#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."

part 1 part 2 part 4 part 5 part 6

~~

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

[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!”

[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

[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. 

Twisting you into position, tight, proper, the way you gripped the stem of any fruit. Of anything that you wanted to get a better taste of. You were too stunned to fight back then. The bitter after taste of champagne you were prone to drinking sticky on your tongue. 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. Before a hummingbirds heart fluttered beneath 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.

‘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,”

“Alone, and then you’ll have to kill me to get me to stay.”  

"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. 

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 but about taking someone's defenses apart with a sensitivity. With the precision of a monster that did not have to rip you to shreds 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.

.

.

.

.

[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.’

[djarincore]

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

[birdiebirdjay]

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.

[nobody-nexus]

Sinful Circus AU Incorrect Quotes

(CW for NSFW humor) (Will contain Ragapom, Abstrabbit, and Bluetooth)

====

Able: Hey, what have you two been up to? Gangle: We were helping Ragatha write her vows, but she kicked us out because Jax was making inappropriate suggestions. Jax: How is “Pomni, I love your sweet ass” inappropriate?

====

Queenie: If you could guess, how many brain cells do you have? Kinger: Dorito’s cool ranch. Queenie: Queenie: I'm just gonna assume zero for now. Kinger: I love that song

====

Pomni: There’s no “I” in team, but there is one in pizza Kaufmo: So, you’re not going to share? Pomni: I’m not going to share

====

Zooble: I dare you- Ragatha: Kaufmo is not allowed to accept dares anymore. Zooble: Why not? Kaufmo: "I have no regard for my own or others personal safety", as some would say

====

Able: Today, Influencer said a swear word, so Ragatha said she was going to wash Influencer's mouth out with soap. Influencer replied, “It’s okay, I like the taste of soap”. Turns out, they’ve been putting soap on their lips to blow bubbles

====

Zooble: closes a cabinet a crash is heard behind the cabinet door Kaufmo: What was that? Zooble: The sound of someone else's problem

====

Able: I don’t know how you have your foot in your mouth, your head up your ass, and your nose in my business. But here we are, you fucking wizard

====

Jax: I’m a multitasker! Jax: I can disappoint fifteen people at once

====

Moon: Well, Caine and I finally did it! The rest of the squad: gasps, shocked expressions, etc. Moon: That's right… We kissed!

====

Influencer: Bl@ckm@1l 15 5uch @n ugly w0rd. 1 pr3f3r 3xt0rt10n. Th3 X m@k3s 1t s0und c00l

====

Pomni: Good news! I didn’t screw up! Able: … Pomni: I screwed up less badly than usual! Able: … Pomni: Screwed up with less immediate consequences than usual

====

Ragatha: I asked Pomni out Queenie: Oh, I’m sorry Ragatha: Why? Queenie: Well, I assume she said no Ragatha: No, she said yes Queenie: Really? Then I’m sorry for her

====

Jax: My knee just cracked so loudly that I half expect it to glow in the dark tonight

====

Jax: Zooble, we tried things your way Zooble: No, we didn't Jax: I did it in my head and it didn't work

====

Pomni, gardening: Hey, can you bring me the hoe? Zooble: Yeah, sure A few minutes later Zooble: Here you go Pomni: Zooble: Ragatha: Why am I here?

====

Influencer: 1 th1nk w3 5h0uld h@v3 gl0w 5t1ck ju1c3 1nj3ct3d 1n 0ur b0n35 wh3n w3'r3 b0rn, 50 1f w3 br3ak 0ur b0n35, w3 g3t @ fun l1ttl3 5urpr1s3! Caine: What's the surprise? Zooble: Blood poisoning.

====

Jax: When do I get my own gun? Pomni: I wouldn’t trust you with my kid’s lightsaber

====

Jax, referring to Zooble: I don’t know, they just don’t seem interested Caine: Did you try talking to them? Jax: Jax: Try what?

====

Kaufmo: I wouldn’t wish that upon my worse enemy! Kaufmo: Unless of course. . We’re talking about my enemy, Zooble. Fuck you Zooble, you know what you did!

====

Jax: Wait you like me? For my personality? Zooble: I know, I was surprised too

====

Kaufmo: What’s the status up here? Pomni: Fucked up, about to die, Able’s a nerd. The usual

====

Able: I have been tricked, I have been backstabbed, and I have quite possibly been bamboozled

====

Ragatha: Sometimes I drink milk straight from the container. Influencer: @h y35, th3 c0w'5 udd3r! Ragatha: What? Gangle: WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT????

====

Able: I know what you're up to. Influencer: R3@lly? B3c@u53 I b@r3ly kn0w!

====

Jax: If the thought of something makes any of you giggle for longer than 15 seconds, you are to assume you’re not allowed to do it

====

Influencer: Th3r3 15 n0 1 1n h@ppyn355… Pomni: There is if you fucking spell it right

====

Caine: There was a motor close to where I am right now. Caine: A motor- a motorcycle? Caine: Oh sorry, a murder Ragatha: That escalated quickly

====

Jax: .. .----. -- / … --- .-. .-. -.-- (translation: I'M SORRY) Gangle: What's that? Jax: Remorse code Gangle: I'm even angrier now

====

Sun: Sleep is the body’s best safety mechanism Kaufmo: How so? Sun: It keeps you from screwing up for 8 hours

====

the Squad cleaning up Caine: Pick up the nearest piece of trash and throw it away! Pomni, to Jax: Aight, which bin do you wanna go in-

====

Moon: Define “dream” Zooble: Dream - the first thing people abandon when they learn how the world works. Gangle: That’s too dark!

====

Pomni: You look good in that hoodie Ragatha: You know where else I'd look good? Pomni, zero hesitation: My bed. Ragatha, at the same time: By your side- wait, what?

====

Gangle: Okay. Hypothetically speaking, how mad would you be if I burned a hot pocket so badly it could probably fall off a ten-story building and be completely fine? Sun: Gangle, what did you do? Gangle: Take a guess

====

Ragatha: What do we say when making bread? Zooble, glumly: That's the dough rising Ragatha: And what do we NOT say? Jax, sadly: That's the yeast fucking

====

Caine: Oh no! The printer broke while printing out Jax's birthday invitations! Gangle: Well, what are they supposed to say? Caine: "Jax's birthday" Gangle: So, what do they say instead? Caine: "Jax’s bi" Gangle: Gangle: Works out either way

====

Jax: Kaufmo, you look deep in thought. What’s wrong? Kaufmo: Did you know you can look at any object and know what it’s like to lick it? Even if you’ve never touched it before? Jax: I’m never asking you anything ever again

====

Pomni: What are you in the mood for? Ragatha: World domination Pomni: That's a bit ambitious Ragatha: You are my world~ Pomni: Aww… Ragatha: Pomni: Ragatha: Pomni: OH.

====

Zooble: We’ve been conducting an ongoing study to see what Influencer will and will not eat Queenie: Grass? Yes! Zooble: Moss? Yes!! Queenie: Leaves? Ohh, yes! Zooble: Shoelaces? Strange but true! Queenie: Worms? Sometimes! Zooble: Rocks? Usually, nah Queenie: Twigs? Usually! Zooble: Kinger's cooking? Inconclusive! Moon: How did you… test this? Zooble: You just hand them stuff and say ‘eat this’ and if they eat it, they eat it Moon: … I don’t know how to feel about this Kinger: IS THAT WHERE ALL MY SPARE SHOELACES WENT?

====

Caine: I can't imagine what Influencer is planning. But I can tell you two things. We won't like it and it won't be legal

====

Pomni: angrily presses Ragatha against a wall WHERE'S THE MONEY?! Ragatha: … Ragatha: Are we about to kiss-

====

Sun: If we lose, you’re out of the will Pomni: I was in the will?

====

Ragatha: What is it called when you kill a friend? Influencer: H0m1c1d3! Gangle: .......Murder-

====

Sun: Everyone thinks you suck. Jax: I think you have the wrong number… Sun: Influencer? Jax: Nope. Jax Sun: Well, you probably suck too

====

Able: According to the footage here, you shook the vending machine and when the shake alarm went off, you punched the glass and broke it Zooble: …I was hungry

====

Influencer: @rs0n? 0h! Y0u m3@n "cr1m1 brûl33"!

