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201010-11jk · 3 months ago

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Dear God, this was the best thing I've read in a hot fucking minute.

it's nice to have a friend | theodore nott x reader

song; it's nice to have a friend [taylor swift] pairing; theodore nott x fem!wallflower!muggle-born!reader genre; s2l, angst, hurt comfort, fluff word count; 7,8k timeline; subsidiary 8th year warnings; swearing, reference to incestual rape, anxiety, nightmares, daddy issues, mommy issues, smoking, abusive mother, abusive grandfather, attachment issues, references to theo's mum's death, references to sex summary; elusive and unknown, you slunk along the walls of hogwarts without ever being noticed. that was, until, a boy who everybody knew spotted you

sorry i'm just so obsessed with the idea of a muggle-born who comes back to hogwarts after being in hiding atm

masterlist

"feels like home, stay in bed the whole weekend."

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Who was Y/N L/N?

Many would frown at that question, saying that they had no idea who that was, even if they had shared a vast number of classes with you throughout the years. Some others would pause, and ponder, as the name rung a bell but they just could not put a face to it. The rare few would answer, "Oh, I know her! Never heard her talk though." And that was all there was to it, really.

You had flown under the radar for many years— which had been enormously useful when you had to go into hiding as a muggle-born— but you weren't exactly a nobody. You were the girl at the back of class, who always had a hood over your head, always had dark circles around your eyes: a mixture of eye bags and your smudged days-old black eyeliner. The girl who disappeared after class for a cigarette out of the window of an abandoned part of the castle. The girl who was almost never at meals— at least not at the typical times.

You were an enigma to anyone who actually knew you, which essentially only included your dorm mates. They had tried to befriend you initially, but you were distant and asocial: they were still friendly with you, but they had learned not to push or pry. Thankfully, none of them had taken it personally.

But being so unknown had been incredibly useful while you were in hiding from Voldemort. It was unlikely he knew you existed— nor would anyone he interrogated about existing muggle-borns and their whereabouts. Thus, you returned to Hogwarts after his defeat for the subsidiary eighth year completely unharmed. You hadn't changed at all in the time, apart from a few more piercings, tattoos and freshly dyed hair.

It felt surreal being able to sit on the window sill of your favourite castle smoke spot again, as no matter how little friends you had at Hogwarts, you felt peaceful there. You had missed it sorely.

Taking a drag from your cigarette, you held the harsh smoke within your lungs and gazed at the cloudy view of Scotland, feeling tranquil. That was, until, you heard footsteps, which made you freeze. You internally prayed that it was neither a professor nor a prefect— but this part of the castle was abandoned, and it wasn't even close to curfew yet, so you didn't see how it could be. Cautiously, you peered around as the footsteps came to a halt, to see a Slytherin boy from your year pausing as he caught sight of you with a cigarette in hand.

Theodore Nott. Everyone knew who he was, including you, and because of that you let relief wash over you: he wouldn't snitch, you were pretty sure that he smoked himself.

He tilted his head at you, clearly with no recognition in his eyes.

"This is my smoke spot," he said simply, hands in his pockets. He had discovered the spot the year prior, when his smoking had become a serious habit, partially due to the depressing atmosphere that the war created.

You stared at him, not saying a word.

"Who are you?"

Releasing a sigh, you turned back to face the view, "Y/N L/N. And I came here long before you, Nott."

You felt the burn of his gaze on your back, and then heard him move closer to you until he sat next to you on the large windowsill. "You know who I am."

"We only had classes together for six years."

He seemed to mull over those words for a few moments. "I've never seen you before."

"Not many have," you shrugged, taking another long toke of your cigarette.

Nott didn't have a response for that, instead pulling out his baccy pouch and beginning to roll. You weren't necessarily happy about the intrusion on your alone time, but you didn't own that windowsill, and you weren't about to waste the rest of your cigarette.

Eventually, once he had lit up his own, he spoke again, "You're a muggle-born."

You quirked an eyebrow, which he probably couldn't see under your hood, but he explained how he knew regardless.

"That's why I never saw you here- at this spot- last year."

Nodding in confirmation, you breathed out smoke, watching as it dissipated into the breeze. The two of you settled into silence as you smoked, which you found to be an immense relief. You didn't like talking, you didn't like people knowing things about you. You weren't shy, like your dorm mates thought, you had just learned throughout your life that saying too much had negative consequences.

Finally, your cigarette burned to the filter, and you put it out next to you before flicking it out the window. You stood up and looked at Nott, who was still smoking, unsure of how to end the peculiar interaction.

"I would say you'll see me around, but no one ever does," you finally said, shoving your hands in your pockets and leaving without waiting for a reply. You hadn't said it in an attention-seeking self-pitying way— you had stated it nonchalantly, as it was a fact.

Nott watched you curiously as you disappeared.

***

The next morning, instead of going to breakfast, you went straight to your smoke spot. You never ate in the mornings, it didn't sit right with your stomach. Only, when you climbed the last step to the abandoned tower, you saw that it was already occupied by the same Slytherin from yesterday. His gaze flicked to you as he heard your approach.

As much as you wanted to just turn around and find another smoke spot, you didn't have enough time before your first lesson, and your nicotine addiction needed satiating. So, reluctantly, you took a seat on the windowsill and began rolling as Nott puffed away next to you.

"Good morning," he said as you glided your tongue along the paper.

You glanced up, muttering a, "Morning," before focusing on your cigarette again.

"Are you in my DADA?" he asked.

You gave a curt nod: it was your first lesson back that day.

He hummed absently, putting his cigarette out, but not moving from where he was sat. You said nothing on the matter, hoping to Merlin that he wasn't waiting for you in order to walk to the lesson together.

You began reaching around in your pockets for your lighter, cursing when you couldn't find it. Just as you were about to pull out your wand as a substitute, Nott was holding a lighter out towards you. You narrowed your eyes at him: you used a lighter out of the habit you had developed while living as a muggle the last year, but why would he use one?

As if sensing your confusion, he supplied your answer, "It's more satisfying."

It was strange to see a pure-blood who wasn't against anything and everything muggle, but you accepted his lighter, a strange sensation washing over you as you did so. It felt like you had just made an oath of some sort, agreed to something you didn't know the terms of— like something had now been sealed between the two of you. Pushing that thought aside, you took your first drag, letting the familiar contentment that nicotine provided take over you.

"Thanks," you murmured, handing the lighter back to him.

There was nothing but silence as you smoked, not another word said even as you finished and went to stand up. He stood up, too, and it was then that your fears were confirmed: he was going to walk with you to the lesson. You supposed it was probably just politeness, but Nott had never struck you as someone who cared about that sort of thing. He, like the other Slytherin boys, was known for his quick temper and rude disposition. But for all you knew he could have changed in the year that you were gone.

You didn't ask— you seldom asked questions, no matter how curious you were. Instead, you allowed him to walk alongside you without complaint, subconsciously adjusting the bag strap on your shoulder.

When you reached the classroom without having exchanged a word, Nott's friends— Riddle and Zabini— approached and greeted him. They didn't notice you, which was expected, so you took the opportunity to slink away to your seat at the back of class. You felt Nott's eyes linger on you as you went, but paid no mind to it, refusing to turn around and look at him.

The professor called attention to the room.

"From what I understand, you all made contact with a boggart back in third year," she began, "Obviously it has been sometime, and in order to ease you back into Defence Against the Dark Arts after learning the Dark Arts, I think it would be a good idea to revisit some basics."

There were murmurs of fear and excitement as she pulled forward a cupboard, much like the one from third year.

"Everyone, form a queue," she said, "Do you remember the charm to counteract a boggart?"

Hermione Granger's hand instantly shot up, and the professor gestured for her to answer.

"Riddikulus."

"Excellent!" she smiled, "Let's begin, shall we?"

You had taken a position in the middle of the queue, and watched as the first people faced their fears and turned them into something ridiculous. Laughter began rippling throughout the classroom, and you even felt your lips curving up ever so slightly. But, when it came to your turn, your face went completely solemn.

You watched as what had been a massive snake from the previous person morphed into a reflection of yourself: only, it wasn't you. You would never wear such a glamorous and expensive dress, and you would never have such a wide smile on your face as flashing cameras surrounded you. Clenching your jaw, you watched as boggart-you waved and posed for the cameras, and raised your wand.

