#i’ve already started on the second portrait!

[megarywrites]

from The Silent Shore, the first book of the Seafoam trilogy

↳ Part I — Tremor | Ch4 — Laid to Rest [excerpt below] [Part II] [Part III]

Steep stone steps lead down into a circular room, a half-ringed platform embracing a pool of water that let out into the sea. Columns protruded from the water, barnacles clinging to them. The steps continued into the water, though how far down they went, I couldn’t tell. Our Droma was waiting for us on the steps, the water up to his knees. He beckoned for us to join him, and I started down the steps after Ma did. The other mourners and the Stoli filed onto the platform, fanning around us or staying on the stairs so that it was only us and the Droma in the water.  He took my hand, then Ma’s, and guided us down to the same step he was on.  “It is only fitting that this is where we say our farewells to Arteras, given that the sea was his final resting place.” My throat started to burn when tears pricked my eyes, the edges of my vision going watery. “Since the unfortunate news of his passing reached me, I have been gathering accounts of his life. Of how he was a loving father, a devoted husband, a loyal friend, a dedicated sailor, and above all else, a devout man. He will be sorely missed by us all in Psari, though his memory will live on in us who knew him best. Grief will turn to fondness someday. Sooner than you might think.”  He took his hand back from mine and Ma’s and held his hand out to someone on the platform. One of the Stoli. She came forward, kneeling by the pool and offering a glass orb to the Droma. An unlit candle sat inside, the hardened pool of wax gripping the curved edges. He handed it to Ma, then turned to reach around me to take a thin, lighted stick from a Stoli on my side of the platform.  He gestured for us to hold the orb, so Ma held it out before him and I reached out to hold the other side.  “This flame,” he said as he poked the flaming end of the stick into the orb. “It is an offering to the gods, to beg them to allow Arteras safe passage through their realm. It is a sign that he was loved, here. That he will be remembered fondly by those he left behind. In this life, however, it is time to say goodbye.”  He nodded, and I peered around him, waiting for Ma to release the orb before I did. It bobbed away, the waves carrying them out past the columns and amidst the craggy rocks that lined our coast. It would have watched it longer, to make sure that it made it into the open sea, but the Droma had already turned around, offering an arm to us both, and guided us back up to the platform. 

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: I'd Rather Date the Male Lead's Dad - Lilia Vanrouge x reader

When you end up in your best friend's favourite but absurd novel about breaking a fae prince's curse, you didn't expect to get attached to his little family too. Even more unexpected? You fell for the male lead's dad, but hey it looks like he likes you too.

Series Masterlist

You love your best friend. You really, really do. But sometimes—sometimes—the things they drag you into make you question your life choices. This time? It’s a novel. A bad one.

The plot is borderline unreadable, but somehow, it’s now your problem. Because of course it is.

“So, listen,” your friend had said, waving the book around like it was some kind of literary masterpiece. “Malleus Draconia, the fae prince, is cursed—chained up in this forest. The curse can only be broken by someone who isn’t attracted to him. But here’s the kicker: he’s so hot that no one can break the curse. For ten years.”

“Uh-huh.” You’d nodded along, already feeling your brain cells start to wave white flags of surrender. But your friend continued.

“The main character stumbles upon him after years of drama and frees him because they’re the only one not drooling over him. Then they fall in love, blah, blah, blah.”

At this point, you were barely listening. But then they dropped the bomb. Your eyes were shutting and you felt the sweet embrace of sleep call to you.

“Also, there’s this subplot where a magical plague of squirrels overruns the kingdom, the Saint betrays everyone by secretly being a double agent for some shadowy organization, and—get this—there’s a surprise paternity reveal where the devil is the father of the Saint who turns out to be the evil villain controlling everything.”

Your face had hit the pillow as your soul left your body.

And somehow, the next thing you remember is waking up dead. Or, more specifically, reincarnated. In the body of the heroine. In that story.

You can't believe the story was so terrible that it killed you.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is that the room is way too fancy for your tastes. The bed is massive, the sheets feel like they cost more than your entire existence, and the walls are adorned with tacky portraits of people who are probably supposed to be important.

“Oh, no,” you groan, rubbing your eyes. “This can’t be happening.”

But it is. You’re in the novel. The very one your friend had been yammering about. And not only are you in it, but you’ve woken up a full year before the plot is supposed to kick off. A year of waiting for terrible drama, an ex-fiancé who can’t take a hint, and a poor fae prince you’re supposed to rescue.

But you? Yeah, you’re not that patient.

“No way am I waiting a whole year for some garbage plot to unfold,” you mutter, throwing the covers off. “I’m just going to free Malleus now, take my reward, and live a quiet, drama-free life by the beach.”

With that plan firmly in mind, you march out the door.

It takes a bit of wandering through some overly cursed forest, but you eventually find Malleus’s “prison.” And honestly? It’s not nearly as dramatic as you expected.

There he is, sitting in the middle of a clearing, chained up in some kind of spooky-but-also-weirdly-ornate setup. He looks just as the novel described: tall, dark-haired, horns giving him an air of mystery and power. But what you weren’t prepared for? The way his eyes widen slightly in surprise when he sees you.

“I wasn’t expecting… company,” Malleus says, his voice soft, almost tentative.

You pause for a second. He looks intimidating, sure, but there’s something oddly… sweet about him. Like a guy who’d get excited over a party invite and then be too shy to actually show up.

“Yeah, I’m just here to get this whole ‘curse-breaking’ thing out of the way,” you say casually, walking up to the chains. “I’ve got stuff to do.”

Malleus blinks, looking a bit confused. “You… are not attracted to me?”

You snort. “Nah, not really. You’re nice to look at, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve got my own problems. Let’s just get you free so I can collect my reward and move on.”

He still looks mildly surprised but nods. “Very well.”

With a shrug, you reach out and touch the chains. There’s a brief flicker of light, and they dissolve. Just like that.

Malleus looks down at his freed wrists, clearly shocked. “It… it worked.”

“Yeah, wild, right?” you say, brushing off your hands. “So, about that reward…”

Before you can finish, Malleus stands and, in a tone so polite it makes you feel guilty, says, “You have freed me. Please, allow me to invite you to stay at my castle. As a guest.”

You blink at him. “Uh, no thanks. I’m good.”

Malleus’s expression falters for a moment, and you swear he looks a little sad. “But… I would like to repay you for your kindness.”

He’s giving you this look, all wide-eyed and hopeful, and you realize—he just wants to hang out.

Oh no.

“Ugh, fine,” you groan. “I’ll stick around for a bit.”

The way his face lights up is honestly too pure for someone who was supposed to be all intimidating and all-powerful.

When you arrive at Malleus’s castle, things get interesting real fast. You’re greeted by his entourage—Sebek, who looks like he’s one insult away from going Super Saiyan; Silver, who’s napping on his feet; and Lilia, who seems like the embodiment of chaos.

Sebek is the first to speak, scowling at you with righteous fury. “How DARE you approach Lord Malleus with such insolence!”

You roll your eyes. “I just freed him. You’re welcome.”

Sebek looks like he’s about to explode, but Lilia steps forward, his sharp grin making you instantly suspicious. “Oh? You broke the curse? Without being… swayed by our dear Malleus’s charms?”

“Yup,” you say, popping the ‘p.’ “Didn’t even break a sweat.”

Lilia’s eyes gleam with amusement. “Fascinating. You must have quite the willpower. Or perhaps…” He looks you up and down, clearly intrigued. “You simply have different tastes?”

You blink. Then, without thinking, you point at him. “Actually, yeah. You’re hot.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence, during which Sebek looks like he’s been hit with a brick, and Lilia lets out a delighted laugh.

“Oh, you are a delight,” Lilia says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Perhaps you should stay longer.”

“You think I’m joking, but I’m not,” you deadpan, earning a grin from Lilia.

Silver, meanwhile, is still half-asleep and completely unfazed by your chaos. “Good job on freeing Malleus,” he mutters, yawning.

Malleus, who has been silent this whole time, finally speaks up. “You… do not find me attractive?”

You turn to him and sigh. “Look, it’s not that you’re not attractive. You’re, like… objectively pretty. But I don’t really go for the whole cursed prince thing.”

Malleus seems to process this slowly, his brows furrowing slightly. “I see…”

“But don’t worry,” you add quickly, feeling a bit bad for the guy. “You’re sweet. It’s a compliment, really.”

Malleus looks a little less confused and a bit more happy. “Sweet? No one has ever called me that before.”

You snort. “Well, I’m calling it now. And hey, you’ve got your freedom, right? Now you can get invited to all those parties you wanted.”

At this, Malleus’s eyes widen slightly, and you realize—oh no, he’s the type who really just wants to be invited to stuff.

“Oh,” you mutter under your breath, “you’re like a giant puppy, aren’t you?”

Malleus tilts his head, clearly confused, but before he can ask, Lilia leans in with a knowing grin. “I think you’ll fit in just fine around here.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “This is gonna be a long stay, isn’t it?”

Lilia’s smile widens. “Oh, most definitely.”

Later, you’re sitting around the dining hall with the group when Lilia casually brings up the dreaded plot points.

“So, when do you think the magical plague of squirrels will hit?” he asks, almost too casually.

You nearly choke on your drink. “The what now?”

“Oh, didn’t you know?” Lilia smirks. “There’s a prophecy. The squirrels will overrun the kingdom unless someone stops them.”

You blink. “This is real? I thought that part was a fever dream.”

Malleus nods seriously. “The squirrels are quite the threat.”

You slam your head on the table. “I’m trapped in a nightmare.”

Silver, half-asleep as always, just yawns. “I’ll take care of them. Probably.”

And that’s when you realize: maybe you should have let the curse be.

You didn’t mean for it to happen, but you and Malleus… well, you’ve become friends. It started small, mostly casual conversations where he’d hover around, awkward but eager, just happy to be included. There was this one time you invited him to tea, and the poor guy looked like he was about to cry from happiness. Now? You’re taking your frienship to the next level.

“Hey,” you say, strolling into the throne room where Malleus is doing the farthest thing from brooding. He’s just kind of standing there, staring out the window like he’s daydreaming about a really nice picnic. “Want to go to the market with me?”

The look on his face is priceless. His eyes widen like you’ve just handed him a golden ticket to the best party of the year. “You… want me to accompany you?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, as if this isn’t the biggest deal of his life. “I need to pick up some stuff, and I figured it’d be more fun with a friend. Plus, y’know, maybe someone will actually give me a discount if you’re there.”

Malleus looks like you just offered him the world “I would be honored.”

And that’s how you, Malleus, and the rest of his chaotic entourage—because of course they followed—ended up at the bustling market.

Sebek? Less than thrilled. In fact, you think he might actually be foaming at the mouth. “I cannot believe you are fraternizing with Lord Malleus so casually! Do you not understand the honor you’ve been given?!”

“Sebek,” you sigh, waving a hand dismissively, “we’ve been over this. I’m his friend. Friends do normal stuff together. You know, like going to the market.”

Sebek glares at you like you’ve just insulted his entire bloodline. “Lord Malleus does not engage in such trivialities!”

“Uh,” you glance over at Malleus, who is currently inspecting a row of intricately carved fruit. “He’s literally doing it right now, Sebek.”

Malleus turns to you, holding up a fruit shaped like a tiny dragon. “Would you like to try one? It is said to bring good fortune.”

You grin at him. “If you’re offering, I’m down.”

Sebek looks like he’s about to explode from sheer indignation.

“You dare—!”

“Sebek,” Malleus cuts in, his voice as gentle as ever. “I am quite enjoying myself. There’s no need to worry.”

You grin at the sight. “You’re really into this, huh?”

Malleus glances at you, a little bashful but still smiling. “I have never been invited to something like this before. It is… a new experience.”

Oh god, he’s so sweet. You feel like you’re corrupting a baby deer by dragging him into the real world, but it’s so worth it.

Lilia, however, is having the time of his life. He leans over, grinning like the mischievous little gremlin he is, and whispers in your ear, “I must say, you’ve got quite the charm. Lord Malleus rarely accepts invitations. You might be more important to him than you think.”

You snort. “Yeah, well, maybe he just really likes fruit.”

Lilia laughs, a sound that’s equal parts endearing and dangerous. “Or maybe he enjoys your company, hm?”

“Careful,” you say, flashing a grin. “Keep sweet-talking me like that, and I might start flirting back.”

Lilia’s eyes gleam with amusement. “Oh? I think I’d enjoy that.”

Oh god, he’s not backing down. Now you’re in the deep end. “Listen, if you keep going, I’m gonna have to ask if you’ve got plans for dinner.”

“I’m free this evening,” Lilia replies smoothly. “Shall I prepare a feast? Or perhaps we could have something more… intimate?”

You blink at him, unable to tell if he’s messing with you or if this is just how he operates. Either way, you’re so down to find out.

Before you can respond, Sebek cuts in, voice raised to what can only be described as ‘angry airhorn.’ “You will not speak so casually to Master Lilia!”

“Oh, Sebek, relax,” you say, patting him on the shoulder, which is a mistake because it feels like patting a brick wall. “He likes it.”

Lilia winks at you, thoroughly enjoying the chaos. “Indeed, I do.”

You smirk, shooting Lilia a playful look. “See? The man’s practically begging for attention.”

Malleus, meanwhile, has been watching this entire exchange with mild confusion. “Is this what humans call… flirting?”

You give him an exaggerated nod. “Yup. It’s a sacred tradition. Very serious stuff.”

“I see,” Malleus muses, looking between you and Lilia. “Perhaps I should try it as well?”

“Oh, please don’t,” Sebek groans, looking absolutely horrified at the idea of Malleus flirting. “Lord Malleus, you are above such trivial pursuits!”

Lilia is practically cackling at this point. “Now, now, Sebek. It wouldn’t hurt to let Malleus explore new experiences.”

You grin and elbow Malleus lightly. “Don’t listen to Sebek. You can totally flirt if you want.”

Malleus, sweet as he is, looks completely serious when he asks, “What would I say? I do not wish to offend.”

You pause, trying very hard not to laugh. “Okay, how about this? Try complimenting someone. Like…” You glance around and point at a vendor selling flowers. “Tell them they have lovely flowers.”

Malleus nods, taking this very seriously, and walks over to the vendor. You, Lilia, Sebek, and Silver (who’s been napping the whole time) watch as Malleus, ever the gentleman, says to the vendor, “Your flowers… are as radiant as the moonlight.”

The vendor looks flustered, blushing furiously. “Oh! Thank you, My Lord!”

You can’t help but laugh. “See? You’re a natural.”

Malleus returns to your side, looking pleased with himself. “I believe that went well.”

“Yeah, now you just have to work on *accepting* compliments,” you say with a wink, and Malleus tilts his head slightly in confusion.

“Accepting?”

“Yeah,” you grin, “like, if I were to tell you you’re the sweetest giant fae-dragon puppy I’ve ever met, you’d say…?”

Malleus looks genuinely flustered, his cheeks tinting the faintest shade of pink. “I… would say… thank you?”

“Good enough,” you laugh, nudging him playfully. “We’ll work on it.”

Sebek is muttering to himself about ‘disrespect’ and ‘sacrilege,’ but Malleus looks… happy. Like, really happy. He’s still a little awkward, sure, but you can tell he’s having a good time. Probably more fun than he’s had in years.

Lilia, meanwhile, is back at your side, leaning in close with that smirk of his. “You’re quite the influence, you know.”

“Yeah, well,” you grin, “someone’s gotta drag him into the real world.”

“Perhaps you’ll drag me into something as well?” Lilia purrs, his voice low and teasing.

You blink at him. “Keep talking, and I might actually propose to you.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Lilia says, eyes glinting with mischief. “Perhaps later tonight?”

“Is that an invitation?” you quip, raising an eyebrow.

Sebek practically has steam coming out of his ears. “Master Lilia!”

But Lilia just laughs, utterly unfazed. “Oh, Sebek. You really must learn to loosen up.”

Silver yawns loudly, cutting through Sebek’s rant like a chainsaw through butter. “Can we get food now?”

You snort. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

Malleus, ever the polite host, nods eagerly. “Yes, let us dine together. A family outing is not complete without a meal.”

You pause, blinking. Family? Did he just call this a family outing?

Lilia catches your expression and chuckles. “Oh dear, it seems Malleus has grown quite fond of you.”

You shoot him a playful glare. “You make it sound like a bad thing.”

“Not at all,” Lilia says, smiling knowingly. “In fact, I believe it’s quite the opposite.”

Before you can respond, Malleus steps up, still radiating pure joy. “Would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner tonight? I would very much enjoy your company.”

Sebek looks like he’s about to self-destruct from sheer disbelief, but you? You can’t help but grin. “Sure, why not? But if I catch you stealing my dessert, it’s game over.”

Malleus chuckles, his awkwardness fading just a bit. “I shall do my best to restrain myself.”

Lilia leans over, voice low and teasing again. “Perhaps you’ll save dessert for me, hm?”

You snort. “Don’t push your luck, old man.”

“Ah, but I’m a fae. Luck is my specialty.”

You shake your head, grinning as you walk alongside Malleus, who’s positively glowing with happiness. Yeah, this is one weird, dysfunctional family, but maybe you like it that way.

It’s quiet tonight, the kind of quiet that settles deep in your bones, making you feel both peaceful and unbearably restless. You find yourself standing on a balcony, overlooking the courtyard bathed in moonlight. The cool breeze whispers through the trees, the scent of night-blooming flowers drifting lazily through the air.

Lilia stands beside you, leaning against the stone railing, his usual playful demeanor absent. In its place is a rare solemnity, something you’ve only seen glimpses of before. You glance at him, noting the way the moonlight catches in his hair, casting soft shadows across his face. It feels... strange, seeing him like this. So serious, so quiet.

After a long silence, he speaks, his voice soft but weighted with emotion. “I was terrified, you know. Of losing him.”

You don’t need to ask who he’s talking about. Malleus. The curse that had wrapped around him for so long, a dark cloud that threatened to take him away. You had been the unexpected catalyst for breaking it, and while you hadn’t fully understood the gravity of it at the time, you’re beginning to now.

Lilia continues, his gaze fixed on the stars above. “I’ve lived a long time. I’ve seen many things, lost many people... but the thought of losing him...” He trails off, his voice catching in a way that makes your heart ache. “It would have broken me.”

You swallow, unsure of what to say. What can you say to something like that? You’re just... you. You never asked to be involved in any of this, never imagined that you’d become such an important part of these people’s lives. But here you are.

“I didn’t do anything special,” you finally manage, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I was just... there.”

Lilia turns to look at you, and there’s something deep in his eyes—something raw and real that takes your breath away. “Sometimes just being there is enough,” he says quietly. “You saved him. And in doing so, you saved me too.”

You shift uncomfortably, not because of his words, but because of the way they tug at something deep inside of you. A part of you that you’ve been trying to keep buried for as long as you’ve been in this strange, unfamiliar world.

You’re silent for a long time, your gaze fixed on the moonlit sky. The memories of your old life swirl in your mind—your family, your best friend, all the people you’ve left behind. You haven’t spoken about it to anyone here, not in detail. It feels too dangerous, too vulnerable. But standing here, under the moonlight with Lilia, you feel like maybe... just maybe... you can share a piece of it.

“I miss them,” you admit softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “My family. My best friend. I miss... home.”

Lilia doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his presence beside you, warm and steady. He doesn’t press for details, doesn’t ask questions you’re not ready to answer. He just listens, and somehow, that’s enough.

You take a deep breath, the cool night air filling your lungs. “It’s hard,” you continue, your voice shaking slightly. “Being here. Being away from them. Sometimes it feels like... like I’m losing pieces of myself. Like I’m forgetting what it felt like to be... whole.”

Lilia’s hand gently rests on your shoulder, a comforting weight that grounds you. “You haven’t lost yourself,” he says quietly. “Not even a little.”

You close your eyes, letting his words wash over you. You don’t know if he’s right, but in this moment, you want to believe him. You want to believe that despite everything, despite the distance and the pain and the uncertainty, you’re still... you.

For a long time, the two of you stand in silence, the only sounds the soft rustling of the trees and the distant chirping of crickets. The moon hangs heavy in the sky, casting everything in a silvery glow. There’s a quiet understanding between you and Lilia, a shared pain that neither of you needs to fully explain.

Eventually, Lilia speaks again, his voice so soft it almost blends with the wind. “The world can be a cruel place,” he murmurs. “But it can also be kind. And in moments like this... it feels just a little more bearable, doesn’t it?”

You nod, your throat tight with unshed tears. “Yeah,” you whisper. “It does.”

The night stretches on, and though neither of you say anything more, there’s a comfort in the silence. A bond formed in the quiet acknowledgment of each other’s pain. And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re not quite so alone.

Maybe, just maybe, you’ll be okay.

You’re not entirely sure how you ended up here, but somehow, you’re on a date with Lilia. Yes, that Lilia—lord of chaos, culinary adventurer, and general source of havoc.

The setting is picturesque enough: a meadow at sunset, complete with wildflowers and a gentle breeze. At least, it would be picturesque if not for the feast Lilia has prepared, which has a worrying amount of color, movement, and mystery.

“Surprise is the key to a romantic evening,” Lilia declares as he gestures proudly over the assortment of dishes.

You take a moment to assess the display. There’s a vibrantly colored stew that seems to be emitting steam with a life of its own. A platter of vegetables is twitching as if they’re reconsidering their life choices. And there’s a pie—definitely a pie—with something that looks suspiciously like an eyeball poking out from under the crust.

Lilia smiles at you, eyes glinting. “Would you like to try the stew first, my dear? It’s my own special concoction.”

You stare at it, then at him. “How many people have survived eating this?”

Lilia leans in, eyes full of mischief. “Define survived.”

You grin. “Only one way to find out, right?” Before he can respond, you reach for the bowl and take a large spoonful of the stew. Lilia’s eyebrows rise, clearly impressed by your boldness.

It tastes... unusual. Like someone mixed spicy peppers, sweet berries, and some kind of very sharp herb. You take another bite, considering.

Lilia watches you, waiting for a reaction. “Well?” he asks, a hopeful glint in his eye.

You swallow, then nod thoughtfully. “It’s... actually good. Really good, in fact.”

Lilia blinks, his expression shifting from mischief to genuine surprise. “Really?”

You nod again, going in for a third bite, savoring the strange combination of flavors. “Yeah! I mean, it’s different, but in a good way. The spice, the sweetness... it kind of works.”

Lilia’s face lights up, his delight palpable. “You truly mean it? My culinary prowess is usually met with... trepidation.”

“Trepidation might be an understatement,” you say with a laugh. “But honestly? I think people don’t give you enough credit.”

From somewhere nearby, a strangled gasp echoes across the meadow.

“Master Lilia!” Sebek’s voice rings out, sounding more horrified than ever. You glance in the direction of the bushes where, sure enough, they’re rustling. Apparently, Sebek has taken it upon himself to supervise this date from afar.

Lilia chuckles, clearly enjoying Sebek's reaction as much as yours. “Oh, my dear Sebek. One day, you shall learn that adventure begins in the kitchen.”

You take a sip of the iridescent liquid before you—a drink that looks more like a potion than anything else. It’s sparkling, and it has the distinct taste of... glittery fruit juice? You’re not sure, but it’s oddly refreshing.

Lilia eyes you, his smile turning softer, more genuine. “I must say, you are full of surprises. Most would have fainted by now.”

“Hey, I can handle a little excitement,” you say, reaching for one of the twitching vegetables.

Lilia watches in awe as you pop it into your mouth and chew. “And?” he asks, almost breathless.

You blink. “Crunchy. Kind of earthy. I like it.”

Lilia’s smile widens, his eyes twinkling with delight. “Oh, how wonderful! My dear, you truly are one of a kind.”

Sebek’s dismayed groan echoes once again, and you laugh, glancing toward the bushes. “I think we’re breaking poor Sebek.”

“Well, that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?” Lilia replies, leaning closer to you. “And speaking of fun, I have something special for you.” He produces a bright blue flower, presenting it to you with a flourish.

You take it, giving it a cautious sniff. It smells like fresh-baked cookies, and you look at Lilia, raising an eyebrow. “A flower that smells like dessert? Now you’re really spoiling me.”

Lilia’s eyes soften, his voice lowering. “Only the best for someone who appreciates my unique touch.”

Before you can reply, there’s another voice—this one distinctly sleepy. “Father, what... what’s going on here?” Silver approaches, looking like he just woke up from a nap. He takes one look at the scene—the half-eaten dishes, the flower in your hand, and Lilia’s delighted expression—and sighs. “Are you actually eating this... willingly?”

You nod, grinning. “Turns out Lilia’s cooking isn’t so bad. It’s actually kind of great.”

Silver looks at you, then at Lilia, then back at you. He blinks, his brain clearly trying to process this information. “Father, are you using magic to manipulate their taste buds?”