====

Moon: What the FUCK is this?!? Pomni, sitting down, surrounded by corpses: I won Mafia, that’s what

====

Caine: I'm not superstitious… But I am a little stitious

[icyblogs]

flesh and bone

Winter represents many things. The start of a new season. The beginnings to an end. Or the beginnings of a new start. Years finally caught up to you, finally knowing enough to summon a creature able to fulfill things beyond your wildest imagination. So why is it that you're now finding out that everything was orchestrated from the very start? Or: A DND au where a human falls into the clutches of a fiend and his guard dog. Patron!Ghost x Fem!Reader x Warlock!Soap WC: 6.8K Based off of this thought ! [AO3] -> Next Chapter Warnings: Start of a dark fic!! Mentions of death, depression, dubcon touching, semi-graphic description of violence, paranoia, manipulation, reader has a backstory to make sense for plot! A/N: i've never written for cod before so i'm sorry if characterizations are wonky okay ty

Winter represents many things. The start of a new season. The beginnings to an end. Or the beginnings of a new start. Most often in literature they can be associated with the circle of life- many animals lay dormant in this time of year. But even still, it goes to show the fragility of life; some creatures thriving in the atmosphere while others retreat back to their homes and really remember just what they’re living for- waiting it out until the leaves sprout anew. Just as the waters of puddles and lakes crystalize into ice or the roads start to slowly become less traveled– many things come into association with this time of year.

Death, mourning, skiing- sledding. The dichotomy of moseying along something in nature that could so easily kill you. Just for a bit of adrenaline. For some thrill or interesting experiences to tell at the next person you see at a tavern, drinking and chortling over a tankard of ale. Albeit most races aren’t built to survive freezing temperatures, they sure act like they are. But some actually are of course. Goliaths with their adeptness of surviving in the mountains- up to twenty thousand feet in altitude. Some dragonborn depending on their ancestry, hailing from ancient beings that simply thrive in some of the most subzero of places in the lands. But of course.. most are not. Putting on layer upon layer to just merely survive in these conditions- unable to even thrive unless the circumstances deem worthy enough. 

It is seldom worth the consequences. 

The winters were frigid as always, sharp pin pricks of frost seeping into through your stagecoach’s insulation even though the artificer claimed they infused the interior with a heating cantrip. Damn swindler- “100 gold for a safe and warm journey!” It unfortunately was the price of discreteness.. but maybe if you wished hard enough the air coming through would be enough to keep you from turning into an icicle- but it provided almost an almost numbing sensation to temporarily soothe the anxiety pricking at the recesses of your mind. 

Just a few more hours, just a bit more time, and everything will be perfect. 

Regardless, it was a fitting evening, all things considered. The mountainous path was characteristically barren- as to be expected being so close to Midwinter. Dense fog drifts further obscuring your vision as you stare out the semi-opaque glass into the no man’s land. Trembling fingers smooth out your cloak as you straighten in your seat, the temperatures seeping through and nipping at your skin despite the warm wool gloves that cover the appendages. Your breath was a foggy mist as you breathe, leaning back as the air swirls around and encapsulates the interior of the.. Let’s call it a cozy vehicle. 

It was easy to notice the slow pace that the coach was going: after all you can only be lost in your thoughts for so long. Going out of the city during this time of year was always a toss up on how navigable things would be.. But given the surge in technology with these infused machines and .. these wizards and such- theoretically it should be a breeze.

A gilded bag sits beside you on the worn leather seats, the contents packed with purpose- containing the bare essentials, among other things. It was silent besides your ragged breath, gripping the fabric of your cloak in a white-knuckled grip, lips pursed as you glanced through the fogged glass once more as if something would change in the scenery. The engrained tick made it a habit hard to shake off; eyes flickering back and forth repetitively either side of dark path on the left of you to the dark path to the right of you, almost compulsively like it was an itch needed to be scratched despite there being no one there the last ten times you checked. It was a simple inkling that needed to be constantly taken care of- as if the moment your head was turned, you could almost swear that something was looking back at you. 

A face? Ah, it was just some branches-

The stagecoach swerves and it makes you jolt out of your thoughts, eyes glancing behind you towards the front of the carriage, absentmindedly chewing on your tongue and a grimace immediately crosses your features, not even registering the pinprick of pain in your mouth. 

Seeing the horses rearing their hooves, stopping in their tracks, the horse’s squeals were loud even over the sound of the biting wind. All of it felt too familiar; it’s been years and yet.. It’s almost too easy to fall into the abyss of your mind, your breathing slowing. The slow and steady stream coming to a halt as if the crimson in your veins were mere molasses- stopping the flow to what allowed you to properly breathe, feeling as though your chest was being crushed. Pressing down, ripping the air out of my lungs– peine forte et dure. 

It was almost mocking in a sense, the stagecoach seems to disappear and you’re planted firmly back in the painful memories that dance around your skull like a rattle, the taunts and phantom pains drifting over the side of your face. Remembering the curve of a dagger sinking into your skin and through tissue, choking on blood- a sense of blind panic seeping its way into the air that your lungs struggle to remember how to be of use. You recall smoke- thick and permeating down your trachea, choking- gagging for some sort of reprieve, your hands outreached to grab their hand if only you could stretch just a little further-

 A bang startles you out of your stupor as you gasp, head whipping to the side- cold sweat dripping down your temples. Your left hand feels unnaturally heavy as you take a deep breath to steady your haggard breathing, trembling as you stare at the coachman- a harengon- you hadn’t recalled his name. He hops into the interior, shooting you a look of concern. You gulp a few times to soothe your dry throat, the taste of iron bittersweet, coating your tongue as if a rich cabernet- thick and heavy. Familiar.

“Ma’am- I’m so sorry. The path is too treacherous I can only take you this far-”

It takes you longer than you would have liked to collect yourself-, licking your dry lips, the cracks from the dry weather causing the simple motion to sting. “And- And I do believe I paid you for a full express ride through the Surykyk Range and to the top of Mt. Akka. Did I not?” Your voice is firm, albeit a little shaky as you cock your head looking at the rabbit with pursed lips.

He looks apologetic, wringing his hat between his two paws, his ears drooping. “Ma’am, really, you have to understand-”

“Understand?” 

“Yes, I know you prepaid but the road after this gets too perilous and..” His voice becomes a sort of background noise, an ugly feeling festering as you blink slowly. There was that sensation again you’ve felt a few times over the past few years; a little tingle on the hairs of your neck as they raised, along with the incessant buzz that completely sounds out the haregon’s voice. His lips move- words that seem to go in one ear and out the other, as if making fun of you. His droopy ears, his expression of sympathy- no pity. Looking at you like you’re some sort of wounded animal– no- he was mocking you. Of course he was.  

Your hands tremble as they tighten into fists, mouth opening and then closing and you let out a heavy sigh. It was irritating- how could a simple job such as this could not be? Pay some gold to get to the top of a mountain- why was everyone around you acting so completely incompetent? Why are they acting as if you were asking them to do the impossible? In this day and age a small trip of this magnitude should be nothing. A walk in a park. If they weren’t going to be of any use then.. Why are they even in front of you at all? Do they seriously not know how long you’ve waited for this and they’re just denying you access? Over a petty blizzard? No. 

Beneath your gloves the skin was taut as you tighten your hands into fists as if it would help ground yourself but to no avail. The low buzzing grows louder; like bees humming around your brain like the ridges and valleys were honey- drowning out the pounding of your heartbeat. Louder and louder, reaching deep into the grooves and making their place known, feeding on your festering distress. On your negative emotions. The sense of trepidation melds back into being wound up like a tight spring as you continue to stare hard at the rabbit; your body acting as if on auto-pilot. His whiskers twitch. And you? Well you just go through the movements and zone out once more, falling into a welcoming void of darkness, surrounding you- comforting you. 

The blood rushes to your head as your heart pounds, the buzzing ceasing to a low hum. When you come back to, you are still in the stagecoach, however, you are the only living being in it. It wasn’t necessarily a surprise really, these recent bursts of blackouts are more common as of late, happening more often than not. They happen at the most random of times and always seem to exemplify death- oddly enough it only started happening after the incident. Only after you found out you could summon a greater being to give you power. 

Your eyes flicker down to the white boots you were wearing and click your tongue, seeing the sprinkle of red bleed into them as if the blood were a brush and the leather it’s canvas. You try to rub out the stain but to no avail, only smearing it into a sort of pinkish hue. Your eyes then move upwards towards the wooden ceiling and then fall unceremoniously towards the corpse, wiping your forehead with the back of your glove, face losing color. Your hands felt almost achy, the muscles strained and well.. Seeing the way his neck was bent ninety degrees, it was understandable. The aftermath of these blackouts were never easy. Fighting down the growing nausea, you stumble out of the stagecoach, clutching your bag firmly to your chest as you pass the horses- trudging through the rough terrain. 