"Riddikulus," you murmured, and the scene before you unfolded with boggart-you slipping on a banana peel and tearing her dress. Laughter boomed from behind you, and you quickly walked away to the back of the classroom as the next student had their go.

It wasn't long before it was Nott's turn, and for some reason you found yourself paying more attention than you had before. Your eyes followed his movements as the boggart took the form of an older man, who had a stern look on his face. He seemed familiar, and it only took you a few moments to realise that you had seen him in the Daily Prophet after the war. It was Tiberius Nott, a death eater who had been sent to Azkaban for life after Voldemort's defeat— also Theodore Nott's father.

Nott remained emotionless as he faced his father, refusing to react as he raised his wand and muttered the spell. Then, Tiberius Nott was suddenly wearing clown attire, quickly becoming the next laughingstock of the class. Theodore Nott left the front of the queue and came around to the back where you were while Riddle faced the boggart.

"You're afraid of being popular," he stated as he stood beside you.

"You're afraid of your father," you replied— not as an insult, just as a fact.

"Fathers are terrifying when they're death eaters."

You shrugged, "I don't know mine."

Nott eyed you curiously, as he didn't know what to make of you. Not that anyone really did. Before he could say anything else, Riddle was walking towards the both of you. It was of no surprise that he didn't acknowledge you, likely not even noticing you stood there beside his best friend. That was how you liked it, so you moved your attention away from their conversation and watched as Zabini approached the boggart.

When he finished and joined his friends, you heard Riddle ask, "Wanna go for a fag after this?"

Nott agreed easily, whereas Zabini declined.

"L/N," your eyes widened, and you snapped your head in Nott's direction, "You coming?"

"Coming where?" you knew what they were talking about.

"For a smoke," Nott tilted his head towards the door, "After this lesson."

You watched in horror as Riddle and Zabini's eyes settled on you in confusion and lack of recognition, despite the fact a celebrity version of you had just been displayed to the whole class. But, you supposed, celebrity you didn't resemble your natural state all that much.

"No, thanks."

He raised an eyebrow at you, as if he believed that you would definitely be going for a cigarette after the lesson, just not with the Slytherin boys.

The professor called for everyone to sit down as the last person finished with the boggart, and as the three boys walked away from you, you heard Riddle mutter, "Who the fuck is that?" to his friends. With a sigh, you took your seat and got out some parchment, hoping that the interaction wouldn't be the trigger for everyone in the school knowing who you were.

But, had you ever been lucky?

***

It horrified you how easily Nott could spot you in a crowd, as it wasn't something you were used to— in fact, it was something that you had purposefully avoided. But that was no more, as when you entered the Great Hall for dinner, at the usual time as everyone else for once (your hunger had dictated that), he had made eye contact with you and gestured for you to come sit with him. Immediately, you shook your head: you weren't there to make friends, and you weren't about to sit on the Slytherin table as a muggle-born.

When his friends turned to see who he was beckoning over, they scanned the area you were in without their eyes ever landing on you. Not even Zabini or Riddle, who had seen you the other day, noticed you stood by the entrance. So, why was Nott different?

You took the opportunity to take a seat at the Ravenclaw table with your back to the Slytherins, not wanting to further engage. You had experienced more than enough socialisation for a lifetime in the last week, in your opinion. It was probably at least once every couple of days that you happened to venture to the tower smoke spot at the same time as Nott, and part of you wanted to find a new place. Alas, you had developed an attachment to that tower, and the views were remarkably soothing, so you hadn't.

It was why you didn't bother to move when Nott arrived to see you sat on the window sill that evening, after you had disregarded him at dinner.

"Are you really so scared of making friends?" he asked from behind you.

"Why do you care?" you scoffed.

"You intrigue me."

"Forget about me, Nott. I prefer it that way."

He chuckled, "I think forgetting you is impossible."

You clenched your fist, "Why would you want to associate with a mudblood?"

"I don't give a shit about blood purity, L/N," he said, accidentally dropping his lighter. You heard him curse under his breath in Italian, before looking at you again. "Can I ask why?"

"Why what?" you grumbled, taking a puff from your cigarette.

"Why do you keep to yourself?"

You assessed his intentions cautiously, debating how much information you should give him. Eventually, all you said was, "Saying too much has consequences. If people know too much about you, they use it against you."

"Who's they?"

"Everyone."

He shook his head, "But, it's not, though, is it? Who gave you such a warped perception of reality?"

"It may not be your reality, but it's mine."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Why should I tell you?"

Nott shrugged, "I'm just trying to understand you."

"Well, stop trying."

"I won't," he said simply, "But if you're worried about me having something on you, I'll tell you about me so we're even."

"Please don't."

"My mother died when I was quite young," he began, against your will, "Which left me to my father, who you are familiar with."

"Are you looking for pity?"

"No, I don't want your pity," he scowled, "I told you why I'm telling you. Stop being dense."

You frowned at his words.

"Where my mother was sweet and loving, my father was anything but," he explained, "Physically abusive, literally a death eater, punished me if I ever cried."

You focused your eyes on to your cigarette, ashing it with a tap of your finger.

"I won't let him dictate my life. No matter how much I feel like I'm just as bad as him, I can't let it get in the way of having friends and a decent life."

"You're not your father," you said quietly, unsure as to why you were still entertaining this conversation.

"How would you know?"

"Because you're talking to me."

He hummed softly, "So, there, you know about me. You know something I hardly even talk about with my closest friends. Tell me about you."

You thought about it for a couple minutes, mulling over whether or not you should finally share what has hung over you your entire life. Nott remained silent as you finished your cigarette and fought an internal war within yourself. Eventually, you spoke.

"My grandfather abused me when I was young," you said quietly, "Whenever he visited, whenever I went 'round to his. In the night, he would come into my room and-" you cut yourself off.

Nott said nothing, regarding you cautiously.

"He told me not to tell. Not to say a word," you finally continued, "But I told my mum one day, because I was bleeding..." you gestured down to your crotch.

"She didn't believe you?" he asked, his tone gentle.

You chuckled, "Of course not. I tried to ask her to look, to prove that I was bleeding. She wouldn't. Said her father would never do such a thing."

"Sounds like denial."

"I'd bet my life he did the same to her when she was young, and she's blocked it out. That seeing it on me would have brought back memories that she's so desperately shut out."

He nodded.

"She told my grandfather what I'd accused him of, and my life became hell right until I got the letter inviting me to Hogwarts."

"And that's why you think telling people anything is a bad idea."

With a sigh, you stood up, "All honesty and closeness brought me was pain and suffering."

"You've just been honest with me."

"Rowena knows why," you muttered.

"You can't let him haunt you forever."

"He's still alive," you said simply, pinning your eyes on to his face, "Don't tell anyone about this."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

And, strangely, you believed him.

***

After trusting Nott with your life story, you had found a new smoke spot: it didn't have the views or tranquility of the abandoned tower, but it didn't have anyone else either. You saw him in class, and occasionally at meals, and he would always lock eyes with you and give a nod as greeting. Sometimes you returned it, sometimes you didn't. But before long, a couple months had passed, and you were quite secure in the knowledge that he hadn't told anyone your secret nor was he going to use it against you.

You didn't hesitate in signing up to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas, not wanting to face your family. When Voldemort's return had been confirmed, both your mother and grandfather— as your apparent two closest relatives— had been obliviated and sent abroad. Once he was defeated, they were found and given back their memories of you, but you hadn't gone to see them. Instead, you had stayed at Hogwarts over the Summer, helping to rebuild what had been destroyed during the battle. And now, you weren't sure if you could ever go back home. You hadn't seen either of them in years, and had become quite content with the lack of danger over the Summer holidays.

It was the first day of the castle being almost empty, and you made your way down to the Great Hall for lunch. Only one of the house tables was laid with food: the Gryffindor one. It would have been a waste to lay any more tables with so few students present.

You noticed that Nott was sat at the table, and when he saw you enter (the only one who saw you, that was), he gestured for you to sit near him. Maybe it was because he wasn't surrounded by his friends this time, or maybe it was because the food was only on one small section of the table, but you sat opposite him.

