly ruined now, and I couldn’t be happier about it. I’ve waited a long time for this, Y/n. And I know this isn’t an ideal first date, but it doesn’t matter to me. I’m just happy to be with you.”

“Me too.” You smiled, taking Draco from him gently. “I’ll put him back down and then we can spend some time together. Will you move the bassinet into my bedroom for me?”

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

James had helped you move Draco into your bedroom before the two of you settled onto the couch together. The warmth of the fireplace was keeping the chilly weather out, and the dim glow was illuminating the room in a soft light. 

“Now that he’s asleep again, we should take advantage of our moment of freedom before he interrupts again.” James spoke, breaking the comfortable silence. “...I didn’t mean that in a suggestive way, I just meant that we can enjoy our first date in peace.” He clarified, chuckling nervously.

Before you could respond, he spoke again. “Alright, maybe I did mean it in a suggestive way.” Without hesitation, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. Despite being so eager, he kissed you with such tenderness that you could feel heat rising in your cheeks. After a few moments, he pulled away to look into your eyes.

“I waited way too long to do that.” He stated, glancing between your eyes and your lips.

“Yeah, it’s about damn time.” You said, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into another kiss. 

The two of you spent the rest of the night sharing kisses and hushed conversations over the crackling sound of the fireplace. You ended up under a warm blanket, cuddling on the couch and basking in each other’s company. 

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

[mastermindmiko]

Hi! Hope you're well! I was hoping you could make a Matteo Riddle ×Fem!reader? Something with some angst but it's completely up to you!

Secret

Pairing: Matteo Riddle + Reader

Word count: 1023

Summary: You and Matteo keep your relationship a secret

Warnings: swearing and mentions of bullying.

Hey! If you think this didn't completely suck, feel free to check out my masterlist.

Thank you sm for requesting! Hope you like it

"Hush, someone could hear us and then come see us, and that is bad." I scold him, but he just continues to look at me with a fond smile on his lips. Even after dating him for so long, the action still brings butterflies into my stomach.

I blush, then look away. I hear him chuckle before feeling his long fingers grab my chin and make me look at him. He presses a sweet kiss to my lips, and then mumbles, "I really don't care if someone sees us."

"Well, I do." I reply, barely thinking with the way he's kissing me. He hums, "I guess then it matters to me."

It's things like this that make me believe that matteo is not in any way like his father, despite what I initially thought and everyone else believed.

I begrudgingly part away from him, and say, "I have to go."

"No..." He groans and holds my waist tighter. He pulls me close to his chest, but I resist by pushing against it. I try, "I'll see you tonight. I have to get to lunch, or else Harry will be suspicious."

"Fine."

I head to lunch and matteo, and I part ways. It always hurt knowing that I couldn't share my relationship with my closest friends. However, it was for the best.

"Where were you?" Hermione says as soon as I'm close enough to the Gryffindor table. Harry and Ron pipe up to look at me like meerkats, both giving me a smile. I smile back and sit beside Hermione.

I don't get a chance to answer because Harry starts nearly growling when he sees Malfoy and his goons approaching, and with them, my boyfriend.

I resist smiling and start to pile up some food on my plate, staring at the table instead of at my gorgeous man. My eyes betray me as they try to sneak a glance of him to find him already looking at me. He shoots me a quick wink, which turns me into a tomato.

Malfoy sneers, "Ready to lose, Potter?"

"In your dreams, Malfoy." Harry counters, and Malfoy turns to Ron, deciding against saying that he's poor again. His gaze moves to hermione, deciding that the mud blood insult has gotten old, and then it lands on me.

"It wouldn't be hard losing with such a chit chaser -" Malfoy starts, but matteo clears his threat, and all of a sudden, Malfoy shuts up, returning to insulting Ron and Hermione instead.

That was weird. Unless...I was going to kill Matteo. I frown, shot him a glare, and he frowns, too. Malfoy eventually gets tired of teasing us, and he leaves.

We all return to lunch like normal, but I can tell that Harry was feeling anxious about tomorrow's match. I reassure him, "Don't worry, little brother. We're going to beat their asses."

Harry grins, but it then drops after Ron decides to say, "It was weird... the way Malfoy didn't keep insulting you."

"Maybe he has a crush." Hermione teases, and I feel myself get disgusted by the thought of it. I gag, and my friends laugh. Ron decides it's funny enough to keep going, "If anyone had a crush on her, it's Riddle, notice how he never aims any bludgers at her."

My eyes go wide, but I let out a nervous chuckle in order to hide my nervousness. I told matteo that that would raise suspicions. A few months ago, I even told him to hit me specifically, but of course, he refused.

The subject gets dropped, though, after a couple of laughs. I continued on with eating until I saw Matteo leave the Great Hall, messing up his hair. It was our signal. I stand up abruptly and then say, "I'll be back."

I rush out of the Great Hall and head to where I already know Matteo is heading. The room of requirement where we meet when we want to spend extended durations of time together.

I enter the room, and Matteo has his back to me. He's sorting through some books probably picking which one we're going to read together tonight. I shout, "Matteo fucking Riddle!"

He stills, his whole body turning rigid, slowly turning to face me. I fold my arms in front of my chest and glare at him. He grins anxiously and says, "Sweetheart?"

"Don't sweetheart me! You told your friends about us." I say, and his face turns guilty, so it was true. He takes a few steps close to me and explains, "This way they can stop bullying you."

"Them not bullying me has caused my friends to be suspicious." I say with anger. He frowns deeply and takes a few more steps closer to me until he can take my hands in his. I don't resist the action his hands are really soft.

He whispers, "Would it be so bad if they knew?"

"Yes, we wouldn't be able to be together then." I say, and feeling the anger drift away and the sadness seep in. Matteo sighs, "Maybe they would understand."

"They won't. You don't know what they say about when you're not there. It breaks my heart, but I can't lose them -" I say and cut myself off at the end. He sighs, "If they really love you, they would understand."

"I don't want to risk losing them-or you." I say, then meet his eyes to continue, "The thought of losing you scares me."

"And it terrifies me, but we can't go on like this-"

"I promise I'll tell them, I don't know when, but I will." I say, every time he brings this up, I feel like it's the end, every time I hope that it isn't.

"That's enough for me." Matteo says slowly. He gives me a small smile and then presses a quick kiss to my lips. He pulls me in for a hug, and I hug him as tightly as I can without suffocating him.

He parts then presses a kiss to my forehead. I really love him, but I'll tell him that another day. He says, "Let's go read a book, huh?"

a/n: I really don't know a lot about Matteo, but from what I know, this is how I imagine him being. I hope I did him justice.

[tessimagines]

The Days That Follow // Remus Lupin

Summary:

“There was a before you and there was a during you. For some reason, I never thought there would be an after you.” 

They say that grief has five stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Over the course of a year after her husband’s death, (Y/N) Lupin goes through all of them.

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Warnings: A WHOLE TON OF ANGST, character death, grief, mourning and depression

Word Count: 3.8k

Masterlist | Harry Potter Masterlist

A/N: For my first imagine after coming back to writing I thought I would brake all of your hearts. Enjoy (if you can?)

Denial

May 2nd, 1998

It’s his pale, lifeless hand spread out on the cobblestone that your eyes fixate on. Not his face, not his hair, not his body. They stare at the hand that had run it’s fingers through your hair only a few hours ago. The thumb that had brushed along your jawline after your final kiss. The palm you had squeezed before the battle had separated you. 

It looks cold. Dust coats it, and you can see black grime underneath each fingernail. Small patches of blood litter their way across the skin. That skin used to have colour, but now it appears to have been bleached free of it. 

For the first time you feel the sharp pain of the air that is caught in your throat. It is muffling any sound right now, but you know as soon as you let it out you wont be able to help but scream. 

It is almost as if time has slowed down around you. You cannot make out any sounds, just a constant hum of noise. The Great Hall is full of bodies, lined up one after another. Each one has its own group of mourners, but you don’t see them. Your eyes only see your husbands hand on the floor. 

Suddenly, your knees are on the ground beside him. You reach out and grab the hand in front of you. Your fingertips glide along his skin, searching for any point of warmth, of life. 

This isn’t real. It’s another nightmare, brought forth by the anxiety of war. Every second you spend holding his hand, the blurrier your vision gets. But tears would mean that this is real, not some cruel mind game you know it has to be. 

“No,” you say. Your voice is hoarse and strained. “No, he isn’t dead. He can’t be.”

Nobody says a word. For the first time, you let your eyes stray from his hand. They flicker to his face. It’s just as pale, just as lifeless as his hand. His eyes are open and glassy, staring up towards the ceiling of the Great Hall. 

“No,” you say the word again. It seems to be the only word you can say or think. “No, no, no.”

You drop his hand to the floor and reach towards his chest, your fingers griping the edge of his ragged blazer. Dust and soot has sunk deep into the fabric and new holes line it’s surface. Underneath he wears his green knit sweater. That had been a Christmas present from Molly. It was brown from the dust and the dirt now, and when you touched it, the particles came to line your hands. 

You grip onto the clothes of his chest. You’re shaking them now, like the action will wake him. All he needs is to take one breath, one deep breath and it will be okay. 

You can feel his name in your mouth. You’re repeating it over and over again, every time louder. As your voice grows, so does the violence with which you shake his body. Your cheeks are wet, there is no point holding back the tears now.

“(Y/N),” Hermione is saying behind you. She places her hands on your shoulders, trying to pull you back from your husband’s body. “(Y/N), please, he’s gone.”

You’re back to saying no again. It’s seems like the only rational thing you can say. “No, no, no, he’s not. He’s going to be fine. He has to be.”

You wiggle your way out of Hermione’s grip but now Kingsley Shacklebolt has his arms around you. He pulls you away from Remus, whispering in your ear. “(Y/N), look at him. He’s gone.”

You stop struggling and lean your head against Kingsley’s broad chest. Your breaths are sharp and jagged. You hand grips onto Kingsley’s forearm. 

He’s right. Your eyes search your husband’s face. While it looks like him, with the same features you had grown so used to, there was something missing. No light, warmth or emotion. 

Remus Lupin is dead.

Anger

May 13th, 1998

The glass vase hits the floor with a crash, shards splintering off and dispersing across the wooden floor. You can feel a few sharp tickles of tiny glass pieces falling on the tops of your bear feet. Water is now trickling amongst the shards of broken glass. 