—

The hours feel longer now, the evening turning into twilight, as you take the trek by foot. Sheer cliffs drop sharply into the abyss below as you continue to climb further and further from mass-population; rising steadily in elevation as you take in the sights all around as far as the eye can see. The thick blanket of fog really did make it hard to see everything clearly but what of the forest around you that you could see was big. It was vast, the barren trees with a light coat of fresh snow brushing along their branches. Grand normally in nature, but even more so as they seem to tower over the road: the branches sticking out like gnarled fingers, hanging over the cliffside as if trying to beckon you off the beaten path. The snow covered ground is uneven, the shadows cast by the moon creating disfigured shadows and shapes that play tricks on your eyes.

It honestly didn’t help the anxiety whatsoever; the fog, the falling snow— the overall just sensation of being watched. You blame the paranoia and lack of sleep at the time, but it was  impossible to resist the urge to look behind you to see if something appeared in the last two seconds you weren’t looking. 

Maybe the Haregon was.. right. It was, for lack of a better term, hell. Auril’s reach was deep- as to be expected being so deep into her territory, but it was terrible. The snow piled up to be knee deep, having to pay close attention and really watch where there was the slightest indentation in the snow- if only to figure out where the fissures were so you don’t fall to an unseemly death. It was nearly impossible to do this with just the moonlight to light your way: wishing that you didn’t care so much in case something went wrong. You should’ve just gone through with all this in the comforts of your home. 

After all.. It would surely be a shame if you got so close to your goal and yet never reached it. Would truly be such a pity. 

The area was honestly reminiscent of what you might conjure up Stygia being like; how you might imagine that part of the hells being in terms of barely being traversable- snow as far as the eye could see. It wouldn’t be a surprise if you saw a gaggle of frost giants or the start of the Styx the next time you turned a corner as you continued to steadily rise in elevation. 

The snow crunches beneath your feet, creating a rhythmic cadence. Every step is a genuine, calculated effort to not slip and fall on the surface- gripping the mountain side tightly as to not fall. And well, in addition to yet everything else the frigid and occasional gusts of wind that sends plumes of snow swirling around you, only adding to the overwhelming sense of sheer isolation in this desolate landscape. The further in elevation you get the more that feeling grows on you. It doesn’t help that you can barely see ten feet in front of you either. However.. At some point you realize you may or may not be lost. It was.. Well, it was hard not to get lost.

Yeah, you were definitely lost.  

It was easy to look up at the sky and huff, taking a few deep breaths to calm your nerves, but it was certainly a difficult task. Back in the city when you initially planned out this whole grand scheme, it was theoretically supposed to be an easy trip. Go out to Mt. Akka- far away from civilization in case you mess up the ritual, and then summon the all knowing being and make a pact. It was supposed to be easy. Three easy steps. After all that’s what he said all those years ago. The man that started all this.

— 

Days after the incident had time crawling to a standstill- the hours feeling like weeks.  Funeral arrangements made and gone through with. Sympathies and gifts sent to your temporary place of residence as if they were truly sorry for you. ‘Sorry for your loss.’ ‘She was a wonderful mother, a great friend.’ If they truly felt that way, then why was it just you looking down at the casket as it got covered with soil? Why were you the only person who seemed to be grieving for this loss? Why did nobody else come to pay their respects as you stayed for days, finding solace in the overturned soil? As if you could claw your way through the ground and climb inside with her, hugging the charred corpse and burrowing between her ribs. Aching for the sensation of a hug, of an embrace. 

It really was no surprise when you’re found spending your nights in a shady tavern. Tucked away deep in the city- in alleyways, far away from the upper levels. It really was the best place to drink away your sorrows. It was the perfect place to become a nobody.

Huddled into a corner of a grimey back alley place, the wood sticky and stained with what, you weren’t sure. It was loud that night; and yet there you were: alone with nothing but a tankard of ale to drown out anything else. Just wanting to get numb. Just wanting to .. stop everything. Patrons come in and out, and yet there you stay even as dawn begins to rise. Sticking out like a sore thumb despite the best efforts to blend in. Too rigid to count as a regular, too downtrodden to appear lighthearted enough to familiarize yourself with the other joyous people. Just a meager human in a hodgepodge of species. 

That’s where he found you. Sitting on a stool on the end of the bar; staring down at the amber liquid, gently nursing the liquid- too many drinks in to necessarily turn your nose up at the far too bitter and pungent cheap ale. It was now a more comforting taste, dulling the senses, muffling the loud noise, turning it into a vice. 

A hand brushes along the curve of your ass- quickly making its way up and settles over the nape of your neck- squeezing absentmindedly, and you’re brought back to the present. Head lolling to the side slightly as your gaze travels upwards. Bright blue eyes stare back at you, resembling a kaleidoscope of precious gems- sapphire, larimar, kyanite- swirling and sparkling with mischief, his gaze adorned with an impish grin. His dark hair was ruffled up in a sort of weird style, long on the top, short on the sides. He was a peasant, it was easy to assume but if you were more coherent, it was easy to tell that he was anything but, despite how he presented himself to you. Back a little too straight, nails clipped and short, no signs of dirt underneath them. The stranger’s fingers dig into your flesh and you frown, squinting up at his sheer audacity.

It was then you noticed his ears- ah. That’s why he looked so .. ethereal. His skin was perfect. But he had facial hair.. A half elf? Regardless, you stick your nose up at him as you scowl, perfectly content to wallow in grief in peace. Trying to twist your head out of his gentle, but firm grip. Mouth opening to tell him off- to leave you the hell alone–

“Ah’ll buy ye a drink bonnie.” His low purr cuts off your starting protests, hovering over you, blocking your view from the rest of the tavern- hand squeezing you once more before falling and taking their place across your lower back as if it belonged there. The warmth of his skin follows your movements as you press against the bar in a sluggish attempt to get some space. The man tilts his head down at you, giving a toothy smile when your frown deepens, looking at him with clear apprehension- “Dinnae ken, i’ll buy ye something strong. You look like ye need it, hm?” 

It was easy to squirm under his insistent gaze, nodding. Eyes half-lidded as you blink slowly, the pads of his fingers absentmindedly tapping into your back when you didn’t answer verbally. “Yeah.. I guess so.”

Never realizing that you never had a choice; it truly was never an offer. 

Regardless, this stranger- Johnny you later found out his name was- listened to your tales and woes as you blubber over the ‘top’ shelf liquor. Slurring your words incomprehensibly as he sat on the stool next to you, large hand now finding its home in holding the flesh of your thigh far too high up to be considered respectable. It was easy to take the information given to you at heart as he even gave such great life advice. Describing wonderful tales of protection- of something to work for- a goal to try and get to. It was hard to remember at the time why his words seemed to cut through the fog of the alcohol, and why it stuck with you. 

“And he’d make sure ye’d never have te worry about nothin’ again. Set up for life, able to get easy protection for yerself. Sounds like a dream, and it’d only be a few small things tae do.” Poisonous words seeping into your ears paired a saccharine sweet smile hiding the maws of a dog ready to bite down at a moment’s notice. Holding himself back, playing nice for you. For him. “I mean yer a wee bonnie thing, drinkin’ your life away. Shh.. shh I ken, I ken- I know it’s hard.” Wiping your tears away as they start to overflow again, hiccuping as you take another large swig of your drink. 

John was just one of those people that it was easy to talk to- maybe it was how long you’ve been in this place, or maybe it was the fact that he was buying your drinks, who knows. Just a charming gentleman, knowing all the right things to say, and so what if he was a little touchy? Maybe he just needed a little bit of comfort too, surely you could understand that, right? He was so nice in fact that he walked you back to your temporary residence- silly, you must’ve forgotten you told him where you were staying- and when you woke up the next morning there was a concisely written note with everything you needed to do. The smell of sulfur stuck to the parchment as if burned into the grooves of it. 

What a nice guy.

—

Yeah, looking back though it certainly wasn’t the brightest idea to go this far away from civilization. But you heard it was a scary ritual! That there might be a lot of consequences to it! But as you looked around the snowy scene with a huff it was clear that you were more than likely not going to make it any further than this without just flat out dying. So.. you pause in your steps. The situation was just so absurd, that you were risking your life for something that might not even happen. But what else is there for you to do at this point? It sparks a bubble of bittersweet laughter in your chest as you wipe away some flurries on your nose- maybe you can just wish to make it out of here alive and well instead. 

You crouch down, awkwardly trying to clear away the snow to reveal the hard ground- your hands freezing wet by this point- the wool gloves feeling as though it was becoming brittle and stiff. It takes a few minutes but you were able to eventually clear a decently sized space around you. The ritual should’ve been performed at a higher elevation, for your sake of mind over anything else- but at this point it was quite literally probably either do or die. So might as well try to give it a last ditch effort, right? And with how the snow continued to descend thick and fast, like a relentless onslaught with no regards towards your personal quest, it was only a matter of time. So you continue to awkwardly carve out a space around you, grimacing at how your hard work was by the minute getting covered up by the steadily growing blizzard around you. The line of sight diminished drastically as the snowstorm swept through the landscape like a ghostly specter, cloaking the world in a shroud of swirling white and obscuring all signs of life or landscape. 

