#every time i successfully do my hair i feel like a wizard

[sanguineterrain]

guys ion color brilliance cherry red and violet w/ 30 vol developer. trust. for the dark haired girlies ☝️❗️

[amethystviolist]

holy shit you wrote so much since march??? that is so fucking impressive!! and hey, creating things for older fandoms is the best, it's always good to see people still keeping them alive. now when you give updates i will finally know whats it about :'D would you wanna give a summary of the fic's premise?

Thank you for the appreciation and the ask again! Yeah I went kinda crazy with it lol; I slowed down to a more normal rate again in May, thankfully.

And sure! It's not a terribly original premise I'm afraid, and I don't have a real blurb yet, but basically, the fic revolves around Bilbo being a dragon with a limited ability to shapeshift. I've read multiple dragon!Bilbo works (and enjoyed them!), but I wanted to do a pretty different take on dragons compared to canon Tolkien or other fanfics I've read.

A teaser might be something like: Five hundred year old former dragon Bilbo Baggins has successfully kept his private vow of peaceful hobbitish living for fifty years when Gandalf turns up with an inviting offer of adventure and less-than-inviting dwarvish company. Bilbo is forced to weigh his need to protect his new friends against his fear of discovery every step of the way to the mountain, and by the time he realizes some secrets are truly too big to keep, Bilbo will have to decide exactly how much a dragon is willing to sacrifice for the dwarves of Erebor.

So for the conception of the fic, Tolkien's dragons are of course based on medieval epics where they're no more than cunning, cruel, and greedy creatures, and while that simplicity can be a good narrative tool, I got interested in the Middle Earth creation of dragons and then what else they might be besides vehicles for plot or embodiments of evil.

From extant theories on their creation (I'm skipping a lot of details on that or we'll be here all day!), I got really into my own take on draconic culture in Middle Earth, and then really into exploring Bilbo's trauma from his draconic past and how he's handling it as a hobbit (spoiler: he's just avoiding it). His canon character arc takes a naive bachelor to worldly adventurer, but my fic starts him from a place of power already. Dragon!Bilbo knows evil intimately and so he's terrified of himself. His arc instead involves accepting all parts of himself and allowing himself to really live again, and of course there's a lot of secrets and lying and oh god feelings that he has to deal with along the way.

Anyway, at its emotional core, the mega fic is about identity and self-acceptance/forgiveness. At its plot core, it's about keeping a terrible secret from thirteen people you want to befriend and how that causes a lot of interesting problems. I've written all the way through canon events (which are definitely more guidelines than rules, considering the impacts of Bilbo's true heritage) and am now in the murky waters of post-canon. I've got an outline and am working through it now. Post-canon deals mainly with the aftermath of a major sacrifice during BotFA (no spoilers!), and then what to do with the One Ring.

If you've read this far, thank! If you're still interested, please enjoy a little early excerpt below.

“‘Bilbo Baggins’, is it?” a deep voice read out.

The hobbit by that name, a middle-aged and bronze-haired fellow with a green waistcoat and a pipe in his mouth, looked up from the book on his lap and startled quite violently. 

“Gandalf,” Bilbo gasped, barely saving the book before it fell to the ground. The wizard in question was standing by his front gate and frowning at Bilbo’s nicely-labeled mailbox, his brow tight with confusion.

“My old friend, what in the names of the Valar are you still doing here?” Gandalf asked, sounding as genuinely surprised as Bilbo had ever heard him. 

“Ah.” Bilbo shifted a little on his nicely cushioned bench. “Well, you’ve been away for quite some time… I daresay I’ve changed quite a lot since we last met.”

“On that, we are agreed,” Gandalf replied, and stared at Bilbo as if trying to see through his very bones.

“Er, do come inside,” Bilbo invited him politely, and got to his feet. “I’ve got a kettle on, and some biscuits which aren’t too terribly burned.”

“A real achievement for one of your kind,” Gandalf chortled, until Bilbo shot him a glare. The wizard hurriedly quieted his amusement and let himself in the gate, following Bilbo up the grassy steps and through the green door that led to Bag End.

As soon as Bilbo closed the round door, he found himself unexpectedly nervous. He had nothing to fear from Gandalf, of course, but his situation was… inexplicably odd.

“So,” Bilbo began a little more hesitantly then he would have liked to admit, “What… brings you to the Shire?”

Gandalf fixed Bilbo with a disgruntled stare. “I was seeking you, of course! Imagine my surprise when I found your old caves deserted, your books and blankets all gone! I thought you’d been slain, and your treasures carried off, and yet somehow no one I asked knew anything about a-”

“Yes, yes, alright!” Bilbo interrupted with a suspicious glance out the nearest window. “I appreciate your concern, but not so loudly! I’m treated with enough suspicion as it is,” the hobbit grumbled, and motioned for Gandalf to follow him through the halls of Bag End until they reached the pantry, which was windowless and had two doors with sturdy locks. Bagginses of course protected their food well, as any respectable hobbit would, but Bilbo had also found that it was an excellent space for less-than-respectable happenings. 

Which he himself had no prior experience with, naturally.

“Olórin,” Bilbo breathed after he had lit a candle and closed both doors, sealing the wizard into the wide room. “My friend, it’s good to see you! I was going to send word, but I had no idea how a letter would reach you. You’re not called the Wandering Wizard for nothing, it seems,” Bilbo said with an amused smile.

“You could have left a note in the northern Blue Mountains!” Gandalf complained, shaking his head. “I had to fight my way through three dozen goblins before I found the levels where you used to reside.”

Bilbo gave him an unimpressed look, for only three dozen goblins were no match for one of the Istari at full strength, and they both knew it.

“It was an annoyance,” Gandalf amended at Bilbo’s expression. “And more importantly, it caused me no small amount of worry for your well-being.”

“Well, I didn’t mean to worry you. But you also could have come back sooner,” Bilbo said rather stiffly. He found himself compulsively organizing the jars of jam by size, until he realized he was acting a bit too much like Bungo and tried to stop fidgeting. “Belladonna and Bungo offered me their home and their name as my own, and Bag End is a much better place for reading than my old drafty caverns. It would have been ridiculous for me to refuse their kind offer.”

“And how are the dear Bagginses?” Gandalf asked, his eyes crinkling happily. “It’s been far too long since I’ve seen them…” The wizard trailed off. His countenance sobered all too quickly as he saw that Bilbo’s expression had turned cold and stony, his hands stilling on the many jars of jam. “Oh. Oh, I see,” he murmured. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that, my friend. I know how much they meant to you.”

The pantry was unbearably silent for a time.

“We shared books,” Bilbo finally said very quietly, and Gandalf looked so shocked that Bilbo would have surely found it amusing under other circumstances.

“Indeed,” Gandalf finally managed, eyeing Bilbo with fresh concern. 

The room was once again silent, and Bilbo shook his head to clear it. “My loss is not the reason you’ve come, though,” he said after a long moment, glaring at an innocent wheel of cheese, for anger was better to keep moving on with than sorrow. But he forced himself to gentle his gaze somewhat to look back up at Gandalf. “Is this merely a social call, then?”

Gandalf’s lips quirked back up into a typically mysterious smile. “I’m afraid not. In fact, I came looking for you to share in an adventure.”

“Adventure?” Bilbo snorted loudly, and ignored the twin wisps of smoke that emerged from his nostrils. “Gandalf, please, I’m far too old for such nonsense. Surely you have many other - and far more pleasant! - options for traveling companions.”

“I’m not going on a walking holiday,” Gandalf corrected him with a huff, now looking rather put out. “I’m escorting a third party on a quest to reclaim their homeland, and your skill set would be most helpful on this dangerous journey.”

“My ‘skill set’?” Bilbo repeated incredulously. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean? My ‘skills’ primarily consist of reading voraciously and offending the delicate sensibilities of my neighbors.”

The wizard fixed him with a piercing, knowing look. “We both know you’re more than a simple hobbit, my old friend.”

Bilbo scowled as fiercely as this face allowed, and crossed his arms in annoyance. “Maybe I don’t want to be more than a simple hobbit anymore,” he said sharply. “Has it ever occurred to you that I am safe and comfortable here, in this form, in this life? I’m Bilbo Baggins now. I’ve changed, Gandalf, and I don’t want to be… who I was. I’m nothing like that anymore, and have vowed to never be again.”

Gandalf’s blue eyes twinkled a little, and he nodded once. “Very well. Bilbo... I understand your feelings on the subject.” He pointed one gnarled finger at Bilbo, and added firmly, “But this will be very good for you.” With that cryptic pronouncement, Gandalf turned and unlocked one of the pantry doors, knocking his head on the low doorframe and cursing to himself as he hastily exited.

“Gandalf!” Bilbo exclaimed, his annoyance now tainted by his damn curiosity. “What do you mean? I will not be going with you on any sort of mad adventure, and I mean it! I couldn’t leave my hoard for that long as you should well know!” He ran after Gandalf, who was finding his way to the front door much too quickly.

“I expect I’ll be seeing you again soon,” Gandalf said instead of offering any kind of explanation. “Do try not to incinerate anyone while I’m away.”

“Pfft, incinerate anyone,” Bilbo scoffed. “You’re the only one in danger of that, Gandalf the Grey! Stop running away and tell me what you meant by that! Ah, you confounding-”

Bilbo tripped on the upturned edge of a rug (undoubtedly Gandalf’s fault, as so many things were) and tumbled most ungracefully to the floor. By the time the hobbit had regained his feet, the wizard was long gone, his gray-clad form hurrying down the path away from Bag End.

“Blasted, meddlesome wizards,” Bilbo muttered, not for the first time and certainly not for the last.

[If you've read this far, please let me know! I'll be wanting a beta reader probably at some point, or someone to bounce ideas off of would be lovely as well.]

[chronotopes]

12.6.24

i want to get a needlessly expensive haircut so badly but convincing myself having gay little curtain bangs would fix me instead of making me worse is probably self-deluding on a deep level. i also want to buy a second cardigan thats identical to the cardigan i already own but in a different color, which is a little bit more practical and necessary. i just want to be able to ponytail my hair without hating how i look in the mirror and i hate having a Bare Forehead and i hate doing the stupid little Swoop that dates me straight to 2014. sigh. but also almost every time i change my hair i freak out jo march style and hate it. have been dealing with the consequences of the last time i tried to change something for like 8 months now. however long ago may was.

seeing friends tonight!!!!!!!! (at the very least mo + billie + rob + amara, others might show up.) seeing improv tonight, which i'm sure will have its moments and also its non-moments.

one day i need to publish an essay that isn't about stephen because right now i'm coming up on two for two. embarrassing really. if he could be around to do it he would mock my lack of range. anyway enough of that. throws up.

I'M NORMAL!!!!!

ekko astral is a good band and so is native sun and so is dim wizard even though we missed most of their set lmao

i really have no business feeling a Profound Emptiness In My Chest and Crying All The Time today i am literally seeing friends tonight and christmas is in 19 days even though were rather #peeved at jennys mom rn, and new years eve is in 24 days even though ivan and melinda won't be there and the party atmosphere will thus be rather subdued. and we're seeing another concert in the city a week from yesterday and hosting a party a week from today and making french onion soup tomorrow. and i'm rereading my favorite book faster than i've read any book all year. there is literally so much to not cry every day about. it's literally just The Agonies Of My Period lol. fucking skill issue

nobody besides me is blogging about the epic highs and lows of being rose wilder lane on tumblr.com except one of those 'have not interrogated these books from my childhood very strongly' little house people whos making wrong vibes-based claims about the little house authorship "controversy" (lol). "the style here is going rose vibes" how about the manuscript in Clearly Not Lane's Handwriting that extremely already exists. how does that factor into your feelings about stylistics. we can find the bits of the books that lane had the biggest most direct hand in because they are really obvious and, oftentimes, documented. wilder wrote and even sometimes published pieces that clearly have the little house dna. the broad shape of this collaboration is not a "mystery" that a Blogger on Tumblr needs to weigh in on and pick a side on, grow up

i wish there could be a tv miniseries about rose wilder lane. i would watch the hell out of that but i would only trust caroline fraser and the editors of the annotated pioneer girl and ann romines a team of underlings (including me, i could be an underling) to create it. there are so many riveting human stories in history and shes one of them but that doesnt stop her from being kind of a ~villain~ and it certainly doesn't make her the Secret Author of books with, once again, known and existing manuscripts that are not in her handwriting. how are you going to do stylistic analysis of two women who have extremely fucking extensive bodies of work and lived in the 19th/20th centuries. if it's shitty history when people do Authorship Controversies with shakespeare it's laughable about 20th century writers. girl the manuscripts!!!!

i distracted myself with a ~Special Interest~ or whatever the kids are calling it these days and successfully made myself less sad. yay!!!

[angrenwen]

"If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon"

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon

[miekasa]

okay but what about airport!levi? he gives quiet businessman vibes sitting in his slacks and turtleneck

IN HIS TURTLENECK 😭😭 He would also be quiet and to himself, but not in the emo way. You got me thinking about all of them now, so here are my other thoughts about the boys at the airport.

Levi

He thinks the idea of separating classes on an airplane is beyond stupid, but if the flight is particularly long, or particularly packed, he’s not above paying for business class for a little extra personal space for the two of you.

When he doesn’t do that, tho, he never picks your guys’ seats ahead of time, so sometimes you’ll be separated. Good thing he’s also not above lying at the check-in desk, “I’m in Zone 1, could my wife be seated next to me so that we can board together?”

They respond with an “of course,” and move your seats together, and Levi walks back with a content nod of appreciation. You are not married, and marriage sucks about as much as class separation on a 30 foot long plane, but it has its benefits.

Masks on, regardless. No debates. Pandemic or not, the mask stays on. Do not perceive him, keep the pressurized air sharing to a minimum.

Doesn’t wander much in the airport. There’s nothing in there that he hasn’t seen already, except for the marked up prices on touristy t-shirts.

And if you wander, he’ll usually just sit in the waiting area to watch your bags while you window shop and do your thing. If you’re gone for more than 30 mins, he might call, under the pretenses of, “Making sure you didn’t get lost. You know that Starbucks was near gate 41 to the left, not the right, right?” Like he’s a comedian or something 🙄

He does encourage you to get snacks before you board, tho. Airplane food is gross, and he would much rather pay for a $13 sandwich that you can snack on later, than for you to have to eat mush.

He’s got a little portable mug he takes with him for when he’s wants to buy a hot drink before getting on his flight. It’s cute.

Doesn’t fall asleep on the plane ever. No matter how long the flight is—at most, he’ll take a quick power nap somewhere in the middle if it’s over 9 hours, but other than that, he’s good to go.

Doesn’t mind if you fall asleep, and he always adjusts your neck pillow to make sure you don’t get cramps.

Jean

Travel champion. This man loves being in the airport even though he’s convinced it’s a time capsule, he fucking loves it.

King of “your airport fashion matters, babe.” Not necessarily wearing a whole three piece suit, but he does put in a little effort; it’s not just the first pair of sweats he has laying around.

Swears coffee tastes better in the airport. It does not. That does not stop him from buying it. He should learn to quit tho, especially for someone who hates airplane bathrooms as much as he does.

Charming with all the security personnel and desk assistants. You could be checking in for a flight at 4am, and Jean’s got people smiling and cheery for their shifts.

Bitches about the selection of movies on the flight, and learns to just download his own ahead of time. Gets really startled when he’s watching something and the flight attendants try to grab his attention for food or drinks—the very loud, classic, Jean Kirstein “HUH?”

On that note, he also gets startled by the loudspeaker announcements in the airport. He doesn’t know why he has to hear about American Airlines flight 2170 to Cancun, when he is not on American Airlines flight 2170 to Cancun.

Not opposed to paying extra for better airplane food or drinks on the plane if it’s the right time of day. He always finds something to toast to, plus he likes to treat you whenever and wherever he can.

Takes care of your overhead luggage and helps out the people around him if he sees they’re struggling. Gets shy when you call him a gentleman for it, and he rubs his neck, grumbling, “I was just helping the line move a little faster.”

Great timing, generous, will pick up your checked bags for you, and already rented a car a week in advance: 10/10 travel buddy.

Porco

He doesn’t like planes and there’s no solid reason why—nothing bad happened to him as a kid, and it’s not even that rare unfortunate incidents freak him out or anything—something flying just makes him a bit uneasy.

He won’t say it though, and he tries to keep it together when you’re checking in, but you can tell he’s anxious once you’re sitting and waiting for your flight to board.

He’ll ask to switch seats if you have the window seat, because somehow the feeling of being boxed in between the plane wall/window and another person makes it feel more like a car than a plane and he’s okay with that.

Going to the airport is one of the few times he hair won’t be styled, and falls in his face a bit. He usually throws on a beanie to cover it up, but you think he looks pretty cute either way.

Can’t usually fall asleep and he hates it because he just sits there thinking about the worst for the entire duration of the flight. But when you travel with him for the first time and coax him into taking a nap it’s so much better.

It’s about the only time he’ll let himself be publicly babied by you; but it makes everything so much easier that he doesn’t even mind.

So now, whenever you get on flights, he just puts his hood up, lays his head on your shoulder and waits for the magic to happen.

Bonus: you’re traveling with his friends, and Pieck and Marcel past to your seats, surprised to see Porco fast asleep on your shoulder. Pieck squeals, going on about how you must be a wizard to have gotten him to nap, to which Marcel just shakes his head, “Nah, he’s just really in love with her. Look at his face, that’s the calmest he’s been since he was five.”

Connie

Loves the airport. Not an ounce of organization in his soul though. By that I mean, yeah, he’s probably forgotten his passport at home, or forgotten that a full size bottle of body wash cannot go into his carry-on luggage.

Forgets to wear shoes that easy to take off and is fumbling over himself after the security check trying to lace them back up or put them back on.

Likes for you guys to have coordinating sweatsuits, and even though you don’t travel super often, Connie’s got at least 3 pairs of them lined up for you guys.

Sweet enough to drop plans or rearrange his schedule to travel with you if you were originally gonna be alone. He knows you can handle yourself, but he doesn’t want for you to travel alone if you don’t have to, especially if you’re going someplace far and/or for an extended period of time.

He always finds breakfast food to eat before he gets on his flight (if you two even have time to spare for food that is). It could be 9pm, but Connie’s asking for a breakfast wrap.

Hates waiting in the little pre-flight area. Claims it’s boring as hell and that’s why there’s no reason to get there 3 hours early ����🙄

He always spends at least 30 minutes browsing all the movie and TV show options available on-board, loudly exclaiming in excitement when they have something cool to watch—only to fucking fall asleep 10 minutes later. Right on top of you when he was oh-so-excited to watch Madagascar 2.

Always steals the aisle seat, even if it’s yours. It’s probably for the best though, because he has to get up to pee at least twice, no matter how short your flight is.

Makes some cheeky remark about you meeting him in the bathroom. He doesn’t mean it... unless he does. Unfortunately, you’ve never... successfully been able to do that out of fear of being caught by the flight attendants, but there have been a few quickies in the “family” (“It’s ethical, because technically we’re participating in the act of making a family, babe”) bathroom before you boarded. It’s his fault, not yours.

Armin

He really likes planes, and traveling in general. I think trains would be his favorite mode of transportation, but airplanes are good too.

I hate to say it but he claps when the plane lands. I will not elaborate or defend my stance on this.

Prefers the window seat because he likes to look out at the clouds as he’s in the sky.

He took his passport photo a little before he cut his hair, so the security personnel always hold it up and flicker between his ID photo and his current appearance a few times before stamping it. It makes him a little embarrassed because he can’t tell if they think he looks better or worse and sometimes he’s really fighting for his life convincing them that that’s him in the picture 😭

Listens to music rather than downloading a movie or watching a show, and always brings wire headphones to the airport so that it’s easier to share and listen with you.

If you fall asleep on him first, he’ll likely fall asleep on you shortly after. If he’s tired enough, he’ll fall asleep first, though he’s somewhat embarrassed and disappointed because he wanted to see the descent and skyline outside.

When he’s not asleep or window-watching, he’s somewhat fidgety out of excitement, rather than nervousness. He’s excited to be traveling and looks forward to wherever you’re going, even if it is just a weekend long work trip.

Hates traveling alone, though. It just feels particularly lonely to him to be going someplace foreign without company by his side. So, he’ll call you at every checkpoint and send you updates.

He only ever buys two things in duty free: shot glasses with the name of the city/country you’re traveling to, and whatever variety of button down short-sleeves are available to him.

Erwin

You knew this was coming, but this man is absolutely at the airport 18 hours before your flight takes off, and he’s driving like a manic getting there, like you don’t have all the time in the world.

Fascinated by anything and everything in duty free. Definitely spends more money than necessary on your return flight on the grounds that he was getting a good deal.