"How've you been?" he immediately asked.

Shrugging, you put some sandwiches on your plate, "Same as always."

"You stopped coming to the tower."

You sighed, "I like to smoke alone."

He pursed his lips, but changed the subject, "What are you doing on Christmas day?"

An incredulous look swept across your face, "Same as everyone here."

Nott rolled his eyes, "Even the people who are here open gifts with each other."

"I doubt I'll get any gifts."

"That makes two of us," he replied, "Do you want to do something on Christmas day together?"

"Why?" you frowned at him, "Surely Riddle is here."

He shook his head, "He spends Christmas with the Malfoys. They're cousins, y'know." At your raised eyebrow, he added, "On his mum's side."

"Regardless, I told you I'm not interested in friends."

"There is no obligation of friendship here," he raised his hands up in mock surrender, "You can never talk to me again after these holidays."

Taking in a deep breath, you said, "Fine."

He smiled at you, and you couldn't help but notice how soft and non-threatening he looked with such an expression. It was a rare sight on him.

***

Apparently he had taken your agreement to spend Christmas day with him as an agreement to spend the entire holidays together. Nott joined you for studying in the library, and followed you to your new smoke spot, making you sigh and decide at that point you might as well return to your preferred abandoned tower. He didn't talk a lot of the time, just sat in companionship with you, and you found yourself getting irritated. Not at him, but at the fact you were beginning to feel comfortable in his presence, and experience the urge to seek him out on occasion. It was a foreign feeling: one that you had never allowed yourself to come close to.

But you weren't sure if you wanted to stop it any longer.

The bubble you had become wrapped up in shattered one day when Professor McGonagall, the headmistress, found you in the library and informed you that you had visitors. You looked worriedly over at Nott, realising that for the first time in your life, you didn't want to face a situation alone. Because you had a sneaking suspicion of who it might be.

You stood up, and Nott did too. For once, you were grateful that he was following you around without your permission. McGonagall assessed that you were okay with him coming along, and led the both of you to her office, where you found yourself fidgeting with your fingers as the stairs rose up. Nott placed his hand on yours and squeezed gently before pulling away again, an action so soft and without malice that you damn near broke down on the spot.

Moments later, your fears were confirmed: your mother and grandfather stood before you. They had smiles on their faces, but they looked so forced that you felt sick to your stomach. Subconsciously, you shifted closer to Nott, who had straightened his back and let his typical resting bitch face fall upon him— one of arrogance and threat. McGonagall hadn't come in with you, saying that they wanted to speak with you alone. That was when you had said that Nott was going in with you or you weren't going in.

"Y/N, it's been so long, darling," your mother spoke, making bile rise to your mouth. You swallowed quickly, not returning her smile.

"Why didn't you come home for Christmas?" your grandfather asked, taking a step towards you. Instinctively, you stepped back. He paused and frowned, "We haven't seen you in years, but it's finally safe, is it not?"

It's never safe with you. That's what you wanted to scream, but no words came out.

"We've missed you," your mother added, also taking a step forward. You felt so small in front of them, like you were once again that heartbroken six year old who had just discovered that no one was there for her.

"And who's this?" your grandfather asked, surveying Nott cautiously.

"Theodore Nott," the boy replied through gritted teeth.

"Is this your-?"

You cut your mother off by asking, "Why are you here?"

"We've come to take you home," your grandfather said with a grin that was clearly meant to appear jovial, but to you symbolised the devil's incarnate.

"No," you said as firmly as you could, but your tone held a quiver.

The smile dropped from your grandfather's face, and he turned to Nott once more, "May we have a moment alone?"

"Not a chance," the boy instantly replied, crossing his arms. He was a lot taller than your grandfather.

That was when the eyes of your grandfather darkened to their usual state, and your mother's mouth settled into a grim line.

"I don't know what she's told you," the former spoke, "But none of it is true, she was a very imaginative child-"

Nott cut him off with a scoff, "No child who's had a normal childhood imagines such fucked up things."

Your eyes widened in disbelief at Theo's (when had you started thinking of him as Theo?) bluntness.

"My father would never do such a thing," your mother immediately cut in, "These allegations are extreme and unjust."

"I'm not coming home with you," you said, changing the subject.

"I am your mother," she said curtly, "And you are my child."

"I am an adult now."

You watched as she took a deep breath, "Y/N, we are family. Christmas is for family."

"I never want to see either of you again," you said quietly, your voice feeling separate from your body.

"We should have never let her go here," your grandfather said to your mother, "Her delusions have only been fed."

"The only delusions around here are yours," Theo said sternly, "I think it's best that you leave."

"This is none of your business, boy," the old man before you growled, taking strides towards him. In a flash, Theo had pulled out his wand and held it towards him, causing him to back up out of fear.

"I'd watch your mouth, if I were you. Y/N's welfare is every bit my business as it was meant to be yours."

Your relatives said nothing.

"I believe that everything that needed to be said has been said," he continued, "So we will be leaving. If you try to contact her in any way, shape or form again, I won't hesitate to use dark magic on you."

And with that, Theo wrapped his free arm around you and guided you back to the exit. Only once the door behind you was closed and the stairs were lowering did you realise that your entire body was trembling. All you could think to do was murmur a "thank you" towards Theo, who stroked your arm gently.

Once you reached the bottom, you were faced with McGonagall, who had a deathly serious look about her. You broke down, collapsing to the floor as tears and sobs that you had suppressed for years bubbled to the surface and shook your body violently.

"Get them out of here," Theo said to her, crouching down beside you and taking you into his arms. You accepted the embrace, having not felt one in years, and cried into his chest.

The headmistress nodded, scanning over you one last time.

"I'll take care of her," Theo muttered, and that was all the woman needed to head up the stairs with a look of fury that could ignite nations. You didn't know what she had made of the situation, but she had evidently decided that she didn't like your family. "C'mon," he murmured, helping you up and guiding you in a direction you were too bleary-eyed to register.

Your sobs escalated as the two of you walked, and finally you realised that you were heading down to the dungeons. You heard him say the password to the door before you were led into the Slytherin common room of black and green. He didn't stop there, however, instead taking you down further stairs to where the dormitories were.

It wasn't long before you found yourself curled up on his bed, the other beds in the dorm vacant for Christmas. You rocked back and forth, gripping your knees tightly.

Theo shushed you softly, sitting next to you and pulling you into his side.

"It's okay, angel, you're safe now," he whispered, "I won't let anything happen to you."

"You-" you hiccuped, "-promise?"

"I promise. You never have to see them again."

"P- Pinkie promise?" you held up your pinkie to him, and that was when Theo saw in your eyes that a part of you had never grown out of infancy.

He kissed your head, hooking his finger around yours, "Pinkie promise."

***

Numerous nightmares followed after that day— flashbacks and memories that you had blocked out catching up to you and forcing you to re-live it all. The first night, you pushed through, staying awake after waking yourself up and sobbing under your sheets until the sun came up. You didn't tell Theo why you were so exhausted when he questioned it, showing concern for you, as you didn't want to worry him. But, the second night, when you nervously drifted off and your demons returned, you snapped awake only wanting Theo.

With tears streaming down your face, you crawled out of bed and pulled on your Ravenclaw jersey, before creeping down the dormitory stairs and into the common room. There weren't many people that you could have woken up, but you really didn't want anyone seeing you in your current state. Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the tower door and left, ignoring the statue's questions of where you were headed.

It was a long trip to the Slytherin dungeons from the Ravenclaw tower, and you almost ran into Filch— luckily, you heard him from around the corner and hurriedly went a different direction. Since you were only wearing socks, your footsteps were soundless.

When you reached the portrait into Slytherin, you paused for a moment as you prayed that the password hadn't changed since he took you there two days prior. "Sonoros," you murmured to the painting, which gave you a disapproving look but reluctantly opened the door for you to enter. You scurried in, relieved to see no one was in the common room, and made your way up to the boys' dormitories. When you landed on the eighth years' floor, you pushed open the door and padded over to Theo's bed.

He was sleeping deeply, his remarkably attractive face almost glowing in the moonlight. The sight of someone sleeping reminded you of your night terrors, and more sobs choked out of you, causing you to lurch forward and shake Theo.

