#harry potter fanfiction

[nemesyaaa]

“Well, I didn’t want to have to be the one to say this. But, personally, I feel that we are all close enough now to discuss these things.” Enzo nodded his head. “Have we truly ever considered the possibility of a foursome?”

lmfaooooo why its always Enzo 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

ughhhh i love this concept !!! im so ready for the part2. pansy always has the best idea. she's just a good friend, not a bad influence. i will never get enough of theo being jealous and possessive but also such an incredible bastard 😫😫 i loved house of pride but his own medecine is also insanely good ‼️‼️‼️

“If you ever pull something like that again, I swear to Merlin, I’ll beat the fuck out of any man who touches you,” he breathed through ragged thrusts. “I don’t care if it’s Mattheo or Enzo or some random guy—I’ll fucking kill him.”

(rip mattheo and enzo by the way)

HIS OWN MEDICINE Pt. 1 // t. nott

RATING: R / 3.6K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* Your best friend, Pansy Parkinson, suggests fixing your boyfriend’s flirting problem by giving him a taste of his own medicine.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! (P in v) Unprotected, spanking, top!theo, bottom!reader, fem!reader, mean dom, innocent reader?, degradation, name-calling, weird authoritative thing going on with Theo (idk), one (1) use of ‘daddy,’ mild breeding kink, flirting while in relationship, jealousy, not fully proof-read (lmk if I missed any!)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

nobody - Toby Mai

- - -

“I don’t want to hear another fucking excuse, Theo!” you screamed, rage flushing your cheeks. It took everything in you not to strangle him right now.

After the third time catching him flirting with another girl, you were ready to walk again. You weren’t even sure how many times you’d broken up with him, and how many times he’d broken up with you.

But you were about to add another time.

“Please, baby, you know it’s not what you think,” he begged, trying to grab your hands. “She’s just a friend—we were just chatting.”

“Usually, you can chat with people without your hands wrapped around them! You seemed pretty fucking cozy with her!”

“Baby, come on…,” he cooed, trying to press some kisses to your fingers. Angry, you yanked your hand out of his grasp and tore out of the room. You heard the door slam behind you and ignored the gasps of shock as you shoved through a group of students moving in a unit down the hallway.

You could hardly stand that stupid man right now. If you saw his face again within the next 48 hours, you would punch him.

As you flew down the steps of the Slytherin dormitories and toward the mostly empty common room, you nearly knocked a petite woman over.

The two of you crashed into each other and grunted on impact.

“Watch where you’re going—Merlin! What are you doing down here, honey? Are you crying?”

It was Pansy, one of your best friends in the entire world. Though the tears had been pooling in your eyes since you stormed out of Theo’s dorm, her question had pushed you over the edge. An angry sob left your lips.

“Oh no! What happened?” she cried, wrapping you up in her small frame. Shamelessly, you wept into the folds of her robes. She smelled comforting, like home and daisies. You could hardly hold back the tears that poured down your cheeks.

“It’s Theo!” you gasped. “I broke up with him again!”

“Oh…again?” You could practically hear her rolling her eyes. “What did he do this time?”

“He was rubbing up on that stupid Gryffindor girl from last time—laughing and going on! I hate him! I never want to see him again!”

“Why do you let this keep happening?” she asked nonchalantly, patting your head soothingly.

“Me?” you scoffed. “He’s flirting with other girls!”

“Okay, but…you also keep getting back together with him,” she shrugged.

You pulled away from her and glared a bit. You knew your decision-making on the love aspect of things had never been terrific, but you couldn’t help it. Theo was so good to you (besides the flirting thing).

You had tried to rationalize it repeatedly, telling yourself he was just a friendly guy, but he never acted that way to other guys—only girls. And you’d realized your rationalization was stupid. And that he was just flirting.

“Listen,” she started again. “I get it more than anyone else. Theo’s very hard to resist—I’m just saying he’s attractive!” She quickly rushed to defend her words because, after all, though you and Theo were “broken up” right now, you’d likely be back together before the end of the week. That’s how pathetic you were.

“If you don’t want to break up with him, how about you talk about it with him,” she suggested. “You need to sit him down, get stern with him, and tell him that he’s not going to talk to these girls the way he is anymore.”

“I’ve tried that already, Pans! I practically scream in his face every time he does this shit!”

There was a moment of silence while the both of you seemed to mull the issue over.

“Well, then, how about we try something else?” Pansy said, her eyes glinting mysteriously. Your shuddering breaths paused for a moment as you looked up at her. Whatever she was planning couldn’t be good just by the look on her face.

“Er, what do you mean?” you asked, a bit of anxiety creeping up the back of your neck.

“If you can’t get him to stop in your own way…maybe it’s time to give him a taste of his own medicine.” She smirked wildly, her eyebrows rising above her bangs.

“You don’t mean—? Oh, no! No, Pansy! I’m not doing that. I can’t do that when I’ve shouted at him for doing it for so long!”

“Exactly,” she said. “You’ve asked him to stop repeatedly, but he’s not interested in discussion. He needs a threat.”

Despite the growing burning in the pit of your stomach urging you to accept her suggestion, you still felt horrible even considering it. Theo had never cheated on you; you just felt as though he was too friendly with other girls. But maybe Pansy was right. Maybe he wouldn’t understand how frustrating it was until he experienced it himself. It wasn’t like you were going to actually cheat on him. Maybe you could just talk to one of his friends and pretend to flirt. Just a little bit.

With the end of your free period growing closer, you decided you would make Theo jealous at dinner. You just had to decide who you would select to help with your antics.

***

Your eyes surveyed the Great Hall, flashing back and forth across the immense tables. Familiar faces glanced back at you in passing, their eyes aimlessly wandering as well. You couldn’t help but smirk just a bit, knowing your plans. Poor Theo had no idea what he was in for.

After weighing your options for a few minutes, you finally decided that if you really wanted to get to Theo, you needed to hit close to home—too close to home.

Your eyes locked on a familiar face you had often stared at, even before you got together with Theo. Mattheo Riddle.

A dark, brooding masterpiece of a boy. Truly, someone you’d be fawning over if you weren’t currently with Theo. But, saying that sounded like a broken record, considering how many girls and boys begged Mattheo for a second glance. You watched him closely, observing for a few moments.

His dark was clenched just a bit as he ran long fingers through his raven curls. It was entirely too much for you to watch…just looking at him had a bit of heat pooling in your stomach.

You couldn’t lie. In the few moments you’d forgotten about Theo and planned to make him jealous, the rose-colored glasses had come off, and the dark green ones had slipped over your eyes. Your chest was pounding, and it wasn’t for Theo at this very moment.

A prick of courage coursed through your veins and with a deep breath, you were moving quickly toward your target.

Enzo, Theo, and Mattheo sat at the edge of the Slytherin table closest to the Great Hall’s entrance. They gathered around each other, snacking and laughing. Mattheo sat on the table with his feet settled on the bench, Enzo sat just next to his legs on the bench, and Theo sat opposite Enzo. Maybe it was cheesy, but even Mattheo’s small rebellion of sitting on the table rather than the bench was calling your name. To not sound like every Gryffindor currently drooling over Mattheo, he really did have the perfect bad-boy vibe. He was like a sexy Muggle film.

Mattheo’s legs were spread with his elbows settled on his thighs—a dominating posture. His robe was settled over the edge of the table, and his tie was loosened, exposing a sliver of bronze chest and a singular chain dangling beneath the collar of his shirt. Merlin, this was sinful.

Theo caught your eyes and smiled brightly. He waved you over. That particular movement snagged the attention of Mattheo and Enzo—both of whom found your eyes and smiled in return. Maybe you were over-confident, but you could have sworn Mattheo had looked you slowly up and down as you approached.

Granted, you had changed up your outfit before coming to dinner. It was simple, but you were sure it’d get the job done with how it framed your figure and dipped down your chest. Your hair was styled, and Pansy had granted you her talent for makeup. You felt gorgeous, so you assumed you looked it.

Your wand was slid into the small decorative belt that came with the dress, and your hands were tightened behind your back in a sort of mock innocence. You smiled brightly, eyes only on Mattheo.

Completely ignoring Theo, you walked straight up to the two boys sitting before him. The both of them were looking you up and down now.

“Hey, Matty,” you giggled, stopping just before him. Smirking, he slid his arms around your waist and pulled you between his legs, your hips bumping against his core.

“Hey, baby,” he whispered. “You’re awfully bubbly this afternoon.” His voice vibrated against your ear, sending a violent chill down your back. You tried not to let your facade fall, but damn, he was good. You couldn’t tell if he was just playing along, seriously into it, or reading your mind. Who knew? Legilimency ran in his family.

“Baby?” Theo asked gently. You could just barely hear his voice past Mattheo’s warm body. “Matty?”

His poor, confused voice made your heart sink a little bit. You immediately felt bad. But this was for his own good. He was feeling what you felt every time he pulled this shit with other girls.

“I can’t help it,” you smiled. “I was excited to see you.”

“What the fuck? What did he do to get all the attention?” Enzo joked, smiling crookedly.

“Aw, but I was excited to see you too, sweetheart,” you cooed, leaning over Mattheo’s thigh to gently touch a finger to his chin.

“I think someone’s had a bit to drink,” Theo said sternly. You finally made eye contact with him. He was fuming. You swallowed nervously but ignored his threatening gaze. You were doing this for a reason.

“I’m completely sober, Theo,” you said blankly.

“You wanna go somewhere, mama,” Mattheo whispered against your cheek, his lips brushing your jawline. His arms were still wrapped tightly around your waist, his grip domineering and his scent overwhelming. Why did you want to say yes? Were you a bad person? You weren’t sure. This was a bad idea.

You giggled to avoid answering his question. Enzo’s eyebrow quirked at you before giving a glance to Theo.

“Well, I didn’t want to have to be the one to say this. But, personally, I feel that we are all close enough now to discuss these things.” Enzo nodded his head. “Have we truly ever considered the possibility of a foursome?”

Theo choked on his drink, Mattheo pretended to gag, and you gasped sharply.

“I’m just saying…it’s a valid question.”

“Enzo, shut up. Now.” Theo gripped his cup tightly, his knuckles bleeding white across his skin.

“Mattheo, take your fucking hands off of my girlfriend,” he said, turning to the man above you. “We need to fucking talk.”

His eyes never left yours as he pulled himself away from the table and walked toward the door. He didn’t even need to look back to know that you were trailing behind him with a half-defeated look on your face.

You were a bit frightened of the consequences of your actions, but you were certain that once you explained yourself, he’d be more understanding. You hoped.

Once the two of you were just past the doors of the Great Hall, Theo grasped your hand roughly, and, after being forced through a sickeningly tight tube with a loud suctioning sound, you were standing in Theo’s dormitory. You were a bit dizzy from Disapparating after not doing it for so long, but no amount of churning in your stomach could distract from the raging boy storming straight for you.

“What the fuck was that?” Theo shouted, forcing himself up against you. The pressure of his chest pushed you back up against the footboard’s bedpost. As the wood dug into your back, a gasp left your lips.

The way he looked down at you, fuming and jaw clenching, had you flushed ever so slightly. You didn’t know what it was, but his anger wasn’t pleasuring you as you thought.

An hour ago, you’d have assumed that you would feel amazing because of revenge. Not … something else.

“I was just…,” you trailed off, his eyes drilling holes through yours. Your hands wrapped around the bedpost behind you as you tried to make yourself as small as possible. “I wanted to make you jealous.”

His jaw ticked.

“You what?”

“I’m sorry,” you flinched at the volume of his words. “You’re always so friendly and touchy with all of your girl friends—I just wanted to make you feel the same way.”

“Feel what way?” he demanded.

“Jealous,” you whispered, embarrassed. Your eyes tore away from him and cast to the floor. Despite the confidence you’d had a few hours ago, you felt like the smallest woman in the world now.

“Jealous? You’re so pathetic,” he whispered, his voice suddenly soft and chiding. The word made a heat pool between your legs. Your lips parted in a silent gasp. You refused to look at him.

“Instead of just working through our argument earlier like adults, you thought it’d be a good idea to throw yourself on my friends to get a reaction out of me?”

“Well, when you say it like that—”

“Was it Pansy?”

“What?”

He sighed and clenched his jaw in frustration. “Did Pansy Parkinson put this stupid idea into your head?”

You looked down. You were too embarrassed to answer, but he knew. He scoffed and placed a surprisingly gentle finger beneath your chin. He tilted you up to look at him. His eyes were softer now.

“I know that Pansy is a bad influence on you, but you still have to be taught a lesson,” he murmured, his eyes ranging from soft and caring to lustful and mean.

“But, I–”

“Shut up,” he interrupted, voice stern as steel. “Don’t talk anymore, okay?”

Your lips snapped shut and, falling into an embarrassingly well-rehearsed routine, you nodded and forced yourself to keep eye contact with him. However, he had no issue doing so. His crystalline eyes never left your face except for one agonizing second when he dragged them down the length of your body.

You then forgot all of your previous endeavors and realized that Theo was going to have his way with you. He wasn’t more understanding, nor had you gotten your revenge. But none of that mattered right now. The heat pooling between your thighs had blurred all possible thoughts that might pass across your mind. The only thing you could see, smell, taste, hear, feel was Theo, Theo, Theo. You sucked in a shaky breath.

His fingers slid around your upper arms, pulling you closer to him. The way he touched you was gentle and slow—a precursor for the aggression that was to come.

“Turn around and bend over,” he whispered. His voice was nothing less than demanding. You couldn’t help but comply as if everything depended on your ability to follow his directions. Which, at this moment, it felt that way.

You turned and laid your torso across the length of his bed, tucking your arms beneath your chest. Your cheek lay against the satin comforter as your breath exited your body in short, shuddering pants.

“You deserve this,” he murmured. “You know you do.” His hands—so gentle—pushed themselves beneath the hem of your skirt. Your eyes clenched shut as your core pulsated in time with your rapid heartbeat.

The tips of his fingers caressed the curvature of your bare hips. With your intent to seduce, you’d figured you better dress the part as well as act it. For exactly that reason, you’d worn no bottoms beneath the tight dress. You could hear Theo inhale deeply as a single thumb slid over wettened, hot folds. You gasped sharply at the sensation.

“You wanted this,” he growled. Honestly, you hadn’t considered this as one of the outcomes of your little venture, but you wouldn’t deny what you currently wanted. With a whimper, you nodded your head and pushed your hips back against him.

A small grunt left his lips as your ass came into contact with his core, already engorged and pulsing, just as you were. You concealed a smirk. Perhaps it was the false persona you had put on this evening, but your confidence shone through the room like a lightbulb.

“Very well,” he sighed. “You’ll get exactly what you wanted, you pathetic slut. The only way you can get what you want is to show your ass in front of all my friends, huh? You couldn’t just fucking ask?” With each rhetorical question, he tore another piece of clothing from himself. His anger radiated off of him.

“My advice, love?” He rolled the fabric of your dress over your ass, allowing the cool air to bite at your core. “Next time…just fucking ask me to ruin this perfect cunt.” He pushed into you with a relieved groan.

The lack of any preparation had you biting into his comforter. Perhaps no foreplay was your punishment, but he felt too good for you to complain about it.

His hands gripped your hips like a vice as he pulled you back onto him at a sickening pace. He hit every spot inside of you with a bruising force, so hard that your face slid back and forth across his slick comforter. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t keep a hold on the surface. Theo’s rage-filled thrusts knocked you loose from any grip you gained on his sheets like it was nothing.

“If you ever pull something like that again, I swear to Merlin, I’ll beat the fuck out of any man who touches you,” he breathed through ragged thrusts. “I don’t care if it’s Mattheo or Enzo or some random guy—I’ll fucking kill him.”

His words pushed you closer and closer to the edge. Shamelessly, you moaned his name as if it were the last thing you’d ever say. He looked like a god behind you with his hair stuck to his forehead and his lips parted, his sweat circled the air, his name tasted perfect in your mouth, his moans were glorious, and he felt delicious inside you. Again, Theo was all you could see, smell, taste, hear, and feel.

“Yeah, baby? Does that feel good?” he whispered to you, taunting you endlessly. “Who fucks you like this, huh?”

“You,” you whined, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I couldn’t hear you, baby. It sounded like you said Enzo. Was that right?” he cruelly teased you. His hand came down hard across the brunt of your ass cheek. “That’s what you fucking get. Now, who fucks you like this?”

“You!” you tried again, desperate to feel your release.

“Mattheo? Oh, you’re really trying me today!” he shouted, bringing his hand down against you again. You yelped beneath the bite of his hand. You could practically already see the handprint forming across your skin.

Theo suddenly grabbed your hair roughly and pulled you against his body. Your back was pressed to his front, and his cock was hitting a devastating angle inside of you.

“Who fucks you like this, bitch?”

“You, Theo! Fuck, nobody makes me feel like this! Theo, Theo, Theo…,” your voice trailed off pathetically as he pounded into you with a force like no other. You wouldn’t be able to hold on for much longer.

One of his hands was wrapped around your stomach while the other remained tightly curled in your hair as he fucked up into you relentlessly. The coil in your stomach that only seemed to build when Theo handled you the way he did began to wind up in your stomach. Each thrust from the man behind you had it curling tighter and tighter, threatening to combust at any moment.

“Fuck, Theo, I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, baby? You’re gonna cum for me? Cum for me, baby…cum on my cock, sweetheart. Let me fill you up, darling. Please, baby, let me cum inside you. Make me a daddy, baby.”

And with those words, you were cumming against him harder than you ever had before. Honey spilled from you and coated his lower stomach and your thighs. The tension from your entire body locking up had Theo’s legs beginning to shake. Whispers of strained “fuck, fuck, fuck”s resonated throughout the room as Theo fucked himself through his orgasm. Just before you could protest at the overstimulation, he came into you, filling you up just as he had promised.

The feeling of every inch of his arousal overflowing from your core nearly made you needy all over again. You might've asked him for a round two if not for the overwhelming exhaustion that had just flooded your body.

Between the rapid pace he’d set and the abuse you’d taken from behind, the two of you were laid out. Both of you collapsed against his bed, chests rising and falling rapidly, beads of sweat dripping, eyes fluttering closed. You were sure you’d pass away if you attempted to move, so you laid completely still.

“How was that?” Theo asked, chuckling breathlessly. You refrained from rolling your eyes at his awkwardly-timed question.

“It was really good, you dummy,” you laughed, wiping a bit of sweat from your hairline.

“Good,” he whispered, rolling over to face you. “Because if you ever pull anything like that again, I’ll kill the man who touched you then I’ll fuck you in front of him.”

Merlin.

- - -

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[multific]

More Than a Gamble

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Summary: You and Mattheo have been secretly dating, and though you love him, you hate hiding.

The Slytherin common room was dimly lit, the glow of emerald flames flickering against the stone walls.

You moved quietly through the space, your heart fluttering with excitement.

It had been weeks since you and Mattheo started sneaking around together, stealing kisses in empty corridors, meeting in secret corners of the castle. Every touch, every whispered word had convinced you that what you had was real.

You loved him.

And even though you hated keeping your relationship a secret, you held onto the hope that soon, things would change. That one day, he would hold your hand in front of everyone.

But as you neared the hallway leading to the boys’ dormitories, voices carried through the air.

You froze.

“Alright, mate, just admit it,” Theodore’s voice was laced with amusement. “We all knew about the bet. We knew you were dating her.”

Your stomach twisted.

“What’s your point, Nott?” Mattheo’s voice came next, steady, unreadable.

“The point is,” Theo continued, “you lost.” He chuckled. “You were supposed to take her out once. One date. But what’s it been now? Over a month? Don’t tell me you actually caught feelings.”

A cold weight settled in your chest.

Mattheo had to ask you out on a date… as a bet?

Your world blurred as silence stretched between them, each second suffocating you.

Then, finally, Mattheo spoke.

His voice was quiet, but the words were clear.

“I don’t regret it.”

The weight in your chest cracked open into something sharp.

You turned and ran.

You barely registered the sound of your own sobs as you ran through the corridors. You didn’t care if anyone saw you. Didn’t care if they heard. You just needed to be alone.

You threw yourself onto your bed, curling in on yourself as the tears kept coming.

It had been a lie. All of it.

The touches, the kisses, the promises and the late-night whispers.

Had he ever truly wanted you? Or were you just a game to him?

The door to your dorm burst open.

“Y/N.”

You shivered at the sound of his voice.

Mattheo stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling as he had run straight from the common room. His dark curls were a mess, his lips parted, his eyes filled with something close to desperation.

“Please,” he breathed, stepping inside. “Just-just listen.”

You swallowed, forcing yourself to sit up. Your voice trembled. “So it’s true?”

Mattheo flinched. “No.” Then he exhaled sharply. “I mean-yes, but not the way you think.”

A bitter laugh escaped you. “Not the way I think? You made a bet, Mattheo. A bet to take me on a date. Was anything real?”

He took a step closer, his hands clenched at his sides. “You. You were real.”

Tears stung your eyes again. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

His jaw tightened. “Because I was a coward.” His voice cracked, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I never thought I’d fall for you. I asked you out for a stupid, stupid reason. But that first night, when you laughed at something I said when you looked at me like I wasn’t just some reckless bastard, that made it real. And every moment after that was never a joke to me. I never told you because I was afraid you’d walk away.” He let out a shaky breath. “And I couldn’t lose you.”

You stared at him, heart pounding.

Mattheo Riddle, proud and untouchable, stood before you completely unravelled.

And despite everything, despite the pain, you still loved him.

“I hate what you did to me,” you whispered.

“I hate myself for it,” he admitted. “But I swear to you, I would never hurt you like that again.” He stepped closer, reaching out hesitantly. “I love you, Y/N. And if you tell me it’s over, I’ll walk away. But if there’s any part of you that still believes in us-” He swallowed hard. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that I never needed a bet to want you.”

You closed your eyes, your heart waging war against your mind.

But when his fingers brushed yours you realized the truth.

You still wanted him.

But you were no fool.

"I want to believe, I really do. But... I was hiding my love for you, and you played me. I cannot look past that. You lied to me."

"Y/N, please I really meant what I said, I want you. I don't want to hide anymore."

"Would you have said the same if I didn't overhear you? Would you have said that you love me?"

"I don't want to lose you."

"You lost me the moment you played me. Please, leave. I need to be alone." you turned away from him, you only heard as he closed the door behind himself.

You wanted to believe him. But this truly hurt. Knowing he only started dating you because of a bet. Now, all of his words seemed like a lie.

---

Days passed and although Mattheo followed you almost like a lost puppy, you tried your best to ignore him.

He tried to find opportunities to speak to you, but you didn't allow it. You ran away. You figured he would give up.

He will move on.

He will find a new girl to play with.

You just had to hold out until then.

But then days turned into a week, a week turned into a month.

Now the entire school was whispering about you and Mattheo.

He didn't give up.

It got to a point where you had to hide from him, hiding in the school grounds. You finally managed to find a tree that hid you from the others.

But of course, Mattheo found you.

"Can I sit?" he asked but you didn't look up from your book. He sat down next to you on the ground, he kept his distance.

Everything in you told you to leave, except for your heart.

Your heart, as if it had its own way of life, begged for you to go to him so he could hold you as if your heart was missing its other half.

And what your heart desired, made your mind daydream. You were reminded of the way everything used to be.

How you two were hiding behind trees and bushes, how he looked at you. How he still looks at you.

You looked up from your book just as he got ready to light his cigarette.

You groaned and reached out, snatching it from his lips, you broke the thing in half.

"I told you to quit," you said before moving back to your place and trying your best to read your book.

But you were only pretending. You could see him watching you from the corner of your eye.

"I want you back. I need you. I don't think you truly understand just how much." you looked up at him from your book, his eyes were intense, and they held meaning and purpose.

You closed your eyes for a moment, you needed to think. Your next move will decide everything, the weight of that almost crushed you.

So you opened your eyes and whispered, “Then prove it.”

And he did, he moved so fast, your mind didn't even register it.

You only realised that he was right in front of you when his lips met yours, it wasn’t just a kiss.

It was a promise.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[peppermintkissesxoxo]

freddie's little firework

fred weasley x afab!gn!reader

cw: 18+ smut, d/s dynamics, kissing, knee grinding/bouncing?, non gender specific petnames,

✧༺♥༻∞

"What the fuck!" You gasp, shocked at the harsh yank of your sleeve, consequently tripping over your feet as you're roughly, but somehow delicately, pulled into a dark alcove. You know that kind of manhandling like that back of your hand. 

"Hi, my little firework," Fred's taunting tone breathes hot against your ear, amusement lining his words. 

A shiver runs down your spine and you turn around swiftly to face him, pushing at his chest playfully. "The fuck, Freddie? You know I hate it when you do that." You narrow your eyes halfheartedly. You can't really be upset. Not when he's wearing that mischievous grin and looking all hot and slightly disheveled. A look that's telling he likely just pulled a prank somewhere else in the castle and is running off an adrenaline high.

He barely moves an inch at your shove, merely chuckling and gazing down at you like you're the most adorable thing he's ever seen. "And you know I love riling you up. Don't know why you're surprised at this point, pet." His tongue clicks, tsking. 

You roll your eyes fondly, and when they focus back on Fred he's suddenly much closer, eye level to you now which is saying something considering he towers over you at his full height. Your chest warms at the proximity, heart stuttering at the reminder of how much bigger he is than you, stronger. 

Fred's usual grin widens into a smirk at your reaction. He slips his hand behind your head to cup your nape and bring your face closer. His head tilts and he easily slots his lips over yours, pulling you into a deep and languid kiss, turning your mind to mush. The kisses to your bottom lip are bordering on obscene. 

There's no such thing as short kisses with Fred, no pecks. He savors each one and treats them all as sacred. Borderline devouring your mouth every chance he can get. You've been late to class quite a few times just because of his "goodbye" kisses. 

"So rude of you to not offer me a kiss, pretty baby. It's like you're trying to kill me off today or something," he jokes as he pulls back, though his eyes are dead serious. 

Heat swirls in your stomach. "Didn't know I had to offer. Usually you just take em," you tease back, eyes twinkling with a playful quality as you shrug. Though it's hard to ignore the heaviness of his hand cupping your nape and the feelings it's igniting throughout your body. 

He quirks an eyebrow in interest, tongue slipping out to wet his bottom lip. "Oh, is that right?" He absentmindedly thumbs circles into the back of your neck. 