Clutching the bag so the contents don’t get blown away, you procure a small glass jar of a fiend’s blood- trembling hands starting to pour it on the ground in an attempt to recreate the shape you recall tracing so many times before. It certainly felt different using blood as paint rather than graphite; practically speeding through the process as by the second, snow was landing on your now coagulating hard work. The symbol was lopsided, the intricate circles and lines definitely asymmetrical and not fully correct- A gust of wind shoots through the gorge, the force nearly strong enough to make you crash into the ground. You stumble as the sound of glass shattering resonates, the sound echoing even above the roaring sound of the wind rushing past you. You gulp hard, shaking like a leaf in a raging storm- when another gust, almost like a predator sinking its claws into your skin; forcing you down into the ground, as if you didn’t have permission to stand. Your body hoists itself up for but a brief moment and then unceremoniously falls, and you scowl as your body is forced into a makeshift kneeling position, the cold tendrils blowing past you as if in the imitation of a bone chilling hug.

Well.. a pact summoning could be done standing or sitting down, you suppose.

Somewhere along the way your demands and wishes for this pact- for this all giving wish might have gotten a little.. skewed. It had been a whole process to get to this point after the accident- years dedicated to sneaking about the forbidden areas of libraries- going from nation to nation, paying hefty amounts of gold for mere names that might aid you on your quest for the power to protect yourself. The power to protect what once had long been past, like a memory fleeting in the wind. Faceless people crying out for you to run, for you to stay- for you to save them– for you to save yourself. The power to reach your hands further out and save your loved ones. 

So .. when did that start to twist into the wish to live. To simply survive the circumstances you’ve thrust yourself into? 

The blizzard seems to rain even worse as you sort of tussle down a gem in the ground of one of the circles- some emerald pendant your family has had in their lineage for centuries. It was an attachment that felt sort of poignant, one of the only few things that’s survived that is of their memory– blinking away the forming tears as you watch the snow slowly fall over the item. You then proceed to pull out a singed book of spells- one you’ve tried to use a countless number of times, but the weave never seemed to allow you to tap into the energy; and you’ve had to hold onto it for the ritual as it was a magical item, no matter how much it was just a blatant form of mockery. As if saying ‘wizards and sorcerers can use me and yield results, so why can’t you?’ You set the heavy leather book on the other circle.

 You crawl against the force of the wind awkwardly to the middle of the practically ruined ritual circle, trying not to ruin your already stained clothing- but at this point did it even matter anymore? A small vial is procured- this blood visibly lighter than the fiend’s- this being one of a fellow human; the blood of a friend. You haul yourself to your feet, digging into the hard dirt to keep yourself stabilized, despite how badly the world was trying to send you crashing down to the floor. Clearly unable to keep yourself steady, you hastily drip the liquid beneath you, already starting the incantations that you know oh so well, spreading the liquid in a smear with your heel, praying and hoping this would work. Watching as each drop sinks into the sleet, the macabre tapestry that spirals out– as if the very land itself was painting a picture; weeping for the fallen, mourning their passing in silent reverence. It was for a good cause- you told yourself. 

Years of letting your feelings fester, dedicating years of studying and researching towards this moment, your palms becoming doused in red and the darkening of your soul- all towards changing your fate- though you had hoped this moment would end up being done in a well.. more covered environment, however it was no matter. This was the better alternative- getting power for free. Not having to train and be proficient in magic and study all those years. Your mind sort of just latched onto the idea of working smarter- not harder. To get a shortcut in the way of life. 

Infernal spills from your tongue- accented and choppy despite your best recreation of it- clearly not of your mother tongue despite the fact you could practically recite it in your sleep by this point. The incantation was slowly spoken, like a low rumble- reaching the far back of your throat, the cadence deliberate and guttural as that small hum of a buzz begins to slowly begin in the deep recess of your mind. A small pocket knife is procured from your bag, flipping it open as you urge your voice to be louder than the howling wind as the snow swirls around you like a vortex. The blade presses against the palm of your hand.

The pain lasted for but a brief moment, small bubbles of blood starting to dribble out of the wound, falling at a faster rate as it dripped onto the circle beneath you, combining with the scarlet already split. The cold wind continues to swish around you, your clothing providing little to no protection as the incantation becomes louder, the words becoming choppy– more frantic. The shadows grow longer, the trees groan as if bearing the weight of something heavy. And then your voice comes to a stop, panting as you wait for something to happen, smiling as you look around with wide eyes, a numbness starting to make its way through your limbs.

Silence.

And more silence.

It was painstakingly easy to panic, hastily repeating the incantation as loud as you can- something setting in. A realization of what you were doing? Yeah that wasn't working.

 “No- Nono.” Tears make it harder to see, blinking them away as another cut was made, adding more blood to the middle of the circle as if that would solve all the problems in the world- “Why- Why isn’t it working? I did everything right-” The pitch rises in your growing hysteria, looking around at the partially covered symbol to see if something went wrong. An exasperated sigh leaves your lips and it turns into a chuckle and then into a full on fit of laughter, your cracked lips forming a larger grin. There’s no way right? That this was actually happening. Years of your time- nearly five god forsaken years. If you ever saw that blue eyed elf you’d kill him. Fucking hell-

“Please-” Your head tilts back as you glance up at the stormy sky, pinpricks of fear running down your spine as the expression simmers into a more somber one. It all comes crashing down as a jarring realization that all this time- you didn’t even know exactly who it was you were trying to summon. That elf and all those people telling the stories of tales across the land, talking of a being to grant power. To grant wealth. To provide enough strength to save the people around you. To take a nobody and turn them into a somebody. To give reason to actually keep living instead of joining your mother six feet under. Buried back under the burnt down remains of your estate.

It was described as simple. Summoning the being in a circle of a fiend’s blood- establishing a connection to the outer realms. That part was simple enough, though it took trading with some shady people but eventually you got what you needed; some mercenary you had to pay off to look the other way as you essentially go through the process of bloodletting an imp. Then draw out the symbol- provide the items of a precious gem and a magical artifact. Easy enough. Provide the blood of a friend- showing how willing you are to cut ties your former life to just to establish the connection, and finish it with a drop of your own blood to finish the connection, all while chanting some very specific incantations. 

You did all that. So.. why wasn’t it working?

You performed it perfectly. 

The hard ground felt like nothing to your numb body as you sank into the snow once more. Glass glitters in the snow as it presses into the side of your face, but you barely register the pain. It was supposed to work. All those scrolls- all those people, all that time. And for what? A useless invocation. Something that didn’t even work. Taking the time and energy, going out of the way of civilization in case something went wrong and..  Yet. And yet- It was silly. It was so freezing out here, the air thin and hard to breathe, but for some reason it felt warm. 

You weren’t anything special, a mere human in the world of dragons. In a world of krakens and beholders and all these amazing things. And yet at the end of the day.. you were just a regular old nobody. Sure, you were of a sort of nobility status- though not anymore– but you were trying to change your past; trying to make yourself better. To change what has already been predetermined- to reach up and touch the stars, not realizing that you were tethered to the realm. Trying to rewrite predetermined fate, as if you actually had a chance at being anything more than being completely useless-

It was easy to lose your train of thought, head swimming as an unsettling terror seizes your chest- everything begins to fracture and break. The sounds around you start to become distant echoes, muffled and indistinct, as if you’re listening from the bottom of a deep well. There's a strange detachment, as if you’re floating on the edge of reality, holding on only by the thinnest of threads. The cliffs around you seem like they’re combining overtop, as if you’re looking through a fishbowl lens: the shadows seem darker, twisting and turning under the moonlight’s glow. Your thoughts slow to a crawl, each one a struggle to grasp onto before slipping away like sand through an hourglass, fighting a losing bottle to have any idea be coherent enough to pass through the filter. Accompanied by a tingling sensation that spreads from the tips of your fingers to the crown of your head, as if your body is disconnecting from itself, each limb growing heavier and more distant with every passing moment. 

Why did this happen? Why.. did it not work? 

Why did you even try? You just wanted to be more. You just wanted to survive. To live.

Black dots fly in your field of view; dancing around like fairies in the wind, mocking as they flutter across your vision with no rhyme or reason. Your vision blurs- the unsaturated colors of the snowscape soften into monochromatic tones of gray; the moonlight seems to go further and further away as your head sinks into the snow; the dots growing larger as if obscuring your vision.  

You’d do anything.

You blink slowly as the buzzing creeps up louder, wrapping around your brain and clinging to the nerves. And then all at once dissipates, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The feeling of being watched seeps into your conscious state of mind but at this point it was a mere afterthought, feeling hollow as your eyes fall half lidded.

