#dark wizard soap

[starsofang]

TOUCH OF MAGIC

You form an unusual bond with a mysterious dark wizard who comes knocking at your door, writhing in the hands of death.

Witch!Female Reader x Dark Wizard!Soap TW: NSFW, MDNI, dead dove do not eat (kind of), smut, fingering, p in v sex, dirty talk, dark themes, witchcraft/magic, horror themes?, mentions of death, heed the tags please Word Count: 7.5k A/N: i'm not good at writing soap's accent therefore i barely tried. there are also witch inaccuracies, of course, because this is fiction. it's for fun, so enjoy! divider by saradika

The forest was harmonious outside your home, the summer leaves shifting to crisp fall, morphing the tall trees into hues of red and orange. It carried a bleak chill with the breeze that infiltrated your cottage through the cracked windows, allowing for fresh air to breathe.

You always loved when autumn made its appearance. It was when the Earth’s energy was at its peak, so much so that you could feel the rumbling vibrations echo through the soles of your feet.

The gorgeous display of the forest making its seasonal changes, the animals coming out to enjoy the hint of the summer heat fading, the spirits of the Earth growing stronger. It was a witch’s dream.

However, this time felt different. There was a certain shift in the air when you’d first woken up that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It was a whisper in the wind, barely knowledgeable, but it was present, and it was dark.

Its shift arose goosebumps along your skin, even as you engulfed yourself in the steamy water of your shower. They lingered even as you slipped into the kitchen to make yourself breakfast. Then they grew tenfold when you entered your workspace, where even your cat appeared on edge.

Something was coming, and you knew not what to expect.

Taking a sip from your warm mug of rose tea, you collapsed at your cluttered desk, encasing yourself a fuzzy bear fur shawl to shoo away the biting chill creeping in your home.

Sensing your presence, your cat hopped up on your desk, tail swaying lazily in the air as he approached you. His nose bumped against the rim of your mug that sat on your desk, eyes peering into the murky liquid.

Sitting up and curling the fur securely around you, you peeked down into the mug with him, before it dawned on you. With the mysterious aura littering your air, you could read the tea leaves and get a glimpse of what the day may have in store for you.

Quickly gulping down the rest of the tea, you were considerate to leave the slightest amount of liquid in the cup. For the next few moments, you began carefully sifting around the mug, rotating it to and fro with your eyes closed so as not to catch a glimpse.

Your cat sat in front of you, yellow eyes watching with peak interest. When you opened your eyes, you were met with a peculiar glint in his slitted pupils that indicated he felt the strange energy as well.

Peering down in your mug, you took in the scattered tea leaves, attempting to get a read. You felt as if your eyes were deceiving you.

In place of the tea leaves was the silhouette of a man, slightly blurred by the dirty water. There was no telling of who or what this man was, but you knew the implications and you feared you were reading your own leaves wrong.

A man meant a visitor, though it was unclear whether or not it would be in vain. It explained the shift you felt, yes, but you were not one for visitors. Your cottage was far from civilization, and you were not acquainted with other witches and wizards of the merry. You preferred isolated practice, where one would not be able to interrupt.

Unease pricked under your skin, causing those goosebumps to rise all over again. You knew now it wasn’t the mere chill of your home causing them, but the presence of a newcomer. An unwelcome one at that.

You were smart enough to have set up protection charms when first moving into your home many years ago. While you were far from the strongest witch, you were experienced and well-trained. You had plenty of knowledge from years and years of studies. It was engraved in your blood, coursing through you. You knew what you were doing.

However, this energy was dark. Gloomy. It showed no intent, yet that was the issue. Its intentions were unknown, so you couldn’t rule out foul play, nor could you trust it was genuine.

You could do nothing but wait. Cooped up in your study, crafting up various charms needed in the event you’d have to protect yourself, keeping all on hand for when your arrival approached.

The day came and went, the golden sun slowly falling behind the treeline of the forest and struggling to peek through the leaves. Your home was losing sunlight, forcing you to light all rooms with candles.

The energy was stronger. It invaded your nostrils with a sickeningly sweet scent mixed with the smell of rotting flesh. It threatened to block your train of thought. It was intoxicating while simultaneously repulsing, and you quickly rid yourself of the trance with a sniff of some putrid frog’s breath.

It was enough to leave you gagging, returning to your senses. The scent in the air was briefly forgotten, allowing the prickle of nerves to dissipate.

Curling up on your couch with the mysterious energy temporarily out of your mind, you cuddled up with your fluffy familiar, slipping into a peaceful slumber that was much needed after the tension that had sickened you all morning and noon.

A knock on your door woke you from your place on the sofa. Your cat was nowhere to be found, and when you sat up, you found him sitting in front of the front door, tail tapping on the floor.

He wasn’t alarmed, nor was he calm. He seemed impatient, eager, as if wanting to welcome the newcomer.

You were cautious when approaching your door. You had a stranger on your grounds, and every spirit in you was telling you to run, to leave, hide. Whoever was on the other side was a dangerous force, one that you shouldn’t meddle with.

However, it was rude not to greet him. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t. It was the perks and downfall of being a light witch. Being unfriendly was difficult to act on. It was entirely why you preferred living far from humans and witches alike.

Upon opening the door, it was a fright. It was a man, surely. He was clothed in dark robes, loose on his body as it fluttered to the ground. On his face, a red skull mask sat, leaving only his mouth and jaw displayed. He was rather tall, yet his posture was hunched, as if in pain.

It was then you noticed the line of veins along his skin. Black, swirling up his forearms and disappearing under his sleeves. They traveled up to his neck, where his skin was exposed, fanning out in ugly branches. They spread from his neck to his jaw, where the ends of the veins spouted out.

Poison. The man was poisoned. It explained the rotting smell that tickled your nose, yet the sweetness that tinged it. He was decaying from the inside and out, his blackened veins proof of that.

That wasn’t the only issue.

He was a dark wizard.

His red mask was the representation of death. There was no mistaking it. All dark wizards and witches wore them in coordination with the Lords of Death. They were the exact people you’d avoided for years, and now one had been plucked right on your doorstep, injured nonetheless.

“Please leave,” you uttered, gripping the door handle tight in your grip and beginning to close the door.

Before the door shut, a veiny hand pressed back, tainted with poison in the bloodstream. His head lifted the slightest to look at you, eyes blue with the hint of crimson red. They pooled with a look of pleading.

“Wait,” the man begged. You paused in your attempts to close the door. “Please. I need yer help.”

You shook your head, knuckles white around the handle. “I don’t help dark wizards. I’m sorry.”

“Please,” he tried again. “I won’t hurt ye. I can explain everythin’, but I can’t do that if ‘m dead.”

“I have no reason to help you,” you dismissed. Everything within you was fighting with each other. A warzone in the space of your mind, battling between helping and ignoring. “You work with the dark arts. I do not. Whatever curse you’ve been poisoned with is not mine to fix.”

The man made a defeated noise, head drooping. His free hand lifted to tear the red mask off of his face, revealing himself. His forehead was coated with a heavy sheen of sweat, dripping down the sides of his temples. His skin was pale, almost ghostly gray.

The veins had not yet slithered to his face. If they did, the poison would reach his brain, rendering him dead. Though they were tiptoeing that line quite closely.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, and you really did mean it.

“Please,” he tried once more, voice cracking. “I’m not like them.”

“You’re a dark wizard,” you pressed. “You are them.”

“Not anymore.” The man looked up at you from his pained state, eyes begging. A strike of guilt hit you that you tried to dismiss, but it only festered. “That’s why I’m like— like this.”

The two of you stared at one another, your firmness beginning to falter. This was the first person you’d seen in decades, let alone another magic wielder, and though that was how you wanted it, you felt sorrow and lonely.

He wasn’t to be trusted. He was dangerous, a murderer, most likely, if he was crafting under the Lords of Death. Yet he truly was dying, and he’d succumb to the poison if you didn’t help.

You were losing your own battle, and with an exasperated squeak, you ushered him inside. He followed with a pained grunt, collapsing on to your sofa.

“There are charms all over the place,” you explained wearily. “Do no try anything stupid, clear?”

The man gave you a tight smile and a lazy thumbs up, before the veins sifted beneath his skin and he returned to wallowing in his own ache.

Leaving your trust with him stupidly, you rushed to your study to shuffle through your potions, praying you didn’t have to craft a new one. They were time consuming, and this man did not have enough of it.

Dark arts were difficult curses to deflect. Seeing as they were some of the most powerful magic in the sorcery world, the damage was lethal if not dealt with accordingly.

Luckily for you, though you were far from the strongest, you had that experience to back you up. You knew you could help him, thank Gods, but it was a matter of how quickly you could help him.

With a vial in your grasp, you hurried back to the living room, nearly stumbling on the cluttered trinkets along the ground. You made a mental note to clean up the moment he slept. You didn’t want to appear as a messy witch in the present of… well, you supposed a dark wizard, not that you should worry about his opinion.

“You must drink this,” you encouraged. Taking a seat beside his poisoned body, you popped the cork of the vial off, a brief puff of steam emitting out of the glass. You held the vial to his lips. “It may not feel well, but surely, it will be better than what you’re going through.”

The wizard’s lips parted to invite the mysterious liquid in, swallowing it down without much fight. His face twisted in distaste, coughing weakly.

“Thank ye,” he wheezed, lifting a shaky hand to wipe the residue off of his mouth.

You didn’t answer, instead standing and gesturing for him to join. “You can use my bed for the time being. It will be an unpleasant process.”

“I couldn’t ask—“

“You are already in my home. There is no more moralities. Please, follow me,” you dismissed. He let out a sigh, wincing as he got up to follow you.

Your room was about as messy as the rest of the house. You brushed aside stray clothes on the floor with your foot. Approaching your bed, you tugged back the blankets and fluffed up your pillows, nodding for him to lay down.

The wizard complied, laying down with an uncomfortable grunt. His skin was clammy yet cold to the touch as you helped gather the blankets around him, and you knew he had a heavy fever from the poison.

“Rest. The potion will take effect with time,” you said, stepping away from the bed. “We will figure the rest out later.”

The man gave you a frail smile, one of which you looked away from. Dying or not, he was still evil.

“What’s yer name?” he asked. “‘m Johnny.”

You sniffed, quickly telling him your name before leaving the room, shutting the door. You didn’t want to be present when the potion began working, to see his body fight it off, to hear how much pain he would be in. Even more, you didn’t want to be near a dark wizard who had a charming smile even near death.

Johnny didn’t wake up the next day, nor the one after. In fact, he slept for approximately a week before he called out for you.

It had you in a whirl when you heard his voice. You’d nearly forgotten he was there, though you’d tended to him nearly every hour of the day.

You gave him more than you should’ve. You were being too kind. You’d adjust his pillows, clean his paled skin with a wet cloth, pour food potions down his throat since he was unable to eat on his own. Everything you did was bordering too comfortable, too considerate.

“You’re awake,” you greeted politely, shuffling into the room. The man in question smiled widely at you.

He looked much more lively than before. Well, technically he was lively, seeing as he was dying before, but it was evident that the potion worked.

His skin, which had been a ghastly hue, was now tanned and bright. Looking closer, you could see a jagged scar along his chin, the tissue a faded pink. His eyes, that had been tarnished with red, were a lovely ocean blue, sparkling in a boyish wonder. The veins in his body that were blackened were faded into nothing, successfully returning to normal.

He was a handsome man, that was for sure. You hated that. He was an enemy, and his stay was overwelcome.

“I’m happy to see you better,” you offered with a small smile. “I am sure it was quite the terror.”

“It’s all thanks to ye, bonnie,” Johnny praised. “Wouldn’t have survived without ye.”

You cleared your throat, rubbing your neck in awkwardness. “It was nothing. Consider it a mere favor from witch to wizard, yes?”

“That was more than a favor. Can’t I repay ye somehow?” Johnny asked. You shook your head.

“That won’t be necessary. I have told you before that I don’t associate with dark wizards. I have helped you, and that’s that.”

Johnny frowned, clearly disgruntled from your lack of interest. He stood slowly from the bed, grunting at the aching muscles from laying down for a week and some. “That’s that?”

“Yes. I apologize.”

“I thought perhaps we could be pals.” The way Johnny said it had him sounding defeated, which surprised you in the slightest. To be friends with a dark wizard, especially as a light witch? Why would one want that?

“You’re mistaken,” you muttered, not unkindly. “You showed up to my doorstep, I did not ask for this. I have offered my help, and now you are better. It’s best if you return home so I can return to mine.”

It was strange, the tug of guilt that pulled at your heartstrings. It was as if a part of you wished to be friends with him. After all, he wasn’t bad looking, not in the slightest. In fact, he was dashing, and had shown you nothing but kindness.

A dark wizard being kind was unheard of. Perhaps the poison had made him forget his place. You didn’t know him, nor him you. You hadn’t a clue the horrors he probably faced or caused.

“I don’t wish to return home,” he confessed. Johnny stepped closer to you, and you took a step back. “I don’t wish to perform dark magic. I don’t wish to be a dark wizard. It’s the reason I was poisoned in the first place.”

“One does not suddenly wish to no longer be a dark wizard,” you argued. “It is in your blood.”

“Yet it seems ye’ve helped me craft new blood with that potion of yers.”

You stared at Johnny wearily. It was true, part of his body had to be restored due to the decomposition his body underwent internally, and part of that meant restoring his blood. However, you’d never heard of a case where a dark wizard wanted to be something else.

“I suppose you’re right on that part,” you sighed. “But that still doesn’t change the fact that you are a dark wizard.”

“I can try to change it,” he pleaded, and your resolve slightly cracked. He seemed to see this, because he continued. “Let me stay here for a while. I’ll do whatever ye need done around here. Like an apprentice! I will prove it to ye.”

The little sprites inside of you began to argue, and one was clearly winning. You wanted to help him. Maybe it was the lonely part of you begging for a friend, but either way, it was reaching towards victory.

“I will let you stay temporarily,” you agreed reluctantly. “I could use the help, you’re right. However, heed this warning — if you try anything harmful, if you try to take advantage of my kindness, I will not hesitate to turn you into the Head of Wizardry. Are we clear?”

“Crystal, bonnie.” Johnny was practically bursting out of his skin with pride.

You weren’t sure whether you made the right choice, but it was too late to backtrack. What’s done is done, and you can only seek out the future.

Johnny was a rather good apprentice. He was also a rather good friend. Within just a couple of weeks of him staying there, you extending his stay to a month. Then another month.

Now, it was as if he were permanently living there. You found that you didn’t mind all that much. He was fun, you hated to admit, and very charming.

On mornings you found yourself cooking breakfast, he’d perform silly spells to amuse you. Whether it was lifting your familiar in the air with a point of his finger, or casting a storm cloud inside the kitchen to rain on your food, you found yourself enjoying it. It was a change of pace, one that was much needed.

Where you sought solace in dark isolation, he brought the sunshine. Ironic, considering he was a dark wizard. Mornings became exciting, as did waking up. Evenings shifted to calm, sharing the presence of each other while you read an herbology book, drank the tea he made for you, and he messed with your cat. Nights, where you’d bid each other goodnight with a heavy tension in the air that you couldn’t quite describe.

You’d never felt that way before. You were often good at reading the room. It was the very beauty of your magic. Yet, with Johnny, it felt as if there was a blockage in your witchcraft. And unforeseeable force, preventing you from seeing what this tension was.

As the months went on, it only grew thicker. It was suffocating to be around him. Your heart ached with an unknown need, one that gravitated you towards him without a clue of why. It was as if your heart wanted one thing while your mind sought another.

Johnny was easy to talk to. He never spoke of his experiences as a dark wizard, nor did you ask. But talking about everything else came smooth.

He loved to learn. Teaching him your magic wasn’t simple. His craft was memorized to the dark arts, but he was determined to learn all about yours, staying up every waking moment if it meant spending that time with you.

Sharing that space naturally had you gravitating towards one another. It was friendship, yes, of course it was. Possibly a forbidden one, but the Head of Wizardry didn’t have to know what couldn’t hurt them. But that tension you’d been feeling felt like more. 

Johnny never mentioned it, nor did you. That was territory you’d never crossed with another being before, and you’d be mad if you made the first move.

“You put in too much rosemary, Johnny,” you explained with a sigh, glowering down at the murky liquid bubbling in your caldron. It was a disgusting green, slimy and acidic. “And too much of the serpent's scale, clearly. It’s green.”

“Aye, bonnie, that’s what learnin’s all about, ain’t it?” Johnny remarked with a boyish grin, leaning over the caldron so he could join you. Your heads bumped together, something that seemed to be happening far too often lately.

“Of course, but it has been months. Am I a bad teacher, Johnny?” you asked with a faux frown, lifting your head up to look at him.

The proximity was close between you, borderline inappropriate, yet it became a daily occurrence. Johnny didn’t seem to mind, and surprisingly, you didn’t either.

“‘Course not. Yer the best teacher there is,” he teased, bumping your shoulder with his. “‘m just a bit of a forgetful bloke. Too much rosemary and serpent’s scale, I’ll remember.”

“Good.” You let out a dramatic sigh through your nostrils, wrinkling up at the bitter aroma that wafted through the air. You stirred the potion with your trusty spoon, watching the boiling bubbles lower to a simmer. “I believe I’m already nice enough to teach you my craft. It’s quite a waste when you mess up every potion. I’m beginning to think it’s on purpose.”

Johnny snorted in amusement, eyes glinting with mischief. An untrustworthy one, he was. He was no longer on the dark path of wizardry, but he still expressed that trickery like a boy.

“Ach, c’mon, that’s harsh,” Johnny complained, watching you fill the potion into empty vials. “I think ye enjoy bein’ my teacher more than ye want to admit.”

A flutter of embarrassment rose within you, warming you inside. You never used to be flustered so easily until Johnny. He made you nervous, that sickening kind of nervous that sent somersaults in your stomach. It was as if a million moths made home inside of you, fluttering about freely.

“You are flattering yourself,” you retorted, dismissing him with a hand.

“Am I?” he hummed, his voice coated in honey. It formed goosebumps along your arms, your hair standing on edge. You hated the effect he had on you. “Ye seem quite rattled.”

“I am not rattled,” you hissed in defense, whipping your head to throw him a glare.

Johnny, as always, remained unfazed from your firm antics. In fact, it made him egg you on further. After all, the two of you were each other’s only friends in this witching world, and neither had any plans on leaving. He was a permanent visitor, anyway.

“Sounds like somethin’ somebody rattled would say,” he teased. You rolled your eyes, placing corks in each vial to close them off. The rancid scent filtered out of the room slowly, allowing you to breathe.

“You’re pushing it, Johnny. Might I remind you that this is my home, and you are merely staying under my command?” you asked with a raise of your eyebrow.

“Mm. I believe if that were true, ye would have kicked me out by now.” Johnny raised his eyebrow back, taking a step closer to you. You caught the motion out of the corner of your eye but ignored it. “So why don’t ye?”

“Johnny.” You threw him another glower, though there was no denying the spike of nerves his mere confidence was giving you. “You know it is because you’re my friend. I’d feel… guilty.”

Johnny snickered, continuing to step towards you until his chest was against your back, looming over you. His head leaned down, lips ghosting your ear. The feel sent a chill through your veins.

“Guilty?” he repeated. “No, not ye. Ye wouldn’t feel guilty kickin’ me out. I think it’s because ye like me.”

“Stop,” you begged weakly. “It is because you’re my friend that I would feel guilty. I wouldn’t want you returning to old habits.”

