#me sipping my tea and crying into it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunnami · 5 months ago

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❝watch me, don't touch me, love me, don't hurt me.❞

[title is from ive's accendio. gif not mine.] summary. you are the fop of the wizarding society, known for your shallowness and careless display of wealth, but as hogwarts faces another threat, the marauders and lily, find themselves drawn to you and the secrets hidden under your facade. (harry just wants to know what is going on.)

pairing/s. marauders x reader. (james potter/lily evans/remus lupin/sirius black/reader.)

wc. 24.1k.

tags. enemies to lovers, angst, hurt but the comfort is later, fluff(ish), i try slow burn for the first time (it hurts.), this is highly self-indulgent idgaf, set during goblet of fire but i decide what goes, voldemort isn't the only character who can revive from the dead, BITCH. OH, LMAO I FORGOT, THIS IS FOR THE DILF AND MILF LOVERS SDKJFHSF they're married, but remus and sirius keep their name for legal and plot reasons. adult marauders and adult reader! and i was careful this time to not use any specific pronouns or gendered terms so everyone can enjoy the pain!! every1 is hurting 2nite. proofread kind of, so we die like. . . harry potter?

cws. here we go... canon-typical violence, vivid description of injuries, pain, and blood, emotional abuse, trauma, self-destructive tendencies, minor character death (non-canon), pureblood society practices, voldemort is his own warning, brief mention of war, brief scene with abducted children, panic attacks, depictions of mental illness, suic!dal thoughts, bellatrix lestrange is also her own warning, morally-grey reader.

a/n: this is inspired by my most favorite finnick odair fic EVER! obviously, i won't ever reach that level of greatness, but i've had this idea in my head ever since i read that story. sometimes, i just want to cry at night to feel something, LMFAO. halfway through writing this story, i got insecure, so thank you to this eye-opening comment on reddit that i found that will forever change how i look at reader inserts: “for me, a reader should be faceless, but not soulless.”

to my dearest friends and readers, i hope you enjoy this world that i've written for you ueueue. (the next and final part is fluffier, i promise.) will upload to ao3 soon!

act i. dear god, please save the little man.

“RITA, DARLING, do get your wretched little quill for this one. I heard from a wee birdie that Vittoria Zabini was spotted in Rome, and not just wearing last season’s designer collection, but on her honeymoon, of all things! Can you believe it, dearest? If I remember correctly, this must be husband number five now.”

Like a wingless canary in a gilded cage, you are forced once again to sing for red-lipped witches and their grating laughter, and for wizards with their fat bellies, graying hair, and leering eyes. How kind of Narcissa Malfoy to host these decrepit creatures in her manor garden—and thrust the role of main attraction onto you. There you are, lonesome badger, dressed in the finest tulle for everyone to ogle at. A ballerina in a music box, turning, and turning, and turning.

(When will your cursed lullaby finally end?)

Isadora Bulstrode cackles. “Gold-digging wench must be at it again.”

As predicted, Rita Skeeter greedily whips out her Quick-Quotes Quill. The bloodthirsty journalist preys hungrily at your every word—and you’re more than willing to satiate the irritable, little pest. “Riveting.” She pushes her glasses upwards with a quirk of her lips. “We may have tomorrow’s front page in our hands.”

Lavinia Nott brings the teacup to her mouth, her gaze slicing towards you. “Do tell us more. Where ever do you get your information from?”

You hide a coy smile behind the fine porcelain. “Why, Lavinia dearest, if I reveal my secret now, I might have to kill you!” The drove of ladies giggle amongst themselves as Lavinia sips her tea impassively. You play these people like a fiddle, and they’re none the wiser. But even vile women have to play their parts in the cruel world forged by mad men. Yours happens to be the most ill-fated of them all.

“A shame you decided not to pursue the same path as your mother, but that is alright—not every one is fit to work.” The Selwyn matron raises her brow, offering you a tight-lipped smirk.

“Oh, Elinor, my love, I’m surprised you’d even suggest such a horrible thing!” Your grin grows wicked and wider. You know perfectly what the wizarding society thinks of you: the orphaned heir, the shallow socialite who only cares for gallivanting about in pureblooded extravaganzas. A status you’ve so carefully fashioned; utterly beloved and adored by these people, flowers falling at your feet with so much as a whisper from your lips.

Your gaze drifts to a familiar crowd of people to the side. It’s the pack of lions and The-Boy-Who-Lived. There they are, the marauding bunch and their displays of loyalty and whatnot; hideously coordinated outfits, but capturing the world’s attention constantly and effortlessly.

How repulsive.

In spite of that, you are intrigued. They are the section that plays out of tune in the orchestra you have been conducting for years.

And so you bid your goodbyes to the witches; they fawn and beg for you to stay for an hour more. You pout your lips and say with faux sympathy, hand flying to your chest. “Oh, don’t worry, my dears! I’ll be back soon enough after greeting some of the other guests. You lovely ladies might tire of me if I stay for too long.”

Melina Traverse brushes you off. “We could never! You know you’re like family to us, pet!”

With a delighted gasp, you say, “Don’t tell Narcissa, but you’ve always been my favorite Slytherin.” The venom flows endlessly from your lips. You owe your life to only a handful of people. Narcissa Malfoy, who raised you when your mother no longer could, is one of them. Finally, you’re able to sneak away from their freshly manicured talons as they tittle-tattle amongst themselves.

Once your back is turned to the rest of them, you roll your eyes until your head begins hurting.

What a bunch of insufferable fools.

Still, the show curtains are wide open and the sun is yet to set. You have another audience that is awaiting your next number.

“Oh, my, my, my! Is it truly the Chosen One in our midst?” You approach the horrid family of Gryffindors—nearly doubling over in laughter at the speed with which their faces fall at the sight of you. How refreshing, you think to yourself. It’s been so long since you’ve seen people who wore their hearts on their sleeves. “Cissa and I didn’t think you’d even respond to our invitation—but this is just brilliant! Lily, darling! How long has it been? That dress looks utterly divine! Is that Charmeuse silk? The purple simply brings out the color in your eyes! And your skin, my love! Just glowing! Tell me—have you been trying those snail facials? I hear they’re all the rage nowadays.”

Sirius grimaces, cheeks turning ashen. “Bloody hell, I’m going to need a drink for this. A strong one, too.”

“You’re at a garden party, Sirius darling,” you remind in jest, flamboyantly motioning to the grazing table. “The elves are serving Darjeeling, jasmine, chamomile, berry blends, spiced orange, silver needle, and my personal favorite, chocolate mint!” There are strings of lights wrapped around the tree branches; floating lanterns and the hydrangeas creeping on the stone walls. You put a hand over your heart, smiling knavishly. “From the Malfoy family, to yours, we sincerely hope you enjoy your brunch.”