“Anything?” A low timbre resonates around you, emanating from no discernable source. The disembodied voice seems to drift around your fallen form, as if hovering- waiting. 

The realization has a little chuckle ripping its way out of your throat. Oh, you were hearing things now. Lovely. You were discombobulated clearly, eyes closing as you breathe slowly, your heart seeming to calm down. The voice- you weren’t exactly sure if there was someone around you or if you were genuinely going crazy, like it was some angel above speaking to you on death’s door. 

Right. Keep your eyes open- it’s not time to sleep yet. Right? But honestly it wasn’t even that cold anymore. Rather warm actually- like you were being coddled in an embrace- why would you want to move? Your eyes squint open against the snowstorm, looking around blearily at your limited scope of sight. Your limbs feel not only heavy but numb, and you knew moving them would be a chore and so you simply stay put laying down. There was a brief moment of nothing and then- Ah, right. There was someone speaking to you.

“Uh huh.” That sufficed right? There was an unnecessarily long pause, prompting you to continue talking- after all, what harm would it do? “Wanna live.” Your tongue felt heavy, as if speaking required some sort of insurmountable effort. You shift- pressing your face further against the dirt, lacking the energy to try and do anything else, little pricks of blood starting to stain the fresh snow.

“You’d do anything?” The gruff voice rings out once more and you almost groan, eyes fluttering around uselessly, vision blurring and becoming unfocused. Why was it–he?- asking you that? Aren’t your last moments supposed to be in peace, not filled with conversation? 

“Anythin’.” You slur, gasping for breath as soon as the last sound finishes your chest suddenly tightens, constricting your breath, as if the air around you stills. You don’t notice the change in atmosphere, the magic sprinkling around your body- floating and pulling at unseen chains tethered deep in your heart- too hyper focused on the sudden searing pain on the back of your neck; akin to a branding iron. 

“Silly girl.” 

You writhe at the sensation, whining, feeling the individual lines of runes being carved deep into your skin. The pain was unlike you’d felt before, even from the pain all those years ago. No- this– this was agony. This was being trapped in a whirlpool, dragged under the depths by the relentless force of pain, unable to find solid ground. This was thousands of needles piercing your skin, pulsing through you like a constant drumbeat- each throb, each line being carved only sending waves of agony. Like a black hole, taking you deep into the Shadowfell, into the Nine Hells- being torn apart- each limb being torn. No- not torn. This was more precise, being carved like a butcher- no like a surgeon, meticulously taking their time to dissect you. To pull back your skin and peer at everything that makes you, you. Each individual nerve and muscle laid bare as they are probed and examined, delving into the very essence of your being. Seeing what makes you tick, what makes you smile- your worst thoughts- your deepest desires. 

This feeling wasn’t.. unfamiliar oddly enough- in fact the opposite, as if you’ve felt it before, except this time it was a more obvious invasion, a violation of your innermost sanction as it digs deep into your body and pushing past your ribs and settling into its new home, wrapping an icy claw around your heart and constricting–

Then all at once the torment ceases, the pain being replaced with almost a sense of reprieve. You feel the phantom of a hand brushing over the now raised skin, causing your sweat-ridden body to jerk away frivolously, before settling, letting out a soft sigh. The sudden relief was like stepping into a new realm of freedom and tranquility; as if all the burdens you previously had were released. Like gentle relief that calmed the raging of your mind- calming the storm of anguish and bringing a moment of clarity and peace. The fear that once consumed you, the sense of hopelessness that weighed heavy on your heart, the loneliness that haunted you for years—all of it now seemed fleeting, like passing thoughts. As transient as the wind sweeping through the sky, soon forgotten. Those years of all that struggle; all those years of searching and praying for some sort of help. Like a weight lifted off your chest. You could reach above; no longer being bound to the realm: you could do anything. Be anything- Your eyes had closed, when did they close? You open them- seeing nothing but the darkness of the mountains, but it was so weird, as you could feel it- him- hovering around your form like a lingering shadow. A man? A monster- you weren’t sure. It was hard to tell.

And so, when your eyelids inevitably fell closed once more, it only made sense you were too far gone to even notice the skull-faced monstrosity standing over you, his head tilted as he looked down at his newly anointed warlock with an inscrutable expression. Rich amber eyes looking down at you and then- a pleased hum resonates through the air.

Mere minutes later the spot where you once laid was coated with a fresh coat of snow, looking like a pristine blank page, as if nothing had even transpired there in the first place. As though you never existed in that space to begin with. 

[karlachismylife]

Is it visual stimming or is he a romantic?

A little evening romance with Karlach and Soap.

Camp was as quiet as it can get out in the vast wild of Faerûn. A whimsical song of a nighttime forest clearing, crickets and birds praising the moon hidden under a thin gauze veil of ripped clouds. Tonight was scarce with stars, but occasional openings in the greyish blue waves of heavenly seas showed glimpses of magical twinkles here and there. Most of the party has already gone to sleep or at least to have their alone time in their tents, sounds of flipping book pages or an occasional clink of a bottle inside drowned out by the disorganised rhythm of campfire's crackling in the middle.

Karlach sat there, mesmerized. Watching glimmering reds and oranges of the pile of smouldering coal in the heart of a slowly dying fire - it felt like they were breathing, a rhythmic rising and falling of a mystical creature's chest, a dragon or a salamander perhaps, nestled cozily in their natural habitat of flames. It was nothing like the eternal burning of desolated Hell planes filled with smog and ashes up to what you could barely call skies. This was the closest she's had to a home hearth in ten years, and the occasionally cracking and moving on their own due to the heat coal pieces seemed friendly. Their hypnotic dance made the rest of the world around Karlach go darker, become muffled and almost disappear, to the point where she didn't even notice quite the heavy steps of a familiar figure approaching and sitting as close to her as possible.

Even right next to the campfire Soap felt Karlach's heat, radiating off of her and making the dying flames in front of them seem barely warm. Her engine wasn't even acting up, the fiery glow behind her chest calm and even, but she was still hot to be around - in all ways possible.

"Didnae think ye could get cold. It's nae even tha' chilly tonight, is it?" Johnny broke the silence with a small chuckle, turning his whole body towards the charmed - and charming - tiefling. Karlach didn't look startled even though she definitely didn't notice Soap joining her at the campfire; she just was too entranced by the shimmering coals to react accordingly, her head and body moving to mirror Soap's inviting friendly pose, but her eyes staying glued to the enchanted dragon treasure in the heap of still warm ash.

"Nah, mate. Just... watchin'." Her answer was a bit slow, delayed by the unwillingness of her mind to open up to anything besides the beauty of gleaming firebrands. Soap's eyes flickered to the same picture, but quickly returned back to watch Karlach's face adorned with twitching spots of lighting and shadows, dancing to the music of their campfire and gentle wind. It suited her red skin and demonic features, but she still looked kind. To him, she looked kind even splattered with blood, someone's torn out rib clutched in hand, chest heaving with rage and flames of her engine spreading black charcoal spots on the ground.

With a blink, his gaze shifted down, following the simple train of thought and lingering on her chest - it's not like Johnny's been shy about checking her out at any previous time. Or like anyone here was shy about anything (except for vital information that every fucking one of these weirdos kept to themselves. that goddamn wizard and his magic bomb...). But at the same moment as Soap's eyes landed on the generously showing skin, Karlach sighed, breathed in deeply and then let out a calm breath full of peace and contentment. Her engine's glow brightened up just a little and then went back to previous state, highlighting dark silouette of her ribcage with a soft sparkle on each breath.

"Everything here is pretty as a picture. Even the fire looks different. I missed it, you know?" He didn't expect her to continue and looked up at her face for a moment, just to see that she's still looking into the fire reflected in her cat-like eyes and allow his gaze to fall back onto the mysterious gleam of her engine. It looked captivating, calling to reach out and touch, not in a way that a bonnie lass's rack can be, but similar to a mythical Spunkie lurking somewhere in the mist over deadly swamps in fae lands. Karlach's light was just as appealing and just as dangerous as a will-o'-the-wisp or a fresh out of fire coal. Yet she probably missed them too. Missed the sun and the grass just as much as some of the deadly creatures hunting in the forests and enemies that didn't reek of sulfur. Must've missed the heat of a friendly campfire and its coals too. After all, he missed his home too, no matter how magical this world was, he would've never turn down an opportunity to go back home, even though home was war, bloodshed and cities choking on the face of a planet still drowning in animosity. Would he?.. "They're shiny, like stars. Beautiful, isn't it? The world is so... beautiful."