“What, me bein’ a dark wizard?” he questioned. You nodded. “I’d never. I rather like bein’ with my little light witch, learnin’ things. Ye really are a great teacher.”

You swallowed nervously, keeping your eyes down on the caldron. His lips remained near your ear, his voice like the call of a siren.

“Maybe it’s time for me to teach you somethin’ for once.”

“What on Earth would you teach me besides dark magic?” you gawked, spinning around to face him. Your head tilted up to meet his eyes, where he stared back at you with a devilish grin.

“How to deal with yer feelin’s, of course,” he stated, as if obvious. “Don’t look at me like that. I know ye’ve spent decades out here alone, no friends, no lover. I want to be both for ye. Let me teach ye.”

“My feelings? You’ve gone absolutely mad, Johnny,” you defended, scowling.

You hated how correct he was. You’d avoided these feelings for months, playing dumb about what they could possibly mean. You pretended to be clueless, pretended they weren’t feelings of love, of desire, yet you should’ve known Johnny could read right through you.

“Mad for ye, maybe.” Johnny beamed at you, smug and proud, and you weren’t sure whether you wanted to smack it off or kiss it off.

“You—“ Exhaling sharply, you collected your head. “You’ve been reading my mind, haven’t you? For how long?”

“Long enough.” Johnny leaned his hands forward to rest them on your potion table, caging you in between them, leaving you with no room to escape. “So? Are ye goin’ to let me be the teacher this time?”

You stared at him in silence, completely bewildered. The damn bloke had been using dark magic to dissect your mind in order to see what you were feeling. With that being true, that meant he’d known about your inner troubles for months and never acted on them.

You really wanted to smack him. Or perhaps force an itching potion just to mess with him temporarily.

“I do need a break from teaching,” you confessed quietly, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Atta girl,” he praised, his smile a bit softer around the edges. “Don’t worry. I’ll be good, so long as you do as well.”

Without a moment of hesitation, the taste of Johnny invaded your tastebuds. His lips were chapped yet soft, a bit rough against your own. The rhythm was uncoordinated, seeing as you hadn’t kissed another person in quite a long time. So long that you couldn’t recall the memory.

Johnny was patient, though. After all, he wanted to teach you, and surely, he was complying.

His hands fisted the edge of the table, knuckles turning white from the grip as he fought the urge to touch you. However, the moment your kiss began to move much more smoothly, that fight became lost.

His hands quickly slipped to your waist where he held you in his embrace, burning with a roaring fire. He was aching, craving, and you could feel those emotions rolling off of him and transmitting to you.

The kiss became sloppy, mouths becoming desperate against the other. It was a build up of unspoken emotions that festered for months like an annoying tick, never wanting to leave you be. Now that they were prominent, they poured out like a broken faucet, filling the room with hopeless desire.

“Ye don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” Johnny gasped against your mouth. His lips ventured down your cheek, your jaw, then your neck, the slight point of his canines dipping into your sensitive flesh.

Your breathing was ragged and ruined, chest heaving as you attempted to catch it. It was hard to do so when he nibbled behind your ear, a sensitive twinge shocking through you, causing you to gasp.

“Ye like that, my little witch?” Johnny teased, snickering in your ear. The rumble of his voice vibrated against you, low and seductive. You’d never heard him talk like that before, nor had anybody done it. The feeling was new, yet it sent heat right to your core.

“Shut up, you mangy wizard,” you breathed, your own voice failing you.

“Feisty.” You could feel his grin against your ear. “I’ve always liked that about ye.”

His lips brushed down your neck, teasing. It wracked you with a shiver, your arms looping around his own neck for stability.

“I’m only feisty because you do not listen,” you retorted. Johnny laughed.

“Why do ye think I do it, bonnie?”

He pulled away from your neck to peer down at you. You opened your eyes and returned the gaze, blinking dumbly. Johnny’s hand slowly slid up your body, brushing along your robes. It stopped on your face where he firmly gripped you by the cheeks, four fingers on one and his thumb on the other.

You were in his grasp yet again, forced to look him in the eye while he grinned wickedly. You could see the brief glint of dark wizard shining in his blue irises, the telltale sign of who he would always be deep down, though it was the side you had come to accept.

“I like seeing ye all riled up. All moody and mean, bossin’ me around as if yer in charge. Tell me, witch. Who’s the one in charge now?” he asked slowly, the fingers on your face tightening, digging into your flesh.

“You,” you stated shamefully.

“Me,” he repeated proudly. “Good girl. I knew ye could take orders as well as ye dish ‘em out.”

Johnny’s lips returned to yours, moving feverishly. His hand dropped from your face and to your robes, eagerly untying them. They fell to the ground in a heap, leaving you exposed. It happened so quickly that you had no time to process it until his fingers found your chest, plucking at one of your nipples which peaked up in interest.

The spark it sent through you tugged an involuntary moan from your lips. The sound caused Johnny to repeat it, taking your nipple back between two fingers to lightly twist and tug.

“Such a pretty witch,” he hummed, placing a kiss on the column of your throat. “Aren’t ye?”

Before you could respond, Johnny briskly lifted you onto the table, knocking over your caldron in the process. Its remaining contents spilled onto the ground in a mess, the green acid staining the old wooden floors.

You’d normally be in a panic over your workspace becoming disastrous, but the desire overtook your senses. The only thing on your mind was Johnny and the way his eyes practically devoured your naked body, taking it all in.

“It’s not fair,” you muttered, so quiet he nearly missed it.

“Aye? What’s not fair?” he asked, cocking his head down at you.

You attempted to turn your head, looking away from him, but his hand came to grab your chin and turn you back to his attention. You thumped your head back on the wooden table, staring up at him in embarrassment.

“Your robes are on but mine are not.” The moment the words left your lips, he grinned at you, full of that familiar mischief.

“Sorry, bonnie. Guess I got ahead of myself,” he apologized teasingly.

Standing straight from where he was towering over you, he began to undress himself, the black cloak slipping off of him with ease and sinking to his feet. In an instant, his nakedness matched your own, though your eyes remained firmly on the ceiling.

“Ye asked for it, witch, now yer not even goin’ to look?”

You could barely take Johnny’s mockery. He knew exactly what to say to have you in a fluster, and every bit of it was working.

Slowly, your eyes shifted down from the ceiling, before stopping on his face. You knew he wanted you to see him for all he was, just as he’d done you, so you gave in, dipping lower.

Johnny was beautiful, riddled with scars and stories. He was a book yet to be opened, and you wanted to delve deeper, to learn.

Meeting his eyes once again, you gave him a bashful smile, one which he returned. Seemingly satisfied with you following direction, he trailed a finger down your body, the fingertip calloused and rough from years of magic. Your eyes never left his as it ventured lower, teasing, going anywhere except the place you truly wanted it.

“You are messing with me,” you murmured, voice weak. Johnny gave you a knowing look.

“Messin’ with ye?” He tutted, sliding his finger down the plains of your stomach. The sensation made you keen. “‘m not messin’ with ye. You can just tell me what ye want, love.”

You swallowed, squirming on the table when you felt a low burn erupting from his fingertip. It was faint, barely recognizable, but it was a telltale sign of further taunting. “Must I say it?”

“Mhm.”

“I’d like you to touch me,” you mumbled. Johnny’s eyebrow quirked, his smile becoming smug.

“What was that?” he asked knowingly.

“Christ, you beast, please touch me and quit your teasing,” you hissed, frowning up at him from where he leaned over your body.

Johnny’s grin grew, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He looked pretty when he smiled, and you swore he had casted a spell on you.

“There ye go. Wasn’t so hard, was it?” he taunted.

“Damn you.”

The wizard snickered, finding humor in your clear desperation. Nonetheless, he gave you what you wanted, his hand dipping beneath your stomach and venturing into new territory.

When he finally touched you, you were soaked, embarrassingly so. The tips of his fingers dived in the folds of your pussy, drenching themselves in your slick.

Johnny released a content sigh through his nose, his eyes flickering down to take you in. He watched as he toyed with your clit, forming an agonizing slow pace. He rolled it beneath his fingers, sending you electric shocks from head to toe.

“Oh,” you gasped, as if surprised by the touch, though you’d asked for it. It’d been long, too long without a feeling of pleasure, and now you were practically aching for it.

“Good?” he hummed. You gave him a dazed nod, blinking at him.

The motion encouraged him to explore. When you felt the tip of his finger circle your entrance, then prod through, sinking down to the knuckle, your mouth dropped open, a gruffled noise escaping you.

The pace he set was a bit faster than when he’d stimulated your clit, but still too slow. You writhed beneath him, pleading with your eyes for him to do more, to do something.

Taking note of it, he sped up just the slightest, slowly working you open on his single finger. Once he felt you were comfortable, he welcomed a second finger, which somehow became a third only minutes later.

You were practically falling apart without him even fully inside of you. You feared you’d be an utter mess when it was cock, but before you could dwell on it, his fingers curled up, sparking a fire that burned fiercely.

A string of moans and whimpers filled your study, all from you. They were broken, somehow already wrecked from Johnny simply fucking you open on his fingers.

“Gods, ye don’t know what ye do to me,” he breathed, leaning down to brush his lips against your ear. His arm was trapped between your bodies, fingers never letting up on the brutal pace inside you. “Can’t even explain how long I’ve wanted it.”

You whined pathetically, clenching around his fingers. “How long?”

“Much longer than ye think, witch.” The wizard smiled against your ear, before drifting down the side of your neck, taking in your scent. “A lifetime.”

His words didn’t register, for you were too caught up in a trance. Love stricken, pleasure drunk, whatever it may be, it took over all logical senses.

“I want you inside,” you begged, squirming once again. “Please, Johnny.”

Johnny exhaled through his nose, the air fanning along your neck where he nuzzled into. “Whatever ye want, my little minx. I’ll give it to ye.”

His fingers left an ache when they left you. It was a foreign feeling, clenching around nothing, and you felt the burn of embarrassment when you realized just how truly desperate you were to feel him.

The loss didn’t last long. Before you knew it, the blunt head of Johnny’s cock nudged your cunt. His eyes fluttered up to yours, basking in the sight of you, flustered and keening.

The bulbous tip pressed further, breaking through the first ring of muscle of your pussy, giving you more and more. Your body was pulled tight, shoulders tense and back arched. Johnny’s lips pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, a hand caressing your hip.

“Relax, witch,” he murmured against your skin. His voice was hypnotic, ringing through your ears like a song. It caused you to calm in an instant, your body accepting more of him inside until he was flush against you, the tip of his cock nuzzled against the spongy walls of your cervix.

He was at the limit, bordering on being too much, yet somehow not enough.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, luring him to move. When he did, you saw stars, each and every thrust causing him to drag along the walls of your cunt, only to be slammed right back into you. You were on cloud nine, preening in the attention your pussy had desperately needed for decades too long.

Whimpers of his name left your lips, encouraging him. The sounds of your pleasure only fueled his burning desire, and soon enough, he was rutting into you like a dog, losing all sense of control.

The table shook with every thrust, vials of herbs and potions clattering to the ground and smashing. You didn’t have an ounce of care to worry about it, solely focused on the warmth building in your core.

It felt as if someone were pulling an invisible string inside of you, daring to unravel your innermost pleasure. It only grew in intensity when Johnny had switched positions, grabbing hold of your ankles so he could press your knees to your chest.

The only thing keeping you from falling apart was Johnny. He made sure your legs remained tucked against you as he greedily took what he wanted, cock slipping in and out of your slick. You swallowed him up, as if he were meant to be there, like you were molded for him.

“I could stay here,” Johnny panted, sweat beginning to bead along his forehead. His eyes were lidded and heavy, smoldered with a sultriness that had your heart pitter pattering against your rib cage. “Inside of ye, I swear, I could. The best pussy I’ve felt in centuries.”

You gasped at his words, body shuddering in pure want. The build up was close, you could feel it vibrating between both of us. It was as if both of your enemies were reaching out towards the other, craving to be formed as one. Dark energy and light energy, a disastrous mix.

“Ye want me to stay, witch?” Johnny purred, his grin dazed but smug. “Want me to stay here forever with ye?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, your body tensing and untensing with every shot of pleasure that zapped you. It stung deliciously, both the strain of your trapped legs and your pussy accommodating his cock, but you reveled in it.

Johnny made a low noise in the back of his throat, pace quickening. The sounds of your bodies mending together filled the room, wet and dirty, skin slapping with skin. The two of you were doused in sweat, skin hot to the touch, scorching your veins. This was an act of love, an act of two worlds mending as one, dark and light.

The more frantic he became, the more uncoiled you felt. Your body and mind were drunk, wiped off all things magic and replaced with Johnny, Johnny, Johnny.

“Goin’ to let me cum inside, witch?” he mocked, grin so sinister you would’ve been scared if it weren’t Johnny. “Might cast a spell on ye if I do.”

“Please,” you begged, hands scrambling to claw at his back, surely leaving marks by the end. “Yes, please, do it, Johnny.”

Johnny let out a wicked laugh, quickly smothered by his own moan. His thrusts became sloppy and erratic as he hit that sweet spot within you every single time, erupting fireworks beneath your eyelids.

It didn’t take much to get you past the edge. Your mind blanked, your eyes flashing white as intoxicating ecstasy dripped through your bloodstream. Johnny held on to you tight while you shook, spilling himself inside of you, painting your walls with nothing but him.

Despite talking mean to you, Johnny was sweet when he cleaned you up. Your study was a mess, one that he fixed without question while you rested on the living room sofa, spent out of your mind. 

Curled up in furs to keep your naked body warm and snug, you smiled at Johnny when he entered the room, watching as he stepped into the kitchen. You had full view of him from where you sat, and when you blinked away the tiredness a few times, you noticed he was putting on a kettle for you.

Your heart soared at the memory of you two flashing in the back of your mind. It was heavenly, the collision of you and Johnny’s worlds. Like it was a serene paradise only the two of you know.

“Here, love,” Johnny murmured softly, setting the warm mug of tea in front of you.

You sat up, thanking him sweetly. Lifting the cup, you inhaled the lovely scent of mint, before taking a sip, sighing in content at the warmth flooding your mouth.

“Did ye enjoy yerself?” he asked, and you nodded happily. “I’m glad. I meant what I said. I want to stay here forever. It’s a real shame that I can’t.”

You stared at him, confusion flashing on your face. A cold chill dripped down your spine when you noted the smile he wore, how it seemed so soft yet so fake. As if he had painted it on.

“What?” you asked, gripping the mug in your hands tighter. “What do you mean?”

“’m really sorry that I’ve had to do this to ye after the time we’ve spent together,” Johnny sighed. “What was it ye said when we first met? One doesn’t suddenly wish to no longer be a dark wizard? One does not simply change from craftin’ dark arts?”

Your hands began to tremble. Mixed emotions hit you all at once. Fear, confusion, betrayal, hurt. You thought after allowing Johnny into your home, you had formed an unbreakable bond. Two magical beings from different realms, formed together as one. A friendship, a relationship, a lover.

“Johnny,” you whispered, voice cracking. He simply smiled at you, cocking his head.

“Perhaps in yer next life, ye won’t be so kind. I really am sorry, minx. I was really startin’ to like ye.” Johnny caressed a hand through your hair, but the feeling felt foreign, like a burn singeing your skin. The touch snapped you out of your daze, and when you came to, you noticed his other hand grasping the red skull mask, one you thought he’d gotten rid of.

If only you had bothered to take a glance at the tea leaves gathered at the bottom of your mug would you have noticed the shape of a knife form, warning you of incoming death.

[nerdygirlramblings]

Off to See the Wizard (3)

previous | next

tw: canon-typical violence, bad accents

"Wut?" Simon stutters, in a voice you've never heard before. You've been on comms with him when missions have gone to shit, and he has never sounded as nervous as he does right now.

"It's just-" You huff out a breath. Why does this have to be so hard? Usually conversation flows with Simon like a stream over rocks, smooth and unhurried. "It seems like you're upset. You looked like you wanted to hide when John introduced us, and now..." You let the sentence trail off. "Where's the man who, two weeks back, spent watch sharing the worst puns I've ever heard?"

Simon looks at you, finally meeting your eyes, before glancing quickly away. "I dunno wha' 'cher talkin' about," he mumbles.

You can't help but snort in response. "That's such bullshit, Simon! You forget I've heard you lie before," you remind him. "You're usually much better than this."

Simon's mask twitches and you glimpse little laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. You think maybe he's smiling a little behind the mask.

You decide to push your luck, knowing your Simon is stuck somewhere in this man who seems to sit so uneasily in his place. So you smile and say, "Go ahead and give me another."

Simon holds your gaze a few moments longer than last time and mutters you, "I don' like change."

You keep your eyes on his, on the parts of his face you can see, and on the way his hands are twitching against the table top. "Liar." You're grinning at him now.

Simon flattens his hands against the table and leans forward a little bit. Lowering his voice, he says, "We don' need help."

"Eeeh!" You make a buzzer sound and tell him, "Wrong answer, but thanks for playing." He chuckles like you're used to, low and dark. "I've seen the same intel you have, and you're going to want me on the other side of those comms."

This time he looks at you and holds your gaze. "Yer right, Oz. We will."

You're so shocked at the first honest response from him you don't know what to do. You gape at him for a moment, unsure of what to expect next, when he floors you again.

Simon looks down at the table and, so quietly you think you misheard, says, "Yer prettier 'an I thought you'd be. An' I knew you'd be pretty."

You're saved from having to respond at all as Kyle, Soap, and John finally come back with food.

"Scran's nae bad teday," Soap says, sliding a tray in front of you. You mumble out your thanks and catch John looking between you and Simon. You hope he can't see how nervous you are. Simon's posture gives nothing away, which might be his biggest tell right now.

"Solid copy, Ghost?" John asks him, and he merely grunts as he digs into his food.

The rest of your day is spent going back over the information you have. Laswell agreed with your idea for transport, so you spend a few hours arranging something both more discreet and reliable, calling in a favor or two in her name.

By the time dinner rolls around, you have given yourself no less than a dozen pep talks about your interaction with Simon at lunch. You've played out a million different scenarios and finally opted to take your cues from him.

You don't have long to wait as he and Soap come to your office at 6:30. He stands back and lets Soap do most of the talking, which he does all the way to the barracks. When you get there, you give him a quizzical look. "I don't know the base well, but isn't the mess the other way?"

Soap's smile borders on feral. "Aye, but Cap'n decided, 'cuz a yer bein 'ere, to take ye off base tonight." Beside him, you catch Simon's eye and the eye roll he gives to Soap's back.

"Cap'n jus' wan'ed tuh show ya some 'a the city, seein' as you'll be here instead 'a home when we're gone." He finishes quietly. Seems like no one is happy when reminded the whole reason you're here is to support them while they're gone.

Simon unlocks the barracks and ushers you in, following behind with a gentle hand on your lower back. Now three of your boys have made the same unconscious motion. When will Soap? "We're gonna head out in 20. Tha enough time fer ya ta get ready?" he asks.

You look at him and Soap and notice they're dressed in civvies. You're not sure how you missed that detail before because now that you really look, it's clear they've cleaned up and changed since lunch. "Twenty should be fine. I mean, it's not fancy, right?"

Soap winks at you, "Nah. Ya look perfect already, bon. Yoo could go as ya are 'n be feen."

You pause, smile frozen on your face. You don't know how to take that compliment , so you stammer, "Uh, thanks. I'll just..." You point towards your room. "Meet you in the rec room?"