A tingly numbing feeling begins to travel down the line of your stomach. Salazar, the way he looks at you. The subtle touching to remind you of the weight of his hand, a small show of ownership, as if you were able to forget that you're his. It's hard to keep your composure when he's eyeing you up like a pretty little treat all for him and him only. 

You wrack your brain for something to say, already having forgotten what you were talking about. You can't let him win so soon, but it's so hard when he's pushing all your buttons. He's got you crowded in a dark little alcove, pulled up against him, eye-level with his hand on your neck, and is staring down at you like you're something to eat. 

"Uh- yeah. It is." You nod your head dumbly.

His eyebrows raise victoriously when he hears the sharp contrast in your tone. The teasing playfulness has given way to something more shy, a hint of nervousness. He loves it when you get all nervous around him, like you've got a little crush on him. Even after you've been dating for so long. Makes his heart warm and his dick a little hard. 

He breathes out heavily. It's an amused sound. "You like when I take em? Kiss you whenever I want?" His slips his free hand over your hip, smoothing down the curve of your ass and creeping up under your skirt. You feel your face flush red when he palms a handful of your asscheek and squeezes unabashedly. "Touch you however I want?" 

"Freddie-" you scold halfheartedly, instinctively seeking out his body heat by leaning your weight on him, your chests pressed together. You really are quite used to his wandering hands. Fred has no shame in affection, private or public, but a wash of embarrassment coils your being at the thought of casual he is about it. It's so fucking hot. 

"You're so adorable," he cuts in, unable to help himself from cooing down at you. "But I asked you a question, firework," his voice rumbles lowly. 

You swallow thickly. "Uh-" 

Then his hand is leaving your ass in favor of pressing his palm flat to your stomach, pushing you to walk backwards as he crowds you in. A small gasp bubbles from your throat when your back hits the cold stone wall. Heat creeps up your neck when you realize he's got you trapped like a little rabbit, nowhere to go, nowhere to focus on but him and his broad body blocking your view of everything else. 

"Uh- uh-" he mocks you, a devious glint in your eye that you know means he's scheming, planning for something that's no doubt going to make you an embarrassed, wet mess. "Use your words, cupcake. What's gotten into you today, hmm?" He asks, pretending like he doesn't know it's all his fault. 

"You're being mean," you mumble under your breath, stomach swirling, heat traveling down your navel.

He dips his head down, pressing his hands beside your head, smirking. "You like mean." 

You drop your gaze, knowing he's right. warmth pools in your core. 

"Hey." His knuckle taps under your chin once before he grasps your jaw and lifts your head. "Show me those pretty eyes, baby," he purrs, dominance lingering in his tone. 

His voice is so magnetic you can't help but be compelled to listen, shyly lifting your gaze. "I don't like it when you get like this." Lie. 

He narrows his eyes knowingly. "Sure you don't. Either way I don't really care, cause I like it when you get like this." His hand slips away from your jaw, traveling downwards and under your skirt to cup your cunt in his palm. He laughs, pleased when he finds evidence of your soaked panties. "Of course you're wet, firework." 

"I bet I could slip my hand under your skirt anytime of the day and find your panties a little soaked. Why is that, baby?" Fred taunts meanly. 

"S-Shut up..." you mumble, face flushed. Though your hips jut downwards into his palm, seeking his warmth. 

He wraps his free arm around the back of your waist, pulling you into him as he presses two fingers to your clit, stroking lines up and down through the cotton panties. Your legs wobble, weak at the sudden pleasure. You whine softly, head falling forward to rest against his chest as he plays with your pussy. 

"Oh, are you hiding, pretty thing? Embarrassed?" He coos. 

"Yes!" You groan weakly, hips twitching as his palm flattens and lifts your weight up. You gasp at the sudden pressure, forced on the tips of your toes under his strength. 

"Like that, huh?" He taunts, smirking down at you knowingly. He gently sets you down, only to kick your foot out with his shoe and press his knee between your thighs, pushing upwards. 

You whine, keeling over slightly at the sudden burst of pleasure. Your hands fall to his upper thigh for support. He's got you borderline dangling off the ground, held up by only his strong knee under your cunt. 

He grasps onto your waist to keep you steady. "Oh, you're so cute like this," he breathes, entranced by your scrunched up expression, nose wrinkled and eyebrows furrowed. His hands gently lift you and then bounce you down, cunt banging against his knee. 

Your chest stutters mid breath when he drops you down, the phantom sensation of being filled and the pressure of your weight forcing your pussy to clench down. "F-Freddie-" You whine weakly. 

"You're gonna cum like this before I let you go on your way. Library was where you were heading, no?" He speaks casually as he drops you back down, setting an easy rhythm of bouncing you on his knee. 

Your heavy breathing is the only answer he receives. 

It's only when he stops bouncing you to swat at your thigh that your attention snaps to him. 

A whimper escapes your lips. "S-Sorry?" Your voice is thick with pleasure and confusion. 

"Library, baby. That's where you were going, right?" He speaks slowly, condescending in the way he coos at you like you're dumb. His eyes are glittering with mischief.

"Uh- y-yes. Yeah." You nod rapidly, hoping your answer will get him to start bouncing you again. 

His hands return to your waist, lifting and dropping you down. "Listen." He raises his eyebrow sternly. "You're going to cum, and then you're going to go finish your work in the library. Yeah?" He gazes down at you expectantly. 

You swallow, nodding your head. "Mhm. Yes." 

"Yes, what?" 

"G-Gonna-" You squeak at a particularly harsh bounce. "Gonna cum t-then library." 

"Good job." Fred kisses your searing cheek. He bounces you down and pressures your cunt down on his knee, holding you there tightly. 

Your eyes roll back, body shuddering. "Freddie please-" You don't even know what you're asking for, the thumping pleasure in your pussy too much for your brain to handle. 

"Close already?" Fred murmurs against your cheek, breath hot as he kisses down to the side of your neck and he begins to bounce you again, much harsher than before. "Can feel your heartbeat, pretty. You're getting worked up quick, huh?" 

His admission only serves to embarrass you further, consequently kicking up the fire burning in your core. Numbing tingles start building in the tips of your toes. Whines tumble out of your throat every few seconds. 

Why is it always so easy for him to make you cum? Not something most would complain about but he often likes to hold it over your head, taunt you about how easy you are. 

Fred can feel how exactly hard you're thumping against his knee. "Oh, there you are. You have something you want to ask me, little firework?" He taunts, eyes alight with lust and amusement. 

Your face twists up, mouth dropping open but no sound comes out. 

He furrows his eyebrows. "Baby," he warns, eyes darkening. You know better than to cum without asking first. 

You sob, scrambling to speak up before he stops moving you. "Please? Please, please. Need to. Want to cum for you, please, Freddie?" Your bottom lip wobbles, overwhelmed at how fast your body is numbing with the hot burning sensation coiling in your gut. 

Fred considers you for a moment, dragging it out as he drinks you in. "You're gonna be good and go finish your work after this?" 

"Yes! Promise," you plead, cunt clenching. 

Fred hums an amused sound. "Yeah? Well go ahead then. Show me how you cum all pretty, baby. Gonna soak my trousers through," he chuckles. 

"Kiss! Kiss, please. Please?" 

His eyes twinkle down at you. Of course you need a kiss to cum. He leans down, sucking on your bottom lip as you kiss on his Cupid's bow. 

Your body breaks out into a shudder, mouth parting to moan into his mouth as you clamp down tightly, toes curling, cumming hard around nothing but the phantom feeling of being filled as you're bounced. 

You're barely able to kiss back, Fred putting in all the work as you ride out the hot waves of bliss. After a few moments, he slows down the bouncing, halting your body to a stop and gently lowering you to the ground as his lips part from yours. 

He's quick to wrap his arms around you when your knees give out, holding you tight in his embrace and petting your hair while you breath heavy into his chest. "That was a big one, huh?" He murmurs with amusement.

You nod against him weakly, an incoherent mumble of agreement sounding out in answer. 

He whispers praises and sweet names into your temple as his hands soothe up and down your body, petting you and massaging your placid body. 

"Don't want to go to the library..." You mumble after a few moments, hoping he might've changed his mind. 

He chuckles. "Too bad, we had an agreement, baby. If you don't go you're not cumming for the rest of the week," he coos in a condescending tone. 

You huff but don't argue. You know he's not joking. 

Fred coddles you for a long time, obviously reluctant to let you leave his grasp and go do something that doesn't include spending time with him. He tongues the inside of his cheek, thinking. "If you go finish your work, I'll take you down to Honeydukes to get whatever you'd like after," he negotiates, never hesitant to spoil you. 

You lift your head almost instantly and he knows he's got you hooked. Your chin rests on his chest as you gaze up at him with interest. "Promise?" 

His grin widens and he nods. "Promise, sweet thing. We can even snog in that little alleyway and maybe I'll touch you up a bit." He winks. "Now c'mon. Library time. I'll walk you." He reluctantly pulls back, smoothing down your skirt and uniform, though he doesn't vanish the stickiness of your panties. You know it's purposeful, he wants you to be reminded of how he just defiled you every time you shift or move. 

You gaze up at him with adoration as he tidies you up, standing placid and letting him do as he pleases. Then he grabs you hand and pulls you out of the alcove, leading you to the library. 

It's then that you notice the dark stain on his knee. Your eyes blow wide and your face flushes in embarrassment. "Freddie!" You hiss. "Your trousers!" 

He furrows his eyebrows, looking down, and when he raises head he's smirking victoriously. "I think it's quite a nice look, doll." His tone shows he's not planning on doing anything to get rid of the stain. 

You grumble and hide you face in his arm as you walk. "You just love to embarrass me," you groan.

He chuckles and moves to wrap his arm around your shoulder and tuck you into his side. "No doubt about it, little firework."

[enzosbabyangel]

৻ꪆ Thinking about being a drunk mess ‘n all whiny ‘n needy at a party with Theo…

cw: if you don’t understand the position i’m explaining look at the image 😅, whiny!reader, blowjob, you have an oral fixation, praise, dynamic could be icky to some people

“Teddy pleasee,” You pout from your spot on the floor. Your legs bent and spread wide. Your hand tugging at the clothing that pressed tightly against your dripping cunt. You looked utterly pathetic, eyes all red from the alcohol in your system, hair spread out on the dirty bathroom floor and your outfit disheveled.

“Can’t even wait until we get home, mi amor?” Theo teased. Ignoring the way his cock strained against the fabric of his jeans at the sight of you on the bathroom floor, looking so utterly desperate for his cock.

“Nuh uh..” You pout, squeezing your legs together and wrapping your arm around his leg. “Need your cock too bad to wait, are you really gonna make me wait?” Your pout grows if possible, furrowing your brows upwards and giving him puppy dog eyes.

Theo sighs, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning back against the back of the toilet, smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he chuckled in amusement. You always got so cute and desperate when you were drunk, he loved it. It made him feel needed in a way.

“Now i suppose that would be too mean wouldn’t it?” He cocked his head to the side, raising a brow slightly. Another chuckle almost of bafflement and amusement escaped his lips as he watched you so quickly get up onto your knees, eyes sparkling with happiness as your pout disappeared and you frantically nodded.

“Then i guess i’ll let you. Can’t be mean to my girl.” He murmured, bringing a hand to gently brush hair out of your face. “Go on.”

You wasted no time, hands immediately moving to the zipper of his jeans and tugging. Within just a couple seconds his cock was free and in your mouth. Happy moans spilling from your lips while you desperately nodded your head up and down his length, cocking your head to the side slightly and looking up at Theo in awe and lust.

“Fuck.. look at you. All content now, hm?” Theo let out through a moan, looking at you with hazy, lazy eyes while his hand moved to entangle itself with your hair. Smirking to himself as you nod. “Yeah… keep doing that like the good girl you are and i’ll cum within seconds..”

₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . written by enzosbabyangel, 2025 on tumblr! © do not repost on any third party website or repost as yours. Doing so will result in me blocking you and reporting.

[mertaii]

reposting this bc i need to save it but also i refuse to not share this with the world (thank you for your work)

Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter fic recs

i've recently started reading drarry, so here are some of the very favorites i've found. it's not a comprehensive list but just some i enjoyed! feel free to send me more recs.

Aevitumer written by MarshmalowMilkshake ♡ 95k words, rated M. Tags: Time Travel Fix-It, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort

Another Heart Whispers Back written by slytherco ♡ 53k words, rated E. Tags: Friends to Lovers, Pining Draco Malfoy, Oblivious Harry Potter, Casual Intimacy, Sexual Tension & Romantic Tension, Humor, Blind First Dates, Idiots in Love, First Time, Cuddling

Dwelling written by aideomai ♡ 83k words, rated T. Tags: Friends to Lovers, Curses, Boy-Who-Lived Neville Longbottom, Twists & Turns

Hothouse Flowers and Hot Hot Showers written by azalea_larae & boshspice ♡ 101k words, rated E. Tags: Porn with Plot, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Muggle Studies, Studying Muggle Abroad, Roommates, Cuddling, Sexual Tension, Fluff

My Fucking Flatmate written by toxik_angel ♡ 82k words, rated E. Tags: Canon Divergence, Good Draco Malfoy, Draco Defects, Hogwarts 7th Year, Roommates, Harry and Draco in the Muggle World, Youtube, Tension, Fluff, Humor

Now I Know In Part written by dodgerkedavra ♡ 39k words, rated E. Tags: Curses/Curse Damage, Cursed Harry Potter, Curse-Breaker Draco Malfoy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, Cottagecore Draco Malfoy

Soulmates (series) written by dodgerkedavra ♡ 27k words, rated E. Tags: Soulmates, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Art/Artist Harry Potter, Bookseller Draco Malfoy, Protective Draco Malfoy, Running Away, PTSD, Grief/Mourning, Post-War, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

The Bolthole written by aideomai & Tepre ♡ 54k words, rated E. Tags: Grief, Cottage, Roommates, Bed Sharing, Hurt/Comfort, Falling in Love, Harry Potter is a Hoarder

The Lesson of You written by thecouchsofa ♡ 65k words, rated E. Tags: Accidental Child Acquisition, Time Travel, Kid Fic, Fluff, Family Fluff, Forced Proximity

The Softer Side of Draco Malfoy written by QueenofThyme ♡ 29k words, rated M. Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Potions Accident, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Harry stalking Draco

Then Comes a Mist and a Weeping Rain written by Faith Wood (faithwood) ♡ 21k words, rated E. Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor, Romance, Hurt/Comfort

Third Drawer Down written by eleventy7 ♡ 1.6k words, rated T. Tags: Hurt, Angst

Way Down We Go written by xiaq ♡ 109k words, rated T. Tags: Werewolf Harry Potter, Post-Canon, EWE, Domestic, Healing & Recovery, Redemption, Roommates, Chronic Illness, Hurt/Comfort.

what husbands are for written by softlystarstruck ♡ 52k words, rated E. Tags: Werewolves & Vampires, Political/Arranged Marriage, Werewolf Harry, Vampire Draco, Domestic, Hurt/Comfort, Trans Male & Autistic Main Characters

Who we are in the shadows written by Quicksilvermaid ♡ 99k words, rated E. Tags: Werewolves, Werewolf Harry Potter, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Secrets/Lies, Angst, Possessive Behavior, Falling In Love, Enemies to Lovers

Within You Without You written by arminaa ♡ 39k words, rated E. Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mind Healer Draco Malfoy, Recovery, Anxious/Lonely/Depressed Harry Potter, Harry Potter Gets Therapy, EWE, Pining, Falling in Love, First Love/First Time

[kyber-crystal]

the albatross || f.w.

summary: the albatross is the largest bird that can go years without landing; they spend their first 6 years of life flying over the ocean before coming to the land to mate. It is capable of traveling more than 10,000 miles in a single journey and circumnavigating the globe in 46 days. (he's been up in the air his whole life, but is finally able to land when he falls in love with you: alt, 4 times everyone noticed he loved you, 1 time you noticed he loved you too)

words: ~4.1k

warnings: TOOTH-ROOTTING FLUFF, CLICHE, your usual stuff yk 

a/n: i’ve had that snippet above stuck in my notes for a year now and never made anything of it and thought hey i should do something about it. so here were are. also i can’t resist doing the 3x1/4x1/5x1 trope. its so superior. ngl tho writers block hit me kinda hard with this one so i struggled to finish…sorry in advance for my writing, idk how i feel ab the way this turned out 

add yourself to my hp taglist here!

one 

You were looking forward to today’s Transfiguration lesson. 

Up until this point, McGonagall had you continue practicing nonverbal spells; having them carry over from sixth year because she wanted to emphasize their importance. In addition to that, you were set to start learning how to transfigure tortoises into trumpets. It was bound to be a loud but entertaining affair.

“I need you all to remember to focus,” she reminded at the start of class, “and please, refrain from playing your trumpets should you manage to successfully transform your tortoise—I’m looking at you, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley.”

“Aw, darn it,” you heard the twins chorus in defeat. 

“Now, you will first review what you have in your notes, then practice individually. You may begin.”

A small, dusty green tortoise appeared on your desk, causing you to crack a tiny smile. You heard students muttering the incantation from all around you as they attempted the spell, one of them yelping in pain when their tortoise bit their finger. 

“Careful, Longbottom,” the Professor warned. 

You shook your head and smiled to yourself, patting your tortoise on the head. It seemed to just sigh in response.

Several minutes went by before someone broke your focus, poking your shoulder. 

“Psst! Y/N!” 

“What?” you hissed under your breath, looking over your left shoulder at Lee. “What do you want?”

He shrugged and passed you a slip of parchment. “For you.”

“Okay…”

You unfolded the paper and peered closer, examining the signature scrawl of none other than Fred. 

You look gorgeous today, darling. And it’s quite distracting, if I’m being honest.

Scowling, you glanced over to see that Fred was shamelessly staring at you and shot him a pointed glare. He simply gave you a cheeky grin then looked back down. Scribbling out a snarky reply—I look gorgeous every day, you daft dimbo—you crumpled up the parchment and decided to chuck itat his head. Without sparing another glance, he reached up and smoothly caught it with one hand. 

You muttered to yourself under your breath and refocused your gaze on your work. 

Not even a few moments later, Lee was poking your shoulder again to signal that Fred had tossed the note back.

Your name is pretty, but it’d look prettier next to my last. 

You know what else would look pretty? My fist in your face. -your reply

The exchange continued on, with him sending flirty notes, and you replying with half-flirty, half sarcastic remarks. But just as you were about to aim at Fred’s head for the nth time—

“Miss Y/N, Mr. Weasley, what in Godric’s name are you two doing?” 

You froze in your spot. Professor McGonagall was standing right by your desk, note in hand with her eyebrows raised and arms crossed over her chest. “Er, I—”

“Is there anything you two would like to share with the class?”

“No, it’s—”

“Actually, Professor, there is,” Fred declared, standing up and marching over to where you were, taking the paper out of McGonagall’s hands and opening it. “Since she hasn’t gotten to read it yet, I shall.”

He cleared his throat and began to read. 

“I’d face the storm, the darkest night,

With reckless heart and blazing light.

No cursed spell, no shadowed door,

Could shake the love I hold in store.

For you, I’d charge, both fierce and true—

My greatest courage lives in you.”

The classroom erupted into giggles as he finished with a bow, grinning proudly. It felt like your face was up in flames, if it wasn’t already burnt to a crisp. If Fred looked equally flustered you couldn’t tell at all, and he was masking it with that stupid cheeky look of his. 

You were too mortified and focused on the possibility of receiving detention to notice that McGonagall was trying to hide her smile; taking away House points now in the very back of her mind. 

Flitwick owed her 10 sickles. 

two

“Oi! Y/N, wake up!”

Something fluffy smacked you straight across the face and you hissed in annoyance, sitting up and rubbing your eyes to identify your attacker.

“Okay, I’m—what the hell are you three doing in here? It’s 3 in the morning,” you grumbled. “If you get caught—”

“T’was Fred’s idea,” Lee said innocently and dropped the pillow, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Hey! Why are you pinning all this on me? That’s not fair,” the older twin demanded. 

“Anyways, Y/N, the kitchens are empty.”

“No shit Sherlock, it’s the middle of the night. What do you all want?” you kept your voice down.

“We’re cooking up a storm tonight.”

“I hope you’re not referring to more Canary Creams?”

“No, we mean actual sweets,” Fred explained, taking your hand and pulling you out of bed. “Come on.”

The four of you crept down the staircase and through the halls as quietly as possible; George and Lee quietly talking to each other behind you while Fred remained by your side, hand still in yours. You were too tired and delirious to notice or care that he could’ve let go ages ago, but didn’t.

“Okay, we’re here,” George announced quietly and pushed open a grandiose, wooden door. 

The usually bustling kitchen was dead silent so that all you could hear were each other’s slow breaths. 

“Accio recipe,” Lee muttered quietly, and an old, worn maroon book came zooming towards him. He set it down onto the counter and propped it open, flipping through the pages and stopping on one particular recipe. “I hope you lot are up for some treacle tart.”

“I wish I could stay mad at you for smacking me in the face with that pillow, Lee,” you tried your hardest to suppress a laugh. “But you read my mind.”

“Okay then!” He clasped his hands, “let’s get to work.”

You picked one of the long wooden tables in the center of the room then got to work, quickly but efficiently rushing around the kitchen to collect what you needed. Fred rolled his sleeves up and leaned against the counter to watch you, in awe as you began measuring and pouring the ingredients with near-perfect accuracy.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help?” you finally looked up and noticed that he hadn’t been doing anything. 

“Sorry, you’re just distracting,” Fred sent you a wink, and you scoffed. “Okay, sweetheart, I’m sorry, I’ll help you.” 

You fell into a silent but comfortable routine afterwards, evenly splitting up the work to finish preparing the tarts in less time. Neither of you noticed how you gradually inched closer to one another as you did so, shoulders brushing together every time you reached over to grab something or continue mixing the batter. 

“Hold on a minute, there’s some flour right—” Fred paused, thumb grazing your cheekbone. You felt a jolt of electricity where his skin brushed over yours. “—there.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, face suddenly feeling too hot even though the kitchens were far from it. 

“Always my pleasure,” he smiled, oblivious to your flustered state. 

Lee was standing with George a few rows away, focus switching between you two and the first batches of treacle tart that were now in the ovens, slowly beginning to bake. The distinct scent of sweet syrup and berries soon began wafting through the air, filling the room with a sweet and tantalizing aroma. 

“They can’t keep their hands off each other,” he grinned knowingly. “They’re standing just inches apart…they have the entire table to themselves and yet they stand like that.”

“And they say they’re just friends. I call bullshit,” said George, watching as Fred said something to you and you rolled your eyes, whacking him with your wooden spoon. Fred tugged you forward in response, trapping you in his strong arms as you let out a faint giggle, protesting for him to let you go. It wasn’t until he tilted his head down and you begrudgingly pressed a kiss to his cheek that he finally released you from his hold, looking as smug as ever. 

“10 galleons says they’re getting married in the next two years.”

“15 galleons.”

“You’re on, mate.”

three

DA practices were now everyone’s sole source of motivation. They had finally started work on Patronuses, which they had been very keen to practice, though, as Harry kept reminding you all that producing one in the middle of a brightly lit classroom when they weren’t under threat was quite different from producing one when under threat, like by a Dementor. 

You exchanged a soft smile with Cho, admiring her silvery swan-shaped Patronus before attempting to refocus on your own work; on the last several tries you hardly managed more than a cloudy, wispy form. 

Closing your eyes, you recalled the time you had Quidditch practice on a snow day. Oliver ended practice a bit early (Angelina did have to convince him a bit though) and you spent the rest of that time pelting one another with snowballs and zipping around in the air, laughter echoing across the space. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt that carefree.

“Expecto Patronum!” Excitement began to build up in you but your shoulders slumped in defeat when again, just a thin wisp of silver smoke came out of your wand tip. “Damn it.”

“Y/N, you’ve got to think of something happy,” Harry reminded you.

“But I did,” you exhaled, voice strained. “I don’t get it. I thought…”

“Maybe it wasn’t strong enough. Try a new memory,” he suggested, “do you have anything else that might work?”

“Well, there is one…I don’t know if it’s my happiest, but it is one of them, and it is strong…”

“Then try that,” he said kindly. “You can do this.” You nodded and he walked away to help Neville, who was also struggling to cast his Patronus.

Readjusting your wand in your hand,  you closed your eyes once again and allowed the new memory to fill your mind. 

The first few weeks after the end of term and the start of the summer holidays were always the hardest. As badly as you missed home and your parents, you also missed constantly being around your friends and the Weasley family. At this point it had been three weeks since you’d seen Fred; you never went longer than that without seeing him. 

You and your parents had spent three blissful weeks traveling around France. From exploring the lavender fields in Provence, smelling the fresh sea air and seeing the breathtaking Mont-Saint-Michel castle in Normandy, to biting into pillowy soft pastries in Paris, you did it all. But you still felt that distinct ache to be back at Hogwarts with your close friends. 

“The Burrow!” you exclaimed, Floo powder in hand. Glowing green flames engulfed your body and then you were standing outside your third home in mere seconds, giddy with excitement. 

“THERE SHE IS!” you heard several voices shout with delight. Your best friends immediately came bursting through the door and stampeding towards you. Fred was the first to reach you, positively glowing with happiness as he swept you into a tight bear hug, spinning you around. He attacked you with repeated kisses to your temple then cheeks as he said how glad he was to finally see you. He was clutching you so tight that you almost lost your breath, but you were so happy to see him as well that you couldn’t care less. 

“Oi, we’re here too, lovebirds!” you heard Ron shout. You laughed and pulled away from Fred’s embrace to go greet everyone else. As you were hugging Ginny you made eye contact with Fred, that gleaming look still in his eyes. Your heart felt so full at that moment, you thought it would burst. 

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” you shouted. A flash of silvery-blue light emitted from your wand and a dainty squirrel burst forward. You smiled to yourself as Harry complimented your work. 

But what surprised you more was the small bird swooping in from above—it caught sight of your squirrel Patronus and started chasing it around the Room of Requirement, their forms glowing brightly. Several others stopped what they were doing to watch the spectacle, confused but amazed. 

“Pretty cool, innit,” you heard a voice say from besides you. You turned to make eye contact with Fred, who was looking at you with amusement. 