Lily deeply inhales as she intertwines her fingers with James’s, a polite smile on her face—an odd pang in your heart at the show of solidarity. (She questions how sincere can a Malfoy really be.) “Y-Yes, well, it’s so good to see you, too. We’re grateful for the invitation, especially since it’s for a rather honorable cause.”

Ah, pure-hearted creatures really do get on your nerves. Lion hearts; words dripping in honey, limitless bravado. You’ve changed your mind, you’re sick of it all. A flash of vindictive glee crosses your face as you abruptly grab her hand, wrenching it away from her husband’s. “We just knew you’d see it that way! You probably see yourself in those Muggle children, eh?”

Lily recoils, as if struck by hot iron, shoulders tensing; slowly, she peels away her hand from yours, long lashes blinking away her shock. “You and Narcissa must be raising a lot of money, then.” She eyes the marble fountain adorned in white roses, the harmonizing gnomes nearby, self-playing harps, and the scrutinizing stares from afar. “I never knew you cared so much about Muggle children.”

“Well, I suppose it must be done for all the pudgy-cheeked brats in the world,” You callously wave away her words with a sigh. Unbeknownst to most, all the charity proceeds come from your own Gringotts account. That is the one real thing left in your miserable life. “As staff at Hogwarts, the children must come first, wouldn’t you agree, Lily flower?”

“Quite,” replies Lily, lips firmly pursed.

James enters the fray, hand snaking around Lily’s waist; jaw taut, seeming to regret ever entering the snake den. “Have you met our son, Harry, already?” He turns to the fourteen-year-old at his left side, gently patting Harry’s back with a crooked smile. “Haz, this is an old classmate of ours.” James gestures to you, and you offer the Potter spawn an amused smile as he blinks owlishly at you. The poor thing has gone frigid from the wintry cold, despite the summer sun overhead and blooming coneflowers; and you wonder if he must have run into Draco and Lucius before coming to the garden.

So this is the child the Dark Lord failed to kill, you muse. You only wish that you could have seen that monster fall to the ground lifelessly, defeated by an infant and his courageous parents. How fitting for men like Lucius Malfoy to follow in his footsteps; the blind leading the blind. Your grin stretches from ear to ear as you take his hand in yours. Clearly, he’s never held a girl’s hand before, as he limply shakes your hand, awkwardly spluttering his greetings. “What an honor it is to finally meet the savior of the wizarding world.”

“Why, you look just like James when he was younger, always strutting around the corridors.” Your eyes drift to the lightning scar on his forehead, a testament to his and Lily’s survival against the killing curse. “And such clear-cut emerald eyes; truly your mother’s son. Tell me, Harry dearest, you must be quite the heartbreaker at Hogwarts.”

His doe-eyes harden, and your brow quirks in curiosity. (So the littlest lion can growl, after all.) “Oh. . . not really.” His hand hangs back at his side, fists coiling. The robins chirp merrily as they fly by, his parents carefully watching the scene unfold; water endlessly splashing in the fountain. Harry’s voice deepens as he continues, “I couldn’t be. My friends and I barely have time for anything else. There always seems to be something going on at the castle, apparently.”

“How interesting—Elsie!” You bark at the quivering house elf as Harry stumbles on his words. “Get Mister Potter and his company a plate of macarons—serve them our finest tea, as well.”

Harry winces as the elf apparates at once. “There’s r-really no need for—”

Your gaze, sharp as a knife, slices to him, as the corners of your painted lips bend contemptuously. “Have you heard the news, dearheart?”

Harry looks to his father before shrugging. “I don’t think so.”

“If Mister Lupin here has so graciously informed you,” you begin tantalizingly, eyes cutting to the rugged werewolf at Lily’s side; his back stiffening at the mention of his name, “Otherwise, keep this between you and me, Harry darling. Hogwarts will be hosting a rather important event this year—and I do love a good party—so you must have noticed the rise in appearances from the Ministry.” You gesture to the top Aurors at the DMLE towering over Harry, Sirius and James. “More than that,” you continue with a sly cant to your voice. “There will be a few new additions to Hogwarts’ staff. Among them, of course—is yours truly!”

“And to do what, exactly?” Sirius blurts out incredulously.

“Be a teacher, of course!” you feign ignorance, bashfully furrowing your brows. “Why else?”

“Brilliant!” Sirius chuckles scornfully. “So, the children will be learning about French designers and frilly dresses then, I presume?

“Is that truly all you think of me?” you ask, gasping melodramatically as you circle the rim of your empty teacup.

“You want to know what I think? Or what everyone thought behind your back at Hogwarts?” Sirius scoffs with a cock of his head. “You’ve always been the belle of the ball, no bloody doubt about that. But I’ve always wondered if there was anything more to your head than just air.”

He runs a hand through his dark curls, lips twisting into a sneer. “But I reckon nothing has changed since then. You’re just the same insufferable, vapid wench as you’ve always been.”

“Sirius. . .” Remus quietly calls. “That’s enough.”

Your expression falters—but your mask cannot afford even a moment of rest. A jarring note in the lullaby plays as the ceramic ballerina stops turning. You let the minutes pass by fleetingly; it seems the self-playing chordophones have changed their tune, as well. You watch as the canary diamonds in your bracelet glint against the sunlight. (You are growing tired of the blinding show lights, unrelenting crowd, and never-ending play. Where is the reprieve, you wonder, for the tormented primadonna and her aching soul?)

The strings are now dipped in blood as your tears polish the stage. Your joints have twisted, bent, and danced. You wonder, how long must it be until you are rid of the starring role?

You muster a coy smile, fluttering your lashes at the heir of the most noble and ancient House. “Such crude language, Mister Black,” you say, albeit your voice has gone mellow; nails drumming against the table surface as the guests mingle with one another. The unbearably dull conversations buzz in your ear. You notice Draco and Astoria Greengrass heading for the glasshouse. You consider stealing her lace parasol and whacking Sirius with it, and the thought fills you with immense joy.

Unfortunately, they are your guests, and you are nothing if not the most polite host. “Perhaps, I am not the only one who hasn’t grown out of their immature habits,” you say, eyeing his shoulder-length hair, spiky ear piercings, and leather jacket. That damned leather jacket of his. It irks you that he and his kind can show insolence freely without bearing any repercussions. (But you’d die before you ever feel envy for a man like Sirius Black.) The sun fades behind the clouds, and your mask slips perfectly into place once more.