"Hmmph?" he grumbled, forcing his eyes open. When he saw you stood beside his bed with puffy cheeks and shaking limbs, he jolted awake. "Principessa, what happened?"

"I had a-" you hiccuped, "-a nightmare."

His gaze softened, and he lifted up the forest green bedsheets to beckon you in. Obliging, you curled up against his warmth and nuzzled your face into his neck. He didn't ask what you dreamt of, instead asking, "Is this why you didn't sleep last night?"

You nodded against him, and he sighed.

"You should have told me," he mumbled, stroking his hand through your hair. And then he talked you softly into a sweet dreamless sleep wrapped in his embrace, feeling safer than you had ever before felt.

***

At dinner the next day, Theo observed you as you picked at your food, clearly nervous about what that night had in store for you.

"Do you want to stay with me again tonight?" he asked, a question which made your eyes open wide.

"Uh..."

"You can stay with me all holiday, if you'd like."

"I..." your instinctive response was to put up your defences, and distance yourself from proximity with any individual. But, you felt the words of rejection get caught in your throat, and realised that there was a new instinct within you fighting with the old one. The part that was attaching itself to Theo, and firming itself into an iron grip that wouldn't let go now that it had finally found something to grasp on to. As the man in question gazed into your eyes, trying to read your body language, you realised that a suppressed part of you had surfaced— and you weren't sure that it could be locked away ever again. "Yes, please," were the words that finally came out: they were quiet, and felt foreign, but they were all you had to offer.

He gave you a soft smile: not the devilish smirk you had seen him give other girls from a distance, seen him use whenever he won a fight. No, it was genuine, with teeth and all. You were smiling back before you could stop yourself.

Theo eyed you curiously, "I've never seen you smile before."

Your breath hitched, "I'm not sure I've ever smiled before."

***

What commenced was a domestic routine. You kept pyjamas and some clothes in Theo's dorm, and you would brush your teeth together. Then, you would get into his bed, waiting until he beckoned for you to curl up to him. At first, you had been awkward about it, but it quickly became an instantaneous act of muscle memory. Theo felt and smelt like home— home. You had never felt at home before, and you certainly had never expected it to be with a person rather than a place. For the longest time, you had assumed that home would be the place you got for yourself after finishing Hogwarts.

Christmas Day started with a snowstorm in the middle of the night, one that had you waking up at dawn to see the layers of white outside the window. The holiday had never been a good day for you: mainly one of loneliness and a lack of gifts. You weren't materialistic, you didn't care about the presents, but that didn't mean you weren't envious of everyone going home to loving families.

But, that Christmas, you awoke in the warmth of Theo's arms, with a sense of peacefulness fulfilling you. His gentle breathing soothed you as he hugged you from behind, and for a while you remained like that, looking out the window at the snow and relishing in Theo's presence. When had he crept his way through your barriers? When had you started allowing it to happen?

"Buon Natale, principessa," you eventually heard him say from behind you, his deep morning voice sending a shiver up your spine.

"Buon Natale," you mimicked, making him smile into your neck.

"That means Merry Christmas," he murmured.

You chuckled softly, "I figured."

"I got something for you," he said, rolling on to his back, which made you turn over to face him.

"You did?"

He hummed, "It's nothing big."

"I got something for you too," you replied, knowing that there was a vinyl sat in your satchel across the room, which you had put in there on an offhand thought that Theo might like it.

"Should we exchange presents before or after Christmas dinner?"

"Before," you said immediately, "I haven't opened a present in years. I'm not waiting any longer."

"Okay, but can we stay in bed a little longer? È così caldo."

Those terms you could easily agree to— even finding yourself smiling fondly at his Italian. It always slipped out more when he was sleepy.

When had you come to know his habits so well?

***

"Merry Christmas," Theo grinned, handing a large velvet box to you as you sat cross-legged on his bed.

"What is it?" you asked cautiously, carefully popping open the lid only to have your breath taken away. A white gold necklace rested before you, with blue sapphires shining on the pendant that hung from it.

At your speechlessness, Theo explained, "It was my mother's. I thought you should have it."

"I can't take this," you said quickly, "It's a family heirloom."

He shrugged, "Then consider yourself as keeping it safe until I have a daughter."

"Is this your way of ensuring I stick around?" you chuckled.

"Maybe. Is that bad?"

You shook your head, "Thank you. It's so pretty— puts my gift to shame."

"Cara mia, it is not about the cost."

With a sigh, you got up and went over to your satchel, pulling out the vinyl that you had treasured and loved for so many years. "It's not much, but I thought you might like it."

You handed the album to him.

"What is it?"

"It is a vinyl. What muggles play music from."

His lips parted in understanding. "You will have to teach me how to use it."

"I will," you agreed, feeling like what you had actually agreed to was being around forever.

"Thank you," he said, "Would you like to try the necklace on?"

"When I'm dressed. I must do it justice."

Theo chuckled.

***

One thing you had to admit was that Theo's dead eyes sent a shiver up your spine: you felt it as he put the necklace on you, his warm hands a contrast to the cold of the metal as he did up the clasp. You were dressed up for Christmas dinner— not impressively so, but nicer than you normally did. For once, you had foregone your hoodie, and properly cleansed your face of your makeup before doing it again. Maybe the motivation for it had been Theo in the room, but ultimately, you felt quite calm.

"Sei bella," he murmured, and you knew enough Italian to know what bella meant.

You suppressed a smile, admiring his attire of dress trousers and a shirt. He lacked a tie, and the top buttons were undone— topped with his rolled up sleeves, he looked divine.

"Let's hope the dinner isn't too boring," he chuckled, "But, either way, we can have a smoke after."

"Sounds like heaven," you said, turning around to look up at his gorgeous face. A few weeks ago, you would never have let yourself find someone attractive: in your head that was as good as an attachment to someone. Yet, here you were, knowing that your soul had grasped on to Theo's and would never let go. You still had your hesitancies, but they were being overrode by your intense craving for affection.

"Should we go down?" you asked, glancing at the clock on the wall.

He hummed, "Just one more thing."

"What?"

His thumb and pointer finger delicately touched your chin, and your blood pressure skyrocketed when he leant down and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. "I couldn't resist."

You were rendered speechless— was that what a kiss was supposed to feel like? Magical, willing, heart-fluttering?

"Shall we, amore mio?"

"We shall," you smiled, accepting his extended hand.

***

The dinner was as boring as Theo had predicted, with the expected speech from McGonagall and then everyone falling into separate conversations. However, the delicious food was the saving grace, and you ate more than your stomach could handle, as well as drank a few glasses of red wine which had been provided for the professors and the adult students.

But, the highlight of your day was when you and Theo smoked in the usual tower spot, remaining in a soothing silence as you watched the snow fall.

"Can we build a snowman?" you asked, putting out your butt on the stone wall.

He quirked an eyebrow at you, "Why?"

"I've never built one," you muttered, wanting to rekindle the childhood joy that you had never truly experienced.

"Well, then, I hope you've got thick gloves."

***

"He's so ugly," you commented, staring at the snowman before you. He had a carrot on his face, courtesy of the kitchen, and a variety of stones creating a disturbingly fake happy expression. You turned around to where Theo had been stood next to you, only to see that he was gone. "Theo?" you called out, spinning around to find him when you felt a thud of something against your back.

When you looked in the direction of the throw, you saw the man you had been looking for laughing and gathering up snow into a ball.

"You son of a bitch," you cursed, leaning down and accumulating some snow of your own. Immediately you let fire, hitting him right in the chest.

"Oh, it's on!" he shouted back— the trigger for ten minutes running around and hurtling snow at each other until you tripped. Only, you found yourself laughing as you hit the ground, flopping into a starfish position as Theo dashed over to you. "Are you okay, principessa?"

You sat up and tugged on his leg, making him topple over too. "I'm perfectly okay."

"Clearly," he groaned, propping himself up on one arm to gaze at you.

"I think I won this one."

Theo rolled his eyes, "If my lips weren't so numb, I'd kiss you right now."

Your lips parted in shock, making him laugh.

"And I won that one," he said, "Can we go inside before we freeze, please?"