Simon nods, and you walk away. You hear a light thump and an "Oi, Lt, wha' was tha' fer?" as your door closes.

It turns out John's idea of a tour of the town is more about how to get off base and where not to go alone. "Unfortunately, can' let ya borrow a military ride, Oz. Yer not cleared for 'em." So instead he shows you where to catch the bus - "ne'er do a ride share. Can' have 'em on base" - and where some key places in town are. "Asda's gunna have e'rything ya need 's far as snacks 'n toiletries. An' if ya want food tha's not from the mess, pick somethin' over 'ere," he says, sweeping his arm to the streets northwest of where the bus would drop you.

He doesn't take his own advice though, parking in a lot several blocks south and taking everyone to a pub bearing the name The Dancing Bear. The others walk ahead of you and John. Clearly this is a place they've been before.

As you follow the group into the space, the man behind the bar calls out to John who simply raises a open hand. You watch the man's eyebrows rise while he looks over the group, finally landing on you. You can't quite interpret the look he gives John, but he points to a table towards the back. You notice it's nestled in an area not immediately viewable from the door but with a line of sight to most of the room. As they had at lunch, Simon and John take up positions along the wall where they can see almost everything. Kyle and Soap are sat next to John and Simon respectfully, which leaves you to take the seat between the two sergeants.

You hear heavy steps come up behind you, and while your first instinct is to tense - you completely understand why soldiers and cops try to not put their backs to a room - no one you're with seems concerned.

When the footsteps stop, a gruff voice says, "Nice ta see ya, boys. An' ye've brought a friend."

You assume this is the same man from behind the bad, but while John was smiling a moment ago, you can tell it's now strained. You can only guess what caused the change.

"What've they got on you, dollface? Ye're too gorgeous to be here, with them, by choice." The man laughs at his own joke as you turn. You don't know how often the boys come here, and you certainly don't want to burn bridges if they think the joke is funny, so you simply give the man a tight smile.

John gets his attention and orders drinks for the boys then looks to you. You order a soda; these guys do not need to see what a lightweight you are, and you definitely don't need your inhibitions lowered. Kyle orders chips and curry for the table as you all decide on your meals.

The atmosphere is much different than at lunch, when the lore of being the 141 kept you insulated. John and Simon are scowling more than before, to the point where you suggest everyone heads back to base.

"Why?" Simon asks.

You look at him then over your shoulder to the small group playing darts, the few people at the bar, the man who was at your table and another woman, both making drinks behind the bar. "Oh, I don't know," you drawl. "Maybe because it looks like you're trying to stare the place down."

Simon's eyes snap to yours as Soap giggles. "She's got a point, Lt. Yeh look right pissed."

He turns slightly to see where Simon has been staring, his own face morphing from carefree to annoyed as Simon says, "It'd be fine 's long 's other people'd mind their fuckin' business."

You look at him pleadingly. "Then let's go, really. I want this to be nice for us all, and clearly you're bothered by something."

Simon looks at John who claps a hand on his shoulder. "Oz's right, Ghost. Let it go or we're gone." Though he's calm and the tone is light, John's words come across as a mild threat.

You make it through the meal without another incident, but as you get up to leave, the guys take up positions around you. It's impossible to miss the way John leads the way with Kyle and Soap chatting your ears off while Simon trails you silently.

Back at the barracks, you say your goodnights and turn in while the others meet in John's office. "Tha' was a bad idea," Ghost says. "Too many eyes on 'er."

"Not sure base is any better," Gaz says. "Plenty a' the rookies saw 'er as I walked 'er to lunch. Got the feeling some idiot is biding their time 'til we're gone."

Price looks around at them. "Is this something ya want? Truly?"

"How can we not, Cap?" Soap asks. "She's perfect. And perfect fer us." Gaz nods, and Ghost meets Price's eyes unblinkingly.

"Alright then. We got less than a week to get this done."

series masterlist | main masterlist

~~

Taglist: @blackhawkfanatic @starriestarlight @grayskel @mxtokko @imjustheretofightforlove @miss-vanta-likes-to-write

[cultofcola]

There's nothing you can do.

Not even the Angels can help you.

Gods and Monsters were looking at her every move.

Vaenaera Valastrae was a girl created only because Lord Apollon had a vision. A War almost broke out amongst the Gods of Olympus, some accusing Apollon of acting like an irrational mortal, others agreeing with his decision. Lady Hekate was silent; the thought of one of her creatures being the reason of the End of the Civilisation left her astonished, even if it was bound to happen, at some point, like Merlin and Morgana centuries before. Apollon sat in his throne talking about a wizard who named himself a Lord, acting as if he was one of Them, and the mortal sky was filled of King Zeus' rage. A decision was made, and after many contracts between each other, the girl was sent to Earth as the third daughter of a pureblood family, as Queen Hera commanded. And with that, the Lilith in a white veil was born. The virgin prostitute. The equally dark force to destroy him. A nature's abomination destined for greatness.

[She looks up, then bites the god on the wrist] They created her. They sent her to that Land. They made her be eaten by the monsters who looked for her in the nights and made her soul rotten for everything that is running in her veins. The gods are the worst creatures alive, and she is their favourite daughter. [So, tell me, where did the blood on your palms come from? Self-divination, or sacrifice?]. Blessed be the daughter of Olympus, bound to eternal suffering to complete the cause of her conception. Child of sun [Apollo] and moon [Artemis], a beautiful [Aphrodite] danger [Poseidon], angry [Ares] girl filled with loyalty [Hera], pitilessness [Hades] young woman too mature [Demeter] for her age, someone who craves the desperation of what craziness will take [Dionysus], too smart [Athena] to even think clearly due to her witty [Hermes] thoughts, hardworking [Hephaestus] girl who will never finish what she started because of her aggressive spirit [Zeus].

Miss Vaenaera. Darling Vane. Haunted by dreams of Fire and Death since she was a small child, the warmth of her Mother felt like her only medicine. Her love never made the Prophet Child feel like a walking curse, even if no kid her age could use their minds to make the most rational old man act like an animal trapped in a cage; it was horrifying to assist what the five years old was capable of doing after she looked right at you in the eyes. Growing up, people were drawn to offer their lives for her…. And Mr Valastrae gladly used the Imperius curse to make sure no one talked about the 1967 accident. Why was she different from her sibilings? Why were her insides filled with poison meanwhile presenting as a Divine beauty? Why do her arms bend back in the Astral dimensions? Why is immortality afraid of welcoming her?

Were the whispers true? Were the Gods, worshipped in their temples, sending their Messiah? a Hero? This man who calls himself a Lord is seeking a girl he saw in his dreams: he said they are two faces of the same coin. He saw her dressed in fire. Fire was walking with her in every move. He was there when she spilled her first blood. She can't hide from him forever: He wanted his lamb, his Death Eaters wanted to make her one of them. They all want the unmaking of the Gods weapons, but were the ones searching for a liberator ready to fight? Bride, Daughter, Mother of Chaos: Vaenaera Valastrae felt everything except a girl.

Paris / France. Her room was full of notebooks filled with an ink so dirty that left her hands stained for days despite her trying to wash them continuously by rubbing the soap until she took off her skin. Letters she would never send, poems she would never make anyone read. A thousand stories, her story, words connected to each other in a such harmonious way that the pages are filled with tears scattered here and there. Lady Vane, of house Valastrae, is tortured. And she will always be. That's her destiny.

In her twelve years of living, she never left France. Smart in all of her lessons at the Private Education institution, youngest sibiling of the infamous Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Valastrae and favourite student of Madame Ormesson (teacher of good manners that Vaenaera knew since she was aware of her existence), she knew that her future was already written down on a contract signed by her Father, Lord of the House. He sold her when she was ten, and now she was scared of turning thirteen. All of her visions told her to let it happen. The Odd Girl of the Red Room in her dreams smiled at her and said it was for the better. Was she making the right decision to not use her depraved powers to make everyone forget about this contract?

She is terrified. The whispers were true. Aren't Messiahs destined to suffer?

It's the same thing that happened to her older sister, the middle child. Taken away from their Manor to live four years at the house of her future husband, to whom she had been designated since their parents found out that Lorien was a girl. Just as it had happened to Benoit's fiancée, her older brother and Heir, who had hosted his future wife in their Manor for four years. When Lorien turned sixteen, she married and left her first family forever.

1974. Now it's Vaenaera's turn. But she got it worse. Lorien never had to leave France, or to speak english because that's the only language her future husband could speak. Vaenaera knew that the Blacks were a very important family in the United Kingdom, but she didn't understand why they needed to took her that far away. Lord Orion Black told Father that they see her as a symbol. Divine beauty meets Pureblood nobility, and now she was about to go and live to Black Manor, London, and marry Regulus Arcturus Black when they turn sixteen. The Odd Girl of the Red Room said he was essential for the accomplishment of her Divine Decree: if he dies, her heart will turn into stone. A little treat for Lady Aphrodite, she said. And if after the death of the Lord-Man the Nature will not be balanced again, with a Divine Sacrifice, she will burn for Eternity.

That's her destiny.

[yrluvjane]

Part 2 of dbf!James Potter!!!!!!!! Pleaseeeeeeee

i'm sorry! for being so late!

James Potter had always been good at pretending.

Pretending he wasn’t haunted by the ghost of his failed marriage.

Pretending he didn’t miss the sound of Harry’s laughter echoing through the halls of his too-quiet house. Pretending, most of all, that the way his pulse jumped when you smiled at him was just… gratitude. Nothing more.

But tonight, standing in your dimly lit kitchen with soap suds clinging to his wrists and your shoulder brushing against his as you dried the dishes, the pretense was crumbling.

"You missed a spot," you murmured, reaching past him to swipe your thumb along the rim of a glass he’d just washed. Your fingers grazed his, deliberate and slow.

James swallowed hard. Merlin, when had you gotten so bold?

"Distracted," he admitted, voice rough.

"By what?" You turned to face him fully, leaning back against the counter with that infuriatingly knowing look—the one that made him feel like you could see straight through him.

By you.

The words lodged in his throat. This was dangerous territory. You were his best mate’s daughter, for fuck’s sake. He’d changed your nappies. Taught you to fly a broomstick. Watched you grow up.

But the woman in front of him now—with her sharp wit and softer curves, the way your lips quirked when you teased him—wasn’t a child anymore.

"James?" You tilted your head, and the lamplight caught the gold in your eyes.

He should’ve stepped back. Should’ve made a joke. Should’ve done anything except what he did next.

His hand found your waist.

Your breath hitched.

For one suspended moment, the world narrowed to the space between you—the heat of your body, the hitch in your breathing, the way your lashes fluttered when his thumb brushed the sliver of skin where your shirt had ridden up.

Then—

The front door slammed.

"Sorry I’m late!" Your father’s voice boomed through the house, followed by the clatter of keys hitting the table. "Traffic was a nightmare by Diagon—"

James jerked away like he’d been burned.

Your father froze in the kitchen doorway, taking in the scene: James’s flushed face, your white-knuckled grip on the dishtowel, the charged silence thick enough to choke on.

A beat. Two.

Then—

"Merlin’s beard, James," your dad sighed, rubbing his temples. "If you’re going to eye-fuck my daughter, at least have the decency to do it when I’m not here."

James choked on air.

You burst out laughing, the tension shattering like glass. "Subtlety was never your strong suit, Dad."

"Neither was patience," your father grumbled, but there was no real anger in it as he shoved past you both to raid the fridge. "Just—christ, talk about it like adults, yeah? And Prongs?" He paused, leveling James with a look that had once made dark wizards piss themselves. "You break her heart, I break your kneecaps."

James opened his mouth. Closed it.

You smirked, plucking the last glass from his numb fingers. "Well," you murmured, low enough that only he could hear, "guess we’ve got permission."

And just like that, the last of James’s resistance crumbled.

Because the truth was simple:

He was tired of pretending.

(And if the way you bit your lip when he dragged you into the garden ten minutes later was any indication—so were you.)

[swordsandholly]

Should I start working on this College AU rugby player Soap x art history major (sort of low self-esteem) reader again?

I’ve been thinkin’ about it. Their story haunts me. Anyway here’s a snippet for you to judge:

You sit in the common grounds on an old, tattered quilt under one of the oaks. You managed to score a good spot today, just enough sun to be warm but not enough to force you to squint. The tree curves in that perfect shape for you to lean back against it. You’ve settled into your millionth re-read of Howl’s Moving Castle. A go to when college gets too hard for your brain and you need something easy to digest. Like saltines on a sick stomach.

A faint call of, “Bonnie!” jerks you from the quiet of your moment. Oh, God. Johnny comes jogging up from a group of his fellow rugby players. If only the way he smiles at you didn’t direct all of your attention onto him, maybe you could have gotten away with pretending not to see or hear him.

As it is, you totally can. You push your sunglasses up onto the top of your head and pluck out an earphone just to sit up on your elbows. “Johnny.”

All six foot of the man comes plunking down onto the grass beside you. “I don’ get tae see ye around campus often. Feels like I havennae seen ye in forever.”

“I work a lot.” You repeat. Why couldn’t the gods gift you with at least moderate conversational skills? “It’s only been, like, four days. You weren’t in class yesterday.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Aye… Might have, eh, partaken a bit too much…”

You snort. “As long as you weren’t drinking and driving.”

“I would never.” The response is immediate, his tone unrecognizably dark. A sore spot.

“I’ll give you the notes.” You tilt your head back, changing the subject quickly. The shadows move and the sun begins to encroach upon your spot. It’s nice, actually.

“Ye donnae have tae-”

“I don’t mind.” You wave him off. “We can go over them on study night.”

A loud whistle and a holler echo from the other side of the lawn. Johnny’s buddies are all grouped up, staring. Well, the ones that aren’t actively being distracted by pretty girls are. Your eye meets with the man in the mask, staring each other down for a very brief moment. A shiver runs down your spine as he turns away. Two of the others lean in, snickering while they watch the two of you. It makes your chest hurt in a far too familiar way.

“I think your boys are calling.” You turn back to look at Johnny.

“Och, they can wait.” He shrugs those wide shoulders. Has he gotten bigger recently? “Whit are ye readin’?”

“Oh, nothing, just some kids book…” Before you can tuck it away he snatches it up, flipping it over to the back.

“My sisters read this! They watched the movie a lot. S’about tha’ girl who gets swept off her feet by a dashing wizard, eh?” He grins and leans in. “Remind ye of anybody, bonnie?”

You sit up and scoff, snatching the book back. “Fancy yourself dashing, MacTavish?”

“On occasion.” He winks.

You roll your eyes and mock gag. The man sure lays it on thick. “Well if you read the book you’d know he’s a whiny little brat, so, frankly, yes, it does remind me of a certain somebody.”

Johnny pouts dramatically, only further proving your point. “Got a sharp tongue on ye, hen.”

“It comes in handy.” You chuckle.

“God, I’d be so good to ye.” He says so fast you almost miss it as he grins wide.

You splutter out an awkward laugh, caught entirely off guard. The words sting a bit. He’s joking, obviously. It’s a little cruel. Uncharacteristically so.

Another shout has Johnny rolling his eyes and standing up. “I’ll see ye Thursday?”

“Thursday…” You nod, eyes still wide. You’re sure you look ridiculous.

Mr. Johnny-Sees-All grins back at you with a knowing spark in his eye. “Later, hen!”

[pinkofatom]

The Maid in the Tower

CW: male to female transformation, personality shift, maidification

Hi hi~ a continuation of this

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Edric awoke to the muted scent of lavender soap and the faint creak of old wood settling. For a moment, he lay still, letting the unfamiliar ceiling sharpen into focus — plain beams, a single hanging lantern swaying gently overhead.

He sat up, wincing as his back protested. The bed beneath him was narrow, the mattress thin but tidy. The linens were clean, though simple, and a worn woolen blanket clung to his legs. Around him stood a squat chest of drawers, a washbasin, and a modest wardrobe.

A maid’s chamber.

His throat tightened. He remembered the tower — the steep, winding path, the sound of the wind howling past the broken outer walls. He had come to save Princess Saphira, to confront the wizard who had stolen her from her throne. And yet —

Now he was here.

His armor was gone. So was his sword. Even his tunic had been replaced with a thin, unfamiliar shirt that smelled faintly of lavender and starch. He rose to his feet, steadying himself on the wall. The stone was warm to the touch — disturbingly so.

He needed to find the Princess. He needed answers.

But something about the quiet stillness of the room made it hard to move — hard to remember why he was in such a hurry.

The Princess is counting on me, he told himself. Yet, his steps were slow, measured.

As he crossed the chamber, the floorboards groaned beneath his feet, sounding almost mournful, reluctant. Protests echoed through him, he was not ready to leave yet. The scent of lavender seemed to curl around his limbs like invisible chains, pulling at him. Trying to slow him down. He forced his feet to keep moving.

But they led him to the wardrobe.

It loomed before him — dark, ornately carved wood, with metal fittings gleaming dully in the dim light. His hand closed on the handle, pulled the heavy door open. Inside, hung the unmistakable, unmistakable silhouette of a dress, a richly embroidered gown.

His fingers twitched towards the garment. The fabric felt strange under his fingertips, smooth, impossibly soft — silk, he realized with a shiver. It had been a long time since he had seen anything so delicate. He stroked the gown slowly, savoring the luxurious sensation against his rough skin.

The black fabric gleemed with an invitation. He pulled the gown off its hook, holding it out in front of him. He felt a sudden heat wash over him. He let the gown drop, watching it pool around his ankles like some dark, writhing creature. It felt — heavy. Heavy with the scent of jasmine. His heart pounded. It felt like a promise, an answer to something.

But to what?

The weight of it, the smell of it. It reminded him — of Princess Saphira. Of her warmth, her elegance, her power. How she was his to rescue, his to win.

He had to wear it. Had to have it on him, feel it against his skin, carry her with him. He needed to remember. He reached for his shirt, tugging at the laces that held it together.

The shirt fell away easily, slipping off his shoulders like a sigh of relief. His skin tingled in the cool air of the room, his chest rising and falling with every ragged breath. The dress called to him, reminded him that he had to put on the full ensemble. His eyes dragged back to the wardrobe found the most wonderful set of explicit underwear.

The bodice was made of delicate lace, woven in an intricate pattern that looked like vines twining around his body. It fastened tight across his chest, holding his body in a comforting, constrictive embrace. He ran his hands over the lace, tracing the swirls and curves, feeling the tingle of desire build within him. An invisible force tugged at his chest. He grabbed the brassiere and pulled it tight around him. His hands moved automatically, pulling the strings and tightening them.

The sensation was intense — a sharp constriction, then a warm rush of blood as his body relaxed into the embrace. He breathed deeply, letting his body adjust to the new feeling. The corset seemed to pulse with his heartbeat, a steady, comforting rhythm, urging him forward, deeper into this new form. As he gazed at his new figure, his reflection in the mirror caught his attention. With an appreciative hum, he studied himself. His figure was now accentuated with curves that hugged his hips seductively. His gaze shifted to the next item, his eyes drawn to a pair of stockings, made of sheer black fabric and edged with delicate lace.

Without hesitation he pulled them on.

His hands shook slightly as they traced the contours of his thighs, the sheer material clinging to his skin, the lace tickling him. It was an intoxicating mix, soft and smooth and strange. He stretched out his leg, admiring the way the stockings hugged his shape.