You look down at the mess below you, your eyes focusing on the half-dried pink peonies that are scattered through it. They were a present from Arthur. Perhaps, he had thought the beauty of them would make you feel just a little bit better. Or maybe, he thought the gesture of giving them to you would be a reassurance that he was there for you. But really, all you could take note of was the look of pity sewn into his features as he held them out to you.

You pushed all of the air out of your lungs in a single, loud huff. The pain of being alone, of not seeing him, of not being able to talk to him was suffocating. Day-to-day life had become more than just a struggle. Little things that you would normally pay no attention to had become some of the biggest annoyances.

It feels as though there is a constant scream sitting in your throat. Your chest is constantly heavy, your face is constantly hot and flushed. Your nerves are continuously active, feeling every little thing that brushes by your skin. Your own body has become a constant source of it’s own antagonism. 

The idea of him not being here with you is unbearable. The idea of never looking at his face, never feeling your hands on his chest, never hearing words come out of his mouth again causes not just an emotional pain, but a physical one. It feels like every fibre in your body is being pulled apart by that swelling anger. 

You feel tempted to reach across and press one of your feet down on some of the sharp shards of glass. Perhaps that would provide a release for the boiling emotions coursing through your body every moment. Blood and anger will seep out in a red, burning mix. 

Teddy stirs in the next room. The loud crash of the vase has woken him up. What starts as soft mumbles of discomfort turns into piercing loud screams that echo around the otherwise silent house. You place a hand to your face for a moment, close your eyes and try to quell that rising anger in your stomach. 

You walk towards the door, cursing whatever or whoever caused you to be doing this on your own. 

Bargaining

April 25th, 1998

“Oh, it’s chilly out here.” Molly wraps her cardigan closer around herself as you watch her sit down beside you. “You should be wearing a coat if you’re going to sit outside.”

You offer her a half-smile and turn your gaze back to the rolling hills outside The Burrow. It’s night but the moon is bright, so you can still see the silhouette of each of them. Hundreds upon hundreds of stars litter the sky above you. 

Molly places a hand on your shoulder before wrapping it around your upper arm. “You’re doing so well, dear. We’re all so proud of you.” She leans her face in closer as she says it, the tip of her nose just touching your ear. 

You open your mouth to say something, but no words seem to take form. Instead, you reach your other hand up to place it over hers. You swallow sharply, stifling what you can of an inevitable cry. 

“Oh, here, here,” Molly puts an arm around you, pulling you towards her. She presses your head down on her chest and coos like a mother comforting an upset toddler. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper the apology through the material of Molly’s cardigan. 

“Don’t you dare apologise. I’m serious. You are doing so well, okay?” You nod against her chest.

“I could have done something, you know. If I was with him during the battle, I could have stopped it. Whoever it was, I could have stopped them. He would still be here.” Molly shakes her head, reaching up to place her hand on the side of your face.

“No, no, don’t start that. You could not have done anything, (Y/N).” She holds you tight against herself. The woman is maternal instinct personified.

“I could have. I could have begged him to stay home with Teddy and I. Teddy would have a father, instead of just me.” Your voice breaks at the last bit. If you had begged him hard enough, Teddy would still have a parent he deserves. He would grow up in a happy household, instead of one that is haunted by a ghost.

“That never would have happened, (Y/N), you know that.” Her voice is strong, trying her best to reassure your racing mind. “Remus died fighting for a cause he believed. He fought to make a world he was happy for Teddy to grow up in. You couldn’t have stopped him, my dear. Just like no one could have stopped you.” 

You cry against her, your breaths loud and ragged. She continues to hold you through it, her hand stroking the side of your arm. 

Depression

August 12th, 1998

For a second, your brain can’t register the sound coming from the neighbouring room. Your arms reach out into the empty space in the bed beside you, almost like you can push the sound away. After a few more seconds, you recognise the cry of a baby, his screams growing louder and sharper.

You roll over onto your back, raising your hands to rub your eyes back to life. The room is dark and dim, only a sliver of moonlight coming in through a crack in the blinds. It barely lights up the room and you can only see the outline of the door across from your bed. 

Teddy continues to scream. You hear the wails ripple through his throat, coming out in a disorganised mess of sound. It echoes throughout the house, into your room and lodges in your ear cannel. 

Please, please stop, you think. Just for a single second, please stop.

His cries are relentless. They’re like an endless knock at the door. They want something from you, something you don’t have the energy to provide. The corner of your eyes become wet and you stifle your own, small cry.

A shuffle goes past your door and a little head pokes itself through the crack. You see the red of Molly Weasley’s hair. She had planted herself in the small guest room the last few weeks, trying her best to manage and organise the mess of your life right now while feeling her own relentless grief.

“I’ll get him, dear.” As quickly as she had appeared, she scuttles off again. After a few more seconds, you begin to hear the whisper of her voice and little shushes of comfort. “It’s okay, little one. You’re okay.”

Teddy’s cries begin to settle, and soon enough the house becomes still.

He deserves more, he needs more. What kind of mother can leave her own child to scream like that? What kind of mother has to rely on another woman to comfort her child?

You close your eyes in anticipation of a sleep you know will never come. 

September 30th, 1998

The record plays loud and clear, the fast pop song lightening up the living room around you. You have the blinds pulled wide open, bright autumn daylight streaming in through the windows. You bounce your head along to the music, taping your feet together to the beat.

You hold the duster in your hand, brushing it across the old lamp you have beside the couch. You look down at little Teddy in his rocker. He is smiling up at you with his wide gummy grin, watching as you sway to the song enveloping the two of you. You smile back down at him, reaching out and touching one finger briefly to his nose. He giggles, beaming up at you.

“Oh, you’re happy today.” His continuous giggles seem to sound out the blearing music. “Me too, bubs. Me too.” 

You continue to dance for him, swinging your arms around ridiculously. It’s almost like his eyes are glistening up at you, pure happiness coming from them. 

You turn and begin to dust the mantle of the fireplace, past a vase with fresh daisies. You then see the face-down photo frames resting on the brown mahogany mantle. There is about five of them, all in a row. The hand holding the duster falls down beside your body and you drop it on the floor.

You reach and pick up one of the them, turning the picture to face you. Its a photograph from your wedding day. You’re arm-in-arm with Remus. He is wearing the nicest suit that he owned and you are in your mother’s old satin wedding gown. You can see the little white flower pins you wore in your hair that day glistening in the sun outside the small and modest chapel. 

You watch as you look up at Remus beside you, your smile wide and bright. He is beaming down at you as the two of you soak each other up. In the last frame of the captured moment, Remus turns towards the lens. The expression on his face is soft and golden and warm.

You cannot hear the music anymore, or Teddy’s soft giggles. You cannot hold the picture frame or bear to look at the image it contains. You place it back, face down, on the dusty mantlepiece once again. 

December 25th, 1998

The cramped living room of the Burrow is buzzing with a warm, cozy energy. It’s not its usual barrage of festive noise but a slow gentle hum, half-smiles on the faces that fill the room. Everyone is trying their best to be happy, trying to make the best of the Christmas holiday. Despite the Christmas food, music and decorations, the absence of Fred and Remus still hangs in the air like an unusual smell. 

Teddy sits on your lap, bouncing up and down. His blissful unawareness is the envy of everyone in the room. As he bounces, he begins to babble. Arthur sits on the ground beside him. As Teddy makes nonsensical sounds, Arthur responds with a fake confident understanding.

“Oh, is that right, Teddy? I never would have known!” You laugh and watch as Arthur holds a finger out to your son. He grasps onto it, clenching his fist around it with all of his nine-month-mite. 

“Oh, (Y/N),” Molly says. “We have something little for Teddy.” She pulls a little parcel wrapped in brown paper from beside her and passes it towards you.

“Oh, Molly, you didn’t need to do that.” You smile up at her. Her red hair has noticeably more greys then last Christmas. She tries her best to smile warmly, but you can see there is a layer of sadness there.

“Nonsense, of course we did.” You take the present from her hands and place it in Teddy’s lap. You pull the brown parchment apart and smile as Teddy tries his best to help you. He grasps a piece of it in his hand, shaking it around for everyone to see. A chuckle travels around the room. 

Inside is a tiny little blue tie and a grey button down shirt, one size too big for the nine-month-old in your lap.

A crooked smile makes its way on Ron’s lips. “Add a rugged little tweed blazer and he’ll be the spitting image of Rem-” 

Hermione elbows him in the stomach, cutting off the rest of his sentence. You look up at him, just in time to catch the confused look he gives her. She just shakes her head, “I’m sorry-”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right, Ron.” You try your best to curve your lips into a smile. “We’ll need to get a matching jacket so you can look just like your daddy, huh Teddy?”

You look up at Ron again and offer what you can of a reassuring look. The room has suddenly become quiet except for the constant sound of Teddy’s babbling.

You turn your gaze to Arthur beside you. “Do you mind looking after Teddy for a moment while I go to the bathroom?” He nods and you pass Teddy over to him, watching as he takes his place on the older man’s lap. You slip past the group and up the stairs, heading towards one of the empty bathrooms in the burrow. 

The pain builds slowly. Every step you take up the stairs feels heavier, like you have to push your way up. You only just make it to the bathroom and close the door before you give into the weight. 

The sobs come in spasms, the air punching its way out of your chest. Every time you think of Remus, this seems to be the outcome. A single thought of him is enough to send you down a spiral of relentless grief. There are no happy memories anymore, only a longing for one more conversation, one more embrace, one more kiss that will never come. 

There is a soft knock at the door. You don’t turn your head. You don’t want them to see you like this, eyes red raw and swollen. 

Ginny whispers your name, soft and low. You hear her close the door behind her and she makes her way to sit down on the ground beside you. No eyes connect, but you feel her hand slip down, beside your arm, until it clasps onto your own hand. Her thumb gently brushes back and forth upon the skin of your hand, a slow and comforting motion.

You rest your head on her shoulder as she brings her other arm to come around your body. You feel her press her lips against the hair on your head, trying her best to sooth the cries that still flow out of you. “I’m sorry, (Y/N).” 

You shake your head dismissively. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not fair what happened. You don’t deserve this.”

You remain silent for a moment, letting her continue to comfort you with affectionate touches. You grasp her hand a little tighter when you speak again. “I’m not the first widow in the world.”

She just kisses you on the head again, pulling you in closer to her. It’s a reassuring feeling. You feel your own cries slow and the clamp around your throat loosen.

“I don’t want people to whisper his name around me. I don’t want him to be a half-spoken memory. I want to be able to remember him. I want to remember his face, his voice, his life without wanting to crawl into that grave with him.”