And when you and Theo were cuddled up in front of the fire with hot cups of tea, you knew that your isolated life was no more, and you had almost fully let go of your reservations about forming attachments.

***

Bliss can only last so long, of course, and the horde of students returned early January with their trunks and chatter in tow. You reluctantly returned to your Ravenclaw dormitory, knowing sleep would be difficult after growing accustomed to the comfort of Theo's arms.

But you had no choice.

Still, as you walked down the hallways alone for the first time in two weeks, your hood over your head and eyes cast down, you felt lonely. You had never felt lonely before— well, maybe in part. But your fear of knowing someone and being close had overrode the loneliness: your phobia of being hurt again had made you view loneliness as a comfort. It didn't feel like a comfort any longer, not now that you had tasted Theodore Nott and all that came with him. Not now that he had shown you good intentions and security.

"Y/N!" you heard a call from behind you.

You spun around, feeling a smile tug on your lips as you recognised the voice. That was another thing Theo had brought you: smiles that came naturally, like a flower blooming because it had been nurtured and nourished to perfection, not in spite of its environment.

"There you are, principessa," he murmured, pulling you into his embrace, "I haven't seen you since last night."

"It's not that long," you shrugged, but you had missed him too.

"Too long," he said, taking your hand in his, "I could hardly sleep without you. Kept worrying about your nightmares."

Your face dropped, and that told Theo everything he needed to know.

"You had one, didn't you?"

With a dismissive nod, you turned and began walking down the corridor with him, "It was nothing. I'm fine."

"You promise you'd tell me if you weren't?"

"I'm always fine when I'm with you," you said quietly, "I wasn't fine last night, or this morning, but now you're here— I'm fine."

His eyes softened at your words, and he squeezed your hand. "Let's get some lunch."

***

When you entered the Great Hall, you felt Theo tugging you over to the Slytherin table where his friends were gathered. You swallowed your anxiety and shifted closer to him, deciding that as long as you had Theo as protection, these people couldn't hurt you.

They didn't notice either of you until you sat down.

"Theo! Where have you been?" Mattheo Riddle asked, his eyes then flicking to you, "Oh, it's you again... L/N, right?"

You nodded the affirmative.

"Who?" the girl next to him, Pansy Parkinson, asked.

"The girl Theo's been courting."

"I didn't know Theo was courting anyone," Lorenzo Berkshire frowned.

"Are you in the year below?" Pansy turned to you.

"No. I'm in your year."

Her eyes widened, "Salazar, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," you said. And, really, it was. You were used to it.

"Are you official, then?" Mattheo questioned, changing the subject effectively.

"Yes," Theo replied, before you could even process what Mattheo had just asked.

"Never thought I'd see the day where you settled down," Blaise Zabini chuckled.

"Just hadn't met the right girl yet."

Your heart flipped.

***

"Sorry about that earlier," Theo said to you later at the smoke spot, "I figured it was the only way to not make the situation awkward."

"Sorry about what?"

"Saying we're official."

"Oh."

Theo quirked an eyebrow, "Unless you're not sorry?"

You pursed your lips, "Maybe I'm not."

He grinned, "Then allow me to ask you officially, cara mia, will you be my girlfriend?"

"I want to," you took a deep breath, "But, I just— certain things are going to take some time for me. I— I will need easing into things like, uh..."

"Sex?" he finished for you.

Shamefully, you bobbed your head.

"Of course, we will take all the time you need," he smiled, moving closer to you to place a hand on your cheek, "I'm not in it for the sex. I'm in it because ti amo."

"I think I love you too."

"I'm here for you always, amore mio. I promise."

"Pinkie promise?"

"Pinkie promise."

——————————————————

masterlist

written; 04/05/2024 —> 22/05/2024 published; 26/05/2024 edited; —/—/——

#hp oneshot #harry potter fanfic #theo nott x you #angst #fluff #theo nott x y/n #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #slytherin boys #im going feral #i love y/n #which is rare #i wanna hug and comfort her #i deserve this kind of love #why not me

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chuluoyi · 7 months ago

Text

✎ throughout heaven and earth

- gojo satoru x reader

a sudden mission. a curse beyond your grade. all hell breaks loose when gojo realizes that there are hidden machinations behind the incident that befalls you

genre: feral!gojo, injured!reader, hurt/comfort, exponential fluff !

note: we need a gojo who will go ballistic against the higher-ups for dragging you in their mess :) refer to this for the reader's CT, and this loosely takes place after the events in heaven's fury, and the epilogue is based on this very brilliant idea :))

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Something isn’t right.

You should’ve known it was strange when they assigned you with a sudden mission with little to no briefing. You should’ve gone through with your gut feeling and informed Satoru about it.

Because if you did... now you wouldn’t be running for your life like this, frantically dodging the hacks and slashes of this chainsaw-like cursed spirit that was evidently not a Grade 2 as what you were told.

“Ah!” you yelped as the sharp ends of its body struck your shoulder, leaving you bleeding openly. This was no small wound—it was deep enough to make you stagger.

You had to do something about this because merely avoiding wouldn’t save your life. You had to come back in one piece. You have to— for your baby and Satoru.

What if I can’t? The sheer thought made you tremble. Your baby boy was still so little and he needed you more than anyone, and Satoru...

God, you couldn’t bear to leave him alone. Not again. He couldn't handle losing someone again, not after all he had already lost.

You gripped your whip—your cursed weapon—tightly amidst your bleeding hand. You had barely enough cursed energy for a domain expansion that guaranteed a sure-hit effect. You have one shot. This was all or nothing.

But you weren’t sure if it would work, because you were on the verge of exhaustion, and this was a special grade curse. Your domain expansion was definitely not as refined as the Satoru’s, and this monster was an enemy of his class.

“Satoru...” your voice came out in a sob. You were terribly scared, and honestly you were entitled to. You weren’t even sure you would survive this at all, and all you could think now was your husband’s silly grin and how much you loved him.

And right afterwards, you saw the cursed spirit lunging at you, and with everything left that you had, you screamed—

“Domain Expansion: Transcendent Veil!”

“Gojo-sensei, p-please come back... Nee-san is...!”

Satoru was in Kyoto when he received that call from Megumi— and that moment shattered his world as he knew it.

“Megumi, what is it?”

“She w-was sent on a mission... but then it's a special grade— a-and... she... she e-exorcised it b-but—!”

He teleported without second thought to Tokyo. His mind was blank, the only sound he could hear was his own violent heartbeats, and his fists were clenched so tightly.

“The cursed spirit got her too… It made a cut on her neck.”

His most precious wife... the one person he must protect at all cost, was now possibly—

“Megumi.” He saw him sitting on the hallway of the headquarters’ hospital the with his son on his lap—you had asked him to look after your baby—and the boy looked up to him.

“Gojo-sensei...” Megumi appeared shaken, and seeing that, Satoru immediately took his child from his hands, pulling the little kid into his embrace.

“Go back home, I’ll stay here.”

In all his life, Megumi had never seen Gojo Satoru as calm as he was now. He looked fearsome, as if he was in the battlefield.

“Ichiji.” Satoru turned to the other man rigidly standing next to Megumi, causing him to stiffen up even more. He didn’t say anything further as he pat his little son’s back, and yet Ichiji knew all the same what he wanted from him.

“It’s from… the higher ups, Gojo-san.” Ichiji gulped as he said it. “Y/N-san was suddenly called in yesterday night, and she was told it was an urgent mission.”

“Who called her?”

“It was…”

When Ichiji told him the name, suddenly Satoru barked a snort, and his lips curled into a manic grin. It was a menacing sight for both Ichiji and Megumi, as he looked almost unhinged if not for his secure grip on his son.

But contrary to what they were thinking, what filled Satoru at that moment was pure, unadulterated fury. A righteous sense of being crossed—because, how fucking dare they?

Those higher ups first pressed him to execute Yuji, and when he paid them no mind… now they staged this atrocity against you, most definitely to serve as a warning to him.

“Ichiji, tell them that I’ll pay a visit tomorrow. And drive Megumi home tonight.”

He would make his point loud and clear. He would show them how wrong it was to ever test him. But…

The plan barely satisfied him. They hurt you. His heart finally lurched as he processed the fact… when he heard his baby’s soft whimper against his shoulder.