He looked at the garters and attached them to his stockings, relishing the tension of the fabric stretching around his thighs, pressing them into a feminine, svelte form. He wanted more, to become more like the Princess. He yearned to be closer to her, to embody her spirit, her essence. To be worthy of her affection.

So, his eyes flicked back to the bodice and he picked the panties, a raunchy pair incapable of hiding the forbidden fruit. He needed them on him. They felt as smooth and sleek as his stockings as he ran a fingertip over the lacy fringes that framed his crotch, and a small, elegant bow sat atop his hipbone.

With trembling hands, he put the garment in its proper place. The soft fabric of his underwear cradled him, encasing his most intimate area, caressing his-hi—her folds. She could feel her sex pulse, and she bit her lower lip with anticipation. A surge of heat rose from the depths of her core, igniting her nerves with pleasure.

She slipped her feet into a set of simple, black high heels, and as the shoes constricted her feet, an odd sensation enveloped her. She was changing. She was certain of it now, becoming one of the maid's. A servant of the tower that obeyed the Princess' every need.

Her mind clouded as she stepped closer to the wardrobe to examine the last two pieces. She was panting hard now, desperate to wear the whole ensemble, to make her transformation complete. Her body moved with a strange, fluid grace as she reached out to pick the elegant gloves, which clung to her arms with a sensuous hug. On top of her head rested the maid's bonnet. The fabric hugged the crown of her head and framed her delicate face. A subtle, pleasurable tugging sensation at her roots, like hundreds of tiny, invisible threads pulled at her skin.

Eleonore was finally ready. A faint, buzzing sound hummed in her ears, a faintly metallic, almost hypnotic noise that drew her attention. A mirror, its polished surface glinting with an unnatural light, beckoned her. Eleonore took a tentative step forward, gazing into it with wide, curious eyes.

She barely recognized herself.

The figure that stared back was beautiful, with dark eyes that were wide and empty. Ruby tinted lips, that parted slightly, showing the hint of a pink tongue within. The gown clung to her frame like a lover, emphasizing the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the softness of her thighs. She felt — feminine. Unashamed. And above all else, submissive. Eager to fulfill a role that had always felt like it belonged to her. Her body hummed with anticipation and desire, her sex pulsing with need, the dampness between her thighs growing more apparent.

Rolling her delicious hips, the servant left her chambers. Her body moved with a sinuous, almost feline grace, the corset and gown pulling and pushing her in ways she had never felt before.

She stepped through the halls of the castle, each stride a rhythmic clatter of heels against the cold stone. Her destination were the Princess' chambers.

The image of the Princess' voluptuous curves haunted her mind. Her pace quickened. Hasty she opened the intricate doors — and saw all of her mistress' glory.

"My Lady," Eleonore curtsied as she entered the grand chamber of Princess Saphira. "It shall be my honor to tend to your every need this morning." Her heart fluttered in her chest as she gazed at the stunning woman seated before the vanity. Princess Saphira's crimson hair cascaded like a silken inferno over her ivory shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face.

A playful, innocent — yet lustful — giggle answered her. The sound echoed through her core, sending a tingle down her spine and into the wetness that pooled at her crotch.

"Oh, goodie. I need some help," she pouted. "My beloved wizard will be gone for days," her voice turned husky, "and a woman has needs." Her blue, deep gaze pierced into Eleonore's very soul as she walked up to her. "I trust that my most obedient maid can tend to her mistress, no?"

"Y-yes," Eleanore muttered, feeling her face grow hot. "Anything, your grace."

Saphira turned away from the vanity, and with one fluid movement, she shrugged her thin robe off her shoulders, fully revealing her voluptuous curves.

The maid swallowed thickly as Saphira's massive breasts came into full, tantalizing display — the Princess was a true queen of all things carnal.

As Eleonore sank to her knees between her Princess' thighs, the only thought that echoed through her mind was:

How lucky she was to be a servant of the Tower.

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

I saw your Girl dad! Josh post!

….Bill in his girl dad arc when (JK! JK!….unless)

(Lol lock tf in chat this is gonna get interesting to say the least

Bill dickey as a Girl Dad headcannons

1. "You're Not Dating Anyone Until You're Thirty-Five."

Bill is insanely overprotective but in the worst possible way. He doesn't trust anyone, especially boys. If his daughter so much as mentions a crush, he launches into a 15-minute rant about how “men are scum, and I should know, because I am one!”

2. Turns Her into a Nerd by Force.

He starts her on comics, sci-fi, and horror movies from the womb. Think “Alien” at age six and mandatory Sunday night viewings of Twilight Zone.

“You don’t get to sleep until you can name the entire creative team behind Swamp Thing vol. 2.”

3. Absolutely Cannot Handle Emotions.

She cries? He panics. He just stands there holding a Mountain Dew can like, “Uh… do you want… a Funko Pop or something? Stop leaking! I didn’t raise a weakling!”

4. The Most Toxic PTA Parent Ever.

He shows up to school meetings in a black trench coat, rants about the school’s media literacy failures, and says things like, “If my daughter’s being bullied, I will sue. I have lawyers. I know people on forums. Don’t test me.”

5. Secretly the Best Coach in a Weird Way.

Bill is a ruthless perfectionist when she shows interest in anything creative. “If you’re gonna draw anime, do it right. These proportions? Amateur. You call this anatomy? This is CalArts-tier crap, and I won’t allow it under my roof.”

But his standards push her to be really, really good—even if she wants to murder him half the time.

6. Grudgingly Proud Dad Mode

She wins an art contest or aces a project? He brags nonstop for a month—but never directly to her face.

“She’s not bad. I mean, obviously she got the talent from me. But yeah, whatever. I guess she’s okay.”

7. Hyper Fixates on Her Interests to “Vet” Them

If she likes something he doesn’t understand (like K-pop), he goes full rage-research mode. Watches 6-hour YouTube essays. Then returns to say things like:

“Okay. So this Jungkook guy? I guess he’s talented. Still don’t trust him.”

8. Accidentally Raises a Girl Just Like Him

One day she quotes The Thing perfectly, destroys a boy in an online debate, and calls someone a “poser” for not knowing Kirby’s original designs. Bill just stares and mutters, “My work here is done.”

9. Will Go to War for Her

She never sees it, but if anyone seriously messes with her? He’s already on the dark web tracking their IP address. His threats are too specific.

“You want me to drop their home address or are we playing the long game?”

10. Sentimental? Nope. Never. (Okay, Maybe Once.)

He keeps a photo of her in his wallet, folded and beat up. He never talks about it.

But sometimes, when she’s not around, he looks at it and sighs.

“She’s… fine. Not like she makes me proud or anything. Idiot.”

“The Coat”

Bill was elbow-deep in a tote labeled "CON BADGES / UNTOUCHED GARBAGE", muttering under his breath about how these kids wouldn’t know practical effects if they crawled out of a latex womb, when his daughter walked in—dragging the massive, beat-up orange flannel from the back of his closet behind her.

It was practically a robe on her. Oversized, worn, and clinging to the smell of years of conventions, bad takeout, and Bill’s lingering rage.

Daughter:

“…Can I wear this to school tomorrow?”

Bill turned like she’d just asked to burn his comic collection.

Bill:

“That? You mean my coat? The coat I wore to every screening of The Thing between ‘92 and ‘06? The coat I nearly got kicked out of Wizard World for wearing over a Gremlins tee because some idiot thought I was doing a bit?”

Daughter: (nodding calmly)

“Yeah. That one.”

Bill: (offended beyond comprehension)

“Why would you want to wear that? You trying to look like a failed screenwriter with back problems?!”

Daughter:

“It’s warm. And I like how it smells. Like… your weird soap and burnt pizza.”

Bill: (pointing dramatically)

“That’s character! You don’t earn that smell, you live in it.”

Daughter:

“I want to live in it. Just for the day.”

That shut him up for a second. He looked at her—dwarfed by his rage-blanket of a coat, arms poking out like she was wrapped in a sleeping bag—and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like: “…you’re a menace…”

Bill: (grumbling)

“Fine. But if anyone spills anything on it, anyone—you, your friends, some gluten-free goober with a juice box—I will rain hellfire upon that school. I will march in there, I will quote John Carpenter until they expel themselves, and I will not be held responsible for what happens next.”

Daughter: (grinning)

“Love you too, Dad.”

Bill:

“I didn’t say that. I don’t believe in love. I believe in practical effects and staying angry.”

She rolled her eyes, already backing out of the room.

Daughter:

“Sure. I’ll be careful. I swear on your limited edition ‘Murder of Crows’ box set.”

Bill: (horrified)

“DON’T YOU JOKE ABOUT THAT—!”

But she was gone. And he was left staring at the empty spot where the coat had been, rubbing his temples and muttering:

Bill:

“Kid’s gonna be the death of me. In the best possible way.”

[frostyharbor]

MODERN WARMANCY

"STATE OF MIND"

A Wizarding World x Call of Duty crossover simon "ghost" riley x witch!Reader index + intro here

cw: slight horror, manipulation

The first time Simon’s rifle whispers to him, he nearly puts his back out.

It’s the first model, fresh off the P&D testing floor. You had shown it to him the week before, walking through the modifications and explaining the different enchantments that the Charms department had applied to the scope.

“When you see your…target,” you explain, still squeamish enough over the concept that you stumble over the word, “just tell the rifle what you’re aiming at.”

His pride is stung at the suggestion that he needs a rifle spelled to do the aiming for him. “Never had any complaints about my aim.”

Your eyes narrow into slits. “I understand. But if your enemies are protected with deflective charms, your accuracy won’t matter.”

Two days prior, his first opportunity to use it, Simon had been posted as overwatch for Price and Gaz. Soap was somewhere out of sight, planting charges. 

Simon, feeling very stupid, had lined up a target in his sights—a half-concealed shadow that was just meters away from the path Price was taking up to the building. 

“Fuckin’ hell…the man by the path, then.”

The rifle had moved in his hands, adjusting slightly to the right before settling again. He had pulled the trigger and watched with a grim sort of satisfaction as the shadow crumpled with a spray of dark mist.

Now, he’s set up in a similar position, still watching the captain’s back as he weaves in and out of the shipping containers below.

He’s got an enemy in his crosshairs, but before he can even ask the rifle to adjust his aim, a little voice whispers in his ear.

“Little to the left, love.”

He whips around, knife already half drawn from his belt, convinced that someone had got the jump on him. But there’s no one there. 

Just the rifle, humming faintly in his hands. It feels disappointed.

Right, Simon thinks. The target.

Glancing around one more time, he quickly shoulders the weapon back into place. It doesn’t speak this time, just quickly guides his aim to where it needs to be. One more trigger pulled, one more target down.

He doesn’t say anything about the incident to the rest of the team. The words sound stupid enough in his own ears: “Last night, the gun spoke to me. Weird, eh?”

The more enemies he kills, the bolder the rifle becomes. 

“You take the one on the left, I’ve got the right,” Price orders through comms. It’s a cold night in Siberia, the snow blowing through the trees in stinging white streaks.

“Why wait for Price, though?” It hisses after Simon takes out the first man. “You could take the shot now.”

“Ghost? Thought I had the one on the right.”

“Had a clear shot, sir,” Simon replies without thinking. A faint titter of satisfaction rings in his ears.

At the close of the mission, he’s waiting for exfil with the others, rifle propped on his shoulder. His head is nodding; hasn’t gotten a bloody full night’s rest since he was back in Herefordshire. As his eyes slip closed, a gentle murmur whispers in his mind. He doesn’t even jump anymore.

“Look at Johnny sitting over there. Back turned. He isn’t even watching you.”

No, he isn’t, Simon thinks back. He adjusts the rifle without thinking, arranging it in his hands instead of at his shoulder.

“It’d be easy. Haven’t you ever just thought about shooting him?”

He’s already raised the rifle when the words register. From his lulled state of mind, he feels the cold creep of invasion reaching into his mind like searching vines.

His eyes fly open to look down the line of the barrel, Johnny’s mohawk already in his sights.

Panicking, Simon does the only thing he can think of. He swings the weapon, hard.

It smashes to pieces against a boulder, springs and bolts sent flying. Kyle ducks with a shout when a chunk of the barrel grazes his right ear.

Simon and Johnny both stand there in the snow, looking at the wreckage. Gaz is looking at him, one hand over his ear. So is Price, his lit cigar frozen halfway to his mouth.

Nobody speaks. 

Not even the rifle.

notes: "What if Ghost had an evil sentient rifle" was what started this series

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Me & The Devil P.2 🌘| Harry Potter Imagine

takes place during HBP & DH1

Part 1 here Final Part | HP Masterlist

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

Content Warnings: death, violence, profanity, angst, slight cannon divergence, mentions of torture and blood, set during the book timeline of the 1990s | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 6k

Requested yes/no

Premise: A dark storm is brewing over Hogwarts. The return of Voldemort and his Death Eaters spark unease in the Golden Trio. For a certain member of the Noble House of Black, she takes on a new role of double agent with the partnership between her and a certain Hogwarts professor. Will she survive the ordeal and get her freedom when it's all over? The odds are slim when acting as a loyal servant and hunted by aurors.

Note: Snape is 37 in this like the books and reader is 31. Part 3 will be the final chapter to this miniseries but I have no idea when it will be posted. Hope y’all like this one! Also near the end the final scenes are inspired by Wanda in MOM so yeah that belongs to Marvel

——————-

Months went by. Waiting. Scheming. Y/n felt her mind deteriorate by the day. Between Bellatrix’s constant complaints of Draco’s failures and Narcissa’s moping, Y/n spent most of her time in the attic of Malfoy Manor. Hidden away to perfect her spells and create new ones. She even managed to successfully become an animagus. 

A black crow.

How fitting.

At times Y/n found herself sitting in front of the window. Especially when it rained. The lightning in the distance, the crisp air filling the attic walls. Lost in her thoughts, Y/n would caress the silver jewelry laid on her left ring finger. 

Once a month she’d receive a letter from Severus, unbeknownst to the others, detailing Draco’s attempts and all the times Snape’s had to cover for him. As part of their deal to keep quiet of the others' disloyalty and motives behind actions, Snape agreed to update her on Draco and keep the Order off Y/n’s trail. For Y/n’s side of the bargain, she agreed to deflect suspicion on him from their fellow Death Eaters. Specifically her sisters.

And what better way to do that then in holy matrimony.

“You want to get married?” she scoffed, placing her wine glass on the coaster. Having left with her sisters following the unbreakable vow, Y/n returned later that night after Severus sent an owl. Sitting in the same leather chair from before, “You humor me.”

“I can assure you I am everything but comical, Y/n,” he drawled, standing by the fireplace. The sound of wood crackling filled the room. “This is not an arrangement I suggest lightly.”

Seeing how serious he was, Y/n’s demeanor changed. “Wow,” her tone lowered, finger raising to tap her lips. Unable to read her mind since she was a gifted Occulmens like himself, Snape was left to wonder what Y/n was thinking. Truth be told the woman was more impressed than shocked by his proposal. “I think that’s the first time I’ve been rendered speechless, Severus.” Standing, Y/n grabbed her glass and approached the man. “You truly believe this would work? Proposing a marriage between us….” she trailed, glancing at the fire briefly, “is intriguing. Tell me more.”

Snape’s expression remained the same, “It is simply a matter of convenience.” No need to sugar coat it, “We want to keep our secrets hidden. So long as you can assure your sisters stay off my back…..I’ll make sure the Order stays off yours. We play the part of a happy married couple when operating business with the Dark Lord, and I will do everything in my power to get your freedom when this all ends.” 

Y/n liked what she was hearing. The more she thought about it, the more engrossed she became. Marrying Snape wasn’t ideal--as the concept itself she did not care for--but Y/n could not deny the idea made her curious. Plus Severus was handsome, a talented wizard, and obviously, he knew her motives for following Voldemort. What her end goal was. She needed to keep him close. 

“I think I’ll find playing the part of a smitten wife will be rather easy,” she rasped, stepping closer to Snape so their chests were nearly touching. Walking her fingertips up the length of his arm, Y/n leaned closer to Snape which ignited a sharp breath from the man. She smelled of expensive perfume. Their closeness allowed him to see how her eyes turned from their usual coldness to something more lustful. Almost sinister. His reaction made her smirk, “Confident you can manage the same….husband?” 

Now, almost a year later, the two managed to successfully keep their union hidden from the Order. All while any suspicion the Death Eaters had of Snape seemed to disappear. Bellatrix, initially furious and doubtful of their ‘relationship’, soon began to trust him. Still, the witch grimaced each time the pair greeted the other with an affectionate kiss. Or when Y/n took claim to Snape’s lap during meetings. An action which surprised the man himself in the beginning.

Each letter Severus sent was met with one in return, however Y/n was careful to only send her owl in the late hours of the night. When her family was sound asleep. Signing the parchment with only her initials, but instead of B as the ending initial it was S. She’d never admit it aloud, but Y/n felt a sense of comfort with Severus. There was an overwhelming amount of hate in her heart, but the pinch of sanity left in her soul connected to him. Which is not a surprise. He is, of course, the only person who can relate to her. 

Neither would call it love. Y/n possessed no love. And Snape lost his when Lily died. They had mutual respect and care for each other as their partnership grew. Finding the other’s presence calm despite the world around them going to shit. 

The news of Draco’s success in connecting the two cabinets came from Bellatrix’s glee, the woman bursting into the attic with a loud, “It’s time, sister.” Reluctantly, Y/n trailed Bellatrix to Knockturn Alley, where they met several of their associates. 

Dark clouds painted the sky. Thunder rumbling. It set the tone of the evening. 

Y/n stayed stoic the entire journey. Hating every minute, yet doing nothing to escape. Where could she even go? The mark on her arm prevented her from doing so. Until Voldemort was defeated, the only way for her to stay alive was to continue the act of a loyal servant. 

Draco was gone when the group breached the cabinet in a cloud of black smoke. The boy rushed to find Dumbledore and complete his task. He found the man on the observation deck of the Astronomy Tower. Unaware his longtime rival, Harry Potter, was below him, watching the scene play out. 

The others arrived to witness Draco complete the task, however, in the end Snape was the one to administer the curse. And so the greatest wizard in history fell from the sky. 

Y/n kept her eyes on Severus the entire time. Watching his reaction. When he went through with the unthinkable, Y/n wasted no time in rushing to his side. Cupping his face, she noticed the dissociative expression Snape wore. Mind processing what he had done. “Severus,” he didn’t respond, making her shake his shoulders, “look at me.” Finally he meets her eye and the woman matches his anxious demeanor. “We have to go. Now.” 

Clutching his robe, the two push Draco in the direction of the Death Eaters. Bellatrix’s maniacal laughter rings as she shoots a spell into the sky to bring forth the Dark Lord’s symbol in the clouds. Not long after the tower was surrounded by members of the Order, ensuing a battle between the groups. Y/n tried to avoid dueling as much as possible. Not wanting to harm anyone, especially the kids in the school. 

Cutting the corner after dodging a spell from her niece Nymphadora, Y/n spotted the wretched Fenrir Greyback attacking a man she didn’t recognize. Judging by the wild red hair he possessed, she assumed it was a Weasley. Greyback’s back was toward her, unaware she stood behind him. From the looks of it, the redhead was losing the fight. 

Not sure what came over her at that moment, Y/n raised her wand and shouted, “Stupefy!” The werewolf was flung into the wall behind him, falling unconscious. 