Lilia puts a hand over his heart, looking offended. “Silver, how could you suggest such a thing? I assure you, our dear friend here is enjoying my cooking purely of their own volition.”

Silver sighs again, rubbing his temples. “I think I need another nap.”

Lilia laughs, turning his attention back to you, his eyes filled with affection. “You truly are something special, my dear. Few have ever dared, let alone enjoyed, my creations.”

You smile, giving his hand a squeeze. “Well, I guess I’m just full of surprises.”

Lilia leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Would it be too much to say I find you... irresistible?”

You chuckle, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Don’t push your luck, old man.”

Lilia smirks, his gaze full of warmth. “Ah, but pushing my luck is what I do best. Perhaps next time, I’ll cook an even more adventurous meal for us.”

You pretend to consider it, tapping your chin. “Define adventurous.”

Lilia’s eyes glint mischievously. “How about roasted phoenix feathers?”

“Phoenix feathers?” you echo, shaking your head with a laugh. “You know what? I think I like you just the way you are—absurd cooking experiments and all.”

Lilia’s expression softens, his smile turning tender. “I’m glad to hear it.”

With that, the two of you rise, arm in arm, leaving behind the bizarre remains of the meal. Somewhere in the bushes, Sebek is probably fuming, and Silver has most likely already fallen asleep again.

But as you glance at Lilia, whose eyes are still filled with excitement and warmth, you think that maybe absurd is just what you need.

You love this little family, but you had to gain equal footing with Sebek before you got attached any further. So you did what you thought would work the best— Challenge him in something he enjoys.

You and Sebek had been circling the field for a while now, your horses galloping side by side as you both tried to outpace each other. The competitive tension was thick in the air, though not hostile—it was more of an unspoken game to see who would crack first.

“So, you’re telling me you’ve been riding horses for *years*?” Sebek shouts over the wind, his eyes sharp with determination.

“Yup,” you reply, grinning as your horse picks up speed. “Equestrian club, since I was a kid. Surprised?”

Sebek huffs, his posture straight and rigid as always, but you can tell he’s impressed. “It’s… commendable. For a human, you’ve got some skill.”

“Some skill?” you tease, glancing over at him with a mischievous smile. “Is that all I get? Come on, Sebek, I thought you were competitive.”

He narrows his eyes at you, spurring his horse faster to pull ahead. “I am competitive! You’ll find I do not lose so easily.”

You laugh, nudging your horse to keep up. There’s a thrill in it—pushing each other, but not in a mean way. Sebek’s passion for horse riding matches your own, and it’s fun to finally find common ground with him. Plus, you’re enjoying the challenge.

The field blurs by as you both race toward the far fence, neither of you backing down. As you approach the finish line (or rather, the arbitrary spot you both decided was the end), you both cross it at nearly the same time, pulling your horses to a halt, panting slightly.

Sebek is the first to speak, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. “Hmph. You’re not bad.”

“Not bad? I’d say I’m pretty good,” you shoot back, grinning ear to ear.

Sebek scoffs, but there’s a lightness in his tone that wasn’t there before. “You’re still a human, but… I’ll admit, you ride with some honor.”

“Wow, high praise,” you tease, but you soften your smile. “Thanks, Sebek. You’re not half-bad yourself.”

For a split second, you think you catch the ghost of a smile on his face, but it quickly disappears as he straightens in his saddle. “Of course. Riding is in my blood.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Oh, obviously. I bet you were born in the saddle.”

“Perhaps I was,” Sebek says, completely serious. You stifle a laugh, realizing he probably believes that.

But before you can retort, Lilia rides up, his usual mischievous grin firmly in place. “Ah, what’s this? A friendly competition between two of my favorite people?”

“Master Lilia,” Sebek says, immediately shifting into soldier mode. “We were just—”

“Competing, yes, I can see that.” Lilia’s grin widens as he glances between the two of you. “I must say, the sight of you both racing like that was… quite exhilarating.”

You smirk, not missing a beat. “What, did we impress you?”

Lilia leans closer, voice dropping into a playful tone. “Oh, darling, I’ve been impressed by you for quite some time now.”

Sebek looks like he’s about to faint from sheer mortification. “MASTER LILIA! HUMAN!”

You laugh, waving Lilia off. “Careful, Sebek, you’re gonna scare your horse.”

But surprisingly, Sebek doesn’t snap back. Instead, he looks at you, something softer in his expression. “I admit… you’ve shown me something today. Perhaps you’re not just a reckless human after all.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Wow, Sebek. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re starting to like me.”

Sebek grumbles, looking away. “Do not mistake my words. I merely acknowledge your competence. Nothing more.”

“Sure, sure,” you reply, still grinning. “But hey, anytime you wanna ride again, I’m game.”

Sebek glances back at you, his usual harshness softened just a bit. “Perhaps… I will take you up on that.”

Lilia chuckles, clearly pleased with the budding camaraderie. “Ah, it warms my heart to see you two bonding. Who knows? Maybe you’ll become the best of friends.”

You wink at Lilia. “Well, if Sebek keeps up, maybe I’ll make him my official riding partner.”

Sebek, for once, doesn’t argue. Instead, he gives a small, determined nod. “We shall see, human. We shall see.”

As you ride back toward the stables, you can’t help but smile. You’ve earned a bit of respect from Sebek, and who knows? Maybe you’ll turn this into a full-fledged rivalry—one with a bit more fun and a lot less shouting.

Lilia, of course, flirts all the way back, making sure to keep the mood light and teasing, much to Sebek’s increasing exasperation. But even he can't deny that today was fun

The day should've been as normal as you could have these days—your stomach had other plans. There’s this nagging craving in the back of your mind for ramen, but of course, you’re stuck in a medieval isekai world where even the concept of instant noodles would make heads explode.

You groan, pacing back and forth in your room. "Ramen, ramen, ramen..." You’re practically chanting it like a spell. Finally, you snap your fingers. "Alright! Let’s get some ramen going!"

With all the determination of a contestant in a cooking show, you head to the market, a list of makeshift ingredients mentally prepared. You have no clue how you’re going to explain seaweed or soy sauce to the vendors, but hey, you’ve gotten this far in life on sheer audacity.

Except, ten minutes later, you find yourself hopelessly lost. You had been walking with confidence, chest out, head high, until you somehow managed to wander into a part of town that definitely wasn’t on your mental map. Instead of bustling vendors and cheerful shoppers, you’re now looking at a spooky, abandoned-looking area, complete with dense fog and suspiciously creaky trees.

“This... This isn’t the market,” you mutter, pausing in front of a seriously ominous cottage. If there were ever a sign that said "DO NOT ENTER" in flashing neon, this would be it. And yet, for reasons unknown even to yourself, you approach.

Before you can bolt in the opposite direction, the door swings open with the most dramatic creak you’ve ever heard. A woman, dressed in black robes, stands in the doorway with a gaze that could curdle milk. Her aura practically screams witch, and not the cool kind either—the villainous, melodramatic kind.

“Well, well, well,” she sneers, stepping out with all the grace of a Broadway villain, “look who wandered into my lair.”

“Uh, yeah...” You trail off, scratching the back of your head. “So… this isn’t the market?”

The witch gives you a look so condescending it could melt iron. “No,” she hisses, “it most certainly is not. You’ve trespassed on my domain, little fool!”

“Right, so sorry about that,” you say, trying to backpedal. “I’m just trying to make some ramen, and I—wait, hold on, who are you exactly?”

Her eyes flash with annoyance. “You don’t know who I am?”

You blink at her. “Is this the part where you tell me, like in those cartoons? ‘Cause I’m getting major ‘I’m about to monologue’ vibes right now.”

The witch’s face twitches, clearly not used to people interrupting her villain speech. “I,” she says, pausing for dramatic effect, “am the witch who cursed Malleus Draconia!”

Oh, that witch. You’ve heard some stories about her, mostly from half-paying attention when your friend geeked out over the original plot. But now that you’re face-to-face with her... this is not how you pictured it. You tilt your head.

“So, wait,” you begin, trying to suppress a snicker, “you’re the one who came up with that whole 15-year curse plan? And your big finale was… what? Swooping in at the last second to save him and then expecting him to marry you?”

Her eyes narrow. “That was the plan.”

You stare at her for a moment, the absurdity sinking in. “...That’s ridiculous.”

“How dare you mock me?!” she shrieks, her voice reaching a pitch that probably scared some birds out of nearby trees. She raises her hand, dark magic swirling between her fingers, and you swear you can hear thunder crack in the distance.

“Okay, hang on,” you say, taking a cautious step back. “Let’s not get all zappy here. I’m just saying that’s a lot of effort for a plan that has, like, a one percent success rate.”

“Silence!” She’s fuming now, throwing her hand forward to launch the magic at you—and you brace yourself for the worst. You’ve seen this in movies before. This is the part where you get turned into a frog or something equally terrible.

Except… nothing happens.

The magic fizzles out midair like a dud firecracker, leaving a puff of smoke and an awkward silence in its wake. You blink. She blinks. You both stare at the spot where the magic should have been.

“Uh…” you begin, rubbing the back of your neck. “Was that supposed to do something?”

The witch looks at her hand, then at you, then back at her hand again like she’s having a serious identity crisis. “What...?”

“I mean, points for the drama, but I’m still standing here,” you say, waving your hand in front of your face as if checking for damage. “And I don’t think I’m a toad.”

She tries again, gathering more magic in her hands and launching it at you with renewed fury. But once again, nothing. The magic stops short, fizzling out like it’s hitting an invisible barrier around you. Now she’s just staring at you, dumbfounded.

You, on the other hand, are absolutely flabbergasted. “Okay, this is getting weird.”

That’s when Lilia appears—literally, out of nowhere. He casually steps out from behind a tree like this is all a normal Monday for him. “Ah, I thought I sensed some familiar mischief afoot,” he says, his voice cheerful, though his eyes glint with something far more dangerous as they lock onto the witch.

The witch recoils, visibly shaken. “Lilia Vanrouge,” she hisses, sounding more like a disgruntled cat than a fearsome sorceress.

“In the flesh,” he says with a light bow, his grin all sharp teeth and mischief. “What brings you out of your little hidey-hole?”

She glares at him but doesn’t say anything. She’s outmatched, and she knows it. With one last seething look at you, she vanishes into thin air with a dramatic whoosh of smoke, leaving you and Lilia alone in the now eerily quiet forest.

You turn to him, utterly confused. “What the heck was that about? Why didn’t her magic work on me?”

Lilia’s grin softens, his gaze turning fond. “Ah, I see I’ve forgotten to tell you. I placed a fae’s blessing on you some time ago.”

“Wait, what?” You gape at him. “When did you do that?!”

He chuckles, as if you asking when he bestowed a magical shield on you is the most amusing thing he’s heard all week. “You tend to attract trouble, my dear. I thought it best to give you a little extra protection.”

You blink at him, still processing. “So… you’ve been secretly protecting me this whole time?”

His gaze turns a bit more serious, the usual playful air dropping away. “I don’t want to see anything happen to you,” he says softly, the words carrying a weight you hadn’t expected.

For a moment, you’re left speechless, flustered even. The teasing and jokes you’re so used to from Lilia are gone, replaced by something… deeper. It throws you off your game.

“Well, uh…” You clear your throat, desperately trying to recover. “I appreciate not getting turned into a frog or whatever she was planning.”

His grin returns, and the moment passes. “You’re welcome. Now, shall we head back to the market? I believe you were on a quest for... ramen, was it?”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head as the absurdity of it all catches up with you. “Yeah, let’s do that. And maybe next time I’ll avoid wandering into spooky villain lairs.”

“An excellent plan,” he says, offering you his arm. “Shall we?”

And just like that, you’re back on track—albeit a bit more shaken than before, but at least you’ve got a magical blessing you didn’t know about and one very charming fae escorting you through the mess.

You’re sitting under a large tree in the courtyard, soaking up the rare bit of peace and quiet that’s fallen over your life. It’s a nice day, the kind that makes you feel all warm and content, the sun shining gently through the leaves. Beside you, Silver is leaning against the trunk, dozing off as usual. You’ve become used to his tendency to fall asleep mid-conversation, and honestly, it’s kind of adorable.

He stirs a little, blinking his sleepy eyes open and looking at you with a soft smile. “It’s nice to have moments like this,” he says, voice a bit groggy. “Especially after everything.”

“Yeah,” you reply, leaning back on your hands. “It’s been... a lot.”

Silver glances at you, his gaze thoughtful. “You really helped us. My family,” he says, his tone a bit more serious than usual. “Freeing Lord Malleus from that curse... it was no small feat.”

Your stomach twists a little at the mention of Malleus. It still feels surreal that you had a hand in such a monumental event. You shrug, trying to play it cool. “Eh, you know... just another day of accidentally stumbling into chaos.”

He chuckles lightly, his smile softening even more. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to thank you properly for what you’ve done. You really saved us all.”

You wave your hand dismissively. “Stop, you’re going to make me blush. I was just trying to make some money, and suddenly I’m in the middle of an epic quest. You know how it is.”

Silver hums, half-amused, and then casually drops the bomb on you like it’s the most normal thing in the world: “You’d be perfect with Father.”

Your brain short-circuits. “...Sorry, what?”

Silver, utterly oblivious to the internal crisis he’s just unleashed within you, looks at you with that serene, peaceful expression of his. “Father. You’d be perfect with him.”

The world screeches to a halt. *Perfect? With Lilia?* You stare at him, wide-eyed, your mouth hanging open in a most undignified manner. “I’m sorry, did you just—did you just suggest that I—me—should be with your father?!”

Silver nods, looking completely at peace with his assessment, like he’s just commented on the weather. “Yes. You two get along well. You make each other laugh, and he seems fond of you. And Father... well, he deserves someone who can make him smile like that.”

Your mind is racing at 100 miles per hour. “Silver. SILVER.” You clutch your head as if physically holding your brain together will stop it from spiraling into madness. “Do you have any idea what you just said?”

Silver, ever the calm and composed knight, merely tilts his head. “Was it something strange?”

“STRANGE?!” You’re flailing now, completely losing your cool. “You just casually suggested I should date your father! Who, may I remind you, is an ancient fae with enough power to casually toss me into another dimension if he wanted!”

Silver blinks, seeming to consider this for a moment. “I don’t think he’d toss you into another dimension. He’d probably just... laugh and then take you out to dinner.”

You’re having a full-blown existential crisis. Your face is bright red, your heart is doing somersaults, and you’re not sure if you want to scream, faint, or throw yourself into the nearest fountain.

Silver, meanwhile, is just sitting there, serene and utterly oblivious to the emotional chaos he’s just unleashed upon you. “Father’s a good person,” He says softly. “I think you two would be happy together.”

“I... I...” You sputter, trying to form words but utterly failing as images of Lilia’s teasing smile and playful banter run through your mind. And then you imagine the alternative: Lilia’s serious side, the one that is somehow even more terrifyingly attractive, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

“Oh no,” you whisper, clutching your chest. “Oh no, no, no... Silver, what have you done?”

Silver looks at you with concern now, finally noticing that you’re having what can only be described as a breakdown. “Are you alright?"

“NO!” you cry, standing up and pacing back and forth in front of him. “You’ve broken me! You’ve ruined me! I’m—Silver, your father is... He’s... and I... Oh, gods, this is too much. TOO MUCH!”

Silver watches you pace for a moment before quietly saying, “You’re thinking about it, though.”

You freeze mid-step. “I—NO! Maybe? Yes? I—Why would you say that, Silver?!”

He just smiles, a soft, knowing smile. “Because it’s true.”

You slump back down beside him, groaning loudly as you cover your face with your hands. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Silver chuckles softly, resting his head back against the tree again. “I’ve heard that before.”

And as you sit there, your mind spinning with thoughts of Lilia and all the ridiculous, impossible implications Silver’s comment has brought to life, you can’t help but think that maybe—just *maybe*—he has a point.

But you’re not ready to admit that yet. Not even to yourself.

“I need a drink,” you mumble under your breath, and Silver hums in agreement.

“Father would probably help you make it,” he says, and you let out a loud groan, flopping onto the grass in dramatic defeat.

“Silver, you’re killing me.”

He just smiles that peaceful smile of his.

It’s a quiet afternoon, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the courtyard. You’re standing with Malleus and Sebek in one of the palace’s gardens, the tranquil hum of life around you contrasting with the more serious conversation that’s about to unfold. You can feel the weight of what Malleus is about to say, and your mind spins as you prepare yourself for another emotionally charged moment.

Malleus takes a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. “For the longest time,” he begins, his voice soft and filled with an unspoken vulnerability, “I thought I would be stuck. Trapped in that cursed state forever. I had resigned myself to it, believing that it was my fate to be alone.”

You shift slightly, unsure how to respond to such raw honesty. Sebek, standing next to Malleus, is silent for once, his usual loud and defensive nature tempered by the gravity of his lord’s words.

“But then you came along,” Malleus continues, turning his glowing eyes toward you. “You broke the curse, something no one had been able to do. You gave me back my freedom, something I had lost hope of ever regaining.”

Sebek clears his throat loudly, his usual dramatic flair coming to the surface despite the tenderness of the moment. “Yes, well,” he says, voice gruff but tinged with the awkwardness of someone who isn’t quite used to expressing gratitude. “I... suppose we should be... grateful. After all, if it weren’t for you, Lord Malleus would still be... cursed, and we wouldn’t be here together as we are now.”

You blink at Sebek’s begrudging admission, feeling a small smile tug at your lips. The fact that he of all people is thanking you, even in such a roundabout way, is oddly touching.

“Wow, Sebek,” you say, voice teasing but soft. “Who knew you had it in you?”

Sebek bristles at your words, his expression a mix of indignation and embarrassment. “D-Don’t misunderstand!” he exclaims, face turning a shade redder than usual. “I’m merely stating the facts! Nothing more!”

Malleus chuckles softly at Sebek’s outburst, his usual gentle smile returning to his face. “Sebek’s gratitude, no matter how begrudging, is indeed a rarity,” he teases lightly before turning his attention back to you. “But truly, I am grateful. You’ve given me back more than just my freedom. You’ve given me back... this.”

He gestures around him, indicating the garden, the palace, the sky above. “This life, this chance to be with those I care about. And for that, I owe you a debt that I may never be able to repay.”

You shift awkwardly, feeling a strange warmth bloom in your chest. “I mean, I didn’t really set out to save anyone,” you admit, your voice light but with an edge of honesty. “I just... wanted the reward. And then maybe to go home.”

Sebek’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and he opens his mouth to argue, but Malleus holds up a hand, stopping him before he can launch into one of his dramatic tirades

You hesitate, glancing between Malleus and Sebek. “I didn’t think I’d get attached,” you admit quietly, your voice softening. “But I have. Somehow, I’ve found myself... caring about all of you. This weird little makeshift family.”

Sebek looks as though he’s about to protest the “weird” part, but a stern glance from Malleus keeps him quiet. You can see the begrudging acknowledgment in his eyes, though—he knows it’s true, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

Malleus hums thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he speaks again. “Well,” he says casually, as if discussing something as simple as the weather, “if you’re so attached, perhaps we should make it official. Perhaps you should marry into the family."

You freeze. Did he just—?

You whip your head towards Malleus, completely flustered. “M-Marry?! What?!”

Sebek, on the other hand, looks as if someone just punched him in the face. His mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air, his eyes wide with outrage. “L-Lord Malleus, what are you suggesting?!” he sputters.

Malleus blinks, as calm as ever. “I’m suggesting marriage,” he repeats, as if it’s the most logical thing in the world. “If they are so attached to us, it seems a reasonable next step. Perhaps they should marry Lilia?”

Your face turns a bright shade of red as your heart pounds in your chest. “Wh-What?!” you stammer. “Lilia?!”

Sebek turns even redder, his face contorting in disbelief. “Master Lilia?!”

Malleus nods sagely, completely unfazed by both of your reactions. “Yes, Lilia. He has shown great affection for them, and they would fit well within our family. Would you not agree, Sebek?”

Sebek looks like he’s about to explode, but there’s an uncomfortable silence as he realizes… he can’t argue. He knows Malleus and Lilia both care about you. He knows that you’ve proven yourself to be a good person, despite his initial distrust. His mouth twitches, the words clearly struggling to escape his throat.

“I—well—Lord Malleus,” Sebek starts, looking every bit as if he’s been defeated by sheer logic. “I… I must admit… They are a suitable companion for Master Lilia… even if the idea of them marrying… well, it is quite… outrageous.”

You feel your soul leave your body as the conversation continues. Sebek can’t quite bring himself to fully agree, yet he doesn’t outright refuse the idea either. His loyalty to his lords binds him, and his begrudging acceptance of your presence has left him caught between duty and outrage.

“I—This—” you stammer, completely overwhelmed. “I—This is insane!”

Malleus looks at you with a calm smile. “Think it over,” he says, voice gentle. “You’ve already become part of our lives. Why not make it official?”

You open your mouth to protest, but the words die in your throat as you see the sincerity in his eyes. This isn’t just a flippant suggestion—it’s Malleus genuinely offering you a place in his family. But the idea of marrying Lilia? That’s… that’s a whole new level of madness.

“I—I think I need to lie down,” you mutter, pressing your hands to your temples. “This is too much.”

Malleus chuckles softly, and even Sebek seems to relax—if only a little. But as you glance between the two of them, you can’t help but feel a strange warmth in your chest. Even with all the absurdity, you know one thing for sure: you’ve found a place with them, whether you intended to or not.

The cat was just sitting there. Innocently perched on the branch, fluffy and regal like a tiny, judgmental king. You don’t even know what possessed you, really. Maybe it was those huge, adorable eyes or the way its tail flicked back and forth. But somehow, someway, you ended up halfway up a tree. Climbing a tree. For a cat.

“I just wanted to pet you,” you mutter, feeling slightly ridiculous as you hug the branch for dear life. “And now I’m stuck. Great.”

The cat stares at you, completely indifferent to your plight. You sigh, glancing down at the ground, which now seems alarmingly far away. Heights were never your thing, but in the moment, with that cute little furball teasing you, logic flew right out the window. Now, you’re clinging to the tree like a cowardly kitten yourself.

“Why did I think this was a good idea?” you groan. The cat blinks at you. “Don’t look at me like that. This is all your fault!”

And then, because fate has a terrible sense of humor, you hear a voice from below. A familiar, unmistakable voice—playful, with a hint of amusement laced through it.

“Well, well, what do we have here? It appears my dear little beastie has gotten themselves stuck.”

You nearly slip off the branch as you glance down to see Lilia standing at the base of the tree, arms crossed and an infuriatingly amused grin on his face. He looks every bit the mischievous fae, eyes twinkling with barely suppressed laughter.

“I—uh—this is—” You stammer, trying to come up with some kind of excuse, but nothing comes. You’re halfway up a tree. Because of a cat. No explanation is going to save your dignity now.

Lilia tilts his head, chuckling. “Were you planning on living up there from now on? Or should I assist you in returning to the ground?”

“Hey, don’t judge me!” you huff, cheeks burning. “The cat—look at the cat! It was really cute, okay?”

Lilia glances up at the feline, which is now licking its paw in complete disinterest. He raises an eyebrow. “Ah, yes, the cat. I see now. How could anyone resist such a noble creature?”

You groan, feeling your face get even hotter. “I—um—I might need help getting down.”

Lilia’s grin widens. “Of course, my dear. I was planning on catching you anyway.”

You freeze. “C-Catching me?”

“Mmhm. Just jump down, and I’ll catch you,” Lilia says, his tone so casual, as if catching people out of trees is just something he does every day. He spreads his arms out, waiting expectantly.

Your heart races as you eye the distance between the branch and the ground again. It’s not terribly high, but… still high enough to make you nervous. But Lilia’s standing there with that easy confidence, and the thought of staying stuck in this tree forever doesn’t exactly appeal to you either.

Taking a deep breath, you inch closer to the edge of the branch. “O-Okay. I’m going to jump.”

“Go ahead,” Lilia says, his voice soft. “I’ll catch you.”

With one last look at the disinterested cat, you finally push yourself off the branch. For a split second, there’s nothing but the rush of air—and then you feel yourself land securely in Lilia’s arms. You’re caught. Easily, gently. Like it was nothing at all.

He looks down at you, his face much closer than you anticipated. “See? I told you I would catch you.”

You’re breathless for a moment, your heart doing flips as you realize just how close you are to him. His arms are around you, holding you steady, and you can feel the warmth of his body through his clothes. He’s staring at you with that soft, amused smile, and you’re suddenly acutely aware of just how handsome he is.

“Oh no,” you whisper to yourself, “I’m swooning.”

Lilia raises an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“Y-You’re really smooth,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “Like, catching me so easily and looking at me like that. It’s—it’s really unfair.”

He chuckles softly, clearly entertained by your flustered state. “Unfair, you say?”