Exchanges money in the airport and keeps cash in his fanny pack. There’s no traveling without the fanny pack.

Plays crossword puzzles on his phone on the plane, and it’s just about one of the only games he has. That and Candy Crush—I get the feeling he’d be on level 500+ of that game and he always knocks out at least 10 levels on a flight.

Always a little surprised when he feels his your head on his shoulder, but he says nothing, and acts like he didn’t even notice, but there’s a telling little smile on his face.

Takes the most foul selfies of him and your sleeping self. In his defense, he had the best intentions; but that angle was flattering nobody. It’s too bad he’d already paid for the in-flight wifi and sent it to Hange because now you’ll never live them down.

You could probably get him to put on a (skincare) face mask during your flight. He forgets to take it off tho, and if you don’t tell him, he’d fully walk through customs with it on his face.

Accidentally gets drunk because he doesn’t understand that just because he can handle several glasses of whiskey in his favorite bar on a Friday night, does not mean it will translate on a plane.

[mavkasilas]

It’s a good day to be drunk.

Yup, I thought to write a little smut but obviously I failed it. It so hard to write smut, I'm so lack of vocabs when I start to write it, geez.

Really show my respect to those writers who can write smut very well.

enjoy this little scribble!

oh btw, this is not a smut. I’m sorry if i dissapointed you guys.

“Hi! Oliver.”

“Hi, Percy.”

“Hi, Oliver~~~”

“Hi, Percy...”

Oliver looks very fed up. Instead, he is.

Beside him is a very drunk Percy, a fully grown man who is now acting like a child.

“How are you, Oliver!”

Drunk Percy shoves a wine bottle to the front of Oliver, which nearly poke into his mouth.

“If you ask this morning, I’m doing great. If you ask this moment, I’m considering a crime.”

“Oooooo~ a crime, Oliver a crime! What a bad bad bloody bad boy, aren’t you?”

Percy whispers into Oliver’s ear wickedly. The heat is coming up to Percy’s head, which makes him even dizzier but also happy.

“Come on, Perce. It’s time to go home.”

Oliver tries to pick Percy up from the seat, but the task fails successfully.

All of the sudden, the ginger boy turned into a big octopus. He left out a big sigh and then sits back in the seat, again.

This is his fifth time trying to persuade Percy to leave the bar, but clearly, you can tell there isn’t any progress between him and this drunk man.

With the dim light and the alcoholic, Percy somehow looks very scrumptious to Oliver.

The tie which messily unties on his open collar, the vest that wraps his little waist and the slender hands which are holding the fire whiskey bottle. Only God knows how many awful thoughts Oliver has inside his head.

“I bet you don’t want me to kiss you in the public, aye?”

Oliver puts his lips near Percy’s ear and whispers out the words. He knows, Percy never truly open their relationship to the public. It’s not that he is timid but tries to protect Oliver.

He is now one of the famous quidditch players in the wizarding world. There are so many flashlights focused on him. One step wrong and his career will be gone.

But somehow, Oliver wishes he and Percy can never be this hard. They didn’t do anything wrong, so why does their relationship need to be a forbidden secret?

It hurts. Very much.

“I dare you. Oliver, I dare you.”

Obviously, Percy didn’t take it seriously. He is too drunk to realise the seriousness in Oliver’s eyes.

“If you say so.”

So when Oliver moves his lips towards Percy, the drunk man is finally sober. But everything is too late. The lips crush together passionately and erotically.

After a very long french kiss, Oliver pulls his lip right at the time when Percy is out of oxygen. He licks his lips like a cunning fox just finished enjoying his prey.

“Ollie… Ollie?!”

Just a second, Percy’s cheeks are as red as his hair. He can feel everyone watching them. The sights, are like daggers stabbing into his brain which is full of alcohol.

What has he done?!

“I know what you are thinking now.”

Oliver grab his jacket and wrapped Percy in it.

He didn’t care if this will suffocate Percy or not, because his cute little boyfriend really need some punishment. Also, he didn’t want Percy to be seen by anyone at this moment.

Maybe this is the real reason.

With a little bit of strength, Percy is now fully carried in Oliver’s arm.

“Screw my career, Perce. The only thing now I would like to give a fuck is you.”

*insert Oliver’s smiley face*

For the next morning, Percy wakes up with a full body of hickeys, bite marks, muscles ache and a bunch of headlines.

[BREAKING NEWS: THE CAPTAIN OF PUDDLEMERE IS GAY?!]

[Quidditch every day: Which lucky guy is Captain Wood dating? Witness in the pub says it might be someone who is working in the Ministry.]

……

Well, the good thing is both of them have fully fucked the wizarding world up.

Bad thing? Guess Molly is now writing him and Oliver a howler right now.

<It’s a good day to be drunk. end>

[iliveiloveiwrite]

How To Stop Time: Touch

Request: Please could you do a soulmate au where time stops when solemates touch for the first time with draco 💞

A/N: Another soulmate AU and for Draco? It’s like you’re treating me, I swear. You must know how much of a sucker I am for this man. Thank you so much for requesting this, nonnie! I hope I’ve done it justice! <3

Warnings: swearing - it’s a load of fluff and me waxing lyrical about the history of soulmates... again.

Word count: 2.1k

The magic surrounding the tale of soulmates is so powerful that it is said time stops when soulmates finally touch.

The eldest witches and wizards in the magical community believe that in response to the muggle witch hunts across history, and particularly, the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the soulmate bond was created as a way for witches and wizards to identify their other half without the risk of increased danger.

To tiny witches and wizards, they grow up on this tale. They relish in the belief that their love for their soulmate is so powerful that time will stop once they touch; spurred on by the tales of their parents and grandparents before them who had found their soulmate in the other. Across the world, tiny witches and wizards curl up in their bed, dreaming of how time will stop the moment they find their soulmate.

-----

As you progressed in your education at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, countless numbers of your friends found their soulmates. Each of them bounding up to you giddily as they each explained how time stopped the moment they touched their soulmate, and how it felt like time would always stop whenever they looked at them.

As you entered your seventh year and you still hadn’t found your soulmate, you began to question whether you had one. For a small percentage of the wizarding population, they did not have a soulmate, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing – those without a soulmate felt the freedom of being able to choose who they loved and who they dedicated their life to. However, as a teenager watching their friends fall in love around them, you were desperate to know if you had one.

Sure, you had crushes. The longest one being on the blonde-haired Malfoy heir, and the part of you that dreams at night, wonders whether it could be him for it seemed that he hadn’t found the person that made time stop for him either.

-------

To say you were frustrated would be an understatement.

NEWT exams were rapidly approaching yet you felt no more confident with your potions ability than you did at the beginning of the year. You had barely scraped by to get into Slughorn’s Advanced Potions class but scrape by you did and now you find yourself questioning why you had ever taken the class.

Not to mention the fact that your soulmate was still to make an appearance. Your closest friend, Sam had found his soulmate in a Ravenclaw boy named James – they were lovely together, but the anxiety of not having found your soulmate as well as the upcoming exams diminished your happiness for them.

They comforted you; promising that you would find your soulmate soon and that you would pass your exams without fail. And though they tried their hardest, you found it hard to believe them.

Instead, you take matters into your own hands, pushing all thoughts of soulmates and your lack of one to the back of your mind as you approach Professor Slughorn after class in which a practical had gone drastically wrong. He agreed to help; promising he would call on you when he found it.

You left the classroom feeling somewhat at ease with his words. You may not have found your soulmate, but you’ll be damned if you don’t pass your exams.

Professor Slughorn calls on you on a Thursday evening; sending a note with a first year to your common room asking you to join him in his classroom. You head straight there, pulling on a jumper as you leave the common room.

“Miss (Y/L/N), thank you for joining us.” Professor Slughorn greets as you enter the classroom, taking in the sight of him and Draco Malfoy.

“Of course, Professor.” You say, sitting in the empty seat next to Draco.

Slughorn smiles at the two of you, “You approached me at the end of our last lesson, Miss (Y/L/N), asking for extra help with Potions, is that right?”

“I did, sir.”

“I spoke to Draco after we had our conversation, and he’s more than happy to tutor you, isn’t that right?”

Draco crosses a leg over the other, “It is. I’m more than happy to help.”

Slughorn claps his hands together, pleased at the fact that he’s sorted this between you both. “I’ll leave my classroom free for you both on Saturday, that way you won’t be disturbed.”

You stand from your seat, smiling at the professor and Draco. “Thank you.” You look at Draco, “I guess I’ll see you Saturday.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach as you leave Slughorn’s classroom.

-----------

Saturday arrives, and you hold back a yawn as you push open the door to Slughorn’s classroom. The chill of the morning and your residual tiredness has you pulling the sleeves of your cardigan down to cover your hands; hoarding any warmth possible.

“I know it’s early, but I went to the kitchens and the Elves were more than happy to wrap us up some warm pastries and give a flask of tea.” Draco greets.

He holds out a small cup of tea, steam still rising. You take it from him, letting the warmth fill your hands and then flow through your body as you take that first sip.

“Thank you, Draco.” You say, taking a bite of the breakfast pastry, moaning softly at the taste of butter and jam.

Draco smiles as he takes a bite of his own. “I thought we’d follow Slughorn’s curriculum, so we aren’t missing anything out. That means we start with Amortentia, is that okay?”

You nod, continuing to eat your breakfast.

Draco smirks, “Besides, it means I get to find out if you have a crush on anyone.”

You snort, “It goes both ways, I believe, Draco. I get to see if you have a crush too.”

Draco laughs, blushing lightly. He potters around the classroom, gathering the ingredients as you sip your tea. Watching him, you realise how attractive Draco truly is. Once you got past the hard exterior; removed the mask he so often wore, he was soft and gentle.

You had always harboured a small crush on the teenager titled the Slytherin Prince. You briefly wonder whether the love potion would smell like him.

Draco places jars and vials of ingredients on the table before collecting his cauldron from where he had placed it on the floor. He plants it on the stand before murmuring the warming charm so the bottom can heat up as he prepares the ingredients in the order that he needs them.

Draco instructs you through the potion; pausing every now and then for you to take down any notes. As you dip your quill in the ink pot for the fourth time, you think that Draco would make the perfect professor – he has a knack with words making explanations easier and relating them in a manner that are easily understood. Not to mention his passion for the subject comes across so clearly as he gestures with his hands and smiles all through his explanations.

He pauses part way through a sentence, “Let me know if I’m rambling too much, won’t you?”

“Of course, but I enjoy listening to you speak – you clearly love this subject, Draco.”

He looks away sheepishly, reading over the instructions he’s already memorised. “I’d like to be a Potions Professor once we leave here.”

“You’d be brilliant at it,” You reply immediately, “You have a talent for this, I already feel more confident in my potions ability.”

His blush from earlier returns as he murmurs, “Thank you. What are your plans for after?”

“I think I’d like to do something in the ministry; in the archives I think.”

Draco nods, understanding, “I’ve seen you in History of Magic. You’d suit the archives, with all the old documents.”

You laugh, “I just think the history of our society is so interesting.”

“You’d be a good professor, (Y/N).” Draco whispers.

“Let’s hope Professor Binns finally retires then,” You start, “That way we can work together.” You internally groan at your shoddy attempt at flirting, but Draco doesn’t seem to notice. He chuckles, “We’d make a good team.”

You stare down at your notes, fiddling with your quill, so Draco doesn’t see the giddy expression on your face.

Draco looks back to his instructions, glancing over the final few steps. He stirs the mixture clockwise for three more minutes before steam begins to rise from the cauldron.

He sits back into his seat, “There we go. All done.”

For a single minute, you watch the steam rise from the potion. Draco brewed it so effortlessly that you wonder where you had gone wrong the first time you attempted it. But with his instructions and his tutelage, you know that you would be able to brew it again successfully.

Temptation rises within you; the urge to lean over Draco’s cauldron and take a whiff of the potion becomes too much. Draco sees you shift in your chair, “Go on then,” he prompts, “What does it smell like?”

The fumes from the potion make your head spin slightly. They smell of something you’ve smelled before; of something you’ve been in close contact with recently.

Burnt sugar and rain give way to the delicate smell of roses.

And it hits you all of a sudden – you’re smelling the teenager sat next to you. Your heart races as you come to the realisation that the crush you had been harbouring for the blonde-haired teenager had evolved into something more.

The desperate thought runs through your head. The pleading thought of: please let him be my soulmate.

If you were already feeling this strongly about Draco, it would be hell on earth to find out that his soulmate was actually another.

“What did you smell then?” Draco asks as you sit back down in your chair.

You avoid his eyes as you say, “I’ll tell you once you have a smell.”

Draco frowns but he nods, nonetheless.

Draco bends over the cauldron, having noticed your reaction to the smell. He inhales deeply; the heady scent taking root within him.

Jasmine, citrus and orchids.

The smell of your perfume mixed with the floral smell of shampoo. It had settled around him.

He had a hunch it would smell like you. He’s had feelings for you since Fourth Year; smelling you perfume, and shampoo only confirmed what he already knew deep down – that he was in love with you.

Draco takes a step back from the table; the revelation hitting him all at one – so strongly it knocks the breath from him.

“I’ve had a thought.”

“I think I’m having the same one.” You say, standing up.

Draco’s eyes blaze as he states, “I think you’re my soulmate.”

You nod, “I think you’re my soulmate too.”

Draco holds his hand out to you; less than a centimetre away from you, but he doesn’t take the final step. Despite it all; despite the certainty, he cannot ignore the spike of fear running through his body. He never expected he would find his soulmate; he never expected that it would be you of all people. Draco had been crushing on you since Fourth Year; since you had sat next to him at dinner and asked his thoughts on the Triwizard Tournament – he was taken aback by your presence that he answered honestly, and the conversation that followed had been one of the most honest he had ever had.

You watch the myriad of emotions that flit over his face; trying to define each and every one of them. The certainty that you feel with the idea of Draco being your soulmate settles deep within your bones; combining with your genetic makeup. It all makes sense now; your feelings for Draco finally made sense.

You take the final step; taking his hand in yours, tangling your fingers together. His skin is smooth and soft against yours. His hand fits perfectly in yours, as if made for you.

And then time stops.

Time stops.

The steam from the Amortentia potion freezes; the ticking of the clock no longer sounds; the sound of younger students running up and down the corridor outside the classroom fall silent.

The only thing moving in this moment is you and Draco.

He draws you into his arms. One arm wrapping around your waist; the other caressing your cheek. His thumb rubs over your cheekbone as he smiles softly down at you. For a moment, neither of you speak for the small fear of breaking the instant in which you find yourselves. This time is so precious; it’s where everything is defined. You beam up at him, savouring the feel of his arm around your waist though you know that you have a lifetime to memorise the way he touches you.

“I never thought I would find you.” Draco whispers, in awe of the situation.

“You have. So what do you plan to do?”

“This.”

It’s all he says as he dips his head and kisses you.

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

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @dreamer821 @the-hufflefluffwriter @summer-writes @harrypotter289 @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @kalimagik​ @figlia--della--luna​

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obx-beach @obxmxybxnk​ @sycathorn-slush​

[adorerdraco]

Healing Heart ✧ Draco x Reader Mini-Series PART 4

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

Summary: PART 4 ! of Draco accidentally falling in love with reader during his sixth year (HBP) and now having to deal with the reality of his Death Eater status. 

Warnings: lots of ANGST (but also tiniest bit of fluff), lots of tears, lots of emotional pain on everyone

Words: 7.5K

A/N: FINALLLYYYY i had no idea what to do with this but something finally came to me !!!! and also an ending ;( so there will only be maybe one or two parts after this one since it is a miniii series BUT FOR NOW I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS AND IGNORE ANY PLOT HOLES FROM THE ACTUAL HP UNIVERSE I TRIED MY V BEST AHHH <33333 do not own gif.

There was an unsettling sense of impending doom that washed over the Hogwarts castle in heavy rain and dark thunderous clouds. The familiar orange and bright sunlight and purple-pink sunsets were gone, the sun only making meek appearances through the thick rainy covers of the sky before disappearing into the nightfall. No one knew what was coming or what to expect. Schooling continued like normal and everyone had entrusted that whatever was the situation outside the bewitched stone walls of Hogwarts; there was no way it could get past the protection charms put in place by the all-powerful Headmaster and his fellow teachers. 

The only two people in the school who couldn’t share that same comfort with their peers were also the only ones in the school who had an inkling of what was going to happen next. The second Draco realized he had successfully mended the vanishing cabinet he had a squirming sense of regret and guilt begin to eat away at him. You felt the same burn of shame in you when you mulled over the fact that it was you who had encouraged him to keep at it even when he continuously wanted to quit. 

So now here you were, in the chilled room of requirement after finding out the cabinet worked only minutes ago, the two of you sitting in silence together on an old pile of junk while you held a shivering Draco with his face buried in your neck. There was a feeling of droplets of quiet tears falling onto your skin while you pet the top of his silver-stricken hair in reassurance and tried to hold your own tears back. The breakthrough that was supposed to be the biggest accomplishment of the young Death Eater ended up feeling like his biggest failure and it devastated him more than he could have ever fathomed.

When he had finally gathered himself together, he stood up and totteringly fixed the wrinkles on his black suit before offering you a trembling hand. You took it and allowed him to walk you out of the room and back into the empty corridors and towards the staircases. It was a silent trip down to the dungeons and you didn’t want to ask where he was taking you but you regretted not doing so when he stopped the two of you outside a certain greasy-haired Professor’s door. He brought his free hand up to the wood and let his knuckles hit against it faintly with one knock before you rushed to stop him as you yanked the two of you away from the door once you had realized how unwise this felt.

“What are you doing?!” you asked him in a hushed fearful tone.

“I have to tell Snape about the vanishing cabinet,” he responds dully.

“I don’t think he’d like me to be here when you tell him that-”

There was a sudden clicking sound, the door of the office swinging open as Snape emerged from the room with an angered expression when he saw the two of you standing there. When his dark eyes landed on you specifically, you shivered underneath his vexed gaze. It was clear, just how you had said, he did not want you there. 

“Inside, now, Draco.” He grits the demand through his teeth.

“Y/N is coming in too,” the Slytherin says quickly, earning another scowl from his Professor. He stepped aside from the door with a visible rage as you followed Draco inside to the dingy room lined with jars filled with weird unnameable objects.

Draco stopped in the middle of the room, reaching for your hand again and tightly gripping it in reassurance. You stared into his worried gray’s with fear, silently begging him to not let you go as Snape walked past the both of you.

“Do you have any idea how imprudent you are, Draco?” Snape sneered, staring down the boy beside you who kept a straight face. “Do you understand how reckless this is? How much does she know?”

“Everything, Professor,” Draco answers quietly. There was a fiery glint in Snape’s eyes as he looked towards you now, his lips curling upwards in a snarl.

“Foolish girl with an equally foolish boy,” he scowls. “You have nothing to do with any of this. You have done nothing but write yourself a death sentence all for the sake of what... love?”

“With all due respect, Professor,” you start timidly, “I knew what the consequences would be if I stayed with Draco and I will gladly accept whatever fate is in store for me for my decision. I also promise you my silence with everything I know.”

Draco squeezed your hand and glanced towards you with a sadness you were easily able to see.

“How touching,” Snape says lowly. “So you’re prepared to die at the hands of the Dark Lord? Or perhaps at the hands of his precious aunt who might get to you first?”

“Yes, I am” you stood tall when you answered, hoping to appear courageous for not only a very doubtful Snape but more for Draco who you felt cringe every time your possible death was mentioned.

He said nothing, but his mind was swarming with thoughts and plans on how he could save you from every dangerous person and outcome that tormented his surroundings. There was one constant threat after another and although he’s contemplated on it several times, there was no solution he could come up with where the two of you stayed together and you would survive. He mentally kicks himself, wishing he pushed aside his own selfish needs and never promised you he wouldn’t leave you again and he wishes now more than ever that he could. It wasn’t because he didn’t love you - it was the opposite of that. He loved you almost too much and as dreadful situations were approaching, he wished he could leave you out of the death and destruction that would soon ensue on everyone, especially you, all because of him. All because he needed you by his side for him to even feel any sense of life in him that kept him going. 

“Very well, then, I cannot stop you from these naive decisions,” Snape sighs deeply in defeat and faces the troubled blond, “and what of the vanishing cabinet?”

You felt Draco stiffen, a trembling exhale falling from his lips before responding with, “it’s done.”

“Excellent, expect their arrival soon,” he rounds his desk, stopping right above his chair, “you may leave.”