“Bill!” a voice screamed, Y/n turning to see a young woman running to where the Weasley laid. Bloodied and knocked out. Fluer dropped beside him, sobbing at the state of her fiance. She glanced up to see Y/n, immediately becoming frozen with fear while pleading with her to help. “Y-you--H-he’s been--.”

Cursing to herself, Y/n approached the two. “He wasn’t bit,” adjusting her dress skirt, she grabbed the cuffs of Bill’s jacket and gestured for Fluer to help. Together they moved him to a concealed area away from the battle. “He’s been scratched.” Having studied werewolves while in school, the woman was well educated on the subject. Muttering a healing spell, Y/n attempted to at least stop the bleeding, however, she knew the extent of his injuries were serious. “Nevertheless, the wounds are cursed. They’ll scar.” 

Fluer watched her carefully, “W-why are you helping us?” Y/n gave no answer, instead casting a final healing spell before standing up to leave. In her peripheral vision, she noticed movement from Greyback, and sent a second stun his way to keep him unconscious. She always hated him, so it gave her great pleasure to pu thim down. 

Truth be told Y/n didn’t know why she helped the injured Weasley. It would have best suited her to get the hell out of there and let whatever outcome happen. Whether that be Greyback killing the man or Bill successfully overpowering the werewolf. But instead, she cursed her associate. Saving the life of ‘the enemy’. 

Several agonizing minutes passed before Y/n managed to escape the tower. At Snape’s order, she ran deep into the forest until she was far enough to apparate. Back at the manor she was immediately questioned by her sister.

“Is Draco okay,” Narcissa grabbed Y/n’s wrist to stop her from escaping to the attic. Eyes glossy with tears, “Did he--.”

“Your son is fine, Narcissa,” she roughly pulled away. “You have my husband to thank for that--he finished the job.” There was immediate relief from Narcissa, exhaling the breath she had been holding. Y/n went straight to the liquor cabinent, taking a glass and pouring a generous amount before downing it. She then refilled the glass, offering it to her sister without a word. Once Narcissa took it Y/n kept the bottle for herself, saying nothing more as she made her way to the attic. 

It wasn’t long before the others arrived. Y/n heard Narcissa’s cry of relief upon seeing Draco. Bellatrix was busy scolding Greyback--something that brought a smile to her face. Other murmurs were made out, but hard to identify with all the noise. Moments later she heard the fast approaching sound of footsteps nearing her door. Jolting from her bed with her wand raised at whoever was about to breach it. Only when it was revealed to be Severus did Y/n lower her guard, rolling her eyes, “What have I told you about--.”

Snape slammed the door shut, muttering a silencing charm which caused Y/n to raise her brow. “We need to talk.” Her guarded expression returned, but Snape beat her before she could question him. “I know you stunned the werewolf to save Weasley.” All movement from the woment seized, frozen in shock.

“How do you know--.”

“I saw you with Miss. Delacour, Y/n,” Snape peers down at her with visible frustration. “Why would you risk such a thing? If you had been caught--.”

“But I wasn’t, Severus,” she interrupts, eyes flicking to the door in fear someone was listening, but then she remembered the spell he cast. “I was careful. You should know better than to underestimate me. And to answer your question….” she turned away from him, hands on her hips as she turned her focus to the woods beyond her window. “I don’t know what possessed me to do what I did--It just happened. Maybe it’s the fact the Weasley’s are distant family. Or because I fucking hate Greyback.” She throws her hands up in defeat,  “Or I want the Order to have all its members to better their chances at winning this damn war. Maybe…” her hands fall back to her sides, “deep down there’s some humanity left in me.” The words were so low it was barely a whisper. Y/n shook her head, the speck of softness replaced with disinterest. 

“Whatever it was,” turning back to him, Y/n narrows her eyes in warning. “It’s no longer our concern. Dumbledore is dead, you killed him.” footsteps echo against the wood as she approaches Snape, noticing his expression change at the mention of the headmaster. “He will be plotting his next move. We need to remain focused--I expect his attention will be on us more now given the circumstances.” 

Snape knows she’s right. Killing Albus only shined a spotlight on him, and in turn on Y/n. He was now labeled public enemy #1 in the eyes of the Order. Voldemort himself will likely turn to Snape. They will have to up their game, continuing the act of a happy couple. Well happy as one can be in the middle of a war. 

That summer was endless torture following the Headmaster’s death. Y/n not only had to deal with Voldemort growing stronger, but also the return of Lucius from Azkaban. It did bring the witch great joy to see the dark circles beneath his eyes and matted hair. One year in prison did a number on him. 

Lucky for Lucius it was only one year. Had it been 15 like Y/n, he’d surely gone mad. Thankfully the two rarely saw each other. Not long after his release following Dumbledore’s death Y/n moved into Severus' home. Only returning to the mansion when necessary. 

At every Death Eater meeting Y/n had to fight yawning with how bored she was, keeping her expression blank even when addressed by Voldermort from time to time. The man wasn’t blind. Well aware the youngest Black was not as forthcoming with her praises to him like Bellatrix. Never voicing her opinions, while also keeping any objections to herself like a smart person would do. He never fully trusted her. Even though she was married to one of his most trusted advisors, something in the back of his mind told Voldemort she’d be the first to turn on him. Without proof, Voldemort kept a close eye.

The meeting tonight was just like any other. Seated at the massive dining table in Malfoy Manor, Voldemort at the head while the Black’s and Malfoy’s flanked to the right. Y/n seated beside Draco, far from her sisters. Very telling of her attitude towards them.

Severus was the last to arrive, dark cloak tailing behind him. His entrance caught everyone’s attention, while his was on his colleague hanging in the air. Muggle studies professor Charity Burbage. The wounds on her body indicated she had been subjected to torture. 

“Severus,” Voldemort greeted, “I was beginning to worry you had lost your way. Come. We’ve saved you a seat.” The headmaster took claim to the only free chair at the table, bidding a look to his wife, to which she slightly shook her head. Silently saying, “I had no part in this.”

Voldemort then said, “Do you bring news, I trust?”

“It will happen Saturday next, at nightfall.”

“I’ve heard differently, my Lord,” Yaxley interrupted at the other end of the table, then proceeds to say he believes Harry will be moved at the end of the month. The 30th of July. The day before his 17th birthday.

“This is a false trail,” Snape insists. “The auror office no longer plays any part in the protection of Harry Potter. “Those closest to him believe we have infiltrated the ministry.”

The Death Eater seated beside Y/n laughed, “Well, they got that right aren’t they.” Several at the table joined in the laughter. The youngest Black’s expression was tight, plastered with annoyance. 

“What’s say you, Pius?” Voldemort addresses the man seated at the opposite head of the table. 

Nagini curled herself next to the chair as he answered, “One hears many things, my Lord. Whether the truth is among them is not clear.” Voldemort chuckles.

“Spoken like a true politician. You will, I think, prove most useful, Pius.” The Death Eater appears pleased by the compliment. Voldemort turns back to Snape, “Where will he be taken, the boy?”

“To a safe house. Most likely the home of someone in the Order. I’m told it’s been given every manner of protection possible, once there it will be impractical to attack him.”

Suddenly the conversation is interrupted by Bellatrix. “My Lord, I’d like to volunteer myself for this task.” She leans against the table, voice dropping, “I want to kill the boy.”

“Of course you would,” Y/n thinks to herself, holding back the urge to roll her eyes. Frankly she found her sister to be stupid to ask such a thing. Considering Voldemort mentions his desire to kill Harry Potter everyday. And with the prophecy, there’s no way he’d allow anyone else the opportunity to do the deed. 

In the back, Charity let out a haunting groan, causing Voldermort to shout, “Wormtail! Have I not spoken to you about keeping our guest’s quiet?”

“Yes, my Lord,” the man spoke with urgency. “Right away, my Lord.” As he scurried off, Voldemort returned his attention to Bellatrix. 

“As inspiring as I find your bloodlust, Bellatrix,” the hope was clear in her eyes, disappearing with his next words. “I must be the one to kill Harry Potter.” With that she curled back into her seat, Y/n’s lips raising in a satisfied smirk.

“But,” he rises from his chair, “I face an unfortunate complication.” As much as Y/n wanted to tune out this conversation, the nature of it was hard to dismiss. Especiall when the man walked behind the chairs on her side of the table. Brushing past her sisters before ending beside Lucius. There was satisfaction seeing him visibly afraid of Voldemort. A smirk on her lips when he was to give up his wand, a wizard’s most prized possession.

Her expression shifted when Charity’s brought to the center of the table. Death Eaters laughing at her despair and cringing with disgust at her profession. Y/n moves her gaze to Severus, who’s emotionless to Charity’s pleas. Then when the woman’s killed and her body drops to the table, Y/n lifts her hand to grasp Draco’s wrist. Squeezing it in warning for him to control himself when she sees his distraught state in the corner of her eyes. 

The action surprises the boy. Draco sucking in a breath and forcing himself to relax. Once he does, Y/n removes her touch and waits to be dismissed by Voldemort. As soon as the order is given she’s quick to leave the table, taking Snape’s outstretched hand where he apparates them back home. 

“How do you plan--?” he doesn’t let her finish the question.

“I have it covered.” Moving to his study, he hears her footsteps behind him, Y/n slamming the door shut once they’ve entered. He looked annoyed, “This doesn’t concern you.”

“The hell it does!” she shouted, making him clench his jaw. Ever since the incident at the Astronomy tower the two had been on edge with each other. For one, the Order discovered their marriage causing Y/n to lose her shit. Now she was public enemy #2 in their eyes. Or 3 if you count Voldermort at the top. Her odds of the Order leaving her the fuck alone decreased immensly. 

Second, Snape told her of his and Dumbledore’s arrangement. That the headmaster asked Snape to kill him. A secret Y/n had trouble wrapping her head around and prayed to a higher power no one, especially Bellatrix, found out about. 

Crossing over to him where he stood at his desk, Y/n caught his wrist to make him look at her. “In case you have forgotten, dear husband, we are playing both sides right now. You say you want to protect Harry Potter…just how do you plan to do that during an ambush you helped orchestrate? What the hell are we supposed to do if Harry Potter dies at his hands Saturday next?” Y/n squeezed his wrist tighter, “I’m putting all my trust into Severus Snape. You promised me my freedom when this was all over.” 

“I haven’t forgotten, Y/n,” he removes himself from her grip, “You say you trust me. Do so, and you won’t be let down.”

Y/n didn’t know where it all went wrong. One moment she was flying in the sky, the next she’s being rammed into by Bill Weasley’s Thestral. Pain erupted in her chest, likely from a broken rib and caught herself on the creature's satchel. Her hand is then grabbed by the imposter Harry seated behind Bill, keeping Y/n steady to prevent falling to her death. Using her talent of legitimins, Y/n identifies the imposter as Bill’s fiance Fluer. 

“You’re not Harry Potter,” she whispers, causing Harry (Fluer) to widen her eyes. The accusation was confirmed when Fluer’s voice responded, “How did you know?” Before Y/n could answer, however, the world around her became black. Having been stunned by Bill who realized what was happening behind him.  

Acting fast, Fluer reached with her other hand to further grasp Y/n’s now limp body onto the Thestral. 

“What are you doing?” Bill shouted over the chaos, “She’s one of them!”

“And she saved your life in the Astronomy tower, William!” Fluer screamed back. Using all her might, she hauled Y/n over the bottom half of the creature. Gripping the material of her robes and dress while ducking at the incoming curses around them. 

When they finally made it to the Burrow, the shaky landing caused Fluer to lose her hold. Y/n fell to the ground, still unconscious. Bruises were sure to form on her body. Bill leaped off the Thestral, helped Fluer off and rushed to Y/n. After confirming she was alive by pressing his fingers to her pulse, the oldest Weasley took the death eater into his arms and followed Fluer into the house. But not before telling Fluer to take her wand which had been discarded into a ditch.

“Wait here,” he said, placing Y/n in the care of Fluer by setting her on a bench outside the door, Bill entered to find the others gathered around an injured George. After the shock wore off of his brother’s state, Bill announced the death of Mad-eye and departure of Mundungus. Deepening the already intense mood.

“There’s something else,” he hesitated, eyes flickering to find everyone staring at him with unease. They watched Bill exit the house, only to return a second later dragging the last person they ever expected. Gasps rang out, wands drawn in Y/n’s direction. The witch barely conscious but fighting against Bill’s hold. Eventually succumbing to sleep once again due to the pounding in her head. 

With the help of Remus, the two propped Y/n in a chair, casting a spell to bind her hands and legs. “Where’s her wand?” Remus urgently looked around, relieved to see the object in Fluer’s possession. He turned to Bill, “What the hell happened?”

As the oldest Weasley explained, Molly approached the woman, assessing her carefully. Y/n had dirt and grime in her hair. A small cut to her temple. Likely from a rock when she fell from the Threstral. Her breathing was shaky, pained groans escaping her mouth which Molly assumed was from trauma to her chest. Although the others were against it, Molly began performing healing spells on Y/n, “Had it not been for her my son would be dead! I do not care what side she is on--I shall offer the same courtesy.” 

The group was alerted to Y/n’s consciousness twenty minutes later when she groaned. Shifting in the chair, her eyelids fluttered briefly before opening to bright lights. Moaning, Y/n straightened up aware of the audience in front of her, however she did not appear concerned. Even with several wands pointing at her. “Hmmmph,” she blinks a few times, settling her gaze on Remus, “what an unpleasant situation we have here. I hoped to be dead before experiencing this.”

It pained Remus to hear her words. Thinking back to that little girl he’d met on the corner of Diagon Alley with James, perched on Sirius’ hip. That little girl was gone. In her place was a woman with the Devil on her shoulder. “We don’t want to hurt you, Y/n.”

Tilting her head as though she found his statement funny, she replies “Is that supposed to make me feel at ease?” rolling her eyes she adds, “Surely you could’ve come up with something better.”

Remus sighed, realizing it was about to be a long night. “We’re willing to negotiate terms if you provide us with information. A lesser sentence if you will,” he chose his next words carefully, seeing her demenor shift, “so long as you are upfront and answer all of our questions with honesty.” Y/n’s face tightened, no longer humored. Remus felt his stomach lurch, not breaking the intense eye contact she set with him.

“You threaten me--.”

“It’s not a threat--,” he insists but Y/n continues.

“With a cell in Azkaban and expect me to comply? By being a snitch?” she shakes her head, eyes full of fury. “Go to hell, Remus Lupin.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way.”

“Oh?” She grumbles with a glare, “and how else do you suggest it be? I’m not stupid--a tad mad if we want to get technical, but you all have yourselves to blame for that.” Y/n was referring to the Order not taking her in during the First Wizarding War. Sirius warned them of his family and the Death Eaters recruiting her at a young age. Yet no attempt to protect Y/n was initiated. 

The werewolf’s face fell, “Had we known--.”

“Known what?!” She jumped forward in her chair as the dam of pent up resentment and anger broke, making several flinch at the sudden movement. A few wands pointed up but she paid them no mind. “That I’d become a Death Eater against my will? That I’d be forced to use the Cruciatus Curse on the Longbottoms or face my sister’s wrath?” She spat with ferocity. Pupils nearly pitch black it made her appear demonic. “You knew what my family was like! Sirius knew--It’s why he left! And you did nothing to save me.” Leaning back in the chair, Y/n finished with, “Go ahead and kill me. I’m not telling you shit.”

Remus runs a hand through his hair, his patience running thin and stress levels rising. “Y/n, I’m trying to help you here. We’re giving you the opportunity to avoid a lifetime in jail if you help us--help us end this war.” When his efforts are exhausted Remus gestures to the man behind him, “Kingsley has Veritaserum and we will use it if necessary.”  Now this has her smirking, chin raising in challenge. 

“Go ahead,” her voice lowers an octave, sending chills along his arms, “I welcome you to.” Weary of her acceptance, the adult members of the Order all exchange looks before Kingsley approaches. Y/n tilts her head back, watching Kingsley unscrew the vial and pour the tiny amount of liquid onto her tongue. Once it’s entered her stream, the woman cracks her neck and returns her attention to Remus. 

He clasped his hands in his lap, leaning in his chair. “How’d you know about tonight?”

Y/n pretends to think, “I think I saw an advertisement in the Daily Prophet. Yeah,” she nods her head, acting serious. “That was it.” 

Remus’s own head falls to his chest, the others visibly confused. The potion was to make her tell the truth. Pretty much against her will. Thinking it may have not settled in yet, Remus asks another question. “Who told him we were moving Harry?” 

Deciding to play along, Y/n shrugs her shoulders, “Yaxley.” Lie. She held back a chuckle at his confused reaction.

“How did he know?”

“Overheard it.” Lie.

“Where?”

“Diagon Alley I assume.” Lie.

“From who?”

“I don’t know.” Lie.

“But he’s the one who told Voldemort.” Y/n rolled her eyes at that, gesturing to her binded hands.

“Obviously since we’re sitting in this predicament.” She sees the frustration on Remus, as well as the others. Yet, the witch couldn’t help but feel entertained. “Anything else?”

“What’s your relationship to Severus Snape?” 

“He’s my husband,” She didn’t miss the way the Order reacted to the news. Upset but not surprised. No point in lying. They already knew about their marriage from what Snape told her. The truth of why, however, was still a secret. 

“Why did he kill Dumbledore?” Harry stepped forward, drawing her attention to him. Anger was written all over his face. Filled with absolute hatred. Something Y/n had expected when her husband murdered the man he looked up to. 

“You were there, right?” she asked, head tilting with curiosity. “Snape mentioned you’d been below the observatory deck.” Tsking, Y/n surveyed him. She was getting under his skin. “Why do you think he did it?”

“I think he did it to save himself. He was a coward,” Harry saw the way her face tightened. Taking offense to his words. A mere speck of what someone could label as affection or respect to her spouse. 

“Severus Snape is many things,” she sounded sinister, anger seeping off every word. “But a coward is not one of them.”

“Fat lot of good coming from you.” Harry antagonized her. “You hightailed it out of the ministry when Sirius died. He was your own cousin.”

“My cousin who left me a sitting duck for the wolves,” Y/n reminded the boy, temper rising. An indicator with how her voice was strained. “Let’s not forget you all thought he was responsible for betraying your parents. Didn’t even hesitate to believe he was guilty.” That cut them all deep. “And I adored Sirius at one point in life. Much like you, Harry Potter,” she let out a deep sigh, attempting to calm herself, “look at where it got me.” Exhaustion was beginning to take over the witch. Her body ached and there was a pounding in her head. Molly’s healing spells worked to patch any internal injuries Y/n had, but she still was drained from the whole ordeal. 

They were getting off track. Having had enough of the tension, Remus butted in, “Answer the question, Y/n. Why did Snape kill Dumbledore?”

“I don’t know,” she simply stated. Lie. “He didn’t say. Although…I can only assume it was to spare my poor nephew.” Another shrug, “And survive the unbreakable vow. Which you already know of.” 

Harry shook his head, “I don’t believe you.” His gut was telling him there was more to the story. 

“Harry, she took the Veritaserum,” Hermoine pointed out gently, missing the flicker of amusement from Y/n. “She’s telling the truth.”

“Hermoine’s right, Harry,” Ron agreed, moving beside his friend. “There’s no way she could be lying.”

“How much did you give her, Kingsley?” Arthur questioned, also suspicious of Y/n’s answers. Kingsley held up the vial. More than half was consumed.

“Enough.”

“Something’s off,” he murmured, rubbing his chin. A bickering match ensued between members of the Order. Harry, Arthur, and even Y/n’s niece, Tonks, had difficulty believing Y/n told the truth. The majority, however, voiced opposition. 