You look up at her for the first time since she entered the room. Her expression is soft and tender. Your eyes are still wet, tears dangling on the edge. Ginny raises a hand up and rubs them away, placing another gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I just miss my husband.”

Acceptance

May 2nd, 1999

Teddy’s chubby little fist grasps onto your fingers tightly as he dawdles over towards the memorial. His feet stomp on the ground, one after the other, happy to be out and about for the day. He giggles as he goes along, pulling you behind him.

The memorial is long and vast, running the length of an entire wall. Engraved on it’s rough steel surface are the names of those who fell in both the First and Second Wizarding War. The sheer number is overwhelming. As the wall continues on, a separate list gathers at the end. Listed below The Battle of Hogwarts, is a series of 50 or so names. 

Today, a group gathers around them. Many of them are familiar, friends or family of the people you had fought beside one year ago today. There is a quiet hush around them all. Teddy’s little giggles cut through them with ease. In his other hand he holds some small dandelions he picked himself. They bounce in his hand with every step he takes.

As you get closer, you reach down and pick your son up, resting him on your hip. He continues to babble as you reach the wall, the names now visible. You scan them up and down until your eyes rest on the name of your husband engraved amongst them. Under his name are a few sentences that try their best to sum up his 38 years of life.

Remus J. Lupin (1960-1998)

Original member of the Order of the Phoenix and former Defence Against the Arts Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Died defending the castle during the Battle of Hogwarts. Survived by his wife (Y/N) and son Edward.

The sentences are simple and blunt for necessity. It feels like an awful generalisation. No person reading this, who didn’t know him in life, would understand the man that Remus Lupin was. A man filled with complexities, so intelligent and kind and pure. No one would know the sound of his laugh or the way he would roll his eyes every time you told a stupid joke. No one would be able to picture the look on his face when he held his son for the first time, or the way he had played with the faint wisps of hair on Teddy’s head. 

No. All those moments were just memories you had to hold onto now. Despite the fact that Teddy would never meet his father, never understand what it was like to be in his presence, you were going to make sure that he knew him. Teddy was going to know the man who had given his life to make the world a better place for him to live.

Teddy giggles and reaches his arm out in an uncoordinated jerk. His little fingers land on the engraved name of his father. You smile and press a faint kiss to his head.

The pain will always be there. You understand that now. You will carry it, always, like an open wound that never fully heals. But that is the way it should be. The pain is only there because of how much you had loved Remus in life, and how much you love him still in death. Inside that pain is every kiss you ever shared, every moment in bed beside him, every little dance you did with his hand in yours. 

In this way, Remus Lupin will never truly die. 

Let me know what you thought! Requests are open for drabbles and headcannons :)

[starssaroundmyscarssblog]

𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐄, chapter one WEASLEY VS SLUGHORN

pairing: percy weasley x fem!oc (olympia slughorn)

word count: 1.04k

warnings: none

series masterlist

percy weasley strived for validation of the academic kind, wanted to set himself apart from his ragtag group composed of five brothers and one sister that was designated to him at birth. he had no choice, each one of his siblings had something about them that set them apart from the rest.

ginny's was obvious since she was the only girl and the youngest, ron was somewhat friendly towards the muggle children who wandered into the fields surrounding the burrow every so often, which put him into his father's good books for learning about the 'fascinating' way that they live. fred and george had each other, like they were two peas unable to be prised out of their pod. charlie was sporty and had offers to go professional with his quidditch playing but turned it down for an even more rugged job handling dragons in eastern europe, bill was devil-may-care and living it large in an entirely different continent and was breaking curses in the last year of you-know-who's power.

everything that he, percy, was not.

where they were cool he was awkward, where they were popular he sunk into the shadows, and where they were doted upon he was given a book and a drink to keep quiet.

merlin, even ron seemed to be more favoured than him, and he was starting his first ever year of hogwarts with twin brothers who took the mickey out of him ( fred and george ), an even older brother who tried do disassociate himself from lower year riff-raff ( percy ), a legacy left behind by brothers who'd graduated to become great things, and no possessions that were originally his own.

the only things he had in his trunk that hadn't been passed down from brother to brother was his collection of homemade knitted jumpers, the pile of corned beef sandwiches he gagged simply at the sight of and the writing set he'd been given on his eleventh birthday by their great aunt tessie.

but, where percy lacked a brain of street smart tips and popular wizard culture, he made up for in ingenuity and drive to over achieve even if he fizzled out before his newt exams in three years time. and yet, percy still wasn't doing anything original or generically 'him' he realised when his prefects badge had landed in his bowl of porridge at the breakfast table one morning - bill had already been a prefect and then gone on to be head boy, charlie had smashed it out the park with his outstanding newt results too.

so he worked day and night, stalked the garden for muggle fireflies he could keep in a jar on his desk to observe for his summer task from the muggle studies teacher, poured himself over text book upon text book, any reading material he could get his hands on to put him in good standing for his owl year starting in september. percy snatched coloured pencils from ginny's desk draw when she was helping ron fling disorientated gnomes over the garden hedge to draw himself up a revision timetable, scheduled to start the first day back after the welcome feast.

he was going to pass his exams with flying colours, attend every single optional class and wrangle help out of his teachers if it was the last thing he did. even getting over himself to ask one of the students in the year above who was taking newt level potions to boost his grade up from an 'e' to a 'o'.

anything to see the look on olympia slughorn's face when the name 'percy weasley' was printed above hers in the top slot when the student rankings in each class was posted anonymously at the end of each month, like they had been since before his parents could remember.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

olympia slughorn was in a deeply committed one sided relationship with percy weasley - she hated him more than anything in the world and she wouldn't trust him as a confidante as far as she could launch him with a beaters bat. it wouldn't be too great of a distance compared to those who were on the slytherin quidditch team could hit, but she still had a good shot and that was enough for her.

he poked his nose into business it didn't belong, tried too hard to cosy up to his teachers by snitching on members of his class if a piece of homework was overdue, and constantly tried to ask her overly complex questions about origins of ingredients for her potions in effort to throw her off. it never worked, though. olympia had prevailed at the top of only one class in her entire four years at hogwarts thus far, and that was potions.

it ran though her blood, it was the one thing the slughorn's had in their legacy apart from her great uncle horace's self titled 'slug club' from his teaching days at hogwarts. he'd retired the year olympia was due to start attending the magical boarding school but still sent her various potion ingredients and recipes to create during the term time.

potions was the only subject she was predicted an 'o' in.

potions was the only thing she wanted to continue doing for the rest of her life.

there was no other option. percy weasley had to learn his place in the pecking order, and olympia knew just the way to ensure it.

she holed herself up in the small library room of the slughorn estate, significantly smaller in size compared to the lestrange manor that was dissed and had fallen into disrepair and the malfoy manor guarded with towering iron gates and white peacocks. there was seven floor to ceiling book cases in the library dedicated to potions, ingredients, poignant moments in wizarding history that advanced the world of potions, magical creatures host to rare ingredients that cost an arm and a leg to purchase.

olympia prized her validation just above thwarting anyone that was standing in her way, deliberate or not. she would snap her vintage muggle 'the beatles' records over the stone gargoyles over the front door of the house if the student rankings were posted and the name 'olympia slughorn' was printed below 'percy weasley'.

next part here

🪩⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊🪶

[strxwberrymoonstar]

heyy i love your blog the fics are so cute!!! i wanted to kindly ask you if you could do a fic with neville? i love the way you portray him in your stories. usually others just write him off as sme shy weak boy but you portray him in such a special way, like yes he is shy but theres more to him than just loving plants and being inroverted, and i respect you so much for it. i was wonderng if you could do a big headcanon or fic centering around neville having a crush on the reader or him being the reader's boyfriend? i just miss him sm :(

Holy shit thank you so much!! I’ll try to make one about him being the reader’s boyfriend and them getting ready for classes!

this was so overdue and it sucks im so sorry, but i want to post it now and i’ll come back to it a in bit to update it <3

—————————————————————

Neville X reader - a sunny morning

The sharp sun ray’s sneak through the castle’s curtains as you lift the blanket up and over your head.

A yawn surpasses your lips as you lift your hand up to block the sun that reveals itself. Your eyes blink slowly, trying to get the sleep out of them as you move to sit up.

You lift the blanket off of your head and throw it away from your body. Lifting yourself off your bed while another yawn sneaks pass as you walk to the end of your bed, where your clothes lie.

Your warm pyjamas shimmy off of your skin as you put on your Hogwarts attire. You check yourself out in the mirror once last time before heading out the door.

The soft chatter fills the Gryffindor’s home room, people scattered all over the free chairs and sofas while some are studying at the tables over by the windows.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” a warm hand touches your tricep lovingly, giving it a soft squeeze. A warmth fills your body as you subconsciously lean towards him, his arms coming to rest around your shoulders as you lean backwards onto his chest. He places his chin on top of your head. “How did you sleep?” he asks, the breath of his words moving your hair slightly.

“It was good, missed you though,” You say, a sigh following your sentence. He squeezes your shoulders a bit tighter, a comforting reminder that he’s there. “That’s okay sweets, i’m here now,” Neville says, leaning down beside your head to place a quick peck onto your cheek.

[dreamcubed]

i did something bad | tom riddle x reader

song; i did something bad [taylor swift] pairing; tom riddle x fem!slytherin!half-blood!eastern european!reader genre; s2l, angst, hurt comfort(ish) word count; 6,5k timeline; tom riddle's last year at hogwarts warnings; referenced child abuse (physical/psychological/verbal), discrimination (muggle-borns), minor character deaths, minor character murders, swearing, extreme manipulation, toxic/unhealthy relationship, srsly tom is so manipulative to y/n, blackmail summary; an orphaned boy with sinister plans for the future, and a new girl who is about to discover she may be just as bad as her parents. what happens when they meet?

fyi i do mix up the order that tom makes the horcruxes a bit :)

PSA | Please Read | y/n is EXTREMELY morally unethical by the end of this. i do not condone such a moral compass, this is a work of fiction and should be treated as such.

masterlist

"you say i did something bad, then why's it feel so good?"

———————————

Hogwarts had a friendlier presence than Durmstrang - but maybe you just had bad memories associated with the latter.

The flashbacks of backstabbing friends and relentless bullying, with you not even getting a break from physical and mental torture during the holidays.

Why?

Well, that was a story.

As like many magic families from the Durmstrang catchment zone, pure-blood supremacist idealism was strong, coupled with the muggle-born hatred that came as a result. Your father's family was no exception: the purest of the pure when it came to blood, or so they claimed.