“Yeah…is that a sparrow?” you pointed up at his Patronus, which was still chasing yours around the room and leaving a trail of glitter behind itself as it did so. 

“It’s a magpie,” said Fred. “Although I also thought it was a sparrow at first.”

“Well, it looks like they like each other…” 

“Art imitates life, right? Is that what they say?”

“Something like that, I guess,” you laughed softly, leaning into him. “It’s beautiful.”

“What did you think of?” he asked. “Beating Umbridge’s arse to a pulp? Just say the words and I’ll gladly help with that.”

You snorted. “No, I tried that last time but I guess it wasn’t strong enough. I don’t know how this one could’ve been happier than that.”

“Then whatever it was, it must’ve been pretty strong.”

“Definitely…” The scene flashed across your mind again, and you felt heat crawling up your cheeks. “it was.”

“His Patronus can’t seem to let go of hers,” Hermione whispered from the other side of the room; hers and Ginny’s otter and horse Patronuses were gracefully gliding around them. “You know what that means…”

“I haven’t a clue,” Ginny responded as she glanced over Fred, who now had an arm around you. “Why’s that so important?”

“Because, Gin!” she whisper-shouted. “Magpies hunt squirrels!”

“Okay…what’s the correlation there?” Ginny was now confused. 

“He’s in love with her, of course! I was reading up on Patronuses last week; when someone has feelings of deep affection for someone else, either their Patronuses change to match or they produce what’s like an opposite to the person they love. Hence the hunter and prey pairing.”

“You just figured out they love each other?”

“No, but this just confirms it,” the bushy-haired girl’s mouth stretched into a wide grin.

four

It felt like hours since you had last seen the light of day. Right now you were waist-deep in assignments, preparing for your mind-numbing History of Magic project that was due the next morning. Sleep was threatening to pull you under and it took everything you had not to slump over and doze off on the spot. 

“Ange,” you yawned and cupped a hand over your mouth, “did you finish the revisions yet?” 

“Almost,” she returned your tired yawn and slid the parchment she was working on over to you. “Do you mind checking this over for me?” 

“Mhm,” you mumbled, peering down at her tidy handwriting and picking up your quill. You rubbed your eyes and drew out a long breath. “Godric’s sake, what time is it?”

“Quarter to midnight,” Katie responded, jotting something down in her notepad, “I think we’re almost done…”

“...these damn revisions are taking bloody forever,” you groaned, placing your chin in your hand, “almost more than the time we took researching.”

“I despise history,” said Alicia.

“Hear, hear,” you and Angelina said tiredly.

All of a sudden you heard a rustle and the screech of someone pulling a chair out next to you. The comforting smell of broomsticks and cinnamon instantly hit your nose, which didn’t help with you already wanting to doze off. 

“There’s my Y/N,” Fred greeted warmly. His hand-knitted maroon Weasley jumper hung loosely off his toned frame, bringing out the color in his eyes and cheeks. He looked painfully attractive in everything, you realized.  

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Not when I know you aren’t,” he said plainly. “It’s late, but you’re here, right? So that’s why I’m here as well.”

You seemed to be completely oblivious to the way he kept staring at you as you continued to work. He couldn't help but stare; he found it rather endearing, the way you'd sigh every so often when stuck on a difficult problem and how you'd get this crease between your brows because you were deep in concentration. 

After several minutes you finally glanced up, a quizzical look on your face as you realized he was still watching you so intently. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” he smiled softly, reaching over to briefly cup your cheek. Angelina, Alicia, and Katie exchanged knowing looks at this. “Just looking out for you, of course.”

The flickering lanterns overhead cast a warm golden light over the room, illuminating his features in a dim and hazy glow. There was an unmistakably soft and wistful sort of look in his eyes and you felt your heart race the longer his eyes stayed on you. Did he always look at you that way? You couldn’t remember the last time he had looked at you with anything other than admiration and delight but then again, Fred was known to be very open with those he cared for. 

Another hour went by and by this point you were fast asleep, head leaning against your arms on the table and parts of your hair spilling across your forehead. If he didn’t know any better, Fred would’ve thought you were an angel, part Veela, or something along those lines. Was there anything better? he thought to himself. If there was, that’s exactly what she is.

Fred slid his jumper off and as carefully as possible, slid it under your head so that you had something soft to rest on and wouldn’t wake up complaining that there were ink stains on your skin. He took the quill from your outstretched fist and set it by your side, and wordlessly began putting your things into your bag for you.

It was another two hours until you eventually stirred awake but he stayed, quietly waiting and watching; relishing in the peace and comfort that he knew only your company could bring. 

plus one

It probably would’ve been a wise idea to heed Katie’s advice and not overwork yourself; even Hermione had said you clearly looked exhausted and needed a break from studying. But being as stubborn as you were, you didn’t listen, and now you were starting to feel the consequences of your actions. 

So here you were now alone in the girls’ dormitory, curled up in bed with a stuffy nose, sore throat, pounding headache that felt like it would split your brain in two, along with crippling nausea. Despite your stomach grumbling after having skipped out on breakfast and lunch, the mere thought of eating made you feel even more sick. 

All you wanted to do in that moment was crawl into a hole and fall asleep for several centuries. 

Realizing that sitting there doing nothing wouldn’t help, you decided to at the very least, open your Charms textbook and get caught up on the past few reading assignments. You mentally reminded yourself to thank Angelina for standing in today and taking notes for you; the girl was saving you hours’ worth of work that likely would’ve had you collapsing all over again.

A loud CRASH from somewhere nearby caused you to jump slightly and almost slam the book closed on your fingers. Glancing around at the sudden noise, you were about to assume it was Peeves being chased by Filch after causing trouble (you definitely didn’t experience this from having helped him and the twins out with a prank in which you chucked a Dungbomb into his office). But then you remembered they never directly entered the girls’ dormitories and laughed to yourself.  

The door creaked open and Fred’s all-too-familiar figure stumbled through, breathing hard with his hands behind his back. He was shifting from foot to foot and he looked kind of…nervous?

“Fred?”

“Y/N, I haven’t seen you all day,” his face broke into a bashful grin, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m…alright…”

“Well, I got you something,” said Fred, and quickly handed you a sweet-smelling bouquet of flowers. “I hope you like these, it took a while to grow them. Longbottom helped me out a bit.” 

“T-these are…” you stammered, pulse racing. The flowers shone brightly under the afternoon light; they were probably the prettiest things you’d seen in, well, forever. 

“—your favorite, I know,” he finished your sentence.

“But how did y—”

“It’s the same kind of flower as the dried ones that are in the bookmark you use for all your classes,” he explained, still slightly out of breath as he sat down at the edge of your bed, reaching for your hand. “It’s the color of your favorite wool hat. It’s the color of the jumper I bought, I told you it’s because I liked how my eyes went with it but really, it’s because it reminded me of you. It’s what I smelled in George and I’s Amortentia in Potions. It’s you, Y/N, it’s all you and it has always brought me back to you. It always will, every single time.”

Suddenly, the realization slammed into you with a force of a Bludger traveling a hundred miles an hour. 

Fred Weasley loved you. You loved Fred Weasley.

And it had taken you forever to notice. 

He sat by your side and reached for your hand, taking it in his and interlocking your fingers together like it was normal; like he had done so dozens of times before. Because he had, but something about this one made your heart skip an extra beat and all the words you wanted to say leave your brain instantly. 

“I look terrible,” you turned your face into his chest so that your cheek was now resting against the fabric of his jumper, “and you might get sick too. You should go…”

“I don’t care,” he mumbled, sliding his arms around you, “I’ve got all day. Snape can take my delightfully dimwitted Potions essay and shove it up his a—”

You chuckled a bit at this and took that moment to glance up at him—he was still gazing at you longingly. You’d never seen him look at anyone or anything that way; unless you counted the excited look he got when Hogwarts had its annual holiday feast and piles of food appeared on the tables. Or that look he got after winning a Quidditch match. 

“I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” you asked, shaking your head. “For taking as long as I did to realize that I’m in love with you. Everyone was practically screaming at me about it and yet I still couldn’t put the pieces together and see.”

That signature grin was back on his face. “You’re in love with me?”

“Don’t let it get to your head, Weasley—”

He grinned, stopping what you were going to say next by closing the gap and sealing his lips over yours. Now it wasn’t the nausea that had your head whirling around; it was the feeling of him kissing you like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do, and it was intoxicating. He was right there all along—your best friend for as long as you could remember—and suddenly you couldn’t seem to register anything else other than the fact that you wanted to stay in the moment until you completely lost your breath. 

“Fred, I told you, you’re going to get sick,” you exhaled as you pulled apart, “I know you don’t want that.”

“And I told you I don’t care.” He brought you back in and kissed you a second, then third time, “all the more excuse to spend time with you.”

(He did get sick the following day, leaving a disgruntled Hermione to take care of not just you, but him as well.) 

a/n pt 2: yes the poem was done by chatgpt. i’m horrible at writing normally, and even worse at writing poetry. sorry yall LOL. also can you tell i love writing cheesy monologues. yeah. and also i’m sorry for the cringe ending

tags: @miissasa @bittermileymilez @daisydark @brinachiii @foreverthemaraudersera @viharbinger @ladyclay @apileofschist @arkofblake @lizzyrose200 @4ngeltrumpettt

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

what would it be like to date Fred Weasley and Cedric Diggory? 💭

cw: MDNI 18+, smut, mfm, mentions of blood, alcohol, mostly fluff and general silliness

an: had to repost this bc tumblr glitched. this is very long and jumps around a lot. forgive my enthusiasm

masterlist | divider by @strangergraphics

⋆ you never thought you’d have two boyfriends, let alone Fred Weasley and Cedric Diggory, as unlikely of a pair as you’d ever seen. the prankster and the golden boy, the pauper and the prince, but perhaps that’s exactly why they were so drawn to one another, seeing something in the other that they lacked themselves.

⋆ you’d had a crush on Cedric for as long as you could remember, just like everyone else that ever met him. but when you confided in your best friend, Fred, about your feelings, he stunned you with his own admission: he and Cedric had been a secret thing for close to a year, and Cedric had asked on more than one occasion if you’d be interested in joining them some time.

⋆ and, of course you were.

⋆ a one-time hookup became monthly, then weekly, and you quickly caught feelings for Fred along the way, and then you were studying together, grabbing dinner, visiting Hogsmeade arm in arm. it felt so natural, so right, that making it official seemed like the only logical thing to do.

⋆ it didn’t matter what anyone else thought, because you had one another.

⋆ Cedric was the romantic, and an expert date planner: picnics by the lake and hikes through the hills, candlelit dinners in the kitchens late at night.

⋆ you adored it, but Fred would sometimes get embarrassed, flustered by the other boys easy, overflowing affection, and retreat into himself.

⋆ but you and Cedric would always find a way to draw him out, bringing sweets and lots of love, and would dote on him until he smiled again, accepting that he was special and deserved to be spoiled, something he’d never experienced before

⋆ Fred was the more physical of the two of them, always reaching for hands, stealing kisses, or a cheeky handful. Physical touch was his love language, and he was constantly telling you how much he loved you. He was the king of pda, and didn’t seem at all bothered by the points Professors would knock off Gryffindor’s score for heavy-petting in the hallway.

⋆ He’d even smacked your ass in Dumbledore’s office one time, to Cedric’s profound horror. Cedric had taken two points from Gryffindor that day, the first and only time he’d ever wielded his Prefect power over one of you.

⋆ Fred, of course, was also always the tease, playing small tricks throughout the day, little things to get on your or Cedric’s nerves just so he could kiss the scowl off your faces.

⋆ it translated to the bedroom, too. Fred loved riling you up with feather light touches and open-mouthed kisses everywhere but where you needed him most, working you into a whiny, pliable mess before he’d give you even the smallest satisfaction, calling you a needy little slut in that infuriatingly sexy, mocking tone of his that drove you wild.

⋆ and Cedric…Cedric would hold you down for him, cooing in your ear about how well you were doing, and what a brave girl you were, and just a little bit longer, princess, you can do it.

⋆ he’d pretend to be empathetic, scolding Fred when he played a little rough, or teased for a little too long, but you knew that Cedric loved it as much as Fred did, especially when he got to reap the rewards of their frazzled, cockhungry girlfriend

⋆ that what you needed, pretty? I know, I know, feel so good, hm? Freddie get you nice a wet for me? he’s so sweet isn’t he?

⋆ the two of them loved to compete, pushing one another’s limits until the other either bent or snapped, usually resulting in some depraved, borderline feral sex, or a vicious argument you had to diffuse. they both had big ego’s, though Cedric wasn’t as arrogant as Fred, and neither of them were ever willing to admit when they were wrong

⋆ but when they worked together, they were an unstoppable tsunami of charm and wit, and could get away with murder if they wanted to.

⋆ this quality was especially prevalent when they played Quidditch against one another. it always brought out that extra bit of hunger for the win, and you loved watching them try to out maneuver one another on the pitch.

⋆ despite their competitive bravado, you always noticed when Fred would purposefully send a bludger wide, appearing to miss Cedric when he was actually forcing his own teammates back, giving Cedric ample room to chase the snitch. George was in on it too, and they spent half the match protecting Cedric, the other half actually playing.

⋆ Fred could never stop himself from cheering when Cedric caught the snitch, though they’d save their post-victory celebrating for underneath the stands where you’d be waiting for them, half-mad with arousal in your handmade Diggory-Weasley jersey.

⋆ when Fred played particularly brutally, merciless with his Beater's bat, you and Cedric would fold like cheap paper, taking turns sloppily sucking his cock in the showers afterwards, eager to have Fred command you the way he did the game.

⋆ Cedric was rarely so submissive, preferring to hover somewhere just shy of dominant (where Fred was a full dominant), but when Fred got rough, it was game over for the sweet-natured Hufflepuff. he’d be right there in the sub trenches with you, completely at Fred’s mercy.

⋆ there's a good boy, Ced. doesn't it feel good to let go? let me take care you? you look so handsome choking on my cock.

⋆ you loved to watch Fred and Cedric kiss, the constant push and pull as they fought for the high ground. Fred wanted desperately to wrestle Cedric into submission, but Cedric would hold out purely because he could (and he loved the frustrated little sounds Fred made when he couldn’t physically overpower him).

⋆ Cedric was a rule-follower 95% of the time, you could hardly blame him for being disobedient when he had the opportunity.

⋆ they got so heated once, that Cedric accidentally drew blood, one of his sharp canines catching Fred’s tender lip just right, and you swore Fred nearly came in his pants. He went so feral, Cedric eventually had to tap out, his gorgeous cock completely spent and limp against his thigh, his chest and neck littered with bite marks and hickeys that lasted over a week.

⋆ since then, Fred developed the habit of chewing his lip when he was turned on, a dead giveaway that you and Cedric could spot from across the Great Hall, knowing you needed to find the nearest broom closet before Fred made a near-criminal public display of affection

⋆ Poor Cedric, you and Fred loved to drive him crazy with your mischief and rule breaking. Seeing him pink-cheeked and exacerbated, amusement threatening to curve his pretty mouth into a smile when he was trying so hard to be cross. As a Prefect, he had to uphold the highest moral standard, but as your boyfriend, he was willing to fudge the rules a bit if it meant you got to have a little fun.

⋆ parties always pushed Cedric's limits. you and Fred loved to partake in the ample substances circulating around the party, and it was often on Cedric to wrangle your impulses.

⋆ freddie, get down from there before you break your neck!

⋆ darling, please get off the table--no, you don't need that particular balloon. I'll get you a different one, okay?

⋆ Fredrick Gideon Weasley, I swear to Helena, if you don't put her down!

⋆ how about we put down the shots, baby--aaand there it goes. that's your fifth one--oh, for fuck's sake. six?!

⋆ Cedric was beautiful and popular, a fact that you and Fred were well acquainted with. Everyone liked Cedric, which meant everyone wanted a piece of him. His attention, his energy, his time. Cedric tried his best, but sometimes it felt like you and Fred were fighting upstream in a gold rush.

⋆ that being said, Cedric always made it known who he belonged to, whether it was wearing Fred's tie to class “by accident”, and leaving your lipstick print on his jaw for a little longer than necessary.

⋆ He wore a ring Fred found at an antique store on the proper finger, and never took off the necklace with your birthstone you’d given him for your one year anniversary.

⋆ it was challenging, dating two of the most popular boys at Hogwarts, though they were popular for entirely different reasons.

⋆ Fred was constantly pulled around by his enormous family, as well as devoted to the work of starting the joke shop with George.

⋆ And Cedric had a laundry list of responsibilities as a Prefect and Quidditch captain, and lofty goals for his own future.

⋆ so finding time together was damn near impossible, and when you went without it, you’d find yourself sulking, doubts and anxieties creeping in during their absence

⋆ both of them hated to see you unhappy, whether it was because of them, someone else, or just a bad brain day.

⋆ Fred would make it his personal mission to make you smile. he’d bring you little gifts and sweet treats, take you to all your favorite places, track down your favorite food. whatever you wanted, whatever you needed, he would go to the ends of the earth to get it for you. he had to fix it. he was the fixer.

⋆ how can I make it better? you're breaking my heart, sweet girl. let me fix this for you.

⋆ but when that didn’t work, Cedric would come in, slipping into bed beside you, uncaring if you’d been rotting there all day, dressed in old pj’s and unshowered. he’d hold you if that’s what you wanted, or just lay beside you, a comforting warmth at your side. sometimes he’d read aloud to you, rant with you, or cry with you.

⋆ he wouldn’t pry, wouldn’t push. he’d just exist with you, meeting you where you were at and holding space for your hurt, until you were ready for he and Fred to help fix it.

⋆ meeting their families was daunting as hell for you.

⋆ the Weasleys and the Diggorys were well acquainted, albeit very different families. with the Weasleys, there was roughly 85 thousand of them, but for Cedric, it was just him and his father.

⋆ the boys arranged for their families to have dinner together at the Burrow over the summer, a typical Sunday roast with a friendly round of Quidditch after the meal.

⋆ neither family (besides George, Ron, and Ginny) had any idea that it would actually be the dinner where Cedric and Fred fessed up about their relationship, and introduced you as their third.

⋆ to your delight, the Weasleys and Cedric’s father took it in stride. you knew Cedric had been super anxious about it, and seeing the relief on his face when his father gathered all three of you into a big hug had to be one of the happiest moments of your life.

⋆ your life with them was chaotic, full of adventure and fun, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[m-riaa]

damn....you did it once again... mediocre and good are just not part of your vocabulary, are they?. If it aint Shakespeare good, you just dont post it.....

Your polished hatred flatters me

Slytherin!Aemond - Fem!Reader

HARRY POTTER AU ⚡️🐍

arranged marriage x enemies to lovers

Summary: If there was anything worse than being forced into an arranged marriage with someone you didn't even know, it was that that someone would become your greatest enemy.

Rated: Explicit (+18)

Word count: 12k

Dividers: @allbutthreads

Author's Note: This story is entirely based on the Harry Potter franchise and its spin-offs, but I may also have added a thing or two of my own.

There are some topics that may be sensitive, such as: blood purity, verbal marriage contracts made at an early age, and young children practicing curses on each other - but overall, this is just a spicy and fun story.

Enjoy!

English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes you may find.

“Merlin!” You jump as a huge, translucent green bubble bursts from within your cauldron, the scalding spray nearly reaching your eyes and blinding you in the process.

From across the potions station, Jace sends you a wide-eyed look, his silky, dark curls now frizzy and unruly around his flushed face.

With a frustrated sigh and restless fingers you push the straggly strands of hair behind your ears; the humid, smoky environment making your own hair puff up almost comically, your cheeks pink and skin sticky from all the exposure to the heat and steam.

"That doesn't make any sense, I did exactly what the recipe said-" You mumble, wrinkling your nose at the foul smell of mold and dirty socks that rises in disgusting spirals from your brewing potion, where the swampy goo bubbles almost angrily. "There must be something wrong with this book."

"Umm, is the smoke supposed to be that color?" Your fellow Gryffindor, always oblivious to subtleties, asks, the two of you blinking like idiots at the charcoal-colored smokescreen that at that exact moment leaps out of the cauldron with a loud 'poof' that could not be considered anything less than theatrical. You both explode into a indiscreet coughing fit, the thick, abrupt appearance of the black smoke bomb leaving your faces slightly streaked with soot.

Even though you already know the answer, you still look sadly at the open book on the potions table when you finally manage to stop coughing, holding on to a single remaining fragment of hope that a miracle has happened so that your work won't be considered completely useless in the end.

"Actually, it says here that it should be silver."

Luck isn't something you usually have in abundance, for the record.

"Maybe Snape won't notice. Merlin knows he's had that huge hooked nose stuck in the same book since the class started. Something is clearly keeping him distracted today, much to the general relief and protection of Gryffindor's points. Maybe it's your lucky day after all." The boy smiles brightly at you, all flushed and soot-stained, trying to sound positive despite the chaotic results unfolding right before his eyes.

Of course, since his survival depends solely on breaking other people's expectations and frustrations, Professor Snape decides that this is the perfect time to abandon his reading and wander around the potions stations. You have about two seconds to send Jace a sharp glare before the man in question is making a dramatic turn towards you - no doubt guided by the admittedly quite detectable cloud of smoke exhaling right in front of you.

Jace pales a few shades before ducking his head, fumbling awkwardly with the wooden spoon before dipping it into the bubbling (and, to your shameless envy, much closer to the correct colour) mixture in his cauldron, pretending very poorly to find his own potion extremely interesting.

Arms crossed behind him and head held proudly high, Professor Snape floats across the floor like an ominous kelpie in his long black robes billowing - only breaking his scenic gliding when he’s hovering right next to you.

You swallow, throat suddenly dry at the unwelcome presence, staring at the bubbling disaster inside your cauldron as lace your fingers together in front of you.

"Tell me, Miss Fawley," he begins in his dull, gravelly voice, making you sway on your feet in nervous apprehension, "what is the Draught of Peace potion for?"

You splutter before answering.

"The Draught of Peace potion is a calming potion, Professor. Commonly used to alleviate anxiety and agitation."

If he is pleased with your answer, he doesn't show it at all, still shadowing your body with his sour aura.

"What are the main ingredients in this potion?"

"Huh, moonstone, syrup of hellebore, powdered porcupine quills and powdered unicorn horn, Professor." You are quicker to answer this time, noticing out of the corner of your eye the proud smile that Jace hides very poorly as he continues to unnecessarily mix his own potion as a form of disguise.

"Hmm. Now tell me, Miss Fawley..." Somehow your correct answers only seem to make the man more and more dissatisfied. "What color should the potion be once it's ready?"

"Turquoise blue, sir." You mutter with an embarrassed sigh, knowing full well where he was leading with this.

"And what's inside the cauldron appears to be turquoise blue to you, Miss Fawley?"

You feel your cheeks darken, looking sheepishly at the steaming, greenish mess inside your cauldron, murky and thick like the swamp waters in the deepest part of the Forbidden Forest - a large bubble rising to the festering surface to burst with a 'pop' that only adds another whiff of stench to the surroundings.

"No, sir."

"No, indeed."

He immediately emphasizes, sending you a sharp, cold look before lowering his gaze to the bubbling mixture with an exorbitant amount of disgust on his face as wrinkles his nose.

"I must say I'm impressed, in a way. It takes some talent to ruin a potion so spectacularly." His frown deepens as he sees the mossy goo threaten to spill out of the sides of the cauldron, moving almost like a living thing at this point.

"Maybe with ten points less for your house you'll find some inspiration to try to use this supposed talent and do it right next time."

He doesn't wait for your answer, abruptly turning his body to leave, as if you've exhausted his patience for the day, the movement making his black cloak flutter exaggeratedly as he walks away.

At the potions station next door, a pair of Hufflepuffs do a very poor job of hiding their giggles at what had just happened, which only makes your cheeks burn more intensely in embarrassment and your mood sour to critical levels.

As if to cement his position as the most happily absorbed person in the school, Jace decides to open his mouth.

"Isn't it hilarious how a potion that should, in theory, relieve anxiety and agitation has caused so much stress?" He breathes in amusement, biting his lip to contain a more exaggerated burst of laughter, as if he had told the biggest joke of all. The amusement, however, abruptly fades the moment he lifts his head to find your narrow, sharp eyes staring at him. "Uh, I mean - actually - forget what I said, you know, it's not hilarious at all..." he pauses between the endless babbling to take a breath. "Godric, is this lesson ever going to end?"

With a roll of your eyes, you turn away from him, glaring at the other potions stations with a resentful scowl as you slump onto the stool next to the table, propping your elbow on the wooden surface with a defeated thud, chin resting in your palm.

A few more students whisper and snigger behind their fingers as they glance sideways at you. You glare back at them with your best expression of silent outrage, daring them to say something to your face.

Honestly, so what if you’re not a natural at Potions? So what if your Draught of Peace didn’t turn out exactly as planned? It was an extremely complex potion, even for seventh years — and anyone with eyes could tell that half the class was struggling with the same thing you were. So why was it that you were the only one getting all this special treatment?

Be average at one thing and count on the rest of the school to ignore all the other things you excel at. Talk about unfair.

A silvery spiral of hissing smoke swirls across your line of vision, drawing your grumpy attention to the potions station on the other side of the classroom.

Before you know who it belongs to, you make sure to take about three seconds to part your lips and admire with a certain amount of distinct envy the clearly flawless result of the potion. At least until your eyes lock with his gaze from behind the cauldron and your expression wilts like a trampled flower. As if on cue, the very lighting in the room seems to change, casting an almost ethereal glow over the figure standing beyond the silver veil.

And if having visual proof that Aemond Targaryen was doing astronomically better than you at something wasn’t bad enough, it was even more despairing to realize that he was already looking at you.

He wasn't making any fuss about it, something that couldn't be said for the other students in the room. In fact, some might not even notice any change in his usual stoic and arrogant attitude. But to you, it was clear. He was there, with the sleeves of his white dress shirt carefully rolled up to his elbows as he stirred the spoon in his potion, staring intently at you from behind that veil of silvery shine, with an almost imperceptible playful tug on the left side of his lips, the only visible eye shining with silent provocation.

He saw everything.