“Yeah, like—like, you’re so effortlessly cool and charming, and I—” You freeze, suddenly realizing what you’re saying. You clamp your mouth shut, but it’s too late. The words are out, and your brain has completely short-circuited.

And then, before you even know what’s happening, the words just spill out of you in a panicked rush. “Okay, I like you! No, wait—I think I’m in love with you! I mean, how could I not be? You’re so amazing, and I just—Oh god, I’m confessing! I’m confessing right now, aren’t I? This is a confession. Oh no, this is terrible. I didn’t mean to—”

You feel your entire body heat up as you bury your face in your hands, completely mortified. Of all the ways you could’ve confessed your feelings to Lilia, this had to be the worst possible way. You weren’t ready! You were supposed to be calm and collected, not blurting it out after getting caught in a tree!

For a moment, there’s silence. And then, you hear the softest chuckle from Lilia. His arms tighten around you slightly, pulling you just a little closer.

“You’re adorable,” he says, his voice soft and full of warmth.

You peek through your fingers, confused. “Huh?”

“I’ve known for a while that your feelings for me were more than friendly,” Lilia continues, his smile gentle. “But hearing you confess like this… it’s endearing.”

You blink, trying to process his words. “Wait—you’ve known?”

Lilia nods. “You’re not as subtle as you think, my dear.”

You groan again, hiding your face in your hands once more. “This is so embarrassing…”

Lilia laughs softly, and before you know it, he leans in and presses a light, gentle kiss to your forehead. Your heart skips a beat, and you lower your hands, looking up at him in surprise.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” Lilia says, his eyes soft. “I’m honored to be the one you’ve chosen.”

Your heart flutters as his words sink in, and you realize that, despite your mortification, he’s… accepting your feelings. He’s not teasing you or brushing it off—he’s genuinely acknowledging your confession. And more than that… he’s reciprocating.

“Lilia…” you whisper, your face still burning with embarrassment, but also with a warmth that you can’t quite describe.

He leans in a little closer, his nose brushing against yours. “You don’t need to say anything more, my dear. Just know that I feel the same.”

And with that, Lilia closes the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a soft, sweet kiss that makes your heart race even faster. All thoughts of your earlier panic melt away, replaced by the warmth of his touch and the feeling of being completely safe in his arms.

As he pulls back, you’re left staring at him, wide-eyed and breathless. Lilia smiles down at you, his eyes twinkling with amusement and affection.

“So,” he says, his voice teasing, “was that worth climbing a tree for?”

You blink, still dazed from the kiss. “I… I think so.”

Lilia laughs softly, pressing another quick kiss to your lips before setting you down on the ground. “Next time, though, perhaps we’ll find a more dignified setting for your confessions, hmm?”

You groan, covering your face again as you mutter, “Please don’t remind me…”

But despite your embarrassment, you can’t help the small, giddy smile that creeps onto your face as you realize that, somehow, things turned out perfectly anyway.

You sit with Lilia on a bench beneath the shade of a massive oak tree, the same one he caught you from, nerves simmering beneath your calm exterior. He’s as composed as ever, leaning back against the tree with a small, amused smile playing on his lips.

Across from you sit Malleus, Silver, and Sebek, all three watching you with varying degrees of curiosity—Malleus with calm interest, Silver with that sleepy, gentle acceptance, and Sebek with what you’re sure is the beginning of a tirade bubbling just beneath the surface.

“We have some news,” Lilia says, breaking the silence with his usual playful tone. His hand slips into yours, squeezing lightly. “About us.”

Malleus’s eyes light up with interest, his draconic gaze honing in on the subtle intertwining of your hands with Lilia’s. “News?” he repeats, leaning forward slightly. “What sort of news?”

You exchange a glance with Lilia, and he gives you a nod, as if to say go on, it’s safe. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself and blurt out, “We’re together. Like, romantically.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Malleus’s eyes widen, his entire face brightening with delight. “Truly?” he asks, a rare, genuine smile spreading across his face. “That is wonderful news! You will be joining the family then?”

You blink, momentarily thrown off by how happy he is. “Uh, well—eventually, I guess. We haven’t exactly planned a wedding yet…”

“But when we do,” Lilia interjects smoothly, eyes glinting with amusement, “you will be the first to receive an invitation, Malleus.”

Malleus beams, the delight practically radiating off him like sunlight. “I would expect no less. To witness your union—ah, it will be a grand day.”

Meanwhile, Silver gives you both a small, approving nod. His expression is calm, though there’s a softness in his eyes that shows he’s happy for you. “I’m glad,” he says, his voice as gentle as ever. “Father deserves someone who makes him happy. And you… you seem to do that.”

Your heart warms at the approval from Silver. “Thanks, Silver,” you say, offering him a smile in return.

And then there’s Sebek.

For a moment, he just stares at you and Lilia, his mouth working as if he’s trying to form words. You brace yourself for the inevitable protest, expecting him to shout something about how inappropriate it is, or how you could never be good enough for Lilia, or—

“You…” Sebek finally speaks, though his tone is less outraged than you anticipated. He scowls, but there’s an undeniable hint of reluctant acceptance in his eyes. “You’re together, then?”

Lilia nods, his smile never wavering. “Indeed, Sebek.”

Sebek inhales deeply, closing his eyes as if preparing for some kind of inner battle. You can almost hear him wrestling with his instincts, wanting to object but also unable to deny the truth of the situation. After a long pause, he finally exhales and mutters, “Well… I suppose… if it makes Master Lilia happy, then…”

You’re about to breathe a sigh of relief when Sebek opens his eyes again, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “But that does not mean you should grow complacent! Just because Master Lilia has chosen you does not mean you are exempt from proving yourself worthy!”

Lilia laughs softly at Sebek’s stubbornness, and you can’t help but grin. “Of course, Sebek,” you say, teasing him lightly. “I’ll do my best to live up to your high standards.”

Sebek huffs, crossing his arms. “See that you do.”

Despite his bluster, you can tell he’s not truly upset. There’s a begrudging acceptance in his stance, the same way someone might finally accept that their favorite hero isn’t perfect, but still worthy of respect. Sebek might not be able to fully wrap his head around the idea of you and Lilia being together, but deep down, you can tell he doesn’t disapprove. Not really.

Malleus, meanwhile, is still beaming. “I look forward to your wedding,” he says, sounding genuinely excited. “It will be a grand celebration. And I will be the first to celebrate your union.”

You laugh, finally feeling the tension melt away. “You’ll be the first to get an invitation, don’t worry.”

Lilia squeezes your hand again, his eyes warm as he looks at you. “Indeed,” he says softly, “and I think it will be a lovely celebration.”

As you sit there, surrounded by Lilia’s peculiar little family, you can’t help but feel a swell of emotion. For all their eccentricities—Malleus’s dragon-like mannerisms, Silver’s sleepy but sincere approval, and Sebek’s stubborn loyalty—you’ve somehow found yourself among people who care. Who, in their own ways, are happy to see you and Lilia together.

And as you glance at Lilia, who’s still watching you with that fond, amused expression, you realize something important: this makeshift family of fae and knights… they’ve accepted you.

Flaws and all.

The living room felt a little too tense for your taste today. You were sprawled out on a chair, arms crossed, listening to the absurd conversation that seemed to have spiraled out of control.

Malleus, sitting at the head of the table, had the "serious prince" expression that made you roll your eyes every time you saw it. Lilia was perched on the back of his chair, his legs dangling, thoroughly amused by the current predicament. Sebek stood in his usual soldier-like stance, ready to protect everyone from... squirrels, apparently. And Silver was doing his best to stay upright while leaning on a wall. He was losing that battle.

“It’s time to discuss the prophecy” Malleus said, his voice carrying an ominous weight you found ridiculous. “The Squirrel Plague will bring misfortune. Entire kingdoms will fall to their tiny paws.”

You blinked. “We’re seriously talking about squirrels?”

Lilia nodded with an overly grave face. “Indeed, my dear. Squirrels are resourceful creatures. Vicious even, if the stories are true.”

Sebek puffed up his chest, eyes blazing with his trademark fervor. “MY LORD, IF THOSE RODENTS BELIEVE THEY CAN THREATEN YOU—"

You leaned forward, waving your hand dismissively. “Alright, alright, let's not hype up the squirrels too much, okay? This whole situation is ridiculous.”

Silver, who had just about managed to pry his eyes open, muttered, “It’s not just the squirrels. I heard some people talking about... uh, the Saint being accused of spying or something.”

The room fell into silence for a second, everyone digesting that little bombshell.

Lilia’s grin widened as if the idea of spies delighted him. “Spies, you say? This is getting quite intriguing.”

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Yeah, no thanks. Squirrels are bad enough, but spies? I’m not dealing with this.”

Malleus turned towards you, a slight frown on his lips. “I assumed you wished to stay here. You haven’t mentioned wanting to leave before.”

You sighed, shrugging. “I mean, I don't have any attachments to this place. I stayed because you guys were here. But right now, let's bounce. Immediately. The squirrels can have this place.”

Silver, rubbing his eyes, nodded. “They're right. It’s a lot of hassle, and honestly, the squirrels are starting to weird me out. I saw one trying to chew through the wall this morning.”

Sebek turned to Silver with his mouth agape. “A SQUIRREL DARED TO ATTACK OUR DOMAIN?!”

Lilia chuckled, nodding. “They’re getting bolder, indeed. I even had one throw an acorn at me this morning. It was a declaration of war, I tell you.”

You waved your hands at them. “Guys, seriously. I don’t care if we’re at war with the squirrels. I just don’t want to be here. Briar Valley sounds much nicer, doesn’t it? No plagues, no spy accusations, no rabid rodents.”

Malleus blinked at you, then slowly smiled. “If you wish to leave, then there’s no reason for us to stay. I thought perhaps you'd not want to leave the place you grew up in, that you would be attached.”

“Attached?” You gestured dramatically at the window, where you swore you could see a squirrel watching with beady little eyes. “Nope. I’m only attached to you four, and I’m not risking my life for some acorn-flinging rodents.”

Silver yawned, already giving in. “I say we go. Less hassle, more sleep.”

Lilia gave a theatrical sigh leaning on Malleus. “Well, I suppose the adventure ends here. Back to Briar Valley it is! And I’ll be sure to bring along some acorns... perhaps we can keep the spirit of battle alive.”

Sebek, his voice still full of misplaced enthusiasm, nodded fiercely. “IF MY LORD DECIDES TO RETURN, THEN I SHALL ENSURE OUR JOURNEY IS WITHOUT PERIL! THE SQUIRRELS SHALL NOT—”

You interrupted with a grin. “Yes, yes, Sebek. You’ll protect us from the squirrels. Good job.”

Lilia hopped off Malleus’s chair, already halfway to the door. “I’ll go prepare the portal. Who knows, maybe we can get there in time for the fireflies.”

You got up too, stretching and giving one last look at the living room. “I think I’ve had enough of prophecies, plagues, and espionage.”

Lilia grins "Maybe we could have our wedding in Briar Valley". Malleus, now entirely on board, nodded with regal finality. “Then we shall return to Briar Valley. I trust the squirrels will not miss us.”

Lilia snickered, and you felt him squeeze your shoulder. “Perhaps we should bring a souvenir,” he mused. “A squirrel, perhaps, as a reminder of this peculiar little chapter of our lives.”

You shook your head, laughing. “I think I’d rather forget it altogether.”

With that, you and your four favorite Briar Valley residents left—leaving behind the squirrels, the spies, and every bit of drama that had nothing to do with you. Peace, it turned out, was just a portal away.

With that, the group made their decision—no heroic stand against the prophecy, no attempts to sort out spy dramas. Just a swift, sensible retreat to where things were far less complicated. And honestly? That suited you just fine.

Alright! I liked writing this a lot, It's not as chaotic as my other isekai ones but I like how it turned out!

Also if the formatting is off, I'm so sorry but I fell spectacularly on my ass while ice-skating and can't sit long enough to edit on my laptop.

Also quick poll for the next trash novel one, I'll definitely finish all of them, this is just for which one should I post first. They're all almost done.

Series Masterlist ; My Masterlists

[monserelates]

You’re Warm ; James Potter

⇨pairing: f!reader x james potter

⇨summary: Y/N is stubborn, reckless, and totally not sick—no matter what her fever, cracked voice, and hallucinations suggest. James Potter would love to believe her, but unfortunately for her, he knows her better than anyone.

⇨cw: reader is a quidditch player but it’s not that revelant to the plot, mutual pining, crack, idk what else

⇨a/n: lowkey repeating tropes because I just love a good stubborn reader but yeah, hope u enjoy

The portrait hole slammed open with a bang so loud that three second-years nearly jumped out of their skin.

“—BLOODY HELL,” Sirius Black yelled from his perch by the fire. “Is that a banshee? Oh—never mind. It’s just you.”

You marched into the common room, dripping wet from head to toe, hair plastered to your forehead, Quidditch uniform clinging to you like a second skin. Mud was streaked up the backs of your calves, and your broom—dangling in one hand—was trailing leaf bits like a soggy war prize.

“I told you she’d go out flying in that storm,” Lily said, not even looking up from her Transfiguration essay.

“I was hoping she wouldn’t be that dumb,” Marlene added, flipping a page in her notebook. “Clearly I was wrong.”

James looked up from the chess match he was losing to Remus. His eyes flicked over you—sopping uniform, red nose, triumphant grin like you’d just single-handedly won the Quidditch Cup—and then he blinked. “What the hell, Y/N?”

“I was bored,” you said breezily, squelching your way across the rug and dropping your broom with a thud. “And it wasn’t even raining that hard when I started.”

“You look like you swam home.”

“I was training. You wouldn’t understand.” You tossed a look over your shoulder and winked. “Not all of us can be benchwarmers, Potter.”

James’s jaw dropped in fake offense. “Excuse me. I’ve scored more goals than—”

“Than Sirius’s body count?” Marlene quipped.

Sirius, sprawled dramatically across the couch, raised his arms in victory. “Thank you for noticing.”

“I was gonna say than Remus has corrected my essays, but that works too.” James shook his head at you, smiling in that maddeningly fond, exasperated way. “You’re mental.”

“Quidditch players are built different,” you said, peeling off your jersey, that read “L/N” and the number 7 and tossing it onto a nearby armchair with a wet slap.

Peter made a face. “That thing’s alive.”

“I feel alive,” you said, flopping down into the nearest seat and kicking your feet up on the table. “That was the best flying I’ve done all term. Wind’s wicked up there—good practice for winter matches.”

“You’re gonna die of pneumonia,” Remus said calmly, not looking up from his notes. “And then I’ll be stuck tutoring your ghost.”

“I won’t die,” you sniffed, rubbing at your nose. “I’ve got the immune system of a Hippogriff.”

“Really?” Lily drawled. “Because your nose is already turning red.”

You scowled. “It’s from the wind.”

James leaned forward a bit, elbows on his knees. “You sure you’re alright?” His voice was softer now, teasing gone. “You’re sort of…shivering. And you look like you sneezed on a live wire.”

“I’m completely fine, Potter.” You crossed your arms. “Actually, I feel amazing. Invigorated. Glowing, even.”

Sirius snorted. “You’re literally steaming.”

True enough, there was a slight haze rising from your clothes as they began to dry unevenly by the fire. You were very pointedly not looking at James, because he was still watching you too closely and it made your stomach do a weird flipping thing.

“I’d rather drop dead than admit James Potter was right,” you muttered.

“What was that?” he asked, grinning.

“Nothing.”

Lily raised a brow. “Weren’t you supposed to meet with Slughorn for your potion redo?”

You blinked. “Oh…crap.” You glanced at the clock. “I’m already ten minutes late.”

“Go like that,” Marlene smirked. “Maybe he’ll pity you and give you full marks.”

“Yeah,” Sirius added, “tell him you survived a hurricane on a broomstick and your cauldron imploded from bravery.”

“You’re all terrible,” you mumbled, but you were smiling as you dragged yourself upright and trudged toward the dorms, squelching with every step. You paused by the stairs, turned back to face the common room—and met James’s eyes.

They were soft again, the way they sometimes got when he thought you weren’t looking. Like he knew exactly what he wanted to say, but didn’t dare yet.

“I’m fine,” you said again, to no one in particular.

James tilted his head. “Right. Completely fine.”

You gave him your most dramatic eyeroll and disappeared upstairs—ignoring the tiny tickle in your throat that had definitely not been there earlier.

..

You were not sick.

You were…slightly tired. A little flushed, maybe. But that was just from Slughorn’s dungeon being way too warm. Obviously.

“Here,” Lily said, shoving a steaming mug into your hands as you curled into the corner of the couch. “Chamomile with honey. Don’t argue, I already hexed Sirius for mocking your sneeze.”

“I wasn’t mocking,” Sirius said from the other armchair, where he was poking the fire with his wand. “I was imitating. For science.”

“Your science is garbage,” Marlene muttered, tossing a cushion at his head.

“Also,” Dorcas added, “if you sneeze again like that, I will record it. For future blackmail.”

“I’m not sick,” you croaked. Unfortunately, it came out slightly cracked and hoarse—like your voice had been run through a cheese grater.

James, who’d been pretending to read from the seat beside you, slowly lowered his book and looked over. “You sure about that?”

You narrowed your eyes at him over the rim of the mug. “Yes, Potter. I am.”

He held up both hands, mock-innocent. “Alright, alright. Just checking. You look…radiant. Like a freshly boiled tomato.”

“That’s from the blanket,” you sniffed, pulling it tighter around your shoulders. “Marlene made me sit on my hair so I’d stop dripping on the floor.”

“She was leaving a trail,” Marlene said. “Like an overachieving slug.”

“She got mud on the stairs,” Dorcas added. “Lily threatened to charm her socks to scream if she did it again.”

“Okay, rude,” you grumbled, tucking your knees under the blanket. “No one here appreciates a good training session.”

“Rain-soaked death wish,” Remus corrected. “That’s what it was.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius cut in, “but I have to ask—why in the name of Merlin’s soggy pants did you go flying in that weather?”

“Character building,” you said stubbornly.

“It built character into your lungs,” James muttered.

You ignored him, because acknowledging he might be right was not on the agenda. Instead, you turned to Marlene and nudged her with your sock-covered foot. “Tell them I’m fine.”

Marlene blinked at you. “Babe, your nose is redder than Gryffindor’s house colors.”

“I’m fine.” You dramatically took a sip of your tea. It burned your tongue. You tried not to flinch.

Lily, from her perch at the study table, didn’t even look up. “If you fall asleep in the common room tonight again, I swear to Godric I’m levitating you straight into the Hospital Wing myself.”

“I’m not—” You paused. Cough. Cough-cough. Double cough.

James slowly raised an eyebrow. Sirius made the world’s most annoying ah-ah-aaah? sound like a game show buzzer.

“Don’t,” you warned, pointing at him.

He raised his hands. “Just saying. You sound like a howler on its last breath.”

“Stop bullying her,” James said—but he was smirking. “She’s fragile.”

“I’m going to punch all of you,” you muttered, curling further into the blanket. “Except Lily. Lily made tea.”

“And I’d do it again,” Lily said, walking over to plop another cushion under your feet. She fluffed your hair like you were a pet owl. “Because I care. Even if you’re being a stubborn idiot.”

There was a pause.

“I also care,” James said a little too quickly.

All five girls turned to look at him.

Peter snorted. “Subtle.”

James flushed and shoved his face back into his book. “I care in a general Gryffindor-bravery-friends unity way. Shut up, all of you.”

Remus gave him a knowing look. Sirius made kissy noises. James threw a quill at both of them.

You were too tired to react to the chaos this time. The blanket was warm, your tea was working, and the ache in your limbs was…maybe a tiny bit worse than before. But you weren’t going to admit that. Yet.

You leaned your head against the back of the couch and sighed, half-content, half-defeated.

Dorcas grinned at you. “When you wake up dead tomorrow, can I have your broom?”

You stuck your tongue out at her. “Joke’s on you. I’m immortal.”

Your voice cracked again. Everyone laughed.

And somewhere behind the noise, James was still watching you—quietly, from behind his book—his lips twitching into a soft smile every time you tried to pretend you weren’t falling apart.

..

You could not stay in the common room.

The fireplace was too hot, the sofa was too scratchy, and James was too there. Watching you like you were a time bomb in a hoodie.

You waited until everyone had finally drifted to their dorms, until even Sirius had run out of dumb things to say (and that took a while), and then you slipped out.

Slippers, blanket, mug in hand.

Because, yes, maybe your fever had climbed past “mildly dramatic” into “concerning,” but it wasn’t that bad. And you’d be damned if you let everyone keep mothering you like you were three seconds from spontaneous combustion.

You needed air. Space. Solitude. Possibly a quick death.

What you didn’t need was James Potter’s voice echoing after you the moment you opened the portrait hole:

“Oi—where the hell are you going?!”

You jumped, almost sloshed tea onto your foot. “Nowhere!”

James appeared in the archway in his pajama pants and a Gryffindor hoodie, squinting like a sleepy golden retriever who had absolutely not been waiting up.

“You’re sneaking out while sick?” he asked. “Are you…deranged?”

“I’m not sick,” you snapped, immediately following it with a coughing fit so violent it made the Fat Lady flinch in her frame.

James crossed his arms. “Right. Healthy as a Flobberworm.”

“I just need some air!” you said. “The common room was suffocating me.”

“Because you’ve got a fever. That’s what fevers do.”

You turned and started walking. Or…stumbling. Same thing.

James let out a long-suffering groan and followed, muttering to himself the whole way down the stairs: “Unbelievable. Absolutely unhinged. Should’ve just dragged her to Pomfrey. Should’ve let Lily tie her to the bed with a Sticking Charm—”

“I can hear you.”

“Good.”

You reached an empty classroom tucked off the Astronomy corridor, one the prefects usually used for late-night patrol breaks. Moonlight streamed through the high windows, casting a soft blue glow over the desks and your very dramatic blanket situation.

You flopped into the nearest chair. The motion made your head spin.

James hovered by the door, arms crossed again. “You’re going to pass out.”

“Then I’ll do it in peace.”

He sighed. Loudly. “You’re like a sick Victorian poet. What next, tuberculosis and a sad piano solo?”

You glared. “I am fine.”

“You are dying.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Sneezed violently into your blanket.

James sat down across from you, leaned forward on his elbows. “Just take the damn potion, Y/N.”

“I don’t need it.”

“You’re literally sweating in a room that’s colder than Sirius’s commitment issues.”

You sniffed. “I run hot.”

“You run dumb.”

That earned a middle finger. He grinned.

But when he leaned forward again, there was something gentler about it. Quieter. You were already looking away, staring out at the window like maybe the moonlight would save you from your own pride.

James softened. “Hey. Seriously.”

You blinked at him, eyelids heavy.

He hesitated, then said it low, like a secret: “Why won’t you just let me help?”

And that—that was the real problem.

Because if you let James Potter take care of you, it meant you weren’t invincible.

And if you weren’t invincible, you might…slip up. You might say something you couldn’t unsay.

Like how your heart sprinted every time he looked at you for longer than a second.

Like how you were afraid he only cared because he was nice, and not because he liked you back.

You pulled the blanket tighter. “Because I don’t need help.”

James looked at you for a long moment.

Then—“Okay.”

You blinked. “…Okay?”

He stood. Crossed the room. Sat on the floor next to you. His head leaned against your chair, close enough to feel the heat radiating off your legs.

“I won’t give you the potion,” he said lightly. “But if you faint, I’m stealing your broom.”

You laughed, hoarse and unexpected. “Over my dead body.”

“That’s what I’m banking on.”

There was a pause. Just soft moonlight, soft breathing, the stupid sound of your heart in your ears.

You leaned your head on the windowsill. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re insufferable.”

You smiled.

..

There was a shift in the atmosphere the moment you walked into the Great Hall.

You weren’t walking so much as…gliding. Floating? Stumbling slightly to the left. Wrapped in your robe like your life depended on it.

And yet—you looked pleased. Triumphant. As if this was a normal, healthy morning, and you weren’t absolutely radiating fever energy like a human furnace on the verge of combustion.

Sirius saw you first. He choked on his pumpkin juice and immediately slapped James on the shoulder.

“Mate,” he hissed, eyes wide. “Your disaster is here.”

James turned—and promptly dropped his toast.

You were standing there, blinking blearily at them like you’d emerged from a swamp, cheeks flushed and eyes slightly wild.

“Morning,” you rasped, attempting to sit down but completely missing the bench and half-sitting on Sirius’s lap instead.

He let out a squeak. “I didn’t consent to this.”

“Didn’t consent to your face either, but here we are,” you muttered.

James shot out of his seat and helped you off Sirius like you were a toddler learning how chairs worked. “What are you doing here?”

“Eating breakfast,” you said innocently, trying to stab a piece of toast. With a fork.

Marlene, across the table, whispered to Lily, “She’s hallucinating. She thinks she’s at brunch.”