A stark difference from your mother: a muggle-born.

Only, she didn't tell him that, she lied and told your father (and everyone else for that matter) that she was a pure-blood witch, and the reason they didn't know of her family is because she was from Western Europe (which she was) and fed into Beauxbatons instead. After all, she didn't meet your father until post-education at a European wizarding event.

It wasn't until after marrying and falling pregnant with your father's child did she reveal the truth, burning your father's reputation on the spot. Evidently, your mother had thought that locking down a pregnancy with your father would prevent him from divorcing her - she was dead wrong. Literally, dead wrong.

You would never be sure, but you suspected that your father's family had something to do with your mother dying during childbirth. After all, magic medicine meant there were rarely fatalities around labour.

After you were born and your mother was dead, you were kept as hushed child, hidden away in the corners as your father remarried a woman of a well-known Swedish pure-blood family and continued on to have pure-blood heirs to your family's estate. In all fairness, your stepmother wasn't horrible to you.

But your father was.

The physical and mental abuse you endured for years chipped away at your sanity, and your siblings grew to mirror your father's behaviour. They were younger than you, but there were more of them, and your friendships fell apart at Durmstrang after they enrolled and told everyone of the circumstances of your conception.

Your stepmother never particularly abused you, but she didn't do anything to stop the abuse either. She simply acted indifferent towards you, which given how everyone else was, made her your favourite person by default.

You hated your father and everything he had done to you.

You resented your mother and the situation she had put you in.

When your stepmother fell terribly sick, your father decided to send you away. Which, honestly, was the nicest thing he had ever done for you.

He sent you to live with another hushed secret of his family - even more hushed than you - his squib sister. After she was discovered to be magicless, she had been essentially banished to England where she then was put through all-year muggle boarding schools until she aged out of the system. You had never even heard her mentioned before, yet she welcomed you more warmly than anyone had before, and under your father's orders, you transferred to Hogwarts - the magic school closest to your aunt's residence.

So, there you were, at the beginning of seventh year in an entirely new school. The certified new girl.

Hogwarts was more welcoming, sure, but you didn't think the idea of friends appealed to you anymore. You had been a lone wolf for so long that being anything but seemed unnatural, you were just looking forward to not being bullied like you used to be.

You were sorted into Slytherin: the green house. Unfortunately, it seemed to be the one house that had a similar vibe to Durmstrang. Well, beggars can't be choosers, you thought.

The people in Slytherin gave you curious looks as you sat down, making you scowl.

"What?" you snapped.

They all mumbled, "Nothing," and looked back down at their plates, all apart from one.

The one boy that remained gazing at you curiously had a piercing stare, accompanied by his strong jaw and perfectly gelled hair.

You raised an eyebrow at him, "Can I help you?"

He cleared his throat, "Tom, Tom Riddle. As head boy, I am more than capable of answering any questions you have." His words came across as kind, but the sinister glint in his eye told you every sentence he spoke was just for show.

So, you rolled your eyes, and began eating your food.

***

Your very presence pissed Tom Riddle off.

Everything from the way your lips moved when you spoke to the colour of your eyes irritated him.

The way you answered shortly and curtly towards him, the way you didn't give him the time of day, the way you didn't hang off his every word.

The way you saw through his façade.

Tom Riddle hated it when things didn't go his way, despised it, even. He had learned to perfectly craft his words in such a silky smooth manner that both men and women fell at his feet. He could talk anyone around, fall into anyone's good graces.

But you didn't even give him a chance to build a positive rapport. It was like you smelled his true intentions on him the very second his cologne entered your nostrils. Which was an exaggeration: you were naturally mistrusting of people given your childhood, so you clung to any reason to dislike someone in order to give yourself a reason to avoid them and not risk exposing yourself to another betrayal.

Tom Riddle was too arrogant to realise you treated everybody the exact same way as you did him. He was but another face that could potentially harm you, like every other person in Hogwarts.

Your dorm mates had given up on trying to bond with you, so why wouldn't he?

"Miss L/N," Tom Riddle called to you after a potions lesson. Glances from other students came and went - Tom Riddle was not known for speaking to girls alone all that much.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, turning towards the head boy to raise your eyebrow at him.

"I feel as though we may have gotten off on the wrong foot," his words were calculated, "Perhaps I can amend that?"

His question - if it could be even called a question - was left open ended, leaving the ball in your court. You narrowed your eyes at him. "Amend what exactly?"

"The impression I have made upon you."

"Tom Riddle, I do not think about you outside of whenever you speak to me. There was nothing between us to be broken, and thus nothing to amend."

You picked up your bag and began leaving the classroom, only for the boy to quickly catch up to you. "But your responses have been so curt and... rude."

"Have you ever considered that maybe it's not personal? Maybe my attitude isn't a vendetta against you specifically?" you countered, refusing to even look in his direction.

"Yes, but-"

You stopped in your tracks and turned to him, "The world doesn't revolve around you, Tom Riddle. I treat everyone like this and I have no interest in a positive relationship with anybody here. Please leave me be like everyone else is doing."

And then you departed, only this time, Tom Riddle didn't follow you. He stood, stunned at your words.

Unfortunately, as big of an impact as your words had on him, they had the opposite effect of what you wanted.

Instead of him abandoning all thoughts of you and ignoring your existence, you became a person of incredible interest to the orphaned boy.

***

Tom Riddle moved to sit next to you in every single lesson you shared.

Tom Riddle would always sit next to you during meals.

And Tom Riddle would follow you around a significant amount of the time, always trying to make conversation with you. The conversations were very one-sided, and he didn't lose the arrogant aspect to his personality, nor ever show that he actually cared about you. He would just talk. Talk and talk.

Apart from during lessons when a teacher was talking: he was a studious boy and aimed to master every subject. You cherished those moments of silence.

"Great question, Mr Parkinson," your history of magic professor spoke as you came back to reality from your thoughts, "How does a man as evil as Grindelwald come to be?"

You glanced at Riddle's notebook which was full of notes.

"Bad people come from bad people," your professor stated, making your grip around your quill tighten to the point you snapped it.

Riddle observed your reaction curiously.

"Grindelwald was likely abused as a child, giving him an intense desire for power to make up for the lack of power he had while receiving the abuse."

Your English may not have been perfect, but you understood what the professor was saying all too well.

You couldn't be your father, you simply couldn't.

"We all have skeletons, L/N," arrived a whisper from Riddle in your ear. You turned to him in mild horror, feeling as if he could read you to your core as he gazed into your eyes.

That was when you felt him in your mind. You weren't all that familiar with legilimency, but you were almost entirely sure that Tom Riddle was using it on you.

You broke eye contact with him, but it was too late. He knew.

"Fascinating," he muttered, "Absolutely fascinating."

It felt like you couldn't keep up the cold exterior around Riddle anymore as you shrank in your seat, wishing the ground would swallow you whole.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," he said simply, "As long as you do a few things for me."

Fuck, blackmail.

***

Now you were the one who followed Tom Riddle around instead of him you. Despite maintaining a cold nature towards everyone else, you trailed behind the head boy like a scared little lamb - because you were. You didn't want people to know of your past in fear of being bullied again. You could no longer speak to him brashly, your voice would crack and quiver as you avoided eye contact with him, not wanting to feel so vulnerable with his presence in your mind again.

He hadn't even given you anything to do yet like he said he would, and it had been a week. Was it an empty threat?

No, that wasn't it. It fuelled his ego to have you following him around and maybe that was enough for him to keep your secret - for now.

***

"How do you feel about mudbloods?" he asked you one time, sat in the library together as you worked on your respective homework assignments.

You looked up at him and frowned. You had come to understand that 'mudblood' was an English insult for muggle-borns. "My mother was muggle-born."

"I am aware." Right, he had been in your mind. "But you're upset with her, yes? Her faking her blood status to your father ultimately led to your life being the way it is."

"What are you suggesting?"

"That she is an example of why mudbloods should not be allowed in this world. Her greed and selfishness is what killed her in the end."

"What caused you to be so hateful?" you asked - a bold question on your part. Your voice was timid as you spoke.

"Well, growing up in an orphanage doesn't help," he said, sitting back in his seat, "My mother was a pure-blood and my father was a muggle, and look what happened. Muggle culture should stay separate from the wizarding world. But that's only possible if mudbloods are eradicated."

You cast your eyes down to your work laid before you. Tom Riddle scared you. He scared you because he had the eyes of a cold-hearted man, and you knew what came from people with those kinds of eyes.

Riddle observed you as you zoned out, attempting to piece together your thoughts, which was difficult as your eyes weren't locked with his.

"You and I are not so different, Miss L/N," he spoke, "Relations between someone from muggle society and a pure-blood is what caused our childhoods to be so unfair. We have the right to retaliate."

"How do we know it wasn't the pure-blood's fault?"

"It doesn't matter whose fault it is, it simply proves that the two societies should not mix. Mudbloods are the bridge between them, and so we must break that bridge."

You exhaled slowly, daring to look up at Riddle but without looking in his eyes.

"Are you not angry? Angry for what has happened to you?"

"Of course I am, I-"

"Whose fault is it you ended up in an abusive situation?"

"Technically my mother's, but-"

"No, no buts. There's your answer, L/N."

You finally locked your eyes with his, but he didn't push into your mind like he did before.

"You think I'm going to abuse you like your father did, don't you?" he had drawn that conclusion without even using legilimency - was it that obvious?

At your lack of response, he hummed.

"I understand you are distrusting, but I do not wish to hurt you, Miss L/N. I am here to help you."

You stared at him blankly.

"Look, everyone else avoids you, thinks you are strange. But not me, I understand you. I'm the only person who understands you."

Considering his childhood, that was a fair observation, you thought.

"You need to learn to trust me," he said simply, "Because I am all you have."

"But, Riddle, I-"

"Tom," he corrected, "Call me Tom. You will never trust me if we continue to be so formal. May I call you by Y/N?"

You feebly nodded, unsure of what was happening to you in that moment.

"Perfect," he smiled a gorgeous yet uncanny smile that made you feel queasy, "If you are ever in dilemma, don't hesitate to come to me. I'm your only option, after all, but I'm a good option. I'm here for you."

You again nodded.

"I'm going to need you to verbally agree, Y/N."

"Y- yes, Tom," you words almost caught in your throat.

He smiled the eery smile again, "Glad to hear you're willing to build trust with me."

***

When he said to do some things for him you had thought he meant do his homework for him or something along those lines - apparently he meant join his muggle-born hate group. You didn't know where your life was heading, but you did know that you were becoming increasingly trapped.