The blush runs down your neck like a bucket of scalding water, but you quickly try to cover up your disgrace with an icy glare and a proud turn of your nose, meeting his gaze with a defiance that you, theoretically, would have no morals to uphold in this particular case. But Merlin curse you before you let this platinum weasel humiliate you in any way.

Not anymore.

Your reaction unfortunately only makes him more confident in his passive aggressive teasing, which almost elicits a heated snarl from your lips. And for a moment of guilty pleasure, you slyly entertain the idea of ​​throwing an accio at his hideously green tie and pulling his face, along with that cold smirk, into the perfectly bubbling cauldron below.

The thought does a good job of dispelling some of the sourness in your mood, and you manage to keep yourself mostly under control, even when he raises an eyebrow and looks appraisingly at the chaos of smoke and stench unfolding just behind your body.

Giving due credit to your hunch that Aemond is, in fact, more annoying and insufferable than any living Cornish pixies, you sigh impatiently, shifting your body in front of your potion as if you could hide it from his judgmental gaze - which, of course, is a futile effort, since the toxic and very evident smoke is already spreading throughout the classroom.

It’s impossible not to find it terribly unfair how you appear to have barely survived a catastrophic encounter with a forest troll while he remains as aristocratic and composed as the Slytherin Prince everyone fawningly claims he is. It’s truly an inconvenience that someone as despicable as him can look so good without even trying — even with his long hair slightly disheveled around his face and shoulders, his porcelain-smooth skin flushed with sweat. If anything, these unusual details only add a touch of disorder to his otherwise immaculate beauty that makes him all the more captivating to the eye.

Good heavens, if someone’s going to be as much of a jerk as he is, at least have the decency to not be so easy on the eyes.

Which is only proven when you look away for a second and catch a few girls sighing and smiling shyly in his direction, the steam and humidity making their own hair look as bristly as rats’ nests on their heads.

You suppose you should feel grateful to any higher creature that your fiancé is someone so attractive. But it turns out you don’t.

Yes. Aemond Targaryen would be your future husband. And yes, that is the bane of your existence.

As one of the families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, your parents decided your love story long ago, making a magical contract with Viserys Targaryen around the time you were about six years old and believed that marriage was when a boy and a girl held hands and walked together in the park. Even before that, you had been raised and molded to be the perfect bride; immaculate and uncultivated time and again with elegant manners and a perfectly controlled temper to propagate the impeccable reputation of your family as an endless legacy.

The only relief you had came from the very selfish pleasure in repeatedly frustrating your parents' expectations with your naturally hot-tempered and bold personality.

But that was all the rebellion you could achieve. Unfortunately, the right to choose your own destiny did not belong to you. It never did.

The arrangement between you was a deal neither of you could escape, a mutual benefit that both families would never give up, a difficult means to a grand end: your family would have the immense honor of being linked to the ancient and very influential name of the Targaryens and they, in return, would finally have the golden key to bring their influence into the Ministry, since your family had always been involved in politics - a fact that only solidified when your father was elected the new Minister of Magic.

Aemond, your arranged fiancé, was a pure-blood Targaryen, the crown of wizarding royalty, along with the Velaryons and the Blacks. By all accounts, it should have been a source of immense honor and joy to be the glue that would bind your family to his in such a fortunate arrangement. And your fiancé was a good match, all in all: handsome, charming, and obscenely wealthy.

But he was also cold, indifferent, and even mean at times.

And, of course, he hated you.

Aemond had always been so cruel, so harsh with his words on the few, isolated occasions when any verbal interaction had occurred. You knew he was as unhappy as you were about the marriage arrangement, but you had at least made some effort to be polite about the inevitable future that hung over your heads. You had known from the beginning that this was not a romantic arrangement and probably never would be. There was no need for a good prior acquaintance. In fact, the two of you had never met in person until both entered Hogwarts at the age of eleven. But your childish and innocent heart nurtured the hope that the two of you could at least get along and perhaps cultivate some sort of friendship over the years.

He, contrary to any hope you might have had, decided that he would make your life an even bigger hell than it already was since your first meeting in the Great Hall, where he mocked your friendly smile and called you a weird bucktooth in front of the entire school. You could have mocked him back then, laughed at the eye patch he wore on the left side of his face, the grotesque and poorly healed scar on his cheek and forehead from some sort of advanced spell cast against him. But even at that age you knew about limits, unlike the insufferable boy.

Later that night, you learned from Jace that that garish scar was caused by his brother, Lucerys Velaryon, another future Gryffindor who became your friend two years later. A common wand dueling challenge that went horribly wrong for Aemond and created another rift in their already volatile relationship. The advanced curse proved unbreakable, even for the most skilled healers, resulting in the permanent loss of his left eye and a scar that is nearly impossible to heal.

It was surprising enough that this Lucerys, even without having been enrolled at Hogwarts yet, already knew how to use this type of curse. And even more surprising was to discover that the Targaryen and Velaryon children had the habit of challenging each other to wand duels at such a young age, as if it were something normal. It scared you, but it only solidified for you the long-standing reputation of both families as highly talented and fearsome wizards.

That was the first time you felt sad for Aemond Targaryen, ruminating on the mental picture of how difficult his childhood could have been. But you quickly covered the softened feeling with the hurt memory of what he made you go through in front of all those people that very day.

Even after that burning humiliation, however, you made an effort to approach him cautiously at times, but the almost hateful coldness with which he looked at you since that first meet did not change much over time. And yes, maybe you were an inconvenience in general. A part of his life that he couldn’t shake off and it frustrated him. But he was exactly like that to you too and that didn’t make you act like had a shoe up your ass.

Eventually, and fueled by the sheer outrage of being so blatantly blocked and ridiculed for no logical reason, since you were as much a slave to this contract as he was, you decided that Aemond Targaryen could go fuck himself for what concerns you.

And so, a heated rivalry was born.

True, over time, that overt hatred and the obvious grimaces of revulsion on his boyish features gave way to a softer kind of icy indifference on his face; now decidedly more masculine and grown-up. He learned to be more discreet about his feelings for you (the lack thereof, to be more precise), with more elegant and aristocratic manners - but you never let your guard down around him again.

And you hated how much you thought about him sometimes, especially after the sudden growth spurt he’d gone through, spending hours late into the night remembering the sharp curve of his jaw or how piercing his gaze was when focused.

Aemond wasn’t thinking about you, not in the same way you thought about him. He probably only thought about you when he wanted to practice an attack, imagining it was your face on the training dummy as he threw diffindo after diffindo at the poor thing.

Merlin knew you did that sometimes too, always ending your private training with a tired but satisfied smile after imagining him taking all those spells to the chest instead of the ridiculous mental replay of your fingers sliding along the dagger-sharp line of his jaw as you kissed him breathlessly.

Heavens, you despised him so much.

Determined not to let this man get any more reaction out of you, you hold his gaze for just a few seconds longer - long enough to let out an elegant puff of air through your nose and a tedious flutter of your eyelashes before turning your head away from him.

Bracing your mind (and stopping yourself from casting a hex on the man instead) you focus your magic and all your attention on the cauldron, putting a definitive end to the steaming mess inside it with a whispered charm only in your mind.

"Wow! You're getting better at nonverbal and wandless spells every day, that's incredible!" A curly-haired Jace, electrified around his face, gasps in front of you, genuinely impressed by your feat, even though he himself (as well as your annoyingly talented future husband) already mastered nonverbal and wandless spells before you even learned how to master them decently verbally and with a wand. You feel your face heat up at the compliment anyway, pleased that someone admires the colossal effort you’ve been putting into perfecting your technique.

Although students learn some nonverbal spells from sixth year onwards, wandless spells weren’t officially taught at the school, and you had to raid the restricted section of the library once or twice to find the very few books that contained some information and ways to master the technique. And it was a challenging and exhausting technique, to say the least.

“Come on, be useful and tell me how you made your potion instead of just standing there fawning over me.” You wave your hand at him indifferently, as if it were no big deal, even though a smug smile is twitching your lips.

Jace smiles back at you, bright and looking even prouder than you, picking up his own notes to begin explaining.

-----

“Dear fiancée,” a voice hums behind you as you reach for the book high on the shelf, the word fiancée rolling off his tongue with such melodramatic emphasis that it almost makes you roll your eyes to the back of your head in response. Merlin bless your exquisite upbringing for keeping you calm when it really matters.

“Oh, it’s you.” You don’t even try to hide the disdain in your tone, as any good lady would, casually pulling the book out as you turn to him. He wouldn’t buy your lies anyway. It’s well known how shrewd and perceptive the damn man can be, after all.

“It seems so. Disappointed?” Aemond asks, a sharp, subtle smile gracing his lips, looking far too pleased for someone whose presence is so blatantly unwelcome. He knows perfectly well that yes, you’re disappointed.

It’s late now, and besides the two of you now, there are only a small handful of Ravenclaw students on the other side of the library — even Madam Irma Pince is more lethargic from the day’s fatigue, sitting near her desk as she reviews some papers. You definitely don’t have the patience to deal with Aemond.

“Never. To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask with a sweet smile that does nothing to hide your displeasure at seeing him. After the fiasco of your performance in Potions Class, you had the privilege of not hearing from him for a few days. But of course, your luck wouldn’t last forever. “It’s not often that you grace me with your presence.” He’s approaching you slowly, arms crossed behind him, all his glorious, imposing self, and you make the mistake of taking a nervous step back to a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Damn. What did he want now?

“What?” He asks simply, completely calm, and something flickers behind his gaze at the words. “Can’t I check on my fiancée without it looking suspicious?”

“I see,” you say as you take another step back, your heart skipping a beat when you feel the bookshelf at your back. His proximity makes your breathing quicken slightly, but you swallow and hold his gaze. “Well, I’m perfectly fine, as you can see. So if that’s all it is…”

“Not really. You see, I don’t want to be described as a negligent partner.”

The sheer audacity of his statement makes you drop your carefully crafted facade, a wry laugh falling from your lips.

“Oh of course, because you’re always so attentive, aren’t you?” you ask teasingly, the sour smile still stretching your mouth. “The polite way you can barely stand me is especially endearing, I might add.”

"I suppose so,” he retorts unaffectedly, enjoying pushing your buttons — though he’s letting the tension that always builds when you’re around each other get the better of him. “We’re engaged, after all. And that’s my duty, as a son. Your duty as a daughter.”

“Oh, but it’s a heavy duty indeed,” you say as raise your nose in affront, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach as you notice the glaring height difference between the two of you. “But someone who makes such a point of bragging about the elegance and good manners with which he was raised should do better at carrying that burden, don’t you agree? He should be able to at least fake it without much effort.” The last words were more of a hiss than anything else, and he chuckled in response.

“Oh, yes,” he mused casually as closed the distance between you. “The upbringing part really grates on your nerves, doesn’t it? Or is it the similarity to the practices of the Dark Arts thing now? Forgive me, my dear, but I’ve lost count of all the things you openly despise about me.”

Something tightens in your chest. Something dreadful and expectant at the same time, anxiety and anticipation at the prospect of a point of confusion. What did he mean, anyway? Trust Aemond, of course, to resort to riddles and fog when it comes to open conversation.

“Consider marrying you one more thing I despise,” you say quietly. There’s an endless supply of comments to throw at him. It’s incredibly easy to conjure up reasons to dislike this man. But it’s made all the more real by the way he makes you feel, all burning and needy for something that will never truly be yours.

Aemond has the audacity to look almost offended when you say this, his expression falling dangerously close to somber.

What the hell is wrong with him?

His usual stoicism and cold demeanor make any display of emotion beyond that a rare occurrence. And you feel unequipped to understand the complexity of what’s going on.

“I’m afraid that, despise or not, this needs to be done,” he says, as icy as ever, even with his expression dark as it is. “And wouldn’t you say it’s past time we started this pretense?” His question is unsettling on so many levels that even as he rests his forearm on the shelf above your head and leans his face close to yours, all you can do is blink up at him.

He couldn’t possibly be implying what you think, right? But when he smiles condescendingly at your alarmed expression and uses his other hand to grip your waist, you know he is.

“T-there’s no need at all,” you say quickly, dazed by the feel of his long fingers on you, his face leaning close to yours. “This is just a duty we can learn to deal with in the future.”

He hums thoughtfully at your answer, that dangerous shadow still in his one good eye, the silky silver curtain of his hair brushing the side of your face. You subtly inhale his scent; green apples, leather and heat, something refreshing and warming at the same time.

“Should I be worried about you fulfilling such duties with someone else?”

Your eyes narrow at him, the fingers tightening the book in response.

“What do you mean?” Your voice is equal parts curious and a warning.

“What is Cregan Stark to you?”

At the mention of the other man, your stomach sinks a little. It doesn’t take much investigation to understand why he’s suddenly interested in this.

“Cregan? He’s…a good friend.” You struggle to answer, though you feel like you should just leave him alone here in this secluded hallway of the library, avoid the uncomfortable topic of this conversation.

“Just a good friend?” He asks, his cold, hard gaze locked with yours, his grip on your waist tightening.

“What?”

It was clear that Aemond was carefully considering his next words, expression thoughtful as he crafting his answer to you.

“The portraits gossip.”

Yes, you knew.

A few days ago, after a Gryffindor Quidditch victory, the common room was filled with students celebrating. It was the biggest party you had attended in a long time. There was drinking, music, shouting, kissing, and even a few students crowding into a corner for a rather indiscreet sex session.

It was a such mess.

It didn’t take long for your own drinking to take effect, making you more uninhibited and reckless than usual. Cregan, the captain of the team, whose interest in you had always been obvious to everyone, even with your well known arrangement with Aemond, was there when you felt the vibration of alcohol in your veins - that fire that tells you that you are capable of doing anything and, before you could think better of it, you were already making out with him in a small alcove in the common room.

Despite the alcohol, Cregan guided you with passion and desire, biting your neck and lips as he told you how much had waited for this. You didn't love him, nor did you even have any romantic feelings for him. But those words along with the needy touches inevitably made you think of your future husband, the one who so vehemently hated you. And that was the last straw. Before the night was over, you had Cregan Stark buried deep in your pussy until then untouched by any man. It hurt at first, but you don't even think he realized that you were a virgin, as drunk as you both were, reciting hoarse words of praise in your ear while holding you as if he never wanted to let you go.

The next morning, in addition to a splitting headache, you were weighed down by the crushing weight of regret. Not only had you given your first time to someone you had no real feelings for, but you had also deceived a good man in the process. It had been the hardest conversation of your life, and seeing the disappointment on Cregan’s handsome, hopeful face had devastated you so much that you had to take the day off to lock yourself in dormitory and cry with guilt.

And to make matters worse, when you finally emerged into the world, you learned that the entire school already knew about your one-night stand with Cregan Stark. Apparently Muldoon Cragg’s portrait, one of the former Gryffindor Headmasters, wasted no time in leaving his post and gossiping about seeing the House Captain and the renowned Miss Fawley clinging like roots of the same tree in the hallways, stripping each other of their clothes as they ran to the man's dormitory.

Now, see, although you would have preferred to keep such matters private, your shame was not because they had discovered that you had had sex. Your only regret was that, in your moment of emotional weakness and hatred for having Aemond Targaryen as your fiancé, you had hurt someone as incredible as Cregan.

Merlin knows how common it was for students to be having sex at your age, even those who already had an established marital commitment, as you have with Aemond.

In the wizarding world, it was common to be promised to another person from a young age within the great pure-blood families and Hogwarts had some cases like these. Despite the verbal magical contract made between the heads of the families, the bond between the couple itself would only be made official after graduation, when a magical vow between them would be made and their magics linked to each other forever - the magic of the vow preventing them from being with anyone other than their spouse.

But until that day came, it wasn't uncommon for a mutual understanding to be established between the young couple, freeing both of them to 'enjoy' their single moments while they could. There was usually no hard feelings or big fuss about it, especially since, most of the time, there were no real feelings on either side. Therefore, there was also no jealousy.

Aemond himself, according to the gossip of some students, was no exception to this rule.

And that's why you stare at him, open-mouthed, trying hard not to interpret anything the wrong way. Because, heavens, he couldn't possibly be thinking of judging you, could he?

"I didn't anything wrong," you begin cautiously, but Aemond frustrates you with an ironic snort. "But whatever happened, it doesn't concern you, Targaryen."

He laughs humorlessly, his thumb stroking your waist slowly, his face hovering above yours as you both practically breathe the same air.

“For what it’s worth, this concerns me more than anyone else, princess.” Though he remains calm and casual, there’s a sharp bite in his voice, in his gaze. “After all, it’s my reputation that’s being tarnished by your promiscuous behavior.”

You stare at him in bewilderment, unable to believe his audacity. The blood begins to boil in your veins, heating your cheeks and neck with both anger and shame at his words, the magic in your veins reacting to emotional turmoil.

“Promiscuous behavior? Oh, how dare you?” You practically hiss at him, clutching the book between your fingers so tightly that the cover creaks. “That’s rich coming from someone with your notoriety.”

You’re furious, and he’s so close and your breath mingles with his, the smug bastard, his gaze glowing with the same fire you feel…

“It’s just whispers in the hallways.” He exhales with a disinterested shrug, invading your personal space as if he had any right to do so, so close that you can smell the leather eye patch he wears.

"What the hell do you mean it's just whispers in the halls? A few days ago Alys Rivers was singing loud and clear to the entire castle about the sexual exploits you two did after Quidditch practice, don't act like I'm an idiot or something!"

"And what's the proof that this actually happened?" He asks you so casually that for a good minute you just stare at him with your mouth open, not having an immediate answer to his indifferent question. "It's just rumors, princess. In the end, it's going to be her word against mine."

"More like the word of half the female population of the castle against yours, you hypocrite." You growl when you recover, looking at him as if you could set him on fire with just that. Your nonverbal magic isn't all that great yet, but maybe...

"And there's still no proof. Other than words, none of them have any evidence that I was actually there. I've made sure of that." Aside from the burning gaze on yours, Aemond shows little emotion in his argument, crumpling your uniform shirt to caress your belly with his open palm, as if this weren't at all shocking. "But you, you let yourself be caught. You let them have proof of your filthy deeds with that mutt Stark. I must say, your standards are critical low, sweetheart."

The comment, delivered so easily, leaves you breathless. You try to ignore the pangs of anxious curiosity that run through you at his touching your body in favor of the unnerving accusations he’s making. He remains impassive in the face of your volcanic attitude, waiting patiently above you.

“Merlin, you’re so annoying! Understand that you have no right to berate me! And don’t you dare talk about my standards, you don’t know me, you asshole!” You growl in exasperation, squirming under his strong grip, finally trying to escape the strategic hold. But Aemond must have some sort of Whomping Willow ancestry, because the man simply won’t back down.

“I wonder how you could have allowed a dim witted troll like Stark to put those filthy hands on your body.” Contrary to the absurd weight behind his statement, he seems almost possessive as he speaks, insane as the concept was, restraining your efforts by gripping your wrists between the fingers of one hand, using the other to push you against the tall bookshelf by the shoulder. The two of you, caught up in this confrontation as you are, barely hear the loud thud of the book falling to the floor as it slips from your fingers.

Ignoring the unnerving restraint and the open insult to Cregan, this time you actually laugh at his words, amused by their stupid and uncalled-for implication.

"And should I allow you to put your hands on me, Targaryen? Tell me how exactly that would be better?"

He breathes close, staring at you with steely eye and tight lips, the knuckles on your shoulder sliding to caress the throbbing pulse at the side of your neck in an almost unconscious gesture. Something turbulent bubbles in that single visible eye, the peculiar purple color that is inherent to Targaryens appearing darker than usual as he maps every inch of your face. When he finally speaks, you already feel like your heart might leap out of your chest, such is the tension between the two of you.

“You may hate me, beautiful, but I am still your fiancé,” he murmurs with measured slowness, the menacing timbre of his voice making you shiver with the suspicious prelude of what is to come. “Soon we'll be married and united forever and then I'll have you as many times as it takes.” As if to prove his point, he slowly pushes your joined hands to the bookshelf above your head, pressing his body against yours until you feel every heated, hard inch of him. “I will fill you every day and every night until it sink into that pretty head that you're mine. I should have started doing that already."

There's a slight huskiness to his voice and heat pulses through your core and the back of your neck at the explicit picture he's painting with his words. Your cheeks burn and your eyes flutter wide at the boldness of him, the sheer audacity of saying something so lewd to you when he's barely taken time to have any kind of interaction with you before tonight.

And yet, it takes a grueling mental battle to try, and lose, not to imagine him doing exactly what he's saying — taking your body night after night, filling your pussy with his seed until you're leaking from it.

And then you hear Madam Pince's delicate footsteps approaching.

"Kids, it's time to go, we're closing for the night."

And as if waking from some strange dream, you blink rapidly, giving Aemond a rude shove — and this time, mercifully, he complies.

Madam Pince rounds the corner of bookshelf you’re both in at the same time he takes a few steps back, though he still stubbornly holds your gaze.

When you refuse to maintain eye contact any longer, chest rising and falling faster than you’d like, you can feel the fingers trembling as push a strand of hair behind your ear.

You barely hear what Madam Pince says, staggering toward the library exit with hurried steps, bumping into a few students who are taking the same route as you.

“Hey, watch out!” one of them yells when you basically push him as try to climb the stairs, but you, in an uncharacteristic display of rudeness, don’t even register the complaint. All you can think about is how embarrassed and small you feel right now; how you allowed Aemond to put you in a situation where you looked so weak, so exposed.

All those years of hardening your feelings and expectations for that horrible creature and he puts it all in check in one night.

"Idiot, idiot, idiot..." You mumble over and over, walking through corridors and pillars without having the slightest idea of ​​where you're trying to go. "Such an idiot." Who? You, him, both of you - it doesn't matter.

You hate him. So much. The smug, arrogant way he does literally everything; from his penchant for brilliance in absolutely every class, to the discreet smiles he displays when he's showing off in the air during Quidditch matches - even the way he breathes.

You hate him.

And you especially hate how hot he's doing these things.

Amidst the hurried footsteps, you hear another one approaching quickly; quieter, feline - and you don't even need to turn around to know who it is.

"Leave me alone, Targaryen! I've already exhausted my patience quota for you tonight." You huff, practically running down the hallway now.

He remains silent and you almost think he's going to do exactly as you asked, until a scream leaves your lips as feel your elbow suddenly being grabbed by a strong hand, pulling you inside one of the hallway doors.

"What your fucking problem?! Let me go!" Your voice is sharp as you try to pull away from his grip.

"You." He answers sullenly, pushing your back against the door with a heavy thud, slapping both hands on it, one on either side of your face, to prevent you from escaping. You stare at him in surprise, both of you breathing quickly. "You're my fucking problem. You and your annoying, inconvenient stubbornness."

"I told you to stop talking like you know anything about me." You hiss at him, resentment and emotional turmoil guiding your actions until you stand on your tiptoes and almost touch the nose to his as you speak. "You. Don't. Know. Me."

"Yes, I do." He amends instantly and you fall silent only at the unsettling dose of confidence in his voice. "I know you wake up earlier than the other girls in the dorm so you have time to stroll along the shores of the Black Lake while it's still completely empty - because it gives you a feeling of calm and prepares you to face the rest of the day. I know you like dancing in the rain, despite McGonagall’s constant disapproval. I know you love Care of Magical Creatures, even though it’s an elective class, and you’re considering a future career in that department, despite your family’s vehement political expectations.”

You swallow hard, releasing the pressure on your feet to sag back down against the floor and the door with a surprised gasp, but Aemond is quick to lean closer to you, chasing proximity like a Niffler chasing shiny things.

“I know, and you know that you’re an absolute disaster at Potions, but you’re too stubborn to admit it. You're addicted to chocolate frogs, but you're also strangely sensitive to them, so you always wait for the charm end and they stop jumping before eat them - which, of course, makes no sense, since the part where they jump on belly is the most fun." He sighs a laugh and steps even closer, practically trapping you in the doorway with his own body.

And, Merlin help you, he's so close.

His breath, warm and pleasantly sweet, as if he'd recently eaten licorice wands, blows across your face with each ragged breath. His pale, smooth skin is highlighted by a single moonbeam from the opposite stone wall, which also bathes the icy blond of his hair in a mythical way that makes the silky strands shine like silver threads running down his broad shoulders. His eye, a deep, appraising purple, don't leave your eyes for even a second. His scent, citrusy and masculine, invades your senses until all you can feel is him. Only him.

Not even now having a clear, detailed look at that barely healed scar for the first time, could you describe him in any other way than charming. Ethereal, like a creature from a fairy tale or beautiful songs.

“I know you like the pumpkin pie they serve for breakfast, but you think Pixie Puffs are an overrated cereal, whatever that means. And even if no one else noticed, I know you were the one who cast that Tarantallegra on Martyn Reyne just as he was about to turn Oscar Tully into a pulp during the last Quidditch match. And with a wandless charm, to boot. The man was tap-dancing uncontrollably in the Slytherin common room for a whole day after that, princess. It was infuriating to watch.”

“Aemond -” You’ve never heard him speak so much - not to anyone and certainly not to you. You can’t help but sigh, chest heaving at both the words and the resigned weight of admiration in them. And the shock of hearing the name, his name, leave your lips for the first time in your life makes you blush to the roots of hair. But Aemond only feels emboldened by this, his gaze darkening and a muscle jumping in his jaw before he continues.

“I know you’ve despised this marriage contract since you were six and was forced into it, but you still want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you now.” He hovers over you, reaching down with his open hand on the door to brush a few strands of hair out of your eyes; long, cold fingers brushing the delicate curve of your ear.

You choke out a surprised sound and feel your eyes widen, caught off guard exactly like a student caught wandering around the castle after bedtime by some prefect. Aemond’s eyebrows rise, his own gaze burning in silent challenge as he waits for your answer. You open your mouth, but no matter how much you want to, and know you should be denying his outrageous insinuations, no words escape your suddenly dry throat.

“I dare you to deny it,” he murmurs in a voice like heated molasses when you still don’t say anything, leaning his face down to brush his lips against your ear. “Come on baby. If you dare, do it."

And then, in a lapse of judgment and sanity (and instinctively reacting to a challenge he has issued), you do.

There are no glares or scathing retorts to the question raised. There is just you acting impulsively.

You are jumping in Aemond immediately, tugging his green tie down to urge him into a bruising kiss. For a moment he smiles hatefully smugly against your mouth, but before you can regret what you have done and pull away, he pushes you back against the door with more force, slamming you into the aged wood as if to fuse you to it.