“What is it that happened again? Between you and Severus Snape in sixth-year?” You tap your chin pensively, taking cruel satisfaction in the stutter in Sirius’s breath and Remus’s parted lips, ever stupefied. You gaze fiendishly at Remus. “Oh, silly me, I’ve gone off topic. Well, anyhow, I just wanted to say, I believe the students are in rather good hands this year. I just hope Dumbledore doesn’t accidentally let an infected beast roam the halls of Hogwarts.”

Your eyes flash impishly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mister Lupin?”

Lily curls her lip viciously. “Just what exactly—?”

“Elsie has returned, master.” The house elf bows her head just as the antique bistro table is circled with macarons, cucumber sandwiches, miniature cocktail buns, and slices of pound cake. Lily retracts her hand, grinding her jaw as she swallows the words in her throat.

“You may go, Elsie, thank you.” With a guileful smirk, you levitate the teapot towards James and Harry, dutifully filling their cups; steam soon arising from the Chinese porcelain. You nod at the group. “It’s jasmine pearl,” you explain haughtily. “Carefully handcrafted tea from harvested leaves and flowers. Such exquisiteness that you won’t be able to find anywhere else.”

“Do enjoy your tea; Cissa and I made sure to spare no expense for our guests.” The teapot carefully lands back on the table. The sinfonietta ends, and so does your time with this particular audience. What misfortune, that you won’t receive your flowers for today’s performance. You pivot on your heels, flinging them a lukewarm goodbye. “Do excuse me, for I must tend to the new arrivals. I believe I see Missus Parkinson over there by the koi pond. Cissa might have my head if I neglect my responsibilities.”

You turn your head, tossing a wink at Lily. “Today, after all, is for the children.”

Alas, it is not Persephone Parkinson you head towards.

You briefly exchange tepid pleasantries with Lavinia Greengrass before walking past the koi pond to the edges of the garden, far beyond prying eyes and ears. There, like a brooding Dementor drifting through a frozen lake, waits your true target. Sadly, it is only a dour-faced professor, a long time confrère of yours, to be precise. There are only a handful of people to whom you are indebted. Severus Tobias Snape is one of those few.

With a flick of your wand, you covertly cast the silencing charm upon the elusive spot Severus had chosen. There is no need for these edacious vultures to prey on your conversation. They are better off with their tête-à-têtes and syrupy pikelets. You drown out the chamber orchestra’s symphony, the clinking of champagne glasses, the rustling leaves and ringing wind chimes. “Severus darling,” you say liltingly, feet shuffling to his side as you playfully ghost your palm against his nape. He barely spares you a glance as a breeze courses through the rippling lake water. “You’re missing out on the festivities, you know.”

“Have you finally finished tormenting Narcissa’s visitors?” he drawls, at long last acknowledging your presence and sharply raising a brow at your saccharine-sweet smile.

“Why, I’d never dare to do such a thing,” you reply with a theatrical sway of your head. “I simply conversed with the ladies and had a delightful run-in with your old flame, Lily. Do you remember her, my sweet? Ghastly red hair, pale skin, and, oh, those green eyes. It must be infuriating to look like that,” you rattle away to the only entity willing to listen to you in his company: the wind.

“Spare me,” he drones, lips curved impatiently.

You moue. “Ever the bore, you are, Severus. Shall I fetch you a platter of brandy snaps?”

“Shall I sit around while I wait?” Snape’s lips contort into a sour grimace, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “The Dark Lord himself might even find time to rise from his grave.”

“Severus dear, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to tell me something.” You eye him slyly, mouth tipping into a smirk as a dragonfly hovers by the waterline, avidly stalked by the dwarf frog on a lily pad. “So,” you pry, “did you have something important to tell me? I promised Mister Goyle I’d have a drink with him.”

The frog splashes into the lake, and the dragonfly flutters away without a care. Severus clandestinely slips a piece of paper into your palm as he swivels around, dark cloak billowing. “Ensure that nothing traces back to you,” he snarls. “Clearly I do know better, Severus.” You toy with the paper between your fingers, a sense of exhilaration running up your spine. “Not to worry,” you say with a clipped smile, a serpentine glare in your eyes, “I always do as I am told.”

(Severus, not for the first time in his life, wonders if the Sorting Hat made a mistake when it sorted you into Hufflepuff.)

act ii. tonight, let’s start the masquerade.

THE NIGHT GROWS weary, and so do the alleys of Knockturn; neglected as your hooded figure navigates through the brick road, only the caged owls and flickering stars to notice your presence. You fainly traipse amongst the shadows, a moment of surrender from the spotlight and malignant eyes; a brief interlude in the performance. Past the hanging doll heads in the windows of Borgin & Burkes, you find a lonely shop. Inside the locket of your ring, lies a slip of paper that had been given to you earlier this afternoon. Well, Severus, you think to yourself, idly twisting the ring on your finger, let’s see where you sent me to this time.

And so, the stage actor calls for a costume change. “Alohomora.”

With one last glance at the dimly-lit passage, you enter the boutique. The brass shop bell accompanies your entrance, but no owner appears to greet you—and if there was, well, you have quite a unique way of saying hello. Your fingers feather across the dusty bookshelves, eyes raking through the broken staircase, the faint scent of ginger, rosemary, and mugwort pervades the room; a shattered crystal ball sits in the center of the shop desk, ripped paintings on the wall. A grimace pulls at your lips as you come across a familiar ivory mask. A Death Eater mask—it’s warm to touch; recently worn, perchance. You bury the strong urge to set it on fire.

There’s a shift in the air, a creak in the floorboards—in an instant, you whip your wand out from its leather holster.

“Reveal yourself,” you whisper curtly.

To the naked eye, there is only one intruder in the dingy parlor. To you, however, there is an obscure silhouette of a stranger covered by a glimmering veil. You hold onto your wand resolutely. If it was an enemy, you’d be blown into the walls by now. “This isn’t an ensemble stage, you know,” you chuff impatiently, “I’m not fond of sharing the spotlight with lineless extras.”

The disillusionment charm slowly unveils, and you wait unblinking, until you see a familiar face standing before you. Mid-length curly hair that falls over gray, dagger-like eyes, the irksome scent of tobacco, and a frightening similarity to his elder brother.

There are exactly five people you’d risk your life for, and right now, you’re digging the tip of your wand into their neck.

“Mister Regulus Black,” you greet with a playful edge to your voice, eyes narrowing. “Severus didn’t mention we’d be running into each other tonight.”