With the amount of time you spent with Tom Riddle, rumours were beginning to flood around the castle that the head boy and the new girl were dating. He never corrected the rumours, not even once.

In fact, you were pretty sure it made him feel as if he had even more ownership of you.

"Students, it is with great sadness that I inform you today that a student by the name of Myrtle Warren has passed," the headmaster said during dinner, "Due to the circumstances of her death, the girls' toilets on the second floor will be shut until further notice, and an investigation into the cause of her death will be opened."

Although he didn't say the word 'murder', everybody knew, but they didn't know who. You, however, had a sneaking suspicion that was confirmed when your eyes met Tom's and he smirked at you.

Myrtle had been a muggle-born.

With an increased amount of fear you followed Tom as he departed from the table, as you usually did on your way back to the dungeons. He hardly acknowledged your presence, but you still heard mutters of how cute it was that you were always together as you passed the tables. Well, at least you weren't being bullied, you supposed.

And it wasn't like Tom ever harmed you - he was true to his word in that sense. So, maybe your fear was unwarranted.

In fact, this was the safest you had ever felt.

Was it Tom that made you feel this way? You glanced up at his stern expression as he walked, feeling your stomach twist when you heard someone in the corridor say, "Look, it's Riddle and his girlfriend." Girlfriend?

You continued to look at Tom, trying to fit the word boyfriend to him: he was handsome, that was for sure. And he cared about you, in a strange way, but cared nonetheless.

He was truthful about wanting to eradicate muggle-borns, as proven through Myrtle, so he must be truthful about not wanting to harm you as well. After all, if he had proved such an extreme thing about himself, a much milder thing such as caring for someone else's wellbeing was basically a given.

"Are you alright, Y/N?" his voice brought you out your thoughts, "You are staring off into space."

"Sorry," you mumbled, taking a deep breath before asking, "Are you my boyfriend?"

Tom stilled in his movements, turning to properly look at you, "What makes you ask?"

"Well, everyone says because we spend so much time together we must be dating," you said nervously, "And you don't correct them."

"If that's how you would like to describe our agreement, then so be it."

Agreement was a strong word.

"I don't correct rumours because I don't care for them," he added, "But if me being your boyfriend makes you more inclined to trust me, then I suppose I should thank the rumours."

"I don't... not trust you," you found yourself saying, which made Tom smile.

"Then all that's left is trust," he held out his hand to you, and you stared at it pensively for a few moments before taking it.

***

"Salazar, I sound just like my mother," a girl sat nearby you at dinner laughed in reference to her previous statement, her surrounding friends joining in with the giggling.

"Well, that's what they say. We become our parents," one of the friends added, which was a passing remark - but one that stuck with you.

You couldn't be like your father... you simply couldn't.

"Tom," you asked quietly after you were tucked away in the corner of the Slytherin common room together, "Do you think I am like my father?"

The boy looked up from his essay, "In terms of what? Appearance?"

You shook your head, "Personality."

He paused, "You are not entirely different."

That struck a chord in you, "But- but I'm not abusing anyone!"

"You are not pleasant to anyone who speaks with you," he said, "I assume the manner in which you talk is learnt from your father."

"No, I- I'm like that because I don't trust people!" your voice was exasperated, but not loud.

"Did your father trust you?"

At your lack of response, he continued talking.

"Darling-" that was new, "-when you are raised by bad people, you know more of how to be a bad person than somebody raised by good people. In fact, you know more of how to be a bad person than a good person in general. It can't be helped."

"Why not?" all the insecurities and self-doubt you had built over the years were now amplifying.

"Because it's your default learned behaviour."

"I- I..." honestly you felt like crying, "No, I can't be..."

Tom shushed you softly, "Don't fret. I understand you, remember? The others don't accept your flaws, but I do, because I have the same flaws."

"You just called me a bad person," you mumbled.

"Bad was perhaps the wrong word to use. Misunderstood or socialised differently are perhaps more fitting terms."

"We really can't change ourselves?"

"No, but we can find like-minded people and grow in numbers in order to change the structure of society. Make it a place for us and not them."

"That just seems so extreme."

Tom traced his fingers along your exposed arm, sending shivers up your spine, "Don't you think it's our time? The so-called good people have had their way for so long. We didn't choose to be 'bad', we were unlucky with who we were born to - we deserve compensation not societal neglect."

"I mean, I- I guess."

The head boy smiled at you: that uncanny yet charming smile he had equipped in his inventory for moments like these. Still, you hadn't been smiled at in such a way ever before, and couldn't help the fact it gave you butterflies.

You let the silence sit for a few moments, noticing how the common room was now practically empty because of how late it was. It hadn't been Tom's turn to do the prefect rounds that night.

With the absence of people, you felt safe enough to state, "It was you."

"It was me what?"

You let your eyes meet his for a brief few seconds, but he didn't attempt to enter your mind. "You know what. Who else would it have been?"

He hummed softly, "She would have just gone on to traumatise her future children with her muggle ways in some way or other."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. I was raised in a muggle orphanage. Muggles are cruel and horrible, and they cannot plague wizarding society."

You stared at him, no words coming to mind.

"Besides, her death was not without cause. I needed someone to die in order to ensure my immortality."

"What?"

Tom gave that smile again, before explaining something that only made you further aware of how twisted his mind was.

***

That night you lay awake in bed, thinking over everything Tom had told you about horcruxes and the basilisk that lived in a chamber beneath the school. You knew you weren't the only one that knew, as you weren't the only one who hung around him. Avery, Lestrange and Malfoy were also a part of Tom's 'movement', as he called it.

You didn't know what to do. You felt trapped within a relationship with Tom, since you now knew he was fully capable of murder and you knew too much about him to be able to distance yourself safely.

At the same time, a lot of what he said made sense, and maybe you were just harbouring more and more resentment for your mother, but you found yourself beginning to agree with him. I mean, you were sorted into a house that didn't allow muggle-borns into it, just like Durmstrang didn't allow muggle-borns at all. At this point, it was written in the stars that you weren't supposed to be fond of 'mudbloods', since you always wound up in spaces that despised them: your family, Durmstrang, Slytherin... and Tom Riddle.

It's not that you even had a choice anymore.

***

The Christmas holidays arrived, and you didn't think twice about signing yourself up to stay at Hogwarts for the two week period - Tom was obviously staying as well. It was weird, as you weren't sure if you should be getting him a gift for the day.

Despite the fact you had never kissed or even hugged, he was technically your boyfriend, so you reasoned that you should be getting him something. But what do you buy for a man whose only interests are world domination? On top of that, you had no money.

You could make him something.

And that was how you found yourself sat at your desk in your dormitory (which you had all to yourself until the next term), carving a snake out of a bit of wood you had (magically) cut from a part of your bed. It wasn't a large amount, just enough to make a small figurine, but you intended to charm it to create some sort of snake hologram that would erupt out of the wooden snake's mouth. Wood carving had been a common activity in your family growing up, although you always had to use the scraps of wood and blunt knives while your siblings got the good quality stuff.

Once you had completed the final step of perfecting the charm, you smiled proudly to yourself at your work and wrapped it up carefully.

***

Your routine since the Christmas holidays began was pretty simple: you, Tom and a second year were the only Slytherins staying, and there was only a handful from the other houses too. Every morning you would meet Tom in the common room at 8am and head to breakfast together, where you would eat plenty before heading to the library to study. Tom's studies were almost exclusively directed towards dark magic, meanwhile you worked to improve in your subjects, which you struggled more with due to English not being your first language.

Being head boy, Tom had basically permanent access to the restricted section, especially because he could get Professor Slughorn to sign off on anything. Everyday he learned darker and darker wizarding secrets, which scared you more than you would ever admit.

After morning studies, you would return to the Great Hall for lunch, and then Tom would insist on a walk around the castle grounds after a morning of mostly sitting down. Afternoon would be when he would have his meetings with Slughorn, whatever they were about, whilst you took the time to relax and decompress in the Slytherin common room with a good book.

Then it would be back again to the Great Hall for dinner, and then, since Tom didn't have prefect rounds to worry about, he would sit with you in the common room for a couple hours. Sometimes you chatted, sometimes you didn't.

"Y/N, darling," he spoke as he sat down next to you, the two of you having just returned from dinner. The second year was nowhere in sight.

You hummed, turning to look at him.

"Slughorn is starting to suspect my interest in dark magic is more than just curiosity."

"It is, isn't it?" you replied nonchalantly.

"Yes, but it is making him stop answering the questions I ask so easily. It is most frustrating."

"Maybe you should back off for a while then, build up trust again."

That was when Tom surprised you by dropping his head on to your shoulder, exhaling as he felt your warmth touch his cheek. "I'll have to. I just hate that it will cause a delay in my learning."

You nervously let your head rest against his as you pushed back the butterflies swarming in your stomach, wondering desperately how a man with such violent thoughts had only ever been so kind to you. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't so bad being trapped with him.

Tom's eyes fluttered shut as his body began relaxing, and you took the moment to work up the courage to initiate more affection. You reached out and took his thumb into your hand, since the rest of it was balled up and not easy to hold. He acknowledged the gesture by rubbing the back of your hand with his forefinger, without opening his eyes.

You were probably the first to see this soft side of Tom.

***

Christmas Day quickly rolled around, not that the day had ever particularly meant much to you. So many years had been spent with you watching your half-siblings open their luxurious gifts, meanwhile you got a new pair of socks if you were lucky. That was until you were at Durmstrang, where you always stayed behind for the holidays while your half-siblings went home to loving parents that you never got.

Tom's Christmases had probably been even worse when they were spent at an orphanage. At least you were allowed a small portion of the grand Christmas meal at your childhood home. Orphans likely got the usual everyday food.

Regardless, you weren't expecting anything when you left your dormitory and entered the Slytherin common room. The Durmstrang Christmas feasts had made the traditional food your favourite part of the day, and you were simply hoping Hogwarts could top the delicacies. You were pleasantly surprised to see Tom already in the common room on the sofa by the tree, holding a neatly wrapped gift.

You couldn't help but smile at him as he noticed your presence, and clutched your gift for him behind your back as you approached his location.

"Merry Christmas, darling," he said to you, rising in order to greet you properly.

"Merry Christmas, Tom," you replied, standing still in front of him.

"I got you something," he said, holding out the box.

You accepted it and presented your gift to him, "And I got you something."

He smiled a small smile and accepted your present, moving in sync with you as you sat down to eagerly open the parcels.