“Veritaserum is a very potent and strong potion, Harry,” Remus stood from his chair, but before he could say anything else, Y/n’s voice took over.

“Which you just wasted.”

Silence consumes the room. Processing what she said. That’s not possible.

Heads turning to the witch, Y/n starts to chuckle in delight. A sight unnerving to the Order as it becomes more deranged. Harry looked to his friends for an answer, but they were just as perplexed as him. Y/n’s voice turns taunting, “Oh my, you lot really are daft at times. Have you forgotten? Or did you believe it to be a rumor?” Her grin is wicked, finding the scene entertaining much to their dismay. “I’m a skilled Occulmens.” 

It was as though the dementors arrived with how cold the air became. Everyone falters, stilling at the revelation. It could only mean one thing:

Everything Y/n said potentially was a lie. 

The Death Eater tsked, “What do you think I did with all that time I had rotting in the middle of the ocean?” she laughs again, more menacingly. “Your little potion is useless! My mind is more protected than Azkaban. For all you know I fabricated everything I just told you.” Her taunting laugh continues, shredding the last ounce of patience the Order had for her. 

Remus kneeled in front of her chair and smacked the table, causing everyone besides Y/n to flinch. “Enough of these games! I have tried to give you the benefit of the doubt knowing you’d been forced into this life, but you have proven to be not so different from your associates.” Now that was a nail to the coffin. Any and all of Remus’s hope for Y/n having some level of good in her gone. “This is your final warning--or we will throw you in Azkaban for the rest of your life for good!”

Never straying her stare, the Death Eater murmered cooly, “You have no idea how reasonable I’ve been.” This time it was Remus’s turn to scoff.

“Holding children hostage at the Ministry, attacking Hogwarts, marrying Snape, and sending assassins after the officials who locked you up,” He lists off, surprising the Order with the last detail. They had heard rumors of Azkaban guards and Ministry officials killed in the last few months, but assumed it was Bellatrix. “I don’t see how that’s being reasonable.”

Y/n gave a sound that was a mix of a chuckle and scoff, leaning forward in her chair. “Sending those assassins after them instead of myself was mercy.” A chill rose, Harry’s intuition telling him something was about to happen. “And despite your hypocrises and insults I have warned you time and time again to simply get out of my way.” Remus saw her hands fidget, tightening his grip on his wand. 

“You’ve exhausted my patience,” Her voice lowered once more, almost to a whisper as her bottom lip quivered. “But I do hope you understand…that even now--with what’s about to happen…..” lips curled into a deathly smirk. “This is me being…reasonable.”

Faster than the speed of light, Y/n casts a non-verble, wandless spell that mimics a gust a powerful wind, ripping the binds off her hands and ankles. Remus flies onto his back, the lights flicker and burst. The windows and glass shatter. Papers fly. Hermoine screams, echoing amongst the shouts as Ron pulls her into his arms. Molly leaning over an injured George to protect him from shards. 

 Fluer gasps at the feeling of Y/n’s wand in her hand ripped from her. The death eater had snapped her fingers in the chaos with a non-verbal Accio.

With her wand now in her possession, Y/n unleashes another bout of wind, crippling the Order from attacking her. Once satisfied she makes her escape. Black smoke fills the room before flying out the window and into the night sky. The storm inside the burrow seizing. 

“What the bloody hell was that?” Ron coughs, catching his breath. 

“That,” Kingsley stands up straight, sore from colliding with the wall which knocked him down. “Was the closest thing to experiencing the Devil on Earth.”

Tags: @unloved-and-outspoken

[lulublack90]

Prompt 10 - Penpals

@wolfstarmicrofic July 10, word count 983

‘Dear Padfoot,

Wales is the most beautiful country and there are so many exciting things to do here, so why did my parents pick the most boring village to live in? It’s so dull here. I miss the chaos of our dorm room and the library. There’s a library van that comes here every two weeks, but the old duffer who drives it won’t let me take more than three books out at once. I need more than three!

How’s it going at home? You said in your last letter that your Mum caught you replacing her chinaware with nose-biting teacups. While I’d pay good money to see Walburga Black with a teacup stuck on the end of her nose, Sirius, we talked about this. Please keep your head down, we both know she doesn’t mess around. If you can’t go the next few weeks without causing some mayhem, please, keep it to your room. Maybe use that extra strong spellotape I gave you for Easter?

Don’t be a dick.

Moony.’

‘Dearest Moony,

Please find enclosed a photograph of one Walburga Black with a teacup attached to the end of her nose. Free of charge, I might add. You can keep your good money, this one’s on me. 

Sorry it’s taken me so long to reply, but I think you can guess why. It was totally worth it though. 

Your idea to use the spellotape you gave me was genius, Moony! I stuck all of Regulus’s bedroom furniture to his ceiling, it took them all night to get it down. Regulus took my bed while Kreacher worked on his room. But I just got in with him. He was not impressed. This house has ten bedrooms. I don’t know why he didn’t just use one of them. 

Prongs sent me some frogspawn soap, and I’m going to put it in my father's bathroom. Not pranked him for a while, I bet he’s missing it! 

I’ve sent you some of the lesser dark arts books from our library. Maybe don’t let Hope touch them, as I’m not sure if there are any antimuggle curses on them or not. Knowing my family there probably is. 

Love ya Moons,

Pads X.’

‘Dear Sirius,

I swear you get some sick thrill from being punished. WHY WOULD YOU PUSH HER!!! Although the picture is my new favourite thing. I got it framed, and it is now on my bedside table. It’s the last thing I see at night. 

Thanks for the books. I’ve hidden them from Mum just in case. They’re really interesting. Do you know that not all dark magic is bad, and it’s just a few idiots that gave it a bad name? According to this book, light and dark magic users used to live harmoniously until a dark wizard took it too far, and dark wizards have had a bad name ever since. It’s fascinating. Please send more if you can. I finished them far too quickly.

Sirius, please stop pranking your parents. Remember what happened last summer? Do you want a repeat of that? You can pull off a lot of looks, but a shiny bald head is not one of them. So knock it off, or they’ll send you back with hair like Snivellus!

There are three weeks left, Sirius, please, please, please stay out of trouble. 

Love you too,

Remus x.’ 

‘My sweetest, most handsome Remus,

It is not in my nature to behave. I am a natural prankster and I go into withdrawal if I don’t prank at least once a day. You know that!    

I’ve sent as many books as mine and Reggie’s owls could carry between them. Reg is going to kill me, but it’s for a good cause. He’s actually been alright with me this last week. We’ve been hanging out in the library together while I’ve been looking for new books to send you. We haven’t spent this much good time together since I went to Hogwarts. 

That’s what I’ve been telling you for years, it’s only pricks like Bellatrix that give dark wizards a bad name. But oh well, what can you do?

The weirdest thing happened, Remus. Father finally used the soap I swapped out in his bathroom and he laughed. I didn’t think Orion Black was capable of such things. It's unnerving. 

I will admit that I’ve taken to committing small pranks in lieu of bigger ones. I drew moustaches on all the portraits the other night while they were sleeping and so far no one has noticed. It’s been three days, Moony! 

I can’t wait for the summer to be over. I have a whole notebook filled with pranks for next year. Plus, I really need to stretch my legs if you know what I mean. These paws of mine are itching for a run. How about yours?

Love you 

Sirius XXX

P.S. How dare you, I totally pulled off the bald look! Mary did an excellent job of painting that lion on the back of it for our first Quidditch match!’

‘To the biggest pain in my arse,

Sirius, you are such a pest. STOP PRANKING!!! We can get as many Slytherins as you want when we get back to school. Hell, we can start on the train if you need to prank that badly. Thank Regulus for the use of his owl. I’ve nearly finished all the books you sent again. I just can’t put them down. Hogwarts should have some of these in the library. I’ve clearly been missing out on a fully-rounded education. 

Not much to report here. I baked a cake with Mum, and we ate most of it before Dad got home from work.

We have a run the first week back, so not long to wait. 

I miss you,

Remus X.’ 

‘Remus,

I can’t wait.

Miss you more than you know

Yours forever

Sirius XXX.’

[starsofang]

🔫💚 QUICK! What is one fic of yours you think deserves more love and attention? Share the title and link in your answer, then pass this on to 5 fanfic authors you love and respect! Anonymous or not! 🔫💚

hii pookie

hiii pookie

i definitely think touch of magic deserves a little more love because it’s literally wizard soap smut with a plot line and a twist and dark wizard soap is hot

real talk, i worked very hard on that oneshot and i had so much fun writing it. it’s not meant to be serious and very constructed, but it still i think has an interesting storyline with a bit of a personality that soap doesn’t normally have since he’s a dark wizard on the brink of death. it’s fun while also has you kinda like 😟

i also think the plot twist at the end is kind of unexpected but also lowkey eats 😭

[nerdygirlramblings]

Off to See the Wizard (9)

previous | next

cw: poorly executed accents

Hours later, you're staring at code, but nothing is penetrating the fog you've been in since you met Kyle. His words reverberate around your skull and you wonder how you missed the signs. How was it not clear in those long conversations that they were feeling something for you?

You struggle, too, with the knowledge that they want you to be part of whatever it is they have together. How do they even think you can compete with the years they have and the bonds they forged?

Though your instincts screen not to, you reach out to Laswell with a simple text: "Did you know?"

You don't expect a response right away and so turn back to the papers in front of you. Transport manifests and heat maps, threads from various dark web servers. You have to brief the boys tomorrow, and they leave two days after that. Kyle's words hit you again: a mission they might not all make it back from. Your heart skips a beat at the idea that your boys might not all make it home. You know it isn't fair to ignore the information Kyle dropped in your lap, but you're not ready to face them with a response yet.

You trust him when he says they want you. In conversations with you, John and Simon and Soap had made their desire abundantly clear. And you decided long ago that if you planned to be honest with anyone, you needed to be honest with yourself always. So you refuse to lie and say that you don't want them all. But this? Multiple partners? Committing to a relationship that would always come second to the job, that would always put one or more of your potential lovers in harm's way, was a hard pill to swallow. Never mind the fact that you're only in the UK temporarily. How would this work when you're back in the states?

The clock creeps closer to dinner, and you're panicking. You have no answer for the boys, despite how you feel about them all. The weight of their stares is going to make any meal uncomfortable until you can give them some sort of response. The worst part is, you can't even escape to your room because it's in their barracks. There's nowhere to go to avoid the uncomfortable conversation to come. Just as you're about to log off and catch a bus into town, stalling a little longer while you collect your thoughts, the classified line in your office rings.

The only people with the number are ones directly associated with the upcoming mission: Laswell, Nikolai, and your boys. Unless Laswell has given the number to other operators, you know the call isn't Nikolai. Your boys know how to find you on base, so there's no need for them to call you. Maybe Laswell decided you deserved more than a text in response.

Picking up the phone, you ask, "What do you wish in the Emerald City?" cringing a little at the way your call sign has manifested an entire mythos. However, you know that the trappings of your call sign serve as the first line of defense for anyone who may find your number. An incorrect response to your question is the first red flag that something has gone wrong with the mission. So while it technically hasn't started yet, you still anxiously await the response.

Sure enough Laswell's voice comes through the line, "We came here to see the Great Oz."

"Laswell," you reply, voice clipped to avoid pouring too much emotion into your words. You have to know what she knows. You can't let her know how much their desire rattles you.

"Got your text," she replies, voice equally neutral. If the situation were any different, you'd laugh. Two of you are acting like alley cats trying to avoid a fight. You know your frustration isn't really with her but with being caught off guard, so you allow a trickle of warmth back into your voice and say, "Got some, interesting intel from the boys today."

There's a long pause on Laswell's end, and you wonder what she's thinking. You're grateful for the phone call but wish you could see her face. She doesn't like to admit it, but you're one of the few people who can read her emotions, and you're dying to know how she's reacting. All she does is respond with, "Oh? About the op? Or something else?"

To give yourself something to do, you pull up what records you have access to of the 141: task force service records, commendations, op histories - at least what's not redacted - and a handful of photos. One photo in particular catches your eye, the four of them in a desert somewhere standing with a few other operators, including a beautiful Middle Eastern woman who has to be Farah Karim. Though she has her arm around Kyle's waist and he's smiling wide, it's not the same smile he gives you. Scanning the photo more closely, you notice how Simon's and Soap's hands are hanging side-by-side, nearly brushing one another. John has his bent, forearm resting on Kyle's other shoulder, his hand hanging over Kyle's chest. Now that you know what to look for, it's impossible to miss the closeness the four of them share.

On the other end of the phone, Laswell clears her throat. "Oz? That intel?"

From the way she says it, you're sure she knows you learned nothing about the op and everything about the 141, but you know better than to charge ahead without proof. For the first time, you hesitate. Does Laswell know the boys are together? If not, is it your place to tell her? You have to believe she knows because of how close she is with John, how long she's takes them with missions around the world.

Besides, if they've told you because they want you to be part of whatever it is they have together, even if Laswell doesn't know yet, she would have to. Either because you'd be looking for a permanent transfer or because communication between you and the 141 would dramatically increase.

If you accept what they're offering, that is.

So you charge ahead, hoping you're not sticking a foot in it, and ask, "Did you know the four of them are romantically involved?"

True to form, Laswell's answer isn't really an answer. "Yes. I know they have personal lives outside the ops and that those personal lives include significant others."

You hate having to be so straightforward, but you know you won't get clear answers any other way, so you ask, "Are you aware that the 141's romantic partners are the remaining members of the 141? That the four of them are some sort of polyamorous thing?"

"Instead of answering that," Laswell says, "I think I should be asking how you know that."

You tell her as much about the boys and what they've told you as you feel comfortable with before you drop the hammer with your final statement. "They've asked me to be part of that relationship. Did you have any idea that would happen if I came here?"

There is no mistaking the sharp inhale Laswell makes on her end at your declaration. She doesn't respond when you finish. The quiet on her end stretches like taffy until you're so worked up waiting for her to break her silence. And still you wait. This is as delicate a situation as diffusing a bomb. In fact, Kyle dropped a bomb in your lap at the cafe, and you've reached out to Laswell for help in making sure it doesn't blow up in anyone's face.

When she does finally speak, you're surprised by her response. "How does their desire make you feel?"

You and Laswell aren't really the type to talk in depth about your personal lives. You know her wife and have been to several work-related events where you shuck some of the formality of what you do, but you're not the type to talk about your romantic partners.

"I need to know, when you picked me, did you know?" you plead. To her credit, Laswell doesn't push for an answer to her question.

"No, I didn't know. But John was definitely pleased when I told him who I was sending. Makes sense given what you said."

You latch onto her comment. "How did you know John was happy about it?"

"Work long enough with someone, Oz, and you can tell a lot from what they say and their silences without ever needing to see their face. There was something about the way John responded when I told him you'd be the one taking forward point on this. I can't tell you exactly what, but I know it meant he was happy with the situation."

You bite your lip, wondering how things would have been different if you'd stayed back in DC and Laswell had sent someone else in your place. "Did you ever think to send anyone else?" you ask.

Again, there's a long, weighty pause on Laswell's end. "Do you want an honest answer? Or do you want me to tell you what I think you need to hear?"

It strikes you how naive you are not to realize the two could be separate things. Your fingers idly tap against the keyboard, writing nonsense code while you think. If you put yourself in Laswell's shoes, it's clear there are a number of other tech operatives she could have sent, people more senior than you. But is there anyone else who cares enough about the 141 to do everything in their power to ensure the boys are successful and come home whole? Other than Kate herself, you know the answer to that is no. It comes out barely louder than a whisper when you reply, "You could have sent any of us, but you know I'll do my damndest to protect them."

You can practically hear Laswell's grin. "That's why you're there and not here. And I'd wager a bet that it's why they want you, too."

Much as you hoped a conversation with her would give you some clarity, you're almost more conflicted after the phone call. You thank Laswell for her time and hang up, slowly packing your things. It's after 7:00, and no one has come looking for you. Clearly the boys are waiting on your next move. Instead of heading for the mess or the barracks, you follow your earlier plan and take the bus into town again. This afternoon, you'd noticed a little greek restaurant a few doors down from the bus stop in town, so you head there.

Like many other restaurants on the street, almost the entire front is open to the sidewalk. You sit yourself at a small table for two off to the side. Menus are scattered about, so you snag one, only glancing through the options half-heartedly. When a good looking man in his thirties comes over, winning smile already on his face, and asking in accented English, "What would you like, lovely lady?", you find yourself stuttering over an answer.

What would you like?

Sitting here alone, watching the crowds pass, it hits you exactly what you want. You have an answer, for yourself and the boys.

You utter an apology to the waiter, vowing to yourself to come back later, and hastily grab your things. As you round the edge of the shop, you see a bus coming down the road and recognize the line number as the one you need. Your heels click faster as you race to the bus, hopping on just as the driver is shutting the door. You meander down the aisle, taking a seat near the back and stewing all the way back to base.

Your leg jiggles, foot tapping a nervous staccato as the bus makes its stops. The drive back feels agonizingly longer than the ride to town. By the time you see the base through the front window, you're nearly out of your skin with nerves. You scurry across base and throw open the barracks door open with more force than you intended. There's sound coming from the rec room, so you turn your feet in that direction. You only hope they're all here. You don't know if you have the nerves to do this more than once.

When you open the rec room door, sounds cut off almost immediately. Four pairs of eyes whip to you from various spots around around the room. Simon's eyes rove over you like a starving man at an oasis. Between his watery eyes and the guarded way he's holding himself, Soap reminds of you a hit dog, waiting to see if the next blow will land. John assesses you like a potential threat: what damage might you do to him and his boys? Kyle takes a glance at you and breaks out into a grin as if he knows what you're about to say.

"Uh, hi," you stammer. "Um, I know I've been avoiding you, and I wanted to apologize." You pause and are shocked no one jumps in with a comment the way they usually would. Perhaps they all recognize this for what it is, a defining moment in their lives where they will either get what they've been wanting or lose a chance at it forever.

Your gaze drifts over each man, and you take a deep steadying breath before continuing. "Kyle gave me, well, all of you, really, gave me a lot to think about. About what I want and what you want and what it all means." Though this confession is hard, you try to be as brave as your boys. "I don't know what to do because you're right. I do like you all. I have feelings for you all. And if it were just one, my answer would be easy."

This time when you stop, John says what's already on your heart. "Life is rarely easy, dove. But the best things are worth fightin' for." He gifts you the ghost of a smile.

You nod, "Yes. And you're right. I shouldn't be scared of something just because it's hard. And I'm not, not really."

"Then what?" Simon's voice cuts in, barely restrained agony lancing the words.

"I want to be with you all, but it's going to be hard for me. I'm going to need you to be patient," you tell them.

A smile breaks over Soap's face like a wave crashing ashore. "Bonnie, fer ye, we'd do anything."

Kyle's off his seat and in front of you, hands hovering over your arms. "Does this mean you'll be ours, Oz?" he asks tenderly. Your chin dips slightly, only once, but it's enough. He wraps his arms around you and whispers in your ear, "Always knew ya were meant for us." He presses a kiss to your temple as you feel the others moving around you.

John's lips kiss your cheek again as he says, "That's our girl."

Simon's massive build radiates heat behind you, his hands a warm, comforting weight on your waist as you feel the fabric of his mask press against the crown of your head.