“That’s because I didn’t tell Sev I’d be here,” says Regulus, dimples poking out as he swats your wand away from his throat. “I might go mad if I have to stay inside for another bloody week, there’s only so many times I can re-read Good Omens—and by the way, did anyone ever tell you how dramatic you are? Lineless extras, really?”

You hide a fond smile with a roll of your eyes, whirling around to browse the glass cabinets and leather journals on the table, returning to the task at hand. “And so you thought going outside and risking someone seeing you in the open was a good idea? Reggie darling, I often think about the possibility of Walburga dropping you on the head as an infant.”

Regulus shoves his hands inside his trouser pockets as he hovers over your shoulders like a lost, overgrown duckling. “Wasn’t it Cissa’s soirée today? Did you jinx the statues like I told you to?”

“Who do you think I am?” you say haughtily, pausing in your search to half-heartedly glare at him. And after a moment’s pause, you jerk your shoulder and coyly respond with a side-smirk, “Of course I did. The young Mister Flint nearly screamed his head off.” You hum reminiscently, “truthfully, it’s been quite a while since I heard Draco laugh like that these days. For breakfast, I hear about the Granger girl, and then for lunch, I hear about the Weasley children, and for dinner, it’s an hour-long spiel on the famed Harry Potter.”

Regulus chortles in amusement as he hops onto the shop counter, kicking back his chunky boots. “And, then? Did you see my brother?”

“Oh, darling, I did more than that,” you mutter offhandedly, leafing through the paraphernalias and foul-smelling potion flasks.

“How was he? Is he doing well? Merlin, I think it’s been so long since I saw his face.” There’s a lapse of silence between you and Regulus. A lizard scurries across the room, chasing after a line of ants. The younger wizard taints the quietude with a long, frustrated sigh. “Sorry, I just. . .” He slumps his shoulders in resignation. “I wouldn’t have to ask so many questions if. . . if I could just. . .”

“I don’t understand why I have to hide from my own family.” With a jagged whisper, he says, “I feel like I’m losing my mind. Like I can’t believe that I’m really here, I don’t even know if I exist sometimes.”

You grimace as you turn to look at him, hand flinching as if wanting to reach out to him. Instead, you avert your gaze and continue scouring the room. “It’s for—”

“My own good, I know,” Regulus blows a strand of hair away from his forehead. He jumps off the counter with a hardened stare. You glance at his back as he bends to pick at the marks on the floor. At times like this, you remember how small and young Regulus had been when you found him moribund from lake inferis. What a cruel price to pay in exchange for his survival, you think.

For Regulus Black has to remain dead to the wizarding world, stuck in an interminable masquerade, waiting until the hour is up for his performance.

All the world’s a stage, and for the best of the actors and actresses, it seems the production never ends.

“How long do you think it’s going to stay like this? For you, me, Sev? For Cissa?” As he stands on his toes to inspect the top of a dusty cupboard, Regulus veers his head to peek at your expression, frowning when he finds none. (You’ve no answers for him, after all; the entirety of your life was spent wondering that exact same question. All you know is that the show must go on until the audience tires of the starving artist.) “Never mind, let’s just focus on finding whatever you were trying to find here.” He walks past his reflection in the vintage carved mirror. “What are we looking for, anyway?”

You wish to offer solace to a cherished friend, but duties are meant to be fulfilled. For now, to do what is right must come first. Your fingers slither up the side of a bookcase, a wooden ladder resting against the shelves. The mahogany is freshly varnished, the stench of glue is prominent, and deep scratches indent the floor. It’s an empty treasure cove, barely anything displayed on the racks. You grit your teeth as you realize it’s been well-maintained compared to the obsolete state of the room. “Here,” you rasp, abruptly snapping your head to look back at him.

He furrows his brow. “What?”

You beckon him to the corner of the room from where you stand, wooden planks creaking as you push at the bookcase. “Help me with this, Regulus. There could be something behind it.” You clench your jaw as you lean your weight onto the cabinet frame.

“Why don’t we just, I don’t know,” Regulus cocks his head as he waves his wand in the air. “Use magic?” he offers discreetly, as though divulging a century-old secret. “I suggest Bombarda for maximum efficiency.”

You stare at him vacantly. “Regulus dearheart, I hold a stupendous amount of tolerance for you, but there is absolutely no way we are drawing attention to ourselves via explosion spells in the dead of the night.”

He grins boyishly before ushering you away. “Alright, alright, I was only taking the mickey out of you.” Soon after, Regulus deftly mutters a levitation charm, his wand steadfast as the bookcase slowly detaches from the floor. You take a couple of steps backward, lips pursed as you observe Regulus concentrate on his work.

You note to yourself to have a conversation about Regulus’s restlessness with Severus. It could pose a liability and pull the curtains on the entire pasquinade. “Careful,” you keep a tight watch on Regulus’s pinched brows, his hovering wand, and the steadily moving bookshelf.

“Like taking jelly slugs from a first-year,” he says flippantly, beaming at you as his dark curls sweep over his eyes.

You give him an exasperated scowl before side-stepping his quip as you descry a faint outline of a door in the plastered wall. You feel a rumble in the ground, muffled noises behind the shrouded entrance. “Ready your wand, Regulus,” you say grimly, hand reaching for the doorknob, looking back in time to catch his smirk fade into a distant expression, “I believe what awaits won’t be as simple as that.”

A grave tenor disquiets the room, your free hand already grasping for your wand. Regulus stands at your side, nodding as you take a sharp breath. He offers his back to you, in spite of the looming danger. (A sadistic part of you finds comfort in his presence tonight, but neither of you can truly share the burdens of your harrowing façades. Tomorrow, you play the lone star once more; and he, the dead brother and son. But today, you must simply share the stage.)

You twist the knob until a click pierces the heavy silence.

You wait with a bated breath, expecting creatures and spells to come hurling in your direction. The room ahead is enshrouded with darkness. You share a terse nod with Regulus as a ball of light appears at the tip of your wands. Regulus moves to take a step forward, but you block him with your arm. “I’ll go first,” you say breathily, curtly glancing at the Death Eater Mask. “It could be cursed the moment we step inside.” Regulus presses his lips into a white line, clearly unhappy with your decision, but relents nonetheless.

Rough, travertine flooring begins where the woodwork ends; a gust of wind howls into the dark chamber. Wordlessly, you call for your patronus to investigate inside; thin, silvery wisps floating in the air, its light hauntingly beautiful against the unilluminated dungeon. You hear heavy chains dragging across the ground and the harmony of timid footfalls. A drop of water falls onto the cracked stone. Regulus grinds down on his jaw as he readies his wand.

After an eternity of waiting, you snap your wand to set the torches alight.