Lily narrowed her eyes. “She looks like she got hexed by a fever demon.”

“Guys,” Dorcas said, halfway between laughing and horrified. “She’s glowing.”

“I run warm,” you snapped, face flushed like a tomato in a sauna. You were, in fact, steaming slightly. Like the toast you were now buttering with what appeared to be…jam.

James sat down next to you slowly, like you were a magical creature that might explode.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” he said carefully. “Or out of Hogwarts. Or alive.”

You waved him off. “I’m fine. Just needed fresh air.”

“You climbed out a window,” Sirius pointed out. “We saw you.”

“Is that why there’s a Lily-shaped shoe print on the ledge outside the girls’ dorm?” Marlene asked.

Lily turned to her. “That’s how I got her back inside last night. She tried to duel the moon, Marlene.”

You scowled. “I wasn’t dueling it. I was politely threatening it.”

James dragged a hand down his face. “Okay. Nope. We’re done.”

He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a small vial—the potion. He’d clearly been carrying it around all night, just waiting for you to break.

“Here,” he said. “Drink this.”

You glared at it like it had insulted your mother. “I’m not taking your sketchy illegal moonshine.”

“It’s a Pepperup Potion,” he deadpanned. “Remus brewed it. You’ll stop hallucinating about seasonal pastries.”

“I’m not hallucinating.” You pointed a dramatic, trembling finger across the table. “Peter is literally talking to a pear.”

Everyone turned.

Peter paused mid-bite. “It’s a poached apple, actually.”

Sirius: “Why is it talking back?”

Peter: “Because I’m charming.”

“Enough,” James said, fully losing patience now. “Y/N. Drink the potion. Or I swear to Merlin’s soggy underpants, I will pin you to this bench and make Sirius do it for you.”

Sirius looked delighted. “Oh please let me.”

“Touch me and die,” you snapped, then turned back to James with narrowed eyes. “If I take it, do you shut up?”

James held up three fingers. “Scouts’ honor.”

You stared at him. He stared back.

And then, finally, you snatched the vial, downed it in one furious gulp, and immediately started steaming like a kettle.

Everyone stared.

You blinked. “…That was kind of hot.”

“Do not pass out on me now—” James started, catching you just as you swayed dramatically sideways.

Your head thunked softly onto his shoulder. Your breath evened.

“…She’s asleep,” Peter whispered.

“Do you think she’s faking it?” Marlene asked.

“Nope,” James said, adjusting his arm to keep you from sliding. His voice was much softer now. “She just ran out of stubborn.”

Lily smiled knowingly. “Don’t worry. She’ll wake up and deny all of this.”

“Already planning the narrative,” Dorcas said proudly.

James looked down at you—flushed, asleep, mouth slightly open. He shook his head fondly and muttered,

“You’re impossible.”

Sirius leaned in. “But, like…in a hot way, right?”

James threw a muffin at him.

..

You were back to your normal self.

Healthy, glowing (in a non-feverish way), and finally able to walk across the common room without someone offering you tea like a dying Victorian aunt.

Life was good.

Which is why you were smirking like a menace when James Potter flopped onto the couch beside you—hood up, nose red, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands like a grumpy toddler.

He sniffled loudly.

“You,” he croaked, “are a biohazard.”

You patted his knee, all sweetness. “Oh, poor baby. Feeling a bit warm?”

James turned his face into the couch cushion. “You infected me. You cursed me.”

“I told you I run hot.”

He groaned. “This is how I die. Not in battle. Not in glory. But in the common room. Surrounded by germs. Betrayed by the girl I—” He stopped. Sniffled. “Betrayed by you.”

You tried not to smile too hard. Failed miserably. “Sirius said you were still in denial this morning. About being sick.”

“I wasn’t sick this morning.” He sneezed violently. “I was in mourning.”

You snorted. “For what?”

“For my immune system. My dignity. My sense of smell.” He sniffled again and slumped into your side. “Also my will to live.”

You hesitated. Then, with a quiet sigh, you pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over both of you.

James blinked. “…Is this an act of mercy?”

“No,” you said, settling in next to him. “Just wanted to remind you what death feels like. Fair is fair.”

He gave a weak laugh, eyes closing as he leaned into your shoulder. “You’re gonna pay for this.”

“You’re literally breathing on me again.”

“Revenge,” he murmured. “Sweet, contagious revenge.”

You rolled your eyes—but you didn’t move away.

..

Madam Pomfrey looked one second away from smacking James Potter with a bedpan.

“Mr. Potter,” she said through gritted teeth, “you are not dying. You have a mild fever and a sore throat.”

James lay dramatically across the infirmary bed like a Victorian child with consumption.

Blankets piled high. Pillow fluffed just right. His arm was flung over his eyes like he was auditioning for a wizard soap opera.

“Tell my mum I fought bravely,” he whispered.

Y/N, sitting at the end of his bed, burst out laughing. “You fought a cold, you absolute goblin.”

James peeked out from beneath his arm. “Don’t mock the weak.”

“You’re not weak,” Lily said flatly from a nearby chair. “You’re annoying.”

“He cried because the potion tasted spicy,” Marlene added.

“It was spicy,” James snapped. “It burned my soul.”

Across the room, the other Marauders were thriving.

Remus was reading calmly, pretending not to laugh.

Peter was drawing tally marks in his journal for every time James coughed dramatically.

Sirius had pulled up a chair like it was theatre night, grinning wide.

“This,” Sirius said, “is the most beautiful reversal of fate I’ve ever seen.”

Dorcas walked in carrying a bowl of soup from the kitchens. She took one look at James and turned right around. “Nope.”

“Dorcas!” James croaked. “Please! Feed me! I’m too weak to hold a spoon—”

“Use your wand, you baby.”

“I can’t!” he wailed. “The magic’s leaving my body—”

“You’re impossible,” Y/N said, nearly in tears from laughter. “I survived two near-death experiences, a fever-fueled moon duel, and a Peter-shaped hallucination. I earned my sick days.”

James opened one eye dramatically. “And I’m suffering in silence.”

“You’ve literally summoned me with the Marauder whistle four times today,” Remus said. “To pass you tissues.”

James sniffled. “Well I can’t be expected to get up, Remus. What if I fall and die?”

Sirius leaned forward. “Be honest, mate. Are you playing this up so Y/N will tuck you in like you did for her?”

James went still.

Everyone turned to Y/N.

Y/N raised one brow. “You wish.”

James flushed and pulled the blanket over his face. “…You’re all monsters.”

“No,” Lily said. “We’re just finally free of your fake moral superiority.”

Y/N smiled sweetly, tucking the blanket around his shoulders. “Rest up, hero. Let me know if you start hallucinating pears.”

“Don’t leave,” James mumbled pitifully. “You make the pain bearable.”

Sirius gagged so hard he fell off his chair.

Marlene started clapping.

Remus didn’t even look up. “Two galleons say he tries to kiss her in the next twenty-four hours.”

Peter nodded. “I’ll double it if she punches him first.”

And as the chaos spiraled and James Potter sank deeper into his blanket nest of shame and melodrama, you stayed.

Grinning. Because now you were the one at his bedside.

And he?

He’d never been more whipped in his life.

[himasgod]

May I request the tweels (or any of the beastmen) x reader who got braces?

(I think the tweels would find braces interesting bc merfolk probably don't need those lol)

MERFOLK, BEASTMEN AND FAE X READER

HEADCANONS WHERE YOU GOT BRACES

Floyd, Lilia, Jade, Ruggie, Leona, Jack, Azul, Malleus, Sebek

I've had braces for quite some time now and they've always been quite painful for me, so I'm sorry if I exaggerated this a bit 😭.

The moment Floyd notices your braces, he grins. “Eh? What’s that shiny stuff on your teeth, shrimpy?” he asks, eyes gleaming.

He’ll definitely poke at your cheeks the second you smile, especially during lunch. He’s fascinated. “They look like tiny little chains~ Are your teeths locked up or somethin’, shrimpy?”

Constantly comes up with weird nicknames like “Metal Mouth,” “Silver Bites,” or "Chomp-chomp"

One day, he tries to trade a button with you for “one of your braces links.” When you tell him they’re not removable, he just laughs and goes, “Guess you’re stuck like that, huh~?”

Despite the teasing, Floyd gets very defensive if anyone else makes fun of them. That’s his shrimpy. Only he’s allowed to mess with you like that.

He secretly thinks your braces make your smile even shinier, and the first time you’re embarrassed to smile around him, he squishes your cheeks and says: “Don’t hide it. I like it. It’s weird and shiny—just like you.”

“Oho~ What’s this? A mortal fashion trend I’ve missed?” Lilia is delighted when he notices your braces for the first time. You can practically see the sparkle in his eyes.

“Braces, you say? How charming! In my day, if your teeth were crooked, you just didn’t smile in portraits~”

He’s very playful about them, calling you things like “sparkling” or “silver smile cutie.”

He loves making jokes like: “Careful, or I’ll get caught in those wires when I kiss you~”

But if you ever feel self-conscious, Lilia switches gears completely. He cups your face and says: “These? They’re just a moment in time. What matters are you behind your smile. That’s what drew me in.”

He starts packing you bento boxes with soft mushy food and insists it’s traditional fae healing cuisine (it’s just mochi and gelatin, but he’s doing his best).

Also offers to enchant the braces to "sing softly in harmony" every time you bite down, but you definitely decline that one.

He leans in close and says, “Ah... fascinating. May I take a closer look?”

You’ll catch him reading up on human orthodontics just to understand how they work. He finds the idea of intentionally altering one’s bone structure to be utterly enthralling.

"Ah, so they use tension over time to shift your teeth? Remarkable. In the Coral Sea, our teeth simply regrow if damaged... quite different indeed."

He asks you questions like: “Does it hurt when they tighten them?” “Can you remove them yourself?” “What happens if you get struck by lightning with all that metal?”

Jade finds your vulnerability over them endearing. If you’re shy about smiling, he’ll gently assure you: “There’s no need to be embarrassed, dear. It’s quite the elegant solution—efficient and human.”

Ruggie is immediately intrigued by your braces, especially since he's never seen anything like that growing up in the impoverished Sunset Savanna.

“Whoa, are those real metal? Like... do they do somethin’ or are they just for looks?”

After you explain what they’re for, he whistles and says, “Sheesh, humans really do go the extra mile for shiny teeth, huh?”

You already know this boy’s gonna tease you. “Hey, if you bite someone, does it leave a cool imprint? Like a gear mark or somethin’? That’d be sick.”

When he sees you being shy or hiding your smile, he softens instantly. “C’mon, don’t be like that. You’ve got a great smile—braces or no. 'Sides, they kinda sparkle in the sun. Betcha could blind a guy if you timed it right.”

He offers to help carry your bag when your mouth’s sore or sneak you soft snacks from the cafeteria.

Ruggie gets very protective if anyone dares mock you. He might be a hyena, but he bites back if someone messes with his beloved.

“Say it again, and I’ll make you chew on scrap metal. Let’s see how you like it, huh?”

At first, Leona is completely unimpressed. He raises an eyebrow and goes, “Tch. Hervibores are so weird.”

But secretly? He thinks they’re kinda cool. He just won’t say it out loud.

If you try to hide your braces around him, he gets annoyed. “Quit fidgeting. If it bothered me, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

Leona will 100% nap on your lap while you’re sore from an appointment, acting like it’s for his comfort. “You’re the pillow today. Don’t move, or I’ll bite.”

But you catch on pretty fast that he’s being gentle for your sake, even napping with one ear twitching toward you to monitor your breathing if you're sore.

He low-key pays attention to what you can and can’t eat and casually pushes the wrong foods off your tray without saying a word.

And if you ever look down on yourself for needing braces, his voice gets firm: “Listen. You’re already strong enough to go through all that pain for a better future. That’s more than most people can say. So stop acting like you’re less, got it?”

Jack is surprisingly shy when he first notices your braces. Not because he’s judging—he’s just unfamiliar with the concept.

He straight-up asks: “Are they... alright? Do they hurt? Should you be chewing that?”

The first time he sees you wincing after a tightening appointment, his tail droops a little. “Do you want me to walk you back? You look like you're in pain…”

Jack becomes incredibly considerate—offering cold drinks, even adjusting your scarf or collar to make sure nothing presses on your jaw.

He absolutely blushes the first time you smile at him with braces, then clears his throat and mutters: “You’ve got a nice smile... not that it matters what I think. I mean—it does—I just... yeah.”

If anyone tries to tease you, his ears flick up. “Say that again, and I’ll make you apologize to them—with a mouthful of your own teeth.”

He’s honestly in awe of how tough you are. “Most people would complain nonstop. But you’re just... handling it. That’s cool. You’re cool.”

And when you finally get your braces off, Jack notices instantly and gives you a genuine smile: “You looked good before. You look good now. But… I think I like your confidence the most.”

Azul tries to act all suave about it, but the truth is: he's completely thrown off by how cute you look with them.

“Ah, I see you’ve... updated your dental equipment,” he says, adjusting his glasses. (Internally: Oh no. They’re adorable.)

When you tell him how painful it was getting them put on, he immediately launches into Concerned Boyfriend Mode: “Did you take the painkillers I brought you? Shall I fetch more soup? I read that cold smoothies can help ease the inflammation...”

Brags to the others in the Most Azul Way Possible: “My significant other is investing in their future—perfect teeth, no less. Vision, commitment, discipline. Qualities of a successful individual.”

That said, he will absolutely start offering orthodontic deals at the Lounge, using your experience as a case study. “Smile confidence package: get your teeth adjusted and a free coupon for eel mochi!”

The first time you get self-conscious about your braces, Azul falters a little and says, almost shyly: “I think they suit you. They reflect your character—strong, determined... and charming.”

Malleus is fascinated the first time he sees your braces. He leans in with those glowing eyes, blinking slowly. “You have metal... attached to your teeth. Is this a custom of your people?”

You explain what braces are for, and he nods gravely like you’ve just imparted sacred knowledge. “Ah... so they alter the growth of your bones over time. Such craftsmanship... humans truly do have curious forms of magic.”

He’s surprisingly gentle about it, never teasing you. In fact, he considers it a mark of resilience. “You endure pain in pursuit of a goal. That is... admirable. A strength.”

Malleus offers to cast protective wards on your braces “should they ever threaten your health or comfort,” and you have to gently explain that’s not necessary.

One day, he casually says: “They glint when you smile. I quite enjoy the sight.”

When you’re sore or shy about them, Malleus encourages you with calm certainty: “Whether adorned with silver, metal, or not, your smile has always been a treasure.”

His dad is a dentist sooo he's the only one "familiar" with the concept. Atill, its something strange for him.

"It’s—uh—good that you are seeking improvement! As expected of someone close to Malleus!”

He immediately starts researching orthodontics. You catch him in the library with books like “Metal in Human Medicine”

Every time you wince in pain or avoid smiling, he panics internally and tries to act composed: “STAND TALL! Your braces are a sign of perseverance and strength! Do not falter, human!”

He constantly tries to find foods that won’t hurt your mouth and shoves tupperware at you with aggressively handmade meals. “I prepared these soft steamed vegetables. They’re high in calcium for bone support. NUTRITION IS VITAL!”

He’s very, very proud of you and shouts it. “MY PARTNER BEARS METAL IN THEIR MOUTH AND YET SMILES THROUGH THE PAIN—TRULY, NONE COMPARE!”

[rainydaygotham]

THAT’S NOT A PART OF YOUR ASSIGNMENT

Dick Grayson x art student!reader gn || 1.6k words

Warnings: smut, naked cuddling, blow job, slight exhibitionism but not quite

Summary: You have an assignment for figure drawing and thankfully have a willing model (along with yourself). Time to take some reference photos. Unfortunately for one horny boy, this means he can’t move. lol poor guy.

a/n: goddd i’m a senior so i’ve spent a bajillion hours in figure by now oof. so here, let me indulge my fantasies. need me a muse like Dick Grayson… well, maybe it’s for the best, since this fic shows how i wouldnt be getting anything done with him around agdjhsajhfk

“Hey, Dickie, can you come in here for a second?” you called and instantly you heard the sock feet of your fiancé come padding towards you.

“Do you need me for something, Baby?”

You were too distracted with the task at hand to pick up on his flirting, “Yeah, just come lay on the bed for a bit.”

“Oooh. Of course~” Dick grinned as he eyed the camera you were adjusting on its tripod before he flopped down onto the bed, “any particular pose?”

“Nah I’m just fixing it right now, you can do whatever as long as you stay on the bed,”

You had meant, like, maybe he could scroll on his phone while you worked. But he took that as ‘whatever sexy pose you want, Babe’ and began showing off his lithe body. Little distracting, but you were used to him enough to successfully ignore it. But damn, was it hard. Especially when he turned around so you could get a nice view of his ass.

“So, we shooting sex tapes or what?”

You rolled your eyes, “No, we’re not shooting sex tapes. I need references for a piece for Figure. We’re supposed to be focusing on the ways the human body will fit together, so we need at least two models,”

“Sound’s intimate,” he schmoozed.

You sighed, “Yeah, that’s why I thought I should just draw us. I like the intimacy of the way we fit together—“

“So we are making sex tapes,”

“No. We are going to just be cuddling, I'm not going up in front of my class to present an explicit piece of us fucking, thank you.”

“But we are going to be naked?”

You sighed even more dramatically this time, “Yes, Dick, we are going to be naked. I have to ‘show off the beauty of the human form’…”

He raised his eyebrows at you suggestively, you shook your head, “and I'll admit, I wanted it to be a little sensual, okay, but it's not like that,"

You went back to fiddling with the camera, ignoring his childish snickering. You positioned it perfectly, able to capture Dick's full body but not too much background with it. Hopefully cramming yourself in there too wont crop anything weird.

Humming to yourself, you grabbed the tiny remote for the tripod and tested it to make sure it was working. Doing so, you accidentally got a shot of Dick taking off his shirt. The way his stomach and chest were flexed as he lifted the shirt over his head was beautiful. Just what you wanted, art. You didn’t delete this test shot like you would’ve done on any other day. Don’t tell Dick.

“Little eager there, Babe?” you flirted.

He had already moved on to stripping off his sweatpants. As he threw the garment across the room you noticed he uh, had a little problem growing. Ah..

“The faster we get these pictures the faster I can convince you to “take a nap” before patrol tonight,” he slipped his boxers off as he talked to you.

“Uh. Yeah. Um,” you started unbuttoning your shirt, “Let’s get this done, yeah…”

Great, now you’re flustered. You’d think you’d learn your lesson by now, to not use your own boyfriend as a model. But he was so pretty, it was always so tempting. If you had your way, all you’d ever draw were portraits of Dick. If you did that, though, you’d quickly get known as “that guy/girl/kid who only draws local celebrity Dick Grayson” around your university, which would most likely get shortened to just “Dick Guy/Girl/Kid”, and you did not need that kind of bullying in your life right now. You’re a professional studio artist now, goddamnit.

You heard the springs of the bed as Dick laid back down, “So what were you thinking?”

“…” man what were you thinking again? Oh, “I wanted to start with a shot of us spooning. You know, how the legs fit together, how a face fits into the crook of a neck,”

He smiled, “Do I get to be the big spoon?”

“I guess,” you teased.

You took off your own pants and underwear and gave your hair a good finger comb through before laying down on the bed with Dick. He smirked as you cozied up to him. He placed his hand on your hip as he repositioned himself.

“So you want my leg like—”

“Uh huh,” you felt the heat of his bare body melting into yours. And his errection nestling into your ass. Geez…

“And my face—“

He nuzzled into the side of your neck, brushing against the sensitive artery there. Hoo boy, perhaps this is a bad idea. Dick hummed against your throat as he began peppering the area with light kisses.

Mmm, perhaps it’s a really good idea.

“Dick, pose,”

He stopped his onslaught on your neck for a moment, keeping still as you pressed the button on the remote to take a few shots.

“Thank you,” you shuffled over to check the photos, much to Dick’s disappointment at you leaving his embrace, “these are good, next pose,”

“What now,”

You adjusted the angle on the camera, “okay now sit up, on your knees,”

He did as you told him and you crawled back over.

“Uh, sorry, I promise I’m trying to keep professional thoughts right now,” he gestured to his now very prominent boner.

“That’s fine, Baby,” you snickered as you started straddling him, “they’re not gonna be able to see it. This one’s about how legs perfectly bracket a waist,”

“Hands?”

“On my chest, with your fingers in between the ribs,”

Dick was a little confused on what you meant there for a moment but he found it. You were right, his fingers did perfectly slot in between the bones of your ribcage.

Took everything in him to not start running his hands up and down your sides, feeling more of you beneath his fingertips. The gentle way your skin was always soft, no matter where he touched you drove him wild.

And it’s like you knew, the way you grinned and shook your head.

“Here,” you dipped your face towards him and he greedily took the kiss you offered.

It was just a chaste thing, when he tried to deepen it you pulled away. Dick had to fight back the whine in his throat.

“Forehead to mine pleas—“ he gingerly complied, “there we go,”

Dick’s eyelids were pressed tightly shut, but he heard the click of the shutter go off a few times. You then disentangled yourself from him to go check the photos. He missed you immediately, even though you were just right over there.

Damn. This was horrible. Torture. His punishment from the gods like Tantalus’s fruit. He’d rather clean the Batmobile with a toothbrush than have you naked in his lap and not be able to do anything about it.

Okay so maybe he was being a little overdramatic. Can you blame him, though? He can’t just hold his everything in his hands and not make love to them. It feels irreverent.

“Okay, last one”

Thank fucking god. He could feel his cock throbbing and it was starting to get painful.

“Come get close to the camera, this one doesn’t need to be fullbody,”

He crawled closer as you adjusted it once again, “what’s up with this one?”

“How hands were made to cup our curves. I’ll need you to hold my chin in your hands,”

Done. You don’t have to ask him twice. But damn, as you positioned yourself to how you wanted, was it hard to not just start kissing you.

He gazed lovingly at you as he gently played his part, holding you for the camera (and a bunch of students, apparently) to see. He hoped he was doing you justice in this, in all of these. Although, a part of him didn’t want them to be good, didn’t want other people to see how beautiful you could be for him. Your home was his own private little gallery with you as the star and maybe he didn’t want to share.

Gatekeeping art. Tsk…

The shutter clicked and flashed but you didn’t really care anymore. That was the last picture, after all, and Dick was looking at you like he was about to devour you.

And you were right, as he realized he had a greenlight and dove right in.

Dick wasted no time in shoving his tongue into your mouth this time, lapping at your molars. Two can play at that game, so you licked into his mouth as well, only for him to fight dirty running his tongue along the roof of your mouth in flicks. A shiver ran down your spine as Dick pulled your face, still cupped in his hands, further into his. He moaned with the action, and damn, he really was trying to devour you.

He continued his attack on your mouth, sliding his tongue along yours in the most delicious way. You felt the vibrations of another groan as you let your hands start to wander down his body. His trapeze artist tits pecs.. his grabbable hips… his very hard cock weeping precum onto your hand as you fisted it. He pulled out of your mouth with a jolt, panting for air.

“Please—“ he was cut off by a surprisingly high-pitched noise breaking out his throat as you went down, wasting no time in taking him into your mouth.

You took him as far as you could, the head hitting the back of your throat. You pressed your tongue flat into the underside of his cock, slowly dragging it along his tender shaft before pulling off of him again. He made a strangled noise as you looked up at him.

“What?” why’d you stop before you even started?

“Well look,” you placed your tongue back into the divet where his tip met his shaft, “it’s like my tongue was made to be there. Fits together perfectly,”

God, you were going to be the death of him.

[zaynessbeloved]

It started when you made the mistake of asking what was in the third drawer of his studio desk.

“I assumed it was paints or something,” you’d muttered, half-joking.

“Oh?” Rafayel had tilted his head, smile too calm. “You’ve never opened it?”

You hesitated. And he grinned—slow, wicked, delighted. “Well, cutie... I suppose it’s time for your first gallery tour.”

He opened the drawer. It wasn’t paints. No, it was way worse. Velvet-lined compartments. Glass toys. Chrome. A few pastel silicone pieces shaped too intricately for you to identify at a glance. They weren’t thrown in like dirty secrets—they were displayed, curated, as if he had sculpted them himself. Some even looked like art. Sleek. Minimalist. Beautiful.

Your face heated instantly. And Rafayel? Oh, he noticed immediately, his eyes glued to your face in delight. He leaned in, eyes glowing brighter with every twitch of your expression. “Embarrassed already?” he cooed. “But you haven’t even seen the vibrating ones.”

You tried to turn away, but his hand came to your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye. “No hiding, cutie. Yeah? You’re my muse. I need to see everything.”

Twenty minutes later, you were in his studio, barely able to sit upright in the chair he used for oil sketches, thighs trembling, body flushed. One of the toys was inside you now. It was remote controlled, quiet but lethal.