You release his tie in favor of desperately grabbing a handful of his shirt, the fingers of other hand digging into the soft flesh of his neck to bring him deeper into your lips. As he ravages your mouth with fervent desire, the world around you seems to deflate and disappear in the shadows, leaving only the electrifying connection between the two of you. Every brush of his lips against yours sets a firestorm of sensation, each touch crawling through your soul with an insatiable hunger for more.

There are no gentle, tender, or exploratory kisses; he kisses you assertively, surely, with ownership. As if he’s imagined doing this for a lifetime. He sinks both hands into the sides of your face, tilting your head back as runs his tongue over your lips, asking for entrance, and you welcome him.

And, unsurprisingly, kissing Aemond is like every other interaction you’ve ever had with him. Heated, intense, filled with tension. He sucks on your tongue and licks it right after, his teeth even brushing lightly yours sometimes - not in an awkward, painful way; but in a way that conveys his hunger for it, his possessiveness.

As you’d imagined, he tastes like the crystallized sugar of licorice wands; a perfectly balanced contrast to his citrusy scent of green apples and crackling wood from a fireplace. It’s an addictive balance that makes you shiver and grip him tighter between your fingers.

He pulls back a little to nibble on your bottom lip, teasing it between his teeth before sucking it in too. Then he fits his lips fully against yours once more, swallowing the wet, heated sound that leaves your throat.

It’s like you’re floating and sinking at the same time, feeling his hands leave your face to pull you closer by the hips, the kisses becoming more and more heated.

With a low, frustrated growl, he suddenly releases you, but not for long. Gripping your hips tighter, he lifts you up, and with a small yelp of surprise, your legs instinctively wrap around him. He cranes his head to continue the kiss as he spins you toward a table in the corner of the room, slipping between your legs as soon as he sits you down.

His mouth moves to your neck, heated and wet, sucking the sensitive flesh to leave marks you would be resenting if you were in your full mental capacity. But as it is, your eyes only flutter in response as you half watch the dust particles shimmer in the air in that small crack of moonlight, small involuntary sighs falling from your lips. His hand slides down your spine to belly, rising to tease the rise of your breast and the delicate slope of neck, the rings spread on his cold fingers poking the skin as he presses your throat lightly and you shiver.

Teeth rise to graze languidly against your ear and lips burn against your skin. How could he be so intense and yet remain so calm?

"Let me show you how it should be. Do it better for you than he did, leave you truly satisfied." He whispers like a lewd secret and even you're though sitting you feel the knees trembling, your heart fluttering at the speed of the delicate wings of a golden snitch.

"And who said he couldn't satisfy me?" You bluff breathlessly, barely able to admit the truth to yourself - much less to him. Not because Cregan didn't actually make it good for you. He did, you suppose. Caring for your pleasure as best he could. But any sense of satisfaction was drowned out by the weight of guilt and the unsettling feeling that it just didn't feel right...not with him.

"Oh, my treasure. With the raw way I crave you, I find it very unlikely that anyone could be as eager to please you as I am - much less a common mutt like Cregan Stark." The rough timbre of his voice vibrates through you and the air grows tense, your skin crawling at the feel of his other hand sliding down your thigh. "Just say yes and I'll prove it to you."

You don't answer him, not with words. But you think your round, needy eyes might have told him something, because he leans in until his mouth is a hair’s breadth from yours, staring at you as if he’s very pleased with what sees. He closes the distance to lick your mouth slowly and, after moving to put enough space between your bodies, uses the hand on your waist to pull you to the edge of the table.

The hand on your thigh moves to slide under your skirt until it plays with the side of the waistband of your panties. You suck in a ragged breath, nervously bracing both hands on the table as you bite your lip.

Those fingers, long and cold, curl into the elastic at your crotch, bunching the fabric to make it brush against your clit once, twice, three times, before you fix him with a drunken, narrowed gaze — a signal to stop teasing, and he chuckles close to your lips.

He takes the hint, though, and dips his thumb into your entrance. The violation of just one digit is surprising and not enough at the same time, and you writhe to make that point clear as you throw your head back, gasping a sound of pleasure. He takes his time, pressing his thumb in and out at the slowest pace imaginable, his signet ring tickling your entrance with each thrust. You moan a little louder and can feel, even without seeing, the infuriating smile of triumph he wears in response.

“You look like want something, hmm?” he drawls, molding his lips to the soft curve of your throat. Your hand releases its death grip on the table to push at his shoulders, even though the thrust is too weak to be taken seriously. When he chuckles in amusement at your action, you lift the head to look at him, noticing how swollen his lips are from kissing you so damn much.

“Come on, ask nicely for what you need from me, beautiful.” He whispers and instead of giving what you want so much, moves his thumb inside you with movements so light that only serve to increase the flame of desire, but never quench it.

But two can play that game, you realize, pursing your lips and huffing elegantly before looking across the room.

Aemond clucks his tongue in disapproval.

“Everything has to be a fight with you, doesn’t it?” His thumb drifts lazily away from your folds, leaving you feeling unbearably empty. You whimper at the loss, but he doesn’t give you a chance to protest. Aemond grips your chin, forcing you to tilt your head toward him again. Looking so close, you’re forced to face the fact of how small you are compared to his tall, defined frame, the width of his shoulders casting shadows over your smaller body. Your chin slips from his grip and instead he takes your hand in his to guide it down between your legs - a confident, strong grip that leaves no room for resistance.

“Feel this,” his words are harsh as he stares down at you, that single eye flashing in wicked amusement as your body twitches in response. Your mouth falls open in a sharp gasp of surprise as he doesn’t hesitate to guide your own finger and his inside your pussy, not bothering to do it slowly, “Feel how wet you are for me, princess.”

Your finger, delicate and smaller, dips in alongside his longer, wider one, going as deep as it will go — and to your growing humiliation, there actually is a wet mess helping; your trembling, tight walls drooling around the intrusion.

“T-that doesn’t mean…” You sob, widening and contracting around both fingers, “nothing.”

“That means everything, baby.” He smiles in an unnervingly knowing way, fucking your walls with slow, deep strokes, curling your fingers so you feel the difference between them perfectly.

“We shouldn’t — not here of all places. Merlin, d-don’t you have an ounce of decency in your being?” you continue, whimpering pathetically, writhing on the table: "Someone could hear us...a prefect could-"

"You'll have to be very quiet then." He interrupts you casually, although he's panting softly against your lips.

"Heavens, you're so annoying! A-at least cast a silencing charm, idiot!"

"And where's the fun in that? What about the danger, the adrenaline rush of avoiding being caught?" He pretends to ponder, sadistically pleased with your desperate arguments. "Take it as another challenge, princess. Especially after how spectacularly you failed the last one." He hums teasingly and you would growl back at him if you weren't too busy riding your fingers. "Can you be quiet?" He says in that soft, teasing way of his. Like he knows perfectly well that you can't. 

And he's right. 

You have to stifle a moan into his neck as he lifts his thumb to swirl your clit, both fingers working you slowly.

“For all your horrible biting, princess, you are a lovely creature when properly tamed.” His voice is a sigh of awe and hunger, like a worshipper before some masterpiece. You blush several shades, burying your face further into his neck to hide your shame.

“Y-you are even crazier than I imagined, Targaryen. You're sorely mistaken if think you have tam—oh!”

He curls your fingers up suddenly and you gasp, legs twitching and tightening around his waist with undignified desperation. You're beginning to see through blurry lenses, your other hand tangling in his hair for something to anchor yourself to, pulling him closer and closer as the pressure builds with each wet rub against your clit—

And then he’s pulling his fingers out, lifting your joined hands to his mouth, smiling at you as he sucks the both fingers into his mouth like they’re a sweet treat he’s been waiting all day to taste. 

Merlin, what must it be like to know you’re the hottest man in the world?

The irritation at having your near orgasm interrupted is overshadowed by the sinful sight ahead of you, your parted lips and lazy gaze.

You catch a glimpse of his pink tongue licking between your upraised fingers and your legs tighten around him, unconsciously trying to ease the sensual pressure between them.

“You’re the most insufferable creature I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting in my life and I-” You start grumpily but breathlessly, stopping slowly when he slides his fingers from his mouth to straighten himself in front of you, tugging at the button on his pants. You sit up straighter on the table, wide eyes fixed on the broad hand undoing his pants. Veiny hand. Long pale fingers adorned with gold and silver rings, the Targaryen insignia gleaming from the signet ring on his thumb.

“A-and I hate you so much. Ardently." You sigh mechanically and vaguely, noting with heated embarrassment a wet spot on the crotch of his pants.

“Me too, princess…” he hums smugly, taking his sweet time to unzip his pants and pull them down slightly, along with his boxer briefs, just enough to free his straining cock. “Ardently.”

Your shoulders slump and your tongue darts out to wet your lips at the sight of his aching, weeping cock. It’s long — much longer than you expected, anyway — and thick. Pre-cum drips from the flushed tip and his cock bobs under your shy scrutiny.

"I-I," you try, humiliatingly lacking the sarcastic words to ridicule him at this moment, and Aemond - bathed in masculine pride and arrogance - drags his palm over the moisture pooling on the head of his cock and spreads it along the veiny shaft. "Fuck, don't you dare say anything now."

He doesn't need to, though - just his smirk tells you enough - and almost a little too spitefully, you grab the tails of his dress shirt, tugging at the fabric until the sound of ripping is heard, the poor buttons rudely ripped from its places to fall bouncing on the stone floor.

Moonlight bathes the soft, marble skin of his throat, chest and abdomen, an endless, sinful expanse of lean, defined muscle covered in a few paler scars - some larger and more evident than others.

The dazzling scene before you pauses for a second as you focus on them, the almost worrying amount.

Where did he get them? How? In duels? Or some kind of archaic and horrific method of punishment?

He doesn’t let you dwell on it too much, though, striding confidently towards you until your attention returns to where it belongs; and while Cregan was all about thick muscles and an intimidating body, Aemond towered over all the other students with his majestic height and lean muscles, with broad shoulders and an elegantly tapered waist. He truly looked the epitome of pure-blood royalty — not that you’d let him know that.

With silver hair falling disheveledly over his shoulders, the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the flaps open on either side of his chest and abdomen, and green tie hanging loosely around his neck, he looked undone in the best possible way. And of course, that air of hungry elegance surrounding him, like a man who knows he’s about to get what he wants.

Aemond, still holding his cock between his fingers, rubs against the wetness between your legs for a few seconds, then uses his thumb to spread your entrance, your panties barely pushed aside. You squeeze around nothing, and he practically sighs in awe at the sight.

“Such a pretty little hole, sweetheart.”

You blush at the vulgarity, holding onto the tail of his shirt for dear life, the other hand latching onto the back of his neck.

With the hand that’s not between your bodies, and much more calmly than you’ve done previously, he unbuttons your dress shirt. He’s skilled at it, much to your silent annoyance — taking each button out of its place with easy precision. And all the while, he doesn’t stop gently thrusting himself between your legs.

And, Merlin, you’re so wet — literally dripping between your legs — so sore, and fuck, you want him so, so bad. But Aemond just rubs the tip of his cock against your clit as he holds your entrance open with his thumb, his gaze intent on the skin that reveals itself when the flaps of your shirt finally part.

“Aemond,” you whimper and he hums questioningly at you, but doesn’t move to do anything other than grind himself against you more, stroking the lacy details of your bra with a cold, hungry gaze.

You make a disgruntled noise and move your hips against him, trying desperately to get him inside you. 

“Ah-ah,” your teeth sink into your bottom lip as he completely covers one of your breasts with his palm in a greedy grip. “Come on, stop teasing me, you idiot insensitive…”

He blithely ignores you, kneading your breast like a cat with a ball of yarn, thrusting at your clit with shallow strokes that only make you hotter and needier, his thumb sliding in to breach the barrier of your entrance once more, just to the first knuckle. You let your upper body fall dramatically backwards, barely supporting yourself on forearms, your head rolling from side to side as you groan in frustration.

“Aemond, fuck. This is the worst time for you to be the most annoying person to ever walk this planet. Don’t make me beg.” 

You can hear the laughter in his voice as he responds. 

“Really?” His tone is proud and playful, as if he doesn’t already have his cock against your clit and a thumb inside you. 

You look up to meet his gaze, and the wry smile that tugs at the corner of his lips infuriates you to no end, because suddenly you realize that this is exactly what he wants.

You swallow your growing pride, temporarily deciding to forgo it in favor of satisfying the erupting volcano that resides in your lower belly. Aemond knows exactly which buttons to push with you, and no matter what you do here, there is no winning. Either you give him the satisfaction of hearing what he wants or the satisfaction of continuing to argue. He lives happily for both. It’s a question of knowing which wars are worth fighting and what the benefits of each are.

“Please, Aemond,” you finally whisper, letting your eyes grow rounder and waterier, giving him your best innocent, needy look, legs spreading wider as you rest your body fully on the table. It’s just your luck that with that movement the moonlight falls entirely on you, on the hair spread across the surface of the dark wood, the redness on your cheeks and heaving chest. “Please, just take me. I-I need this.”

It’s worth giving up your pride just for the wild, unsuspecting look Aemond gives you, lips parted in a husky growl that runs through your body like the most intimate magic.

Almost immediately he withdraws his thumb and lines himself up with your entrance and you cry out in surprise when his palms land on your waist, pulling your ass up to better meet his hips, your smaller hands darting to grip his wrists. He presses his tip into you at an excruciatingly slow pace, his gaze burning into yours with the unstoppable violence of a fiendfyre.

The discomfort of the welcome intrusion burning deliciously when he finally pushes in and — oh. You feel so stretched, and he hasn’t even started. Your lips part in a breathless half-scream, brows furrowing. He pushes a little further and you tense, a glorious, painful kind of pressure searing every nerve. You don’t remember it being like this with Cregan — but maybe that was just another consequence of how drunk you both were that night.

“Is — is it all in?” You ask weakly after what feels like an eternity, your nails destroying his wrists as you struggle for something to hold on to.

“Almost there, baby.” Aemond gasps, stroking your hips as he slowly but steadily drills into you. “You’re doing so good for me.” His lips meet yours in a sloppy, wet kiss that leaves you both breathless and your lips bruised. His own exhales start to end with a moan, and you writhe beneath him. It’s an unfamiliar pleasure to you, the kind where you weren’t sure if it was too much or too little, and Aemond hadn’t even started moving yet.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” He groans into your mouth, grinding himself into you a little more, a half-maniacal and proud grin stretching his lips. “That mutt Stark didn’t do a very good job here, did he?”

“S-shut up!” You snarl, skin burning with embarrassment and anger at his words. “Don’t talk about him like that!”

“Shhh, I’m just kidding.” He smiles and kisses the tip of your nose soothingly, though he doesn’t seem the least bit remorseful.

“You’re doing so well, baby, taking me so fucking well,” he whispers, the words stirring in your stomach and making you forget the irritation immediately, clenching even tighter around him. He stifles a growl, dipping his fingers back between your legs, lightly stroking your swollen clit to ease the sting, and one inch at a time, he finally slides inside until he bottoms out inside you.

Meanwhile, you’re tottering on the fine line between too much and not enough. Aemond is long and solid and thick inside you, and the heat is beyond satisfying. You lie there, breathing rapidly, face flushed and eyelashes fluttering, brows furrowed and mouth open and panting. Nails digging into his wrists, legs shaking as they rise to wrap tightly around his waist.

“Please…” Is all you need to say before he’s making his move, his own face stained with lust and blush. He pulls out halfway before sinking back in, groaning hoarsely at the sensation. You’re already making inelegant gagging noises from deep inside, louder and more embarrassing than you could have imagined yourself capable of.

“Feels good, baby?” he pants, pulling out his cock before slamming it back into you as you sob, the pull of him inside you hitting every nerve and setting them on fire. “My cock feels good to you, love?”

“So good!” You moan more than speak, rocking your hips against his as best you can.

“Hmmm…better than him?”

“Aemond—”

“Answer me.”

You bite your lip, knowing there’s no way you should encourage him to do this kind of behavior. But between the overwhelming sensations he makes you feel and the intense gaze he’s giving you, all that have left is the truth.

“Y-yes. Merlin, yes. So much better...”

“Fuck, princess,” Aemond grunts, changing the angle and grinning wildly when it makes you moan louder. He targets that particular spot, watching the way you arch a little higher with each thrust. The sounds of your skin slapping together make you flush even more, though you barely hear it over Aemond’s ragged breathing and your own moans.

“Aemond—oh,” you gasp desperately, throwing your head back. “I-it feels so good,” you drawl, clawing at his wrists. “Please, please, I can’t take it.”

Then he’s reaching down, fingers twisting the front of your bra, pulling it down so his tongue slowly sweeps over one nipple, enveloping it in the warm, wet blanket of his mouth. The hand between your legs gains momentum and his thumb rolls over your clit as he latches onto your nipple and sucks. A high-pitched scream barely escapes your lips before his hand covers your mouth, continuing his merciless assault.

His hand cups the lower half of your face completely and that only makes your eyes roll back, the weight of his body on yours, his wet mouth on your breast, the restraint of your sounds, his deep thrusts, his thumb on your clit...

Your fingers sink into the silvery roots of his hair in a sharp tug, and the pain makes him gasp against your chest, and you chant his name mindlessly behind his broad palm. Static sizzles through your body, your orgasm building at an insane pace, and you meet him thrust for thrust.

When he looks up, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your nipple, he stares at you so intently it makes you shiver, his thumb in your folds quickening. You run your own trembling thumb along his drooling bottom lip and watch him suck it into his wet, swollen mouth. You linger, touching the sharp tips of his canines, sliding across the softness of his tongue and gums before pulling your hand away. Aemond chases your thumb a little as he leans forward, but stops when you grab the leather strap of his eye patch.

The palm over your lips slowly pulls away, and you breathe in sharply, but don’t flinch. Holding his intense, drunken gaze, you push the thing away from his face, letting it fall to the floor with a thud neither of you cares about.

“Don’t stop, please — I’m so close,” you moan, pushing a few icy-white strands away from his face, wanting to see all of him as you shatters below. Aemond, with one missing eye and a cursed scar; that’s how you first saw him in the Great Hall, and that’s how you want to see him now, too.

If he’s shocked by your actions, he doesn’t show it. He’s still staring at you with a lazy expression, sweat starting to break out on his slightly flushed skin, his thrusts becoming more unbalanced, the rhythm faltering a little.

"Fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna fill you so fucking much, my wife—” he groans suddenly, the husky sound of his voice completely destroyed, and then he’s down to lock your mouths in a searing kiss, thrusting so hard into your pussy that the table creaks and slides a few inches across the floor.

But it’s the weight of that statement, his wife, spoken so brokenly and stunned, that finally makes you lose control, and your climax hits you.

“Cumming, cumming,” you cry into the tiny gap between your mouths as his rhythm quickens. His name leaves your lips again — muffled and choked — and your back arches off the table. You can feel his cock throb as the walls of your pussy clench and pulse around him with your orgasm.

And then he’s spilling himself into you, heated cum filling you as he still kisses you deeply, mouth wet and insistent. He makes a few rough, breathless noises into your mouth as he comes and you suck his tongue into your mouth, the climax rippling and lingering deliciously through you.

He relaxes the arm that was between your legs as you both lie there panting, coming down from your intense orgasms. Shifting his body slightly to support himself on forearms, he runs lazy, gentle kisses down your neck.

You stay like that for a while, his weight pressing down on you. Silence, except for the sound of each other’s breathing. You haven’t really allowed yourself to process the fact that he’s here; that Aemond, your future husband and sworn enemy, has cornered you tonight and confessed to wanting you despite strong evidence to the contrary. After years of not having a trace of him, he’s here, in the most intimate way possible. You tilt your head to the side to look at him again, to commit his features to memory in case he disappears from you once more.

Feeling your gaze, he does the same, humming contentedly; one calm, soft lavender eye, almost hidden beneath a thick layer of long lashes, the vibrant blue relic in the other eye, brows furrowed in contemplation for a brief moment. His fingers brush against your still flushed cheek, as if mapping out a secret that exists only for him. It doesn’t escape you that he makes no move to leave the wet heat between your legs — his member, still hard somehow, nestled comfortably within your silken walls.

“I’d really rather we didn’t wait until the wedding to do this again.”

His words, almost hesitant at their core, fill you with a kind of cautious anxiety, some foolish, ancient hope, long forgotten and locked away, surfacing once more. Your face burns with heat as you do your best to keep a expression neutral and collected, choosing the usual path when it comes to the two of you:

“If you wanted some kind of serious commitment you should have just said so, Targaryen. I wouldn’t mock your feelings.” You smile softly, blinking teasingly despite your trembling nerves. “Not much.”

He scoffs and roll his eye, though it’s obvious to both of you that you’re not necessarily saying no.

“I was thinking of it more for your own benefit, insufferable girl,” he grumbles sullenly. “You clearly didn’t have a good first experience and I just think it would be really tragic if you had to wait months to experience something so heavenly good as what I just offered you.”

You huff and press your face into his neck, failing miserably to suppress a laugh.

He’s so full of shit.

“I thought you hated me, anyway.”

“And I did.” He hums nonchalantly, making you part your lips in offense. He smiles at your shocked expression, tilting his face to brush his nose against yours.

“I hated you before I even met you, and I hated you even more the first time we met in the Great Hall and I realized there was absolutely nothing to hate about you. I hated that you were so captivating. I still hate that, I think.”

Your cheeks burn at the depth of his words and you look up at the ceiling, pursing your bottom lip in a sullen pout to cover the fluttering in your stomach.

“You made me feel insecure about my teeth for years after that day, you know?”

He huffs out a short laugh at the memory, cupping your jaw to guide your face to his again.

"Well, they were a little out of proportion..." He taps his thumb gently across the top of your lips until it pokes at your two front teeth, a strangely fond glint in his gaze and a small, amused smile. "Right here."

With a slight, offended swat and blushing even more, you struggle to pull his hand away.

"Of course they were out of proportion, you big insensitive! I was only eleven, still in the growth phase."

"That sounds like an excuse to me. I was eleven too and I wasn't like that."

He sounds smug now, and you hate that he's right. Even at the young age when, inevitably, almost everyone was gangly and awkward in one way or another, Aemond was still an irritatingly beautiful child - even brutally scarred with the loss of his eye and the scar. With pale, delicate features and chubby but perfectly proportioned cheeks, he looked like a spoiled little prince at the time.

He still looks like a spoiled prince now.

“No more pretending,” he confesses reluctantly after a while of poorly hidden laughter, as if it hurts him to be so honest about his feelings. “I’m not sure I can keep denying how much I crave for this. For you.” 

A quiet surprise spreads across your features at the admission and you reach out to him, intertwining your fingers. You hadn’t realized that everything had been so…mutual — the forced hatred and provocations, for sure, but not the feelings either. 

“Mmm,” you hum softly after a while, hope flickering through you brighter as Aemond’s steady gaze lingers on yours, your bodies still intimately joined over this table in an abandoned classroom. “I suppose it’s probably time we faced head on this despicable fate that awaits us.” 

Aemond’s answering smile is rare and absolutely breathtaking.

--

[thatfatbitxch]

Field trip

Pairing: Severus Snape x Prof!reader

Word count: 4,400

Summary: Y/N and Snape have been secretly seeing each other for months, keeping their relationship under wraps. When a field trip to the Muggle world is planned, Y/N convinces Snape to join her. As the trip unfolds, their secret becomes harder to hide.

Note: I had a dream about this and decided to write about it because I thought it would be fun. Not sure if I like it or not yet but oh well. I hope you enjoy.

Warnings: subtle sexual innuendos

∴.·:*¨¨*:·. ☙.·:*¨ ¨*:·.♡ .·:*¨ ¨*:·. ❧.·:*¨ ¨*:·.∴

The dim candlelight flickered against the stone walls of the dungeons, casting long shadows across Severus Snape’s private quarters. Outside, the castle was silent—everyone asleep in their beds, unaware of the secrets unfolding beneath them.

Y/N wasn’t supposed to be here.

She was supposed to be in her own chambers, sleeping like the rest of the professors, preparing for the staff meeting in the morning. Instead, she was sitting on Snape’s desk, wearing his shirt, watching as he paced across the room. His usual composed expression was intact, but she could tell he was annoyed—though whether it was at her or himself, she wasn’t sure.

“You’re scheming,” he muttered, not bothering to look at her.

Y/N smirked, swinging her legs idly. “Me? I would never.”

Snape shot her a pointed look. “Don’t insult my intelligence.”

She stretched her arms lazily, letting his oversized shirt fall off one shoulder as she tilted her head. “Fine, you got me. I do need something.”

Snape sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Of course you do.”

Y/N hopped off the desk and closed the space between them, sliding her hands up his chest. “I want to take some of the seventh-years on a trip,” she said sweetly.

“No.”

“You haven’t even heard what it is yet.”

“And I don’t need to.”

She pouted, leaning up to brush her lips against his jaw. “I want to take them to the Muggle world,” she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. “A few days to experience Muggle life before they graduate.”

Snape scoffed. “How utterly foolish.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Some of them want to live in the Muggle world after Hogwarts. Would it kill you to be supportive?”

Snape didn’t answer, though his expression was one of clear disapproval.

She pouted. “You don’t even know where yet.”

Snape scoffed. “I assure you, that is not my concern.”

She stepped even closer, pressing against him, her lips barely brushing his as she whispered, “I need another professor to come with me.”

His dark eyes narrowed. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Y/n tilted her head, trailing her fingers down his torso before slipping her hands beneath the waistband of his trousers. He inhaled sharply, his grip tightening on her hips.

“You’re manipulative,” he muttered, his voice lower now.

“I’m resourceful.” She kissed him again, slowly, deeply, until she felt him relax beneath her touch. When she pulled away, she smiled triumphantly. “So, you’ll come?”

His grip on her waist tightened. “You infuriate me.”

“But?”

Snape sighed heavily, his forehead resting against hers for a brief moment. “If I agree to this ridiculous excursion… I expect compensation.”

Y/n smirked. “I think we can arrange something.”

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

The next morning, Y/N sat in the Hogwarts staffroom, confidently addressing the gathered professors.

“I’d like to propose a trip for our seventh-year students who are interested in integrating into Muggle society after Hogwarts,” she announced. “It would be a short excursion—just a few days—where they can experience Muggle life firsthand.”