. . .

You sustained serious injuries, but finally, you were out of critical condition.

When Satoru was allowed to see you, you were still connected to many monitors and breathing machine. He brought your baby too inside, and upon clearly seeing both of them, suddenly your eyes welled up with tears.

“Hey…” his hand gripped yours reassuringly. You sniffled when the strain of your broken ribs made you almost cry out in pain, and Satoru immediately calmed you down.

“Sweets— hey, don’t cry, yeah? You did good.” He pressed a soft kiss on the back of your hand. “You did freaking good. You’re okay now. You’re going to recover, yeah?”

You gave him a tearful little nod, feeling so grateful that you could see him again. And unbeknownst to you, seeing you like this broke his heart too.

“Mwa...” your baby, cradled in your husband’s arms, suddenly stretched his tiny hands towards you, and Satoru handed him over for you to hold.

With the little strength you possessed, you reached out to stroke his soft cheeks. Your son... the thought of how close you came to death brought another tear rolling down your cheek.

All sort of thoughts went through Satoru’s head at the sight. His wife, the mother of his son, who is proud of him for everything he does—

—and their sorry asses dared to hurt you.

Suddenly all he saw was red.

And he swore he would make it right to you. Soon.

“Ah, Satoru-kun… to what I owe the pleasure?”

“…I’ve heard that it was you who assigned that special grade mission to my wife, correct?”

“Oh, that. First of all, I must apologize for my... oversight. We were misinformed... Our scouts made a mistake while filling the files.”

Satoru was trying not to lose his composure first thing after coming here. Really.

But the knowing tone of the elderly Jujutsu Commander only fueled his rage, growing stronger the longer he stood behind this stupid paper divider.

“So it’s a mistake, huh?” he repeated in a satire manner. “Then do you know that my wife has just gotten out of her maternity leave this week?”

The man behind the divider chuckled quietly. “Satoru-kun… I know the sentiment. Of course you’ll be worried, and it did end in a rather… unfortunate incident. However, jujutsu sorcerers are bound to their duty, and your wife cannot rely too heavily on her status as a member of the Gojo clan to be excluded from—”

Fuck it. He had no patience any longer.

“Seems like I need to be a lot rougher, after all.”

Suddenly the room crackled with electricity and the Jujutsu Commander gasped at the sense of foreboding he felt. “Gojo, you can’t—!”

“Heh, but I can.” He let out the most satisfied laugh before opening his palm and chanting in a lower voice: “Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue.”

In a matter of seconds, the audience chamber of jujutsu headquarters turned into a pile of destruction. The commander barely made it out the deadly vacuum vortex with a shriek.

“Ah! N-no! Get a-away from me!” Satoru stared down at him coldly through his unobstructed heavenly eyes, as he pitifully tried to crawl away. He took one step towards him, stomped on his hand ruthlessly—causing the man to scream, before he got down to his level.

“N-no! Please, s-spare me...!”

“This is my first and last warning to you.” It was beyond terrifying, to see those six eyes in this close proximity. But even more dreadful was the tight chokehold on his throat—

“If you ever try to pull this idiotic stunt again on my wife, know that I can and I will snap your neck.” Satoru’s face split into a sinister grin as he tapped the man’s nape, before he crushed the bones of his hand with a crack and made him howl. “Remember that, yeah?”

. . . that day, none in jujutsu headquarters dared to spread any word about Gojo Satoru’s outrageous conduct, even when it was an attack against their own highest ranking leader.

“Satoru, you don’t have to, really—”

“Nuh, uh! I’ve promised you I’ll nurse you back to health!”

Unaware of anything and everything, you thought that your loving husband was a silly jester trying to make you feel better. On the fifth day of your stay in hospital, you were well enough to eat solid food, and Satoru insisted on spoon feeding you the fruits he cut himself.

“Good girl,” he praised with a wholly playful smile as you chewed on the watermelon. You looked at him with a mock frown, pursing your lips.

“You’re making me look like a kid.”

“You are, in fact, my second kid, so I have all rights to baby you.”

You let out a giggle, but then suddenly your throat felt like it was closing in and you coughed. Instinctively, you reached for your neck— your fingers tracing the scar there.

You still could remember the sense of paralyzing fear you felt as soon as your neck was cut. The heavy bleeding that followed, the way the world blacking out around you…

“Sweets…?” Satoru put down the plate and got a grip on your trembling figure. He gently pushed your chin up to meet his eyes. “Hey, look at me. Look at me, hmm?”

Your frantic eyes locked onto his, and your rapid breathing steadied. Your clammy hand reached out to touch his face... before you lunged forward, throwing your arms around him.

“Sweetheart…” Satoru hugged you back in return, sighing against the nape on your neck, as he planted a soft kiss there.

You tried your best not to cry but it was hard not to while remembering everything.

“I-I was so scared…”

“Mhm.”

“I-I kept thinking… w-what if I c-can’t see you… or baby again…? I… I s-still want to do a lot of… things… w-with you…”

The way you shook in his arms like a fragile leaf made something inside him burn. He was supposed to provide you with security, give you a life far removed from curses—

Having left that warning against the higher-ups wasn’t enough, he should’ve made him beg for his life more—

“Listen to me,” Satoru said as he broke the hug, the deep frown in his grave expression made you almost sob. He gently wiped your overflowing tears with the pads of his thumbs.

“Stop thinking that. You’re alright. You’re going to get better. You and me—we are going to raise our son together.”

You took in each of his words fully, even as your lips quivered.

“And mark my words…” Right in this moment, you thought that your husband was most dashing as he gave you his promises—as his blue eyes glimmered under the light. “They won’t ever lay their hands on you ever again. Not while I’m here. Not ever. I already made sure of that.”

You were curious about what he did, but you chose not to press further when Satoru leaned in suddenly and brushed his lips against yours in a soft kiss, melting your heart into mush.

When he pulled away, it was his usual teasing grin on his handsome face. “Now, I only have one duty left— that is to get my cute wife back on her feet. So, be a good little wifey and have lots of fruits and sleep, okay?”

You giggled freely this time, feeling tremendously safe and loved, and instead of answering, you chose to peck his lips instead— hoping that he’d know that you trusted him with your whole life.

. . .

“By the way… Satoru, where’s our baby?” you missed your pumpkin, and while being with your funny husband lifted your spirits, you wanted to cuddle him too.

He chuckled in response. “Ah! Since Megumi is on an assignment, I left him with Ichiji earlier! Don’t worry, I’ll come pick him up soon, ‘kay?”

Epilogue

“I’m going out for a bit, and if you ever make him upset or cry… I can and I will sense it! So Ichiji—do your best!”

“Bwa…”

“Eeek!”

Ichiji stared at Baby Gojo with literal sweat on his forehead, as the little being curiously looked up at him.

By all means, this baby was adorable. Even more so when his father dressed him in a shark onesie. It was a peculiar choice—just like any of Gojo’s choices were—but it sure made the baby look even more endearing.

But the thing is… he didn’t feel secure enough to hold him! Especially when he didn’t know if Gojo’s claim of telepathic connection with his son was true or not!

Amidst his thoughts, suddenly Ichiji felt a soft touch on his arm and immediately turned to find the little munchkin putting his little hand on him and staring at him with such pureness unbefitting of Gojo Satoru’s son.

How can this baby be a stark contrast to his father? Ichiji was almost tempted to snuggle him, but he knew better.

“O-oh… d-don’t touch me…”

And as he retracted his hand back, the baby suddenly widened his eyes, feeling betrayed apparently, as his little lips wobbled and face scrunched up, so ready to burst into tears—

“Hic…”

“—!! Nooo! Don’t cry! Your father will fry me! Eeek!!”

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toxicanonymity · 9 months ago

Text

The Spread

PAIR: Thomas Hewitt x f!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3.5k | SERIES | MAIN MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: You hide and don't get slaughtered. Tommy secretly keeps you. He's kinda sweet if you're good.