You hurriedly turned to go, tugging on Draco’s hand as you did so and the both of you drudged out of the office with a heavy sensation settling over the both of you. There was nothing either of you could do now. There was no more stalling with the cabinet, no more keeping quiet, no more hopeful possibilities that things could turn out differently.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

It was nearly physically painful to attend all your classes today. It was fake smiles and conversations that left you feeling pathetically phony -feeling like you were lying to everyone that they were going to be okay when they weren’t. You even made plans with housemates to have a little gathering in the common room later in the week to celebrate someone’s birthday and plans with friends to go study in the library with them. 

It even hurt to see your Professors, always kind and helpful, not knowing that sometime in the near future, they’ll be either fighting for their life or the lives of students at Hogwarts. 

Draco had it even worse. Not one peep from him throughout any of his classes. He was deathly quiet, walking around looking like a kicked puppy and avoided any conversation or interaction with anyone, not even eye contact. He just felt so guilty that he was going to be the reason why death would inevitably wreak havoc on so many souls. He knows eventually the dark wizard he’s resentfully following would have found a way inside the castle walls somehow - you had reminded him that countless times, but it still left him wondering what would have happened if he couldn’t fully mend the cabinet or refused to. 

Halfway through the day, he saw you in Slughorn’s class. The two of you worked diligently together through the whole lesson and when the bell rang, he gave you a small kiss goodbye before walking over to his other class. Your worried eyes followed his retreating figure, leaving you a chilling feeling as he disappeared down the hall.

During his next class, he sat in the far end of a classroom, slumped in his chair with his chin on his palm as he thought of you. He wishes he could be stronger for you, braver and less cowardly. He wished he was unafraid of consequences and could simply grab you and his mother, and eventually even his father, and just apparate to somewhere far away and hidden where the Dark Lord and his followers couldn’t get to him or those he loved. But he knew that no matter how much he wished it or try to convince himself he could; he couldn’t do it and he knows his family wouldn’t let him either. 

When classed had finally ended for the day and the corridors were packed with rushing bodies of people meeting up with their friends as they laughed and talked with a weightless glee, Draco found himself pushing past everyone like a mindless zombie as his feet mindlessly carried him throughout the school with no specific destination. There was no moment of peace in his head, just a raging battlefield of endless awful possibilities. 

You had been scurrying through the halls, hoping to find the mop of platinum blond amongst the busy crowd of people. The scene felt like a maze, twisting and turning through people and corners until you felt like you were on the edge of madness.

There was a small tap on your shoulder before a large hand had snaked down your arm and into your hand with its familiar cold grasp. You sighed in relief, your head turning softly to face your noticeably stressed boyfriend who had put on a very feeble smile for you.

“Can we go somewhere else,” he asked faintly, leaning down towards your ear as he spoke, “I can’t be here anymore.”

You nodded eagerly, moving the two of you towards the nearest exit of the castle, finally releasing a breath of fresh air when you felt your shoes sink into the soft earth below you. There was a humid and muddy smell in the air, the soil, and plants still wet from the on and off rain that had been occurring for the past few days.

Far from the school and on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, there stood a tall and sturdy tree. It was the new tree you had picked for the two of after the first fall out between you and Draco. Its trunk was thick and wide, allowing both of you to hide from anyone who passed by or saw it in the distance. The tresses of leaves nearly showered onto the ground from its long branches that twisted and turned in ways that appeared like it was trying to hug itself. It almost looked like a huge, untrimmed dome, encircling you inside its core while it protected you from unwanted attention. It was perfect.

When you finally reached it, you pushed back some of the leaves so you could walk into the dimly lit and vast space it naturally created and plopped yourself against the trunk with a deep exhale. Draco sat down with you, adjusting himself so that he could lay his head on your lap, humming comfortably when your fingers began their usual work through the soft strands of his hair.

You sat there in silence as the both of you thought, and thought, and thought. It was hard to believe that only this morning you were standing in the room of requirement with him, shocked and distressed that he had finally fixed the vanishing cabinet. Now Snape and the rest of the Death Eaters were aware of the new opening into Hogwarts, preparing to set ablaze the school with pain and some sort of destruction.

You looked down at the boy in your lap, a permanent wrinkle in between his eyebrows as he lied staring straight ahead, a lost look in his gray eyes that you hadn’t seen in so long.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked softly. One of your hands had trailed from his hair and rested gently on his forehead, your pinky gently trying to smooth out the crease between his eyes.

“I should have never fixed the cabinet,” he sighs and sits up to face you. You noticed the glassy look and reddened lash lines, the storming tears ready to come out at any moment.

"Draco, anything that happens next is not your fault,” you tried to reassure but it only made him feel worse.

“No, it’s not only that,” he lets out a shaky breath, letting the first tear fall that he couldn’t hold back. “I have to dedicate myself to my second task now.”

You froze as you remembered the biggest responsibility he had, demanded to him by the Dark Lord himself - the obligation of killing Dumbledore. A mere 16-year-old boy, who was in the middle of a collapsed world and broken judgments, was burdened with the worst trial of them all.

Draco shuddered at the thought, moving to sit beside you against the tree as he sat with his knees pulled to his chest and the waterfall of tears now falling freely down his face.

“I can’t kill him, I don’t want to kill him,” he lamented, “I can’t do it. He’ll kill me first before I can even try.”

You placed a hand on his arm, rubbing soothing circles into it as you let him cry and thought of what you could say. The vanishing cabinet was one thing, but this, this was a life. This was someone who is known to be the most powerful wizard of all time, the only one alive right now who the enemy truly feared. This was someone who everyone needed alive at this time. If Draco went through with this, he would never be able to recover. You know he doesn’t want to do it, at all, and having everyone else in his life nag at him in encouragement is the opposite of what he needs. You truly couldn’t give him any advice on what he can do or why he should.

“I don’t think he would,” you started quietly, trying to find the words to piece together what you wanted to say, “kill you, I mean. I think you’re so used to You-Know-Who, that, you forget Dumbledore isn't evil and is merciful. And maybe, if you stall long enough, someone else can do it? Maybe Bellatrix.”

Draco let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head at the suggestion, “my dear aunt Bellatrix more than anyone, wants me to do it.”

“I wish there was something I could do to help,” you frowned, letting the back of your head fall against the tree as you stared up at the swinging greenery above you.

“You can help by keeping yourself alive,” he sniffles, his cold hand enveloping itself in yours as he spoke. “If there was one good thing that came out of all of this, it’s you. I think you not being here on this Earth, would feel far, far worse than taking Dumbledore’s life.”

He brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a warm kiss onto the skin before he held it against his chest.

“I wish I could put you in a bubble and send you up above the clouds so you could watch the sky all day and be happy, and most of all safe from everything evil,” he muses, a slight smile on your lips as you listened to his wish. His fingers began twirling around the band on your wrist, the same band he had gifted you the night before when everything seemed to be okay, in a sense.

“Evil will always be here, Dark Wizards present or not,” you remind him gingerly, “just as there will always be good. It’s a balance, one can’t be here without the other.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he sighs. “But I still wish it was possible to send you away in a bubble.”

“If that was possible, you know you would come with me, right?” You turn your head, smiling at him when he met your eyes. You brought up your held hand, wiping away the stray tears that had lingered on his paled cheeks as he kept a firm grasp on your wrist.

“I would love to go with you,” he said tenderly, heart-swelling at how easy you made him feel calm and present. It was wonderous, he felt, how someone had managed to make him feel this way. He never would have thought he’d have someone who genuinely loved him and he loved back, in his love life. Especially not at this time, in this year, where he was facing his worst tribulations and turmoils. 

You leaned your head on his shoulder, both of you now staring up into the darkening grayed sky that peeked through the mess of leaves above. 

“It’s getting dark, we should probably go soon,” you mumble tiredly, noticing how the moon was already starting to make an appearance behind the heavy gray clouds. "And it looks like it's about to rain."

As soon as the words left your mouth, there was a loud cracking of thunder, the tree’s branches surrounding you suddenly shaking at the sound. You shot up to your feet, Draco following closely as the two of you heard a whining sound coming directly from the trunk of the tree. Its leaves began to move wildly in the wind that approached, more booming of thundering filling the air as a storm above began to brew. The branches began to swing carefully and more inwards as if it was alive and closing itself up from any danger that was coming from around or above it. The leaves were falling over one another, covering up any spaces in the tree that the constricting branches couldn’t cover.

“Draco,” you say timidly, reaching for his hand in fear, “is it just me, or is the tree moving?”

The space underneath the tree had shrunken significantly, it was now a small circle going around the trunk that was big enough to walk around but not enough to run through like you once could. Whatever light the outside was able to offer was now gone, the cracking and compressing branches and leaf clumps blocked out everything from the outside, including the rain that you could very loudly hear pattering against the fronds above you.

“I think its closed us in,” Draco mutters, moving you behind his back as he pulled his wand from his pocket and whispered a quick, ‘lumos,’ so that the two of you could see. He held you behind him protectively as he stepped towards the walls of the tree, pushing against the leaves and branches that were now tightly contracted together that allowed no room for escape. “We’re stuck in here - unless you want to blast a hole through it.”

“No!” you exclaim immediately. You moved away from him and walked towards the trunk of the tree, placing a gentle hand on the dry wood that still seemed to be faintly buzzing from its movement. “We’re not going to hurt it.”

“Y/N, we’re stuck in here, no one knows where we are-” he tries to reason more but you shush him quickly.

“And that’s such a bad thing?” you scoff, moving to press your ear against the wood as you tried to examine it more. You heard the same whining from earlier but much weaker now, its bellows fading now as it felt protected from the storm.

“What are you doing?” 

There was confusion written all over the blond’s face as he watched you inspect the tree, curious and concerned with your attentiveness.

“Dray, come here,” you rushed out, motioning towards you so he would hurry over. He let you grab his free hand when he reached you since his wand hand was still casting the only light around you. You placed it against the trunk of the tree with yours, a sudden vibration shooting up his arm at the contact with the wood. “The tree is a sentient. It’s alive and very aware.”

“What, so like the Whomping Willow?”

“Exactly like that, but not aggressive at all,” you nod, beaming up at him. “I think it knows we’re here too.”

For a moment, there was finally a fleeting feeling of glee as both of your worries from the outside left you, allowing reverence and excitement to fill you and spread to Draco.

“You speak tree now?” He snickers, smirking at you when you rolled your eyes.

You leaned your head against the tree, closing your eyes as you quietly thanked it for its protection from the thunder and the rain and its beauty. Draco’s gaze stayed on you, watching you with wonder and fullness in his heart. He began to question himself how someone like you was real, who was so caring with everything you touched, from nature to people. You radiated bravery, loyalty, strong intelligence, and ambition wherever you went and in every situation, you were in. 

How did I get so lucky, he kept thinking.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed a bright glittering blue light, and then a purple one, then a pink, and a white. He fully looked up and inhaled faintly when he saw what they all were. 

Small translucent and thin stringy flowers of all colors that he could think of began to illuminate themselves from the many branches of the tree before floating off, dancing and twirling in the air as they descended towards the two of you. He noticed they looked nearly identical to spider lily’s - all thanks to Professor Sprout when he was forced to learn several different flowers in her class. 

He nudged you gently, pointing up to the air when you opened your eyes and you stepped away from the trunk to look around in awe. There must have been at least a hundred of them spinning and flying, their petals bouncing up and down as they carried themselves around the open area.

You reached up your palm, catching one in your hand as it landed daintily and glowed a bright rose color, its petals still lifting up and down like if it was keeping itself afloat. You turned to bring it carefully towards Draco, almost jumping up and down in excitement that it was on you. He turned off the light of his wand with an easy, ‘nox,’ putting it away now that the area was now fully lit up in beautifully twinkling lights. He smiled down at you, placing both his hands under your one as he helped you hold it up since you were nearly exploding from happiness.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” you whispered in wonder. “I didn’t even know trees could do this! Our tree!”

“I think this is only because of you, darling,” he whispers back. “You have a way of bringing dull things to life.”

Your gaze flickered up, smiling warmly at him before pushing up gently on the flower, encouraging it to fly away so you could move. You got closer to the Slytherin, his arms encircling around your waist once you were flush against him. One of the green flowers had landed on the top of his hair, settling itself carefully on him. 

“I’ve got one on me, haven’t I?” He chuckles and you nod, a bright smile on your face as you looked between him and the flower.

“It likes you,” you beam. “But, not as much as I do.”

He laughs a real laugh of delight and amusement, squeezing you delicately tighter against him. 

“Obviously.”

You stood on your tip-toes to reach his tall figure, craning your face up and pressing your lips against his in a loving match. You parted your lips and allowed his warmth to wash all over you in comfort, all thoughts being numbed at the feeling. As your lips continued to move against his, you began to feel a tickling all over your hair and whatever skin was exposed to the air. You pulled away from him curiously, gasping softly when you saw that all the flowers had flown down towards the two of you landing and sitting on you both as if they were attracted like magnets.

Draco moved one of his clasped hands from your waist up to your cheek, grinning to himself as you leaned your head into his touch. 

“I’m glad this tree has us trapped in here,” he mutters. “I wouldn't want to be anywhere else with the one I love.”

“I love you more, Draco.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

The two of you awoke to the sound of cracking wood and swooshing leaves, a cold breeze following quickly as it encompassed you. You gradually opened your eyes, seeing that the tree was expanding and moving back to its original state and appearing back to normal. Carefully sitting up, you realized the flowers were gone, there was no sight of them anywhere. If it wasn’t for Draco being there with you, you would’ve thought you imagined the whole thing.

Speaking of the said boy, he groaned beneath you, balled fists going up to his closed eyes as he began to rub his sleep away. The early morning light had streamed through weakly through the clouds and through the leaves onto you. 

“I wonder if anyone looked for us,” you yawned carelessly, standing up and flattening down the wrinkles on your clothes. You outstretched your hands and back, deeply exhaling at the feeling of relief from the ground below you.

“Probably,” Draco answered sleepily, standing himself up and wiping himself off of all dirt and grime. “We should go back now before it locks s in again.”

You skipped over to the trunk of the tree, placing your hand on it once again and whispering to it a tender, “thank you.”

You could’ve sworn it whined something back, but you brushed it off at your drowsiness and continued towards the castle with Draco.

The two of you walked quietly hand in hand to your common room, stopping outside of it with a sigh as you read a clock on a far-away wall.

7:42 AM

“How long have we been out?” You question fearfully.

“No idea,” he yawns. “Must have been a very long time though.”

Draco freezes in his spot, feeling his body crawl with what felt like tiny spiders when he saw who was standing at the end of one of the nearby corridors, a scowl on his face when they made eye contact.

“Go inside and get yourself cleaned up and ready for the day, love,” he rushed out, placing a quick kiss on your forehead and parted lips as he nudged you towards the entrance. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

You tiredly nodded, giving the required password to the common room before sneakily stepping inside and tip-toeing towards your room.

When the doors finally closed and you were gone, Draco turned down the corridor and started towards a furious Snape down the way. The raven-haired man stayed glued where he stood, patiently waiting for the young Death Eater to approach him so he could swiftly unleash hell on him.

“I have been searching for you all night,” Snape snapped lowly. “Where did the two of you run off to?”

“We got stuck somewhere, but I’m here now,” Draco answers, staring into the accusatory eyes in front of him. 

“You better hope you kissed her your final goodbye,” he snarls. “They’re coming tonight, and you must carry out your last duty - tonight.”

“Tonight?” Draco echoes emptily, feeling like whatever happiness he had left in his body from last night was slowly trickling down his body and out into the floor like a sad, melted popsicle.

“Yes, and after tonight you will no longer be a student here,” Snape reminds with a hushed tone. “Miss Y/L/N cannot follow you. I hope you understand that. it would be incredibly dangerous for you and her.”

“No,” Draco begins to shake his head in refusal, his heart dropping to his stomach as the realities began to set in. “I don’t want to leave her, I don’t know how.”

“I think it’s time you start figuring out how,” his Professor suggests inconsiderately. “Room of requirement at nightfall, you’re opening up the cabinet for them so they’re able to transport. Come alone and prepared to leave the school.”

Before Draco could try to argue, Snape brushed past him and disappeared down the corridor and past a corner, leaving behind a pain-stricken boy who was stupidly in love with someone he couldn’t find in him to let go.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

Something was off and unsettling, you noticed. You weren’t sure where it came from, but you felt it eat away at you even though nothing had happened to you. You came home feeling wonderful from an impromptu dreamy night with Draco, completely love-struck and ditzy and halfway through your shower was when it was all washed away and replaced with dread.

You wondered if this is somehow how Draco was feeling before deciding against your gut.

I’m not a mind reader, you thought repeatedly.

It was odd how you saw him nowhere around the school, even more, odd when you hadn’t seen him in your shared Potions class that left you partnering up with your friend who didn’t mind the on and off switching. She asked you eagerly about your disappearance, expecting juicy details but was immediately bored when you gave her a watered-down story of what had happened.

“Oh, we were just watching the stars and accidentally fell asleep outside,” you lied, trying to force excitement in your voice to make the story more believable.

“That’s it?” she deadpanned. “You guys are so boring. Also, what if something attacked you guys? The Forbidden Forest is right there.”

You rolled your eyes, secretly wishing the two of you really were a simple boring couple and not facing the most life-threatening and scariest adversities. 

“I’m sure one of us would’ve woken up if we heard something,” you shrug and she sighs, shaking her head.

There was still no sign of him after this class. And there was still no sign of him after the rest of the schooling day had ended.

You sat with your friends in the bumbling busy courtyard, listening to them quietly as they chatted happily. You were worried out of your mind, the pit in your stomach growing wider when you saw Draco’s familiar group of Slytherins gathered together in the distance, not a single platinum head in sight.

As the day continued into the evening and people were making their trip over to the Great Hall, you made up a quick excuse to your friends and broke off from them to scourge the school in its emptiness. It was quickly getting dark, you finally decided to follow your instincts and let yourself bound down the stoned staircase towards the even darker lit dungeons. It was empty and cold, a dooming atmosphere for no apparent reason.

As you were about to turn around, you heard the door to the Slytherin common room open and relief flooded you when you saw Draco emerge from the exit with a new black suit on, perfectly styled and gelled hair, and a somber expression on his face. He looked paler than usual, almost gray, the way he looked when you had found him that day in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom with a curse ravaging his body.

“Draco!” You called out to him excitedly, running towards him and wrapping your arms around him tightly when you reached him. He felt rigid underneath your touch, a distant look in his eyes as he looked down at you quickly. “Where have you been all day?”

“I’ve had to take care of some stuff,” he murmurs in response.

“Are you okay?” You ask carefully as you observed him. He was cold, emotionally, and physically. He resembled his house’s ghost, the Bloody Baron, cold and angry with hidden despair - just without all the blood. 

“I’m fine.”

You stepped away from him at his answer, peering up at him in confusion at his sudden aloofness. 

“I need to tell you something,” he ends up breathing out after a moment of awkward tension. His hand wraps around your forearm instead of his usual spot in your hand, nearly dragging you towards an empty classroom that was a few feet away from where you both stood.

He closed the door warily behind him once the two of you were inside, the dingy lamps in the room automatically lighting up when they sensed a presence so you wouldn’t be left in the dark.

“So, what do you need to tell me?” You begin to wring your hands in distress, not feeling hopeful under his miserable gaze.

“We need to end this, here, right now,” he spits out quickly, a troubled expression taking over his features as soon as the words left his lips.

There was a thick silence that fell over the room, a heavy tension that grew with every passing second was bursting at the seams of the walls. You couldn’t think straight, your heart feeling like it had fallen into your back and your stomach bubbling dangerously with bile you desperately wanted to release.

“What do you mean,” you ask stupidly. The tiniest piece of you was desperately hoping that he had meant something completely different than your relationship.

“You and me,” he pointed between the two of you brokenly. “I have to kill Dumbledore tonight, and then I have to leave.”

“I’ll go with you,” you promptly offer, nodding in agreement with yourself.

“You can’t,” he asserts sadly, walking up to you and placing both hands on either side of your biceps, gripping you tightly in place as if you were toppling over. “Y/N, this is the one time you can’t help me. If you come with me tonight, someone will hurt you.”

You stared up at him in dread, relentless tears streaming down your face as he stared back at you with the same look. He was breaking apart, his insides shriveling up in agony while he spoke and continued to hurt you.

“But when will I see you again?” you cry out hoarsely, letting your head fall against his chest as he moves to hug you tightly.

“I don’t know,” he whispers out. 

“Draco, please let me come with you,” you begin to plead into the jacket of his suit. “I’ll hide, transfigure me into a goblet, anything! Just please don’t leave again. You promised!”

“I can’t,” he shakes his head. You felt his hot tears land onto the top of your hair, adding more fuel to your anguish. “You have to stay here, in this room, until I’m gone.”

“Are you that dense?” you cry wildly, pushing yourself away from him as you gave him a look of pure anger. “You expect to let me wait here like a sitting duck while I could be out there helping you somehow.”