Rafayel circled you like a wolf.

“You’re being so good,” he whispered, adjusting the setting. “But this one’s barely a three. I wonder what five feels like for you...or six...or—”

“Rafayel—” you gasped, nearly choking as the vibration intensified deep inside you.

And he moaned at your voice like it was music.

“Well, fuck,” he breathed, squatting in front of you. “You should see your face, cutie. I’ve painted less expressive portraits.”

You whined and covered your face with both hands. He laughed, leaning in to pry your hands away. “Don’t hide from me,” he whispered. “I need to see it. Every twitch, every flinch, every little shudder when you try not to come.”

He turned the dial up again, just a nudge and your whole body jerked.

“Rafayel!” you cried.

“Yes?” he purred, absolutely glowing. “Tell me what it feels like. For reference. For research.”

You whimpered, legs trembling, completely overwhelmed. And still he didn’t touch you. He just sat back on his heels and watched. Eyes locked to your ruined form. Lips parted. Chest rising like he was trying to memorize your breath.

Because to Rafayel, this wasn’t just play. It was art, watching you fall apart.

You didn’t think it could get worse. You were already trembling, thighs shaking from the relentless pulse of the toy inside you. The remote—small, sleek—rested in Rafayel’s palm like it belonged there, his thumb lazily brushing the dial up and down. Never long enough to let you come. Never soft enough to let you rest.

And then he stood, wandered to the velvet drawer again, and hummed. As if he were choosing a new brush. As if your body were just another canvas. He turned back with a second toy in hand, one you didn’t recognize. Pale rose gold, delicate. Your eyes widened.

“Do you trust me, cutie?” he asked, voice soft. Too soft.

You nodded, already breathless. He smiled and moved fast, the toy pinched gently over your nipple, cold at first, then warm. Then—click. A slow, subtle pulse. Not painful. Not harsh. Just constant. Just enough to drive you insane.

Rafayel’s eyes practically lit up at your expression.

“Oh... look at you,” he whispered, stepping back to admire the effect. “I haven’t even touched you and you’re already falling apart.”

You whimpered, fingers clawing at the arms of the chair, hips shifting in place as both toys worked you from inside and out. The dual sensations blurred, burning through you.

“I wonder,” he murmured, circling behind you, voice low near your ear, “if I could make you come without a single hand on your body.”

He twisted the dial again, both of them. You screamed. Your legs shook violently, eyes glassy, chest heaving under the pulsing stimulation at your breast. You couldn't even beg. Couldn’t think. Could only feel.

And Rafayel? He didn’t even flinch or speak. He just watched you so intently, a hand pressed lightly to his own chest, lips parted like he was high on your pleasure alone.

He didn't need to touch himself. He was already aching, cock hard beneath his pants, but it didn’t matter. The sight of you—trembling, flushed, moaning his name like it was salvation—was more intoxicating than anything else could be.

His eyes were wide, almost reverent.

“You’re divine like this,” he whispered, crouching beside you, nose brushing your cheek. “Do you even know what you look like, cutie? I should paint this. Frame it. Worship it.”

You came again with no warning. And he gasped like it hit him, too. Hands still behind his back, remote untouched. Just his eyes on you. And that damn smile on his face as leaned in and kissed your jaw gently.

It had been days. Days since the last time he reduced you to tears with nothing but vibrations and words. You thought maybe it had satisfied him. Maybe he’d had his fill. Maybe that wild, possessive edge in his eyes had dimmed just enough.

You were wrong.

Because tonight, he sat you down in the center of his studio again—same chair, same dim lighting—only this time, he was prepared. Very prepared. Two toys. One thrusting deep inside you with slow, devastating rhythm, thick and unrelenting. The second pressed to your clit—smaller, crueler, pulsing in syncopated bursts that made your whole body twitch.

Rafayel was sitting across from you in that same velvet chair, flushed, legs spread, eyes glassy. His shirt was still buttoned but wrinkled now, sleeves pushed up, chest rising and falling like he was the one overstimulated.

“Cutie,” he whispered, biting his lip, hand gripping the remote tight, “you should see what you look like like this.”

He shifted the thrusting toy’s rhythm—faster, shallower, and your head snapped back against the chair, mouth open in a wordless cry.

He moaned at the sight. “Fuck…do that again. Let me see your throat. Yes... yes.”

And then just as your orgasm built, just as you were seconds from tipping over—Click. He shut them both off.

You screamed in frustration, hips bucking, chasing friction. And Rafayel just laughed—soft, breathless. “You should see your face, sweet girl. Oh, you’re so fucking beautiful when you beg.”

You panted. Whimpered, really. Your thighs were shaking violently, already soaked, pussy fluttering around the unmoving toy buried inside you.

“Please,” you breathed.

“Oh, I know,” he whispered, crawling toward you on his knees, not to touch, but to watch closer. To see every tremble as he flicked the remote back on. First the clit toy. Then the one inside you. Then both. Then none.

Over and over. Cruel and perfect and orchestrated.

You came the first time without warning—body slamming forward, hands grabbing the arms of the chair as the pleasure tore through you like lightning. Rafayel shuddered, jaw slack, like your orgasm had touched him. But he didn’t stop. The second wave hit harder. The third left you sobbing, eyes unfocused, legs flinching uncontrollably.

“Rafayel—” you gasped, tears streaking your cheeks. “I can’t—I can’t—”

He leaned in, kissed your trembling thigh, lips soft and reverent. “Yes, you can. You were made to come for me.”

Another switch. Another build. Another climax, ripped from your raw, shaking body as he sat back and watched, his own breath ragged now, mouth parted, flushed from head to toe, voice low and addicted.

“You’re perfect. My perfect little masterpiece. I could do this all night.”

He meant it. Not once had he touched himself, but he was undone. Just from you. Just from this. And when you collapsed forward, boneless and soaked and still twitching, Rafayel crawled to you, finally laying his hand on your cheek.

“Still breathing?” he murmured, voice hoarse.

You nodded weakly. He smiled, that soft, dangerous glow back in his eyes. “Then we’re not finished.”

You should’ve known when he brought out the tripod. He didn’t even say anything, just set it up with the same slow, careful reverence he gave to his canvases. He adjusted the angle, tilted the lens and hit record. Then he turned to you. You were still naked, still trembling from the last wave of overstimulation. Skin flushed. Eyes glassy.

“You’re not nervous,” he said softly, as if stating a fact.

You shook your head, breath catching. “No.”

His smile was feral. “Good girl.”

He walked to you slowly—barefoot, shirt undone, hair slightly wild—and lowered himself to his knees again. Took up the remote, the toys already humming between your thighs. But this time? He looked at the camera as he pushed the first setting higher. Like he wanted it to see.

“You’re going to come for me again,” he said, gaze flicking between your wrecked face and the red blinking light. “And I want you to look at the lens when you do.”

Your stomach flipped. But you obeyed. Because you were too far gone now. Too used to this rhythm—his commands, his precision, his addiction to every detail of your ruin.

The toy thrust into you harder this time, slick and merciless. The vibrator pressed to your clit pulsed in uneven patterns—his favorite setting. One that made you anticipate and fear every jolt.

He didn't touch you. But his voice was everywhere.

"Look at it, cutie," he murmured, tilting your chin up so your teary, desperate gaze met the lens. "Let it capture every second of what I do to you."

You moaned, the sound breaking apart as your thighs shook, body convulsing around the toy inside you. The orgasm was fast—too fast—and he groaned aloud when it hit you, watching your eyes roll back on film, your body jerking in helpless surrender.

And still he didn’t stop. He switched the settings, flicked between pulses. Alternating pressure. Different angles. And every time you sobbed or moaned or whimpered his name, he watched it happen all over again, reflected in the camera’s cold, perfect eye.

He was sweating by the time your fifth orgasm tore through you, chest heaving, one hand gripping the edge of the chair so tightly his knuckles went white. Still untouched. Still painfully hard. And still, so obsessed with watching you break in real-time.

“I’m going to watch this again,” he whispered darkly, reaching out to brush your soaked, overstimulated core with the back of his hand. “Over and over, until I know every second by heart.”

You sobbed and came again. And only then—when your body slumped against the chair, totally spent—did he finally shut the toys off and click the recording to a stop.

Later, he carried you to the bath in silence. You were weightless in his arms, floating. Boneless. Wrecked. He settled you into the warm water, one arm behind your back, the other cradling your thighs as he poured lavender-scented oils over your skin.

His touch was reverent now. Gentle. Loving. He washed you slowly, carefully, eyes still full of that same awe, that same holy fixation.

"You did so well," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "You gave me everything, looked so perfect."

You leaned against him, too weak to speak, but he didn’t need words. His hand cupped your cheek again, tilting your head back just enough to press his lips to your temple.

“I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you,” he whispered, and for once—his voice trembled.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Tourist trap (Stan Pines x fem!reader)

minors dni

Stan is very fond of tourists who believe his stories.

tags: nsfw, smut, p in v, fingering, riding, desk sex, semi-public, praise, sir kink, rough sex

You shifted nervously from one foot to the other, wide-eyed and excited, as you clutched your little Mystery Shack brochure in your hand. It was all crumpled from being folded and unfolded too many times, but you couldn’t stop reading all the incredible things advertised on it.

“See the world-famous Sasquatch Skull up close! Touch the Alien Artifacts nobody else believes in!”

You believed it all. Every last word. After all, you’re such a lover of the unknown.

Your group of tourists shuffles around you, mostly adults who looks really unimpressed, grumbling about the entrance fee. You’re the only one whose eyes are wide with excitement and who literally trembles from excitement to see everything the Shack have to offer. And that’s exactly what catches his eye.

Stan Pines stands in the doorway, leaning on his cane, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. You don’t notice how his eyes scans over you, how he takes in every little detail: the innocent excitement, the way you’re practically throwing your money at the gift shop already and that naive, gullible glow about you. You practically skip forward, not noticing how Stan’s eyes linger on you. He can tell right away, you aren’t just any tourist. No, you’re special. Too trustful. Sweet. The kind that believe every ridiculous thing he’d ever put on display.

And isn’t that just. . . adorable?

The tour starts and you trail behind him eagerly, eyes wide and shining as he tells stories about the various "creatures" and "relics" in the Shack. Part of you is convinced that every word is true, that you’re standing in the presence of real magic, real mystery. 

Stan notices you hanging on his every word and it makes something stir in him. The way your lips parts just a little, these little “wow” and “ohh” you make, the way your eyes follow his every move. Meanwhile other tourists roll their eyes or sigh, bored out of their minds, but not you. You’re his favorite kind of visitor, the kind that made his job fun

“so,” Stan starts, turning to you with a glint in his eye as the rest of the group wanders off, “what do you think of this, doll? Pretty impressive, huh?”

You nod enthusiastically, clutching your bag of over-priced trinkets and souvenirs. “it’s amazing, sir! i can’t believe im seeing all this in real life! i mean, is the Sasquatch skull really real? And the alien artifacts, are they, like, actually from space?!”

“Well, aren’t you just the cutest little tourist I’ve ever seen,” he smiles, leaning slightly towards you and letting out a chuckle “most people come in here and they laugh it off. Say it’s all fake, but not you. You really believe in this, don’t you?”

“Yeah! ive always dreamed of visiting such a cool place! thank you, sir, it’ll remain a good memory,” you giggle.

“Ohh, sweetheart, if you’re such a fan, maybe i can show you some of the mysteries we keep hidden from the average tourists.” he absolutely loves how wide-eyed and trusting you are. You really believe every word he tells you?

Your eyes light up, completely oblivious to the hungry look in his eyes. "Really? You’d do that?"

Stan rubs his chin, pretending to think it over, though the grin never left his face. “Hmm,” he looks at you for a couple more seconds before he tells you you. “for you, dear? Anything.”

He leads you away from the main part of the Shack, down a hallway lined with dusty old portraits and broken light fixtures. You don’t even notice how quiet it is now as the rest of the tour group far behind. All you can think about was the excitement bubbling inside you, the thrill of seeing something “exclusive.”

Stan opens a creaky door at the end of the hall and motions for you to step inside. You eagerly obey, stepping into a dimly lit room filled with more strange objects, things that weren’t part of the normal tour. At least, that’s what Stan told you.

He closes the door behind him with a soft click, the two of you now alone and you never really noticed how close he suddenly got, his hand resting on your lower back as he guides you further into the room, its cluttered with strange artifacts, most of which hadn’t made it to the main display.

You’re buzzing with excitement as you look around at the dusty shelves. "Wow!" you gasped, wide-eyed. “What’s that? and that?! oh my gosh, is that a real shrunken head?!”

Stan chuckles, settling himself down in an old chair near desk before patting his lap. “Why don’t you come here, doll? I’ll give you a closer look.” his voice sounded way too weird, something that should alert you, but you’re too caught up in your excitement to notice it.

Without a second thought, you plop yourself down on his lap, leaning forward to inspect the nearest artifact, still firing off a barrage of questions. "What’s this one? and where did you get it? oh god, is it really cursed?!"

Stan grunts, adjusting you a bit closer as his hands settled on your hips. He leans forward slightly, his mouth near your ear as he begins to explain some ridiculous story about the origins of the objects. But you barely notice how his fingers start to slip lower, just lightly brushing along the hem of your skirt.

You keep talking, completely oblivious, your words spilling out in an excited rush. “This is so cool! i can’t believe no one else gets to see this! i-“ your voice hitches as Stan’s hand slides further up your thigh, his thick fingers grazing the edge of your panties.

He continues talking as if nothing happens. “This here is an ancient artifact from South America. Supposedly cursed, but, eh, I wouldn’t worry about it too much.” he pauses, his hand gently pressing against the softness of your thigh as he keeps you pinned on his lap.

Your breath caught in your throat, but you tried to focus on his words, nodding as you squirmed a little. “W-wow, that’s- that’s so cool!” your voice breathy as Stan’s fingers brushes lightly along the edge of your panties, teasing you.

“Yeah, real cool, huh?” he asks you, still as if nothing happened, his other hand sliding up your waist to grip your side, so you wouldn’t move that much. His fingers dip lower, grazing the fabric of your panties before slipping just beneath it. “aaand this one here,” he continues, “it’s said to have belonged to an ancient tribe. Powerful stuff.”

You can barely process what he’s saying, your mind blank as his fingers lightly tease along your slit, collecting the wetness that was beginning to pool there. You shift in his lap, trying to stifle the soft whimper that escape your lips, your legs pressing together.

“Something wrong, doll?” he asks in a playful, no, mocking tone, while his fingers now lightly caressing your clit. “You seem a little distracted. Thought you wanted to hear about all these mysteries.”

“I- I do!” you stutter. “It’s just- s-sir!”

“Just what?” Stan interrupts, his fingers now slipping lower, pressing firmly against your entrance. His other hand grips your waist, holding you firmly in place as you instinctively try to buck your hips against his hand.

You whine softly, barely able to form a coherent sentence. "I-I just. . . oh god-“

Stan smirks. “You’re so cute, sweetheart,” he nuzzles your neck, his fingers now teasing your entrance, pushing just the tip of one finger inside your throbbing cunt. “asking all these questions while sitting in my lap like a good little girl.”

You sob, your hips rocking against his hand without even realizing it. You can feel his cock, hard and pulsing beneath you, pressing against your ass, but Stan keeps his focus on you, his fingers slowly pumping in and out of your wetness, never stopping his stories.

“This one is said to have special. . . powers. Like it can make someone go crazy with just one touch.” he chuckles, his finger curling inside you, hitting that spot that made you gasp and clench around him.

Your head spinning, body aching with need, completely at his mercy as he tease and play with you, all while still pretending like it was just another tour.

Stan’s smirk widens as he feels you trembling in his lap, the way you quietly moan, your face and body both hot. He keeps his voice steady, still saying some ridiculous story about the artifacts, but his fingers never stops their teasing.

“So, this piece here was said to be used in rituals. Uhh, something about unlocking a person’s deepest desires, makin’ ’em lose all sense of control.” its not difficult for him to imagine these false stories, he is an experienced lier after all. You try to listen, try to understand what he’s saying, but that’s just impossible to do as he presses his thumb harder against your needy bud, his fingers sliding through your slick folds. You whimper, barely able to focus on his words. Your body burning, every nerve ending tingling as his rough fingers stroke and tease your throbbing pussy. Your hips rock against his hand, desperate for more, but you’re too shy, too embarrassed to ask for it.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? you were askin’ so many questions before, now you’re all quiet?” his thumb circles your clit a little bit faster and your body jolts from pleasure, a soft cry escaping your lips before you could stop it.

“I’m just-“ you stammer, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you squirm in his lap. “I c-can’t, sir, can’t think”

He chuckles, now pushing two thick fingers deep inside your tight, clenching cunt. You gasp and your back arch against him as he starts to pump them slowly, curling and scissoring his fingers just right, hitting that spot inside you that made your whole body tremble. What a lovely sounds you’re making.

“Aww you poor thing, so lost, huh? cant even think straight, can ya?”

You whimper, biting your lip as you try to stifle the noises that are spilling out of you, but it’s useless. Your hips are moving on their own, grinding against his hand as you clung to his shirt, “sir” and “please” leaving your mouth as his fingers stretch you so well.

“Just relax, doll, I’ll take care of you. Just listen to me.” his fingers pumped harder inside your pulsing pussy. “you wanted a tour, right?”

You nodded weakly, not even listening him, unable to focus on anything but the way his fingers were fucking into you, the wet sounds of your dripping pussy filling the small room. His thick digits stretch you open just good, making you lose your mind.

“So this here,” he continued, his voice still calm despite the way you were practically writhing in his lap, “was used by an ancient tribe. Supposedly, they thought it could help them communicate with the gods, but I think it’s more useful for somethin’ else. . . don’t you, sweetheart?”

You could only sob in response, your body trembling as his fingers drove deeper, stretching your tight walls, his thumb never leaving your poor sensitive clit, your muscles clenching around his fingers as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“You’re such a good girl,” he praises as he watches you squirm in his lap, your wetness coating his fingers. “so cute, all worked up like this. You gonna cum for me, doll?” you nod, your hips bucking against his hand, his fingers thrusting deeper inside your aching cunt. Stan laughs at that pathetic sight, his fingers moving faster now, fucking you hard and deep, your pussy clenching around his digits. “Go on, princess, cum on my fingers.” you exhale when Stan finally let you finish. With a strangled cry, your body shakes, your cunt clenching around his fingers as your orgasm crashes over you. Your eyes rolled and brain fucking melted as you shudder in his lap.

Stan grinned, watching you with a satisfied smirk. “Good girl, such a good little doll for me.”

His hand rests on your breast, first slowly and gently caressing it. His fingers find your nipple and give it a light squeeze, drawing another sound from you. Stan smirks to himself as he feels you shaking in his lap, your body responding to every little touch he gave you. His fingers still buried deep inside you, moving at a slow, teasing pace that had you on edge, desperate for more. You can barely sit still, squirming against him, your breath coming out in soft, shallow gasps.

His fingers curling inside you again, and you whimper, your hips jerking in response. “You want somethin’, don’t you? you gotta tell me what you need, doll.”

Your mind foggy, every nerve in your body on fire as his fingers keep working you over, drawing soft, desperate noises from your parted lips. You could barely think straight, let alone put together a proper sentence. “pl-please, sir”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying your struggle. “Please what, sweetheart? you gotta use your words if you want somethin’ from me.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep yourself together, but it’s damn impossible with the way his big fingers thrusting inside you, hitting that perfect spot over and over again. You can feel the heat building inside you again, that desperate, aching need, but of something bigger than just his fingers. You need to be filled, to have your brains fucked out. “I need more. . .”

“More, baby? you want my fingers to go faster? is that what you mean?”

You shake your head frantically, your whole body aching for something else. “No, I need- need your cock, sir-“

He raise his eyebrows in a fake surprise. “Oh, is that what you’ve been tryin’ to say this whole time? you’re beggin’ for it now, huh? pretty little thing, all desperate for me to fuck you?”

You whimper softly, your hips moving on their own, trying to push down on his hand for more friction, more pressure, but he holds you still, keeping you right where he wanted you. “Please, sir,” you whisper and nearly cry because of horrible emptiness you’re feeling. “please just fuck me, sir, i need you!”

“You’re lucky I’m feelin’ generous today, sweetheart,” he tells you, his hand finally pulling away from your dripping slit. “don’t say i never gave you nothin’.”

Before you can even process whats happening, Stan shifts you in his lap, his strong hands lifting your hips and positioning you right above his length. You can feel his cock, already hard and throbbing beneath you, pressing up against your soaked entrance, and your whole body tense, your breath catching in your throat.

Stan’s hands grip your hips tightly, holding you steady as he lines himself up with your glistening cunt, spreading your folds. “You ready for it, doll?” he asks. “this what you’ve been beggin’ for?”

You nod quickly, fuck enough of questions, you thought. “Yes,” you whisper. “yes yes yes, ple-“ but before you can even finish, he slowly pushes inside you, stretching you open inch by inch. You immediately gasp at the new sensation, your hands gripping onto his shoulders as your body adjusts to the sudden fullness. Oh god, it’s thick, so hard, filling you completely and you can feel every inch of him throbbing inside you, every vein, it feels so hot.

Stan huffs out, his grip on your hips tightening as he buries himself to the hilt. “Fuck, you’re tight. like you were made for this, doll.”

You whimper softly, holding on him, your body trembling as you try to adjust to the feeling of him inside you. It’s almost too much, the way he stretches you so perfectly, the way he fills you completely. You can barely breathe.

Stan gives you a moment to adjust. his cock pulsing inside you. “There we go,” he mutters watching your brows furrowing. “Just like that. . . you’re doin’ so good, babygirl.”

You moan again, your hips shifting slightly in his lap, and you feel him twitch inside you,. “I. . . nhhah, s-sir”

He leans towards you and kisses your forehead, his hands guiding your hips to start moving, slowly at first. “Go on, princess. Ride me, let me see how bad you want it.”

You bite your lip nervously as you’ve never been in this pose before, you slowly start to move, lifting yourself up and then sinking back down onto his cock. It feels incredible, the way his cock stretches you open, hitting all sweet spots inside you. You feel the tension building inside you again, that same desperate, aching need, and you whimper again and again, your hips moving faster as your cunt tightening around him.

Stan’s eyes locks with yours as he guides your movements, kissing your neck. “That’s it, sweetheart, you feel so fuckin’ good, yesss, such a good girl, ridin’ me like that.”

You cry out at his words, what a sweet praise, your body moving on its own now, your hips grinding down against him, taking him deeper with each thrust. You can barely think, barely breathe, the pleasure overwhelming your senses, your mind clouded, you can’t even maintain the eye contact.

Stan’s hands moves to your waist, holding you steady as he starts thrusting up into you, meeting your movements with deep, powerful thrusts. You whine, your hands gripping onto his shoulders for support as he fucks you, your mouth hangs open while he fucks you faster and harder with each thrust, he holds you so tightly, squeezing your body while you ride him.

You gasp. “I- I’m gonna-“

“Go ahead, doll, cum for me, let me feel it.”

Your body tensed, your walls clenching around his cock as your orgasm hits you hard. Your body shaking, trembling in his lap as you cumming, rambling pleas leave your mouth when you feel the tip of his cock rubbing sweetly against your cervix. Stan groans, his grip on your waist tightening as he thrusts up into you harder, deeper, drawing out your pleasure as long as he can. “That’s it, such a good girl, baby. . . so fuckin’ tight.”

You fall on his chest, still shaking, your mind still spinning from the intensity of it all. You can feel him still throbbing inside you, still hard, and you whimper softly, your hips shifting slightly in his lap, he’s clearly not planning on pulling out.

After you manage to get your breathing back to normal at least a little you feel his hands still all over you, roughly dragging you up and laying you out on the old wooden table. Your legs tremble, spread wide as he stares down at you, taking in the sight like you’re his prize, his fucking reward.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” grin crosses his lips as he grabs your thighs, pulling you right to the edge of the table before slamming his cock back inside your pussy, forcing a cry from your throat. Your body jolts at the sudden penetration, and you moan again, legs wrapping around his waist as he starts pounding into you again. Hard. Rough. Fast. There’s not a drop of mercy in his movements, he's not holding back, fucking you like you're just a thing for him to use. Your sweet moans and that pathetic "sl-slow down!" sound like music to his ears.

His hands all over you, squeezing, groping, touching. He grabs your breasts, kneading them, pinching your nipples through your shirt so hard you whimper, arching your back off the table. He groans at that, leaning in close, his breath hot against your neck as he whispers, “Fuck, you feel heavenly, baby, can’t get enough of this sweet little cunt.”

His fingers finds your clit, rubbing circles around it, teasing you until you can’t stop the pathetic whines spilling from your lips. He keeps fucking you harder, his hips slamming against yours, the table creaking under the weight of it all. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, mixed with your gasps, your moans, your begs and his grunts as he’s pounding into you like he was starving for it.