You were absolutely shocked to uncover an absolutely gorgeous white gold ring with a snake design wrapping around, and two large emeralds in place of the snake's eyes. You had seen many expensive things in your life, but you had never had the privilege of touching one - let alone owning one. Looking over at Tom to search for some sort of answer, you received none as he was too busy gazing at the illusion you had spent ages charming.

"It's beautiful, darling."

"Thank you," you couldn't help but be shy, "I don't have any money so I could only make you something."

He smiled, "What do you think of my gift?"

"Oh, Tom, it's- it's gorgeous," you were speechless, "I- I don't know what to say. Thank you. Thank you so much."

"It's to your taste, then?"

You didn't hesitate to nod.

"Lovely, I was hoping it would be. I had to resist using legilimency to confirm."

"Why didn't you?"

"I want you to trust me, doll, and invading your mind won't get you there, will it?"

You softly shook your head, shifting closer to him so you could embrace him in a side hug. He turned his body to hold you properly, and as you buried your face in his chest, you smelled a scent that you had never had the privilege of smelling before: the scent of home.

Tom was your home - he had to be. He was the safest place for you to be in all regards, and that was what a home was, right?

"But what's the ring for?" you asked as you pulled away from the embrace.

"It's for my darling," he said simply, and he didn't elaborate.

But as you tried it on all your fingers, you found that the only one it fit perfectly snug on was your ring finger.

Perhaps that was a coincidence.

***

You had taken to wearing the ring at all times, and you could tell Tom liked it that way, having that mark of ownership on you. Due to the finger on which you wore the piece of jewellery, you received many comments from students and teachers when they returned after New Year's.

"Is congratulations due?" Professor Slughorn had asked during the first potions class of the new year, to which you had merely smiled as you didn't know what to say.

It didn't matter, though, because the rumour spread through the castle quick enough to be considered a well-known fact. Tom Riddle and Y/N L/N being engaged was simply a fact at Hogwarts, and no one had ever debated it.

It wasn't unusual for seventh year couples to get engaged: in fact, it seemed that your 'engagement' had triggered a domino effect of more proposals.

You supposed this probably happened every year after there was a first couple to announce their engagement. Girls pushing more hints towards their boyfriends to get them to ask to tie the knot, probably somewhat out of jealousy and not wanting to be left behind.

"How many kids are you going to have?" one of your dorm mates asked at lunch - the first time she had bothered speaking to you in a while.

"I- I don't know," you had never felt safe enough to even consider if you wanted kids. It's not like you even had a good role model to base your parenting off of. Her question had caught you so off guard you failed to even put up the cold exterior you held for everyone except Tom.

"I think I want four," the girl continued, "I want a kinda big family but not overwhelmingly big, you know?"

You nodded absently.

"But if my husband wants more then I guess I would consider it," she said pensively, "How many does Riddle want?"

"I haven't asked Tom," your cold tone finally caught up to you.

"Asked me what?" your 'fiancé' arrived at the table and sat next to you, greeting you with a kiss on the cheek - which he had never done before. The girls opposite you awed at his behaviour.

"How many kids you want," the same girl reiterated.

You watched as Tom chewed on his cheek a bit before saying, "As many as my wife wants, it's her body that has to go through the turmoil after all."

Your dorm mates began murmuring about how considerate that was of Tom, and how one of the girl's boyfriends was insistent on at least three kids with no room for negotiation.

"Salazar, L/N, now we all want your man," one of the girls joked.

You turned to look at Tom to see that he wasn't even looking in their direction, and instead looking at you.

***

"This diary is my first horcrux," Tom explained to you, handing the book over. He had surprised you by showing you the Chamber of Salazar Slytherin, where the basilisk who killed Myrtle under Tom's orders (as you learned) resided. Despite the fact you hadn't seen the giant snake, you were nervous. "This is what Warren died for."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" you asked, flicking through the pages of the diary.

"You weren't ready to think too much about my plans, as you were still processing the motive," he said, handing you a quill and ink pot, "Write in the diary."

You frowned, but took the quill and dipped it in ink, before writing a simple message of 'hello'.

You nearly jumped out your skin when the diary replied to you.

"What is this?"

"I've charmed the part of my soul in the diary to be able to interact with whoever's writing in it, and in the case I lose the body I currently have, drain the life force of this hypothetical person to create a new body for me."

Regardless of your feelings about the matter, you had to give it to Tom that he was incredibly intelligent.

"So, I suggest you don't write anymore in it," he said, taking the diary back, "I quite like you alive."

"You're immortal now."

He hummed, "After we leave Hogwarts, I would like to continue making more. I want them to be grand, meaningful items, like the valuable objects of each house here."

"Like the sword of Gryffindor?"

"Yes, but that one wouldn't be very wise to pick. It's kept in the headmaster's office."

You nodded, "What are the others?"

"Ravenclaw's diadem, Slytherin's locket and Hufflepuff's cup."

"And which one do you want to use?"

He sighed, looking around the gloomy chamber, "Ideally, all three of them."

***

APPROX. SIX YEARS LATER.

***

You returned home with bags of food weighing your hands down, a playful song replaying in your mind in a loop. This was a normal day for you, thus far, as you entered the household that you shared with your husband, Tom Riddle. It was a house in the middle of nowhere, as he preferred it.

As you walked into the kitchen, you couldn't help but notice that it seemed way too quiet - normally you could feel Tom's presence from his work study, but today you couldn't. After checking the office to confirm he wasn't there, you turned back towards the kitchen to unpack the shopping (presuming he was simply out somewhere and forgot to mention) when you noticed that the door to the cellar was slightly open.

Ensuring your wand was definitely on your person, you entered through the door of rotting wood and slowly made your way down the stone slab stairs. You peered around the corner to see Tom stood across from a slumped figure in the corner, and between them stood a small table with Slytherin's locket set on it. Next to the locket was a wand, but it wasn't Tom's since he was holding his.

You had never witnessed Tom during his... dark magic... before.

You observed as Tom slightly turned his back to the captive person, reading carefully a page of the dusty book he was holding. It was then, to your horror, that the person got up and rushed to grab their wand from the table, beginning to say the fatal killing curse, "Avada kedav-"

"Avada kedavra!"

Tom turned around in shock, looking between you with your wand extended, and the now-corpse on the cold stone floor. All you could do was stare in horror at what you had done.

Only, the horror didn't come from the fact you had just killed someone for the first time - no, the horror came from the fire pumping in your veins and making you feel alive. Why did something so bad make you feel so good? It was like a drug - unholy but godly all the same.

"Darling?" Tom snapped you out of your thoughts, and you finally lowered your wand, "Darling, are you okay?"

You nodded, finding yourself breathless as your husband embraced you.

"You saved my life."

"You're immortal, my love."

"You saved me the hassle of creating a new body," he corrected, parting from you to look down at your face, "How do you feel?"

You exhaled slowly, "Exhilarated."

He raised an eyebrow at you.

"Were they a mudblood?"

Tom's face displayed even more surprise: you had never referred to muggle-borns in such a way before. "Yes, doll, but I'll need a new one now to finish this horcrux."

"Sorry."

"Don't be," he chuckled, pecking your lips, "Never apologise for the death of mudbloods."

You gave him a small smile, "I'm apologising for the kidnapping hassle you now have to go through again, not the death."

"I'm in love with you," he said quickly, staring at you with his piercing eyes.

You beamed up at Tom: your lover, your devil, your rock.

"I'm in love with you too."

———————————————

masterlist

written; 08/03/2023 —> 19/03/2023 published; 20/03/2023 edited; —/—/——

taglist ; @workinatdapyramid

[obriens-world]

Hello!

My name is Phoebe and I am new to writing on tumblr! I have been writing for years now and have even wrote a fanfiction on wattpad (mygbeebs) Currently, I'm planning my novel but in the mean time I want to express my love for certain characters to people who also feel the same way! I would love for people to send in requests of what they want to read as long as it is something I am comfortable writing.

I DO NOT WRITE SMUT!!

I ONLY WRITE X READER FICS

At the moment, I will only be writing for a couple fandoms but if I become more popular I will be willing to introduce more:

The Maze Runner (Books and movies):

-Thomas, Minho, Frypan, Gally

Harry Potter (movies only):

-Harry, Ron, Draco, Mattheo, Theo Nott, Tom Riddle

Marauders:

-Sirius, Remus, Regulus, James

Hogwarts Legacy:

-Sebastian Sallow, Ominis Gaunt, Garreth Weasley, (potentially a male oc in the future but I haven't made one yet!)

[mushrubes]

Ends now

Masterlist | Harry Potter masterlist |

Requested : no

prompt 113.  “Our relationship ends now.” 

Pairing : Remus Lupin x (they/them) reader

Type : Angst

Word count : 297

have a great day/night!! <3

------------------------------------

“Y/n, listen to me, he didn’t do it!” Remus pleaded as Y/n read the words over and over again. “I know him!” Remus defended, Y/n shaking their head at him and placing the newspaper down. “So, who is it then Remus?” Y/n argued, not knowing who else could possibly be responsible. “He was there during the day on the night they were killed!” they shouted, Remus biting his tongue. He completely understood them, knowing he felt the exact same when he had found out. Sirius had recently been at Hogwarts, so he had the chance to talk to him after he had exposed Peter. However, he had underestimated how hard it would be to tell Y/n, knowing there was ‘evidence’ for Sirius but there was nothing towards Peter.

He tried not saying a word, knowing that if they knew he had spoken to Sirius, they wouldn’t be happy with him. “Because I’ve spoken to him!” he burst out, his heart dropping as he saw the disbelief on Y/n’s face. “No, no, no, you’re lying. There’s no way.” Y/n denied, refusing to believe him. They looked for a glimmer in his eyes, a signal that he was lying but there was nothing. He wasn’t doing anything like rocking on his heels which he did unconsciously when lied and his voice didn’t raise to a higher pitch. “Please tell me you’re lying.” they whispered, Remus frowning and looking at the ground. “Remus?” they whispered, seeing him unable to meet their eyes. “I’m sorry...” He mumbled, Y/n’s eyes misting and tears starting to fall. “Our relationship ends now, Remus.” they declared, Remus now crying as well as he tried to step forward. “Y/n, please, don’t do this.” he asked, his heart breaking as he saw them looking broken. 

“Get out.”

[atypicalamortentia]

Disappear || Percy Weasley

Synopsis - Ron looses you on your trip to the Weasley house.

Warnings - NSFW.

Notes - Characters are 18+!

Word Count - 1.2k.