Draco watched you with remorse, his hand reaching into his suit pocket before drawing his wand out on you with a vigorous trembling hand. You gasped, quick to reach for your own with the same shakiness before it was thrown out of your grasp the second you pointed it at him.

“Expelliarmus,” he said quickly, voice matching his hand. He looked at you painfully again before sputtering out, “locomotor mortis.”

Your legs locked together from beneath you, sending you tumbling backward into an empty desk beside you. You caught yourself on the edges of the desk, staring agape at a shuddering Draco a few feet away.

“I’m sorry,” he cried hard, “I’m so sorry, but I have to keep you safe.”

“Draco, I swear,” you wailed out in despair, “if you leave me here, I will never forgive you.”

Draco halted, contemplating his next move for only a minute. His heart thudding fast against his chest, yearning to give into you as he weighed out his options. He swallowed thickly and turned on his heel towards the door. When his hand landed on the brass handle, he turned back one more time to look at you and felt his world completely and irreversibly shatter.

You were in hysterics, legs stuck together and your hands barely being able to hold yourself up on the desk. You had a despondency about you now, weeping strongly in heartbreak that was caused by him.

He speedily opened the door and threw himself out, shutting it tightly once again and placing his wand against the handle.

“Colloportus,” the lock chimed with a magnifying and powerful click.

He let his head quietly fall against the door, tormenting himself further when he heard your continued cries and now yelling out a pained, “you promised!”

Nothing was holding him together now as he ripped himself away from the door and began his walk to the room of requirement. There was no more hope, no more tranquility, no more comfort. He couldn’t run back to you at the end of the night and let you heal him with soft reassurances and tender kisses. He couldn’t feel your hug anymore or the way you’d lull him to sleep after a rough day with your hands in his hair. It was all gone, all of it. Including you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

You don’t know how long you cried or when you had fallen to the floor and accidentally fallen asleep in your hopelessness.

When you finally woke up, the room was especially dark now, the lights having been dimmed to nothing as the room had thought you were gone. All you could feel was grief and dejection, everything you knew and loved had been torn away from you; because it was.

When you subsequently felt some of your energy return, you rolled yourself around the floor, extending your arm to grab onto something sturdy so you could hoist yourself up and begin looking for your wand. Luckily, the lights lit up again when they sensed your figure begin to hop around the room, allowing you to search much more easily.

You hopped down each row of scattered desks, searching high and low for where your wand might have been thrown when you were disarmed. You mentally cursed Draco again for the thousandth time that night, the throbbing in your body growing stronger while you thought of how he had left.

You found yourself regretting the bluff you threw at him, feeling stupid now that he was gone with the idea that you might hate him. You regretted letting your rage and sadness get to you, yelling at him things you didn’t mean all because you were angry he was trying to do to protect you.

Stuck in your head and mindlessly hopping towards the front of the room where Draco had hit you with both spells, you didn’t see your wand under your shoe until it had rolled out from underneath you, sending you falling into a set of desks that were lined up behind you. 

The impact of the fall barely phased you, weakly shifting yourself upright and bending over and outstretching a hand towards your wand. When you finally felt it between your fingers, you dragged it towards you and into your grasp before hurriedly pointing it towards your legs and muttering the counter-curse to unbind yourself. Once you felt the feeling back in your legs, you jumped up and ran towards the door only to slam against it, unknowing to you that Draco had also spelled the door before he left.

“Arse,” you mutter, touching your wand against the lock and speaking out a clear, “alohomora.”

When you stepped out into the gloomy freezing corridor of the dungeons, you knew something was wrong. It was clear in the air that something awful had just happened, every feeling of sadness seeping deep into the stone of the castle.

You flew up the stairs, running as fast as you could towards the Quad where everyone was gathered like zombies. Your legs continued carrying you out, looking up at the sky to see a huge Dark Mark painted in the grayed clouds above. Your gut was screaming at you the reason why, but you didn’t want to believe it until you had seen the evidence of your thoughts lying on the ground not far from you.

It was Dumbledore, motionless, and gone.

Harry was sitting above him, Ginny hugging him tightly as he cried quietly. You felt your tears prick your eyes, feeling guilty that you had known all along what was going to happen, guilty that you couldn’t do anything to stop it, guilty that there was no one to challenge against the evil that doomed the wizarding world, guilty that you couldn’t help Draco against it.

You kept telling yourself he couldn’t have done it, he couldn’t have, but it was clear as day - the scene in front of you. You swallowed the lump in your throat, allowing yourself to cry with your school in grief, crying even more while the second loss you experienced tonight had begun to work itself back into your tears.

And when everyone had cleared out, and it was just Harry and a few others, including some Professors, you begrudgingly made yourself walk up to the group. It was hard, seeing Harry and his friends stare at you with a look you couldn’t quite place. A look between pity and something unidentifiable.

“I’m sorry,” you let out hoarsely to Harry as you finally neared them. “I know this must be hard for you.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he answered awkwardly. “I saw it happen, you know.”

“Oh,” you frown, rubbing your sweaty palms against your jeans as you waited for him to curse you out, to yell at you for Draco’s wrongdoings and murderous feat. But he didn’t. He only stared at you sadly.

“If you wanted to know,” he began, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie as he spoke, “Malfoy didn’t do it, he couldn’t.”

There was a solace that ran deep within you at the revelation. A shaky exhale quietly falling from your lips while you tried to hide your relief. You silently thanked the stars for sparing Draco, knowing now that there was still hope he could be saved.

“So then who did it?” You ask timidly.

“Snape,” he shook his head glumly, “it was Snape.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

There was a loud snapping sound ringing throughout the Malfoy Manor as Draco apparated inside the living room with his mother, clutching tightly onto her as he stumbled over his feet, feeling sick to his stomach and distraught at everything he had to live through that night. 

He fell to his knees, backing himself up against a wall as he began clutching at his chest, gasping desperately for air as his panic attack had started to tear away at him. He was breathing erratically, tears falling from his eyes in rivers as he tried to remove the suit jacket that felt too tight against him.

Narcissa Malfoy looked down at her son, fear and sorrow suddenly undertaking her as she bent down to sit in front of him. She was momentarily glad she felt the need to meet the others near the outskirts of the school’s failing barrier, instantly grabbing Draco from the group when everyone was planning on staying longer for further destruction. One broken look on his face was all she needed to whirl the two of them out of there and back into their large empty house.

“Breathe, Draco,” she said softly, placing a warm hand on his wet cheek as he continued to sob. “Breathe.”

“I left her,” he choked out through his tears, “mother, I left her!”

“Who?” Narcissa asked, puzzled. “Who did you leave?”

But he didn’t answer her. He only cried harder and it didn’t stop even though his mother was holding him reassuringly in her embrace. She swiftly realized that there was more than he was letting on, and she knew that these weren’t only tears from what had happened with his failed task, she knew his tears mostly came from an ache deep within his heart, from an anguishing love.

“I left her there!” He cried loudly in her arms, clutching onto her tightly as he continued to struggle for his breath and sanity. She felt her own heart begin to break, wishing so deeply she could remove all hurt that stabbed at him.

“Draco, my love,” she tried again gently, “who did you leave?”

“Y/N,” he croaked out, “I left Y/N.”

PART 5

TAGLIST:

@viirgobbyy​ @bluesunflowersz​ @dreamyvcid​ @goddessofgames @natt-nih​ @cheesecakes-randomshitz​ @supersouthy​ @rebellionsarebuiltonhopee​ @peter-parka​ @thefandomplace​ @angelofslytherin​ @blueleonor​ @karentheugly​

(I’m sorry if I forgot anyone, I <3 all of you and everyone who read this)

[joonie-beanie]

Missing Ingredient

Pairing: Solomon x Reader

Word Count: 5,467

Preview: Solomon needs help obtaining some "nectar" for a spell he wants to try, and asks you for your assistance.

Unbeknownst to you, the so-called nectar he needs isn't from a flower at all.

This chapter is also being posted as a part of my “Devil Doms” series on AO3.

I wrote this after getting inspired by one of @/shokujin-art’s pieces with Solomon and their MC Ethan!

WARNING: This chapter can be considered dub-con. If dubious consent makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.

“I need your help.”

The smile on Solomon’s face is a little disconcerting. After all, usually it’s not he who is asking you for help, but…you decide to hear him out.

“With what?”

Your gaze is openly skeptical as you regard him, but his smile doesn’t waver.

“I need nectar for a spell I’ve been wanting to test out for a while. I was wondering if you could help me in that regard.”

You blink at him, confused. Nectar? How the hell are you supposed help with that? It’s not like you’re an expert with flowers, and you certainly have no idea about flowers that reside in the Devildom.

“You…want me to help you find…nectar?”

He nods, bringing a hand up to his chin—his eyes turning towards the ceiling.

“Well…basically, yes.”

You narrow your gaze at his phrasing, concern growing by the moment. Exactly what the hell is Solomon playing at? You know he’s a bit of a sketchy bastard, and sometimes you feel like he can’t be trusted, but…so far, he hasn’t wronged you.

…that counts for something, right?

“Listen,” you say, poking a finger into his chest. His eyes widen at the action, and he pauses—staring at you as you continue to jab him. “I’ll help you, okay? But I better not be harmed on this journey to achieve whatever “nectar” you need. Got it, wizard boy?”

Solomon rolls his eyes at your nickname—catching your finger when you move to press your nail into his chest once more.

“You won’t experience any pain,” he says, laughing quietly. His eyes crease, a handsome smile lighting up his face, and for a second, you forget about your worries.

“I promise.”

The next weekend, you get a text from Solomon demanding that you come over to Purgatory Hall.

Today is the day—he needs your help with his nectar issue—and so, you pack up your bag and head over.

You’d attempted to ask him what retrieving this nectar would entail. After all, did you need to dress in hiking boots?? Would he be taking you out into the Devildom wilderness to try and find some rare, valuable flower?? But Solomon had refused to reveal any details.

He’d simply explained that it may take a few hours, and that you should just bring yourself, and any basic necessities.

So now, here you are—standing on the step to Purgatory Hall—waiting for Solomon to come and let you in. It takes a few minutes, but eventually the grand wooden door is pulled open.

“Took you long enough,” you mumble as he ushers you inside. The sorcerer can only laugh, keeping pace beside you as the two of you traverse the halls—heading towards his room.

“Sorry,” he says. His hand moves to wipe at his brow. You notice the tiny beads of sweat sticking to his skin, and curiosity fills you. “I was preparing.”

“Preparing for what?”

Again, Solomon reveals nothing. He easily laughs off the seriousness of your question, waving a hand in front of him as if to try and dissipate any of your worries.

“Preparing to retrieve the nectar,” he responds after a moment, flashing you a small smile. “I’ve been trying to gather the ingredients for this spell for many, many years, and this is the last, and hardest one to collect.”

“And…you need my help in particular with this…why?”

Your eyebrows are knit together on your forehead, and you’re sure that Solomon notices your trepidation, yet he chooses not to address it. Instead, he continues a few more strides up the hall before stopping.

You’ve already arrived at his room.

He reaches out to grab the doorknob, his silver eyes darkening playfully as he regards you. The subtle shift in his demeanor has butterflies tickling the inside of your stomach, and you swallow nervously.

While you’re not as magically inclined as Solomon, you can still feel the magic leaking from inside of his room. He obviously has something planned for you once you step inside, but you’re not sure what.

“…you promised you wouldn’t hurt me,” you remind him, pouting angrily—attempting to hide your apprehension. Your words have Solomon rolling his eyes, and he releases the door knob.

Standing straight, he jerks two of his fingers towards you, and suddenly a golden magic circle encases one of your wrists.

Your eyes widen in surprise, but before you can think to say anything, he’s making another motion with his hand. Quickly, the magic circle tugs you forward, and within seconds, you find yourself directly in front of Solomon.

His previously kind smile is now replaced with something more akin to an amused grin.

“I gave you my word, didn’t I?” he asks, free hand moving to gently brush a few stray hairs from your face. The gesture contradicts his current attitude, making you feel torn. Anxiety and excitement mingle in your gut—both turned on and concerned by your predicament.

“You did, but you’re kind of a bastard, so I want you to reassure me…,” you mumble, cheeks heating up as you stare at him.

This isn’t exactly the first time Solomon has used his magic to fluster you. No, many times now he has casually used spells to fuck with you—making you more sensitive to the touch, or creating a brief gust of wind to flip your skirt up while at RAD. It has kind of become your thing—picking on each other, with Solomon bridging into sexual territory every so often.

Actually...you’d made out with him a few weeks prior—both of you slightly intoxicated, and drawn in by the club music at The Fall—but it had never gone beyond kissing, and groping. Despite that, the sexual energy between the two of you had been palpable.

Yet, nothing had come of it. You’d mutually parted—preserved your friendship—and gone your separate ways that night. You’d assumed that Solomon simply wasn’t interested in doing those kinds of things with you—that any playfully sexual advances towards you were done in the spirit of friendship. Which you were okay with.

But…now that you’re standing here—hair risen all across your body at the magic leaking from his room—you know that he has big plans. And judging by the glint in his eyes, and the way his thumb is carefully caressing your cheek—you’ll certainly be in for a treat.

“When you step beyond the threshold of this door, no harm will come to you,” he speaks calmly, dipping down to press a soft kiss to your lips. Almost instantly, you’re melting into him—heart hammering against your ribs as your defenses are so easily torn away.

“Do you trust me?”

You nod, and his fingers leave your face. You hear the doorknob turn.

“I shouldn’t, but I do.”

He laughs at that, and in the next beat, he’s pulling you inside.

His room is just like you remember it—spacious, and dark. His desk is littered with an army of ingredients, and spell books. His bed is nicely made, and there’s a single, leather armchair tucked into the corner of the room, near the fireplace.

The only thing out of the ordinary is the golden blob of magic sitting in the center of the room. There’s an intricately drawn circle of chalk surrounding it—many runes, and foreign words tied into the dormant spell.

“I’m beginning to think that this “nectar” you need isn’t exactly from a flower…,” you mumble, sending him a little look when he once again uses the magic circle around your wrist to force you farther into his room. Solomon only smiles, guiding you forward until you’re standing inside the chalk ring—the blob of magic at your feet.

“To be honest, for the longest time I thought I was searching for a rare flower,” he says, sighing as he recalls his strife. His footsteps echo throughout the silent room as he scoots arounds the circle, shaking his head in disappointment. “This is a spell I found in an ancient text, and the words were quite hard to decipher. At some point, I picked out the word “nectar”, but figuring out what kind of nectar took far too long.”

As he speaks, you feel the spell at your feet start to buzz to life. And when your gaze flickers to the floor, you note that the blob of magic is starting to…move?

With each passing second, as the spell activates, the ball of golden magic expands and contracts—bulging here or there. You’re forced to divide your attention between Solomon—who is now standing in front of the leather chair—and the magic at your feet (which looks ready to explode).

“Solomon…,” you speak nervously, gasping when a second magic circle suddenly encases your free wrist. You turn to look at the sorcerer just as he jerks his fingers towards the ceiling—forcing your arms high above your head, where the spinning circles then merge into a single, larger one.

“H-Hey! You still haven’t told me what the hell is going on!” you stutter, feeling warmth on your cheeks as you realize your current state of vulnerability. With your hands bound like this, there’s no way you can escape whatever Solomon has planned.

“And yet, you still look like you’re enjoying this,” he teases you. You attempt to glare at him, but there’s no real power behind it, considering he’s right.

“Bastard…”

Solomon laughs at that, and he steps into the chalk circle without warning. His hands find your waist, and he kisses you without an ounce of hesitation. His lips are firm, and warm—moving against your own languidly, like he’s got all the time in the world.

The show of intimacy successfully distracts you from the ball of magic at your feet. Well…at least until the energy takes a new form—multiple, long limbs of magic shooting out, and wrapping around you.

“Mmph!” you squeal around his tongue, rearing back in shock. You look down, wriggling as the warm tendrils of magic climb your body. One is already hugging your waist—replacing the feel of Solomon’s hands as the wizard takes a step back—watching everything unfold with a self-satisfied grin spreading across his lips.

“Basically,” he speaks, calm as ever—as if you aren’t being molested by magic. His magic. “I finally figured out that the “nectar” I’ve been searching for is the arousal of a human. The product of their pleasure.”

His words have you feeling even hotter—an embarrassing gasp leaving you as one of the tendrils wraps around your thigh, and wiggles against your clothed sex.

“Really, of course I finally figured it out once I’m here in the Devildom.” He shakes his head, crossing his arms disappointedly. You bite your lip, trying to stifle another lewd sound as the tendril around your waist curls up between your breasts.

From what you can tell, there are 2…well, tentacles of magic in total—with one occupying your legs, and the other busying itself with your torso.

“I-If you need human arousal, why not use your own?” you ask him, already quite breathless. The sound makes Solomon’s eyes sparkle.

“What? You think I want to sit around and jerk into a cup for god knows how long?” he laughs, eyes raking down your body. His gaze stops near your hips, and he makes a motion with his hand. In response, the tentacle currently rubbing softly against your pussy pulls away—hooking under the waistband of your pants.

In one swift motion, it tugs the garment down your legs, and discards it onto the floor. You flush hottly, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to preserve a sliver of modesty—but the tendril of magic easily slips its way between your legs, once again rubbing against your pelvis.

“And besides, this route seemed much more fun.” He smiles cheekily, a dark sort of amusement lingering in his silver gaze. “I always pegged you as the type to enjoy a situation like this anyway. You know, a damsel in distress with a bit of kink and sex thrown in.”

You send him another look, but can’t say anything. Because…he’s not necessarily wrong. You can’t deny his words, nor can your body deny its reaction to your current predicament. Each pass of the magic between your legs or against your breasts has arousal pooling in your gut.

“Of course, if I’m wrong, just tell me, and I’ll stop.”

Despite the teasing look on his face, his words are genuine. He won’t do anything you’re not okay with. Even if he needs the ingredient for his spell, it seems he’s not entirely an asshole. At least, not to you.

“N…no…I’m okay with this,” you admit meekly, causing him to smile. “But…how are you retrieving the… um…”

You’re too shy to say it, now, realizing what the nectar actually is.

“Well, I did mention that all of this took time to prepare,” he responds, allowing the tendrils of his magic to continue roaming your body freely. It seems like he’s able to control them when he wants, but otherwise, they’ll continue working towards their goal on their own.

“Since I was able to get you to agree to help me out—”

“Without telling me what would actually be involved.”

He sends you a look—a little annoyed at being interrupted despite so kindly answering all of your questions.

“Oh I’m sorry—,” he makes a motion with his hand, and suddenly the tentacle around your chest is tearing your shirt away with a definitive rip. In the same beat, the tentacle between your legs slips beneath the crotch of your panties—tugging them off your body.

Somehow, it manages to discard the garment near Solomon’s feet, so he bends down and picks up the cotton fabric with a smile—the large spot of arousal hard to miss, even in the dim light of his room.

“—but do you really have the right to be sassing me about my ethics, when you’re already wet enough to stain your panties? Clearly, you’re turned on despite me not telling you, love.”

You open your mouth to attempt to defend your pride, but the only sound that comes out is a lewd gasp. The smooth magic between your thighs resumes its motions—now rubbing up against your wet pussy with no barrier. The contact makes you ache—your clit already so sensitive to the touch—and a satisfied grin settles on Solomon’s face.

“As I was saying,” he continues with his explanation calmly, but his gaze doesn’t leave the sight of you. With your panties gone, and your shirt in tatters on the floor, the sorcerer would be a fool to not watch the show unraveling in front of him.

“It took time to prepare. I had to figure out what would be the best way to retrieve the nectar without letting it go to waste. After all, sex can be so messy.”

Solomon pauses for a moment, soaking in the sound of your voice as you whine—your body flushed from head to toe as the thick tentacles of his magic keep their pace, rubbing against you in all the right places.

His slacks are beginning to feel a little tight.

He coughs.

“Basically, the raw magic will absorb your “nectar”, and will keep it trapped until I can draw it out.”

“S-So what?” you whimper, fingers helplessly curling and uncurling above you. His magic circle allows your wrists no wiggle room. “Y-You’re just going to sit here and watch your magic molest me until you’ve collected enough of my arousal for your spell?”

“Molest is a strong word,” Solomon says, seating himself in the leather chair. He leans back, letting his legs spread wide, and your eyes fall to the tent in his pants. “I prefer fondle. Or, pleasure. After all, you’re feeling a fair amount of pleasure right now, aren’t you?”

With a small inclination of his fingers, the tentacle between your legs pulls back—the thick, rounded tip pressing directly against your clit. It moves in miniscule side to side motions, and Solomon sees the way your entire body flexes—thighs shaking with each pass over your bundle of nerves.

“Fuck,” you pant, arms straining against their bindings. The wizard chuckles.