"Aye," Soap agreed, not even looking another time at the coals that Karlach pointed out. She didn't notice, of course, neither the enchanted look on Johnny's face as he watched her engine dance in her heartbeat's place, nor the way her tail desperately wanted to wrap itself at least around Soap's ankle and couldn't. He might've not seen it himself, only feeling warmer and warmer, the heat coming not from an almost dead campfire but from the bulky red figure next to him. The one he kept his eyes on this whole time. "Beautiful, it is."

As a raging ADHD haver I cannot stress how hypnotic smouldering coals are to me. It might seem like it's all the same picture, but it just grabs your eyes and does not let them wander even if you want to. It clears all the chaos in my head out, absolutely empty bliss. Too bad it clears even things I gotta keep in mind... (i might've gone to cook something on open fire with my mum recently and almost burnt our food cuz i couldn't stop staring at the pretty coal go twinkle twinkle...)

Also, if you enjoyed my writing and/or the pairing, reblogs are very appreciated. As well as likes! I have shipped quite a lot of rarepairs and posted them on different platforms, and Tumblr has been the kindest to me and my weird brain. I appreciate y'all very much and feel here better than anywhere on the internet. English is not my first language and I don't have patience to proofread things properly, so corrections and critisism are appreciated too!

[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 😭

[fitsofgloom]

"Come now, let's be off! There's a battle in the offing! We've got kingdoms to save and women to love!": "The Sword & The Sorcerer" Fantasy Playset, one of the all-time greatest Rack Toys of the '80s and any other decade. Somehow, and R-rated Fantasy flick garnered a mini-toy line -- including coloring books (!) -- proof of how popular the Sword & Sorcery genre was at that time. I still have this, purchased right off a rack in my local pharmacy. Look at all you get here: Barbarian heroes in loincloths on foot and on horseback, the villainous sorcerer, a wolfman-like foe, glow in the dark weapons, and a castle backdrop facade complete with the titular wizard emblazoned on the door. There were additional sets including monochrome dragons with wings and fins, along with larger rubber monsters in the vein of the "Dungeons & Dragons" series that were scented like kiddie soap. Even the card art is rollicking.

[mahiiimahiiii]

its here!!!

An:/ will I ever finish a fic that I start? We will never know. Trying to keep this short and saucy. Maybe it will become a series…? Modern au Baldur’s gate, this is bisexual cat dad gale I mentioned earlier this week, feedback would be appreciated. (first time writing gale woohooo!!)

Tdlr: you thought that I was feelin’ you? Nah that rizzard’s a munch.

word count: around 4k

(this will have a named durge :9, her name is wynne and I post her often, but shes a brown drow with shoulder length curly hair and heterochromia due to her glass eye.)

Cw: cunnilingus, light consciousness, sleepy sex, breakfast in bed? More like breakfast and headdd. Possessiveness, previous substance usage, previously established relationship, durge is mentally illest, slight cervix brusing, hurt and comfort, biting/claiming, we must take it easy so gale doesn’t blow up.

Smothered in a deck of pillows you laid at the prodigal wizard’s bedside, a career you thought merely extinct in the modern era. A purveyor and ever the pioneer he was- integrating his magic into online technology, now consulting other businesses on its integration; Gale Dekarios was always ahead of the curve.

You didn’t think of him a fan of minimalism, his rooms each eggshell white with delicate paintings in dark oak frames. The only things maximalist was his collection of ancient tomes lining the walls of his cozy apartment, a certain fire hazard for one too prone to burning things.

He had worried, inviting you into his home. At one point you had invited him to stay at your home, a shabby apartment in disarray nestled in the lower city of Baldur’s gate- the political district. You hadn’t taken your meds in months, too busy to fill out a prescription- you snapped. It was terrifying and beautiful all together.

He called the pharmacy after that, setting alarms and reminders in your phone to take them. You had slept soundly with a little coaxing, your face softened into peaceful smile, surrounded by sensory items galore. He kissed you when you woke up and cried and apologized for your behavior. Your lips were salty from tears, but that made them sweeter.

He told you not to apologize, he promised he would take care of you.

“It’s rotten work” you had cried, and he laughed.

Not to me. Not if it’s you.

That was the first time your lips uttered an “I love you.” His heart sang- he gushed to tara when he got home afterwards, plucking out stacks of classical romance.

He had much he wanted to share with you.  How he admired you.

He had told you as much.

His bedroom now, had touches of your presence. A couple of sweaters hung in his closet, perfume and soaps on his counter, meds, cup of water, and eyedrops on his bedside table. The door creaked open revealing the multi-colored tressym, the lady of the house, Tara. She chirped in acknowledgement before hopping onto the bed, noises from outside the door got a bit louder. The smell of coffee wafted in, notes of vanilla and cinnamon hit the air.

Tara began to purr loudly, nestled in the cleave of your thighs; she nipped at the hand closest to her. “Have you taken your meds yet?” she inquired, her voice was stern and motherly.

“jus’ gonna’ now.” Your voice slurred, the sleep obvious from your voice. You groped for the pill bottle, holding the tab down and twisting off the lid. You pulled out one and a half tabs, washing them down with water. you grabbed the eyedrop bottle, filled with a tonic gale made for you, compatible for a magic eye. You laid back, dropping the liquid into your eyes and rolling it around in the socket.

Your vision opens as you rub at your eyes, adjusting to sit up in bed. You combed a hand through your hair, knots popping through your anxiety ridden strokes.

“Was your sleep alright dear? You look rather vexed.” Tara was busy grooming, but kind enough to check in with you.

You laughed softly “vexation is a constant state of my life, but I appreciate the thought. Yes, it was fine, thank you. Just distant thoughts about previous me’s.” you rubbed your eyes again, “have you seen our wonderful gale?”

She tutted, stretching out over your legs and flopping to the side “he has requested you stay in bed. But- he is busy as a bee, as always. She began to purr again, rubbing her nose against the sheets. “Consider me your roadblock from getting up.”

You sank back into the pillows staring at the swirling texture of the ceiling. It was stuck with small glow stars that never got charged. Near the head of the bed was a small planetary mobile, little bells sang out from the room’s small fan. Gale likes his white noise.

A rap at the door broke you from your thoughts. Gale’s curious eyes peered over the door, crinkling as he broke into a smile. “Good morning my star, I hadn’t realize you had woken up already.” He wore a loose crew neck shirt, embroidered with flowers at the hems, his pants a taught cotton blend- ones he would call cozy dress pants, and ones you’ve seen him fallen asleep in. his hair was tied half up half down in a spikey bun, strands of steel grey hair glowed with he light of the sun. He held a mug in his hand, one of his kitsch collections. “I got a dig bick” it read.

He set it on the nightstand, caging you in for a sweet kiss. His thumb stroked the outline of your chin mindlessly, savoring the warm way his chest tightened at your tired and happy eyes. He tasted of caramel coffee and apple slices. He pulled away from your grasp, slightly breathless.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t have come checked in on you sooner. I didn’t want to disturb your sleep. You could compete for the most beautiful creature in the heavens.”

“Certainly not compete- I am the most beautiful creature.”

He chortled heartily, kissing your lips gently once more. “You don’t know how right you are, my love.”  Gale absentmindedly drew patterns onto your skin, his gaze gentle, yet longing. “Rest a bit more- I have some surprises planned.” With a kiss to your brow he pulled away, your skin felt flush with warmth.

You settled into your pillows, cupping the mug gingerly. You took a few sips. Brown sugar, ¼ milk and ¾ coffee. He always noticed the small details; it was comforting on your tongue. A small sigh of delight escaped your lips. For what good you did to deserve this- you don’t exactly know. Perhaps the gods favored you somewhat to be blessed with such a partner like gale. 

The humming resumed from the kitchen, a hiss and a gentle swear as you heard the oven door click shut. Then the tap ran as he sighed out. He snacked on something as he gathered dishes, a bowl set to the floor, Taras’s breakfast. She stretched against your leg’s wings flapping out, and tail flicking idly. She chirps a couple of times before hopping off the bed.

The gentle music of plates approached your door, along with your beloved wizard, tray in hand.

“ta daaah!!” he lifted the tray in a slight ‘come see’ gesture. You took another deep sip of coffee before setting the mug down.

“Gale- you really didn’t have too.” A slight pout formed on your lips, setting the mug aside you placed your hands in your lap.

“Nonsense. It gives me great joy to make your life easier.” He paused, setting the tray down on the small desk in the corner. “It frustrates me, occasionally- that you wouldn’t deem yourself worthy of that sort of love, that sort of worship.” He crawls towards you on the bed, his tossed hair and neat beard framing his chin and cheeks. “I adore you.” He gently cupped your cheek, straddling your settled legs. “Let me worship you in the way I was made too”

Selune take the wheel, how your heart fluttered at his honeyed words! You tilted your head squinting slightly, processing in a way you only knew how to. “This may seem impulsive, or the urges doing the talking but forgive me. Worship me with sinew, carrion, and pools of warm blood…?”