A pronounced chill runs up your spine; a stutter in your breath. You nearly stagger at the sight unveiled before you. If you had been a weaker wizard, you’d have dropped your wand already. “This. . .” you say hoarsely, eyes wide, blood simmering in your veins.

Children.

Little ones as young as ten-years-old, barely coming up to your stomach, staring up at you with bloodshot eyes. Their skinny arms are covered in grime and wear pathetic rags for clothes. Moss grows in every corner of the room. Emaciated mattresses on metal beds. “Bloody hell,” Regulus growls, chest heaving. “What the fuck?”

“It’s a prison,” you whisper, horrified. There must be more than twelve children standing before you. Bile rises to your throat. You worry about your wand breaking in half, but the overwhelming sense of dread traps you in position.

“Are. . . are you with the bad men?” A brave, young girl with owlish eyes protectively steps forward in front of her companions. “No,” you answer gently, bending down on one knee to meet her eyes. You were neither good, or bad, but there is no magic on earth that would make you harm these children.

Regulus calls your name. “They’re Muggles,” he hisses angrily. “I don’t sense any magic from any of them.” He exhales in frustration. “What the hell are they doing with Muggle children?”

You grind down on your teeth, nearly dizzy with anger. You forgo a response to Regulus in favor of clasping your cloak around the trembling child. Soon after, you blanket the room in a warming charm. “Tend to their wounds,” you say sharply. “I’ll see what I can do about the chains.” And you will do something about those shackles, if it’s the last thing you do. “We’re going to get you out of here, I promise,” you tell the girl, stolid as you pat her head.

Except, the brass bell rings once more and everyone stiffens in alert. The children begin whimpering amongst themselves. Slow, deliberate footsteps reverberate from the shop into the icy-cold room. The hairs on the back of your neck rise.

“Move out of the way!” you yell, veins straining against your neck, just as you’re blown into the stone walls.

Regulus screams out your name, but you barely hear anything over the ringing in your ears; through blurring vision, you see the children and Regulus unharmed. Relief floods through you as you sluggishly rise from the floor. There’s a large crater in the wall from the impact; luckily, the tethers to the chains were demolished, as well. “Get them to the safehouse,” you order, blood trickling from your lips. You hardly feel your arms and legs; there’s an ache in the back of your head, your spine feels as though it’s been snapped in half. You’re definitely going to feel this tomorrow. Regulus hesitates to leave, hands laid on the shoulders of the children as he glowers at the newcomer. “Now!” you bellow gutturally.

A muscle ticks in Regulus’s jaw, but as he finally apparates with as many children as he can, you finally stop holding your breath. “It’s okay,” you reassure the wee boys clinging onto each other for comfort, limping to their side. “I’m rather strong, you know. Stronger than any of the bad men.”

In every duel, you allow yourself to be hit only once—driven by your inhuman desire to feel something other than the emptiness of your unbroken charade.

(And for years, you have waited for anyone to say these two specific words: Avada Kedavra.)

“Go,” you instruct gently, brushing away the tendrils of hair from the little boy’s forehead. “Hide and wait until my companion comes for you.”

“And as for the ill-mannered invader,” you crane your head towards the entrance of the chamber, eyes raking over the tall figure’s bloodthirsty stance and flittering cloak. There’s a lack of silver mask, but you know well the stench of foreboding decay and malignity. At the speed of light, you aim your wand, “Confringo!”

You watch with a spiteful grin as the stranger is blasted across the room. The walls and ceilings threaten to crumble, and you can only hope that Severus won’t be too cross with you in the morning. You point your wand at the uninvited guest’s heart. Nothing will trace back to you, that much you are certain of.

After all, no one would suspect a vapid, insufferable boulevardier to be the greatest spy of the wizarding world.

A firebird caws in the distance.

And, scene.

act iii. where’s your soul? where’s your dream? do you think you’re alive?

“APPEARANCES ARE OF utmost importance.” You stand in the front of the Great Hall, sun rays streaming through the large, stained windows, wooden tables pushed to the walls; accoutered in a black velvet capelet with gold trimmings and vintage dragonhide boots. The sleeves of your blouse are lined with handwoven, gothic lace; trousers made of the finest yellow satin. It is a testament to your House—the cete of badgers. (You seize everyone’s attention—whether the two Aurors in the corner like it or not.)

After a descanting introduction, you are given center stage before the students of Gryffindor and Slytherin. With a swing in your step and a wrest in your voice, you continue, “That is why the Headmaster, Dumbledore himself, invited me to personally facilitate this year’s Tri-Wizard Tournament. As hosts of the event, excellence is expected of us. Professor McGonagall has graciously allowed me to take charge of your lessons, particularly in the art of dancing.” Your eyes gleam as you offer the young fourth-years a graceful reverence. “And our first lesson begins straight away.”

The crowd of students transfigure into a sea of curious eyes and flabbergasted whispers. You derisively watch the chaos unfold with an amused grin. Yet, you’re not the least bit worried. You’ve charmed even a flock of Dementors before, the creatures having been drawn to your voice, ostentatious stature, and the dark depths of your soul; like a bee to a field of flowers. A class full of awkward teenagers should be more than easy for you.

“Now, now, children,” you clap your hands as you make your way to the heart of the room, leaving a trail of softening murmurs. “The Yule Ball is a revered tradition, an exhibit of togetherness that has lasted for hundreds years.” You lift your nose up in the air as the girls look at one another, barely able to hide their giddy smiles and discreet glances across the hall. “As such, it is my venerable duty to oversee your etiquette in and out of the ballroom.”

(Sirius rolls his eyes from where he sits besides James.)

“Mister Filch, if you please.” With a flutter of your lashes and a poised smile, you beckon for the school caretaker who flounders to the gramophone. You wink at the young miss Pansy Parkinson who stares up at you in awe. Soon thereafter, you hear the soft melody of Léo Delibes’s Valse. Coppélia, you simper to yourself—a story close to your heart. (You’ve always found a winsome irony in a marionette like you dancing to the enamel-eyed girl’s song.)

“A dance, while enjoyable by one’s lonesome, is best savored with a partner,” you begin vivaciously, eyeing the gentlemen in particular. “Your date for the night must be aware that you’ve chosen them out of your own volition and undue necessity.” Your stare drifts to the coterie of young Gryffindors, tittering mischievously. “Shall we have a demonstration from the House of courage and splendor?”

“No one?” You raise a brow curiously when you’re met with silence and averted gazes. You then utter the scariest phrase a professor could say to their students: “I’ll choose the lucky student myself.”