“Shall I make you cum like this? Or would you prefer to wait? Personally, I have no qualms making you orgasm until you’re begging me to stop, but I also don’t want to break you. You’d be a pain to put back together.”

“Asshole,” you remark.

With the tentacle still swiping across your clit, you know it won’t be long until you reach your climax. And while you know cumming will only serve to make everything more sensitive afterwards, you can’t bring yourself to pass up the offer of an orgasm. You’re already too close, and your body is begging for a release.

“I…I want to cum. Please.”

“Look at you, saying “please” even though you’re calling me an asshole.”

You so desperately wish he was within kicking range, because if he was, you would absolutely lift your leg and wipe that cocky grin straight off his face.

Luckily, the magic between your legs quickly distracts you from your anger towards the sorcerer. 

As if hearing your plea to cum, it begins to work even faster—searching for the pattern that will undoubtedly drag you into the depths of your pleasure. And once it finds it—lewd gasps and moans falling from your lips—the tentacle keeps at it until you’re tumbling into your release.

Sensing your orgasm, the magic limb presses up against your pelvis. It slots between your folds, rubbing languidly as you experience your high.

You can only guess that it’s currently collecting all of the precious “nectar” that has leaked from your throbbing pussy following your climax.

“Shit…”

Apparently willing to give you a moment to breath, the magic tendril occupying your sex continues its slow motions. In its place, the tentacle that had been lazily fondling your chest until now gets to work. It fully wraps around both of your breasts—squeezing, and tugging—almost as if it’s attempting to milk you.

Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation—quiet, hot breaths filling the space in front of you as the tailend of your orgasm finally passes. Yet, you can still feel the embers burning in your gut, threatening to reignite with any simple touch.

“Feel good?” Solomon questions, drawing you out of your haze. Your eyes fall to him, heart thundering in your chest when you notice that one of his hands has strayed beneath his trousers—fingers enclosed around his length through the fabric of his underwear.

“Perverted wizard,” you speak instead, completely ignoring his question. The smallest of grins grace your lips, a breathy laugh leaving you. “Getting so hard from watching me. Shouldn’t you be ashamed?”

He chuckles at your words, looking amused by your wit.

Truly, you’re a fool to be speaking to him like that, as if he isn’t the one in charge right now. While he’s been kind to you thus far, he has no issue in changing that.

“Be a good cock slut and shut the hell up.”

He flicks his fingers, a fake smile plastered on his face, and in the next moment your pussy is filled to the brim with his magic. The tentacle reaches deep—snaking between your walls until the soft head is pressed flush against your cervix.

The abrupt intrusion has you crying out, wrists once again straining against their bindings as you struggle to adjust to the new sensation. And yet, Solomon grants you no grace period.

The magic begins to move—sliding in and out of your wet walls at a swift pace that has your mouth opening, but no sound coming out. At the same time, the tentacle at your chest squeezes harder, the tip of the appendage moving to swirl around one of your hardened nipples.

“S-Solomon,” you choke out, knees buckling under the intensity of his magic. The way his name sounds falling from your lips—desperate and overwhelmed—has his cock jumping against its confines.

His jaw clenches, fingers squeezing a bit tighter as he strokes himself.

“I’d slow their pace down, but I can hear how wet you are from here,” he remarks, silver gaze falling to the space between your thighs. As the tentacle grinds inside of you, small amounts of your arousal are soaked up by his magic. As they’re absorbed, the liquid pools in the main body of the magic—the blob still resting at the center of the chalk circle which is keeping his spell active.

“I called you a cock slut teasingly, but it seems you actually are one. How precious.”

“Fuck off,” you pant, body writhing as the embers in your gut quickly reignite into flames—hot, intense, and growing with each second that passes.

He laughs at your exclamation, pressing to his feet. With deft fingers, Solomon quickly rids himself of his pants, and underwear—the pieces of clothing lying abandoned on the floor beside your own. And when he moves forward—once again entering the magic circle, and stepping into your personal space—you feel your heart skip a beat.

Your pussy clenches around the tentacle still working inside of you, nervous butterflies blooming in your tummy when you see the dark look in Solomon’s eyes. Like he’s finally giving you a glimpse of the real him—not the kind façade he always shows in front of the others.

“If you’re going to use your mouth in such a vulgar fashion, I know a better way.”

Suddenly, without warning, the magic circle encasing your wrists presses downward—forcing you to your knees. The tentacles adjust accordingly, but continue their ministrations as normal. The new position, however, has you eye-level with Solomon’s weeping cock.

“Say ah,” he says, canting his hips forward. The tip of his length smears against your hot cheek, and you flit your gaze up to him—aroused, and a little scared.

He’d be lying if he said the fear didn’t turn him on.

“No?” Solomon tangles a hand in your hair—firm, but not enough to hurt. He holds your stare, his eyes expectant. Yet, he doesn’t force himself upon you. After all, he gave you his word that he wouldn’t hurt you, and while right now he would love nothing more than to stuff your mouth with his cock, he won’t if it’s pushing you too far.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves (although it’s not easy to do, considering the two tentacles that are still very bent on pleasuring you for the sake of your “nectar”). Then—

You part your lips, hot breath fanning against his length.

“Aaah—”

Solomon looks genuinely surprised for a moment. However, he definitely won’t be wasting such a perfect opportunity.

“Truly a cock slut,” he says by way of praise—sliding his cock into your mouth before you can even think of responding.

The moment he hits the back of your throat—making you gag—you realize what you’re in for. There’s no way you’re making it out of this situation sane. Not with Solomon fucking your mouth, while his magic devastates your pussy, and fondles your chest.

In contrast to the quick, brutal pace the tentacle currently occupied with your sex has taken, Solomon starts off slowly. He rocks himself into your mouth, his silver eyes focused on you as your lips suction around him. Each time, he ventures deep—his cock sliding into you until you can take no more.

Tears blot your eyes, body tensing as you resist the urge to gag around him once again. Solomon notices your struggle—watching the way your fingers curl into fists. A part of him debates being nicer. You’re already struggling thanks to the ministrations of his magic, after all, and yet—

“You like it rough, don’t you?”

He reaffirms his grip on your hair—holding your head steady as he begins rolling his hips. He’s still not as fast as the tentacle devastating your pussy, but his slow pace is no more. No, he fucks you quick enough that you don’t have time to steel yourself for the sensation of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

So now, along with the wet, slapping sounds already filling the room, your frequent, helpless gagging can be heard as well.

To Solomon, it’s music to his ears.

“I don’t need you to tell me “yes”. I can already see the answer with how much of your arousal my magic is collecting,” he says, breathing a laugh. “Seriously, you’re the one that should be ashamed, Y/N. You stand there and tease me for getting hard, but you’re the one positively leaking right now. Do you want to be even more stuffed? I could create a third tentacle if you like.”

“Nn—,” you attempt to shake your head, tears finally rolling down your cheeks. You already feel like you’re going insane. There’s no way you’d be able to handle anything more than this.

Solomon grins at your response, purposely grinding into your mouth, and holding himself there. He watches as you flounder—body writhing against the bindings at your wrists. 

Even as you struggle to breathe, you can feel the orgasm building inside of you.

You choke down a sob.

Solomon’s magic is relentless. You have no idea how long it’s been—how long the tentacles have been teasing you—have been trying to milk you for all that you’re worth—but it’s been long enough to bring you to the edge once more. And each time Solomon forces you to gag around him, you only inch closer.

“Mmph,” you whine pathetically around him, your body shaking as your pleasure continues to build to a peak. It won’t be long until you’re sent tumbling over the edge a second time, and once that happens, you’re not sure how much more you’ll be able to take. Your brain already feels like it’s on the verge of short-circuiting.

“This is a good look on you—,” he comments. Sweat has beaded on his brow—stray strands of his hair sticking to his forehead, and you’re mad that he still manages to appear so handsome despite his disheveled state.

“—ruined, and on the brink of orgasm. You’re going to cum again, right?”

Your noise of admission is lost around his cock as he continues fucking into your mouth. However, he doesn’t need to hear your agreement. He can already tell—what, with the way your eyes are practically ready to roll back into your head.

“You should wait for me,” he says, amusement tugging at his lips when he feels you whimper. “Can you manage that?”

Without waiting for your muffled attempt at a response, Solomon thrusts become rougher. He fucks into your throat, groaning at the way you instinctively gag and swallow around him. Saliva pools at the corners of your lips—slipping down to your chin and mingling with the tears that have fallen from your eyes.

You’re so overwhelmed. You’ve never experienced so many sensations at once, and while you try your best to hold out for Solomon—to be good, and wait for him like he’s requested—you can’t. It’s impossible.

With a strangled cry, you come undone. Your body thrashes, your head naturally attempting to pull away from Solomon for much needed air, but he doesn’t let you go anywhere.

“Ah, if only you had waited a little longer,” he remarks, disappointment in his tone. He lowers his other hand to grab your head, and more tears pour down your cheeks as he face fucks you to his heart’s content—even as your orgasm continues to roll through you.

Luckily, the sorcerer isn’t very far behind. He finds his release just as your orgasm is beginning to subside, the tentacles that are assaulting you finally beginning to slow their ruthless pace. 

Gripping your hair, he forces himself deep into your throat—a dark satisfaction settling in his gut as he watches you choke on his seed.

“Swallow like a good girl,” he chides, one of his hands moving to wipe away your tears. As best you can, you swallow around him—puffy eyes turning up to him. The pleading look on your face successfully softens his heart, and with a sigh, he releases your head.

Immediately, you’re pulling back—coughing and gasping for air.

“P-Please, I can’t…anymore…,” you beg, voice raw. The tentacles have started picking up their pace once again--ready to resume their duty after having given you a few minutes to rest.

Solomon clicks his tongue, his silver gaze dropping to the mass of magic on the floor. There’s a fair amount of your “nectar” that has settled at the bottom of the orb. Enough that Solomon will be able to attempt his spell more than a few times.

So, with that in mind, he releases you.

The tentacle around your torso unwinds—your breasts feeling used, and sore from its touches. At the same time, the magic stuffing your pussy slowly pulls out—the limb soaking up whatever excess arousal you have to offer as it retreats.

Before long, the two tentacles have remerged with the ball of golden magic—the light from the spell circle fading as everything settles back into place. Once he’s sure that your precious juices are properly kept, Solomon waves his hand, and the magic binding your wrists disappears.

Almost instantly, you’re falling forward—catching yourself on your hands and knees, fingers smearing through intricately drawn chalk lines. Solomon kneels in front of you, brushing your hair from your eyes.

“You did well,” he says.

“You’re the worst,” you respond. 

Your entire body feels like jello. You’re not even sure there’s any blood left in your arms.

He chuckles.

“Fine, I’m the worst.”

Grabbing you beneath your arms, Solomon helps you to your feet, and leads you over to his bed. He throws the sheets over you, and then moves to retrieve the blob on the center of his floor. He gingerly places it on his desk—resting it atop a plush cushion, like a prized pet.

His eyes linger on it for a few seconds, satisfied. Then, his silver stare turns back to you—his sheets rustling as you settle yourself in.

There’s absolutely no way he’ll be kicking you out anytime soon. If you can barely walk to his bed with his help, there’s no chance that you’ll be able to walk all the way back to the House of Lamentation.

Luckily, he doesn’t seem to mind your company. He’s got a heart inside of him, even if parts are stained black.

“I’ll go get some water,” he says. However, just as he’s brushing past the bed, there’s a knock at his door.

He pauses at the sound, and you hold his sheets tighter around your naked body.

Eyebrow raised curiously, Solomon strides to the door and pulls it open. Standing on the other side is a red-faced Simeon. He looks both angry, and embarrassed.

Solomon’s heart drops.

Despite all his preparation, he’d forgotten to enact a noise blocking spell…

“Oh shit.”

“Oh shit is right,” Simeon responds, crossing his arms. “You’re lucky Barbatos agreed without question to teach Luke a new recipe despite me calling him last minute. Once I heard you and your partner…going at it. You live with a child up the hall, Solomon.”

Solomon sighs. “I’m sorry. I meant to cast a spell to block the noise, but I forgot.”

“Next time, don’t forget, or I’ll have harsher words to say to you.”

“Very much noted.”

“Good.” Nodding, Simeon turns to stalk away from the wizard, but pauses.

“Oh, by the way, you mentioned inviting Y/N over this weekend. Are you still planning to do that? I’d love to see her.”

“Uhhh…,” Solomon resists the urge to glance back into his room, towards the bed where you’re currently hiding yourself. “Yeah. She should be over later. I’ll let you know when she gets here.”

“Good!”

Smiling, Simeon disappears up the hall. Solomon shuts his door, and from beneath his covers, you quietly scream.

“Simeon heard us fucking!! What’s wrong with you!!”

Again, Solomon sighs.

“Yes, yes, we already agreed—I’m the worst. Now pipe down, or I’ll have to shut you up again.”

When you actually cease your scolding words—glaring at him over the edge of his sheets—Solomon cocks an arrogant eyebrow.

Well then, he certainly knows the best way to get you to shut up from now on.

[butterbeerblurbs]

[40] partner in crime

50 kisses with fred weasley / tag: 50kisseswithfred 🌼 40_a gentle kiss that quickly descends into passion, with little regard for what’s going on around them. [fred weasley x chef!reader - set years after the war, chef!reader is a muggle]

whenever fred gets off work a little later than usual, he has the opportunity of crashing to your workplace; something he’s mentioned he loves being present at. it comes rarely but when the opportunity arises, fred’s not gonna reject it. he’s using his spare key you’ve given him to enter through the back door despite being a wizard, easily maneuvering around cardboard boxes and recyclables scattered along the hallway to enter the kitchen. when he does, it’s like a sight fred loves seeing.

your apron swiftly tucked on your body with your sleeves rolled up. your fingers checking through every single order on the counter top before you call out for the remaining orders of the night. he sees the fire burning in your eyes as you’re in the zone of work; delegating tasks, effortlessly going around your subordinates to check on the taste and quality of the food. it wasn’t until you catch a glimpse of ginger that peeks out from the corner of the room close to the backdoor.

he gives you a small wave and you manage a sly wink before getting back to work. he allows himself to sit on one of the stools, fascinated with the way things were handled without magic. the coordination, the trust and drive to pull through the night was mesmerizing to fred. then his eyes went back to you. the way passion fuelled your bones to encourage everyone to hustle through the last five dishes and it’s a job well done during the thirty minute sprint.

when the night of service comes to an end, everyone’s cleaning up their stations and taking their time to clean up. that is, until you give a clear green sign for everyone to leave early considering it’s been a long day and they had worked additional two hours than usual as it was a special event. clearly it was coded for i want to be alone now with my boyfriend but they won’t press on being able to get off work. they all say their goodbyes to you (and fred), the sound escaping with them when it leaves just you and fred alone.

“couldn’t wait at home for me?” you chuckle, loosening your collar as fred approaches you with a grin, shaking his head as his hands smoothen on your waist, “miss a chance to see m’girl hard at work and give her the lovin’ she deserves?” he kisses your lips softly, twice, “never,”

“you chose the wrong time, then. you’re now on kitchen duty,” you snicker, nudging him by the chest. he scoffs a laugh, whipping out his wand, “have you forgotten who you’re dating, love?”

“you know, i could report you to whatever ministry there is in your wizarding world,” you faintly do air quotes, successfully sending a telepathic message to fred that you couldn’t report him even if you wanted. he shakes his head with a tsk, his hand already waving his wand and in ten seconds, the kitchen is spotless. to put that theory to the test, you swipe a finger on the counter behind you, nodding in approval. “that’s... that’s pretty good,”

“see? now you’re an accomplice,” he smirks, putting his wand away to return his hold on your waist, lightly pulling you towards his chest. you use a hand to hit his shoulder, the other cupping his cheek, giving him a squeeze. “well, might as well give you a reward instead for making my life easy,”

“oh?” his brows raise in amusement, “a proposition? do tell,”

you shake your head, “nah, would rather show you,” fred’s lips gape at your words; easily parting wider at the contact of your lips on his. the act alone silences him completely, unable to think straight considering this... this is one of the few things that render him breathless. 

his hands tighten their grip on your waist, earning a satisfied smirk he feels on his lips as he kisses you deeper, groaning when one of your hands rub on his chest, the other threading through his hair. you gasp when he pulls back from the kiss, dotting kisses that spread the warmth through your body like wildfire. from your jaw, down to your neck, planting a couple of kisses there before he starts to suck on a spot that elicits a sigh that sends the shivers down fred’s spine.

you would bask in this moment, the pure act of fred showering you with kisses and affection. however, when your eyes catch a glimpse of the cctv cameras, it takes a lot of self-will to grip fred by the shoulders, nudging him back. he huffs, brows knitted at your wordless rejection but you only use a hand to cup his chin, tilting it to the direction where you saw the surveillance camera.

“what?” he looks back and forth at the device and you. “that’s a cctv, freddie. means that this is all gonna be recorded,”

“...recorded, you say?” he raises his brows at you playfully. that grants you to smack his chest with a laugh, “not in that way! it’s for security purposes. i’d rather not give anyone a show and risk losing my job,”

“oh alright,” he sighs dramatically, making you shake your head at him as he pulls back, adjusting your uniform. you adore how quick he’s able to flip the switch; one moment he’s trying to steal your breath with kisses, now he’s doing the exact same with the amount of affection he has for you as he dusts your clothes with a toothy grin. “shall we go home then? i could get us back really quickly.” you see him already pulling out his wand and how could you reject such a handsome face asking you so nicely?

it’s like he knows your weakness in that sweet smile of his (he does) and the way he keeps one arm around your waist to have you close (which, he uses to his advantage a lot).

“you know i can’t say no when you ask like that,”

“that’s precisely the point, love.”

[slytherinwh0re]

For the greater good

Draco Malfoy x Female Reader AU

Warnings: none just fluff at the end (be proud of me, I didn’t cuss for once in my life lmao)

Summary: where you and Draco haven’t seen each other for a while because of a quarantine imposed due to a worldwide pandemic.

Masterlist

A/N: I work in a hospital, Covid is real. Wear your damn mask, please.

1 month, 2 weeks, and 5 days.

That’s how long it’s been since you’ve seen the platinum hair, pale skin, and blue eyes that belong to your boyfriend.

The pandemic swept across every nation, the virus infecting millions, and with it took every form of normalcy that until this point everyone had taken for granted. The ministry of magic, along with every government in the world, was forced to take extreme measure to contain the spread.

The imposed quarantine was something you had seen coming, both your parents are healers at St. Mungo’s so you understood the true severity of the situation. You knew something had to be done, even if it meant not seeing your boyfriend for a while, it’s for the greater good after all. However it was infuriating that if it weren’t for the selfishness of those who thought themselves untouchable by the virus that had already taken many, you’d have been at Hogwarts with Draco weeks ago. Many witches and wizards hadn’t taken the pandemic seriously until they realized that not even magic could help them escape it.

Now you find yourself lonely once again, the house was always empty since your parents had to work long hours, you hardly see them anymore. The only company you have are the dozens of letters, full of loving words and reassurances that Draco made sure to send you everyday.

***

2 months.

It’s gotten better, everyone’s tired of being locked inside their homes but it’s working. Cases have dropped dramatically and the minister of magic expects we only have a couple weeks of this left, it makes hope blossom in your chest.

You miss Draco. You miss everything about him, from the smell of his expensive cologne to the soft kisses he leaves on your skin. You’d sell your left leg just to hear him tell off Potter, or anyone really, because at least then you’d be with him.

His constant letters were the only thing keeping you sane. Neither of you had ever gone this long without seeing each other, even during the summer months when you were home from Hogwarts you’d hangout a few times a week.

It’ll all be over soon, at least that what you like to tell yourself as you send your owl on it’s familiar fight to Malfoy Manor.

***

2 month, 3 weeks, and 1 day.

Today is the day, after nearly 3 months of imprisonment in your own home the quarantine was lifted. The minister was on the front page of The Daily Profit stating that Great Britain had successfully eradicated the virus.

You had to read it twice, just to make sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you. Once you were positive that you had read every line correctly you let out a loud shriek while doing some weird dance moves around your living room, good thing your parents were working or they’d think you’d finally lost it, but at that moment you didn’t care how ridiculous you looked, you were finally going to see Draco; the thought alone made your heart soar with joy as you bounded up the stairs to get ready, having already decided you’d be heading over immediately.

It had taken you exactly 9 minutes to shower, change, and apply some makeup. Usually you’d take your time but you were just too excited to see him. You open your front door and immediately stumble back in surprise.

You stare at him for a few seconds, not quite believing the tall, lanky, blonde you haven’t seen in nearly 3 months is standing on your doorstep. The smile that creeps on his face is enough to snap you out of your thoughts and jump into him, your legs wrapped around his waist as you pull him as close to you as possible.