WARNINGS: I8+ Canon-typical violence (implied) & setting, captivity, dark caretaking, manhandling, sleeper hold, oral f receiving, noncon unsafe piv, finger gagging, dark fluff, tommy has a praise kink, stockholm syndrome vibes. NO human skin mask: leather partial mask shown in photo. He is feral and naive due to his family. No use of Y/N. Divider by gasolinerainbowpuddles.

SIZE KINK - Reader is much smaller than Leatherface, can be carried and maneuvered. He is 6’5”, thicc and STRONG.

You barely escaped the so-called law man, and your friends weren’t so lucky. They got chased right into the lair of a chainsaw-wielding giant.

“C’mon, Tommy,” the Sheriff encouraged the giant, “Just like the slaughterhouse.”

Heavy chains thrashed, and one of your friends groaned.

“Attaboy,” the Sheriff praised.

While they were distracted, you ducked into a nearby woodshed. You didn't dare go far – you had encountered too many hazards on the property to trust your footing, and couldn't risk calling attention. Instead, you sat there in the shed, paralyzed, listening to your friends get butchered. One by one, their squeals turned animalistic until a wet thwack or rev of a motor cut them off.

Finally, there were no more screams.

Huddled in a corner of the woodshed, you tried to keep your wits about you. The shed was about the size of a small dorm room. There were stacks of wood all around–some freshly cut, some rotted–and hay covered the floor.

You were in a tank top and Daisy dukes with cowboy boots that made you feel like an idiot. You had sap on your knees from crawling over the wood. Taking deep breaths did nothing but fill your nose with cedar - it was only a matter of time before you’d meet your fate. You picked splinters out of your hands as you replayed the chase in your mind. You began to feel sure “Tommy” had seen you run into the shed. If that was the case, you didn't know why he let you go. You could only guess he already had his hands full.

“Think we got’em all, son?” The Sheriff asked.

Tommy grunted.

“That’s my boy,” the Sheriff concluded.

The door frame would’ve been tall enough for most men, but Tommy had to duck on his way in. He carried an ax. Each step he took shook the entire structure. His breathing was loud, his mouth hanging open below the leather that covered his nose. The partial mask didn't cover his mouth. It was fastened with two straps behind his head nestled in thick, chestnut hair that came down around his shoulders.

Dusk was approaching. Not long after the Sheriff left, heavy footsteps crunched louder and louder toward the woodshed. Your heart pounded harder with each step.

The rickety door busted open with a plume of dust. Tommy’s silhouette consumed almost all the daylight that remained.

He approached you cautiously and paused when he was an arm’s length away. You whimpered, knees held to your chest. He sniffed around like an animal. Then he brushed a stray section of hair out of his eyes, and you saw a glint of uncertainty in his gaze. You tried to compose yourself, wondering if your fear could trigger him.

He knelt down to get a better look at you. He reached for you, and you jumped. He grumbled and held up a massive finger less than an inch from your mouth, telling you to be quiet.

Something possessed you to reach for his hand. He let you move it.

You put his palm on your cheek and watched his chest heave in confusion.

He tilted his head and stayed crouched there for a moment, staring at you with his brown eyes softening above the leather.

“Attaboy,” you whispered, repurposing the Sheriff’s words.

Tommy huffed, then abruptly stood. He left the shed, ax slung over his shoulder. He ducked again on his way out.

He didn't return for a while. You finally dared to open the door just enough to look out, but not for long, startled by an older woman’s voice calling, “Tommy!!! Time for supper.” You shrunk back into your corner, afraid you had been spotted.

You sat there frozen, afraid to run.

Sometime later, you heard a squeaky wheel approach the shed. The door opened more quietly than it had the first time. The hulking silhouette was backlit by a buzzing floodlight in the yard. The man seemed to be more careful and quiet this time. He had brought a few blankets. One of them was tattered, pale yellow bordering what used to be white, and it had Care Bears on it. He put the blanket over your body, coming all the way up to your neck, and patted your head. Then he took a bundle of newspaper out from under his arm and handed it to you like an offering. It smelled like barbecue.

As he turned to leave, you whispered, “Tommy.”

He dropped his head and looked back.

“Thank you,” you said.

Looking at the wall, Tommy offered a short nod before leaving. Then he locked the door from the outside.

After he left, you opened the newspaper. It was too dark to see, but the contents felt like a charred bone with bits of flesh hanging to it. You weren't hungry anyway.

You wrapped yourself tight in the blanket, and to your discomfort, your heart fluttered at the man’s softness with you. You replayed the day’s harrowing events in your mind’s eye and saw him differently than you had at first. Maybe he was nothing but an attack dog. You began to doubt he would've hurt your friends at all if not for the older, more wicked man in uniform.

Maybe Tommy was as much of a prisoner as you were. You wondered if he could talk. You felt sure he could listen.

After sunrise, you awoke to some commotion and heard a vehicle drive away. After a period of silence, you tried to open the door to the shed, but it was securely locked.

Soon, Tommy came back and unlocked it. He moved swiftly toward you with purpose in each heavy step, crouching slightly. The mass of his body strained his shirt. You'd never seen forearms like his. He could surely snap you like a twig, but something told you he wouldn't. Still, your heart raced when he lunged toward you. He reached over a wood pile and used both massive hands to force you onto your feet. He wrapped you in the blanket, then put you over his shoulder like a potato sack.

He put you into his wheelbarrow, then nestled some firewood around you. He looked around furtively as he did it. Then he covered you with another blanket and wheeled you across the bumpy ground, onto a smoother surface. He rolled a garage door down behind you and left you covered in the wheelbarrow as he rummaged around the garage.

You peeked out from the blanket and saw him placing shackles on a table. Your heart raced. You glanced behind you. The garage door was still lifted by a small margin. Maybe big enough to fit through.

You watched in terror as he brought out a mallet. Finally, your body unfroze.

You lowered yourself out of the wheelbarrow as carefully and quietly as you could and crawled toward the narrow opening. As you began to wriggle under it, your ass hit the door, making a noise far too loud to go unnoticed.

Within a split second, his massive hands were firm around your ankles, pulling you toward him, dragging you roughly across the concrete.

He manhandled you like a doll. He forced you onto your back and shook you, then wrapped a massive hand around your neck. Your life flashed before your eyes, and you kicked him. He grunted and grabbed you roughly by the shirt, then sat back on his knees. He held you with your back against his enormous thigh. Your Daisy dukes did nothing to protect your ass from the cold concrete. You thrashed, and he put the crook of his elbow around your neck, then everything faded.

When you woke up, you were chained to the table, with cold, metal shackles on your wrists and one ankle. You were bottomless, and the air was cool between your legs. Your feet were bare. All you had left was your tank top, which you wore without a bra.

You didn't dare move. A foul dust in the air made you sneeze, then Tommy came into view. He was wearing a butcher’s apron, and the sleeves of his dingy, button-up shirt were rolled up to expose those big, hairy forearms. He held the mallet. His eyes were industrious.

“Please don't hurt me,” you begged.

He laid a heavy hand on your shin, and you flinched. He gently placed your free ankle in a shackle, then nailed it shut.

“Please,” you begged.

He laid a hand on your thigh and looked you in the eyes.

“What are you going to do to me?” You asked.

He huffed and put the mallet away.

You were relieved until he returned with a meat cleaver. You tensed and squirmed. He laid a hand on your stomach and his searing eyes told you to stay still. He slid the cleaver under your tank top, and you held your breath and looked at the ceiling. Your nipples hardened at the feeling of his knuckles between your breasts.

He violently sliced upward through the fabric, turning your wifebeater into a vest which burst open, freeing your breasts. He inhaled sharply at the sight and discarded the meat cleaver with a metallic clatter on a nearby shelf.

“Please,” you begged again, then he stuck his fingers in your mouth and peered in. His thick digits tasted like charcoal and salt. Three fingers were enough to stuff the orifice completely. When you stopped whining, he abandoned your mouth.

He cupped a breast, then cupped both of them. He hummed a curious “mm,” Then dragged his thumb down your sternum before stepping away to survey your body.

You felt like a cadaver sliced open for examination. As he slowly stalked around the table, it dawned on you that's what he was doing. He was studying you.