You survey the pack of lion cubs, drifting through the tuffs of flashing red hair; gangly boys raucously kicking and pushing at each other to volunteer for your teach-in on ballroom dancing. You flash the students a vexatious grin. “Mister Harry Potter?” you call out to the ashen-faced boy with your hand outstretched. “Why don’t we let the Chosen One set an example to his peers?”

Hollers and cheers break out across the hall; not withholding the mirthful giggles of the doves on the other side of the room, wonderstruck by his green eyes and lightning scar. You motion for Harry to join you on the pseudo dance floor. The Weasley twins take delight in clapping and wisecracking into his ears until Harry reluctantly rises to his feet, a blooming shade of red on his neck and cheeks.

“As you approach your partner with the grace of a majestic stag,” you acclaim to the class whilst Harry approaches you with a wry grin and hands shoved inside his robe pockets, “And not a newborn foal.” You place your hand in his, “You may now invite your lady to dance.”

“Or your beau,” you add spiritedly, eyes gleaming as Harry chokes on his saliva.

You pat his back as the music comes to a sweet-sounding crescendo. “Dancing is about connection,” you turn to the students with a stern gaze. “If your posture crumbles, there goes your confidence, as well. At all times, you must maintain eye contact,” you say sharply as you tilt Harry’s chin and correct the arch of his arms. “Remember, it’s not ballroom if there’s no trust. Lean onto one another, and then. . .” You lay your palm onto his shoulder. “The feet should follow the music.”

Unfortunately, Harry runs on two left feet and both persistently evade the music. On the umpteenth time he stumbles on your shoes, he’s appraised by snickers and low whistles from either side of the hall. The Weasley twins in particular seem thrilled by Harry’s flailing arms and bewildered expression. Along with the two Aurors who’ve skipped their aurorly duties to patrol the castle in favor of heckling their ward. “You’re doing it wrong, James!” shouts Sirius through cupped hands, shoulders shaking in laughter.

“Why don’t you try it, Padfoot?” Harry retorts back to him; thick hair flopping over his eyes as he grates his teeth. You’re given no warning as Harry extracts himself from your grip and stalks over to where Sirius and James sit comfortably.

You blink, dumbfounded. “Harry dearest, I don’t believe that is necessary—!”

“Go on then,” says Harry, jerking his head. “Show us all how to do it.”

To the side, Ron guffaws into his fist, brought nearly to tears. (Earlier he was apprehensive about the class. “We’ve got a whole new professor just for twirling around and all that girlish stuff?” he had asked in disbelief before entering the Great Hall.

“Shut your mouth, Weasley,” growls Draco Malfoy as he shoves past Harry and Hermione to head inside the hall.)

Sirius grins roguishly, having the gall to bat his eyes in confusion. “Who? Me?” He chuckles before forcibly slapping James’s back with the flat of his palm. “No, no. The honor should go to the debonair of his time.” Trenchant eyes flicker with mischief. “Have at it, James. How will the children ever learn without a proper demonstration?”

“Go on, Sir Prongs!” exclaims one of the red-headed twins. “Show us how it’s done!”

Alarmingly, the bespectacled man resigns to his fate, a deafening ovation as he shrugs his robes off, generously revealing his broad shoulders in a tight, black turtleneck; a leather wand holster across his chest; long legs framed by pleated trousers. You bite down on your tongue as James draws closer to you, a hint of a smirk on his lips. With an unerring arch of his back, he holds out his hand for you to take, “May I have this dance?”

Your breath stutters—if only for a moment. One cannot deny that James Potter is deviously more appealing to the eye than the dance partners you’ve had during Narcissa’s galas. Perfectly-carved cheekbones and golden hoops dangling from his ears; bright, hazel eyes girdled by rectangular glasses. “Well,” you say, pursing your lips as you slip your palm into his. “If you must.”

In contrast to his son, James needs little-to-no guidance from you. You’d have assumed that much, considering that both James and Sirius grew up in pure-blood customs. The warmth of his hand on your back is scalding. He spins you along to the song’s aria; the two of you gliding effortlessly through the soapstone floors. Any more closer to him and you’d be able to hear his heartbeat. “There will be lifts, turns, and dips during a waltz,” you inform the class as you demonstrate a twirl vine. “You will rise and you will fall together with your partner. Understand?”

James chuckles at the wistful sighs and horrified groans that erupt through the Great Hall. “You’re good with the children, you know,” he remarks cheekily as he gently lowers you to the ground, hand steadfast on your waist. You hear his unsaid words clearly: Sirius thought you’d be downright rubbish at it.

“Well, Mister Potter,” you say breathlessly, clasping your arms around his neck once more. “To some of the students here, frilly dresses and French designers are their entire world.” Your chin all but perched atop James’s shoulders; the scent of his famed Sleekeazy potion and vetiver—dew on fresh grass on a warm sunny day—fills your senses. You cast a sniffy glare in Sirius’s way, to which he responds with a raised brow.

“Bit shallow, isn’t it?” he murmurs, chest rumbling and his breath hot on your ear.

You scoff. “One could argue the same for a young Seeker who’s been given their first ever broom.”

James Potter has the nerve to smile at you. And as you move to extricate yourself from his hold, James mindlessly lets his hand fall from your waist to your hip—incidentally, where you’ve been nursing a heavy fracture. Sore bruises from chasing vampires the night prior as you were out hunting allies of the Dark Lord from the first wizarding war. Although you had drowned yourself in pain relief elixirs, it seems you’re more sensitive and hurt than you thought.

Even statues of white gold chip and fade over time—you’re reminded of this fact quite painfully. You roughly push James away from you, hissing in pain as you cradle the left side of your hip. Memories of crimson-stained teeth and rotten, pale skin flash before your eyes. You remember the stench of blood, and the feel of their nails slashing into your thighs. But most of all, you remember their ear-piercing shrieks just before you drive the stake into their chests, one by one, until you have left a graveyard of vampires in the outskirts of an abandoned mansion.

James furrows his brow immediately as you cave in on yourself. (Even Sirius surges to his feet.) “What’s wrong?”

Occlude! Occlude—you must occlude immediately!

With a sharp inhale, you close off your emotions for anyone else to see. “It is nothing of your concern, Mister Potter,” you respond blankly, as though your soul is locked far away. “I do believe we’re done here.” You step further away from him. Your attention shifts to the students as you fold your hands behind your back, lips curling into a virulent smile. The weight of your mask is comforting; you’ve forgotten how to breathe without it. “Now, let’s have the students pair up and practice what they’ve learned so far. I’ll have no patience for dilly-dallying and nescience on my watch. You’ll dance until I tell you to stop. You’ll practice until the soles of your feet are sore and raw.”