Soap crowds in between Simon and Gaz. His hands cup your cheeks and turn your head to him. He rests his forehead against your and mumbles, "Ye dinnae ken hoo happy this makes me, make us all, tae call ye oors," as he drops a featherlight kiss on your lips.

series masterlist | main masterlist

~~

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[buzzkillers]

Burning like embers (falling tender)

Pairing: Regulus Black • Black!Reader

Summary: Regulus kidnaps the bride. (Wc:5k)

Warning: Dubcon, Kidnapping, Semi Unrequited Love, Attempted Non-Con, Pseudo-incest, Pureblood Politics, Regulus Embracing His Flaws (Yt and British)

Beta: @darksideofthecocoamoon !!! This would've been way worse without her.

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Regulus Black was not a good man. 

Good men existed in folk tales, in between the thick yellow pages of his childhood books. Where nobility and honor was permeated in ink and their righteousness was outlined in bold roman font, the letters too tiny for baby regulus to read. It was hard to be a good man,  he learned. And by the age of twenty four, he was barely a man at all. 

Rather melodramatic. His mother had said. 

Mother also said he should feel lucky.  

It was luck after all wasn't it? His mother said. A gift to have all of his boyhood crushed out and replaced with a substance that no good man ever possessed. Voldemort knew how to show his favor. He should've been grateful. 

And Regulus was. Grateful that is. He was grateful in the way ravens were grateful for a murder, fire to wood and a cowardly man to…well to him. Regulus. Who had no problem bringing all of these things to fruition. Better than him than the others. His colleagues that liked to add to the fire and wood first, turn a flicker flame to a conflagration. 

It was good that he had all of that goodness ripped out of him, the remnants stuck between Voldemort's teeth.  

Because good men became drunks; drunk on alcohol, indulgent on cheap thrills and even cheaper whores. Complacent. Regulus thought.  

Vermin. His father corrected. Dogs that pretended to be wolves before they latched back on their leashes and trotted home; clean shaven and pristine. 

Regulus knew good men well afterall. 

He's killed many. 

A poison there. A dog bone here. Family cemeteries made entirely in his name. 

So when he said he wasn't a good man, it wasn't an attempt to be humble or modest or bashful or coy or any other fanciful saying. Regulus Black was not a good person. 

The mark proved it. 

The murders cemented it. 

And your body chained to his bed, screamed it. 

Or maybe that was simply a gross overstatement? 

The word 'chained' naturally made one think of those muggle devices. A crude contraption with metallic locks and easily hexed metals. (An insult to human ingenuity, really.) No, your chains were of the metaphysical kind: sophisticated, invisible, snug. It was the nicest thing he's ever done for an opposer to his Lord. 

Unfortunately, you were not raised by Mother. So you didn’t understand to be grateful. Which was a shame. Even a bird admired their cages eventually. It was the least you could do. 

But of course Regulus' life was unfairly hard and his options null. So instead of admiration and dutiful respect, you laid with your back turned and her body curled against the dark corner of your bed. Small and pitiful— a bit wet too. 

Funny.

Maybe he should've called you a fish instead. You wouldn't laugh but it would be funny. After all the white gown that clung to your body was completely translucent, the edges covered in soap suds. (Nastily, Regulus Black curled his bruised lips; a caged bird indeed.)

He closed the door behind him.  

His own clothes drenched and his fingers bloody with scratches before he dumped the wand in his hand to the ground. It clattered unceremoniously. 

"My bird," he began, voice smooth, annoyed. 

"I hope you're incredibly happy with yourself," he slipped his loafers off and untwisted his family rings.  

"There's a dead wizard at our doorstep because of you," parts of him anyway.

The rest of him was about a few yards out. With chunks of flesh too burned and scarred to be identified as human spewed across the acres of land. (Dog meat, his father would say. Hopefully the animals thought the same.) 

The whole ordeal was unnecessarily messy you see? Uncivilized even as he looked at the 'dog' blood splattered against his light robes. Angered, he unbuttoned that too. 

"It was an avoidable death, don't you think?" 

"A complete waste of my time, even?" He cocked his head, his voice heavy with something that made your back tense. 

Yet of course, you refused to turn around, to look back… 

A recent nasty habit of yours as he threw his robes on a nearby chair. The excess blood dripping from hand woven cloth onto the concrete floor. A familiar sight. 

Slowly, his eyes dragged to the wand on the ground, so small and twiggy. It reminded him of the toy wands he saw poor half-bloods play with when no one was looking. A scrap of trash. No different than what you'd throw for a animal to catch. 

Yet, it took death for the wizard to let it go. (A dog and its bone.)

He frowned, then snapped it beneath his heel. 

Magic spurted out and when he looked up your head swirled back towards the wall. He frowned again.

"You could at least cry," he said, voice hoarse. 

“He died for you after all,” 

Besides your frame, a lamp flickered and its shadow danced across your back. He licked his lips, hmm. “They all died for you, actually,” 

"Should I tell them to stop?" He murmured. But you only curled further into yourself. Like a victim, like someone that's done nothing wrong. He gritted his teeth. "No that won't work, you'll just keep sending them," Regulus kicked the wand across the room. 

"Maybe if he had served his purpose…." The air crackled. “..But alas,” Then he crossed the small room and plopped himself on the bed. His head cushioned against the duvet. 

"What did you tell them anyway?" he whispered, before something cracked and your cuffs pulsed. He smiled.  

"Did you say you were captured? That I was holding you prisoner? Did you lie, birdy?" He whispered, before slowly you sat up and turned your head. Your pupils were fat, your breath still.  

"Shut up," 

"B-" he started before all air left his lungs, your hands wrapped around his throat.

"Tu putain de salope—" your knees dug into his waist. “—just stop talking," Spit flew with each word and it took everything in him not to lick it away. He could only smile and make it worse. 

Your eyes widened, a fury of emotion flickering in and out and Regulus only with luck missed the conjured dagger that dug into the place where his head once was. 

"Baise gluante-"  Then with a flick of his wrist the chains tightened, your positions switched and Regulus was on top once more. His bony fingers pressed into a neck that creaked beneath his weight. 

“That was an admirable trick,”

“You almost got me there.” He spoke too soon. 

The knife appeared again, this time pressed too close to his third rib. Huh. What was that muggle saying about kicked dogs again?

"Don’t make me repeat myself," You demanded again between clenched teeth and his skin that was beginning to unravel under the metal. Something in him warmed at that. He killed a man like this the day before. But that was more brutal, cruel even. This was not that. This violence was intimate, affectionate. 

So much so that the moment you spat your words back at him, this time he did lick it off. 

"Sweet," He murmured to himself, like burnt cranberries and raw strawberries, something natural that bursted on his tongue. He licked it again. “A little sour too,” Beneath him you laid frozen, your own eyes widened until your grip on the knife loosened. "Just like me,"

"You're sick," you said it like you were just noticing. "How could you just-"

Quickly, you took a deep breath. 

In. 

Out.

“I'm nothing like you," 

"Nothing?” 

With a grunt you attempted to get up but he kept you down with nails that dug into your wrist. An devilish embrace. "You killed him and you didn't have to, you didn't even need to touch him, you could've let him go, kept him out of it," you insisted, each word said with hard eyes and fat tears on your cheeks. "We're nothing alike," 

Regulus shrugged his shoulders. 

"Then leave," 

"…."

Outside your ‘dogs’ flesh had begun to be pecked off by the ravens and the bones by the flies. Inside, you licked your lips but you did not move an inch. “Here, I’ll even help you,” he confessed before with a whispered incantation, your chain vanished. “Go,”

A symphony of emotions flickered across your face. They all burned hot and they all made Regulus shift above your thigh. Before your knife clattered to smoke and your face twisted into something like hatred. 

His little bird drew back into her cage. 

"Yes," he sighed, his voice not at all shallow and not at all starved for air while he rubbed at the wound that would soon scar by morning, 

"That's what I thought," 

—

When he first met you, his first thought was: 'This isn't going to work,'  and his second thought was 'She's too good for Sirius,'

In hindsight, both statements were correct. 

You were a bold thing really. A beauty covered in rare gems and an aura that spoke of higher breeding. Mother boasted about you highly. The jewel of the west she called you. Someone, born and bred within the confines of a highly respected Afro-Caribbean pure blood family. It was a surprise that Mother even knew you but he guessed that was the point. She wanted someone not as connected in British society after all. Someone who only visited when they had to. 

In other words, the likelihood of Sirius already having fucked you was low and the likelihood  that you knew him was even lower. 

For his mother, ignorance truly was bliss. 

If not for Sirius than also for the fact that no non-British family paid attention to Voldemort.

Voldemort's tyranny was simply an English problem. The bloke didn’t seem to care about the muggles from other countries, much less ones from the Caribbeans. Still, people have heard whispers of him. Only a dip in the pond about a crazed muggleborn that had a bone to pick with British society. 

Nothing special because in hindsight, who didn't? 

So, it was unsurprising that your parents agreed to a marriage of convenience with the one family that was in His pockets. What was surprising was how well you took to it. 

According to Sirius, arranged marriages were archaic and boorish. Not because of any logical reasons like loss of autonomy but because ‘Only a pauper let's their parents pick where his cock goes'. Of course he paid Sirius no mind. 

 Yet, solemnly he wondered if you felt the same. As a boy he would've scoffed at the idea of someone not wanting to marry into the powerful House Of Black but he hasn't been a boy for a long time now. The scales had long fallen from his eyes. In the privacy of his mind, he could not say that it was truly an honor to marry into the Black Family. 

Not with the Potters and Misli’s right there. Not with witches like Bellatrix in the family. On the contrary, it's most likely that you were in for a shock. And you'd probably run for the hills while Sirius laughed into his fifth bottle of ale and mother seethed in the shadows. 

It was the logical conclusion, he knew it and father knew it. But sometimes wolves liked to just watch their prey die. And who were they to go against Mothers will? Father the patriarch and him the–good son. The dog. So he even prepared for it. What a waste of time that was. 

He told Kreacher to prepare for a crying wailing woman. He didn’t prepare for the force that walked through the door instead. It was raining when you visited but you didn't seem to notice. Instead your face was held high as you met mother, your grip firm when you met father and you smiled at him. Very toothy and almost childish but it fit you well.

Father and Mother were nervous that Sirius wouldn't take to you. That they'd have to find another poor woman for their plans but Regulus remembered the sparkle behind his brother's eyes, the twitch of his fingers when you matched fire with oil. You gave him boorish jokes with a classy smile and a mouth no different than a muggle sailor. You were everything dirty about Sirius, wrapped and repackaged into someone pretty, someone that could take it, take him. 

Regulus wasn't impressed of course. It took anyone with a halved brain cell to get along with Sirius. You were really no different than James in his mind. Someone that could code switch between two worlds without making either party uncomfortable. A chameleon with nothing inside. It was good that you only had one job really. One simple, impossible to fail job: 'Bring my son back to me,' He heard mother whisper, both of your bodies hidden in the shadows of the back rooms. ‘Bring Sirius back into the fold’ 

‘Bring him back with a mark,’ She really meant to say, and then the conversation was over. 

And of course you failed. 

____

"Do not touch me with blood still on your hands,"  you barked as Regulus dipped your head into the water. The soap suds in your head mingling with the crusted blood on his fingers until the water became a dull, faint pink. 

He hummed. "You demand a lot of me," but his hands do hover away from your hair and to the lip of the porcelain tub. You'd smell so much better without the after-smell of spilt blood anyway. 

Without thinking he rinsed his hands in the water bowl by his side. His pink reflection looking at him before he went back to your puffed- no braided hair. It wasn't like that before. Did you do that while he was upstairs? With your bare hands at that? No, you must've used a spell. Strangled together the few bouts of magic his bindings granted you and did what he offered to do freely. Impressive. 

He should take it all apart. 'Just to spite you,' he thought before with a hum he squeezed more shampoo in your hair. Suds dropped to the wooden floor, and seeped between the cracks. The scent of juniper berry erupted in the air. Your hands gripped the lip of the tub tighter. 

“Sirius used to wash my hair like this.” you murmured, your teeth dug deep into your lip. “Eventually, he’d join me and we’d stay in the tub for hours,” 

He paused, his fingertips wrinkled in your hair before you took a long and hard inhale. In.  Out. 

“Is that so?” he murmured, something tough in his throat. It was only because of the hand of Merlin that he was able to sound nonchalant. 

From his position, he could not see your features. But he could look at the mirror that faced the both of you. It stood at the opposite side of the room; decorated in golds and engraved with faces that he had no interest in knowing. Your own face was the only one that captured his attention. And at this moment, it was closed off. Your lips twisted sardonically and your eyes cut to the side.  

“Yes, there was more that was happening of course, but—that would be inappropriate to tell, " you snickered as if you were the leader on all things dealing with propriety. He took a moment and breathed in. 

“Was this before or after you betrayed him,” Regulus asked. You went silent. 

Coward.

“Or do you even remember,”

“-shut up,”

“Is that a no then?” 

"Are you deaf?" you cut your eyes towards the mirror. "I told you to shut up," 

His own lips curled, "You are still wet," The suds in your hair have now dried. Leaving behind dollops of water that now pooled at his feet. The excess had begun to drip to the floor, the rest down your neck, to your back. 

"Did that also remind you of your time with Sirius?"  Then you shot up, the water falling from your shoulders.  

"Do you constantly think about what gets your brother hard?" What a dirty mouth.

His lips twisted. "You should get back in,"

"No," 

"You'll get a cold," 

You rolled your eyes. "Then you shall tell my family I died of hyperthermia, they'll believe that," 

His eyes fell flat but Regulus didn't say a word. Just kept his touch gentle, his movements soft. As if you were a lover, a friend and not—

The knife only nicked his shoulder this time.

"I said-" you shuddered violently,. "-To stop it," 

In the mirror, Regulus watched as you shot him a look. Weeks ago there was a fiery rage in there, dragon eyes in human form. Now it was just tired, bored even. Then you looked back down, silent. 

He narrowed his eyes. "Ask me,"

Your grimace only deepened, but now there was humor laced in the edges. "Ask?" Your lips twisted into a nasty, tired smile.

"Demander?" You giggled. "Did you forget what's in our blood?" You questioned with all that humor quickly gone and replaced with a tone ancient and old.

"We do not ask." you sneered, then rolled your shoulders. 

"Even Sirius knew that."

_____

You didn't even know Sirius. 

That was the worst part. You giggled in hidden corners and you kissed his hand to make the elders gasp in horror and Sirius like a fool ate it up and you didn't even know him. 

Sometimes,the depths of his brother's stupidity astounded him. Did he really think that a woman like you would just fall in his lap? You were already out of his league. A barmaid would be a better fit. 

It was foolish, idiotic, ridiculous but it worked. Because without knowing Sirius was getting closer to taking the mark. He no longer grimaced when Regulus arrived home smelling of iron. Or when he got caught with scratches on his arm and blood on his collar. Mother's plan was working and he only felt pity.

It was one thing to pretend, it was another to have to dumb yourself down for a bonafide pauper. If Mother had picked him, there would be no farce. Not like he wanted that. He didn't want anything. 

He was fine with watching from the shadows. His entire presence ignored while you and Sirius pretended you were the only ones in England. It was simply the way things were, he realized with clenched knuckles and a tight smile. 

But did it have to be? 

 __

No, it didn't.

—-

Six months later, Regulus understands why Sirius gets so addicted. A drunk like him, so prone to tasting what was bitter, his tongue rotten with ale. You were an overturn. Something annoyingly new. Regulus had never tasted something so sweet. Poppy pomegranate and sunburst cherries. He swore that he’d get a cavity as he dug his fingers into your hair. 

He twisted you into position, tight, proper. The way you gripped the stem of any fruit or of anything that you wanted to get a better taste of as his lips met yours. You were too stunned to fight back then. Regulus was glad. It gave him more time to savor the bitter aftertaste of champagne you were prone to drinking. It was sticky on your tongue. He wanted more. Yet your glass already shattered on the floor. 

In the next room, your husband argued with portraits. And when it's done, and when you slap him. Regulus received a thought. An awful hypothesis. 

What else could he get away with when enclosed by walls? The rest of the world locked away? 

An awful thought indeed. 

—--

It's only a week later that it happened. Sirius waking up to an empty bed and Regulus miles away on a mission, in the middle of nowhere, in a quaint little cottage.

It was almost too easy. 

—

You didn’t leave of course. Not at first. 

Because leaving met acknowledging that you were wrong. That there was nothing to gain at keeping his attention. Leaving meant having to look Sirius in the eye and tell him you lied. 

Of course you had questions. Regulus of course didn’t answer. 

You didn't need to know how distraught Sirius had become. A pathetic puppy that moped around the manor destroying everything in sight. Regulus didn’t even need to plant ideas in the brutes head. No, all the seeds were already there. Sown in from years of idiocy and your failed meddling. 

'It was Dumbledore, I just know.’ 

‘That stupid old git is trying to punish me,' he whined to Regulus. 'He took her, I know he did Reggie, you need to help me' 

'Prongs and-" he'd gnaw at his cracked lips. 'they don't believe me, they think I'm mad, they think I'm—Regulus'

Sirius was mad for you. Unnaturally obsessed. A fool with his alcohol taken away. A dog that's lost his chew toy. He didn't know any better. He couldn't have. But Regulus did, Regulus knew you. He understood your games and twist. Poor Sirius. 

If Regulus had to be the bad guy then so be it. He could be the executioner and the judge, he just needed to play his cards right. 

Murder would create a martyr but someone missing? Someone that Sirius could say left him high and dry. It was what you were planning to do anyway. And if Regulus quickened the process that didn't make him anymore of a bad person than the murder and countrywide slaughter ever did.

—

You were surprisingly clumsy by your lonesome. 

Random scars and cuts littered your body when he wasn’t looking. Ghost of attempts at escape most likely. Which was fine. Regulus could play doctor. Even if it included a bath. A mutual need, probably. The blood on his hands had begun to make his nose burn. 

He watched you flinch, took relevance in the way your eyes settled: tired, bitter. It was the same look worn by others. It reminded him of himself, of mother. Abrasive. Challenging him. 

After all these weeks, you seemed to still be under the impression that Regulus was anything like Sirius. That they shared the same rotten brain cell that Sirius had split amongst his new brothers, his new family. 

He unclenched his fist. Let his anger burn and flick in the atmosphere before with a turn of his head he looked at the hair moisturizer on the counter top. 

"Your hairs going to be tangled tomorrow. You should let me rebraid it," You scuffed at that. 

"Touch me and you die." You said the same thing to Sirius once. He heard it through the walls during your consummation night. Between the sounds of ruffled sheets and curses. And surprisingly, Sirius listened.

Regulus didn't have the same control. He grabbed for a braid, a knife appeared once again at his rib. He sighed. “You’re being stubborn,”

“I will rebraid my own hair,”

“..With what autonomy?”

You rolled your eyes. "Want to find out?”

He snorted, hands gripping your strands. "Sometimes, it astounds me how well you lie."

"Don't you realize that I already know you're guilty?"

You sighed. Tired, as if this was a conversation you two have had a million times before. It was.

You looked away. "I'm not," he yanked your head. "But you are." Then when with a snap of his wand you were dried and dressed. Your body plopped on your bed without care. He rolled his eyes.

"You fed my brother lies and lured him away f when your job was so simple. to bring him back," Get him to take the mark, be the whisper in his ears, that was what Mother told you. All that deceit just so that the family could have a proper Heir. A better head outside of him the runt and Bellatrix the mad woman. 