He chucked gently, tilting your head up slightly. “Less bloody, though it can be dependent on your moon sickness.” He was gentle and patient, only activating at your confirmation. His gaze soft on yours, deep and inviting. “Let me know, I will only do so at your words.”

His breath smelled like cinnamon and caramel, skin scented like warm patchouli and rose. He kissed the insides of your wrists, your knuckles, and tips of your fingers.

“Yes, id like that.” The words were out of your mouth before you’d known it. Warm lips met your skin, kissing his way down your arm, his lashes brushed against you with every kiss. Warm pride surged through your belly, you were his, and he was yours.

You grasped at the back of his head, pulling him into your embrace. Gales legs shifted under yours, bending at the knee to allow you to rest your legs around his waist. He braced a hand behind your head, careful about dropping his head on yours. Your lips moved sloppily, he still kissed like an awkward teen- which ultimately you found endearing. His stubble brushed against your skin. one of hands cupping your jaw, he separated slightly breathless. “Sorry, orb. It’s getting a little tight in my chest. Mind if I…take it a bit slower?”

“You needn’t apologize my love.” You ran a finger against his bottom lip, “I’m always willing to go slow. Your company is something to be savored.”

“I was hoping id be more sweet.” He giggles at his own bad joke, lips returning to yours. He hummed into the kiss, the wizard’s tongue ran over your teeth gingerly, asking for entrance. You obliged parting your mouth slightly, he tilted his face his nose brushing against yours. You ran your tongue against the ridges in his mouth, he let out a low groan his tongue retreating into his. Gale’s breath was wonderfully heated.

“You are quite delicious my dear.”  He grinned shifting his weight to move about. “I would like to- taste you a bit more if that’s alright.”

“oho!” you grin twirling a piece of his hair around your finger. “Shall I be finding out about your most practiced tongue this morning?”

“The very same” he beamed, crinkles forming around his eyes, he bends down kissing the column of your neck, his teeth gently grazing and nipping at the skin. “That is- if you’d like.”

You gave him a quiet nod, a little nervous to fully admit what you’d like. His lips trailed further down over your night shirt, his hands found the edge of the hem, gingerly pulling up his eyes flickered back to you again to check in.

you nodded once more.

The blissful sting of his teeth at your sides, he favored biting you around your hips and waist, a gentlemanly move and to lay proof of claim. Bites upon the neck were simply too gouache for him. You could feel the squeeze of your walls as he kissed his way back down your sternum, lips soft as ever he was a tease. You sighed when he made his way back to your thighs planting a kiss on each of them. He adjusted so he was under the covers, the top of his head tenting the blanket. His eyes claimed yours again, a swirling of questions in his deep brown eyes. You smiled, his gaze then relaxed and lowered.

He ran his tongue on the outline of slick in your underwear, electing a low whine from you. He smiled, hooking his fingers into your rubber band and kissing your skin as it was revealed. His glasses slid down his nose, the lenses fogging up from his breath. He pulled off the garment, a groan rumbling through his chest.

“By the weave… you are absolutely stunning.” His padded fingers grazed against your cunt, sweeping the juices onto his digits. He sucked at his fingers; eyes clamped shut to savor your taste. He exhaled, lips forming a delicious pout.

“You taste of the finest ambrosia…” his voice was soft, almost bashful. “I am blessed to be continuously surprised by the joys of the mortal realm.” His hands found the side of your thighs, hair fanning in front of his face. You reached out brushing it behind his ear, carefully running a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his head. The tip of his tongue traced shallow outlines around your clit, hot velvety breath layered against your thighs. He began to kitten lick up your sex, soft sighs of delight as he tasted you. He hovered over your clit, mouth latching onto the sensitive bud, his eyes caught yours again, the corners crinkling in delight at your slightly disheveled state. Breath catching in your throat, hand on his head, and heel of your foot braced against his back. The sunlight made your skin glow, eyes dark and pupils blown. Silver hair danced along your cheeks, perhaps this is what the visage of an angel looked like.

He swirled his tongue around you, mindful of suction and teeth. Using a hand to push up his glasses, glancing up occasionally. He let go of your clit, listening to the rush of air from your lungs. He muttered an incantation under his breath.

You watched as he worked, his strong nose pushed against your clit, his thick tongue dipping into your core. His hands cupped your hips and ass like he hasn’t eaten in a week, letting out a soft groan as he rutted against the mattress. Then you felt it, a cool touch on your inner thigh as he came up to breathe. His beard was stained with you, a signal to your arousal. You shivered under his gaze; the cool grasp felt wonderful against your puffy clit. It trailed down to your folds, gently prodding at your entrance. You groaned at the intrusion, cool invisible digits spearing your insides.

“Mage hand” the prodigy hummed, kissing the sides of your chin, fingers idly rubbing shapes into your clit. You groaned into his mouth as he peppered kisses onto your lips, his hands left your clit to pull off his shirt and pants, an obvious tent present in his boxers. He took off his glasses and untied his bun, his hair falling against his shoulders. It had gotten a bit longer, just dusting over his shoulders. Your lashes fluttered as the digits curled inside of you, stretching you gently.

“You are a work of art, my love.” He palmed his crotch, fingertips tracing against the swell of your breast. The hand works in tandem with his; slow tantalizing pumps against your inner walls. You squeezed down against the phantom feeling, the wizard sighing with delight. He kissed down your skin again, mouth back against your clit working to free you of the taught knot in the base of your stomach. One hand balanced on your hip the other under his waistband tugging at his shaft. Gasps escaped your lips, as you melted into his hands. He seemed smug and utterly pleased when his eyes met yours again.

The stimulation against your walls faded, a whine ripping though your lips. He gently shushed you, crawling back up your body, kissing every freckle or mole he came across.

“Now, my love, are you ready for me?” his words ached in the right places, dripping with arousal and tinged with need. He clumsily slid out of his boxers, tossing them somewhere in the room. His body has softened from time sat still, less definition from his college days and a soft slope of a belly coated in a fuzzy happy trail. He was slim- certainly, but he wasn’t fit either- Being cared for has that effect on people.  You slid a hand down his hip, squeezing his muscular thigh on its way down back to your side. His hips canted slightly under your light touch, biting his inner cheek. “Oh, the things you do to me, my star, my precious little love.” His words flushed as pink as his cheeks.

“I’m so glad only I get to view you like this, your beauty- in the most natural state- forgive me a moment- I must- “he let out a shuddering exhale, catching his breath. “Ah. Can’t speak much when focus goes somewhere else” his eyes were apologetic.

“Would you prefer…being on bottom?” your concern evident from your voice.

“That would be wise.” He shifted to the center of the bed amongst the clouds of pillows, his hair settling haphazardly as its own halo.

You ran a hand down his chest, admiring your lovers’ body. Your hand cupped his hip as you clambered over him. His knees knocking together as you used them as leverage onto him. Gently you tested him against your entrance, beads of pre-cum welling from his slit. Every muscle of the man beneath you tensed in anticipation. Your hips shook slightly at the awkwardness of the position, head of his member broaching your folds. The insides of you felt plush and velveteen, as you took him inside of you, the most pathetic sound ripped its way from your throat, hanging in the air. Your toes twitched, a sigh shared in tandem at the hilt, one hand over his quick heart.

The outlines of the dark round tattoo glowed faintly, he spasmed underneath you, thighs tensing and untensing. This felt sweeter than any sex before it, each time you burned anew for him. Each ridge upon him your body memorized, cream and pink his skin ran. You kissed his adams apple as it bobbed, his breath ragged from adjusting.  He screwed his eyes shut; face crinkled like crepe paper. You cupped his chest, testing a roll. It stung beautifully against your walls; warmth flooded your sides as you clenched down on him. His hands found your sides, pinching and cupping your ass, gentle to assist your bounces. He exhaled again muttering several incantations, cool slow buzzing ran over your clit.

“Oh, my love- how immaculate you look- “he sighed pushing up onto his toes, cementing you further onto him. His thighs wobbled as he speared you, aching to get every inch of himself into you. The head of his cock pulsed against your cervix, finding spongy spots within you. Your brain bubbled, cheeks flushed and radiating heat, a slight ring to your ears.

He stared at you with eyes you could never get tired of, pools of honey browns devouring your figure. Every flash of your image- ingrained into his memory.