“I missed you, I missed you so much Draco.” Your face is pressed into his neck as you hug him, the familiar scent of his cologne making you feel at home.

“I’ve missed you my love.” One of his hands is on the back of your thigh, holding you up and other is running down you spine. You pull your head back so you can look at him, taking in every handsome feature of his face, and finally set your lips on his.

The kiss is gentle, neither of you are in any rush; both of you just happy to be in each other’s arms once again. You couldn’t imagine a more perfect moment with the love of your life.

Tag list: @tonksandherpinkhair @fuckingdraco @dracosathenaeum @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lovecatsnotpeople @ccabian @purpleskymalfoy @tonksandhercombatboots @hellounicorn @whattheactualfuckyeet

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Do you have any good coffee shop au fics? Danke schön!

Hey Nonny!

Ahhh, Coffee Shop AUs aren't totally my thing, BUT I did find a couple I loved, and I've a few on my MFL list that's tagged with Coffee Shop. Check it out, and feel free to add more, friends!

COFFEE SHOP AU

See also:

Coffee Shop AU (Updated Nov 2020) (COMM RECS)

Coffee Shop AU Fics (Alexx's)

Coffee Shop AU – Part 2 (Alexx's)

Teenlock Coffeeshop AU (Alexx's)

Caffeine and Adaptive Programming by DemonicSymphony (E, 5,540 w., 1 Ch. || Androids AU / Bond Fusion || Android Sherlock, Coffee Shop AU, Pining John Hinted Bond / Q, Toplock) – Sherlock is a coffee shop android slowly falling for a regular customer. But he's not supposed to be able to feel emotions.

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

-----

MARKED FOR LATER (TO READ)

Espresso Patronum by zigostia (T, 1,750 w., 1 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || Clueless Sherlock) – “I'm joking,” John said breezily. “Girl's name or not. I don't mind, if you know what I mean.” “Ah,” Sherlock said with uncertainty.

Giveaway Fic #4 - Coffee Shop/Mary Has Left/Sherlock Is Not Okay by ConsultingPurplePants (T, 2,498 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Everyone is Unhappy, Happy Ending) – They sit in silence for a moment. Sherlock fumbles a sugar packet when he tries to get it into his coffee. He looks up to find John staring at him. “It’s… good to see you, John,” he tries. John doesn’t look at him; he’s too busy looking at the way Sherlock’s hands are trembling. Too late, Sherlock realizes that no matter how well he washed his hair this morning, there’s no hiding his emaciated appearance. “When did you last eat, Sherlock?” John asks, but there’s none of the friendly teasing from Before, only a hard-edged, muted anger. Part 4 of the 1000 Tumblr Followers Giveaway Fics series

Whatever you say, Gobbo by Ewebie (T, 4,608 w., 1 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || Balletlock, Rugby John) – “I purposely get your coffee order wrong just so you’ll talk to me again” AU. Part 33 of the Tumblr Shorts series

Crossing Paths by prettysailorsoldier (T, 5,346 w., 1 Ch. || Uni/Teenlock Coffee Shop AU || Crosswords, Christmas, Fluff) – It seemed like a great idea, a 24-hour coffee shop near a thriving university campus, but, when everyone goes home for the holidays, John finds himself trapped in a ghost town, wiling away the hours of the overnight shift any way he can. Of course, that gets a whole lot easier when a handsome insomniac starts making regular visits, and, somewhere between the case files, crossword puzzles, and copious amounts of coffee, John discovers he doesn't mind the late shift so much after all.

Not Your Doctor, Not Your Captain by weneedtotalkaboutsherlock (E, 8,645 w., 1 Ch. || AU || Daddy John, Barista Sherlock, Legal Age Difference, First Kiss/Time, Blow Jobs, Texting/Phone Sex, Anal, Rimming, Felching, Praise Kink, Hurt/Comfort, Pet Names, Doctor John) – "Coffee for John Watson," a voice calls, a low, deep rumble that sends a shiver down John's spine. The thought is pushed aside, his shoulders sagging at the sight of his long-awaited coffee. "Thank God." His eyes lock with long, elegant fingers around the rim of the cup, dimpling the carton in a way that John can only describe as sensual. It shouldn't be. It's seven-thirty in the bloody morning. "I'm afraid that God had not much to do in making your coffee this morning," the barista replies. "I, on the other hand…"

Percolate by cwb & Ellipsical (E, 13,793+ w., 6/16 Ch. || WiP || Unilock Coffee Shop AU || Barista John, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Insecure Sherlock, Patient John, Case Fic, Flirting) – This work is a collaboration between Ellipsical and cwb and promises to be a lighthearted, fun romcom with strong themes of mutual pining, awkward flirting, and panicked impulsiveness. POV will alternate between Sherlock and John; cwb writes Sherlock, Ellipsical writes John.

Mistletoe and Misdemeanours by Robottko (T, 20,738 w., 12 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || Christmas, Fake Relationship, Coffee Shops, Victor Trevor, First Kiss, Holmes Family, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Family Drama, Kidnapping) – When Victor Trevor backs out of the Holmes family Christmas at the last minute, Sherlock panics because he has no way to impress his parents. Thankfully there is a handsome army doctor with nowhere to go in his coffee shop, though it would be more helpful if he were a bit more willing.

sherlock and his daddy series by rory_kent (M, 24,433+ w. across 6 works || Series WiP || BDSM / Sugar Daddy AU || Sugar Daddy John, Age Difference, Sub Sherlock, Daddy Kink, Military Kink, Subspace, Hurt/Comfort, Coffee Shop AU, Unilock) – Sherlock didn't mean to upset daddy he really didn't!

A Wizarding Barista's Field Guide to Seducing a Muggle by paradigmfinch (T, 29,344 w., 9 Ch. || Harry Potter Coffee Shop AU || Fluff, Wizard John, Muggle Sherlock, Bisexual John, Flirting, First Dates, Harry Watson, Secret Identity) – To help pay for Healing tuition, John Watson gets a job at a coffee shop in Muggle London, where he soon sets his sights on a particularly gorgeous customer. John's seen plenty of Muggle films. How different can it really be to woo a Muggle?

Four Shots Series by Opy3332 (T, 34,736 w. across 5 works || Series WiP || Coffee Shop AU || MI6, Barista John, Developing Relationship, First Dates) – Series of stories revolving around John and Sherlock meeting under different circumstances--when John takes a job as a barista at SIS headquarters and meets Sherlock there.

Blond Barista Seeks Dashing Ballet Dancer: Inquire Within by prettysailorsoldier (E, 43,847 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock Coffee Shop AU || Rugby/Barista John, Ballet Dancer Sherlock, Fluff) – Between classes, his job at a local cafe, and being captain of the rugby team, John Watson's life is plenty stressful enough without the addition of a mysterious ballet dancer he can see through the windows of the dance studio across the street, but, somehow, he can't bring himself to mind.

Captains of Industry Series by 221b_hound (E, 131,398+ w. across 34 works || Series WiP || Australian Hipster Coffee Shop AU || Barista John, Security Consultant Sherlock, Awkward Flirting, First Kiss/Time, Panicking Sherlock, Patient John, Cuddles, Grooming, Anal, Bathing/Washing, Coming in Pants, Frottage) – Captains of Industry is the most hipster of Melbourne hipster cafes. It's bespoke suits, artisan shoes, sculpted facial hair and the most exquisite food and coffee all the way. Sherlock Holmes, Digital Security Consultant, has become a regular patron. And one day, perhaps one day soon, he will work out how to successfully flirt with the hot barista, John Watson.

[wondernimbus]

crush — harry potter

pairing: harry potter x female!reader

prompt: harry works up the courage to talk to his crush.

please refrain from plagiarizing my work!

Unbeknownst to the girl sitting in the farthermost corner of the library, the sun has long since set in the horizon to give way to the moon that now hangs in the midnight blue sky. Numerous stars twinkle from up above, shining upon the Hogwarts castle; it paints a breathtaking, almost otherworldly view. One could glance up at the night sky for a brief moment and find themselves unable to tear their eyes away from it.

But the night sky is not what [Y/N] finds herself immersed in. What has her full attention—what has had her full attention for the past five hours now, is the book she holds in her hands: Mind-Boggling Mysteries in Magical History by Atasha Iqinn. It has nine hundred pages worth of exactly what its title states—strange mysteries in the wizarding world that have gone down in history for their oddity—and [Y/N] is already on page 783.

Just like every other weekend trip to the Hogwarts library, [Y/N] has spent a much longer time than intended in the vicinity of the countless bookshelves. She'd told herself that she'd only stay to read for a little while—two hours at most—but five have passed and [Y/N] still hasn't quite snapped herself out of her state of reverie. It's just so easy to lose herself in the abundance of books that Hogwarts has to offer; she'd pluck one out from a bookshelf, skim over its contents briefly, and if she found it to be interesting enough, she would sit down at her favorite table—the one right by the window in the farthest corner—and read.

And she would read for hours and hours until someone—most likely Madame Pince—tapped her on the shoulder and ushered her out.

Today, though, it's not Madame Pince.

—

"Stop it, Ron—"

"Come on, mate—don't be a wuss—"

"Shut up—I'm not being a wuss—it'd be weird if I just went up to her and—bloody hell, stop it!"

Ron stops dragging Harry by the arm and drops his hands to his sides. The pair of them are standing, very poorly hidden behind a bookshelf, near the Ravenclaw girl reading a book in the corner—the same one Harry has been helplessly crushing on for, what, two months now?

It had all started when Harry stumbled upon her in the Hogwarts Express in search for Ron and Hermione. He'd opened a random compartment door and, despite the fact that there were two other Ravenclaws in the compartment, she'd captured his attention first. Up to now, Harry can still vaguely recall the feeling of being dumbstruck by how—well—downright pretty she was.

Harry can't quite call it love at first sight, but he certainly does like her. Is "like at first sight" a thing?

Ever since that very brief encounter on the Hogwarts Express, Harry has only seen her around the castle once or twice. They don't have any classes together since apparently she's older than him by a year, but what Harry has noticed is that she is almost always in the library. 

So naturally, Harry has now become a bit of a bookworm as well. Not because of a love for reading, but because of a particularly pretty fourth-year Ravenclaw.

He'd pass by the library under the pretense of checking out a book just to catch a glimpse of her. He'd spend his free periods there reading the same book over and over just so he has an excuse to be in her presence, albeit he always sits at a table at least ten feet away from her. Ron and Hermione have, of course, noticed, but Hermione isn't nearly as insistent as Ron is being about it.

E.g. right now: Harry has quickly realized that bringing Ron along to the library had been a very, very big mistake. He'd been planning on doing his regular [Y/N]-admiring routine (Merlin, that sounds weird) today, but Ron keeps pestering him to go say hi to her.

Which, of course, is absolutely ridiculous. Harry has never even considered actually trying to befriend her, much less talk to her. He's content with staring at her from afar, thank you very much, no wonder how weird that makes him seem. He's not the type to make a move. Never has—never will be.

But Ron isn't quite helping with that. Harry swats his hand away when Ron makes a move to grab his arm again, presumably to physically drag him over to [Y/N].

"Bugger off, Ron," he hisses, taking a quick peek behind the bookshelf to look at [Y/N], who is still as engrossed with her book as ever. 

Ron snorts loudly. "Don't tell me you can face bloody You-Know-Who but not talk to a crush."

Harry scowls. "This is different." Ron has a point—but he's not about to admit that. "What if I asked you to go confess your undying love for Hermione?"

Ron's mouth falls open; it isn't long before his cheeks turn into a shade of red almost as vibrant as his hair. “Undying love?" he repeats incredulously, opening and closing his mouth like a fish blown out of water. "Undying love—that's ridiculous. I don't love Hermione—I don't like her either—that's just weird.. that's like liking—I don't know—McGonagall or something," he shudders dramatically, but the blush on his cheeks says otherwise.

Harry stares at his best friend, amused, and then reaches out to pat his shoulder. "Whatever you say, mate."

Ron frowns. "I don't—what—" huffing, he realizes that it would be better to just stay silent at this point. With his eyes skittering away, he mumbles something about "crushes.. Hermione.. bloody mental". 

Harry finally chooses a random book and removes it from the shelf—The Wizard's Cookbook by Ellis Ephodal. "Come on, let's sit—and for the love of Merlin, don't do anything dodgy.."

"Dodgy in what way?" Ron asks, carelessly plucking a book from a shelf that he and Harry pass by on their way to Harry's regular table.

"Don't start waving to her or something," Harry narrows his eyes at him, taking a seat on the chair facing [Y/N], who remains completely oblivious to the two Gryffindors whispering about her a mere few feet away. 

"Ha, as if you're not being dodgy," Ron mutters, sitting opposite him and flipping to a random page in his book. "Sitting here spying on her on a daily basis.."

It's Harry's turn to blush. "I'm not spying on her," he protests, his eyes momentarily darting to [Y/N] over Ron's shoulder. "I'm just.."

"Stalking her?" Ron snickers.

Harry shoots him a look. "No. Quit yapping, she might hear you."

Ron looks over his shoulder—or perhaps that's an understatement, because he quite literally twists his entire body around in his seat to look at [Y/N]. Harry gapes at him, reaching over the table to smack his head—and successfully doing so.

"Ow!"

From somewhere in the library, Madame Pince says, "Shhh!"

Clutching his head, Ron turns back to face Harry and glowers at him. "That hurt."

"Sorry," whispers Harry, but the deadpan look on his face makes it very clear that he doesn't mean it. "Did you really have to turn around like that?"

Ron rolls his eyes, still massaging the spot where Harry hit him. "Don't get your knickers in a twist. I could start stripping right now and she wouldn't even notice."

Once again, Ron has a point. But once again, Harry isn't going to admit that to him. The utterly focused look on [Y/N]'s face gives the impression that even if the castle were to start crumbling right then and there, she wouldn't even bat an eye.

Harry and Ron finally fall silent for a few minutes, but isn't long before Ron starts up again and goes, "You know what—"

Harry's eyes dart away from [Y/N] to look at Ron. "Be quiet."

Ron ignores him. "I'm tired of this. As your best mate, I'm telling her you fancy her." Without waiting for an answer, Ron slams his book shut with a loud thud ("Shhhh!" says Madame Pince's voice) and rises to his feet.

"What are you doing—"

"Being a good friend," says Ron matter-of-factly, rolling his shoulders back like he's about to get into a fistfight. "No need to thank me."

With gritted teeth, Harry's eyes dart around the library before he practically dives over the table and grabs Ron's arm, tugging him back down to his seat. "Sit—down—"

"Let go—"

Ron persists, but Harry keeps hanging onto his robes until the redhead finally groans and plops back down onto his chair. "Are you bloody mental?" asks Harry incredulously.

"Maybe, but at least I'm not a wimp!" Ron retorts, exasperated. "Grow some balls, Harry! You don't seriously think you'll ever get the girl if you just sit here staring at her every single day, do you?"

"I'm not trying to get her—"

"What, are you just planning to watch her like some creepy stalker the whole year? What'll you do if some random bloke comes up to her and asks her out? You're flipping Harry Potter—if anyone's got a chance with any girl, it's you!"

"Shhhhh!" chides Madame Pince more insistently this time, poking her head out of an aisle of bookshelves.

Ron gives Harry a serious look. In a quieter tone, he says, pointing his index finger at him, "You've gotta take your chances, mate. If you don't get up right now and talk to her, I swear to Merlin I'm telling her you like her—and you can't stop me this time."

Harry scoffs. "Oh, yeah? Try me."

Ron makes a move to stand up, but at a speed much quicker than lightning, Harry grabs his arm again and pulls him back down into his seat. "I was joking," insists Harry hastily.

"Didn't sound like you were," Ron remarks.

"I was," Harry assures him not-very-convincingly. And then, fidgeting in his seat, he looks at [Y/N] for a half-moment before leaning forward towards Ron and saying quietly, "You're being serious?"

"Hundred percent," Ron assures him, nodding fervently. "I could climb over this table right now and start yelling 'Harry fancies [Y/N]' at the top of my lungs, if you like."

Harry let outs a long breath, rubbing his forehead. "Jesus Christ.."

Ron crosses his arms and props his elbows on the desk, leaning towards Harry with his butt almost hanging off of his chair as he urges in an insistent tone, "Just do it, Harry. You fought off You-Know-Who twice—you can do anything. Come on."

As much as Harry hates to admit it, his best friend once again has a point—if Harry can fight off one of the most powerful wizards to have ever existed, then he can talk to a girl.. right?

Right?

"Alright, fine. To hell with it," Harry gets up from his seat, struck by a sudden burst of courage. "You're right. I can't just sit around here watching her all year—I'm gonna go talk to her."

"Brilliant!" exclaims Ron, clapping his hands together. "You've got this, Harry. Come on."

Clenching his fists, Harry takes a deep breath and starts walking towards [Y/N], whose eyes remain on her book. Throughout the five-second journey it takes for Harry to approach her, Ron keeps whispering hushed encouragements from behind him—"You're gonna ace this, mate, you're a champion". Harry almost turns around to tell him to shut up, but in all honesty Ron's little comments are egging him on, so he just lets him. 

Finally, Harry comes to a stop in front of [Y/N]'s table. He licks his lips nervously, and with his hands curled into fists at his side, he clears his throat.

She doesn't look up.

Oh Merlin this is going horribly wrong.

Harry tries again, this time reaching out to tap her on the shoulder. Finally—finally, she blinks several times, tears her gaze away from the book for what must have been the first time in hours, and looks up at him.

"Um, hi," Harry grins awkwardly, sliding into the seat opposite her. "I’m—I'm Harry."

She raises her eyebrows at him, obviously a little taken aback. Harry flushes and scratches the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Um," he presses his lips together, grasping at words that won't come to him. "I've—I've been watching you."

It takes Harry a moment to realize how horribly wrong that must have sounded like. [Y/N] looks more taken aback than ever—a crease forms between her brows as she asks, "I'm sorry?"

"That came out wrong," he says hurriedly. "I meant to say I've been watching what you read. Unintentionally. You have.. really good taste in books."

With her eyes still narrowed suspiciously, she nods slowly. It's clear that she's still thinking about him telling her he'd been watching her. "Thanks..?"

Harry swallows, trying to ignore the panicky feeling inside his chest that screams at him to run out of there and never look back. Ron's words echo in his head: "You're a champion, Harry.. you can do anything.."

Shifting in his seat, he gestures to the book she holds in her hands and discreetly squints at the cover. "Mind-Boggling Mysteries in Magical History—yeah, great book," he comments much too enthusiastically, "Love that book."

She glances down at the book in her hands and lets out a light laugh—and yes, it's a very awkward laugh, but it's a laugh nonetheless. "It is," she agrees, eyebrows raised. "What'd you think about the Magical Menagerie chapter? I found that one really intriguing."

What the bloody hell is that, Harry's brain thinks, but his mouth says, "Oh, yeah. Loved that one. Really.. really mysterious."

Her eyebrows arch up even higher and she lets out another laugh. A real one this time. Marking the page where she left off, she closes the book shut, sets it down on the table, and folds her arms on top of it. "What if I tell you there is no Magical Menagerie chapter?" she asks, eyes twinkling.

Harry gawks at her.

Oh, I’m done for, Harry thinks to himself, already preparing to get up and run away. But then he hears Ron's voice inside his head again, "Come on.. you're the Chosen One.. shoot your shot, Harry Potter, slayer of You-Know-Who.."

He clears his throat and scratches his temple as if in thought, feigning a look of wonder. "That's funny," he furrows his brows, watching her reaction. "Last time I checked there was—maybe that one was a different edition.."

[Y/N] snorts slightly with laughter, the mischievous glint in her eyes turning into an amused one. "Sure. A different edition—let's call it that. Points for trying, though," she smiles a little. Harry thinks he's doing fairly well—the skeptical, suspicious gaze she'd been staring at him with earlier had turned into one of curiosity.  

"Now, is there a specific reason why The Boy Who Lived is trying to talk to me about books he doesn't seem to know anything about?" [Y/N] asks, tilting her head to the side, still smiling yet with her eyebrows raised expectantly. 

Harry gulps. Oh, yeah—he can think of a few specific reasons.

1. I think you're really pretty.

2. Scratch that: you're absolutely bloody gorgeous.

3. I might have a crush on you.

4. I really, really like you.

"Pick one, oh Chosen One," he imagines Ron's voice saying inside his head. As though he's been possessed by Ron Weasley, Harry blurts out, "I think you're really pretty."

[Y/N]'s eyes widen a little, eyebrows rising even higher. And then she laughs, and then says in a voice tinged with amusement, "Really."