“Look at you,” he looks down at your flushed, wrecked body, his hands gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. “Such a fucking good girl for me, huh? letting me use this pretty little pussy however I want.”

You can’t really form words, can’t do anything but take it. Your so brain fucked, body burning, you’re so close you can’t think straight. He’s rough, fast, his fingers rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts, pushing you higher, higher, until you can’t hold back anymore. You cum hard, again, your pussy squeezing his cock well.

But Stan doesn’t stop. He just keeps going, fucking you right through it, ruining your pussy, even harder now, his hips snaps into you, faster, rougher, and you can feel the slick mess between your thighs, the obscene sound of it only making it filthier. You're choking on your moans.

“Ugh, gonna cum inside you, doll,” he groans. “Gonna fill this sweet pussy up, you want that? you want me to fucking fill you up?”

You nod frantically, too far gone to care about anything else, and with one last, hard thrust, he buries himself so deep, his cock pulsing as he finishes inside you. You feel how warm it is, his cum filling you up, spilling out of you as he keeps thrusting, riding out his high.

Finally, he slows down, pulling out with a groan, and you collapse back on the table, spent, utterly wrecked. Youre literally shaking, panting, his cum dripping out of your used pussy onto the wood below. Stan stands there, catching his breath, looking down at you and all that dirty mess, what a beautiful sight: your legs trembling, your body marked with his touch and his cum leaking from between your thighs.

He leans over. “you know, guess I'll give you a discount for that pretty face of yours.”

[yrluvjane]

hi gorgeous i hope ur having a great day <3

i come bearing a request hehe

so james and fem reader are best friends and she loves him and doesn’t know what to do with it cause obviously she thinks he doesn’t like her back even tho anyone with eyes can see he’s lovestruck for her, and one day she’s talking with remus about how much she just wants james and how she cant risk telling him and stuff and JAMES overhears this conversation and is literally SPEECHLESS and cue the confessions and fluff

Thanks love!!

The fire in the Gryffindor common room had burned low, casting long shadows across the stone walls. You sat curled in the window seat, your knees drawn to your chest, watching the first snow of winter dust the Forbidden Forest in quiet white. Behind you, the portrait hole creaked open, but you didn’t turn—not until you heard the familiar, hesitant clearing of a throat.

"Mind if I join you?"

Remus’s voice was soft, careful. You nodded, scooting over to make room as he settled beside you, his long legs folding beneath him. For a moment, there was only the crackle of the dying fire and the distant howl of the wind outside.

Then—

"You’re in love with him."

It wasn’t a question.

Your breath hitched, fingers tightening around the edge of your robe. You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Remus sighed, running a hand through his already-messy hair. "How long?"

"Years," you whispered. The admission felt like pulling a splinter from deep under your skin—painful, but freeing. "Since third year, maybe. I don’t even know when it started. It just... was."

A log shifted in the fireplace, sending up a shower of sparks. Remus studied you, his amber eyes too knowing, too kind. "You’ve never told him."

You laughed, but it came out hollow. "What would be the point? James Potter doesn’t see me that way. He can’t."

"Because of Lily?"

"Because of everything," you said, voice breaking. "He’s James. He’s brilliant and brave and—and golden, Remus. And I’m just... me."

Remus opened his mouth, then closed it again, his brow furrowing. For the first time, he looked almost frustrated. "You really don’t see it, do you?"

"See what?"

"The way he looks at you."

You froze.

"The way he always saves you the seat beside him in the Great Hall," Remus continued quietly. "How he remembers your favorite flavor of every sweet at Honeydukes. How he hexed Mulciber last year for daring to smirk at you in the corridors." He leaned forward, his voice dropping. "Merlin, the poems, darling. The rose petals. The way he—"

A choked noise from the staircase cut him off.

Your blood turned to ice.

There, halfway down the steps, stood James.

His face was pale beneath his tan, his glasses slightly askew, as if he’d stumbled to a halt mid-step. His knuckles were white where they gripped the banister, his chest rising and falling too fast.

He’d heard.

Oh Godric, he’d heard everything.

For one endless, suffocating second, no one moved.

Then—

Remus stood, his chair scraping against the stone floor. "I’ll just... give you two a moment."

You wanted to beg him to stay. To fix this. But before you could speak, he was gone, the portrait hole swinging shut behind him with a finality that made your stomach drop.

Silence.

James didn’t move.

Neither did you.

Then, all at once, he was there—kneeling in front of you, his hands hovering just above yours, trembling.

James breathed, and your name on his lips sounded like a prayer.

You couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t bear to see the pity in his eyes. "James, I—"

His fingers brushed your chin, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

What you saw there stole the breath from your lungs.

There was no pity. No discomfort.

Just wonder.

"All this time," he whispered, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone, "I thought I was the only one hiding."

Your heart stuttered. "What?"

James let out a shaky laugh, his other hand coming up to cradle your face. "I’ve been in love with you since third year. Since you hexed Snape into next week for insulting Remus. Since you laughed at my stupid jokes like they were actually funny." His voice cracked. "Since forever."

The world tilted.

"You—" You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. "But the rose petals—the poems—I thought—"

"I was trying to tell you," he admitted, cheeks flushing. "But every time I got close, I—" He huffed, frustrated. "I panicked. Because what if I ruined everything? What if you didn’t—"

You kissed him.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t planned. But the second your lips met his, something inside you clicked into place, like the last piece of a puzzle finally finding its home.

James made a noise against your mouth—half-surprise, half-relief—before his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you at all.

When you finally broke apart, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm on your skin.

"So," he murmured, grinning that stupid, beautiful grin, "does this mean I can finally take you on a proper date?"

You laughed, tangling your fingers in his hair. "Only if you promise to keep the rose petals."

James kissed you again, slow and sweet and perfect.

And outside the castle, the snow kept falling, covering the world in quiet, gentle white.

[honey-tongued-devil]

↠The last drop tour

| Part 1 | | Part 2 | | Part 3 |

Alright, alright, I know I’ve already shown you the Last Drop, so here we’re looking at the one from the alternate timeline, as seen in Episode 7. The elements and layout don’t change too much, but there are variations, and since my story is set in this universe, I imagine this version is the most helpful for anyone wanting to explore the universe I write about. The link to the story is HERE, but I hope this can also be useful for anyone writing or reading their own work.

Here we are once again! This tour might be a bit challenging, but don’t worry—your guide has got you covered! This time, we need to start outside.

I know we all recognize the exterior of the bar, which hasn’t changed, but I ask you to take a closer look at the streets. They’re clean and bathed in sunlight. (The Last Drop is in the Entresol, the middle level of Zaun’s three depth levels.) While it may seem almost normal or expected, the smog that used to accumulate made it impossible for light to filter through the thick air, even during the day. As a result, the underground city never got to see this much light. This is the first time.

In Heimerdinger’s sequence where he’s seen playing "Spin the Wheel," we can catch glimpses of glass greenhouses protecting plants, and people in wheelchairs, hinting that the city is now more accessible.

This is the third post where I’ve mentioned this damn ceiling, so I went back just to show it to you, because it was necessary at this point. Let’s start with the fact that the Last Drop has been renovated. The fact that Ekko is wearing a gold earring and is so well-dressed suggests that their profits have increased, and the first thing they did was fix up the place. But enough talk—let’s get to the proof. Now that natural light reaches Zaun, the LED lights on the ceiling aren’t needed anymore. What is needed? Glass, to let the light in.

And so, we move on to another small but significant difference. Scattered throughout the Last Drop, but especially at the bar counter, there are terrariums with plants. Claggor and Mylo are even working on plants capable of converting the dense air of the Sump into clean oxygen. But why do plants have such prominence here? In Season 1, we’re shown that in Zaun, only one place had plants: the Chembarons' meeting room. It was so high up and so clean, thanks to the ventilation on the ceiling, that plants were a privilege of the oligarchy, not something for everyone. But here, even ordinary people in Zaun have plants around, and they thrive.

The bar counter remains the same, the barrels behind Vander are still protected by the same glass partitions as always. The difference now is that everything is adorned with what used to be a symbol of luxury.

Did you recognize these booths? Now, instead of the Chembarons' photos, there are sheets with dart game scores written on them—both for the kids and the three older men. To be honest, the one I’m showing you in the photo from Zaun’s original timeline is actually the first booth on the left from the entrance. Meanwhile, the one shown where the kids are sitting is the second booth, a bit closer to both the bar counter and the narrow hallway that leads to the arcade area and the pool table.

Which ones? These. Actually... this photo was taken in front of the first booth, and we can see Powder's drawings hanging there. Basically, we understand that they’re portraits of all of them together, happy. Maybe some are solo portraits, but they’re definitely very different from how things are now. (the comparison)

I imagine that the basement where Vander and his children used to live is now the place where they store alcohol and reserve drinks, or maybe it has become a boiler room. We don’t have photos of the lower area (which, I remind you, can be accessed by taking the door to the right of the bar counter and going down a long staircase) nor of the upper area, which is reached by climbing the stairs to the left. So, I can’t show you more parts of our beloved bar, but I can tell you that according to what we’re told in episode 7, they now offer both live music and events. So, the Last Drop has continued both Vander’s family-oriented, rustic management and Silco’s vision of a nightlife hub and heart of the city.

As for the rest—how we got to this point, what brought the change, how Silco's eye healed, how they managed to reach such an economic development to renovate the bar in that way—I can only speculate. But, I won’t do that here.

The theme of the universe’s development from episode 7, starting with Vi’s death, is what I talk about in my fanfiction. So, I’ll take a moment to advertise myself during this tour and let you know that if, in addition to the objective facts, you'd like to hear my opinion, I address it HERE (Everytime it rains).

From these three tours, I think you've gathered that I’m someone who pays a lot of attention to details, which is why a superficial analysis of the differences wasn't enough for me. I needed a bigger space to narrate (and analyze) the politics and the domino effect of events. So, I don't know, I hope to see you again at the bar.

Sincerely, your guide, provided by...

-Kiramman's chronocare

[dracolilhoe]

To Love Again (Severus Snape x Y/N)

Severs Snape x fem!reader

Main Masterlist here -> DracoLilHoe

Harry Potter Fandom Masterlist here -> HP Masterlist

Warnings: Starts off a little dark but becomes more light hearted, soft/out of character Snape, mostly fluff, female reader, use of Y/n

Words: +7.5k

Summary: (Based off a request <3)

If you find mistakes please tell me! I'm not a perfect writer so please just let me know. Happy reading! :)

A/N: So this took a lot longer to write and was wayyyy longer than I expected it was gonna be lol but I really enjoyed how this turned out (other than the fact that I kind of gave up toward the end. my birthday is on the 4th bro I was js trying to get this shit completed 😭) and this was a my first request so tyms!! (Im really sorry if this didn't turn out how you envisioned i tried my best! <3) -> Request

1995

As I stir awake, a sliver of sunlight slips through the dark curtains and lands right in my eye. Somehow, this is the best sleep I’ve had in months—and I’m not even in my own bed. With the news of Voldemort’s return and the Ministry scrambling to cover it up, Dumbledore decided it was time to bring the Order back together. He even added a few new members. Myself included.

The house is quiet, which is strange considering how many people are packed into it now. I hear faint movement downstairs—probably Molly making breakfast or Moody pacing like he always does, paranoid that the place will be ambushed any second.

Joining the Order wasn’t something I planned, especially so close to Christmas. But when you see what I’ve seen—what he’s capable of—you don’t stay on the sidelines. You pick a side. And I’ve picked mine, even if that means being a double agent with my husband and putting our lives at risk. I sit up slowly, removing Severus' arm wrapped tightly around my waist, the old bed creaking under me.

I ease out from under the blankets, careful not to wake him. He rarely sleeps this soundly, and I know better than to steal that from him. War has carved deep lines into all of us, but with Severus, it’s in the way his jaw never unclenches, the way he listens to silence like it’s saying something. Right now, though, he looks almost peaceful. Almost.

My feet touch the cold wooden floor, and I shiver. This house, Black’s ancestral home, feels like it’s holding its breath. Grimmauld Place is nothing short of oppressive, but it’s the safest place we’ve got.

I pull on my sweater and head for the hallway, avoiding the floorboard near the door that always groans. The air smells like dust and old wood. Downstairs, I hear a pan clatter, followed by Molly’s low murmur.

There’s a tightness in my chest I haven’t shaken since Dumbledore brought us in. Every morning feels like a countdown. To what, I’m not sure yet. A raid? A betrayal? A message that someone didn’t make it through the night?

I reach the landing and glance back at the room, at Severus. He’d never admit it, but he’s scared. We both are. But fear doesn’t mean you back down. It means you move forward anyway, and I’m already halfway down the stairs.

The stairs creak beneath me, old wood groaning like it resents being walked on. Every sound in this house feels amplified like the place itself is watching, listening. I pass the umbrella stand with the decapitated troll leg and the row of portraits that used to scream every time someone so much as coughed. Someone, probably Tonks, finally found a silencing charm that sticks. Small victories yay!

In the kitchen, the air is warmer. Molly’s at the stove, wand in one hand, spatula in the other, humming something soft and familiar. Her shoulders are tense, though, and she keeps glancing at the clock with all the moving hands, none of which point to “Safe.” She brings it with her everywhere and it's starting to freak some of us out.

She turns when she hears me, a tight smile already on her face. “Morning, dear. Hope we didn’t wake you.” “You didn’t,” I lie. “I slept fine." She studies me for a beat too long, like she knows exactly how heavy sleep has been lately. But she lets it go. “Tea?”

“Please.” I slide into one of the worn chairs at the table, the wood cool under my fingers. There’s a plate of toast already laid out, and I realize just how hungry I am, not just for food, but for something normal.

Voices echo from upstairs, Remus and Arthur, maybe. Something about a meeting. Another day, another strategy session, another list of things we can’t control.

Molly sets a chipped mug in front of me. “Are you managing all right?” It’s not just small talk. It’s the kind of question people ask in war when they want to know if they need to start preparing for grief. I give her a nod and take a sip of tea that’s too hot. "Yeah. I'm managing.”

She pats my hand once, gently, like she knows better. The door creaks open behind me, and I hear the heavy, uneven footsteps of Moody. “Meeting in fifteen,” he growls without looking up. His magical eye swivels toward the corner, “Dumbledore wants everyone.”

Molly sighs and starts clearing the stove. I drain my tea and stand, feeling the weight settle back onto my shoulders. This is what it means to be part of the Order, quiet mornings laced with tension, polite conversation sitting beside secrets, and always, always the knowledge that we’re just one step ahead of darkness.

"I'll fetch Severus."

I head back upstairs, hoping to grab my wand and maybe splash some cold water on my face (and to wake Severus). I pause at the top of the stairs. The hallway is dim, lit only by the pale morning light leaking in through dusty windows.

Our bedroom door is still cracked open. I step inside quietly. Severus hasn’t moved much. One arm still rests where I left it, the other now tucked under his head. His brows twitch like he’s already halfway back in a fight. I get it. Sleep doesn’t come easy when you're always watching for betrayal, even in your dreams. I watch him for a second longer, then turn to the dresser and grab my wand.

The silver handle feels cold in my hand. Familiar. Steady. I tuck it into my sleeve and catch my reflection in the mirror: circles under my eyes, hair pulled back in a lazy knot, an expression I don’t fully recognize anymore. There’s a version of me before all this before the meetings and the lying and the long, quiet looks exchanged over war maps, but she feels like someone I used to know, not someone I still am.

I walk over to the bed shaking Severus awake. "Sev. Sev!" He groans rolling over his eyes opening slightly. "Moody needs us for a meeting in fifteen." "At this bloody hour?" He groans sitting up, a bit of his hair falling into his face.

"Yes, unfortunately. It must have something to do with the children coming for Christmas." I walk over to the dresser grabbing a pair of jeans and a sweater. I jump as a pair of arms wrap around my waist.

"We could just stay a bit longer up here darling, they wouldn't even notice we're gone." I chuckle as he plants a few kisses along my neck. "Put your damn clothes on we are here because they need us Sev."

-

The kitchen is louder now, more voices, chairs scraping, the familiar hum of wizards and witches trying to sound normal in a house built on bloodlines and curses. Sirius leans against the fireplace, arms crossed, jaw tight. He barely acknowledges me. Not out of rudeness, he’s just locked in his own storm.

Remus nods at me as I slip into a seat. “We’re just waiting on Alastor and Snape.” I give a short nod. “He’s coming.” The door opens again, and Moody limps in, muttering to himself. “Too quiet out there. I don’t trust it.”

“When do you ever trust it?” Sirius says dryly. “Exactly.”

I glance toward the door just as Severus walks in, silent and unreadable, cloak billowing slightly as he takes the last empty seat beside me. His eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second, no smile, no nod, just a flicker of shared understanding.

There’s a soft pop, and Dumbledore appears near the hearth, robes trailing, eyes sharper than usual. The chatter dies instantly. “Good morning,” he says, voice calm but firm. “We have a lot to cover.”

And just like that, we’re back in it, talking names, safe houses, coded messages, wand movements, Ministry leaks. Everyone contributes, and everyone listens, but the air hums with the knowledge that everything we’re planning could fall apart by nightfall.

Kingsley runs a hand down his face, looking like he hasn’t slept in days. “We’ve confirmed sightings near Ottery St. Catchpole. Three Death Eaters, possibly more. No casualties, but they’re testing the perimeter spells now.”

Murmurs ripple around the table. Molly stiffens at the mention of her village. Arthur reaches out, touching her arm just briefly. Dumbledore raises a hand. The room stills again. “We’ll need to rotate guard shifts more frequently,” he continues. “We can’t afford to let our protections go stale. Severus," his gaze shifts, “any updates from your end?”

Severus leans forward, elbows on the table, voice low. “They’re looking for something. He hasn’t said what. But there’s movement in the Inner Circle. Lucius is growing reckless. Bellatrix… worse.”

I feel his words like a draft through a crack in the walls. Everyone does. No one asks what “worse” means. No one wants to know. Sirius snorts from the fireplace. “So we’re still dancing blind while they’re planning gods-know-what?” Remus shoots him a warning look. “We’re doing what we can. That’s more than most.”

Dumbledore’s expression doesn’t waver. “We’ll hold ground where we must. But we have another matter to discuss.” A rustle of parchment. A name appears in glowing ink on the air, suspended like a ghost: Draco Malfoy. My stomach knots. Not out of surprise—but because I’ve been waiting for this.

Severus doesn’t move, but I see the way his jaw tightens beside me.

“He’s being watched closely,” Dumbledore says. “Lucius is desperate to keep him protected, but Voldemort has begun to take interest in the boy. If Draco is drawn in, we risk losing whatever leverage we have left with the Malfoy family.”

“And what exactly are we supposed to do about it?” Moody growls. “We’re not babysitters.” “No,” Dumbledore agrees. “But we need eyes on him. Discreet ones.” There’s a silence heavy enough to choke on. I speak before I even know I’m going to. “I can help.”

All eyes turn to me. “Lucius knows me. He trusts me or did. Enough to talk. I can get close to Narcissa.” Severus turns to me, his expression unreadable but something behind his eyes flashes sharp, alarm, maybe. Or something closer to fear.

“I’ll be careful,” I add. “I know how far I can go.” “You’re already too close,” he says under his breath, barely audible. But Dumbledore catches it. He watches us both, eyes thoughtful. “You wouldn’t be alone,” he says gently. “And I trust you to know the difference between risk and recklessness.”

That’s the thing about trust in this house, it’s not a gift. It’s a burden. You carry it like a second skin. The meeting drags on, plans stacking atop each other like unstable towers. Assignments are given. Timelines drawn. When it ends, it does so abruptly, and we’re all left trying to remember how to breathe again.

"Oh and one last thing," Dumbledore says as all eyes turn to him, "Severus, Y/n, Remus, and Sirius when the children come I would like you four to teach and aid them in their dueling skills," We all nod exchanging glances.

Chairs scrape back. Sirius disappears into the hallway without a word. Arthur and Molly exchange quiet words near the sink. Tonks fidgets with a broken spoon. And Severus... Severus doesn’t look at me I just follow him up the stairs.

Inside our room, he closes the door and just stands there for a second. Silent. Still. His back to me. “You shouldn’t have volunteered,” he says finally, voice low. Controlled. “Not for that.”

“I can handle them,” I answer, just as quiet. “And you know it.” He turns slowly. “That’s not the point.” I meet his gaze. “Then what is?” He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at me like he’s measuring something—distance, maybe. Risk. What it costs to love someone in wartime.

“They’ll use you,” he says finally. “The way they always do. And when it comes down to it, Dumbledore will sacrifice you if it means tipping the scale.” “I know,” I say. And I do.

But I also know that I’d do the same if it meant saving even one of those kids who’ll be walking into this house later with their trunks and their scarred hearts, pretending it’s still Christmas. “I picked this side,” I remind him. "Your side."

He steps toward me, slow and deliberate like we’re back on a battlefield. Maybe we are. “Then let me protect you,” he murmurs, voice almost breaking. “You already do.”

And in the silence that follows, in the quiet ache of the room, I let him pull me in because out there, it’s strategy and secrets and sacrifice. But in here, for just a breath, it’s something else. It’s what we’re still fighting for.

-

The front door creaks open sometime after noon. Laughter echoes down the hall—too loud, too bright for this house—but welcome all the same.

I’m halfway down the stairs when I hear Harry first. “Same miserable wallpaper. Same creepy elf heads.” His voice is tired but dry, amused. “Glad to see nothing’s changed.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Ron mutters behind him, dragging his trunk over the threshold. “Mum’s already got a to-do list longer than my arm. And Moody's breathing down everyone's neck like it’s a sport.”

Hermione follows just behind, trying to wrangle Crookshanks back into his carrier with one hand and hold her bag with the other. “Honestly, Ron, it’s not about comfort. It’s about safety.”

“Comfort would be nice too,” Ginny cuts in, brushing snow out of her hair. “One Christmas where no one gets cursed, cursed at, or nearly killed would be an improvement.”

From the landing, I catch Harry’s eyes. He blinks up at me, then offers a small smile. A tired one, but real. “You look taller,” I say, stepping aside to let them through. It’s something to say, something normal.

“Not sure about taller,” he replies. “Just older.” He’s right. They all are. You don’t come back from this fear-stricken world like this and stay untouched. Even Ginny, always quick with a quip, has a shadow behind her eyes. I've only ever met them all once before, so we aren't that familiar with each other, but they all seem like lovely kids.

Molly rushes in from the kitchen, apron on, arms open. She gathers them up one by one, fussing, scolding gently, hugging too long. The hallway fills with warmth and voices, boots thudding, trunks scraping.

Severus appears beside me silently, eyes sweeping the chaos with practiced detachment. But I catch the way his fingers twitch near his wand when Fred drops something with a loud crash.

“Relax,” I murmur. “That was just a box of—” “Exploding Snap cards,” Fred calls from the floor. “No actual explosions this time, promise!” Severus doesn’t smile, but the corners of his mouth twitch just slightly. “Merlin help us all,” he mumbles and vanishes back down the hall.

By dinner, the long table is packed, mismatched chairs pulled in from other rooms. The kids eat like they haven’t had a full meal in weeks—which, judging by the state of Hogwarts, might not be far off.

There’s laughter again, real this time, layered over the clink of plates and the smell of roast chicken. For a few brief moments, it almost feels like Christmas.

But underneath it all is the quiet hum of what’s coming. Dumbledore hasn’t said it outright, but we all know this is the calm before another kind of storm. The kids are safe, for now. But safe is a temporary state in this war. And Grimmauld Place, for all its wards and silencing charms, can’t keep the world at bay forever.

Later that evening, Remus gathers them in the drawing room. “Tomorrow, we start dueling lessons,” he says, voice calm but direct. “Not because we want to turn your holiday into homework, but because the world outside these walls won’t wait for you to grow up.”

“Too late for that,” Harry says under his breath. Hermione nods. Severus steps in from the shadows. “You’ll be paired. Rotated. Watched. No improvising.” He casts a look at Fred and George. “No fireworks.”

“Who, us?” George grins.

Sirius lounges in the armchair, legs kicked out, watching everyone like he’s not sure whether to feel proud or protective. Maybe both. I take a seat on the edge of the sofa and pull out my wand. “Tomorrow, we’ll test your reflexes. For tonight, just don’t hex each other over the last mince pie,” I tease. Ginny raises a brow. “No promises.” They laugh. It’s light, but underneath, I feel it again—that tightness.

-

The dishes are mostly cleared, the fire’s burning low, and the rest of the house is beginning to settle into a wary kind of peace when I feel a tug on my sleeve. It’s Harry. He doesn’t say anything at first, just jerks his chin slightly toward the hallway. Away from the others. Away from the low murmur of Sirius and Remus arguing softly about training plans. Away from the way Severus is pretending not to listen from the corner of the room.