That, after all, is how you learned.

The class goes by accordingly; you maintain a distance from Sirius and James, turning a blind eye to their burdensome sympathy. (Gryffindors and their bleeding hearts—it always unnerves you how easily the avowed Marauders get deep under your skin.) You nip at the students’ heels, righting their poor footwork; looping the music until you are certain they’d hear it in their nightmares. To your surprise, the round-cheeked Neville Longbottom takes all your instructions in stride. From the moment that you allow Filch to lift the tonearm, the students practically fall to the floor, heaving; some forsaking their long robes and tying their hair in flimsy ponytails.

As the students retreat from the Great Hall, you slink away into the crowd of Slytherins, desperate to avoid a particular duo of Aurors—no doubt ready to probe you with questions. A numbing panic claws at your chest; black spots swallowing your vision. Emotions—how putrid. The students’ discordant chatter overwhelms your hearing, more than the ringing in your ears. The unyielding, outré stone walls feel like they’re closing in on you. Still, you keep your head above the water, enduring every staggered breath. You must.

What’s wrong?

The question echoes in your head.

Ha!

You scream inwardly, if they only knew!

While you had been expecting either James or Sirius to ambush you, you do not expect to see Draco Malfoy shouting your name as you flee down an empty corridor.

The miniature Lucius Malfoy stands before you, grimacing as he clenches his fists tightly. “Are. . .” Draco’s expression contorts morosely. “Are you alright? Theo and I were worried that the blood traitor upset you.” he spits his concern as if it were acid. Little snakes and their keen eyes.

“Mind your language, Draco,” you reply cuttingly, eyes flashing as you lift your chin. And for his question, one that you’ve been asked numerous times over the years, you have only ever had one answer. Despite the scars on your back, the tremors in your hands, the aching of your heart, and the endless bruises on your limbs, you tell him: “And do not ask what is not needed to be.”

“You’re hurt, aren’t you?” he presses further, mouth pinched. “Don’t treat me like a dim-witted child because I’m not!”

A hand lays on his shoulder, and to your chagrin, Severus makes his appearance, lips downturned and his gaze filled with subdued apathy. Your day is about to get worse. “Perhaps, it is best if you leave this discussion to the adults, Draco.” Snape drones, leaving no room for debate. He tightens his grip on the younger wizard. “I will not be inconvenienced to explain to Minerva as to why you were dawdling in the corridors.”

In true Malfoy fashion, Draco sneers in disdain. He rips himself out of Snape’s grasp with a scoff. As he storms past you, you sigh and pat his side.

When Draco disappears into the corner, you release a deep breath as you prepare for the onslaught to come. “Just get it over with, Severus,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, the pounding in your head growing more unbearable by the second.

You see his nostrils flare as Severus turns to glare at you. “I wonder,” he says through gritted teeth. “If you are actually capable of following direct orders—of using that near-empty brain of yours!” His upper lip curls back into a snarl, as he scours the empty hallway for any prowling ears. “Your stunt made it to the Daily Prophet. You were asked to proceed tactfully, were you not?”

You lean against the wall, rubbing at the temples of your head. “And I’ve done my part. Every last one of them—dead by my hands. A problem you failed to deal with for the last two months. That I settled last night. Remind me why you’re still chittering into my ear, Severus darling?”

“Do not play coy with me,” he replies brusquely. “I’ve heard the students tattling about it as though it were the most interesting event in their pathetic, insolent lives. The Embris Mansion burnt down to the ground. There are talks of a vigilante, a good-for-nothing do-gooder. You got sloppy!”

“And if I did—so what?” You retaliate, chest heaving as you step into his face. Truthfully, this isn’t the first time you’ve had this conversation with him. Over the years you have left some sort of mark on your work. Not a phoenix, but a firecrest. Wings outstretched in flames. All eyes are on the ungovernable hero, the Firebird—and never on you, the foppy socialite. “Would it be so perverse to want even a slither of recognition, Severus?”

“Do not forget your duty,” he taunts venomously, the cords in his neck going rigid. “To the greater good you so earnestly fight for. Your duty to your mother.”

“Do not talk about her!” you all but shout, magic sizzling in the air around you.

“Then see to it that there are no more mistakes going forward!” Severus juts his chin, baring his teeth in contempt.

After a few long moments, he continues with a resigned exhale, dragging his palm down his face—as though you are the perplexing one. “This. . . Moody has developed a habit of emptying my cupboards.”

“And why, pray tell,” you retort gruffly, “should I care for this oh-so special cupboard of yours?”

“It contains ingredients for Polyjuice potions!” he proclaims angrily. “Get to the bottom of this. I’ll not have a blithering fool like Pettigrew get to the students again. Do what you must, I have no interest in understanding the workings of your mind—as long as you do not draw unnecessary attention to yourself.”

The sound of footfalls break you apart as Severus nimbly lifts the Notice-Me-Not charm he had cast earlier. Within seconds, you find Remus Lupin rounding the corner. He’s dressed in his usual baggy, gray jumper; jaw clean-shaved, and pinkish scars against his skin. A well-loved quilted coat over his shoulders—handmade by Lily, you presume. You notice the mismatched otter socks peeking from his loafers. Remus saunters down the hallway with tired eyes and a feeble smile as he stops right in front of you and Severus. He has a rather tall frame, slender even, despite his hunched shoulders.

“Snape,” Remus nods to him, gaze flickering back and forth as he attempts to discern what had transpired—well, you’re certainly in no rush to tattle and cry into his arms.

“Professor,” he says to you, an ever curious smile on his face. “You’re looking quite peaky. Is something the matter?”

“I am most certainly sound and fine, Mister Lupin,” you respond, irritated, as you wobble on your feet. You are at your wit’s end—how bothersome of it all. “Should you not be on your way to your next class, Professor?” you bite tiredly.

Remus shrugs, hazel-eyes crinkling in amusement. “Mad-Eye is taking over my next class. I thought it would be good for the students to learn from a veteran Auror. I’m sure he has much more experience to offer than me.”

You scowl, his humility smothering you painfully. “Well, I’ve no interest in dragging my feet around. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a prior engagement with my cat and I’m afraid I’ve left her alone for too long.”

And as fate would have it, when you make haste for your quarters, you falter in your steps; lurching as your vision goes blurry. Your breath snags in your throat as Remus catches you by the waist. “Perhaps, we should get you to Lily,” offers Remus as he sets you upright, brows pinched worriedly, ignoring Snape’s eye roll in the background.