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You lured him away and then-” he gripped his fist into the sheets. “-and then you attempted to run with another,” 

“You were going to betray him,” it was funny really. Outside of the curses and the hexes and threats that was the one that got you to pay attention. That indifference melting away with ease.

"You are a liar and you should be happy that I even-":

"Look at me?" You rolled your head to the side. "Cause you look at me alot Black, even when you think I'm not looking back," you said this with shadowed eyes and a laziness to your movements. Like you had all the time in the world to revel in the fact that Regulus watched you back. That he wasn’t as suave as he thought you were. 

Regulus flickered his eyes down to the crotch of your dress. Theres a wet spot there that never fully dried. Regulus shot to his feet.

 "You're angry," 

"Regulus," 

"I get it, truly" he found himself at the edge of your bed. A wand less spell on his lips that warmed the fabric. 

"I've been nothing but terrible to you, completely awful. That's no way to treat a sister-in-law, now is it?" he sat at your side, his hands on your thigh. Fabric brushed against your bare skin. Under his words, you shook. "But if you bring up his name again, I'll-" 

"What?" You sneered, that hatred bleeding back in. "Let me go?" 

"Tell Sirius what I did?" With a blink your eyes began to sheen. "I do not care," 

Then your face twisted. "Not anymore" 

He gripped your face, his own features  suddenly inhumane. "Your boy toy has made you cocky," 

"Do you think I won't do it? Are you prepared to make that gamble?" There was a frenzied tone to his voice as he said this. For a moment he wondered if it was the weather. An effect of being so sick of your behavior. He must've been worse than he thought but you were looking at him with defiance. He wanted to find control but there was a smolder to your eyes, a spark and suddenly Regulus lost all control. You were serious. 

And then you screamed as he gripped your shoulders and shoved you into the mattress. It bounced beneath the weight. "No," he whispered. 

Your slip entangled in his fingers. You were slipping between his fingers. The harsh tear of fabric brought him back to the present as the top of your slip laid torn in his hand. 

You laughed. It too sounded frayed while your fingers trembled. "No?" 

But outside of that you said nothing, just stared at him the way you stared at potion books and Sirius odd muggle gimmicks. Something dangerous, that you were simply waiting to explode and somehow that was worse than screaming. Worse than you cursing at him while his fingers dug into your ripped dress. 

"You do not know him,"

But youre stupid so you only grunted back, "Don't I?," 

He laughed "My own brother? You really think you know him better than I?" 

"No—" 

"No?" 

"I don't know what Sirius was like as a child but I do know that the boy you call your brother is dead" 

You gripped his arms now, like an anchor. "I know that he only exist in your memories, and I mourn your loss"  

"But the man is different and I know him and I know that he would never give into Voldemort—not even for you,"

Don't say his name, rested heavy on his tongue. But he crushed it. In that moment something in him died and something else was born. A substance unknown to good men or even Voldemort. 

 So, he smiled. Soft hands coming up to pick at the soft white gown. The fabric was practically translucent up close. 

"Those are harsh accusations," he plopped on the bed and felt himself jump a bit before his hands relaxed against your knee and then your thigh and then- paused with a look. 

 Your body trembled beneath his fingers. 

"Fratricide, sororicide? You really can't think of anything worse?" He whispered, his words painting a portrait that only you could see.

 Still, he watched your eyes widen and felt your breath stutter. A fine drip of water that didn't come from your hair, slid down your forehead, down your neck and to your ribs where a hummingbirds heart fluttered against your skin. And all he could do was stare, his hand pressed firmly against your cunts entrance. 

"I can.." he said, still covered in blood, still burning with the mark, before his fingers slipped between your thighs. Plushy and warm then suddenly damp, drenching his fingers.

 "..I can think of something worse for Sirius to find." 

"He'd only have to look at my hands" 

You jumped back and thrashed but it was worthless, his fingers were already against your cunt.

  The sounds only got louder, your thrashing more manic but the spell he put on your hands and feet kept you plastered to the bed. He grounded into you further, chest against chest before his head nuzzled against your own. 

 'Frankincense and juniper berry' he thought with a whiff. Like the familiar books he read as a child and the aroma of the Black home after night had fallen. Divine and familiar. 

His own little goddess. 

The revelation forced him to kiss your cheek. His own lips pressed firmly against your skin. He could taste the shea butter. Could still smell the fruity body wash as your screams turned into whimpers and then morphed into ugly moans. The sounds of pleasure ripped out of you through clenched teeth and bitten lips. 

He brought his free hand up, clenched your neck. Felt the arteries jump and your jugular twitch. He killed a man like this earlier today. A long and dirty muggle way of murder. 

Still, he took interest in the way the man's eyes slowly turned glossy and the way his hands clenched helplessly at Regulus' clothed arms. As if this would rip him away from Regulus. Force him to not carry out his duty. Beneath him, you did the same. Your soft hands grasping helplessly at his clothes. Pulling him in, pushing him back. Delirious. 

"Tu vas le regretter, Black," 

"You gain nothing-" 

"C'mon you can beg longer than that, give me a tale for Sirius.” He sneered. “Let me tell him that you put up a fight," he bent down. 

"Let me tell him that his wife fought hard for me not to fuck her," you spat on him, he kissed you. 

Then you knee him in the face. He jerked back, blood spurted in his hand. He smeared it against your knee. 

"You palefaced-" you punched him this time, his teeth rattled. the bed met his back. The force ricocheting till the bed frame cracked and your chains went loose and Regulus was back on you like a feral dog. 

You would not leave this place. 

But youre quick, a snap of wind that pushes him to his back, elbow in his throat. Above, him you look like a God. Vengeful.  And ready to destroy the only person who exists just for you. “You can't stop me, “ 

And Regulus is weak. A small pathetic thing just like Bellatrix said he was because his eyes burn. The edges wet with admonishment. The edges of his lips quiver. And suddenly all that anger bleeds away.  He gripped your wrist. Sharps nail dug into your skin with something worse.  

“He doesn't deserve you,” He pierced, throat burning. Above him, your eyes melted. The look indescribable.  

“I know.” 

“You will get bored of him, and I'll still be here waiting, watching,” he pulled you closer, nose to nose. You filled his vision. “Do you like making me your dog?”

You opened your mouth but no–

He persisted, tears fat. “Can't I just have you,”

“Can't you just want me? Is that too much to ask? Is it too much to want?” Regulus wanted so much already. He rarely ever had it in his grasp. The back of his mind filled with ideologies of freedom, and family and lonely nights in nowhere cities where no one would know his name. All of that was too far away though, intangible. But this–

He crawled into your space,  gripped your skin. 

–This was so close.

He shuddered. Lips red and his face damp with anticipation. Below him, you looked ethereal. The edges of your eyes burning soft.  

“Is this really all you want from me? Sex? After everything?” 

No. What Regulus wanted was much darker than that.  More debased and immoral and such an awful sticky thing that he could not even admit it to himself. But for now, if that's what you needed to believe. If only a physical communion was what you thought he wanted of you. Then so be it.  

He opened his mouth, ready to lie. 

Yes.  

It's right on his tongue.  

Yes.  He was not greedy. Yes. He did not want anything more. 

Yes. The oath of one easily satisfied. 

But nothing came out. His voice stolen as you looked up at him. Eyes wide.  All seeing. Knowing of everything. 

Regulus shook his head.  

“No.” the word bled out in spurts. 

Weak. Bellatrix whispered in his ear.  So fucking weak. Maybe he was no better than Sirius. 

Because you were only going to deny him. You were going to say no. Laughing at his face because that's what people did in the face of fools. Regulus grip loosened. Beneath him you sighed. 

“Merde.”

“You're a piece of work, do you understand–” your lips twisted, eyes narrowed. “This is not my home and yet you keep me here, this is not my country and yet you keep me here, don't you think I've given up enough to simply be in your presence? Can't this be enough?” 

You say that but Regulus sees the molten desire in your eyes. The way you flickered across his face, unable to stay in one spot but lingering all the same as you crowded in him too.

Suddenly the air was dry. Regulus forgetting how to breath as you leaned back. Exposing your neck, dematerializing the knife. 

He gets closer. “Speak plainly.”

You looked away.  Outside the dog was barely bones. Rotten in the earth. You seemed to contemplate something, eyes distant before you're brought back to reality. 

“...I'll allow it.” 

Oh.

"I will haunt you till you are dust and bones and-" he kissed you, his own blood smeared with yours before he pressed his forehead against your own. "Yes," he whispered, and it couldn't help but notice that it sounded like a prayer. Like holiness,a type of reverence found only at the foot of gods and priest. 

‘We’ can have this. Not just him, not just you. This had to be a gift. Before your grip turned tight, your face feral. A certain kind of wildness found only in martyrs and heroes and righteous fools littered your eyes before you smiled, teeth bloody. “Ask any more of me, and i'll leave you here, completely alone, and then you’ll have to kill me to get me to stay.”  

He said it again. You froze. 

"Just don't go where I can't find you." 

He smiled. 

Then he kissed you again, on your nose this time, then your eyelids. Then sweetly, softly the space between your lips and your nose. He sighed and then he took you. 

He puts his mouth on you. Slipped his head beneath your layers of clothing. 

Unbuckled and unzipped and pulled apart each single one before your bareness glistened in his face. Until he could see the disbelief at his urgency flood your features. The confusion at his delicacy. Regulus understood.

There was something horrific about taking someone's defenses apart with gentle hands and the precision of a monster that didn't need brutality to make you feel fear. And when he got to your core, Regulus wasted no time. 

....You tasted like pussy. 

Musky and sweet, and in your skin he smelt the juniper berry and in your lower hairs drenched with the smell of arousal. 

Above him you flinched and you shivered. It reminded him of a siren.

The unseelie ones that would flinch and cry as he electrocuted their water. Taking their oxygen away, fucking up the chemical imbalance, till their nails cracked the glass, 

All while his fingers brushed against your own. Your ring finger still entrapped by a silver snake ring. Regulus was not a good man. He was flawed with impatience, entitlement, narcissism, the list went on. But it was his entitlement that got you in his bunker. It was his impatience that made him act, his familial nature that got you here on your back. Body drained and his head placed timidly on your belly. 

He listened to your heart beat through skin and bones. Through vertebrae and arteries. Because everything was louder there, your blood even sang for him. A frenzied beat that made your skin hot to the touch. 

He collapsed further into you. Nuzzling his nose into the crux of your neck.

An unleashed dog indeed.

.

.

.

.

[3ardnpc]

141 DND!au — collection.

A collection of my works featuring: paladin!ghost, fighter!price, rogue!gaz, and artificer!soap x readers

+18 MDNI -`♡´- COD masterlist

paladin!ghost x reader

a sacrifice in your name | angst, smut

A paladin's oath means everything to them—but not to Simon, not when it comes to you.

drabbles

vengeance paladin!Simon | smut

fighter!price x wizard!reader

the object of my desire | smut

You're a hardworking scholar and the spoiled daughter of a corrupt nobleman.

The mercenary hired to protect you is more than willing to take your father's money, just not your bratty attitude. Luckily, he's got a few ways to deal with spoiled little girls like you.

rogue!gaz x bard!reader

you say you want me | smut, slight angst COMING SOON!

You run into your ex at the tavern, and he just wants to have a chat—preferably alone in a dark room with your clothes off...

artificer!soap x ranger!reader

my arms belong around you | fluff COMING SOON!

The blacksmith's apprentice is absolutely smitten by you.

divider by @/cafekitsune

[lovelornloserboy]

i mentioned to a friend of mine (fellow harry potter fan, but she has never interacted with the online fandom) that people now glorify the marauders and have a whole fandom devoted to worshipping them/bashing snape and she was,, shocked, to say the least.

it made me realize how delusional marauders stans/snaters actually seem to the outside world because like... snape was the good guy? that's like the ultimate end to his character arc?? and really i totally get being delusional over characters sometimes, because i too like to pretend about alternate universes where the marauders weren't complete pieces of shit as teens. i too enjoy the characters of older remus lupin and sirius black (even though i hate that their wrongdoings were more or less brushed off + never seen as serious, we do see more of them as people than we do of james potter). but bashing the man who:

spent about half his life being abused and tormented in various ways

spent a few years with a cult that accepted him and gave him some semblance of protection, then turned around and went back to the 'good guys' (who had literally never done anything for him before this, some of whom had even actively taken part in his abuse and others who had turned a blind eye to it) at great personal risk to his life

literally spent the rest of his life trying to make amends and aiding the light in defeating one of the most powerful dark wizards of all time, still risking his life for basically no reward except the knowledge that he was protecting the wizarding world?

i just cannot see it as anything but insanity.

add onto that preaching about how amazing and pure and lovable the marauders were and accepting outlandishly out of character headcanons and fanfiction as canon?

it's impossible to fight them because nearly none of their arguments are based in fact. how do you convince people that a 16 year old boy did not, in fact, deserve to be dangled upside down, choked with soap, and have his pants taken off in front of a crowd? how do you do that when they're such firm believers that he was an evil racist blood supremacist who deserved it and more?

in short, i am genuinely both confused and somewhat horrified of the marauders fandom.

[boom-fanfic-a-latta]

About the crk auz what do the main cast / local cookies think of the ninja?

sorry for this one taking a bit but like

i wanted to really think about it and kinda had to figure out which specific cookies I would need to think about for each of the ninja because of how spread out they end up across earthbread

and then once i made a list i got severe writer's block in regards to actually writing out anything and just

this ask ended up being way harder to answer than intended so sorry for the long preamble

Jay and Cole:

Alchemist: She did not have the best initial impression of these two because they attacked her brother unprovoked (due to a misunderstanding), but after that gets sorted out she ends up taking interest in these strangers cause she figures out they're not from this universe

Custard III: You can probably guess that Custard III is excited for more new citizens in his kingdom :D he's so silly and probably thinks that Jay and Cole are really cool

Chili Pepper: I could see her forming some kind of rivalry with at least Jay and it's incredibly fun to watch.

Assorted Kingdom Residents: Overall the kingdom probably thinks the pair is kinda weird. Especially once they discover the Gacha and Jay starts developing an addiction. There are now at least a dozen assorted epic cookies who have all been pulled away from whatever they were doing by all of this and a lot of them are fairly miffed about it.

Wu:

Pitaya: I have no idea what Pitaya actually thnks of Wu but given they ended up venting about complicated feelings to him for at least a couple hours straight they probably have some form of respect for him.

Assorted Kingdom Residents: I can see Wu mostly getting along with everyone in the kingdom. Nothing specific yet but maybe he could open a tea shop.

Zane:

Pure Vanilla: Pure Vanilla and Zane would get along SO WELL YOU GUYS like they would be such immediate friends it's so fun

White Lily: Zane would be a really good person for White Lily to talk to given her whole Dark Enchantress thing and her trying to come to terms and atone with that. [points pointedly to the ice emperor] They've probably had some philosophical conversations before that were really helpful.

Gingerbrave: Gingerbrave my beloved he's probably gonna think Zane is super cool in a mysterious way

Strawberry: Given how gentle Zane is, I think Strawberry would feel really comfortable around him.

Wizard: Wizard would be Highly Suspicious of him let's be real this child has No Chill. But then he decides that "you know what this man is actually really smart and I like him."

Assorted Fairies: Zane would fit in really well with the Silver Fairies, both visually and in terms of vibes, I think that while they might be hesitant at first they probably welcome him in quickly (metaphorically given he was dropped into the kingdom directly by whatever sent the ninja here) after they see that "oh this guy is really nice". Zane ends up helping in the library for a bit. He finds learning how to read the music fun.

Lloyd:

Candy Apple: Candy Apple is the one who ends up tricking Lloyd into going to the Spire (likely by pulling the Apple Fairie trick, of course), and she continues trying to mess with him. She thinks it's fun how angry he gets.

Black Sapphire: He's probably pretty impartial to the whole thing? And doesn't really care much either way about Candy's new "playmate". He has rumors to spread, after all.

Shadow Milk: Something and someone he doesn't know anything about?! The former Fount of Knowledge HAS to know EVERYTHING about this mysterious new cookie from another world! He DOES have an image to keep up--can't pretend it's the Spire of All Knowledge if you don't have all the knowledge yourself, after all!

Chocolate Coin (My OC): I want her to force Lloyd to watch Soap Operas with her. Also, Candy Apple dragging this here hypnotist into helping her mess with the new guy.

Pixal:

Princess: Princess and Pixal should be besties and this is final. If Pixal ends up being there when the rumor stuff Smilk does happens, she helps logic in the fact that "even if she isn't actually a member of the royal family by blood, she won the princess contest, did she not?" to shoot the allegations down

Knight: Knight probably gets off on the wrong foot with Pixal at first cause, y'know, protective of his princess, but then once he figures out she's all good then he appreciates her help and stuff.

Hollyberry: Hollyberry probably likes Pixal on sight and if she ever learns about how Pixal once beat hell itself with her mech she's going to immediately be so impressed and want to try and fight Pixal + mech because it would be fun and Hollyberry can be a menace like that and I love that about her.

Wildberry: Wildberry and Pixal definitely have some sort of unspoken understanding between them. I can't really describe it I just know.

Assorted Hollyberrians: Pixal first showing up in the market definitely startled a lot of people but she was super calm about it which really helped everyone calm down pretty fast so now they just think she's neat.

Kai:

Burning Spice: Burning Spice takes one look at Kai and it's IMMEDIATE adoption/abduction/recruitment. It's simultaneously hilarious and terrifying. Somebody get this man away from Kai. Please. I don't know how long Kai can take this.

The Wild Spices: I don't actually know how much Kai would end up interacting with the Spices and the Spice Generals but like I feel like at least some of them would probably try to suck up to him cause they see how much Burning Spice has decided to latch onto this kid.

Golden Cheese: I'll be honest I don't really know. I do know however that Kai helps try to break her out. She might take Kai with her when she escapes in exchange (both "stealing a treasure" from Burning Spice and also saving this kid from the guy)

Smoked Cheese: I feel like he definitely wouldn't trust kai at first. Which is valid given Kai is (albeit unwillingly) working for the guy trying to, you know, DESTROY THINGS.

Assorted Cookies: RUMORS. Rumors start to spread (and not even from the rumor guy aka Black Sapphire) of this "Prince/Heir of the Beast of Destruction" who's been going around, some saying he's trying to escape his "father" others saying he's still under his thumb, some saying he's crazy and babbling about this being a dream and him not being a cookie others saying he's just as dangerous and destructive as his "father", meanwhile KAI IS JUST TRYING TO FIND SOMEWHERE SAFE OKAY (luckily anyone who actually meets him realizes that, yeah, he's a good person trying to get away from Burning Spice)

Nya:

Clotted Cream: He would probably get on Nya's nerves to some extent but I do think he'd like her. Nya is just a likeable person.

Financer: Financer would like Nya, they're both warriors of justice who care for the people.

Captain Caviar: I think he'd also like Nya. She's strong and she's trying to help the lesser class and less fortunate people of the republic. Also ocean things.

Assorted Republicans: Quite a few of the Elders probably don't like Nya, but the general populace would like her a lot. Especially the Sea/Salty Cookies because Nya takes one look and decides "I'm going to fight for these people to have a better life" and when she says fight she does mean she's going to throw hands physically.

Fruit Tart (@artidoesthings OC): Fruit Tart and Nya would get along well. Ask Arti if you want to know more about her OC because Arti is awesome and deserves all the attention that I can send her way. Which should be all the attention period.