McGonagall pursed her lips. “That would require significant supervision.”

“And resources,” added Flitwick.

“I’ll take care of the arrangements, I have a lot of muggle contacts who are willing to help.” Y/N assured them. “I just need another professor to accompany me.”

Silence.

No one volunteered.

Y/N suppressed a smirk. Perfect.

“Well,” she said, glancing toward the other end of the table where Snape sat with his arms crossed, looking utterly uninterested. “Professor Snape has graciously agreed to accompany me.”

Every head turned toward Snape. His dark eyes snapped to hers, glaring.

“I—”

“Yes, Severus?” McGonagall prompted, amused.

Snape clenched his jaw, fingers tightening around the table. Y/N flashed him an innocent smile.

“…Fine,” he bit out.

Y/N beamed. “Excellent.”

As the meeting continued, she leaned back in her chair, feeling his heated gaze burning into the side of her face.

Oh, he hated her right now.

She couldn’t wait for him to get her alone later.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

The moment Y/N and her group stepped into the Muggle world, the energy shifted. The students, a mix of excited and nervous seventh-years, looked around in awe as they took in their surroundings—bustling streets, honking cars, and the ever-present hum of Muggle life.

Snape, however, looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else.

Y/N had chosen a charming little town just outside of London for the trip. It wasn’t overwhelmingly large, but it was busy enough to give the students a proper taste of Muggle life. The cobblestone streets were lined with small cafés, bookstores, and shops, making it the perfect place for them to explore.

Fred and George had been thrilled from the moment they arrived, immediately elbowing each other and whispering about all the “Muggle mischief” they planned to get into. The rest of the students were more cautious, adjusting to the idea that they were, for the next few days, just another group of ordinary young adults.

Snape, meanwhile, stood rigidly by Y/N’s side, arms crossed, eyes sweeping the street as if someone would jump out and hex them at any moment. He had agreed to dress in Muggle clothing—but only if he was allowed to wear all black.

Which meant that, instead of looking like a normal Muggle, he still looked exactly like himself, just without the billowing robes.

Y/N had tried to convince him to loosen up, even choosing clothes that might make him look a little less… well, Snape-like, but he had refused. So now, he stood in a black wool coat over a black button-up and fitted trousers, looking every bit as menacing as he did at Hogwarts.

“You do realize Muggles don’t usually look like they’re heading to a funeral every day, right?” Y/N teased as she adjusted the strap of her bag.

Snape shot her a glare. “I compromised.”

“If that’s what you call this, sure.” Y/N smirked, tilting her head as she gave him a once-over. “Honestly, if you grew some facial hair, you’d look like John Wick.”

Snape’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

Y/N sighed dramatically. “Never mind. Muggle reference. But trust me, you’d fit right in as a brooding action hero.”

Snape sneered. “I have no desire to resemble some ridiculous Muggle.”

Y/N grinned. “Oh, I don’t know. Dark, mysterious, always dressed in black, terrifying yet strangely attractive? You might have more in common than you think.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “If you continue down this line of conversation, I will deduct points.”

Y/N bit back a laugh. “From whom, exactly?”

He hesitated, clearly annoyed by the flaw in his threat. “I’ll find a way.”

Y/N chuckled, falling into step beside him. “Whatever you say, Professor Wick.”

She, on the other hand, had no trouble blending in. She had picked out a casual but stylish outfit—jeans, a cozy sweater, and boots that wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. Unlike Snape, she actually enjoyed this.

“Alright, everyone,” she said, turning to the students. “Remember, for the next few days, we are Muggles. That means no magic, no talking about Hogwarts, and no trying to pass yourselves off as wizards.”

A few of them nodded seriously, while Fred and George exchanged mischievous grins.

“I mean it,” Y/N added, pointing at them. “Behave.”

“We always behave, Professor,” Fred said, all innocence.

“Yes, impeccably,” George added.

Y/N sighed, knowing full well that was a lie.

Beside her, Snape muttered, “This is a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Relax,” she murmured back. “Try to have a little fun.”

Snape sneered, but before he could argue, Y/N clapped her hands together and gestured toward the street. “Let’s get checked into the inn, and then we’ll go over the itinerary.”

The inn was small and cozy, tucked between a bakery and a bookshop. It had the charm of an old-world Muggle establishment, complete with floral wallpaper and creaky wooden floors.

At the front desk, a kind older woman greeted them with a warm smile. “Welcome! You must be the group I spoke to on the phone.”

“That’s us,” Y/N said, returning the smile. “We have enough rooms for everyone, correct?”

“Of course. Two students per room. And for the professors…?” The woman looked between Y/N and Snape, hesitating.

Before Y/N could answer, Snape spoke in a sharp tone. “Separate rooms.”

The woman blinked at his tone, but nodded. “Of course, sir.”

Y/N fought back a laugh. Snape had spoken way too fast, and it wasn’t lost on Fred and George, who were already whispering behind them.

Once they received their room keys, Y/N turned to the students. “Alright, everyone pair up. Unpack, settle in, and meet back in the lobby in an hour.”

As the students grabbed their keys and headed to their rooms, Fred and George lingered, watching Y/N and Snape with far too much interest

“You two sure do hate each other,” Fred mused.

“Yes,” George nodded. “One might say you despise each other a bit too much.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “What exactly are you implying?”

Fred smirked. “Oh, nothing at all.”

Snape leveled them with a dark glare. “Get. To. Your. Room.”

The twins grinned at each other before heading off, whispering as they went.

Y/N sighed, shaking her head. “They’re onto us.”

Snape scowled. “I knew this was a terrible idea.”

Y/N just smiled, reaching over to straighten his collar before heading to her own room.

This trip was going to be very interesting.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

Y/N had planned a full day of Muggle activities for the students, and she was absolutely thrilled about it. Snape, on the other hand, looked like he was suffering through some sort of medieval torture.

“Alright, everyone,” Y/N said, clapping her hands together as they stood outside a quaint little café. “We’re starting off with something simple—ordering food and drinks like proper Muggles.”

The students nodded, and Fred elbowed George. “D’you think they have pumpkin juice?”

George grinned. “If not, I suppose we’ll have to survive on whatever it is Muggles drink.”

Snape muttered something under his breath about insufferable Gryffindors.

Y/N ignored him and led the group inside. The café was warm and smelled of coffee and pastries. The students hesitated, unsure of what to order, so Y/N helped them read the menu.

“You could at least pretend to enjoy yourself,” she murmured to Snape as he stood stiffly beside her, arms crossed.

“This is ridiculous,” he hissed back. “I have no interest in—”

“Here’s your coffee, love,” the barista said, handing Y/N her drink.

“Thank you,” she replied with a bright smile before turning to Snape. “What about you? You do drink coffee.”

Snape sneered but muttered, “Black. No sugar.”

Y/N arched a brow. “Shocking.”

He glared at her, but a few minutes later, when the drinks were ready, she was surprised to see Snape hand over the money for hers along with his own.

The students noticed too.

A few of them exchanged glances, and one Ravenclaw, Sophie, raised an eyebrow. “Professor Snape just bought you coffee?”

Y/N opened her mouth to reply, but Snape beat her to it. “She’ll find some way to make me regret this later,” he drawled, taking a sip of his own drink.

That seemed to satisfy the students, but Sophie still looked suspicious.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

The museum was grand, its high ceilings and marble floors giving it an almost regal feel. Y/N couldn’t contain her excitement as they entered, the scent of aged books, polished wood, and history filling the air.

“This place is amazing,” she said to the group. “It covers everything from Muggle history to science, but the art section is my personal favorite.”

Snape gave an unimpressed glance at the museum map she held. “Of course it is,” he muttered.

Y/N ignored his sarcasm and turned to the students. “Everyone, take a map. You have an two hours to explore—stay in pairs at the very least. Meet back at the entrance hall when you’re done and remember, no wizard business.”

The students dispersed, some heading toward the history exhibits while others whispered excitedly about the dinosaur skeletons they had glimpsed down another hall.

Y/N, however, had only one destination in mind—the art gallery.

She turned to Snape, grinning. “Come on. You’re going to love this.”

“I highly doubt that,” he replied dryly, but he followed her nonetheless.

The gallery was quiet, filled with soft lighting that made the paintings glow as if they were alive. Y/N inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of oil paint and aged canvas. This was her favorite place in any museum—the heart of human creativity, emotions spilled across canvas in brushstrokes and color.

Snape, predictably, looked bored.

Y/N elbowed him. “Don’t look so miserable. This is beautiful.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “It’s paint on canvas.”

She scoffed. “It’s more than that, and you know it. Look at this one.”

They moved through the gallery together, Y/N eagerly pointing out various styles—Baroque, Impressionism, Realism—while Snape, though reluctant at first, listened with mild curiosity.

When they reached a large abstract piece—a swirl of chaotic brushstrokes in deep reds and blacks—Snape finally spoke up.

“This,” he said flatly, “is absurd.”

Y/N laughed. “It’s abstract expressionism. It’s about emotion rather than realism.”

“It looks like someone accidentally knocked over their paint.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Severus. You understand potions. You know the way different ingredients come together to create something meaningful. It’s the same with art—though if I’m being honest this one isn’t one of my favourites. ”

He exhaled sharply, clearly not convinced, but there was something amused in his gaze.

Y/N smirked. “I bet you’d love the Dark Romanticism section.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Dark Romanticism?”

“Dramatic, brooding, full of suffering and existential dread?” She grinned. “It’s basically you in art form.”

Snape scoffed, but she didn’t miss the way the corner of his mouth almost twitched upward.

As they neared the end of the gallery, Y/N reached for a museum guidebook from a nearby shelf. It was heavier than expected, and she awkwardly tried to juggle it alongside her bag and coffee.

Before she could struggle further, Snape effortlessly took her drink and bag from her so she could grab the book.

Y/N blinked up at him smiling in surprise, but before she could say anything—

A student saw.

A Slytherin boy, Adam, was standing a few feet away, watching them with narrowed eyes.

Y/N cleared her throat, taking the book as casually as possible, with little space between then y/n backed up. “Thanks.”

Snape gave a nonchalant shrug, but the damage was done. Adam’s gaze lingered for a moment before he walked off, suspicion evident in his expression.

Y/N sighed. “You’re being too nice.”

Snape smirked slightly, voice low. “Then perhaps I should let you struggle next time.”

“Rude.”

They continued through the gallery, but Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that their little secret was getting harder to keep.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

Their last stop before dinner was a shopping district, where the students had free time to explore Muggle stores.

Y/N and Snape walked together, keeping an eye on everyone, when she noticed something. “Sev, look at this.”

It was a slip of the tongue—she had gotten so used to saying his nickname in private that it just… happened.

Snape froze. The students definitely noticed.

Sophie, ever the observant Ravenclaw, turned around. “Did you just call him Sev?”

Y/N felt her face heat up. “It’s just—”

“She’s gotten into the bad habit of calling all the professors nicknames,” Snape cut in smoothly, his tone sharp. “She finds it quite amusing but I don’t enjoy it. I wish you’d stop with that honestly.”

Sophie narrowed her eyes, but before she could question it, Fred and George reappeared, loudly declaring their victory in finding the worst Muggle clothing possible.

The subject was dropped—for now.

But Y/N knew they weren’t done being watched.

And, judging by the barely-there smirk on Snape’s face, he knew it too.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

The small Muggle inn was quaint, with narrow hallways and creaky wooden floors. After a long day of navigating Muggle London, the students had finally settled into their rooms for the night, exhausted from walking, shopping, and—most amusingly—watching Snape suffer through every moment of it.

After supper, Y/N had bid the students goodnight, acting every bit the responsible professor. But the moment she was certain everyone was settled, her mind drifted elsewhere.

To him.

It wasn’t unusual for her and Snape to sneak around, stealing moments behind closed doors, but tonight, it felt riskier. The walls were thinner, the students only a few doors down, but the thought of being alone with him—even just for a short while—was irresistible.

So, she waited.

Once the inn had fallen into silence and the hallways were still, she slipped out of her room, her bare feet barely making a sound against the wooden floor. She didn’t bother knocking when she reached Snape’s door—just slipped inside and locked it behind her.

Snape was standing by the small window, his long black coat draped over the chair, his usual scowl in place.

“You’re reckless,” he muttered, though his eyes darkened as they met hers.

Y/N smirked, stepping closer. “And yet, you still let me in.”

Snape exhaled slowly, watching her as she moved toward him.

“You looked miserable today,” she teased, reaching up to undo the top button of his crisp black shirt. “I thought I’d come cheer you up.”

His lips quirked. “Is that so?”

“Mhm.” Her fingers trailed down his chest, undoing another button.

Snape’s hands found her waist, pulling her against him. His breath was warm against her skin as he muttered, “This is a terrible idea.”

Y/N only grinned, tilting her head up to kiss him. His grip on her tightened, his lips rough but eager against hers. The air between them grew heated quickly—her fingers tangling in his hair, his hands wandering lower. He lifted her effortlessly, pressing her against the door as her legs wrapped around his waist.

Then—

A noise.

Footsteps. Voices.

Y/N froze.

Snape, always sharp, pulled back immediately, his eyes narrowing as he listened.

The voices were muffled but unmistakable.

Fred and George.

They were sneaking out.

Y/N scrambled out of Snape’s grip, nearly tripping as she grabbed her discarded shirt from the floor and yanked it over her head. Snape muttered something about damn Gryffindors as she hastily straightened her clothes.

“You owe me for this,” he murmured, amused despite his annoyance.

Y/N shot him a look before cracking open the door.

Sure enough, Fred and George were tiptoeing down the hallway, whispering excitedly about a late-night Muggle adventure.

Y/N stepped out into the hall. “And where exactly do you two think you’re going?”

The twins froze.

Fred turned first, eyes widening. “Professor Y/N! What are you doing out here?”

George smirked. “More importantly, why are you coming out of his room?”

Y/N’s mind raced. “I—uh—”

“We were… discussing disciplinary measures,” Snape’s smooth voice cut in as he stepped into the doorway behind her.

Fred raised a brow. “In the middle of the night?”

“With the door locked?” George added, grinning.

Y/N forced a sigh. “Yes. Because some of you cannot be trusted not to sneak out.” She folded her arms, trying to appear stern. “Clearly, we were right to be concerned.”

Fred and George exchanged looks before bursting into laughter.

“Oh, this is brilliant,” George said.

“Absolutely brilliant,” Fred agreed.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Go back to bed before I make you have a disciplinary meeting with Snape.”

Fred raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. But just so you know—”

George grinned. “We’re definitely telling everyone.”

Y/N groaned as they hurried off down the hall. She turned back to Snape, who looked thoroughly unimpressed.

“Well,” she muttered. “That could’ve gone better.”

Snape smirked. “It could have gone much worse.”

Y/N sighed. “I should go before they actually wake up the others.”

She hesitated, glancing at him.

Snape reached for her wrist, pulling her back just enough to press a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“Next time,” he murmured, “just ignore them and stay with me.”

Y/N grinned, slipping away.

It was going to be very difficult denying things in the morning.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

The last day of the trip had gone surprisingly well. The students had enjoyed their time in the Muggle world, and despite his usual grumbling, Snape had survived it. But as the trip neared its end, Y/N found herself itching for just one last stolen moment alone with him before they returned to Hogwarts.

So, when she caught Snape lingering near the back of the inn entrance, away from the others, she saw her opportunity.

“We have a few minutes before we leave,” she whispered, tugging him into a quiet hallway near an old stairwell.

Snape sighed, but there was no real resistance as he allowed her to press him against the wall. “You are reckless,” he murmured, but his hands were already on her waist.

Y/N smirked. “And yet, you’re still here.”

His lips were on hers before she could tease him further. The kiss was slow, deep, filled with everything they could never say aloud. Y/N melted into him, fingers curling into his robes as his hands slid up her back.

They were so lost in each other that they didn’t hear the footsteps approaching.

Didn’t hear the whispering.

Didn’t hear the muffled snicker until—

“OH MY GOD.”

Y/N and Snape ripped apart.

Fred and George stood in the doorway, identical expressions of sheer delight plastered on their faces.

“SNAPE HAS A GIRLFRIEND?” Fred practically shouted.

Snape’s face contorted in horror. “Lower your voice!”

George, still grinning, turned to Fred. “This is historic.”

Fred nodded. “This is unbelievable.”

Y/N, still breathless, held up her hands. “This is not what it looks like.”

Fred and George exchanged glances.

“Ohhh, so you weren’t just snogging our professor against a wall?” Fred asked innocently.

“No, no,” George said with mock seriousness. “I’m sure we imagined it.”

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but the twins bolted.

Snape swore under his breath. “They’re going to tell everyone.”

Y/N groaned. “We are so screwed.”

By the time they returned to the group, the damage had already been done.

Every single student was looking at them differently.

Some smirked knowingly. Others whispered to their friends, stealing glances at Snape and Y/N. The buzz of hushed excitement was almost unbearable.

“What’s going on?” Y/N asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Lee Jordan grinned. “Oh, nothing. Just discussing a very interesting development.”

Y/N forced a laugh. “Oh? And what’s that?”

“We’re just curious,” Angelina said, barely holding back a smirk. “Because rumor has it—you and Professor Snape—”

“Are madly in love,” Fred finished dramatically.

Snape made a noise that was somewhere between a scoff and a strangled groan.

Y/N crossed her arms. “That is ridiculous.”

“Sure,” George said, grinning. “It’s totally normal for two people who hate each other to disappear alone all the time.”

“And for Snape to buy you coffee,” Alicia Spinnet added.

“And to call each other nicknames,” Katie Bell chimed in.

“And to be caught full-on snogging,” Fred finished triumphantly.

The entire group burst into laughter as Y/N felt her face burn.

Snape’s expression darkened. “This is utterly—”

“So how long have you two been secretly dating?” Lee interrupted.

Y/N’s mouth opened and closed. “We—we aren’t.”

“Oh, of course not,” George said, grinning. “You just happened to be ‘discussing disciplinary measures’—”

“—with your tongues down each other’s throats,” Fred finished.

The group howled with laughter.

Y/N turned to Snape, wide-eyed. “Do something.”

Snape’s scowl deepened. “Detention. All of you as soon as we get back”

Fred wiped away a fake tear. “Oh, Professor, you wound us.”

Y/N groaned as Fred and George slung their arms around each other and started theatrically re-enacting what they imagined the kiss had looked like.

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. “I loathe them.”

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

The trip back to Hogwarts was filled with an air of tension, but the awkwardness mostly came from the students’ constant whispering and knowing glances. Y/N couldn’t help but feel the weight of their stares, even though she kept her gaze down, trying to avoid catching anyone’s eye. The train was quiet, save for the occasional murmur of students making theories and comments that were just loud enough for everyone to hear.

Every time she glanced toward Snape, he was staring out the window, his usual scowl in place. But this time, it seemed even more pronounced, as if he was trying to block out everything around him. Y/N’s stomach flipped, the embarrassment of getting caught still fresh on her mind.

Then Fred’s voice broke the tension.

“So, Professor Snape, when’s the wedding?” he called from a few carriages ahead, clearly loud enough for the whole group to hear.

Y/N’s face went beet red, and she quickly dropped her head into her hands, groaning. She could feel the heat of Snape’s stare, but when she looked up, he was still staring straight ahead, not even acknowledging Fred’s comment. He didn’t say anything, but Y/N could see the tightness in his jaw. Despite everything, there was something almost… amused about his reaction. Maybe he didn’t care as much as he seemed to. Y/n was surprised to see snape let them talk to him this way at all.

“Did you make her a love potion?” George added with a mischievous grin, and Y/N could feel Snape’s gaze flicker toward her for a moment, though he didn’t respond.

She couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh. The teasing was non-stop, but it wasn’t just the twins—it was the whole group now. The students had their theories, and the awkwardness was palpable. As the carriage trundled on, it seemed like no one could stop themselves from whispering about the unexpected turn of events.

Finally, as they neared Hogwarts, Y/N decided she couldn’t wait any longer. She walked over to Snape, who was still resolutely staring out the window, trying to pretend like he was unaffected.

“I’m so embarrassed,” Y/N said quietly, leaning toward him. “What should we do? This is… a disaster.”

Snape turned to look at her then, his gaze unreadable. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, he smirked just a little.

“Nothing. Who cares what they think?” he muttered. “I don’t even know why we were hiding it in the first place.”

Y/N blinked in surprise, and before she could say another word, Snape leaned in and kissed her right in front of the entire carriage. The students, who had been watching from every angle, went absolutely silent. Y/N could feel the shock and surprise from all sides, but she didn’t care.

When they finally pulled apart, she looked at him, a little stunned, but Snape just shrugged nonchalantly.

“Well, that should clear up any confusion,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

As they disembarked from the train, the students were whispering among themselves, but this time it didn’t bother Y/N. With Snape by her side, nothing else mattered.

[moonyswolfie]

The Golden Snitch

A/N: This is the first time I write for Regulus so I'm still experimenting with his character, but I hope you enjoy this fic!

TW: heights, falling off the broom (if the second can be considered a trigger)

Pairing: Regulus Black x Gryffindor!reader

“AND JAMES POTTER SCORED YET ANOTHER GOAL FOR GRYFFINDOR! TAKE THAT, YOU-”

“MR. LUPIN! ONE MORE WORD –“

“Sorry, Professor!”

Remus Lupin filled in for the usual commentator on today’s match and to say that you were beyond entertained would be a gross understatement. The guy was clearly rooting for your House and kept making snide remarks regarding the Slytherin team, thus receiving constant glares and threats from Professor McGonagall that she would never let him out of detention again if he wasn’t going to take his role seriously.

But you knew that it was all bark, no bite. She was enjoying her House’s advantage just as much.

You shook your head and turned your attention back towards the Pitch, looking for the golden specks amongst your flying team mates and opponents. It was a tight match and everyone was on edge, constantly flying around, therefore making your job all the more complicated. And now that the cheeky ball flew lower, amongst the rest of the students…

There! Wait, how did it get…nevermind. The second you noticed the flickering, you went hot on its trail…

…but the Slytherin Seeker saw it as well and now you were flying shoulder to shoulder between the house stands and under the wooden structures, nearly avoiding getting impaled once or twice. The stubborn Snitch didn’t care to make your mission any easier. You stretched your hand, nearly touching its wings, but had to retract it a moment later due to a poorly aimed bludger.

“Oi! What the hell?! I’m on your side!”

You cursed Sirius under your breath, and he gave you a sheepish look and an apologetic smile. Of course you knew it wasn’t intentional, but the force of the ball could have cost you an arm and as you remembered from last time, mending bones takes a bit of time.

You shook your head and put your game face back on, but sadly, the Snitch was gone. You groaned in frustration and flew a few feet higher in order to get a better view of the Pitch. The score was tight, a 10 point advantage for the Gryffindors, but instead of comforting you, it only intensified the pressure you were already feeling all the way to your bones. 10 points meant that catching the Snitch was crucial and would determine not only the winner of today’s match, but also who would take home the Quidditch Cup.

Easy as pie, huh.

On the bright side though, Regulus Black, the Slytherin Seeker, was also distracted by his older brother’s terrible aim, thus losing sight of the golden ball. You took comfort in knowing you would not be on the receiving end of James’ anger tonight. Not yet, at least.

James Potter was a great captain, very determined and passionate, but he also had a very short fuse. And Quidditch has been a very sensitive topic over the past few weeks. The Cup meant a lot to him and you all knew that, hence why the entire team gave their very best today. No one wanted to disappoint him…or be yelled at for the foreseeable future.

“Careful, Y/L/N, or you might spend the night in the Hospital Wing.”

Regulus’ lazy drawl made your jaw clench and your heart beat faster, but your attention remained on the game. You knew what he was attempting to do and you were not going to fall for it, no matter how much your body was betraying you.

“Why, do you need company after Malfoy’s done with you for losing the game?”

He rolled his eyes and flew past you, heading in the direction of the Hufflepuff stands. You were just about to follow after him when a small glimmer caught the corner of your eye. It wasn’t very obvious and it wasn’t in a place you’d ever spotted the Snitch before, but you had nothing to lose by chasing it. Besides, you could not be sure whether he saw anything real or if he was simply trying to mess with your head.

It was not uncommon for the Seekers to play mind games with each other during the games. Distracting attention and sometimes directing it towards a false target was a technique each one of you learned on your first day of training. Of course, it was all within the limits and rules of the game and neither of you crossed any lines in order for it to be considered cheating or foul play. But you had to have your little fun every now and then.

It didn’t help that over the past three years since you’ve been playing against each other, you developed a little bit of a crush on the boy. You never told anyone, but James and Sirius caught on one day after practice when the Slytherin team entered the Pitch to practice right after you vacated it and your eyes lingered on their Seeker for a little too long. The teasing that followed since was enough to have you sit at the other end of the Gryffindor table at meal times just so you would avoid the two boys’ jokes and kissy noises.

Careful not to catch Regulus’ attention, you headed towards the Gryffindor stands, rushing past the Professors’ box and up the length of the gallery until the tip of the flag tickled your midsection. It was high, a lot higher than you were used to, especially when it involved strategy, however you were sure you could pull it off. You had to. Your whole team depended on you. Hell, your whole House was counting on you. Looking up, you caught the same glimmer from earlier, this time a lot closer, yet not as easy to reach without the other Seeker noticing you.

It was now or never.

You darted for the top of the Slytherin stands, but you weren’t as lucky as you hoped. Regulus was hot on your trail, zooming past startled students seated in the margins. He caught up to you easily, but you knew you could lose him. You took a very sharp corner to avoid accidentally kissing the flagpole, before turning the handle of your broom up. Looking back over your shoulder you watched the younger Black very narrowly avoiding the previously mentioned flagpole, yet stopping right next to it. He saw the Snitch, you had no doubt, but confusion took over your face when he didn’t follow further up. Did he not want to win the game? Did the Snitch move in the meantime?

And was that on his face..concern?

A glance up told you that the ball remained in the same spot as when you last saw it. Then why did he stop?

 You decided not to dwell on it for too long. You had a game to win after all.

Ten feet and you’d have it. Just a little bit higher…

“Where is she going?”

You faintly heard Remus’ voice over the wind and your now plugged ears from the extreme altitude.

Five feet…three…

There!