He pulled you onto him, lips too quick to clamp down on yours. Your breath vanished between his teeth, nipping at your lower lips. His thrusts were desperate, earning a few moans from your lips. He captured them in return, his lips greedy for your sound. Your legs wormed around his, toe to toe. He set a bruising pace; his tip gently nestled against your cervix. You clamped and fluttered around him, cupping his chin and hand clamped in his hair.

He gasped for air, lips bruised “bhaal below- I can feel you- “he bit his lip, “gods your so close- so close and so good to me.”  His hips pulsed erratically, tips of his toes sliding against the mussed sheets. “Beautiful- my star you are excellent-!”

No words fell from your mouth, just a coagulation of sighs running from your throat. Your core felt ironclad and taught, your cup overflowed with him around.  The base of your hips ached from the muscle usage. His warm hand settled on your hips, his dulled nails digging into your plush flesh.

“Your so close- my darling, my love- “his words slurred, head tilted back to gulp back air. “Gods- come for me my star- I need you so bad-!” his voice slightly broke. Your mouth found the base of his throat clamping and sucking at his favorite spot. Quickly, he shoved you down as you crumbled into him, noses pressed together. Waves of heat pulsed through your core, sending his spent seed into you. He twitched and pulsed as he pulled you close, his chest gently glowing purple.

And then there was silence, blessed waves of relief as the shocks ran through your body. He deflated, sweat sticking to his forehead, curling the baby hairs around his scalp. You ached. Again, he was the first to stir a hand gently combing through your scalp. A gentle laugh erupting from his chest.

“Well, my dear- you are a gift that keeps on giving.” He hummed, closing his eyes. “I am spent- I don’t think id like to move for the rest of the day- I mean, if you’d like to, that would be our plan for today.”

You hummed in response, shifting your hips. “We forgot a towel.”

“No need to fret my dear…” he reached towards a drawer in his nightstand, pulling out a rag. “Always prepared.”

He helped you up, a whine ripping through your chest at the removal. Settling you back onto his chest, the rag settled comfortably between your thighs. He ran his hands up and down your back, tracing the dimples of your thighs, each ridge of bone and settled muscle. He stretched, reaching for his kindle on the bedside. Bracing an arm on your back. His skin smelt like lilies, soft and smooth under you. You listened to his dull heartbeat, peacefully drifting off in his arms.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

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

Takes place during DH1 & 2

Part 1 & 2 Here | HP masterlist

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

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

Requested yes/no

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

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

————-------

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

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

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

Yeah she wasn’t getting out of this conversation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I may have caused some trouble.”

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

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

“Care to join me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t be sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What makes you say that?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/n lost it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sword of Gryffindor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And deep down, Y/n knew too.    

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She has to be fucking with them.

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

“Game?” 

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

“Ouch.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A simple nod had the ginger beside him flabbergasted. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It hit her then where she was. 

Hogwarts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost 24 hours later

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

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

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

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

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

Otherwise what was the point in going on in life. 

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

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

Well, she was the only person.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

None of that mattered to her. 

Her only focus was the man in her arms. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t let it be for nothing.” 

19 Years Later….

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is Draco….”

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

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

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

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

“Is that who I think it is?”

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

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

It had all been for nothing…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry too.” 

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

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

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

It was a death notification. Two at that.

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

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

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

Everyone else was dead. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[leighsartworks216]

Good Boy

Astarion x transmasc!Tav/Reader x Gale

This is a part two to Feel Good

Gale might be OOC, I don't have him talking as much as I'd honestly like, but I just don't know what he'd say and I don't have the brain power rn to listen to his dialogue. Not proofread

SMUT BELOW THE CUT

Warnings: oral (w vagina), threesome, top Astarion, bottom Gale, praise kink, hair pulling, slight scent kink, some nipple play, mentions of top surgery scars

Word Count: 1,051

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

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Astarion couldn’t keep his mouth off of you. Lips trailed languidly along your new chest scars in wet kisses, tongue brushing along the jagged edges. You tasted like Gale’s soap, which they’d used to tenderly clean your body after so long of being unable to properly bathe. Now you were clean, and both men fully intended to make you filthy.

Both men knelt over you, Gale burying his face into your shoulder and trailing scratchy kisses along your throat. He brushed his tongue over the faded bite marks left behind by Astarion, drawing out a whimper from you. They were taking their sweet time. Their hands caressed and massaged and pressed softly against you, but they never reached where you needed them. Astarion could smell you already - dripping wet with arousal for them.

His dark red eyes sought out yours as he sucked a nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing ever so lightly against it as his tongue swirled around. Your hand flew to his hair, tugging desperately at his white curls.

“Please, please,” you gasped. You reached up and tangled your other hand in Gale’s hair, trying to pull him away from his assault on your jaw. “Need you, please.”

Astarion released your nipple, but his cool breath continued to fan over it as he spoke. “What do you want us to do, love? Use your words now.” He trailed a hand along your belly, brushing over Gale’s, and gliding it between your thighs, but not quite touching your sex. No, instead he pressed your legs open, and you complied without a single thought otherwise.

You groaned, frustrated and needy. “Eat me out,” you gasped as a flush rushed to your cheeks. “Please, Gale, need you.”

Gale captured your lips in a kiss, licking his tongue into your mouth greedily. You shivered thinking about him doing the same thing to your cunt. He pulled away with a grin. “It would be my honor.”

He made his way slowly down your body, taking his time to kiss every inch of your skin. Your collarbones, your sternum, your peck, down to your belly button, and further still until he knelt between your legs - he loved the way you tasted. Even just the smell of you was enough to drive him mad.

He pressed your legs further apart so he’d fit, and watched as Astarion’s slid from your thigh to your cunt. He used his fingers to spread your folds, slicking his fingers with you as he showed just how needy you were to Gale. “Look how wet he is already,” the vampire purred.

Gale groaned, cock twitching at just the sight of you like this. So handsome. So gorgeous. He dipped down, ready to dive in and lose himself in you. But Astarion stopped him with a small ah-ah, and presented his coated fingers to the wizard.

“Come on,” he encouraged with a smirk. “Show our darling just what that tongue of yours can do.”

“I’m sure he’s well acquainted by now,” he remarked, but he took Astarion’s fingers in his mouth anyway. He watched you both as he ran his tongue between them and licked up the slick, coating the fingers in saliva.

You shuddered and Astarion grinned. “Well aren’t you just a good boy,” he teased, but Gale shivered at the praise. Even though Astarion said it so playfully, he knew it was genuine. He pulled his fingers from Gale’s mouth and grabbed his hair, right next to yours. He pushed his head down between your thighs. “Eat up. He’s waited long enough, don’t you think?”

Gale didn’t hesitate. He licked a stripe up your slit, cleaning you of your wetness, before teasing his tongue around your entrance. You bucked up into him, but he pressed an arm over your hips to keep you pinned down. They couldn’t have you exerting yourself - that would ruin the entire point of this. With his nose pressed against your clit, his tongue plunged deep inside.

You moaned as he ate you out, pressing your head back into your pillows as the sensations overwhelmed you. The sloppy, wet sounds filled your ears; the wizard acted like a starving man at a banquet.

Astarion’s mouth found your neck, sucking and nipping all over, but especially around your pulse. Your blood raced under your skin as your heart raced. And you smelled delicious. “You’re gorgeous, my love,” he groaned into the skin behind your ear. He released Gale’s hair in favor of running his fingers along your chest scars, delicately, as they were still sensitive. He pressed harder when he ran his fingers just underneath them. “So fucking handsome.”

You tugged on his hair until his lips were on yours. It was a sloppy kiss, full of desperation and passion. He eagerly swallowed every moan and gasp from you.

He nipped at your lips when you pulled away with a choked groan. His eyes studied your face knowingly. “Are you going to cum for us, pretty boy?” You whimpered at the nickname. Gale felt you clench excitedly around his tongue.

Astarion’s hand slides down your stomach until his fingers find your clit. Gale repositions so he’s not getting flicked in the nose as the vampire begins rubbing circles against you. He peers up through your legs to watch as your chest rises and falls with hurried gasps, watching as Astarion finds your neck again and murmurs sweet praises into it. He can pinpoint the exact moment you orgasm.

Astarion doesn’t let up on your clit as you clench around Gale’s tongue, drawing out each moan of their names as your cum is eagerly eaten up by the wizard. Only once you begin squirming with overstimulation does Astarion stop, before pushing Gale firmly but not unkindly away from your cunt. His face is coated in you, filling his nostrils with your heady musk. He presses tender kisses to your inner thighs, holding them steady as they tremble from the aftershocks.

“Good boy,” Astarion praises as he pulls away to assess his partners. His eyes are still dark with lust as he watches Gale. They meet eyes, and between them is the same thought. He turns back to kiss you, languid and sweet, before he pulls away with a wicked smirk. “We’re not done with you yet, handsome.”

---

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