Harry gulps again—he swears the sound is ten times louder than it usually is. "Um—yeah. Sorry," he adds, just because he feels like he's weirding her out. His entire body is burning up; he's probably turned bright red at this point. Yeah, now would be the time to leave. 

He moves to get up from his seat, mumbling something about having somewhere to go, but [Y/N] says, "Wait."

Harry pauses with his butt halfway off his chair, knees bent, and then he sits back down.

[Y/N] is smiling softly at him, lips slightly tugged up at the edges and her cheek twitching like she's suppressing a grin. And—Harry gasps mentally—is she blushing, or has he gone mad? 

"Thanks," she tells him, pursing her lips before adding somewhat bashfully, "For calling me—um—pretty, I guess."

Harry wipes his clammy hands on his robes underneath the table, letting his eyes skitter away because something about holding her gaze for too long is making him jittery. Pursing his lips, he mutters, "You're welcome. It's—well. It's true."

[Y/N] lets out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as though in disbelief. "You're one awkward bloke, aren't you, Harry Potter?" she teases, her eyes sparkling as she leans forward in her seat. "That's surprising, though. I've always pegged you as the arrogant type—you're 'The Boy Who Lived', after all," she grins at him, eyes flicking up momentarily to the scar on his forehead before maintaining his gaze again. "I suppose I was completely wrong. It's a pleasure to meet you—I'm [Y/F/N]."

She sticks her hand out over the table. Harry stares at it for a moment before he realizes he's supposed to shake it. Hurriedly wiping his sweaty palms on his robes again, he takes her hand; "Harry Potter," he grins rather awkwardly, shaking her hand for a brief moment before pulling away. He doesn't know if he's imagining it, but his hand feels tingly. (So does his heart.)

—

Two hours later, Harry stares up at the dark canopy of his bed, listening to the sound of rain falling outside combined with Neville's loud snoring.

For the first time in what seems like forever, normal teenage-boy thoughts are what render him unable to fall asleep. Not thoughts of Lord Voldemort coming back to life, not of Sirius Black hunting him down or of those hooded dementors—no, all that he can think about tonight is a certain Ravenclaw who had captured his heart ever since he saw her on the Hogwarts Express.

a/n: i had loads of fun writing this aaa as always feedback is very much appreciated!

[georgeswand]

light that never goes out | george weasley

george weasley x reader

SFW, fluff, slight mentions of death

inspired by the song ‘there is a light that never goes out’ by the smiths

it was a dark, damp night and the stars sparkled brightly behind the thick of the clouds. you were staying at the burrow for the holidays, rooming with ginny and hermione. you were the oldest among them, being a year above hermione and two years above ginny. being the eldest, you decided the younger two should be able to sleep in the bed together. bad idea. the floor was wooden, hard, and cold. although there was a knitted duvet mrs. weasley had made that you lied on, there was still no support and your shoulders ached. 

despite the pain, you sucked it up and closed your eyes. you could hear the faint breathing and snores of the two younger ones in the room with you, “at least they’re sleeping well” you thought, feeling a bit envious. after a few minutes of not being able to fall asleep, you opened your eyes and took a deep breath. you couldn’t sleep. with a mix of the cold, rock-hard floor on your back and the long minutes you waited with your eyes closed attempting to fall asleep, you decided to get up and go use the restroom. 

you put on an oversized, grey jumper over your white t-shirt and fixed your blue, cotton pyjama bottoms. you took quiet steps towards the door, luckily you wore socks so your feet wouldn’t be directly touching the freezing cold floor. you took hold of the door handle and gently turned it, slowing pushing the door forwards, making sure its hinges wouldn’t squeak. you quietly walked through the doorway and slowly closed the door behind you, gently letting go of the doorknob. a bit more relaxed now that you’ve gotten past the hard part of not waking anyone up, you walked down the stairs to the bathroom doing your best to prevent the floorboards from creaking or yourself from tripping due to the lack of light. 

once you reached the door to the bathroom, you noticed a light was beaming from the gap under the door. you sighed and lightly knocked on the door, a voice from the other side whisper-shouted, “i’m in here!”

“george?” you whisper-shouted back through the door, you’ve heard his voice so many times, you knew it had to be him. “no, dearie, this is molly weasley!” a now high-pitched, squeaky voice spoke through the door. he had raised his voice an octave higher to create a poor impersonation of his mother. you smiled to yourself, “i don’t think your mother sounds like that.” you heard him chuckle through the door. you then heard water running for a few seconds and moments later the door opened. george was standing there looking down at you, his shadow casted over you since the lantern in the bathroom was the only source of light. 

“are you going to move?” you inquired, feeling a bit awkward under george’s gaze. “what’s the magic word?” george taunted, leaning against the doorframe. 

“i dunno, abracadabra? now move out of my way-” you lightly shoved him out of the bathroom and turned around to look at him, he was now standing in the dark hallway. “leave or else i’m going to think you’re listening to me piss,” you jokingly remarked. instead of walking away, he cupped his hand behind his ear, leaning into the door. you scoffed and closed the door, locking it before you went to the toilet. you use the toilet and washed your hands, then adjusted your clothes in the mirror. you looked at the candle in the lantern by the door and extinguished it by pinching the flame with your thumb and pointer finger. though it was dark, the moonlight from a nearby window gave you just enough light to be able to see where you were walking. you opened the door, walking through it, and closing it behind you. 

you looked up and down the narrow staircase, no one to be seen, including george. you turned and made your way up the staircase, careful to not make too much noise. you were a few steps from ginny’s bedroom door when someone suddenly whispered behind you, “y/n-”. startled, you jumped and turned around, seeing george’s moonlit face grinning behind you. you gently hit his chest and angrily whispered, “god- george! you scared me, what if i had yelled?” he smiled, struggling to hold back his laughter. “you should’ve seen your face! you looked like you were about to cast a curse onto me-”

“well if you do that again i just may.” you threatened, looking up at him. you ran your fingers through your hair and composed yourself. “what did you want, shouldn’t you be back in your room?” you asked confused. 

“well i couldn’t sleep,” he explained, “and fred fell asleep a while ago and ron and harry are playing a game of wizard’s chess which is quite boring-”

“so how does that have anything to do with me” you interrupted. “let me finish,” he continued, “what was i saying? oh- ron and harry are playing wizard’s chess which is boring so i thought we could go somewhere.” 

“go somewhere?” you exclaimed bewilderedly. “where would we even go? it’s almost midnight and-”

“and that’s the fun of it! it’s late at night, we’re just a couple of teens breaking a couple rules, what’s the harm in that?” he rhetorically asked, his eyes gleaming with youth. he took both of your hands and waved them around eagerly, hoping you would agree to go out. you never said no to a good adventure, you loved sneaking out at night and letting yourself live a little. it gave you a sense of freedom and an escape from reality. 

“fine.” you give in, george exclaimed a little ‘yes!’ in celebration of successfully persuading you, which doesn’t happen often. “we need to be back before the morning though, i don’t want your parents thinking we’re up to something bad. especially since we’re… together.” you said that last part reluctantly, he chuckled. “why are you being weird about saying we’re together? we’ve been together for a few months now.”

“i’m just saying!” you said defensively, “i just don’t want your parents to think we’re up to something weird.” 

george shook his head and smiled at you, he took your hand and pulled you down the stairs. you followed behind him down the narrow stairway into the dark, moonlit living room. you and george put on some sneakers before heading outside. george had taken the car keys to his parent’s car and he kept them in one of the pockets of his black sweatpants. you finished tying the laces to your sneakers and stood up, following george outside of the house. you gently closed the front door behind you, following him to the sky blue ford that belonged to his parents which was parked on a dirt driveway. he clicked a button on the car keys which make the car beep and the lights flash momentarily. he opened the door to the driver’s seat as you got in the passenger’s side. 

“do you know how to drive?” you asked, the thought hadn’t even come up in your mind until now. you’ve never seen george drive, nor has he ever mentioned doing so. he put the keys into the car and turned on the ignition switch, “of course, dad taught fred and i last year. haven’t really driven since then though, let’s see how much i remember.” he looked over to you and smiled, you watch as he switched the gear into drive and gripped onto the steering wheel.

he pushed his foot into the pedal and the vehicle had started moving, he maneuvered the car out of the driveway and onto the dirt road, driving straight ahead. you looked over at him, his orange hair was long, falling below the base of his neck. he wore a dark red sweater that, surprisingly, looked like his mom didn’t knit. you admired his side profile as he kept his focus on the road.

he had now reached a road which was paved and divided into lanes with white dashed lines. there were no other cars in sight, just you, george, and the road. you kept looking over at him unconsciously, admiring every feature of him. you could slightly see the moles on the right side of his neck which were partially covered by his hair. his nose arched in a way you thought was perfect, his lips were a pale pink and his freckles were so faint but you could still see them in the moonlight. 

“i know i’m attractive, y/n, but you don’t have to stare.” george looked over at you as you quickly turned to face the road, blushing. he looked back onto the road, laughing at your reaction. embarrassed, you learned towards the door on the passenger’s side and looked out the window, trying to forget what had happened. from the corner of your eyes you saw george reach over to the car radio, he turned it on and upped the volume just enough the fill the silence. the music sounded fuzzy and cracked here and there since the car was ways away from a radio station and the signal was bad, but you could still make out the words. 

“and if a double decker bus crashes into us,

 to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.” 

george hummed along with the song, his left hand held the steering wheel steady while his right hand was on his thigh, tapping his fingers along with the beat of the song. he looked over to you and reached over the armrest that sat between the driver and passenger’s seat. he took hold of your hand and held it as he drove, you stopped looking over at the passenger’s window and you leaned back in your seat, looking down at your hand. you looked up toward’s the road and gave george’s hand a squeeze. 

you two stayed that way as the song on the radio played, the lyrics resonated with you. if you could stay that way with george for the rest of your life, you would. it felt as though time stopped, though the both of you were moving at 60km/h, you felt this moment could have lasted forever, like a photo. this moment was a breath of fresh air, something away from the struggles in life. if you were to die right then and there, at least it would be with george. 

“and if a ten ton truck kills the both of us, 

to die by your side, well the pleasure, the privilege is mine.”

as the song played, you continued to embrace the moment. you had slightly lowered the windows on both you and george’s side, letting the cool breeze of the winter night rush in, sending shivers down your spine. the stars shone elegantly, witnessing this simple moment being shared between you two. you could hear the song coming to an end, after the final chorus, the song repeated the lyrics:

“there is a light that never goes out, 

there is a light that never goes out...”

you hoped that as time went on and as you saw the next morning, or if you two had died right then and there, the light between you two would never go out. 

[damn-stark]

Branded

Chapter 14 of Different light

A/N- This series will only get more exciting!!! I can’t wait!!

Warning- Angst, violence, talks of death and self harm, SLOWBURN.

Pairing- Harry Potter x Malfoy!reader

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

“You know what you have to do,” his voice hissed in your ear.

It was now a memory, but it was so persistent that you swear he’s repeatedly saying the plan in your ear. It made the hairs on your arms and the back of your neck stand up, it made your fear heighten and made you jumpy and unaware of your surroundings.

Yet that memory wasn’t as bothersome as the dark mark on your arm.

Or maybe that’s what kept the memory of the plan so fresh in your mind, because everytime you looked at the black outline, it was a painful reminder of the burden you now carried on your shoulders. Everyday after you got it marked on your arm was a reminder of the burden you now carried, a burden you couldn’t keep Draco away from. As much as you fought, he fell into the dark pit with you.

Yet there was one positive side to all the chaos. Draco and you were closer than ever before. It seemed that you were both inseparable now. He was kinder to you, he had dropped whatever petty, foolish anger he had for you and he no longer poked fun at you, nor did he annoy you, just like you didn’t annoy him either.

Perhaps it was because of how he had found out about your Dark Mark...that too was something you couldn’t forget—Draco had barged into your room after returning from school, he didn’t knock, nor give any warning he was coming. He just barged into the room most likely to demand an answer on why you never returned, or simply just to bother you about what had unfolded, that he was going to snitch. It doesn’t really matter why, all that mattered was he barged in. And when he did, he found you in the corner of your room, basked in darkness violently trying to scratch the Dark Mark off your arm, sobbing and bleeding on the floor.

Draco had stayed stunned in front of you, lost on what to do, he called at you to stop, but you only cried out harder and tried harder to remove that brand off. Draco tried, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, he was too stunned to this unknown part of you. So instead he ran to get Narcissa and watched her calm you down from behind her.

You never meant for him to see you, you wanted to keep a strong facade for him, but he caught you off guard. So maybe it was pity that made him change his attitude towards you. That or shared trauma now since you both shared the same burden.

Whatever it was, you were happy that you weren’t completely alone.

“So how did it go? Can he fix it?” You asked Draco promptly as you saw him walk out of the shop, Borgin and Burkes and join your side.

Draco scoffed and he shot a last glare at the shop. “The stupid old man is useless he can’t fix it without seeing it. How did you escape mother?”

You both stop a few feet away from the shop briefly to discuss what couldn’t be shared with Narcissa before you met up with her again. “It wasn’t easy, but I managed to get her off our back. So what are we going to do now? It’s not like we can move the damn thing. It’s enormous.”

A sly smirk curled onto Draco’s thin lips and he confidently revealed what didn’t surprise you. “I threw my fist down and threatened the old idiot, he was basically shaking out of fear, he’ll be cooperative and try something for a change.”

No matter how close you were, how much different he was, there were some parts of him that remained the same. It was the worst parts too. You wanted to scold him on his spiteful behavior, but as you parted your lips to argue, a bang close by the shop caught your attention. Both Draco and you looked to your side to identify what it had been, but when you looked there was nothing, the street was empty.

You kept your eyes searching the area for a moment longer while you dropped the subject and began to urge him away. “Let’s go.”

Draco didn’t hesitate to do as you said, leading the way out of Knockturn Alley and joining the main alley where nothing but the new big, bright shop of the Weasley Twins stuck out like a sore thumb even from several feet away. And how could it not with most shops closed because of what was happening in the Wizarding world. People disappearing out of the blue.

The news of the Dark Lord returning made everyone finally cautious and believe what had been repeatedly denied. Even if you were part of his cult, Narcissa was evermore so cautious and protective too, it seemed she was even careful around her own sister, she clung unto Draco and you, it was a surprise she even let Draco and you out of her sight.

But because she was out of sight for now, it left you with the perfect chance to wander off on your own.

“Draco, I’m going to see if I can find something to get rid of this scar,” you speak up as you come to a stop a few feet away from the joke shop. “Let’s meet up in the middle of Diagon Alley in fifteen.”

Your brother stops in his tracks and turns to meet your gaze, he puts his hands in his pockets and looks at you with a raised brow. “Alone?”

“Yes,” you nod, “I’m sure you have things left to get.”

“I suppose.” He squints his eyes and tries to see if there were cracks through your facade. But he found none. “Fine.” With one last look he turns and walks down the cobblestone street, turning a corner and disappearing to another street. Letting you put your hood on and slowly turn on your heels to walk towards the joke shop. Feeling as if with every step you took forward they became heavier, and your heart thumped faster. The need to turn around and just reunite with Draco was tempting, but you knew if you didn’t see your friends dreams come true you'd regret it.

So just as you reached the top of the small flight of stairs, you drew in a deep breath and slowly breathed it out as you stretched your hand out and pushed the door open. In that exact moment that you pushed the doors open, getting welcomed by the bright shop packed with many young people. As you stepped in, everywhere you looked there was something to see, different items that caught your eye and nothing left bland. There were things to use for pranks, and items for jokes, the whole shop just screamed out fun and joy. Everything was as expected for you, everything was what they talked about and you couldn’t help but let happiness fill your heart. You were proud of their achievement.

“Y/N?”

At the sound of your name, you freeze and lift your eyes from the shelf of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, to look at a purple wall and hesitate to look to the side to identify who it had been who called your name. Albeit they of course walked to your side to speak to you before you could run away.

“I’m surprised to see you here.”

You slowly twist your head to land your eyes on a familiar, cute brunette. “Harry.” You smile faintly, lifting your hand to pull your hood forward and try to cover the scar on your cheek. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

His blue eyes stay on you and search your face and study your figure until he once again persists in talking to you when all you wanted was to go undetected. “It’s good to see you’re okay, you had me worried when I didn’t see you return to school.”

“Oh,” you drop your smile and feel your body tense. “Yeah, well, I got in trouble for being in the Ministry of Magic. I’m returning to school though and well it’s not like I missed much, I passed every class.”

“It’s still a bummer though.”

While on the subject of previous events, the memory of the loss he endured came to mind….not like it ever left, you would see Sirius Black’s death in your dreams many times. You couldn’t imagine what Harry was going through. You can’t even comprehend why he even approached you just now. He should be furious.

“About that day,” you mutter with an audible crack in your voice. “I’m sorry about what happened Harry...I’m sorry for your loss.”

Said boy's demeanor faltered and his eyes flickered away, but he only showed a faint sign of grief before he met your gaze and replied kindly. “Thank you.” A moment of silence passed and that’s when he caught a glimpse of your scar. “What happened to your cheek? Did you get hurt that day?”

He tries to approach you, but you quickly step back and cover the thing with your hand. “No.” You try to assure him with a lie. “Not that day...it was a spell gone bad. Nothing...to worry about,” you finish with an assuring smile.

His eyebrows furrow and he tries to keep his eyes on you, but you avert your gaze and try to just escape before he could see your lie. “Well I should—”

“I think it’s cool,” he blurts, causing you to snap your gaze back to him and feel your breathing hitch. “It suits you, you shouldn’t hide it.”

“I…” you pause and feel your face burn, and your eyes soften, you try to hold back your genuine smile, but you couldn’t help but show it proudly. “Thank you, Harry.” You share a lingering gaze and you notice his eyes drop to your lips, but just before you could do the same you remember where you are and the time limit you had. “I should go find Draco, he should be looking for me.” You move to walk past him, and as you make it past him, he points out something that makes you stiffen.

“I saw him in Knockturn Alley, you should look there.”

You swallow thickly, but turn to show him an unfazed sweet smile. “Thank you, I’ll see you at school.”

Harry waves at you and keeps his eyes on you until you successfully leave the store without catching the twins attention, and shamefully leaving without what you wanted to get.

Yet it wasn’t a bad trip, no matter what happened before, or the time went without being able to talk to him, Harry still made butterflies flutter in your stomach. After all this time.

——

“So what did you do this summer, Pansy?” You question the brunette in the compartment seat across from you, averting your gaze from the way she was stroking your brother's hair in her lap, and pushing aside the fact that you had found her annoying and rude many times before, because now none of it really mattered.

“I went to my vacation house in Italy,” Pansy revealed proudly, “I of course invited your brother to come, but he never answered my letter.”

“I was busy doing better things,” Draco said, hiding the fact that he wanted to gloat.

You rest your chin on your hand and sigh as you look at the sun beginning to hide behind the green passing valleys outside the compartment window. “A vacation sounds nice, I wish I could've gone to that one Island in the Atlantic. Going there still sounds tempting, I might just drop out and escape there.”

A smile spreads on Pansy’s lips, but Draco does the opposite and frowns, kicking your leg with his foot and seething out, “that’d be idiotic.”

You roll your eyes and hiss out, “it’s better than doing this.” Of course by “this” you meant what was connected to the brand on your arm. Who you had to work for.

“Blaise about time,” Draco said as the Zabini siblings returned from their private dinner with a new Professor named Slughorn. “What did Slughorn want?”

Clementine slides on the empty seat next to you and offers you a quick warm smile—No matter what you tried to do to keep her away this summer, or tried to do to avoid her today, she was stubborn about sticking by your side. She alongside her brother were there at your house the day after they returned from school, (albeit Blaise was probably forced to be there), nonetheless she didn’t let you isolate yourself and even if she didn’t know what you were forced to be, forced to do exactly, she was one of the few people that kept you yourself. Not a death eater, but yourself.

“Just wanted to make up to well-connected people,” Blaise answered as he sat across Draco and next to his sister. “Not that he managed to find many.”

Draco scoffs and throws himself off Pansy’s lap to demand a more clear answer. “Who else was invited?”

“McLaggen from Gryffindor,” Clementine chimed in.

“He only got invited because of his uncle's popularity in the Ministry.” Blaise continued for her. “Then someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw.”

“Not him,” Pansy exclaimed, “he’s a prat!”

You slid your elbow off the table and fully focused on the conversation, whilst also noticing the judgmental little stare Clementine and Blaise shared over Pansy, before Clementine continued to share names. “Regardless, Longbottom, Harry Potter, and that Weasley girl were also there.”

Draco's eyes widened and a scorching fire fueled by jealousy filled his eyes and seeped through his tone. “Longbottom?! What’s he got that's so interesting?”