[Caffeinate Me]

Ron was beyond confused, not to mention worried. He ran into the bedroom where Harry and Hermione were sitting, reading their books, before pacing up and down with his hands in his messy ginger hair. “Shit, shit shit.” 

Harry looked at Ron with a puzzled expression. “What’s wrong?” He asked. 

Ron gulped, looking at his two friends with wide eyes. “I’ve lost Y/N.”

“What do you mean you’ve ‘lost Y/N’?” Hermione asked as she narrowed her eyes. 

“Well,” Ron started, stroking the back of his neck with his hands. “She was outside with me, helping me put up the Christmas lights. I came inside to turn them on, you know, to see if they looked decent and when I went back she was gone!” 

“Oh honestly Ronald, you had one job!” Hermione groaned, rolling her eyes. 

“It’s not my fault!” Ron exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. “I didn’t think she’d give me the slip! So… Neither of you have seen her?” 

Harry and Hermione shook their heads before Harry spoke up, “are you sure she isn’t with Fred and George? She’s quite close to them.” 

Ron’s eyes widened as he nodded. “Good idea! I’ll ask them!”

Ron then bolted out of the room as fast as he could, leaving Harry and Hermione sitting there shaking their heads and laughing. When Ron reached the twins room, he didn’t even bother knocking. He slammed the door open, breathing heavily. Fred and George looked at their brother, confusion lacing their faces. “What is it?” They asked simultaneously. 

“Have you seen Y/N?” Ron asked, but the twins just shook their heads. 

“No. We haven’t. Wasn’t she supposed to be helping you put up the Christmas decorations outside?” Fred asked, looking at George with a grin on his face. 

Ron nodded. “Yeah. But she gave me the slip. I was hoping she’d be with you!” 

“Nope,” George replied. “You must have bored her half to death.” 

“Ha ha very funny,” Ron said as he rolled his eyes. “I’ll ask Percy.” 

“Haven’t seen him leave his room. Doubt he would have seen her,” Fred pointed out. “Have you checked the farm? Maybe she went to see the animals.” 

“She has to be there,” Ron nodded. “She couldn’t have just disappeared.” And with that, he ran off to check the livestock peppered around the outside of the Weasley home. 

Meanwhile you were in Percy’s room. You were hovering above him, hand over his mouth to quieten down the moans and whimpers that were threatening to leave his lips as you rode him. Your hips moved expertly against his, but cautiously, ready to jump off if anybody was to interrupt the two of you. You had been dating Percy in secret for a few months now, and would always disappear to his room when nobody was looking. “‘M gonna cum,” Percy whimpered against your hand, his hips thrusting up to meet yours in a chaotic rhythm. 

“Shh pretty boy,” you whispered quietly and Percy nodded as tears sprung to his eyes. The pleasure you were giving him was too much to handle. His arms flew to your waist, keeping you doing the same movements over and over again as he pulled you flush against his bare chest. The sudden movement caused your hand to fall from his mouth, but Percy was quick to smash his lips against yours, kissing you desperately. You swallowed his moans as he finally came, his hips stuttering as thick ropes of white coated your insides. Your hips slowed down to a halt as your lips glided across his effortlessly. 

“Merlin,” Percy whispered against your lips before pulling away and gazing into your eyes. You shifted your weight and rolled off of him, laying down on your back and breathing deeply as you stared at the ceiling. You found yourself giggling quietly as you heard Ron’s voice carry throughout the house. 

“She’s not there!” Ron cried as he ran through the halls, opening all the doors but Percy’s and peering into the rooms. 

“I should go and relieve your brother from the torture of trying to find me,” you say looking at Percy with a grin. 

He pouted, pulling your body close to his and pressing a tender kiss on your temple. “Do you have to go?” 

“Y/N! Y/N where are you?” Ron’s voice echoed. 

You looked at Percy and nodded. “I’ll be back, you can count on it.” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” he smiled, watching as you stood up from the small bed and dressed yourself. “You’re so beautiful.” 

You blushed at Percy’s words and straightened your hair, looking into the mirror to make sure you looked presentable. When you were satisfied with how you looked, you turned to Percy and grinned, bending down to kiss him on the lips softly. “I’ll see you later handsome,” you whispered against his lips. 

“Not if I see you first,” he replied cheekily as you pulled away from his lips. You rolled your eyes playfully as you turned to leave Percy’s room. You checked both ways down the halls to make sure nobody was there, turning to give Percy one last smile before exiting his room. You quickly made your way to Harry and Hermione, trying to come up with an excuse as to where you had been in your head. When you entered the room, the two friends looked up at you with a smile on their faces. 

“Y/N!” Hermione exclaimed, jumping up from her position and hugging you. “Where have you been?” 

“I went to check on the chickens,” was all you could come up with. Harry raised an eyebrow at you, but didn’t say anything. 

“Y/N? Is that you?” Ron asked, barrelling into the room with a grin on his face. “There you are! Bloody hell, I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

“She was with the chickens,” Harry said, a smile on his face. Ron looked slightly confused, but thankfully didn’t question you any further. Instead, he wrapped his arm around your shoulder. 

“Fancy helping me with the rest of the decorations?” He grinned. 

You nodded, excited that Christmas was just around the corner. “Of course!” 

You followed Ron out of the room and down the hall, passing Percy on the way who was heading to the bathroom. He eyed you lovingly although his posture was stern. You didn’t know how much longer you’d be able to keep up your secret relationship, especially since you kept disappearing every time you went to the Weasley house to rendezvous with Percy. But for now, you were content. You sighed dreamily as you passed your lover in the hall, his hand skimming yours and quickly intertwining around your fingers before pulling away. A subtle gesture to let you know that he was thinking of you. Ron, who was completely oblivious to what had happened, continued walking to the loft to get more Christmas decorations down. You smiled at Percy before quickly following his younger brother, holding the ladder for him to climb up. When Ron finally re-emerged he was holding a container full of decorations, a wide grin on his face. “Here we are! I hope you’re not going to disappear again, we have a lot more to put up!” 

You chuckled. “I’ll try my hardest not to.”

Ron narrowed his eyes, but quickly found the funny side of your joke, nodding along. “Well if you do, at least tell me where you’re going next time. I was worried!” 

“I will do,” you said, knowing full well you would disappear again and not tell anyone where you were going. It was the norm now, and everyone just had to be okay with that.

[fear-less]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 led by blind faith

pairing: harry potter x reader

warnings: smut, first time, ngl ending is rushed, use of y/n, fem reader lol sorry, p in v, unprotected sex oops, hand & blow job, first time writing smut…😭, somewhat jumps right into it, let me know if i missed anything

1.3k words ^_^

a/n: first time writing smut…so it’s not that good but the ending is cause it’s fluffy :3😭 also, false god lyrics as the titled we r cheered (i cant come up w titles so they’re always taylor inspired 🔥)

You and Harry were in your bedroom, after a few days of convincing him to come to yours during the holidays he had finally said yes.

It was 20 past 10, you were on top of him, kissing, the movie playing in the background long forgotten. Kissing was always the farthest thing you two have done, only dating for a few months.

But as the months have gone by, you have slowly been wanting more, more than kissing. nonetheless, you never brought it up to Harry afraid he would not want to go that far just few months into dating.

But now, you didn’t want to stop at just kissing, you wanted to go all the way. so now, here you were sitting on Harry’s lap, legs around his torso making out, few minutes in you started moving your hips, dry humping him.

“Mmm, Y/n, what’re you doing?” Harry said, catching his breath.

“do you want me to stop?” you said smirking knowing he probably wouldn’t want to stop, feeling him get hard beneath you.

“No, please don’t stop” Harry said whining, bringing you back into the kiss. His hands roamed your body, igniting every nerve with a tingling sensation. The soft sighs and gasps that escaped your lips mingled with the sound of heavy breathing, creating a symphony of desire.

Your movements became more urgent and rhythmic, each grind of your hips against his eliciting a low growl from Harry’s throat. The friction between your bodies sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, heightening every touch and kiss

Harry felt the tantalizing edge of release drawing near, his breaths shallow and ragged with anticipation. Just as he was on the brink, you abruptly halted, leaving him whining in frustration as the waves of pleasure ebbed away.

“Why’d you stop?” Harry’s voice cracked with need, his eyes pleading for the blissful sensation to continue a little longer.

You met his gaze with a mischievous smirk, relishing in the power you held over his pleasure. As Harry huffed in mild annoyance, your smirk deepened, knowing the effect your actions were having on him. With a deliberate movement, you peeled off your shirt, revealing a sight that made Harry’s annoyance evaporate into thin air.

Harry’s eyes widened in awe as he took in the sight before him, his breath hitching at the sudden rush of desire that engulfed him. The soft glow of the room cast a tantalizing sheen over your exposed skin, accentuating every curve and contour in a way that left Harry spellbound.

Without a word, Harry reached out, his fingertips tracing the outline of your bare shoulders, a silent plea for permission and affirmation. You met his touch with a subtle arch of your back, inviting him closer, igniting a primal hunger that had been simmering beneath the surface.

The air crackled with electricity as Harry’s lips found yours once again, a fervent urgency driving their movements. Every kiss was a symphony of longing and exploration, each touch a declaration of unspoken desires.

With trembling hands, Harry continued to explore the canvas of your skin, his touch tentative yet eager, as if afraid to break the spell that bound you together. But there was no turning back now, the floodgates of passion had been opened, and both of you were swept away in the torrent of raw, unbridled need.

Soon enough, you found yourself laying on your stomach, in between Harry’s legs. His pants off and left in his boxers, palming his hard on through them.

After a few seconds, you took his boxers off, his cock now in your hands, dragging your fist up and down. Loving how Harry was reacting, seeing him like this made your panties wet, embarrassingly wet.

“Please, use your mouth,” you hesitate for a moment before taking him into your mouth, exploring the length of his cock with your tongue.

His hands finding their way to your hair, pulling at it when wants you to go deeper.

"Oh fuck yes...", he moans, biting his lower lip. His cock throbs against your tongue, wanting more attention as he leans against your bed frame for support.

You take him deeper into your mouth, sucking gently on the head while your hand strokes the rest in time with your bobbing actions. “Mmm, just like that, baby...", he pants, his hips starting to move in rhythm with your mouth.

Harry’s grip in your hair tightens more, jerking his hips foward. "Please keep going... I'm close," he whines, his voice strained. "Don't stop now."

You keep going, taking him deeper into your mouth. The thought of making him cum making you eager.