He stopped at a long side of the table – your left side. He brought his face–his leather mask–to your skin, just below your ribs. His hair fell onto your body, and the light brush of it tickled. He paused to loosen the strap at the back of his head. Then he dipped his face to your abdomen again. He turned his head and dragged his cheek, and the leather, over your bare stomach, to your breast. You could hear him desperately sniffing and wondered why he didn't take that thing off.

Lips, hair, and smooth leather dragged across your skin as he wiped his face along your chest. Then his face made its way into your armpit, where a dart of his tongue made you flinch and shiver. His tongue darted out again. He sucked the delicate skin slightly into his mouth before releasing it with a soft grunt.

He paused and pulled away. He pivoted to stand behind your head, then brought his hands to your breasts. Helowered his mouth to your neck and licked you. His hair fell on your nose and smelled like smoke and metal.

He seemed to savor the taste of your skin. He licked longer, harder, the strong slippery muscle of his tongue nudging your jugular. You felt a rush of arousal and shame. He tasted the other side of your neck and hummed in satisfaction. The throbbing between your legs made you wince.

He dragged his tongue down over your chest to lap at your breast. He flattened his tongue to lick your nipple, then began to suckle at it. One thing was clear - this was not for your enjoyment. He was entirely absorbed in what he was doing. He didn't even glance at your face. Whether it was for his pleasure or curiosity, you couldn't be sure. He moaned into your nipple and you knew you must have been gushing onto the table.

After a few seconds, he pulled away from your tit and began to sniff the air. He stalked around the table some more and paused at your shackled feet, staring up between your spread legs. He found the source. His hands dwarfed your thighs as he pushed them further apart. Then he dabbed a thick finger, only grazing your folds as he picked up just a taste of you from the table and brought it to his mouth.

“Mm,” he hummed quietly, staring between your legs. He licked his finger again and his eyes searched the air curiously. Then he grabbed your upper thighs and anchored his thumbs on your outer lips, spreading you open. His heavy gut rested on the table between your feet as he leaned forward. As he lowered his mouth to your cunt, you twitched and felt another rush of shame.

His breath was hot on your cunt, then he dipped his tongue, and you tensed.

He lapped at your entrance, and the physical pleasure made you exhale and relax, while your fear remained. He licked and sucked, and your moan echoed before you could try to cut it short. Your chest was hot with embarrassment, but if he heard the sound, he ignored it.

He fed on your juices like a starved animal. He sucked and slurped, and dug his lips and tongue in, searching for more. The squelching and gurgling sounds were obscene between your legs. He closed his eyes and dug his fingers into your hips as he feasted.

The leather mask nudged your clit and made your hips lift into his mouth. He brought a hand to your lower belly to hold you still. Then his tongue plunged into you. You whispered, “good boy,” and your whole body felt weak with shame.

He paused and glanced up, then repeated the action. It was true, some part of you welcomed this, as afraid as you were. In any case, the heat and pressure building in your gut would have to release at some point.

He fucked you with his tongue, nudging your clit with the smooth leather, and you had to remind yourself to breathe. You'd never been eaten so voraciously. He moaned into your cunt and the tension was too much to hold. You whimpered as you began to pulse and twitch. His tongue paused as you clenched around it. Then he continued. Your back arched as he sucked it all out of you, swallowing every drop he could find. As your climax waned, you took slow, deep breaths.

Finally, he slowed down. He looked flustered for a moment, then his hand disappeared from your thigh. He pulled his face away, and the leather mask was soaked and shiny. Then he took his apron off. When he stood to put the apron aside, the protrusion in his pants made your breath hitch and your asshole flutter.

Your cunt spasmed once around nothing, and your insides churned as though making room for a massive guest.

You couldn't peel your eyes away. He adjusted himself, then palmed the bulge. His shirt had come untucked. The bottom button wasn't fastened, and his midsection strained the other buttons as his whole torso heaved. He eyed the mess between your legs as he palmed himself.

He seemed to be considering the possibility of stuffing your cunt with whatever monstrosity hid in his pants. He could take anything he wanted, but he didn't look proud of it. This didn't feel like something he did every day.

You decided not to fight back. You told yourself it was for survival, but you also twitched at the thought of him wrecking you. You looked at his crotch, then down between your legs, still gushing at the sight of him barely contained by his pants. The way his whole body wanted to bust out of his clothes made you weak in the knees. He was so solid and strong. You looked again from his crotch to your own, as though your eyes were instructing where to put it in defiance of your better judgment.

He grumbled as he picked up a hammer and approached you, making your heart nearly stop.

He pried the nails out of the shackles, and you cursed yourself for the way your heart fell. Your disappointment was quickly replaced by relief. A man this size, with these capabilities – he could have done serious damage to your body.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You laid on the table patiently looking at the ceiling as he went down to your feet and unshackled your ankles.

Then he grabbed you by the thighs and yanked you toward the end of the table, making you yelp. Your naked crotch came to rest flush against the bulge in his pants, making you ache with arousal. Your thighs trembled in fear.

You looked down toward him and he forced your chin upward, making you look at the ceiling. You pinched your eyes shut. You were at war with your body’s desire. He might kill you. He might actually split you in two. The dying squeals of your friends echoed in your mind. But his hardness swelled against you, and oh, fuck.

His hips backed up and you twitched at the loss of his warm package against you.

With your eyes still pinched shut, you heard his clothes jostling, then he spread your lips apart while he notched his tip against you. It was too big. He held your thighs again and pulled you toward him with a forward thrust and a grunt.

Being impaled with his cock felt like being split open. The girth burned as it stretched you, and you whimpered as your body tried to accommodate him. He stayed inside, and he sighed. You'd never felt so stuffed. He leaned forward, and the contact with your clit provided some relief as your body spread itself more. But still, your heart raced at the prospect of him moving. You prayed he would be gentle.

When you didn't stop whimpering, he stuck his fat, smokey fingers in your mouth again. He placed his other hand on your chest to hold you still, with the crook of his thumb close to your throat. You gagged on his fingers and he removed them. He wiped your saliva onto your nipple before kneading your breast.

Thankfully, you were wet and getting wetter. He held you down and slammed into you. The fullness pushed your thoughts out of the way along with your guts. You kept your eyes shut as he speared into you again.

His breathing and grunting seemed to echo through the room with every snap of his hips. His unholy girth twitched against your walls. He grabbed onto your hips and brutally pounded you. He used you like a sleeve until his moans were drawn out and his breath became ragged. He pulled you back hard and leaned forward, the weight of him resting on your lower abdomen. Your cunt fluttered in anticipation of his climax, but he paused. Your hips lifted, seeking friction for your front.

He pulsed once, making your chest flutter with pleasure, but then he swiftly slid out. He left you twitching for more as he finished coming outside. His cum painted your folds and inner thigh, and he grumbled and turned around. You lowered your chin to look just in time for him to release onto the wheelbarrow and floor. Then he stood there with his broad back heaving as he looked around.

You closed your eyes again and opened them when you felt fabric on your inner thigh. He was wiping you off with the bottom of his shirt. His face and neck were blotched pink, and he had fixed his pants. He was looking at you, chest still heaving when his ears perked up at the distant sound of tires on gravel.

He quicky put your shorts back on and gathered you off the table, nestling you in the wheelbarrow once more. He swaddled you in the old blanket, now wet with his cum, and opened the garage before quickly wheeling you back to the shed.

He placed you in the corner where you had been, just in time for the truck to park. As he turned to leave the shed, you said “Tommy. Can you bring me some water?”

He hesitated then gave a short nod before locking the shed again behind him.

He came back later with a jar of water and a metal bucket. You were shivering in the corner when he came in. He set the bucket down next to you, then placed his hand on the crown of your head and gently moved his fingers as he looked around. Then he abruptly began to unbutton his shirt. He pulled you up from the corner to put the shirt on you. His chest was hairy and broad, and his entire torso was thick, just massive.

“Good Tommy,” you said as he finished putting the shirt on you.

He paused and left it unbuttoned. His eyes were big. He held you by the sides, looking you up and down in the oversized shirt and Daisy dukes. Then he put you back where you were and locked the shed behind him.

The shirt was filthy, cumstained, and reeked of sweat, but it didn’t smell as bad as it should've. It didn't make you sick like it should've. When he left, you wrapped it tight around yourself, then looked in the bucket. There were apples.

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