Your hand wrapped around the Golden Snitch as you came to an abrupt stop, panting but smiling wide. You did it, you actually did it. You stood there for a moment, frozen, taking in the little ball wrapped tightly between your fingers, the cold enveloping your body and making your teeth clatter violently. You were alone up here. It was quieter than below, on the Pitch, but that didn’t erase the sinking feeling in your stomach.

You knew you shouldn’t, everyone told you this on your first day of training. Hell, James made you repeat this one particular rule every single day before practice and twice before each match.

Do not go over the limit. And if you do, for the love of Merlin, do not look down!

But you did.

And you immediately regretted your action.

Judging by the clouds blocking your view of the Quidditch Pitch and the screams that turned to faint murmurs before they reached you, the limit was a distant memory. You had to be at least twenty feet over.

You gulped, briefly registering the bile rising in your throat. What were you supposed to do in these situations?

Right. Slowly make your way back, no speed, holding onto the broom tightly, and no looking down.

Unfortunately, you were terrible at following the rules.

Gripping the handle of your broom tightly, you slowly commanded it to descend. You made it past the clouds after what felt like an eternity, trembling, yet you could not tell whether it was from the cold or the dread enveloping you. You never had issues flying with only one hand on the broom, but then again, you didn’t usually fly high enough to see the stars from your Astronomy charts up close and personal.

The Pitch came back into view and your heart started beating again at an almost normal pace. Almost. There was still quite a distance between you and the top of the stands. If you could just…

The Snitch started flapping its wings inside your fist, trying to escape your iron grip and your focus evaporated. It managed to free itself, before you caught it again, but it was too late. The sudden movement jolted the broom and you lost your balance.

And now you were free falling.

Your could not tell whether your breathing turned erratic or stopped altogether. The wind was whipping at your face, people were screaming from below you, your broom remained airborne for some reason you could not think of right now and all you could do was close your eyes and hope against hope that you will survive this very likely fatal fall. You left your wand back in the changing rooms, a decision that you now regretted dearly as you could have at least attempted to cushion your landing if not slow or stop it from crushing you like a tomato.

You were starting to lose consciousness when you felt two strong arms catching and holding on to you tight, crushing you to a strong chest. Upon opening your eyes, you looked up only to be met with a pair of beautiful grey eyes.

“You didn’t let me die.”

Regulus laughed out loud at your sudden words, the rich sound wrapping around you and calming a portion of your already exhausted nerves.

“If you died, who would I gloat to about winning with my excellent Quidditch skills?”

Your body finally caught up with your mind, processing the fact that you were still alive, and not only that, but also safe and not at all hurt. Your heartbeat slowed to a normal rhythm and your trembling subsided a little bit.

You raised a brow, a bemused smile stretching over your face at Regulus’ words.

“Oh?” you raised the hand that was still clutching the Snitch “sorry to break it to you, Black, but you lost. I caught the Snitch, so I won.”

It was his turn to cock a brow, the rest of his expression neutral save for a small, almost imperceptible twitch of his mouth.

“And I caught you. So I think I won.”

He leaned in and placed the gentlest of kisses on your forehead, before flying down towards the entrance to the Pitch where Madame Pomfrey awaited to check on you and make sure the altitude or the fall did not affect your brain or your body.

This was going to be an interesting rest of the year.

[theosbae]

mattheo takes care of u

mattheo’s hands are gentle as they work the shampoo through your hair, fingers massaging your scalp in slow, soothing circles. the warm water runs down your back, the scent of vanilla and something faintly musky filling the air—his shampoo, because he insisted on using his.

“you always make such a mess of yourself,” he murmurs, amusement lacing his voice. his knuckles graze the back of your neck as he tilts your head slightly, making sure he gets every bit of soap worked in.

you hum, eyes fluttering shut, sinking deeper into the bath. “m’not that bad.”

mattheo chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple, fingers still combing through the suds. “you’ve got ink on your wrist, sugar. and… is that flour on your cheek?”

your lips twitch, but you don’t argue. instead, you lean into his touch, letting him take care of you. he rinses your hair slowly, using his hands to pour the warm water over your head, careful not to let it drip into your eyes.

when he’s done, he strokes a wet strand away from your face, his dark eyes soft as they take you in. “there,” he murmurs. “all clean.”

you smile up at him, tugging him down by the collar of his shirt. “you take such good care of me.”

his lips curl into a smirk as he brushes his nose against yours. “someone’s gotta keep you in line.”

you laugh, pulling him in for a kiss, the water sloshing slightly as you move. mattheo doesn’t mind. if anything, he’s already thinking about how he’s gonna get just as messy as you.

[nemesyaaa]

idkskdkskss i know its a theo nott x reader but watch me having a special spot for mattheo x reader bc matt is just so sweet and caring towards her ??? i think m'y guilty pleasure is that i enjoyed the enzo x reader x mattheo. like oh my god ??' theo really needed that. so done with this serial cheater man 😫😫😫 in another universe, its mattheo x reader 😔😔😔

“And when you’ve got two dicks in you—ayo!” Enzo said, putting his hand up as if waiting for a high five from Mattheo.

when i said its ALWAYS Enzo 😭😭😭😭

“I don’t know why you’re all freaking out now,” Theo chuckled. “She saw me a good, long while ago. She knew I was watching.” pervy freak theo i know what you are

“What, you guys can have a threesome with my ex-girlfriend, but I don’t get invited?” he asked. This is really fair in fact

HIS OWN MEDICINE Pt. 2 // t. nott x e. berkshire x m. riddle

RATING: R / 7.1K WORDS

Mattheo Riddle x Theodore Nott x Lorenzo Berkshire x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* After Theo cheats on you one time too many, you go to his and your friends seeking comfort.

+ WARNINGS - (whoo boy, this is gonna be a lot) SMUT! Foursome (reader x 3 guys), Unprotected PIV, sub!reader, softdom!Theo and Mattheo, slightly roughdom!Enzo, oral (f! and m!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), fem reader, Eiffel tower moment, voyeurism, masturbation, mentions of weed, smoking weed, mentions of alcohol, drinking alcohol, mentions of Theo cheating, Mattheo talks about beating someone up (not graphic), language, not proofread (lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

HEAVEN AND BACK - Chase Atlantic

***Can be read as a standalone, but I’d recommend you read Pt. 1 to have the full story! Read it here.

- - -

You hadn’t learned your lesson. That much was painfully clear.

After weeks of little to no issue from Theo, you’d rounded the corner on the way to class to see him—arm raised flirtatiously, with his nose almost pressed against some random girl’s. The way she giggled in response to whatever he said led you to believe that he was talking some smooth shit.

You could still feel the way your cheeks flushed with heat like a fire. Your fingers had gripped so tightly around your books that your fingernails had pushed back against their leather bindings. Blood had pricked at the edge of your cuticles.

How many times were you going to let him treat you this way? Pansy’s question flashed through your head. Obviously, too fucking many.

You set your books down on one of the stone benches that lined the hallways and stomped right over to Theo and that stupid girl. You shoved him away from her, childishly knocked his books from his hands, and slapped him across the face as hard as you could manage.

A collective gasp spread around you like wildfire, silencing the mindless chatter almost instantly. Your breath heaved ferociously.

“See if I ever try to make this work again, Theodore Nott!” You shouted. With one last huff, you turned, gathered your books, and pushed your way back down the hallways to your dorm.

By the time Pansy found you, your sheets were already soaked through with salty tears that slipped onto your tongue every once in a while. Your lips were reddened and swollen, as were your cheeks. You probably looked like you’d been hit by a train.

“Oh, honey,” she sighed, collapsing against the bed beside you. This time, she didn’t try to hold you or talk you through it. She just rubbed your back and listened to your quiet sobs. She must have heard what happened earlier. There was nothing that happened in Hogwarts that Pansy Parkinson didn’t know about.

“I finally did it,” you gasped. “I finally ended it. Theo pushed me too far. How many times did I beg him to stop acting that way? I mean, even if he wasn’t seriously flirting—he upset me, so why couldn’t he fix it?”

“I know,” Pansy sighed. “It sucks, but I’m glad you stood up for yourself.”

“Me too,” you sniffled, turning your head to look at her. At this point, you just wanted to change into your pajamas and drink a couple of gallons of Firewhisky with her.

She turned and leaned over the bed, reaching past the mattress for her bag. When she got ahold of the strap, she lifted it and set it on the sheets. She pushed it toward you.

“I figured you’d need a pick-me-up by now,” she shrugged.

You rummaged through the bag before producing one large bottle of Firewhisky and a box of chocolates. It was as if she’d read your mind. You smiled in relief.

“Only if you enjoy them with me,” you said. She smiled in return, preparing to pop the cork off of the bottle.

***

If you could have gone back and time and punched yourself in the jaw, you would. It seemed that, lately, you’d had a habit of doing things in the heat of the moment—whether that heat was actual passion or the influence of alcohol, it didn’t matter.

Because at this very moment, exactly two hours after you finished off the bottle of Firewhisky with Pansy, you found yourself parked outside of Theo’s dormitory.

Your hand was poised, prepared to knock. Embarrassingly, you’d been standing like this for at least a couple of minutes, debating whether or not you should actually do it. You were definitely one to handle your liquor, but, you had to admit, you were tipsy.

A pleasant warmth was spread throughout your chest, making all of the lights feel just a bit softer and all of your thoughts just a bit bolder. The effect that searing drink had on your confidence was always one of immense power.

Finally, you swallowed what pride and sobriety was still cooped up in your head and knocked on the door.

A few moments passed—enough so that you had almost turned to leave, retreat to your dorm, and lick your wounds with another bottle of Firewhisky. But, just as you decided to ramp up for your walk of shame, you heard footsteps, a thunk, then the door swung open.

On the other side, leaning comfortably against the door like he owned the place—which he sort of did—was Enzo Berkshire.

“Well, hi there!” He smiled cheerfully, eyes tracing quite conspicuously down the length of your body. You could see every ticking movement they made as they halted and started over every curve on your figure. Your cheeks burned. “Have you come to talk to Theo? Because he’s not here.”

Your face deflated like a sad balloon.

“Oh, well, I guess I’ll try to catch him later. I’m sorry to—”

“Why don’t you hang out with us until he gets back?” he interrupted, eyebrows flying up innocently.

“Who’s ‘us?’” you chuckled nervously, wringing your hands before your legs.

He pushed the door open farther and stepped out of the way to reveal Mattheo Riddle leaned up against his pillow—one hand thrown so nonchalantly behind his head and the other nursing a half-burnt cigarette against his lips. He was undeniably one of the most gorgeous boys you’d ever seen. The only other competitors in the lineup were your stupid ex and Enzo—who just so happened to be his roommates. It’s like they put all of the tens into a bowl, shook it up with no other options included, and drew them to be dorm mates. It was fucking irritating.

But, besides that whole fiasco with you fake-flirting with Enzo and Mattheo a couple of weeks ago, they were still your friends. You had gotten to know them quite well alongside your relationship with Theo. They were great, funny guys. They just also happened to be devastatingly good-looking.

“Er, sure,” you finally said, nodding your head politely. “You sure I wouldn’t be intruding?”

“Not at all—we’re just having a smoke. Join us?” Enzo cocked his head towards the other boy farther into the room.

“Sounds great. What exactly are you smoking?” you joked, allowing Enzo to lead you across the threshold and into their dorm.

No matter how many times you were in this room, you could never quite get used to the overwhelming ocean of cologne that ripped through the stone bricks. It was overwhelming, but at least it was a good kind of overwhelming.

Enzo pushed the door shut behind you and locked it back. You pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, waiting awkwardly on him. Mattheo’s eyes were burning through you from the corner, but you chose not to look over at him quite yet.

“Make yourself comfortable—you’ve been here a million times.” Enzo placed a large hand gently on the small of your back and led you toward Mattheo’s bed.

Besides the boy, there was also a multitude of objects strewn across the duvet. A couple of snack bags, a few cans of soda, a packet of cigarettes, three or four lighters—all depicting women of varying modesty—and a large wooden box with a collapsible lid that Enzo called his “rolling box.” It didn’t take a genius to deduce the contents within.

In fact, upon closer inspection, Mattheo wasn’t smoking a cigarette at all. Stuck gently between his fingers was a neatly-wrapped bundle of herbs that blossomed through out the end, creating a yellowish-tinted haze about his head. You inhaled, the familiar scent clouding your lungs.

How bad was it to drink and smoke weed at the same time again? You couldn’t remember. Without truly considering the consequences of the actions you were one hundred percent about to perform, you let Enzo sit you down on the bed beside him. Your back was pressed against the oaken footboard and your legs were crossed tightly against your body. Enzo threw an arm behind you on the footboard just like he'd done a million times before, but only this time, it felt different.

Whether it was the alcohol buzzing through your veins or the smoke that just filled your lungs through the joint Mattheo had leaned forward to place against your lips, you weren’t sure.

You inhaled deeply on the small thing, Mattheo’s fingers brushing your lips ever so slightly. His eyes watched you intently while his mouth parted slightly. You stared at the beautiful boy as he held the joint still for you.

Had they always been so affectionate and patient with you? Of course, they had. That's why you got along with them even when Theo wasn't around. You were pretty sure, anyway.

Almost immediately after blowing the yellowed smoke into the air, your vision started to haze over. Enzo had always had access to strong weed in general, but being a wizard came in handy, especially when there was a tincture he could brew to increase the potency of the already bold herbs.

Mattheo smirked as he watched the substance seep into your brain. He leaned back against the headboard and watched through lidded eyes. You could see the redness already blooming around them. You figured you weren't far behind.

Enzo shut his rolling box with a tight slam and placed a new joint between his lips. His fingers gathered a yellow lighter from the bed and snapped it a few times, slowly producing a flame.

With his free hand, he protected the light as he lit up. His jawline accentuated perfectly as it jutted forward to hold the blunt still over the fire.

The tension in the air stirred around like a heady blanket. Between all of the different things swirling in your system and the natural hormones firing off inside of you, you were just about ready to grab Mattheo and kiss him as hard as you could.

You'd had a thing for him since you met Theo and Enzo—Theo had just snatched you up quicker. But your relationship with Theo had only slightly dampened your desire for the dark boy. Perhaps that made you as bad as Theo. The main difference was that you would never have actively pursued Mattheo while still in the relationship. Except for the one time you were trying to prove a point. Even then, it was faked. Mostly.

But now, you were no longer in a relationship. You had free run of the boys of this school, though there was only one you truly had your eye on. And he was smiling lazily at you through the smoke, lighting a fire beneath your abdomen.

Though you'd only taken a single puff of the herb, you were already feeling the effects pretty excessively. Mattheo and Enzo however continued to take multiple drags, building up their high. They'd obviously done this much more often than you.

“How often do you guys smoke?” you asked stupidly, trying to make conversation.

“As often as we can,” Enzo chuckled, leaning his head back against one of the footposts. His eyes closed comfortably and his throat jerked with his laughs. You'd love to just take a bite out of him.

You shook that thought away and turned back to Mattheo. “Could I have another?” you asked, gesturing lazily.

“Anything for you, mama,” he whispered.

He leaned forward just as he had before. This time, he placed his free hand beneath your chin and tilted your face up slightly. Your eyes met his with a hard intensity. Balancing the blunt against his thumb and forefinger, he placed the end of it between your lips.

You inhaled again, feeling the buzz light up your head. When he pulled it away from you this time, he placed it directly into his mouth and traced a stray drop of saliva off of your bottom lip with his thumb. His fingers still cupped your jaw.

Liquid confidence overtook your body and you darted your tongue out to caress along the pad of his thumb. His signature crooked smile cracked across his lips. At the split of your mouth, he pushed his thumb in and pressed down on your tongue.

Muscle memory from Theo kicked in. That, mixed with the fuzziness in your mind, had your lips closing around his finger and sucking. Your eyes held contact with Mattheo’s.

He clicked his tongue and smirked. “There it is,” he whispered. “Good girl.”

“You called that,” Enzo said. Your lips released Mattheo’s thumb.

“Called what?” you asked.

“That you’d listen so well,” Mattheo answered. “I knew from the minute you started going steady with Theo. You were always so obedient and loyal to him.”

“I wasn't—” you started.

“You were, baby, but that's okay,” Mattheo cooed, fingers tracing your jawline. He placed the blunt between his lips one more time, took a deep inhale from it, before reaching across the bed to sit it down on the ashtray in the corner.

Enzo appeared behind you suddenly, your back nearly pressed against his chest. You gasped slightly as his hand came forward to gently brush your hair behind your ear.

“It’s more than okay—girls who are obedient are rewarded.”

As if testing the waters, he pressed a gentle kiss to the connection between your neck and shoulder. You softly whined at the sensation, not having expected it.

Then, Mattheo was reciprocating the action on the other side of your neck. Both boys graduated from light kisses to hot, open-mouthed ones that sent chills throughout your body. You shuddered.

“Wait,” you whispered.

Immediately, they both pulled away and looked at you, eyes widened and waiting.

“Am I meant to take both of you?” you asked shyly, nearly giggling in the middle of the question.

“Only if you want to,” Enzo shrugged, moving out from behind you to garner a discussion. “We can each do something different.”

“It’s up to you, sweetheart,” Mattheo whispered, moving back toward you. He placed a slow trail of kisses from your shoulder to your jawline, where he paused and spoke directly into your ear. “Though, I know Enzo has been dreaming of your mouth.”

You pulled away and looked at him. “And you?” you whispered.

“What?” he asked, eyebrows knitting together ever so slightly.

“What have you been dreaming of?” you ask. His eyes flickered down to your lips then back up again.

“Let me show you.”

He pressed his lips to yours suddenly, muffling a gasp of surprise on impact. His hands slipped along your jaw and curled into your hair. You sighed against him as he leaned you backward.

He caged your body in against the bed. There was no escape from him—everything around you was simply Mattheo. His scent, his taste, the aggressive outpour of his sweetened breath as his hands began to slide down your body.

Sneakily, his knee separated your legs at the thighs and began to claim its position there a bit more astutely. Just as he was about to make contact with your core just beneath your skirt, Enzo interrupted.

“Don’t be greedy,” he demanded, shoving himself into the space Mattheo had been in.

He hovered over you, overlooking your face with pupils blown absurdly wide.

“Have you been planning this?” you chuckled.

“In my fantasies, Mattheo usually wasn’t present. It was just me and you.”

“What were we doing?” you teased.

He leaned down and licked a stripe from the base of your neck to the shell of your ear. You shuddered at the feeling, eyes fluttering closed. “I was helping you forget all about Theo, baby.”

“Shut up,” Mattheo groaned, shoving the boy’s shoulder roughly. Enzo giggled in response before placing his lips against yours.

His kiss was worlds different from Mattheo’s and even moreso from Theo’s. Still, it almost wasn’t comparable. Enzo was bold and dominating in his body language and the way he acted in any social situation, and it was clear that he was a similar type of lover. At least, that’s what you’d gathered so far.

Your hands curled into his hair, tugging gently at the chestnut strands. His tongue slid against your bottom lip, forcing its way into your mouth. He tasted like butterscotch. It seemed as though you recalled a jar of sweets settled somewhere on the bed when you walked in.

Mattheo’s fingers suddenly sank through your hair to your scalp. He massaged them along your skin, sending shivers down your body.

“What was that about being greedy, En?” Mattheo said. Enzo pulled away with a growl and glared up at the dark boy. Your lips were already swollen and mourning the loss of his warmth.

You looked up. Mattheo hovered over you, eyes gliding down the rest of your body. It seemed that, no matter how confident the boys were, they couldn’t quite find it in them to tear into you. As nervous as you were, their obvious nerves seemed to spur you on just a bit. With butterflies swarming your stomach, you made a decision on what the next move would be.

“So, when were you planning on starting?” you laughed. Neither of them said anything. You rolled your eyes and reached your fingers down to place against your buttons.

Enzo stifled a gasp and you began slipping each one through its eyelet. Once the pieces of fabric were completely split, you pulled them apart, revealing your body to the two boys. Nerves pounded in your chest.

The both of them stared for what seemed like hours, before Mattheo leaned down to press his lips to yours once more and Enzo began sucking rough bruises across your stomach. The two of them slowly worked the nerves out of your system like a knot in a muscle.

You rolled and turned over, facing Mattheo head-on but refusing to separate your lips. At the change in position, Enzo leaned back briefly onto his knees. He helped you pull the uniform shirt down your arms, while Mattheo’s tongue split you apart.

Enzo’s hands softly glided down your back, tracing the shape of your curves with the tips of his fingers. They moved lower and lower until they reached the waistband of your skirt.

You could feel him linger for only a second when his warm fingers pursed against the zipper and began to pull it down. A sigh left you as the zipper hit its base and loosened the material just enough to slip it down your thighs.

Enzo’s hands wrapped around your hips and pulled you back onto all fours. Mattheo’s head craned to continue to press his lips to yours. His kiss was hungry and demanding, like you were sustenance he craved. His fingers cradled your jaw, keeping your head pinned upwards.

“Matty,” Enzo groaned. “I don’t think I can wait much longer.” His thumb slowly traced down your slit through your underwear. Your back arched against him, heat blossoming within your core. You moaned against Mattheo’s lips.

Finally, Mattheo’s fingers gently pressed to your chin and he pulled away from you. He wished you could see how beautiful you already looked—with your cheeks red, eyes lidded, and lips swollen with his saliva.

“You want her mouth?” he asked, looking above you. His hand was holding your jaw, lovingly stroking along your cheek. Your forehead pressed against his abdomen. His free hand moved to your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp.

You felt so submissive beneath the two of them, almost reminiscent of that of a pet. You couldn’t believe how willing you were to do whatever these boys asked of you.

As they conversed above you, you thought of nothing regarding Theodore Nott. The only thing flying through your mind was Mattheo’s hands in your hair and Enzo’s fingers massaging your hips. You waited silently as they decided how to fuck you. Merlin, you were pathetic.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Mattheo whispered, tilting your head up to look at him. “I’m gonna fuck you and you’re gonna suck Enzo off, okay? Is that okay with you?”

You nodded, eyes stuck on his. He smiled softly—the warmest expression you’d ever seen printed on his face. As soon as Mattheo had gotten a taste of your skin, something changed in him. He was softer, gentler.

Enzo kissed a slow line up your naked spine. “Ready for us, baby?”

You nodded once more and, at that, they began to rearrange their positions. Mattheo pushed to the back of you whilst Enzo replaced his spot just before you. His hands replaced the other’s, caressing slightly calloused strokes across your cheek.

His thumb travelled down your lips, spreading them slightly in the meantime. When he pushed through your teeth a little bit and towards the back of your throat, he didn’t miss the small gag you stifled. The pad of his thumb traced a line from the back of your tongue to the tip, before placing it on your lips again. He smiled roughly, all sharp canines and snickering laughter.

Behind you, Mattheo’s hands mimicked Enzo’s previous movements. He traced your hips and the curvature of your ass, massaging the muscle and acquainting your body with his touch. Subconsciously, you leaned toward him, bumping gently against his core. You could feel his hardened length brush against you. He sucked in a small breath through his teeth at the sensation.

It was already nearing an impossibility for you to breathe just as they teased—you were almost frightened for the effect they would have on you whilst actually fucking you. You swallowed thickly.

“Ready, baby?” Enzo whispered, placing a gentle slap to your cheek. You nodded pathetically, desperate to get a taste of them in any way.

His hands fell to the tie around his waist that fastened at the top of his pants. He wore graying checkered pajama bottoms that framed his growing length so perfectly. He looked to be about average length but he seemed way thicker than anyone you’d ever had before. The thought of him working his way down your throat made you nervous.

His pants dropped and his briefs were soon to follow. His length sprung free and pressed against his abdomen. He groaned at the relief of pressure and pressed his hand against himself, rolling the skin about gently.

There was a moment of silence when he pushed down on himself to allow the tip to brush against your lips that Mattheo also slid your panties down your legs. The cool air slammed against your heat like a wave.

As you moaned at the sensation, Enzo took the opportunity to push himself into your mouth. Your next sounds were muffled.

Not a millisecond after Enzo had bottomed out halfway down your throat, Mattheo pushed himself into you from behind. You yelped and subconsciously moved away from the sudden intrusion, only to shove Enzo further down your throat. You gagged around him as your nose brushed his abdomen. He moaned aloud and curled his hands in your hair.

“Fuck, you’re perfect. I can’t believe Theo’d ever let go of this perfect fucking mouth.”

Mattheo began to build a slow, deliberate pace. He was so much gentler than you’d ever imagined. The reputation he had managed to obtain was one of a rough lover who didn’t kiss and only fucked from the back, but rumors didn’t always carry truth. It seemed that care punctuated each of his thrusts into you.

You moaned against Enzo as Mattheo hit every spot Theo never could. The vibrations from your throat caressed the boy before you in a way he’d never felt before. He gasped at the sensation, fucking his hips against your face desperately.

His complete disregard for the integrity of your throat led you to push farther back against Mattheo, forcing him farther inside you as well. It was a deadly cycle.

The consistent thrusts you were getting from both ends were almost enough to prevent you from hearing the loud crack that echoed through the room. Almost. Your eyes opened and glanced to the side to see Theo standing against the door.

He must have Disapparated into the room. Perhaps he’d been knocking and the three of you just hadn’t heard. Though, through the rushing of blood in your ears, it was a surprise you could hear anything at all.

Still, you saw him and he saw you—being torn apart from the inside out by his two best friends. You could hardly move your body, let alone try to alert the two of them that you had an audience. They had clearly not heard him, as they both continued their previous paces.

Theo watched—eyes widened, mouth agape—as your eyes began to roll to the back of your head. Mattheo worked you closer and closer to your orgasm.

Your eyes peeked at him, tears pricking the corners, to see something wildly different than you expected. You had been sure you were going to open your eyes to Theo storming forward, ready to beat the shit out of both of his friends.

That is not what you saw.

Theo’s uniform trousers were unbuckled and split apart, revealing the edge of his briefs that had been tugged downward. His cock was pulled from its confines and clutched tightly in his fist. He pumped it rapidly as he watched the three of you. The sight itself was enough for you.

You cried aloud as your finish washed over you in a giant wave. The clenching of your lips and the vibrations from your throat pushed Enzo over the edge.

“Fuck, perfect girl,” he groaned to the air. His head tilted back, golden earring glinting in the candlelight that cloaked your bodies.