Harry’s breathing is ragged now, his body trembling of pleasure. "I'm gonna cum princess...," he warns, his voice rough from need.

He groans, his hips jerking forward as he empties himself into your mouth. His hot cum fills you up, causing you to gag a little bit as he fills your mouth up, you swallow it and pull your mouth off his still hard cock, you sit up slowly.

Harry grabs your waist and pushes you down onto the bed, your legs now wrap around his waist and your arms around his neck. He takes off your sleep shorts and moves your panties to the side, revealing your glistening pussy.

“You’re so soaked sweetheart..” He whispers, sliding two fingers in you making you moan his name. He pumps his fingers in and out of you in a slowly before taking his fingers out and putting them into his mouth, groaning at the taste.

He loved the sight of you in nothing but your panties, laying underneath him, everything about you would be just so perfect to him, it makes his stomach flutter.

“I need more, Harry, need you inside me” you panted softly, rocking your hips against his hand.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he laughed breathily,

rolling his hips against you again, coating his cock in your already leaking juices before catching on your entrance and achingly slowly sinking into your plush walls and making you arch your back.

“I love you,” he murmured against your neck feeling your wall already fluttering around him. Pulling himself almost completely free of you but thrusts back into you lazily, setting a slow but steady pace that was driving you crazy with each stroke. “I love you so much.”

“Harry, I love you too,” you almost sobbed as your climax washed over you your walls clenching around him tightly.

“I love you more” He grinned, he gives a few more thrusts before allowing himself to fall over the edge and fill you with his warm seed.

In the quiet aftermath, a serene calm settled over the room, punctuated only by the soft sounds of your synchronized breathing. Harry’s arms wrapped protectively around you, his touch gentle and reassuring as he traced soothing circles along your back.

With whispered words of affection and reassurance, you both savored the intimacy of the moment, basking in the warmth of each other’s presence. The tenderness in Harry’s gaze spoke volumes, a silent promise of care and understanding that transcended words.

As the world outside remained oblivious to the shared intimacy you had just experienced, you found solace in the cocoon of love and trust that surrounded you both. Harry’s fingers trailed lazily through your hair, his touch a soothing melody that lulled you into a state of contentment.

In that sacred space of aftercare, boundaries dissolved, and vulnerabilities were embraced. The unspoken bond between you deepened, strengthened by the shared vulnerability and tenderness of the moment.

Together, you reveled in the simple yet profound act of caring for each other, finding solace and comfort in the gentle aftermath of passion. It was in these moments of intimacy and aftercare that the true essence of your connection blossomed, a testament to the depth of your love and the unspoken emotions that bound you together.

[mentally-in-northern-italy]

The Evan piece was EVERYTHING! We need a part two with a happy ending 🤧

(If you're down to write it, no obligation at all!)

Ahhhh you have no idea how happy I am ppl are acc reading that😭😭😭 I WOULD BE SO DOWN FOR PT2 (… and may have already started writing it).

[sumsumstrashbin]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐧 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐳𝐞 ~ 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ✧

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 𝟖𝟓𝟎

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲?

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

The sound of leaves crunched beneath your feet as the breeze flowed through your hair. It was a brisk autumn day in the town you resided in, and the market was bustling with wizarding families picking out pumpkins and other goodies. 

You walked hand in hand with James, your partner of five years, and husband of one. He swung your hands together as you walked, chatting about your surroundings. 

“Care for a candy apple, love?” He asked, approaching one of the booths. 

“Sure.” You smiled, letting go of his hand to let him pay.

He held it out to you, waiting for you to take it. As you reached out to take it, he yanked it out of reach. “Excuse me, miss, you owe me some form of payment for this.” He quipped. “A kiss would be sufficient, I suppose.”

You rolled your eyes, giving him a peck on the lips. He then handed the apple to you, taking his compact 35mm film camera out of his pocket. “Smile.”

You held the apple up, giving him your best smile as he snapped the photo. 

“That’s going to turn out lovely.” He grinned, putting the camera back in his pocket. 

You had become very familiar with his camera, as he had a habit of snapping candid photos of you whenever he thought you looked too gorgeous to not be photographed. Despite magical cameras being readily available, he was quite fond of his muggle camera, capturing still photographs rather than the more common moving photos. He also liked bringing the camera into the bedroom, as he couldn’t resist taking a photo or two of you in rather compromising situations. He always kept two photos of you in his wallet: his favourite photo of you during your years at Hogwarts, and one more intimate photo of you that he tucked away behind the other one for “safe keeping”. 

The two of you spent most of the afternoon in the market, and he ensured to spoil you with anything that you may have glanced at for even a second. You ended up at a jewellery booth, admiring a beautiful locket on display. You decided against buying it, as you were content with the things James had already bought for you, so you put it back down and walked off. You quickly realised that James wasn’t following you, so you looked back, only to see him jogging after you.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you weren’t following me.” You said, taking his hand. You felt something cool and metallic inside of his palm, and he looked down at you with a grin. He placed the object into your hand, while you watched him, confused. When you opened your hand, you found the locket.

“James, you shouldn’t have. It was expensive, and you’ve already bought me enough stuff.”

“I couldn’t resist. It’ll look so beautiful on you. Let me put it on for you.” He took it, stepping behind you to put it on your neck. His minty breath fanned against the back of your neck, and the cool metal of the locket against your skin sent chills through your body. No matter how long you were together, he still managed to give you butterflies. He pressed a loving kiss to the side of your neck before turning you around to have a look at the necklace.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful.” You smiled up at him, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Hold on, I need to get another picture. Stand right there.”

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

On the way back to your home, the two of you walked through a quiet park, full of the gorgeous colours of autumn. A rustling sound came from a pile of leaves under a tree, breaking the silence.

“What was that?” You queried, looking over to the source of the sound. 

“Probably just the wind.” James answered.

The rustle was heard again, causing him to turn towards the leaf pile as well. Just as he was about to speak, a small black cat emerged from the leaves, looking at the two of you.

You dropped to your knees, calling it over. “Oh my goodness, what a cutie! Come here!”

“Y/n, I don’t know if calling a random stray cat over is a good idea.” He said, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“Nonsense. It’s just a baby.” You said, watching as the cat slowly approached you. You allowed it to sniff your hand, before it began rubbing its face all over you for pets. 

“Can we keep it, James? Please? It has no collar, and it’s so cute!” You smiled, scratching the cat’s head.

“You know I’m more of a dog person, Y/n.”

“I know, but look how adorable it is! How could you say no to this little face?”

James sighed, knowing it would break your heart if he said no.

“Fine.”

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

The rest of the evening was spent cuddled up on the couch by the fireplace with James, and your new addition to the family curled up on your lap.

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

[fruitymajor]

Hello!

So... I'm kind of embarrassed that THIS is my first official Tumblr post but whatever.

I've been on a Harry Potter streak reading fanfictions and just watched a reel that made me imagine a scenario for a oneshot and I need it to exist somewhere besides my head.

I don't know if this is already a thing, and if it is could I possibly get a link to it..👀

Imagine: The reader buying/being gifted an enchanted ~toy~ where when they use it another person feels what 'it' feels. Like one of the characters is dating the reader, when one of their friends gifts her a box. On it, is has engraved drawings of the male and female sex parts.

Reader is shocked and blushing at the gift, asking why she would need this. Her friend is quick to point out her complaining she doesn't see her partner enough since they've been busy the past couple weeks, not giving them a chance for quality time together.

It's a few days later, the box is semi-forgotten about. Reader and their partner are cuddling in one of their rooms. They talk, laugh, flirt; Next thing you know they're getting frisky. Whispering how they've missed each other, how they longed to touch one another.

Reader is about to start grasping at their clothes when they get interrupted by their partner's friend, leaving both of them exasperated. They tell her they've gotta go, but promise to make it up to her when they get the chance.

Leaving the room with the Reader frustrated and worked up, she decides to take matters into her own hands and tries to relieve some of her needs on her own.

After almost half an hour, she realizes she's too worked up and needs something more..something besides her hands. But the person with that something more isn't here.

Her mind wanders a bit, remembering the gift from her friend. She starts looking around the room, eventually finding it hiding under the bed.

She finally opens the box, a bit curious to find out what's inside. When she does, all she sees is a cube made of the material used for what she was thinking was in the box.

She takes the item out, noticing a bit of writing on the inside of the box. Confused she reads the vauge chant aloud, thinking nothing happened.

As she looks at it disappointingly, she begins to picture her partner. The way they feel, look, and picture their member in detail.

As she thinks of reaching to put it back in the box, it starts to move, morphing and shaping itself differently. She's scared as fuck when it happens, but after it's done transforming sees that it looks...like their partner's sex member!?

Everything in the past few moments replays in their mind, coming to the conclusion the chant allows the material to change into whatever they pictured.

A little weird but, she doesn't feel like questioning the magical item, as her mind is slowly being consumed by her lustful thoughts.

As she starts to touch it, she notices it has a bit of warmth, and movement. She continues, seeing it reacting and becoming a bit stiff.

Meanwhile, a Pov to their partner surrounded by some of their classmates and still a bit salty they aren't with you right now. They are oblivious of the slight tingle they feel when all of a sudden are feeling force on their crotch.

They get red in the face, not knowing what was happening. Trying their best to not make faces while struggling to pay attention.

As they start to grow more aroused, they quickly decide to excuse themselves and run to the nearest closet to hide.

Back to the Reader, she finally managed to get it to stand proud and didn't waste any time, placing it gently between her folds. She was surprised at how it felt, the subtle movements it gave as she thrusted it inside her.

It didn't take long for her to start feeling that pleasurable knot start to form. And as she grew closer to her release she could have sworn she felt it twitch when reaching her high.

Laying back and taking shaky breaths, she relaxed into the bed. Not failing to notice the object transforming back to its original form.

Yeahh.. she has a few questions for her friend.

After a few moments, she started cleaning up when she heard footsteps coming towards her door.

She looked up and saw her disheveled partner, messy hair, slightly flushed face and heavy breathing. About to ask what happened, she didn't take long to realize they might have been affected by her little trinket.

So yeah, that's the idea. If anyone is willing to keep it in mind and want to flesh it out in the future as their own, please be my guest(but tag me, i wanna read!). It can be any character, the reader could be the male and have a female partner or any which way. If you're wondering about the rules on how the object works, I'm thinking that the person experiencing its effects has to be okay with the one who's doing sexual acts to it, such as their partner. So it's not super non-con or unwillingness, just unexpected.

Thank you for your time, I appreciate you reading this desperate mess! 😩❤️