I nod once and follow him. The hallway is dark and cool. The only light comes from a lone, flickering candle floating near the ceiling. Harry leans against the wall, arms crossed, the worn fabric of his jumper stretched tight across his shoulders.

“I didn’t want to ask in front of everyone, and I since we don't know each other that well I know you won't lie or try to protect me like everyone else does,” he says, voice low, a little rough around the edges. “But... how bad is it?”

I exhale slowly. There’s no point pretending. Not with him. Not with everything he's seen already. “Worse than the Prophet says. Worse than the Ministry will ever admit.” He kicks the heel of his boot against the floor once, a sharp, frustrated tap. “I figured.”

There’s a silence between us that isn’t awkward. It’s heavy. Real. He looks up at me then, green eyes fierce under the mess of his hair. “Are they going to come for us here?” I could lie. It would be easy. Safer, maybe.

But I don’t. “They might.”

Another beat. He absorbs it like someone learning to live with a wound that won’t heal. “Good,” he says finally. It startles me a little, and my eyebrows raise. I frown. “Good?”

He straightens off the wall, jaw set. “I’d rather they come here. Where we’re ready. Where we can fight.” There’s something in his voice—not bravado, not anger exactly. Just a grim certainty. A kind of steel that shouldn't belong to someone so young, but here it is anyway.

“You’ll have to be smarter than them, not just braver,” I warn. “Dueling lessons aren’t about flash and showmanship. It’s about surviving. It’s about finishing the fight before they even know it’s started.” “I know.”

And I believe him. God help me, I do. I study him for a second longer, the stubborn line of his mouth, the tension in his shoulders, the bone-deep tiredness he wears like armor. “You’re not alone in this, Harry.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Doesn’t always feel that way.” “No,” I agree. “It doesn’t. But it’s still true.” A shadow crosses his face, something raw, unspoken. I think he wants to ask something else. Maybe about Voldemort. Maybe about the parts of this war, no one wants to say out loud.

But instead, he just nods and says, “Thanks,” before slipping back toward the drawing room, shoulders squared against whatever comes next. I stand there a moment longer, alone in the hallway, listening to the fire crackle faintly behind the door.

-

The next morning breaks cold and grey. No surprise there. Grimmauld Place never really feels like it’s breathing, even on good days. By the time I make it down to the drawing room, most of the others are already there. The furniture’s been shoved to the edges. Rugs rolled up. Floor cleared. It looks less like a home and more like a dueling arena. Which is exactly what we want.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione are lined up, wands in hand, faces set. Fred, George, and Ginny flank them, fidgeting with nervous energy. Molly’s hovering at the doorway, wringing her hands until Arthur gently steers her away with a whispered, "Let them be."

Severus is standing near the fireplace, black robes sweeping the floor, arms crossed like he’s already judging them. Which, to be fair, he probably is. Sirius is pacing. Restless. Coiled tight like a spring.

“All right, listen up!” Sirius says, clapping his hands once. “First rule of a real duel: you don’t wait for your enemy to bow. You strike first.” Severus’s mouth curls into a cold smirk. “A philosophy befitting a reckless Gryffindor.”

Sirius turns, already ready to bite. “And what's your tactic, Snape? Bore them into submission?” “Enough,” I cut in, stepping between them before either one pulls a wand. “This isn’t about you two chest-thumping your old grudges. It’s about them.” I jerk my chin toward the kids. “And whether they survive what's coming.”

Sirius’s jaw flexes. Severus’s eyes narrow. But both stay silent. “Pair up,” I call. “Two across from two. Wands at the ready.” Harry and Ron square off instinctively. Hermione and Ginny trade a quick look before taking opposite sides. George hesitates until Fred claps him on the back and steps into position.

I walk the line, pacing slowly like Moody taught me. "Spellwork first. Control before power. If you throw a curse without discipline, you're not just endangering your enemy. You're endangering yourself."

Sirius snorts quietly but doesn't argue. “Stunners to start,” I say. “Basic shield spells allowed. No counterattacks until I say.” They nod, faces tightening with focus.

“On three. One… two… three—” The room explodes into motion.

Bolts of red light crisscross the room. Shields flash up. Shouts echo off the high ceiling.

George’s shield charm shatters instantly under Fred’s hit, and he goes sprawling backward with a yelp. “Get up!” Severus snaps from the fireplace. “You think a Death Eater will wait for you to dust yourself off?”

George scrambles up, face burning.

“Focus, George!” I say, softer but firm. “You’re better than you think.”

Harry’s already adapting, side-stepping Ron’s stunner and sending one back with a twist of his wrist that would’ve made Moody grunt in approval.

Hermione’s quick too, blocking Ginny’s shot neatly—but she hesitates a second too long to counter. In a real duel, hesitation kills. “Don’t wait for permission!” Sirius calls. “If you’ve got a shot, take it!”

Severus tenses visibly. "And get yourselves hexed into oblivion by lunging like amateurs? Typical." "Better to fight like hell than cower behind a textbook!" Sirius barks back. "Better to win," Severus hisses.

The kids freeze between them, caught in the crossfire of something that has nothing to do with today's lesson and everything to do with a history they can't see but can definitely feel.

"ENOUGH!" I snap, my voice ringing off the stone walls. Silence crashes down. Sirius glares at Severus. Severus stares back, cold and cutting.

I look at the kids. Their faces are pale and tense. This is not what they need.

“This is real training," I say, voice steady. "Not a pissing contest. Learn from both styles, because out there, you’ll need every edge you can get.”

I turn back to them fully. “Again. Harder. Smarter. And this time, move like your lives depend on it.”

I shoot a sharp look at Remus. He catches it, understands immediately, and steps in front of the kids. “All right, pairs switch!” he calls out smoothly, clapping his hands to break the tension. “New partners. Keep your guard up!”

The kids hesitate, glancing at us, but Remus waves them on. Slowly, they shuffle into new pairs, wands up again, throwing cautious spells under his steady watch. I grab Sirius and Severus by the elbows and haul them toward the far corner of the room, out of earshot.

The second we’re out of range, I round on them. “What the hell was that?” I snap, keeping my voice low but lethal. “Are you both mad?” Sirius opens his mouth, but I cut him off with a glare sharp enough to slice.

“No, you don't get to explain. You don't get to excuse it.” I jab a finger at his chest. “This isn’t about you and your teenage grudge against Severus. This is about them—” I jab toward the kids, where Harry just barely blocks a hex from Fred. “—learning to survive a war!”

Sirius’s jaw works furiously, but he doesn’t speak. Good. He knows he’s on thin ice. I turn slightly toward Severus. “And you,” I say, voice cooling but still hard. “You’re not off the hook either. If you can't keep your disdain on a leash, get out of the room.”

Severus inclines his head stiffly, dark eyes flashing once, but he says nothing. No argument. No excuse. I whirl back on Sirius, stepping in closer. “You're supposed to be better than this, Sirius. You're Harry’s godfather. Do you think he needs to see you losing control like some first-year who can't take a slight? You think that’s what will keep him alive when Death Eaters are throwing real curses at him?”

He flinches slightly at that—barely—but I see it. Good. Let it sting. “You want to protect him? Then act like someone worth following.” Sirius stares at me, breathing hard, hands clenched into fists at his sides. But he says nothing. And that's the only reason I don't rip into him even worse.

I step back, my chest tight. “This is bigger than your pride,” I say, voice quieter but sharper. “Bigger than your hate. You don’t have the luxury of grudges anymore.” Severus shifts beside me, mouth twitching in something quite like a smirk, but I barely catch it.

“And you,” I add, giving him a pointed look, “don’t mistake his mistakes for your permission to be a bastard.” A faint raise of Severus's eyebrow. A very slight, almost imperceptible, nod. Across the room, Remus calls out a correction to Hermione’s footwork, completely ignoring us. Bless him.

“Now,” I say, voice cutting final. “Get your shit together—or get out. I won’t let you two tear this place apart.” I hold their gazes for a beat longer, daring either of them to argue. They don't.

Without waiting for a response, I turn on my heel and walk back toward the kids. They need focus. They need strength. Not whatever bloody mess Sirius and Severus have been dragging around like a ball and chain.

Behind me, I hear Sirius mutter something under his breath, but it’s low and bitter and meant for himself, not for me. Severus follows a second later, silent and dark-eyed, slipping back into the shadows near the hearth. The kids don’t even look up. They’re too busy ducking and blocking and casting.

Remus gathers them back into a circle after another round of sparring, his voice calm but carrying weight. “All right,” he says, lowering his wand. “Change of plan. You’ve practiced defense. Now it’s time for offense.”

The kids straighten instinctively, a ripple of energy moving through them.

I cross my arms, watching.

Severus stays leaned against the wall, silent but alert. Sirius lingers near the fireplace, brooding, but at least keeping his damn mouth shut. “New exercise,” Remus continues. “You’ll work in pairs. Your goal is to disarm or disable one of us—me, Snape, or Y/n—before we disarm you.”

A few eyebrows shoot up. “Wait—us against you three?” Fred asks, incredulous. A rare smirk flickers across Severus’s mouth. “If you find that unfair,” he drawls, “you may want to reconsider your odds in actual combat.”

Remus only smiles, patient. “You have surprise on your side. Use it.”

Ginny’s eyes spark with something dangerous. Harry’s jaw sets. They’re ready. Or as ready as they’re going to be. Remus and I exchange a quick nod. He moves to the center of the room.

Severus shifts lazily from the wall, his wand sliding easily into his hand.

I roll my shoulders once. Let’s see what they’ve got. Remus gives a sharp whistle. “Begin!”

At first, it’s cautious — they scatter, dodging between broken chairs and rolled-up carpets. Whispered plans. Quick glances. But then Harry moves—fast. A sharp flick of his wand sends a bright stunner toward Remus, who parries it easily.

Ginny dives low, rolling behind an overturned settee. Fred and George create a distraction, hurling smoke bombs that erupt with a loud bang and a cloud of purple mist. Typical. But clever.

I raise my wand, clearing the smoke with a slicing spell—and that’s when I see her: Ginny, darting from the side. Before I can fully block, a hex hits my wand hand—not strong enough to disarm me, but enough to jar my grip. Impressive.

I fire a mild shield charm in return, forcing her back, but out of the corner of my eye— Harry. Moving like a shadow. I pivot, readying a block—too slow. His Expelliarmus hits me dead-center. My wand flies from my hand, clattering across the floor. For half a second, the room freezes.

Then Sirius lets out a sharp bark of laughter. “Well, I’ll be damned!” Remus smiles, lowering his own wand slightly.

Severus’s face is unreadable, but his black eyes flicker toward Harry and Ginny, calculating. I retrieve my wand with a small bow of my head toward Harry and Ginny. "Well played." Harry looks stunned for half a breath like he hadn’t believed he could do it.

Ginny just grins fiercely, panting a little, cheeks flushed. Fred whoops from across the room. “That’s our girl!” "Oi!" George elbows him. "And Harry!" Remus raises a hand for quiet. "This," he says, voice steady, "is what survival looks like. Not bravado. Not reckless spells. Strategy."

Harry and Ginny glance at each other, something solid and unspoken passing between them. Severus speaks finally, voice soft but cutting. "Next time, aim for the throat."

I laugh, and Sev cracks a smile. It’s brutal. It’s honest. And exactly what they need to hear. The room stays still for a moment longer, the fire crackling in the silence. This isn’t about winning practice duels. It’s about preparing for the night they won’t be warned first.

"All right let's take a quick break and meet back here in about an hour." The others break off —Fred and George tossing mock insults, Ron rubbing his shoulder and muttering about “bloody insane stunners”, Ginny and Hermione chatting low and fast.

I’m gathering the leftover dueling mats when I feel someone hovering behind me. “Can I—uh—can I ask you something?” Harry says, voice a little rough, a little awkward. I straighten, nodding once. “Of course.”

He hesitates, running a hand through his already-messy hair. His wand is tucked loosely into his belt; he looks younger now, out of the heat of the fight. More unsure.

“It’s about... Snape.” He says the name like it tastes strange. I stay still. Careful. Neutral. “What about him?” Harry looks around once, making sure we’re alone. Sirius and Remus have disappeared into the hallway, voices low. Severus is nowhere in sight. Good.

Harry shifts his weight. “You trust him." It’s not quite a question. Not quite an accusation either. Just raw curiosity. And something sharper underneath hurt maybe. Fear. I don’t answer right away. I slip my wand into my sleeve and lean back against the table, crossing my arms.

“I trust him with my life,” I say finally. “I trust him with yours, too.”

Harry’s brow furrows, suspicious, almost wounded. “But why?” His voice cracks just slightly on the last word, and I realize this isn’t about Severus. Not really.

It’s about everyone Harry’s ever trusted letting him down. He wants a reason not to hate. He wants a reason to believe. I meet his eyes fully. “He’s not your friend, Harry. He’s not here to make you feel safe. He’s not here to like you. But he is here to keep you alive. And in the end, that matters more.”

Harry’s mouth twists like he wants to argue but can’t quite find the shape of it. “He’s risked more than you know,” I continue, voice steady. “More than he’ll ever tell you. And he’s still risking it. Every time he steps back into that world, every time he sits at a table with monsters and pretends to be one of them, he’s betting his life that we’ll win.”

Harry looks away, jaw tight. “It’s not about liking him,” I say, softer now. “It’s about understanding the price he’s paying to stand here on this side of the line.” He drags a hand through his hair, rough and frustrated.

“I just... it’s hard to forget everything.” “I know.” I pause. “You’re not supposed to forget. Just don’t let it blind you.”

He looks up at me, and for the first time I see it—the crack running down the center of him, the fear underneath the anger, the hurt underneath the defiance. He’s still just a boy.

But he’s carrying the kind of burdens grown men would break under.

“If I didn’t believe he was on our side,” I say quietly, “I wouldn’t be here either.” Harry lets out a shaky breath.

"Okay," he says finally, voice low. Not quite convinced. But willing to try.

It’s the best anyone could ask for. I reach out and squeeze his shoulder once, brief but firm. “You’re allowed to be angry, Harry. You’re allowed to hate what he’s done. Just don’t hate what he’s doing now.”

He nods again, sharper this time. More certain. Without another word, he turns and heads toward the stairs, shoulders hunched against everything still waiting for him. I watch him go, my chest tight. One day soon, he’s going to understand just how much Severus has sacrificed for him. And one day soon, it’s going to cost all of us more than we want to give.

But not today.

-

The hour flies by faster than expected. The kids trickle back into the drawing room, looking a little more rested—and a little cockier after their earlier success.

Fred’s juggling two cushions with a Wingardium Leviosa charm, George is trying to distract Ginny with a fake wand that keeps sprouting daisies, and Ron looks suspiciously like he’s hoping to skip this next round entirely.

I’m adjusting the ward lines along the floor when Severus sweeps in, black robes billowing, a fresh scowl already carved into his face like he’s thrilled to be doing this again.

“Ready to embarrass yourselves?” he drawls, voice slicing the room neatly in half. Sirius lounges against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You know, Snivellus, you could try encouragement sometime. Might stop people from ducking when you enter a room.”

Severus doesn’t even look at him. “Your continued breathing is encouragement enough.” Fred snorts loudly. Hermione coughs to cover her laugh. I roll my eyes and step between them before it escalates.

“All right. Same drill—defense first, offense later. And no funny business,” I add, staring pointedly at Fred and George, who try to look innocent and fail miserably.

We spread out. Remus waves his wand, conjuring more padded mats across the floor. “Standard stunners and shield charms to start. Nothing lethal, thank you.” We pair off. Ginny with Harry. Hermione with Ron.

Fred and George.

Severus is stalking the edges of the room, wand drawn, barking sharp corrections. "Elbow in, Weasley!" "Stronger shield, Potter!" "Granger, less hesitation—your enemy won’t be patient."

I stand off to the side, arms folded, letting them get into a rhythm before I join in. That’s when it happens. Fred and George—because of course it’s Fred and George—start sparring a little too wildly. One of them fires a rogue hex that ricochets off Hermione’s shield, bounces off a mirror, and slams into me and Severus simultaneously.

For a split second, there’s a blinding flash of white-blue light. A sound like a rubber band snapping through time. When the smoke clears, the room goes dead silent.

Because standing where I had been— —and where Severus had been—

—are now two very confused-looking teenagers. Severus is skinny, sharp-angled, with a mop of greasy black hair nearly falling into his narrowed black eyes. His school robes are rumpled and his wand arm tensed like he’s ready to hex first, ask questions later.

I glance down at myself. I’m 15 again too. Brilliant. “What the—where the hell are we?” I snap instinctively, patting myself down for my wand (still tucked in my sleeve, thank Merlin).

Severus whirls toward me instantly, all tension bleeding out of him in one second flat. "Y/n?" he says, voice shockingly soft compared to the venom he just spat at Sirius minutes ago. "You okay?" he asks, stepping toward me, frowning like the world might actually end if I’m hurt.

The kids look like they’ve been hit with a Confundus Charm. Harry’s jaw literally drops open. Hermione makes a tiny squeaking noise.

I blink at Severus. He looks... young. And worried.

And very much not the terrifying man everyone knows him as. "Yeah," I say, breathless with surprise. "I'm fine. Are you?" He relaxes fractionally at that, lips twitching into what could almost be a smile.

"Wouldn’t leave you alone in this dump even if I was bleeding out," he mutters under his breath, voice so low only I hear it. Heat creeps up my cheeks.

Because fifteen-year-old Severus Snape is ridiculously earnest under all his prickly armor. And I’m realizing with horrifying clarity that this is how we must've fallen in love the first time.

Meanwhile, Sirius is staring like he’s seen a ghost—and he does not like it.

“What the bloody hell is this?” he demands, pointing at us. Severus instinctively steps half in front of me. Protectively. I glare at Sirius, stepping up beside Severus.

“Maybe if you weren't such a reckless idiot, we wouldn't be standing here, Black, and god did you not age well!” Sirius bristles instantly. “Oi—”

“Touch her and I’ll hex you into next week,” Severus says, deadly calm.

Sirius actually looks offended.

Harry tugs at Remus’s sleeve, whispering frantically. “Is he—? Are they—? Friends?” Remus looks absolutely delighted. “More than friends, if you ask me.”

Meanwhile, Hermione is scribbling notes on a scrap of parchment like she’s documenting a rare magical phenomenon. Ginny nudges Harry. “I think she just made Snape smile. I didn’t even know he had the muscles for that.”

Severus scowls at the room at large, still staying close to me like he’s ready to throw curses at anyone who looks sideways. I nudge him lightly with my shoulder, forcing a teasing smile onto my face to hide my complete and utter panic at the situation.

“Um, what exactly is happening?” Ron asks, looking wildly between me and Severus like we’ve sprouted extra heads. “It appears,” Remus says, with the kind of forced calm that only makes it funnier, “they’ve been turned back into their fifteen-year-old selves. They seem to remember some things, but I think the longer they stay like this... the more they’ll forget.”

“Oh, brilliant,” Harry mutters. “So, what—are we supposed to just pretend everything’s normal?” Across the room, Severus glances around, unimpressed. “Is this some kind of pathetic club meeting?” he sneers, arms crossed but still hovering a little too close to me like I might vanish if he blinks.

“No,” I cut in before he can get more acidic. “It’s dueling practice, genius.”

He perks up immediately at that, dark eyes lighting with interest. “Finally. Something worth my time.”

Fred nudges George. “Ten Galleons says he forgets he’s supposed to teach and just hexes someone for fun.” George snickers. “Make it twenty.”

Remus, wisely, just sighs and raises his hands. “Carry on, then.” Severus spins toward me, tilting his head with mock seriousness. "Partners?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Obviously." He offers me a dramatic little bow, smirking the whole time. It’s stupid and its so out of character for him but it's still adorable. It’s very much not the Severus Snape these kids know.

I can feel the students gaping behind us. Hermione whispers furiously to Ron, "He bowed to her! When has Snape ever bowed to anyone?" Ron just makes a helpless, strangled noise. "Alright, let's begin before these two start to forget everything," Remus announces.

Sirius stiffens, about two seconds away from launching himself across the room. I shoot Sirius a razor-edged grin. “What’s wrong, Black? You finally met someone who doesn’t find you charming?” I say sweetly.

Ginny loses it, barely muffling her laughter into Hermione’s shoulder. Even Harry looks like he’s struggling not to smile. Sirius scowls like he’s been personally insulted by the universe. Fred whispers to George, "I love her."

George whispers back, "Same."

“Enough talking!” Severus snaps, but there’s no real bite to it. “Wands up!”

He faces me, and for a second there’s nothing but fierce, electric focus between us.

Then—wham—he fires a nonverbal hex that I barely block. “Ooh, dirty move, Snape!” I laugh, countering with a spell that sends him staggering back a step.

He grins—grins—and lunges right back at me, fast and graceful and clearly holding back only because he doesn’t actually want to hurt me.

The kids watch, stunned, as we spar.

It’s fast. Fluid. Almost like a dance. No hesitation. No cruelty. Just two people who know exactly how the other moves. “You know,” Hermione whispers to Harry, “this is the least miserable I’ve ever seen him.”

Harry watches Severus, who ducks a hex from me with an easy, boyish laugh—completely different from the rigid, scowling professor they know. “Yeah,” Harry mutters back. “It’s... weird. But kinda cool.”

Meanwhile, Sirius keeps grumbling under his breath, “He’s showing off. He’s absolutely showing off.” At one point, Severus ducks behind me to dodge a fake curse from Fred.

Sirius, meanwhile, looks ready to hex a wall. Through all of it, Severus just gives me a look—half dare, half devotion—and I feel my stomach flip the way it hasn’t since I actually was fifteen. We’re a disaster.

We’re going to be an even bigger disaster the longer we stay like this. And Merlin help everyone because neither of us is anywhere near ready to admit it yet.

The next half hour is absolute, glorious disaster. Fred and George keep "dueling" each other, but really they’re just trying to sneak closer to eavesdrop on me and Severus.

Hermione’s still trying to organize actual drills, bless her, but Ron keeps getting distracted every time Severus "accidentally" brushes his hand against mine again. Ginny’s full-on cackling now, pretending to duel Harry but missing half her shots because she keeps looking over her shoulder and whispering, “Did you see that?! Did you see what Snape just said to her?!”

Harry, to his credit, is trying very hard to be mature about it. He mostly fails. Meanwhile, Sirius is about two seconds from combusting. He stands off to the side, arms crossed, glaring daggers at young Severus like sheer force of will might turn him into dust.

“Unbelievable,” Sirius mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Absolutely unbelievable. He's flirting. Snivellus is flirting.” “And doing a better job than you ever did,” I shoot back without thinking.

Dead silence. Severus outright laughs at that—sharp and rare, the sound surprising even him. He flashes me a grin so quick, so private, that I feel it like a hook behind my ribs. Sirius looks personally offended.

Remus just sighs deeply like he’s aged ten years in two minutes. “All right, enough,” Remus says, stepping between us with a forced, strained smile. “Maybe... maybe we should take another break.”

“You said that an hour ago,” Fred points out, trying to keep a straight face and failing. “This time I mean it,” Remus says through clenched teeth.

He pulls out his wand and mutters a diagnostic spell under his breath. Golden threads of magic swirl around me and Severus, flickering slightly at the edges. "Hm.”

“Hm?” Hermione asks sharply, lowering her wand. Remus hums again. “The age-reversal spell is... strengthening. They’re slipping more into their fifteen-year-old selves the longer it holds.”

“Meaning?” Harry presses, stepping forward. "Meaning,” Remus says, looking slightly pale, “we need to reverse it. Soon. Before they forget everything—including the Order, Voldemort, and what side they’re supposed to be on.”

Severus perks up at that word. “Voldemort?” he repeats, frowning deeply. “What’s he got to do with anything?” I frown too, my forehead creasing. The word sounds familiar, important. But it doesn’t click the way it should.

Remus scrubs a hand over his face. “Right. Right. Definitely time to fix this.”

He pulls Sirius aside, murmuring rapid instructions about fetching some old counter-curse tomes from the Black family library. Sirius grumbles but stomps off, clearly glad to have an excuse to leave the room before he says something that’ll start a duel of his own.

“Are we... are we sure we want them to turn back?” Ron whispers to Hermione. Hermione looks torn between horrified and fascinated. Before any of us can say more, Sirius bursts back in, slamming a huge, dusty spellbook onto the table. “Found it!” he snaps, flipping through pages aggressively. Remus leans over his shoulder. “Hurry.”

Sirius flips through the spellbook with the kind of frantic energy normally reserved for full moons and house fires. “Counter-curse, counter-curse, bloody hell, where is it—?” “Page 394,” Remus says calmly without looking.

Sirius glares at him but flips anyway—and sure enough, there it is.

Meanwhile, Severus has moved closer to me again, shifting nervously from foot to foot like he’s working up to something he’s never said out loud before.