The Zabini siblings shrug and Draco continues to seeth out his venom. “And of course, Potter, precious Potter. Obviously he wanted to look at the Chosen one. But that Weasley girl! What’s so special about her!”

“Careful Draco, anymore spiteful comments and I might think you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous! As if!” Draco scoffs dramatically and throws Blaise and you a glare as you both snicker at his overly dramatic reaction—“Well I pity Slughorn's taste,” Draco quickly changes his tone to a much more overconfident one whilst he lays back on Pansy’s lap. “Maybe he’s got a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favorite of his. Slughorn, probably hasn’t heard my sister and I are on the train or—”

“I wouldn’t bank on an invitation,” Blaise interjected, “Slughorn asked us about Notts father when my sister and I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he’d been caught at the Ministry he didn't look happy, and Nott wasn’t invited was he? I don’t think Slughorn’s got interest in Death Eaters.”

Draco and you share a quick panicked look, whilst Clementine smacks her brother's arm to scold him for such a true, yet daring comment. He of course pays no mind to it and just rubs his arm while Draco looks angry, but passes it off with a humorless laugh. You on the other hand just shift in your seat awkwardly, but don’t give any other reaction to it. You just let it fly over your head. Unlike your brother. “Well, who cares what he's interested in? What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher. I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year. What a pathetic excuse for a school, I think I'll pitch myself off the astronomy tower before I have to continue for another two years.”

“Don’t say things like that, Draco,” you seeth.

“It’s true.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pansy demanded just as concerned.

“Let’s just say I don’t think you’ll see me wasting my time in charms class next year.”

Blaise snickers at Draco’s comment, making Draco pull his gaze from whatever he was looking at on top of his head to look at his friend and remark. “Amused Blaise? Let’s just see who’s laughing in the end.”

You look away from Draco and look down at your rings around your fingers and sigh. “I see Hogwarts, we better get our robes on.”

The Zabini siblings at your side slide off the seat to get their robes on and let you out to do the same. You walk to the rack above and reach for your small luggage, swinging it down and in that exact moment seeming to hear some type of gasp come from above. You look over your head, and from the corner of your eye you see Draco beside you seeming to look for the same source of sound. Yet, before you could investigate more, Clementine pulls your attention away. “Oh, I love your outfit, where’d you get it?”

You smile and glance at your clothes, “a shop in Paris. I’ll try to remember exactly where and I’ll tell you.”

“You better.” She finishes as she, like you and everyone else, pull on your green robes, waiting as the train comes to a shaky stop to wait for others to file out of the corridors to do so yourselves. Stopping at the door however, to look back at Draco lagging behind.

“You four go on,” Draco told you four by the door, “I just want to check on something.”

“Uh,” you hesitate for a moment, “okay.” Nonetheless you follow Clementine, Blaise and Pansy outside. You had the intention to wait for Draco, but nevertheless you were dragged to the carriage and returned to school. Where at least the atmosphere, the buildings, the halls, something as small and as insignificant as a decoration felt in many ways assuring. Seeing all of it made you happy to return to school. Unlike how home felt now….school was bright and an enjoyable place to be in. It was a chance to escape being home, you couldn’t avoid responsibility being here, but you avoided seeing the evil that you had to work for now.

The one thing that prevented this place to be a truly comforting place was seeing Professor Dumbledore. At the sight of him sitting down at the end of the hall, your heart dropped to your stomach, your breathing hitched and everything happening around you seemed to move at a slow pace; that’s where the loud commotion that was happening around the room seemed to tune out and drift to the back of your head, letting the cold words of Voldemort, echo loudly. “You know what you have to do.”

Chills spread all over your body and your chest tightened. Just as you could began to feel guilt deep through your mind, you snap yourself from your stupor and walk to sit around your house table, spotting Draco finally walk in alone and sit in between his friends, glancing towards Dumbledore just like you had and visabally seeming to mentally drift himself away from this room. Not like you were any different. Seeing Dumbledore reminded you what position you were in, it reminded you that you, like Draco, were in the dark pit surrounded by venomous snakes. No way out, no hope for—

Suddenly, before you could finish your thought, the sight of Harry walking into the hall incredibly late catches your eye. You sit up straight, but frown as you notice that he was bleeding from his nose. You have the itch to ask if he was okay, but you keep yourself glued to your seat and stay with the concern. Not like you had the time to ask him anything because Professor Dumbledore didn’t wait a moment longer to finally address the hall filled with students.

“Very best of evening to you all. First off let me introduce the newest member of our staff, Horace Slughorn,” the professor points to him as the new professor stands up and receives a big round of applause. “Slughorn, I'm happy to say, has agreed to resume his old post as potions master. Meanwhile the post Defense against the Dark Arts will be taken by Professor Snape.” Another round of applause erupts around the room, whilst you, like before, stay silent and just listen. But that got hard as the topic was changed to the master you served…

——

“...You know what you have to do…”

Your eyes snap away from the grey sky outside to focus on the tall man in all black in front of you.

“No one must know who you both work for, the brands on your arm must always remain hidden.” Professor Snape reminds Draco and you. “No matter how much either of you think you can trust your friends, you can’t tell them anything of what your plan is, or what you do outside of school. Everything stays between us. And if either of you need help—”

“No,” Draco cuts him in an agitated tone. “We don’t need your help because that task alone is meant for my sister and I. No matter what promises you seemed to make to our mother, we will find a way to do it all alone. We aren’t children.”

“Perhaps not.” Snape snapped back just as coldly, “but need I remind you this is not some school project Draco. This is a task for the Dark Lord, and if you get this wrong your entire family, including your sister and you will pay for it. Now is not the time to poison yourself with your pride. Accept the help you get offered. Because even your father knows how to play well with others.”

“I know that.” Draco hissed. “We are getting help. We just don’t need your help.” Draco shoots Snape a cold glare before sharply turning on his heels and storming out of Snape's office. Leaving you to clean up his mess.

“Thank you, Professor. We appreciate the advice, and I’ll try to make him come around.” You turn to leave, and as your hand is on the door handle, Snape throws out one last comment.

“How about you remind your brother what manners are as well. Seems with all the stress he’s gone under, he’s forgotten what those are.”

You respond with a stiff nod before walking out of the office and meeting Draco at the end of the dark hall. “Draco, you need to be kinder, he’s just trying to help.”

Said boy scoffs and shakes his head. “We don’t need his help. The task was given to us alone. Not us and Snape.”

“I know but—”

“But nothing,” Draco interjects, “we can’t afford messing this up. Not after father got sent to prison.”

You sigh and drop your gaze to the stone floor as you begin walking out of the corridor. “Right.”

“We’re going to make father proud.”

You blink to look ahead as you turn to another hall. You don’t answer Draco, but he didn’t need a confirmation to know you thought the same. Not like he'd hear any of it at the moment. His mind was solely focused on the door that could, or could not appear on the big empty wall ahead of you.

You passed by some birds chirping inside their cage, and stopped in front of the empty wall to wait. At first you thought the door you needed wouldn’t open, but you got proven wrong as the outline began to appear exactly as it did last year. Only this time the door led to another room. One packed with hundreds of lost, stored and hidden things that were packed away in tall towers scattered around the room, while the bigger items were more isolated around the room. The further you walked in, the more you saw inside the room of requirement. It was truly fascinating.

It was all breathtaking, except for the one item you came here to find. The one item that was the key to setting your plan in motion.

You stop before it, lifting your gaze to study it, feeling the hairs on the back of your neck rise, and goosebumps to grow on your arms. Nevertheless You stretch your hand out to feel the wood under your fingers, to just let yourself know that this was all real and not a nightmare. You turn to look at Draco, seeing him throw and catch a green apple in his hand, whilst he stops beside you and drifts his eyes away from the cabinet to meet your gaze, showing a serious expression that you could tell was laced with fear he was trying hard to hide.

“We’re going to fix it,” you say in the best assuring voice you could manage. “We’re going to fix this vanishing cabinet to complete our mission. I promise. We’re going to make mother and father proud.”

.

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Tagged- @peter-laufeyson , @swiftlymoniquesblog , @spideyyypeter , @gsvshsjsbs, @accio-prozac , @cherriesanwine , @kokomaesadie @april-14-blog , @prettypinkpeachh , @pest-ill-ence , @ilovespideyyy , @m3ssytrash , @hogwarts-babe-blog , @yodaboo , @rafeyybabyy , @ms-dont-care , @seninjakitey , @aqua0928

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 34

💖 first time reader click here 💖

A little bit of plot, but mostly ironstrange x reader filthy porn. Bukkake stuff. Stephen finally opening up a lil bit, I mean... I've slept through a 1/3 of a hospital and lemme tell you, doctors are kinky bastards. On the same note, there's definitely going to be a chapter where all three men are involved after the plot shit is resolved.

There was something big brewing. I had a hunch... which was more like a strong sense of doom... hanging over me and the rest of the world. Peter also had noticed the sudden spike in anxiety, quoting the sudden disappearance of many low-tier mutants from the streets. Usually, Peter dealt with at least a few enhanced enemies during his patrols but the closer it got to Christmas, the less enhanced bothered with small-time crimes, the more intense the buzzing of his Spidey sense became.

Now that my immediate lack of income wasn't a problem anymore, I set business onto that damn mercenary. I was no spy, I was no SHIELD operative but... I could be very clever.

First things first, I had to make sure I would stay alive no matter what. A subdermal tracker was a good guarantee of security and I spent many hours making one - having to keep it a secret was incredibly hard, I hated lying to my loves and I hated avoiding Wanda even more - I was constantly on the edge around the telepath, hyperfocused on keeping up the pretense of normalcy.

I wouldn't be me if I couldn't successfully pull off a whole ass façade. Unfortunately, the continued failures of the people searching left and right for the mercenary only fueled my strength for the inevitable fuck-fest that I would have to create in order to make sure my people get the peace they fucking deserve. The web of lies grew in size every damn day.

Subdermal tracker, an implant that reports directly to Friday upon activation. It hurt like a bitch - I had cut myself open, an inch wide gash on the inside of my forearm - and put it in without any anesthesia in my own bathroom, not even thinking twice before making up a lie that I had been careless in the lab and hurt myself.

An antidote to common tranquilizers, creating it gave me a headache the size of Moscow but I'd been successful; Tony assembled the whole team when he found it out, offering me a ridiculous amount of money for the formula. It was weird. SHIELD was interested, too, and I had to witness Tony and Coulson argue. Apparently, the agency wanted to recruit me and Tony was adamantly against it, totally forgetting the promise Natasha had given me. In the end, the spy and Coulson shared a quiet conversation and the man left, respectfully complimenting my skills.

I sold the formula to Stark Industries, unable to get rid of the weirdness of the situation. I had to shake hands with my own boyfriend and his ex-girlfriend... In a business setting. What. Just what. Bucky and Stephen couldn't stop laughing at the face I made all throughout that day - and Clint even went as far as to bake me a gag cake, a cartooney handshake drawn in frosting on top of it. I hit him with a spatula, Loki smiled in his direction for the first time in, like, ever. It was a trip and Tony had way too much fun with the incident.

Perhaps, turning myself into a cyborg stew wasn't the best plan that was possible to think up in a few weeks' time but I've never claimed to be exceptionally intelligent; if anything, I've always considered myself to be a moderately educated idiot. It is common knowledge that there are two halves of a whole idiot: my second half was on his way from California, having had received my very detailed e-mail about the whole cursed box fiasco and the consequences that followed. I could barely contain my excitement at the prospect of seeing uncle Eddie and his symbiote again.

Tony wasn't even half as excited; if anything, he bordered on outright hostile, bickering, and sassing everybody left and right. It could have been the situation at hand finally getting on his last nerves. It could have been his jealousy, the same that appeared every time I paid extra attention to someone that wasn't him, Bruce or Stephen. Either way, Bruce was sighing all the time now and Stephen's remarks began to fill with poison once again.

Just like the good old times, I guess. I was forced to pull a Me over and over, interrupting their petty arguments with increasingly absurd remarks. I felt like everybody was laughing at me these days, which ended in only one way it could have...

"Brat," Stephen's patience was paper-thin and, being forcefully distracted from yelling at Tony, he directed his angst at the nearest person - me. "I oughta put you over my knee. I swear to Cosmos..."

"Blah, blah, blah. Don't you ever get tired of listening to yourself talk?" I raised my eyebrows, tone deceptively calm. "You're talking too much for someone who can't even..." I didn't get to finish my sentence, suddenly finding my mouth firmly glued shut. It was magic - the sensation was pulling, but not unpleasant. Reminded me of a ball gag Tony had used on me in the early days of our relationship.

"Now, Dumbledore, hold your horses..." Tony interjected looking none-too-happy. The engineer placed a warning arm on the sorcerer's bicep, their little spat seemingly forgotten.

"What, Tony? She's been nothing but a mouthy urchin the past few days, I can't stand it anymore," They shared a meaningful look; no matter how much Tony wanted to argue, he knew Stephen was right. What he didn't know was that there probably have been a magic versus science altercation... Or worse. Humiliation was a small price to pay for some (relative) peace.

I did what I do best. I annoyed them further, throwing up a juicy middle finger to the two men and turned around with a huff, mind set on finding Loki to undo the mute ban Stephen gave me. Needless to say, I didn't make it very far.

In mere seconds, I was sandwiched between the two men, Stephen's finger delicately holding my chin to force me to look into his eyes. Tony was holding onto my shoulders from behind me - I could feel the tension, my engineer was almost buzzing with it. I was pretty sure my eyes were laughing anyway because Stephen's frown slowly transformed into a coy smirk once his stormy blues focused on my face.

"Brat," He repeated once again. "She's doing this on purpose."

"I can't say I'm surprised," Tony's breath tickled the nape of my neck. "That does sound like our little Princess," Apparently, it took all of a 0.1 second for Tony to switch from annoyed to horny. Men, they were so easy to play. "Baby, if you wanted our attention you could have just said so," He chastised me, hands sliding down to my waist.

I hummed, and then aggressively hummed some more until Stephen removed the magical gag. "Not like you'd notice it, being occupied with tearing each other's hair out," I pouted.

The sorcerer briefly averted his eyes, leaning down to softly kiss my pout. It was very unlikely I'd get an actual apology but a kiss I won't be complaining about either. "So, your best tactic was to annoy us even more? How does that work out for you?"

I pulled on the tied fabric around his waist, bringing him closer to me. "Pretty good, if I'm being honest. You're exactly where I wanted you to be," Carelessly, I began untying the layers of silks and cotton I had become intimately familiar with over the course of the past few weeks. Most of the time Steph wore his wizard garbs and while figuring out how to undo them was a trip at first, I had gotten him desperate enough a few times, for him to show me a few tips and tricks for easier access.

Tony snorted somewhere behind me. "You just want us for our bodies," His hands wormed their way under my shirt, brushing the underside of my breasts. Bra? Hardly know her. "Our beautiful, sexy bodies." Yes Tony, very humble.

"When will you learn, people?" I asked rhetorically, simultaneously leaning into both Tony's and Stephen's touch. "Why fight each other when you could be fucking me into oblivion instead?"

Stephen snorted, still not completely used to the at times crude things that left my (and occasionally Tony's) mouth. I had a hunch the sorcerer was holding back somewhat - for whatever reason - and I was eagerly waiting for him to get comfortable enough to reveal that special part of himself. Whatever it was, I just knew it was delicious and sinful and-

"Do you really think I will be giving you what you want after your little... Stunt?" Steph went balls out; his voice dropped and the intensity of his stare left me breathless. The hand that was stroking my face wrapped around my throat as he had some sort of a silent conversation with Tony.

"Yeah," I emphasized the word with an inaudible 'duh' behind it but obediently trotted along as Stephen backed up towards the couch, leading me by the throat like a pet on a leash. I was steadily going into 'no thoughts, head empty' territory.

"I like it when you get all bossy," Tony remarked casually but he was close enough for me to hear the strain in his voice. Every time we fucked, Tony eagerly gave up the control to Stephen. I definitely saw the appeal. Stephen Strange demanded authority effortlessly, his stern but fair attitude simply demanded to kneel.

That's just what I did. As soon as Stephen made himself comfortable on the Italian leather couch, I dropped to my knees, looking up at the man with big round eyes. Just like Tony and Bruce, Stephen had his own weaknesses when it came to moi and I wasn't ashamed to exploit them. Steph's stroked my hair, carding careful fingers through it, slowly unbuttoning his pants with his other hand.

"If you insist on being mouthy, I have a better task for you," He husked, pulling me closer towards him. I called it his doctor voice. Honestly, I don't have a clue how his surgical team could be around him with their pants on back in the day... The man was a snack on a silver platter.

Steph's erection sprang free. I didn't hesitate to wrap my hand around it, stroking the underside of his glans just like he liked it, looking to the side where Tony landed on the couch next to Stephen, a curious look on his face. Yeah, Tony liked to watch. Me and Stephen or me and Bruce... Me and Stephen and Bruce? That's an idea for later.

"Don't mind little old me," Tony smirked his trademark Stark mischief, getting comfortable, ditching his oil-stained shirt and unbuttoning his pants to lazily palm himself through his boxers. "Carry on," The smirk only grew when Tony noticed both me and Steph eyeing him with amusement.

I hid my grin, nodding my head, before wrapping my lips around the tip of Stephen's cock, relaxing my throat to prepare for the intrusion. Sweet and salty, the slit on his cockhead was mercilessly teased by the tip of my tongue.

Stephen murmured encouragements under his breath as I began to bob up and down, him controlling the pace with a hand in my hair, just the right balance between cruel and gentle. The sorcerer was always too good to me, bringing me to the point of overstimulation and instantly soothing the ache afterward; "Fuck, darling, your mouth feels like heaven," He groaned as I snuck a look upwards to see his lips parted and a steady flush crawling up his neck.

"She knows how to work a man, doesn't she?" Tony's lust had him panting, hips moving into his own hand. He leaned closer to Stephen, brushing my hair behind my ear with a tender hand. "Merlin needs to share," Tony began pulling me in his direction. I reluctantly let go of Stephen's cock, keeping up the pace with my hand as I scooted closer to Tony to be able to mouth at his stiff erection.

Watching me suck cock always got Tony hard enough to pound nails with. I couldn't blame him, I knew what I could do and did well; by the time I made my way down his thick flesh, drool was dripping down my chin and the make-up around my eyes was surely smeared by tears. My engineer was much less gentle than Steph, pounding my face without reservations.

"I know you can take it, baby girl, fuck," My face was held in his strong grip, thumbs digging into my jaw. "Such a good girl," The two words went straight down to my pussy and I had to squirm and clench my thighs together, whining at the lack of friction.

The air was pierced by a low moan - Stephen was fisting his erection almost desperately now, almost as desperately as I was humping the air, whining like a bitch in heat at the taste of Tony's cock in my mouth. I knew neither of the men would last long, not with all that pent up tension running through their minds and bodies.

"Fuck, come here, baby girl," The engineer yanked me off his cock, gripping the base of it so forcefully his knuckles turned white. I was all but dragged into the space between them; still kneeling, barely seeing with snot and tears smeared all over my face, I couldn't hold in the broken moan as the realization set in.

"Keep your eyes open!" Steph instructed furiously, scooting to tower over me. Tony followed in his steps as I obediently lifted my eyes to their cocks and then their faces; nearly identical furrowed brow expressions stared back at me, lips moist and eyes wide. Both men stroked themselves with renewed vigor.

I hummed softly before sticking out my tongue; their reaction didn't let me wait long. Strings of pearly white cum landed in my hair, on my face; I felt the warmth on my skin and tasted their salt and musk on the tip of my tongue, reflexively swallowing each and every drop that landed in my mouth, savoring it just like I savored the sinful groans that left their mouths.

"Fuck, you're so good to us," Tony panted, gracelessly falling backward onto the couch.

Stephen, however, didn't hurry to catch his breath, giving me a thoughtful look. His fingers shook more than ever but he paid no mind to the discomfort, gathering the cum dripping down my face with two fingers and offering it to me, holding them up to my lips as I gently cleaned them off. And he did it again, and again, until Tony gave a weak moan of recognition, throwing an arm under his head.

"Be polite, Princess," Stephen's voice hadn't lost the lust in it just yet.

"Thank you, sir," I mumbled, utterly captivated by the way he was looking at me. Stormy blues radiated a strong sense of intensity, devotion perhaps, that I wasn't ready for.

Stephen smiled at me, almost coyly, before kneeling right next to me and bringing me over the edge with a few sharp, clever movements of his hand. I held onto his shoulders for dear life, barely noticing Tony's reaction - if there was one - my other lover seemed to be as surprised as I was, choosing to hang back and observe the unusual situation.

I had a feeling that whatever it was, it would make another appearance during our playtime. It wasn't just sex, it wasn't making love - it was... Something. I loved every second of it.

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