Mattheo worked you through every second of your orgasm, which worked Enzo through every second of his.

Once the boy in front had completely released his spend down your throat, he pulled himself from your mouth. You let him go with a gasp—thick strings of saliva stretched between your lips and his body.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered, cupping your jaw possessively.

Before you could manage to wipe the spit from your flushed cheeks or warn the boys that your ex was in the corner jacking off to your current escapades, Mattheo quickly flipped you over onto your back.

You squealed at the motion, having not been at all prepared. He immediately caged your body in, hovering over top of you with a snide smirk on his lips.

“Can I have you all to myself for a minute?” he whispered against your ear, placing a gentle kiss to your earlobe. You giggled at the sensation, chills being spread down your arm.

“Whatever, man,” Enzo said. “I’m gonna light up again.” He leaned back against the head of the bed and grabbed the abandoned blunt that was placed carefully on the ashtray in the corner.

Having almost completely forgotten about Theo—between the drug in your system and the boy on top of you—you wrapped your legs around Mattheo’s waist and tugged him in closer to you. Slowly, he reentered you with a soft groan. The sensitivity below pushed a whine from you.

He placed a soft kiss to your cheek. One hand grasped onto your thigh as he fucked himself into you. His nose hovered just above yours as he watched your every reaction to his movements.

With every gasp and moan you let slip out, he’d mimic your sounds softly, but not in a mocking way—more like in an agreement.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?” he groaned. His pace was steady and unyielding. It was agonizing even, almost as if he intended on driving your pleasure out as long as possible.

“Do you know what it felt like watching Theo touch you every day? Watching him kiss you? Watching you sit in his lap?” he growled lowly, his nose brushing along yours with each thrust. You moaned at his words.

“That day you came up to me in the Great Hall…when you called me ‘Matty’…oh,” he groaned, crooked smile showing off his canines. “I knew I had to have you. Whether I had to wait a few days or months, I was going to have you.”

“Ugh, wrap it up,” Enzo said, holding his hand against his forehead, lit joint resting beneath his fingers.

You giggled just a bit at the stupid boy, before coming back to your senses a bit. Was Theo still in the corner?

Mattheo’s pace picked up a bit. Your head craned to look behind you. Enzo blew smoke toward the air. Your eyes attempted to adjust to the darkness in the corner where Theo had stood. Mattheo was hitting every spot you needed.

“Bite her neck while you fuck her.”

All three of you seemed to gasp. You paused and looked over, finally locating the looming boy.

“Shit!” Mattheo pulled out and scrambled to cover the both of you. Enzo tugged his briefs back up. You sat and stared, waiting for his next words.

“I don’t know why you’re all freaking out now,” Theo chuckled. “She saw me a good, long while ago. She knew I was watching.”

Mattheo and Enzo both looked over to you. You felt absurdly small beneath their huge gazes, like a little kid getting a slap on the wrist.

“I didn’t really mean to not say anything—I did try, I just tend to…forget things when I’m high.”

“And when you’ve got two dicks in you—ayo!” Enzo said, putting his hand up as if waiting for a high five from Mattheo.

The three of you stared at him in disbelief. At the realization that nobody was going to high five him, he shrugged and returned the blunt to his mouth.

“Yeah, well, did you enjoy the fucking show, you perv?” Mattheo scoffed, keeping the sheets pulled tight over you and him.

“What, you guys can have a threesome with my ex-girlfriend, but I don’t get invited?” he asked.

“Um, I think the important word in that sentence is ‘ex,’” Enzo piped up once again. You rolled your eyes and pressed your hands to your face. This had to be a nightmare.

“Ex or not, I still know what she likes,” Theo explained. “Now, if you want to make her cum quickly, you should bite her neck. Trust me.”

“Do you want me to ask him to leave?” Mattheo asked you, nuzzling his nose gently against the side of your head.

“No,” you said decidedly. You turned to Theo. “But, if you’re going to be here, you’re going to join.”

“What?” Mattheo and Enzo both echoed.

“I think it’s only fair,” you said. “Plus, it was you that suggested we have a foursome.” You pointed at Enzo. He shrugged and nodded as he recalled his previous discussion on the matter.

“I say, if everyone’s okay with it, he should join. Because if he tries to tell anyone, he’d have to mention he was a part of it. Or we could just tell them. He won’t tell anyone if he could criminalize himself.”

Theo’s eyebrows raised slightly. You didn’t want to admit that, after everything, you still missed his body and the familiarity he had with yours. But it was true. He wouldn’t tell anyone if he was a part of it. Granted, he likely wouldn’t have said anything anyway. Despite the end of your relationship, he still seemed to care about you. And you cared about him.

Mattheo and Enzo stared at each other, seeming to weigh their options. There was a moment of silence before they agreed. They nodded their heads.

You turned back to Theo. He approached slowly, eyes trained on you. Your stomach seemed to float within your abdomen as you recognized the look in his eyes.

No matter how many times he fucked you over in your relationship, he still knew his way around your body. He stopped before you. His fingers slowly lifted to cradle your jaw and tilt your face upward. His thumb slowly caressed over your bottom lip.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered. You shuddered beneath his touch.

It wasn’t long before nearly everyone fell back into the previous headspace. Enzo came up behind you once more and began pressing loving kisses against your neck. Theo kneeled before you and watched your eyes closely.

He gently moved the blanket covering your naked body away, just slowly enough so you could stop him if you needed to. His head dipped slowly between your newly exposed thighs, his hot breath lingering so closely to your core.

“Theo,” you whispered in a kind of warning. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Mattheo watching the boy with an iron stare.

After what Theo did to you, you’d briefly spoken to Mattheo about it. It was only a small conversation in which you were crying so hard you barely got the words out and Mattheo just listened and let you sob against him.

Mattheo was there for you when Theo had let you down. And the fact that Theo was preparing to pleasure you like he always had before had Mattheo’s jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might snap.

When his lips made contact with you, you gasped aloud. Your head fell back against Enzo’s shoulder, his mouth still sucking bruises into your flesh. His hands clutched at your breasts, massaging them strongly. The combined sensations were enough to make you lose your words.

Distantly, you could hear Mattheo huff. When your eyes opened to check on him, you noticed that he was looking toward the ground with his hands hovering between his knees. Jealousy pulsed through his body.

You wondered why he’d not been jealous until Theo walked in. You’d made it clear that you’d only included him to protect all of you. The last thing you needed was rumors of the three of you fucking each other floating around the castle.

He hadn’t cared that Enzo was touching every bit of you, because he knew that you didn’t care for Enzo in that way. But the wound from Theo was still raw, and your care for him still lingered.

“Matty,” you moaned, reaching your hand out to place against his cheek. He turned to look at you, eyes flickering over the pleasure contorting your face.

Enzo still rolled your breasts in his hands and Theo devoured you like a man starved. You reckoned Mattheo didn’t see a use for himself, but you did.

Sliding your hand down, you gripped onto the thin metal chain around his neck and pulled him close to you. Your lips pressed against his just as they had earlier. Your fingers tangled in his dark curls, urging him closer against you.

He pulled away from you. “‘Don’t want him touching you.”

You stared into his eyes, watching the affection in them swirl with anger. Theo’s mouth continued against you. You could feel your heat building to a point. Enzo had begun to roll his hips against your back, thrusting his length against your ass. He moaned lightly against your neck.

“He’s just getting me ready for you,” you teased, watching the flare light up in his eyes. You giggled softly, pressing your lips back to his.

Mattheo’s hand wrapped gently around your throat, caressing his fingers around the side of your neck. Enzo’s fingers delicately tweaked each of your nipples. Theo’s mouth consumed you openly until he pressed two fingers inside of you.

Your back arched and a moan left you at the sudden intrusion. Mattheo’s tongue split you apart as Enzo worked himself closer to his finish. You could feel his desperation in the thrusts he pushed against you.

Between the three men and the individual pleasures they each dealt, you found yourself closer and closer to your release. It felt like your entire body had been dipped in fire and storms echoed overhead.

Blood rushed in your ears as your brain began to shut off. Your eyes rolled backward as electricity sparked within your abdomen.

“I’m gonna—” you started.

Just as you were about to fall over the edge of your orgasm, Theo’s lips and fingers stopped. He pulled away from you.

You whined disappointedly and separated your lips from Mattheo. “Why?” you cried, your release teetering on the precipice. Your legs shook at the denial.

“Thought you might need a bit more,” Theo shrugged. He nodded toward Mattheo, and got to his feet. Was he serious? Honestly, you were a bit pissed at the thought of him passing you off like a gauntlet, but at this point, you just wanted to cum. It didn't matter who did it.

Mattheo stood slowly, letting the blanket fall away from his lap, and allowed Theo to take his place beside you. The dark boy settled between your legs, keeping steely eye contact. Your cheeks burned.

He slipped his hands beneath your thighs and gently perched them around his hips. He leaned in against you and hovered before you.

“Is this alright?” he asked. You nodded desperately, so ready for your release you couldn't stand it.

Finally, he pressed in and sank within you all the way up to the hilt. You moaned aloud, hands clawing at his back. Your eyes fluttered shut.

Your left hand blindly reached for Theo’s waist. When the four of you had begun to discuss everything, he'd pushed himself back into his trousers. He seemed to get the message, however, and pulled himself from his waistband.

Your fingers wrapped around his length and began to pump as Mattheo worked your orgasm back to its peak.

“Matty, I'm—so close,” you moaned aloud.

“Me too,” Enzo groaned against your ear. His hands gripped your hips as he fucked himself against your back.

Your thumb swiped over the top of Theo’s cock a few times, building that sensitivity he was so vulnerable to. If the four of you came at the same time, you imagined the room would start floating or something like that. Theo groaned at the sensation.

Then, seemingly taking Theo’s advice, Mattheo leaned in as close as he could go on the opposite side of you as Enzo and began to pound into you harder. His canines closed around the softest part of your neck and sucked. The sensation sent jolts of lightning down your body. You gasped aloud and arched into him.

Like a train, your release hit you harder than ever and spread across Mattheo’s stomach. Your eyes whitened for a moment, rendering you blind to everything that was not him.

Before you, Mattheo released a choked groan against your jaw and came within you, mixing your spends in a hot storm. You whimpered at the feeling, your nails scraping against his flesh.

Theo groaned as your hand rolled over his tip for the last time before his release was spurting against your hand and the bedsheets.

And finally, behind you, Enzo had rutted himself against you enough that he came against your nude back. He moaned breathlessly against your ear, his fingers stuttering restlessly on your breasts.

Several minutes passed before any of you even attempted to move.

Theo had fallen to his side on the bed and was borderlining a sharp snore. He rested with his hands splayed out and his shirt still partially buttoned.

Enzo had laid back with his arms spread above his head and sweat glistening down his chest. Deep pants pushed from his body. The way he had leaned had caused you to fall back as well. Your head rested against his thigh.

Mattheo had collapsed on top of you, his breaths heavy and lips pressing soft kisses to your chest every now and then. Your fingers absentmindedly brushed along his hair.

The boy laid over you waited until gentle breaths came from Theo and Enzo to start talking. When he was sure they were both asleep, he turned his head and rested his chin against your chest. His eyes watched you.

“Are you angry with me for asking Theo to join?” you asked softly, fingers still tracing through his hair.

He shook his head. “No, mama, I'm not mad at you. I understand why you did it.”

His fingers reached up to trace along your arms and collarbone. Again, his gentleness came as a bit of a surprise to you.

“What I don't understand is how you could keep going back to him when he kept treating you like that,” he scoffed. You sighed, leaning your head back against Enzo’s thigh.

“I can't explain it. He made me feel…special. I never felt that way unless I was with him. It was like… I felt like the only girl in the world until I got proof that I wasn't. But, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get that feeling from anyone else. So, it was to stay with Theo and feel on top of the world for a while, then occasionally get my heart broken. Or I could be in a relationship I didn't feel good in, and constantly think of him.” You sighed, embarrassed at how pathetic you sounded. You never wanted to rely on the boy, but your self-esteem had aligned itself with Theo’s loyalty.

“Hey,” Mattheo whispered. You glanced down at him. His eyes were trained on yours. “As many times as you've probably heard it, I would never do that to you. You are everything I have craved for months and for every time I shoved that dumbass against the wall and threatened to beat the shit out of him—”

“Wait, what?” you interrupted.

“What, you think I just sat by and let him act that way? I tried to beat some sense into him a thousand times over, but he just didn't listen. The fucker was persistent with his disloyalty, I’ll give him that.”

“You defended me?” you asked, laughing just a bit.

“Of course, I did. Even if I didn't have the hots for you, I can't stand that shit,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

Finally, he rested his head back against your stomach and you swore you felt him smile against you. He seemed pleased that he'd finally admitted to all of those things.

And, though you'd just participated in a fucking foursome with some of your best friends and would quite literally never live it down, you felt pretty good where you currently rested.

- - -

Tag List: @lilymurphy03 , @mypolicemanharryyy , @angelfrombeneth , @clairesjointshurt , @bunbunbl0gs , @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303 , @thestarlithideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw , @yhiiil, @xxrougefangxx , @thatblackthorn, @robinyx , @starsval , @jolly4holly , @blvebanisters , @chgrch , @ilovehotmenandwoman , @smutnyrobocikwrakiecie , @synicaljah , @abaker74, @2dloveshp

[rottenherbs]

Your Champion // C.D x Potter! Reader

Request: hello, can i have a Cedric Diggory request where the reader is Harry's sister (they are the same age). They meet at the quidditch world cup and immediately hit it off. Harry is very protective of her and disapproves of her dating Cedric but then he saves her during the second task?

Word Count: 2.7k

Author's Note: HERMIONE WING WOMAN! This was a good challenge for me! I hope I wrote Cedric well :) I apologize I skipped the Yule ball, i feel if they went together it wouldn’t make sense for the request plotline, and I already have been writing this for too long. —

[mastserlist]

Much Love, Saige

———-

Being a fan of the Bulgarian Quidditch team in the Weasley house was no small feat. It was undeniable that they had such a warm and inviting nature, especially allowing you and your brother to stay at their home over breaks, but conversations became quite pointed once the world cup came around.

The house was so starkly pro-Ireland it astonished you. Luckily Ron and Ginny both had some sense in them and wore their red and black proudly alongside you and Harry. Fred and George on the other hand practically questioned your every move, seeing your allegiance to their rivaling team sparked insidious competition.

“For the last time, I am NOT gambling with you.” You whispered starkly. The whole Weasley family was walking their way through the forest. Fred and George flanked either side of you, far enough away from their father who was oblivious to their antics.

“We're not asking for galleons here-” Fred started.

”Yeah, perhaps just a couple knuts or sickle if you can spare.” George finished, wagging his eyebrows jokingly. “Why.. .dont think you’ll win eh?”

You just sighed, not knowing how far you all still had to travel, you shoved your hand in your pocket digging around for any loose change that would shut them up. Once you removed your hand, both twins shot their fists in the air, happy to see their egging finally broke you into having a little fun.

“We thank you for your business.” Fred chirped, sliding the coins into his own pocket, while revealing a small notebook, swiftly writing down your contribution.

“And you won't regret it!” George slurred, both of them jogging up to their next unsuspecting victims, Ron and Hermione.

You rolled your eyes, annoyed by their brotherly love, but also feeling deep admiration for the day set ahead of you.

It had to have been an hour or two when the scenery ahead widened into a beautiful hilltop. Still quite a ways away, everyone’s attention was focused on something else coming from just over the horizon.

Two figures came into view, one much taller than the other, both waving their arms beckoning the group to come over. Either parties walked briskly to each other, meeting just at the base of the hill. After a moment it became acutely aware to you who they were before Mr.Weasley introduced the groups.

Your attention couldn’t help itself, glancing ever so often at the boy, charmed by how he carried himself, his brown hair lit by the morning glow. Hermione nudged your shoulder, smirking at her feet. Both of you giggled to yourself, the special bond of your friendship could say everything without having to say a word at all.

Like most girls at Hogwarts, you knew of Cedric Diggory; The hufflepuff king. He was known for his academic knowledge and superb quidditch skill, and most of all his popularity amongst anyone who laid eyes on him —

but he wasn't popular like Draco… no, not at all.

He was known for the right reasons, his wit and ability to make friends with anyone was the reason he was so well known - not because of money or power or some evil greed.

You suddenly became nervous, hands clammy and unable to act normally.

Piling with Hermione as the adults chatted, both of you whispered to each other in the back of the pack.

“You know, I heard he liked someone in our grade-“ Hermione started, the sentence only making your stomach flutter.

”Please, we all know it's Cho,” you rebutted, trying to cover your distaste for the girl. You didn't have any serious issue with Cho, but a jealous streak flowed through you, a childlike pain of not being wanted by yet another one of your crushes.

“No no. I heard from Ernie that they both went on a study date and nothing happened. Like nothing.” Hermione whispered, biting her lip slightly at you. Her eyes were attempting to communicate to you, but all you could think about was the fact that it was clear you all were traveling to the game together, and the close proximity was inevitable.

You sucked your teeth at her, a small sound of annoyance yet acceptance as you nodded your head towards the group. The both of you looked up, seeing the group shift towards the hill, the Diggory’s making quick strides ahead.

For a second, Cedric turned, smiling deeply at your brother, smiling politely and making conversation, every so often looking around. You watched your brother curl his hands, laughing and bantering as best as he could before shoving his thumb over his shoulder and directing his attention towards you.

You were too far away to distinct what was being said, but you could decipher that he was (from afar) introducing Cedric to you, the words “sister”, “same age”, and “wicked smart” all following in quick succession. Your cheeks reddened, both you and Cedrics eyes meeting, a soft inviting smirk growing as he looked at you over his shoulder. Harry’s eyes followed between the two of you, suddenly aware of the implications and interests Cedric had in you. Though he thought little of it and changed the conversation.

Your heart fluttered once you got to the top of the hill, standing precariously close to Hermione and Ron, doing your best to focus on Mr.Weasley.

“Now, if everyone would please touch the boot.” He spoke, smiling from ear to ear. “Yes yes. Just a finger will do. Scoot close please.”

As all the children got close, you became shoulder to shoulder with others, your eyes fixated on the large mangy shoe in front of you. As you took a deep breath in, you looked up and locked eyes with Cedric, his face

“Hold on tight-“ Mr.Weasley shouted, everyone taking a deep breath in.

“THREE” Mr.Weasly started counting down.

“Hey-“ Cedric whispered, smiling softly at you.

”TWO!”

”Hi-“ you breathed out, feeling a warmth rush over you. He blinked slowly, licking his lip nonchalantly.

“ONE”

And with that, the world began to spin. Wind was blowing through your hair and eyes, shutting them out of fear. You couldn’t tell how high up you were or what was happening. You could hear small yelps from Hermione just next to you, your bodies colliding with each other as the air got colder.

“Let GO.” Mr.Weasley announced, his words cut through the wind easily, frightening your eyes open. Cedric and Mr.Diggory were missing, slowly one after another Fred and George let go, their bodies flying out of sight.

You took a breath in feeling zero sense of confidence in your actions and released your grip from the boot. The world continued to spin, your stomach and your heart felt to change places, your consciousness feeling something out of this world.

It only took a few seconds to get to the ground, an invisible net catching your body from slamming into the earth, holding you just a foot above the grass before dropping you roughly.

Harry landed just next to you a second later, the sight of his glasses hanging onto his face for dear life made you break into a deep guttural laugh. He looked at you through his disheveled hair, his hand swinging back to hit you playfully, slumping back into the ground to catch his breath.

Your attention was quickly diverted, Hermione’s hand pointing eagerly towards the sky.

Like out of a movie, Mr,Weaslys, Mr.Diggory, and Cedric were gliding on hair down to the ground.

”You’ve got to be joking.” Fred started, sitting up in the grass yanking his jacket over his shoulders.

”They didn't teach US that.” George rolled his eyes, running his hand through his hair.

Once Cedric landed, he adjusted his clothes quickly before making his way over to you and Hermione. His hand extended to you both, hoping to help you up. Hermione looked at you quickly, the excitement showing deliberately through her eyes.

She grabbed Cedric’s hand and helped herself up leaving you in the dust. Just behind Cedric she winked at you, turning to catch up with Ron and Harry. Cedric smiled, his hand still enveloped with you.

“Come on, they might leave us behind.” He smiled, tugging your arm lightly urging you up. You just nodded, feeling his strength pull you easily from the ground. Once to your feet, you brushed off the front of your pants, grass and rocks flinging from your clothes.

“Is my back bad?” You asked innocently, turning and facing your back towards Cedric. He was grateful you couldn't see his expression, his eyes tracing the outline of your body. There were dark dirt marks on your bottom and he wasn't sure how to tell you.

“It’s not.. well.” He coughed, clearing his throat. “Nothing that won't come out in the wash.” He laughed, your face dropping as your hands covered your butt, wiping it frantically.

“It’s that bad?!” You asked, realizing what you had just asked him to do. He shrugged, cocking his head to the side.

“Cedric!” Mr.Diggory yelled, catching both of you off guard. ”It’s time!” His father coxed you both over, the group now congregating a bit away leaving you alone at the top of the hill.

”Let the games begin-“

———

The events of the World Cup were memorable to say the least. You stayed close to your brother the entire night, fear filling your mind with each step. You tried your best to not show your fear going into your next year at Hogwarts, but you knew something would change, for better or for worse.

You prayed for a simple year, each being more laborious for Harry, seeing life not allow the young boy to grow and be a teenager. It hurt you, but it seemed to be going well… at least until the other schools showed up.

The prospect of the triwizard tournament bothered you to your core. Children, yes at least 17 years of age, but children nonetheless being thrown to the dogs for entertainment and forever glory to the school. It was insane!

But it only brought you and Cedric closer

———

“Dragons?” Cedric gasps. Both of you were hidden in the courtyard,

“Yes…Harry wanted to tell you, but his pride.. those damn buttons-“ You stunned, smacking his lapel as the button changed, clearly showing Potter Stinks glimmer in green. Cedric smirked, taking it off at once and holding it in his hand.

“It’s just house pride.” He snuffed, handing it over to you. “I know he didn’t put his name in, but no one else believes it. I’m sorry.” His words were soft yet firm. You hovered your hand over his before grabbing it, the proximity of his body became incredulously apparent to you; your lungs halting their movement.

You could’ve sworn he leaned in-

“Yes. Dragons” You cleared, looking up at the boy. His head was turned down towards you, his height staggering in comparison. He nodded, his soft brown eyes admiring you from his view.

He has been enamored with you ever since the summer. His mind raced with fear for your health and wellbeing the moment the warning shots went off. He selfishly deprecated his father and attempted to look for you, any trace of your presence in the fighting crowds would have eased his anxiety.

But he’d never tell you that. Not now.

“Each student will have a dragon and need to save the egg.” You sighed.

“Sounds invigorating.” Cedric beamed, leaning against the wall behind him running his hand through his hair.

“Sounds irresponsible” you choked.

“Oh please, y/n. They wouldn’t put us in a situation they couldn’t get us out of.” He smirked, watching you fuss with your fingers. He suddenly became aware of your anxieties, biting the side of your cheek, eyes fixated on the ground.

“Listen, darling,” Cedric started, pushing himself back from the wall, standing tall in a way to show his confidence. His arms held either side of you.

“I promise, nothing will happen to me, or your brother for that matter.” He leaned down, trying to lift your chin to look him in the eye.

“Okay?” He whispered, his eyes dancing between yours, the air suddenly becoming stiff.

“Okay.”

He wrapped you in a hug, swaying you back and forth casually.

“Chin up. I’ll put on a show.” He smiled, resting his chin on top of your head. You leaned your head tirelessly on his chest, the thumping of his heart gave you peace, but the thought of never feeling it again sent a new wave of shivers down your spine.

You attempted to gather your emotions, pulling back the tears, too embarrassed to cry in front of him.

“Please tell your brother thank you, and I’ll return the favor.”

———-

The first task came and went with utter success. With only minor cuts and scrapes, both Cedric and Harry had surpassed their dragons. And yes, you could admit Cedric put on a show.

The second task continued around the corner. To the surprise of no one, the confusion of the golden egg stumped each champion.

Harry hadn’t asked you for your help, knowing your small allegiance with Cedric and having his own help from Ron and Hermione; but he had a strong distaste for the older boy and how he had swooned you, worried he would treat you like the other girls and move on quickly.

Harry was nothing but protective. Both of your namesakes brought trouble; people who just wanted to know you or people who wanted to use you.

You hated it, but it was justified and trouble always came when Cedric’s name was brought up around you

“He tried to repay your hint!” You bellowed, confused to Harry’s annoyance at the golden egg

“Right like that does anything. I think he was telling me I was stinky more than anything-“ Harry scoffed. He held the large egg in between his hands, aimlessly tracing the opening with his fingertips.

“Harry. Underwater. Listen to it underwater.” You spoke plainly, looking at your brother with a blank stare. His facial expressions didn’t change, instead they stayed indifferent- the cogs in his mind working slowly.

He stood up at once, shooting you a soft smile, though his eyes said differently.

“I’ll go take a bath then.” His lips tightened, leaving you in the library alone. You sighed, leaning back in the chair. You knew he was under an immense amount of stress, but sometimes it felt like he was competing with you just the same.

———

The night before the second task, Hermione and Ron and you were all round up by professor Mcgonagal after the dinner bell, pulled away from the celebrations in the great hall.

Unsure to what it could be, you caught Cedric’s attention in the hall, walking opposite to you. Knowing you had no time to speak, your eyes met.

You both said nothing at all, but the softness in his eyes lingered, turning his body to watch you walk. Just before you rounded the corner, you blew him a kiss, hoping you would have time later tonight to see him.

You had no clue what that kiss did to him, his head hung as he walked away smiling foolishly to himself.

Neither of you knew he would have to save your unconscious body underwater in just 12 hours time.

[may-chocolatte]

Draco may be in need of urgent medical attention after this 😔

From JoDT series by @lilbeanz

[seriouslysam8]

One-Shot Alert!

A River in Egypt

Harry Potter was Ginny Weasley’s friend. Ginny was happy with that arrangement. Really, she was. Besides, she was dating Dean. Dean was great. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

Here's a little canon compliant Hinny one-shot that came to mind yesterday. I hope you enjoy it! Don't forget to drop a review. You know I survive off reviews.