A blinding flash of golden light erupts from the table where Sirius and Remus finally cast the counter-curse. I feel it hit me like a tidal wave—yanking me forward, back, spinning through a lifetime of memories slamming into place.

The Order. The war. The betrayal. The blood. The love. The weight of everything we fought for. I gasp, stumbling, catching myself on the edge of the dueling mat.

Severus staggers too, clutching his head for half a second before straightening—taller now, leaner, sharper. Older. Haunted. He blinks once, twice—and his face slams shut like a vault. All softness gone. All vulnerabilities locked away.

The room is dead silent. I stare at him, heart still racing, memories crashing over me like surf. I remember. He remembers. Everything.

Severus exhales slowly through his nose, cold and composed again, tugging his robes straight like a shield.

Behind me, I hear someone—Fred, maybe—whisper, “Merlin, that was brutal.”

Harry looks stricken. Hermione bites her lip so hard it goes white. Sirius, bless him, mutters, “Still the same miserable git.” But I see it. In the flicker of Severus’s dark eyes.

“Right,” I say briskly. “Practice is over. Everyone out. Now.”

The kids scatter like birds, even Fred and George not daring to joke right now. Sirius lingers just long enough to shoot Severus a filthy look before Remus drags him out by the elbow, murmuring something about giving them space.

Finally, it’s just me and Severus again. And the vast, bruised silence between us.

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[ps-cactus]

Shades of Silver Lining - Ch. 4 - posted ✅

Ch.3 <- | -> Ch.5 , the first post aka story teaser + tags

word count: 4135 ✨ [ AO3 ] ✨ [ Wattpad ]

photos by @acslytherpuff girl you are amazing 💕

Thank you @accio-bagel for beta reading and encouragement 😭💖 love you 3000

a/n: Welcome to the other side ✨ Unreliable narrator✨ ! author's opinion ≠ narrator's pls I mean it

Summary: It's the only chapter there will be from an Antagonist aka Officer Roland Foster POV. He he doesn't trust people. Especially he doesn't trust a girl recklessly wielding the wild and destructive magic. And he despises the Gaunts, including that Gaunt boy, who thinks he's being clever with his defiance masquerading as wit. And he can't stand that stubborn and incompetent Ruth Singer.

a/n2: oh, and the next chapter will be Ominis POV. Boy has to go home to try to settle some things.

・・・

The officer’s eyes darted restlessly over the lines, ensuring the enchanted quill hadn't missed any details.

" … Why didn’t you contact the Aurors yesterday, Miss Salters?"

"People were already being threatened around here not so long ago. Contacting Aurors didn’t help. But Sebastian did. … " 

“... … you would entrust your safety to a schoolkid?”

"Yes, I would." 

"And how has that worked out for you, Miss Salters?"

The faintest smirk played in the corner of his lips. Sallow must enjoy regaling his peers with tales of his supposed importance here. Officer Foster didn’t mind. Though an unconventional addition to the office, his trainee was bound to be exceptionally helpful in so many ways.

・・・

This morning, right after Salters stepped out of his private office, was supposed to be the best chance to probe the youngest Gaunt for answers while they were still untouched and unrefined. The brief private conversation—not an interrogation, of course, that would have required too many formalities—had been fruitless, a combination of polished deflections, vague acknowledgements, and no actionable leads. 

The Gaunt boy’s posture, his deliberate pauses, even his final “Officer” and a curt nod as he left—all was too calculated. That kind of control didn’t come naturally; it was learned and practised.

・・・

Roland Foster slid his hand into his jacket pocket, brushing against the medallion he always kept with him. The faded portraits within would forever remind him of the danger posed by magic that strayed too far from the ordinary. Norms existed for a reason—everything beyond them would lead only to ruin.

・・・

“Tell me, you’re sure she remained in the castle the entire night?”

“Yes, sir.” Rexley’s patience in calmly repeating answers to Foster’s questions, as often as the latter required, was one of his finer traits. “She returned early and stayed there until Dinah Hecat escorted her here.”

・・・

“The Gaunts, yet again,” Rexley remarked grimly, gripping the letter. 

“You’re telling me.”

“Officer,” Rexley said, looking thoughtfully at the letter. “I’ve heard you want to investigate everyone who was in Hogsmeade last night. But with Bell’s absence still unresolved, I’d suggest it’s only fair to include Aurors in that ‘everyone.’”

“That’s exactly what’s going to happen, Rexley. But maybe you are implying something specific?”

“Merely that Singer’s squad appears rather prejudiced against the local criminals,” Rexley said, leaning slightly over the desk, eagerness sparkling in his hazel eyes. “After all, Bell is among her team. Naturally, we’ll include our people, too, so they can’t object,” he added, straightening again. 

“How about we start with you then, Rex?” Foster said with a grin, looking up from the second letter he was hurriedly writing. “Set the standard for the rest.”

“Not an issue, sir,” Rexley replied, mirroring the grin. “You know exactly what my wand’s results will be. Just make sure the others don’t get overly anxious.”

・・・

P.S greatly inspired by:

[jmagnabo92]

Seven Reasons

When the boys get engaged, Mary tries to argue against it at a family meeting, only for Alex to prove he knows all of the reasons why those reasons are BS.

AO3

***

Sometimes Henry doesn’t know how he got so lucky.  

The man that is destined to be his husband somehow manages to continue being amazing throughout everything they’ve been through.  Always managing to support Henry, even when they’re faced with a non-acceptance from his grandmother when they announced their engagement.

The good news is that his mum is already in charge (having gotten his gran to step down) and has been working for years to make it so that he and Alex would be able to marry someday.  Still listening to Alex defend him and his right to love who he wants, how he wants is something to behold and makes him feel so incredibly lucky that they landed in that cake all those years ago.

Especially as he has an answer for every possible reason that she can come up as to why they couldn’t possibly get married.

The people won’t accept it – they’ve been cheering them on since they were outed four years ago.

They can’t have biological children – Bea and June both froze eggs so that they would be able to have biological children (because they knew his gran would argue this exact point).

They don’t live in England and can’t perform duties – Henry’s been doing the same amount of duties in a shorter amount of time as he previously did year around for years with no problems and Alex, with his intent to start his own firm, will have certain time set aside to do his own new duties as a member of the royal family.

Alex isn’t a citizen of the UK – Alex has already petitioned for dual citizenship and the marriage to its’ prince would certainly aid that.

Alex is involved in another country’s politics – Alex gave up his political aspirations the second he realized that politics came at a cost that he wouldn’t be willing to put his children through and his mother’s term ended in January, so even if his father decided to run for President, his dad had already promised that he would not re-initiate the First Son thing or expect anything the way his mom did.

Alex is catholic ­– if necessary, will convert if it means marrying Henry.

It would be confusing to the masses to have a Prince and Prince or Duke and Duke – Alex is more than happy to be Princess or Duchess if it would make her highness happy.  

That answer had caused Bea, Martha, and even Philip to burst out laughing, his mum barely containing herself because they all know that he once answered an AMA on Instagram on his title in which he plainly stated that he’s not afraid to buck gender norms and use the female titles if it means he gets to marry the love of his life.  Since then, people have referred to him as Princess and he truly seems to love it.

His Gran knows this, but clearly, didn’t think he was serious. 

Every point she makes, he has a counter point, and the longer the debate continues, the more Henry falls deeper in love than he already is with Alex.  He’s sure that it shows on his face just how much he wants to drag him back to their room and have his way with him because Bea and Martha both start giggling at him with Martha trying to hide it and Bea not even bothering.  

“Are those all of your objections, Your Majesty?  Because I feel like I’ve sufficiently shot down all of your objections.”

The former queen huffs before a light bulb seems to go off.

“You never asked for permission,” she says in a voice that has a gotcha sound.

Alex grins, even as Henry’s mum interjects.  “Actually, since I am the Reigning Queen, they both asked me – I gave permission.”

His Gran looks like she swallowed an unpleasant egg, but his mum isn’t done. 

“And I do believe that Alex has put to rest all of the possible reasons you could have to object, and even if he didn’t – we specifically set them on the path to marriage with the official suitor portraits nearly four years ago, I’m genuinely surprised there hasn’t been countless promptings about when there’s going to be another royal wedding – especially with these two.”

“Mum’s right, Gran, and wouldn’t it be so much fun planning another one,” Bea chimes in.  

“It would offer something good to the masses who tend to not be fond of the royal family,” Philip offers.  

“They are fond of these two, though,” Martha offers.  “And wedding planning can be very fun.”

His Gran hums, still looking unhappy but knowing that she’s outnumbered and it’s a lost cause, she says, “Perhaps we shall have a celebratory dinner and discuss the official announcement?”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea, why don’t we let the boys go and we can discuss some additional business that we need to attend to?” his mum suggests, and Henry knows that she wants to give them the chance to celebrate the win, which he plans to do the second they’re alone.

His gran nods, dismissing them, and Henry doesn’t hesitate to pull Alex away from the table and to freedom.

“You never cease to amaze me,” Henry says as soon as he gets Alex into the privacy of their town car headed for Kensington Palace.  

He pushes Alex back into the seat and straddles him.  

In between kisses to his face, his lips, his jawline, his neck, he undoes his shirt and tells him, “You … arguing … for me… like … some … knight in … shining… armor.”

Alex groans, pleasantly.  “You liked that, huh, baby?”

With Alex’s shirt off, Henry slides to his knees, hitting the ground harder than he’d like as the car begins to move, but no less focused on Alex.  

He undoes his belt and jerks his trousers down, gasping slightly when he realizes that Alex wasn’t wearing pants to the meeting.  “No pants, Alex?”

Alex grins down at him.  “You know I like to free-ball it.”

Henry chokes on a laugh before focusing instead on his future husband’s cock.  He’s already hard knowing exactly where Henry had planned to go with this the second that he started kissing him before the door even closed.  

“Oh, baby,” Alex moans as Henry swallows him down.  

His hands twirl into Henry’s hair, loosely, so that Henry’s still in control, but can feel better when he’s close.  

It’s not a long trip and Henry knows what he likes so it only takes a couple of minutes before Alex is moaning and spilling his seed into Henry’s mouth just as they pull up to the palace.  

Alex is boneless as Henry helps to get him a little bit more presentable to get to their rooms.  

As he buttons Alex’s shift back up, he gives him a quick kiss.  

“Now, it’s my turn, baby –”

“Upstairs, first.”

Alex laughs.  “Not what I meant, although I always return the favor, no, I meant – you never cease to amaze me.  Getting all hot and bothered watching me argue with your grandmother –”

“No, not arguing – debating.  About our right to marry.  Finding a hole in every reason she could come up with, and making it so she has no choice, but to concede.  I’ve never seen anyone stand up to her like you did, and you did it for me – to marry me.  That’s amazing.”

Alex hums.  “Well, if we’ve learned anything in the last few years, it’s that we’re worth fighting for.”

“Hell, yeah, we are.”

Alex pulls on his tie and gives him a kiss.  “Now, let’s go upstairs – I do think I owe you your own reward for that.”

“No objections here.”

“Good.”

[thewhumpcaretaker]

Well here I am ehehehe >:]

Santino having a breakdown and he breaks stuff around him, whatever he grabs and well accidentally hurt himself. John tries to calm him down and help him AGHH JOHN GET YOUR MAN HE IS HAVING A BREAKDOWN

Just get everything sharp or that can break away from him when he's like that, see what happens 😭

Hello hello! I’ve been thinking about this scenario all the time, ever since your asks for “Salt in the Wound” and “A Slap from a Saint”!! I made it really sad, like those fics.

🖤💙 The Boy in the Picture Frame 💙🖤

TW: panic attack, crying, accidental self-harm, blood, past physical and emotional abuse by a parent, discussion of disownment

John had spent all afternoon texting, in between pacing around his living room. He was trying to keep his lover talking - giving in to his flirting and doing anything possible to make him laugh. Santino was upset by a mistake he'd made the day before during negotiations with a Ruska Roma representative. The man had tricked him into boasting about the ferocity of his forces, revealing critical information about how security operated for the Camorra in New York. It was a rookie mistake, made because he was running on high emotions and little sleep, and Santino was taking it hard. It could mean punishment from the Camorra.

So, when John looked down at the screen and saw, "I'm sorry I just can't keep talking right now. Something came up, but don't worry," he froze.

Was it too much to call? Santino probably just wanted to be alone, and if that was the case, he'd be annoyed. But...well, better annoyed than hurt if things were really bad.

The shaky voice on the other end did nothing to encourage him. "John, please. I have someone on the other line. I just...he's really angry with me."

"Who? ...Your father?"

"I can't - I...." He switched to the other call again and was gone.

Suddenly, John found himself in his car and found that the speed limit was a mere suggestion.

They didn't live so far apart - Santino had chosen an apartment close to his boyfriend on purpose, and even gave him a second key. But by the time he burst through the door, it was already too late to stop Santino from getting hurt. John made his way through a trashed living room, stepping around overturned chairs and over glass from a broken picture frame, and calling Santino's name without any response.

He noticed, with a bittersweet twinge in his heart, that their photo together from Santino's birthday at the beach was the one thing that seemed untouched. Santino had chosen instead to destroy a family portrait, including both his parents, a young Gianna, and his own chubby face at four years old. Looking more closely, John noticed a smear of blood across the edge of the frame. He had torn out the picture, heedless of the jagged glass, and ripped the image in half...straight through little Santino.

A muffled, wounded sound in the bathroom distracted John from the horrible sympathy that was threatening to crush his ribcage. "Santino?" He ran to the bathroom door. It was unlocked and there, finally, was his lover - although the sight of him couldn't be called a relief. He was sitting on the ground against the wall with alarming red droplets glistening all around him and a messy bandage trailing from his hand. The only reason he wasn't actively sobbing seemed to be the shock of John's sudden entrance.

"What - John?"

John dropped to his side, not knowing what to say. He felt huge in that room, as if he might crush Santino further. His hands hovered over Santino's shoulders, wondering whether it was okay to touch him, before Santino just collapsed against his chest and started crying even harder.

"Thank you," he managed after a few minutes. "Thank you for coming. And look at the thanks you get in return... I got blood all over your shirt." He laughed hollowly.

"It's okay." John took his half-bandaged hand and felt him wince. "Sorry." He started unraveling the gauze. It was a pretty deep cut in Santino's palm, probably from grabbing carelessly at the broken picture frame. At least it didn't look bad enough to need stitches, but Santino was incredibly tense at every touch.

"You don't have to do that. I can do it myself."

"I know. But I don't want you to have to do that anymore." They'd talked about this - how it brought back bad memories for Santino to treat his wounds alone, as he'd had to do in childhood.

"I'm sorry, John. I was so stupid."

"No." That was all, a simple rejection of the very idea that any of this was Santino's fault. John didn't trust himself to say more without getting angry - not even remotely at Santino, but at all the people who had failed him throughout his life. He kissed the finished bandage and then looked up at Santino's anguished, watery eyes. "Do you have another copy of that picture?"

Santino hesitated. "It's on a flash drive. I think Gianna has it. But I don't want it anymore. I think..." He took a deep breath, on the verge of saying something crucial. "I think I'm not a part of my family anymore."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Well...my father asked me to come back to Italy. He said I'm failing out here in New York, and he wants me to come back immediately. And I'm not doing that. Fuck him." He laughed, and it wasn't so hollow this time.

John couldn't help grinning. "Good."

"Good? That's all?" Another laugh. John could feel him getting stronger in his arms. More at ease. "You really never say anything, even at a time like this. I'm still getting used to it."

John thought for a moment. "No, it's not all. I want to know why you ripped through the picture of your own face instead of theirs."

He tensed up again. A long time passed before he spoke, but John had promised never to judge him. Always to listen. So, finally, he extended some trust. "I fucked everything up. I was broken from the start. I was weak. That's why he..."

Again, "No."

A mocking reply, dripping with stubborn, defensive sarcasm, "Yes." John could hear the wavering undertone. Really? Do you promise? Say it again.

"No. You were hurt. It's not on you. They lost you and not the other way around."

The reassurance was too much for Santino and he crumpled against John's chest again. For a while, John held him, listening to his sobs and to the dripping sink. In his rush to try to patch himself up, he must not have shut it off properly. He must have been struggling. John wove his fingers deeper into his hair, trying to massage self-love straight into his brain.

"Do you think Gianna will still talk to you?"

He huffed and pulled back again, tired but finally calm. "...Maybe. In secret. Who cares?"

"Well, I still want you to get a copy of that picture if you can."

"Why?"

"I want to cut out the little Santino and frame him by himself, for my mantlepiece. He was the good part. You are the good part. Not the rest of them."

[uzlolzu]

Every characters of yours feels so believable and real in the way the look

How do you go about creating them do you collect references first or do it entirely from imagination?

First off: Thank you!

I have far too much to say about character design, but I’ll try to keep it brief-ish and not answer ten other things in addition to your question.

It’s nearly always from imagination these days. Sometimes I look for photos if I’ve decided to draw a type of person I’m unfamiliar with and feel specifics are important, but I constantly try to expand my mental library so that I won’t have to find references. I pretty much live for character design and I have spent the last twenty-five years or so developing the skills I find useful for it. Perhaps my efforts weren’t very focused when I was nine, but the ambition to “make a better heroine” was there. So, I’ve read a large number of anatomy books and keep on reading new ones, I do studies, and I continuously question my tastes, experiences and go-tos to be able to grow past them – little by little. Still, I absolutely use references sometimes, just generally not for design purposes or to a particularly large extent when I work on illustrations. I mainly use them when I struggle with an angle (in which case I usually find a mirror or take a photo of myself) or when studying. I often consult my anatomy books, however, and the two anatomical models on my desk, Mr. Skeleton and Mr. Half skin-half exposed superficial muscles. (I won't show a picture, since I know many people find them nasty and I don't want to tag this post as nasty. But they're beautiful friends.)

Anyway. How do I actually go about it… When drawing? Well, I usually have a pretty good idea of a character’s personality before I pick up a pen. That’s important to me. If I don't have one already, I mostly start with a written description rather than anything visual. Just a few words, to get an idea. Those texts aren’t based on anything and usually not very detailed, but they have the essentials. Being able to describe someone for myself and work from there, instead of from a vague thought, helps me to start. After I have a clear picture in my head, I usually make either a painterly portrait or a number of small head sketches.

For example, this is my first picture of Tege:

And these are my first pictures of Liam:

...When that’s done and I’m happy with the restult, I’ll have a perfect reference for later pictures. Eventually I’ll have a bunch of pictures of a character that I can start second-guessing and slowly change to perfection. Maybe I’ll get there one day.

[larkingame]

hello folks! I hope that January has treated you all well and that the beginning of 2024 has been kind to you so far. welcome to the second public update for larkin's monthly development of 2024! 

Personally, January seemed to fly by for me, and while it did provide a lot of time for work, it also posed some challenges and taught me a few things. The first of which, is the fact that the new Larkin is a //big// undertaking, bigger than I think even I realized when I first set out on this journey. While turning Larkin into an RPG, with dice rolls, stat checks and the like is a decision that I'm still very happy with and proud of my progress on--it's going slower than I'd necessarily like. To illustrate this to you, the prologue of Larkin currently sits at about 55k words, while the original twine prologue was at just about 21k words in it's complete scope. The big difference there being, in those original 21k words I managed to get the plot moving and the Preacher and Wyatt on their way to Nevada, but in the time that I've been working on the RPG version of Larkin, I've only just about gotten finished with the first major encounter. It's slow going, and I'm working really hard to ramp up the production speed--adjusting my schedule to wake up at 5:00 am to work for a few hours before work and school, and then coming home and working on larkin until about 1:30 am (as much I hate this fact, I //do// in fact need //some// sleep.) Even with all of my free time dedicated to work on Larkin or catching those few precious hours of sleep, I'm still not entirely happy with the speed at which I'm working on it--and I'm still experimenting to try and figure out what works best that helps me produce quality work with a quick turn-around. 

That being said, one of my new systems I've implemented to try and alleviate my production stress is that I've started dropping two updates to the game every week. The first update comes on Thursdays and is called what I've dubbed a 'Bulk' Update, it essentially builds on the choices/routes that have already been presented to the player, giving you room to explore your environment/develop your character compared to the Sunday 'Streamline' Update, that furthers along the plot of the story. Later tonight I'll be posting an update roadmap for the month of February on Patreon. 

Other brief updates about the progress of the game. For one, I've been working with two artists—one who is producing some art that'll be used as future patreon physical rewards and another who's putting together portraits of all the game's main characters that I am. Sickeningly excited about, considering that this artist is my current favorite working artist of all time. In total there's going to be sixteen character portraits that you'll be able to unlock throughout the course of the game, with slight variations depending on our relationship with that character. Other than that, me and my assistant Phillip are in the process of really trying to build a bigger social media presence for Larkin, so we'll be launching twitter/threads/bluesky/instagram and editing the tiktok pages for Larkin, that I'll drop in a card later tonight as well. I’ve also introduced another patreon tier of $1 for those of you who are wanting more consistent updates on the game development on Patreon!

STATS: 

PROLOGUE WORDCOUNT: 55, 750 words

ROUTE TRACKER: 1.5/11

PROLOGUE WORDCOUNT GOAL: 150k

[lulublack90]

Prompt 15 - Smart

@jegulus-microfic August 15, Word count 744

Previous part First Wolfstar part

Regulus can’t believe he didn’t think of it himself. He was in Slytherin after all. He'd seen that portrait nearly every day for seven years and yet a Gryffindor had come up with the incredibly smart idea of asking the portrait of one of the most famous wizards in Britain for help with the locket. 

“When can we go?” Regulus says excitedly. If he had been his brother, he’d have been jumping off the walls by now, but luckily he wasn’t and had more decorum than to run amok like Sirius would have. 

“I need to get a message to Dumbledore so he knows I’m coming.” James scratched his head as he thought. He pulled out his wand and was about to recite the enchantment when Regulus interrupted him. 

“What do you mean you? We’re both going. You are not leaving me here with Flitsy,” Regulus argued. If James Potter thought he could go waltzing off and take all the glory for himself. 

“Love,” James started gently. Regulus steeled himself, ready for whatever lame excuse James was about to try him with. “Everyone thinks you’re dead. You’re only safe while everyone keeps believing that. The second Voldemort finds out you’re still walking about, he’ll stop at nothing to get to you.”

“I can take care of myself,” Regulus scoffed, folding his arms across his chest and turning his head petulantly. 

“Against someone who’s basically immortal?” James questioned, his eyebrow raised. Regulus sighed. He had a point. 

“But Salazar's more likely to give information to me. Isn’t there a way for me to get in without Dumbledore or any of the professors needing to know I’m there?” He asked, his mind already sifting through all the possible spells he could use. James groaned, which made him look up. It was an exasperated groan, something Regulus had never heard from James. James dragged his hand down his face and groaned again. 

“I have a way that will keep you hidden better than any spell.”

“You’d better not be about to transfigure me into a mouse or something,” Regulus warned, pointing his finger at him. James huffed out a laugh. 

“No, love, something far better than that. But you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone about it.” Regulus agreed instantly. He was intrigued by what James could possibly have that could fool the protection spells surrounding the castle. 

“Accio, cloak!” James called into the house, pointing his wand in the direction of his bedroom. Something silvery floated across the room like a partially hidden ghost. But when it landed in James’s hand, Regulus couldn’t see it any more. “This is one of the things that made the marauders so successful at getting up to mischief while we were at school,” James said before he disappeared. He was standing there one second, making his speech, and then he'd vanished. Regulus blinked hard, looking around the room to see where he’d gone. 

“James?” He asked the empty room. 

“Yes, love,” James’s voice came from behind him, startling Regulus. He jumped and spun on the spot to see nothing but thin air. 

“Where are you?” He said suspiciously. 

“Right here, love,” James’s arms were around his waist, pulling him under a heavy cloak. It clicked then what James had in his possession. 

“An invisibility cloak,” Regulus said in awe, reaching out and running his fingers over the fabric. “Where did you get this?”

“Family heirloom passed down over the years. I’ve no idea where they got it, but it’s mine now.” Regulus could hear the smugness in James’s voice. 

“And this will get me in and out of Hogwarts undetected?”

“Yup,” James popped his p. 

James took the cloak off of them and carefully folded it. He raised his wand again. “Expecto Patronum!” He called, casting the patronus charm. Regulus took a step back as the giant silver-blue stag erupted from the tip of James’s wand. The great beast bowed his head to them, his antlers dipping to eye level. “Tell Dumbledore that I need to come to the castle. It’s of the utmost importance. I need access to the Slytherin Common room as soon as possible,” James finished his message and the stag raced from the room on its way north to Scotland. “Here, you’ll need this as soon as we get the okay,” James said, holding out the invisibility cloak. Regulus took it with trembling fingers. This was it. The fight against Voldemort had truely begun.

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