“I said I was fine!” You blurt out, cradling the front of your head as you sway backwards; now seeing two Lupins and two Snapes. “Merlin, are all Gryffindors this bloody meddlesome? Must I repeat myself? I am fine—!”

Turns out, you are not fine.

The last thing you see before losing consciousness is a pair of brown eyes with flecks of gold, more beautiful than any full moon you’ve ever seen.

—

You wake up to a dry, sore throat; the bitter scent of infirmary disinfectant—a Muggle’s touch, no doubt—and concoctions of various healing potions. Your head is still pounding, but somewhat bearable. The room is small, privy to only teachers, you conclude—although, it is the very first time you have ended up in the infirmary. Remus Lupin would feel your wrath, you’d make sure of it. Your back stings as though it were doused in Dittany recently. As you nearly break the flower vase in an attempt to reach for the empty glass, the door creaks open—and in comes Lily Potter with her husbands.

“Am I in hell?” you eye them bitterly.

“No,” says the youngest matron, dressed in her own version of the nurse’s uniform. Red vest over her white blouse, and a long, plaid skirt with pockets. Soft red hair tied back with a pink ribbon. Albeit, her expression is anything but sweet and delicate. “But you’re in my office, which means you are now under my care—therefore I’d like you to explain why you have vampire toxins in your blood.”

“And I would like to return to my quarters now, please,” you respond haughtily, referring to the private bedroom professors were offered in the castle. “I’ve nothing to explain to someone who administers the diagnostic charm on my person without explicit permission to do so!” you exclaim, releasing a shuddery breath as your head throbs agonizingly.

“You will listen to me—seven hours ago you were this close to paralysis!” Lily shouts right back, eyes glaring defiantly—she may have adhered to you in Malfoy’s territory, but no power holds more authority than an acclaimed healer over a patient. “If you had been a Muggle, you’d be dead ten times over.”

“Well, now that we’ve established that I’m alive and well, I suppose we have no more pleasantries to exchange, Lily darling.” You tear the flimsy blanket from your legs, grimacing at the bandages covering your skin.

“Not before you tell us where those bruises came from,” Sirius demands, voice low and knife-like eyes on you.

“Must have been the Nargles,” you reply sarcastically. No one would care for a bonny doll ripping apart at the seams and gathering dust on a child’s shelf. “They’re quite frisky this time of the year, didn’t you know? My good friend Xenophilius wrote about those creatures a long time ago. Good read, I’d say.”

“Are you capable of taking anything seriously?” cuts Sirius with a snarl, tendrils of hair curling around his face; hints of tattoos peeking out from his leather jacket. Vermillion satin shirt clashing against his pale skin. The lingering smell of lit cigars only reminds you of Regulus, and so you tear your gaze away from Sirius.

“Sirius, let’s not scare her off now, love,” Remus admonishes, softly resting his palm at the back of Sirius’s neck, before he stares at you with honey-dripping eyes. You have a desperate need to run away. They’re an uncharted danger that you aren’t familiar with navigating—and you figure young Harry wouldn’t appreciate you treating his parents like a rabid vampire. “We just want to know what happened, you looked worse for wear when we brought you to Lily and Madam Pomfrey,” Remus placates, treating you like a crow with its wing snapped in half.

You sneer. “If I am not dead, then these wounds hardly matter to me.”

Lily gasps, a sound so soft only the wind could have possibly heard it. “How could you say that?” she asks, hand flying to her lips. “Of course it matters, you had lost so much blood while we tried to get the toxins flushed from your system.” She stares at the puncture mark on your arm, before peering over at Sirius. “We nearly couldn’t find a match to your blood type. Sirius. . . Well, he’s a universal donor and he didn’t even hesitate in giving you his—”

“Giving me what?” you echo lowly. “What did Sirius give me, Lily?”

“Blood,” Lily says firmly. “He gave you his blood so you could live.”

“How dare you?” you seethe, chest rapidly rising; digging your nails firmly into your palms as you stare furiously at Lily. “You had no right!” You scream until your throat is sore; your magic overflowing until it shatters the nearby vase of butterfly weeds.

Rage tunnels your vision; heart hammering against your ribcage as you move to carelessly rip at the bandages over your wounds. “You had no right! You had no fucking right! I would have never done the same for you! Get out! Get out!”

“Get out!” You hurl the glass at the wall across from you, narrowly avoiding Sirius’s head; anguish tears itself from your voice and you barely notice James flinch from the intensely flickering lights.

“You think I’d be grateful?” you scoff, a burning heat spreading across your chest. “You think I’d be indebted to any of you after this? Is that what you wanted? What a fucking joke!” You laugh irately as you gasp for air. “I’d rather die!”

When you run out of items to throw at them—pillows, shards of glass, and crumpled flower stems—you sit on the bed, shoulders violently shaking as you cough yourself sick.

“I. . .” Lily begins, swallowing the lump wedged in her throat. “I understand. . . But I am the castle’s nurse, as long as you are under Hogwarts’ protection, I am keeping you alive no matter what.”

“I don’t bloody care,” you snide.

Her eyes flash to James. “We’ll leave you to rest, then.”

You stay silent, vacantly staring at the reddened welts on your hands. It’s not until you feel James’s arms around you and his chin hovering above your head that you realize you’ve stopped shivering. “I’m sorry,” is all that James whispers into your ear as he lays you to sleep with an inaudible charm. The chill of his magic is the last thing you feel before your eyes flutter to a close.

—

You wake up in the infirmary once more. This time, you lay stiff on the mattress, absentmindedly gazing at the plain ceiling; your chest falling and rising ever-so slowly. The stink of a Calming Draught is painstakingly familiar. A low humming sound tells you that you aren’t alone—but you barely flinch from their presence, too tired to do anything but close your eyes. “Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me. . . . something. . . they’re okay,” murmurs one Sirius Black, tapping on his thigh as he rests his back on the rustic chair.

If Sirius wants an encore, he’d have to drag the fight out of you. You’re utterly drained from your emotional palaver earlier. “Didn’t know you were into Muggle songs, Black,” you chortle bemusedly.

Sirius halts in his singing as a forceful silence falls over the room—you distinctly hear the moment Sirius’s hand drops to his thigh, most likely taken aback by the sound of your hoarse voice. You feel the weight of his eyes on your bandaged arms and legs. A few seconds pass before he responds, his words but a faint breath. “After today, I believe that there is much to be uncovered for the both of us.”

You don’t bother replying—you’d have Obliviated them instantly if it wasn’t illegal to use on Aurors.

“We know it was you,” says Sirius out of the blue—your blood turns icy-cold on command, wondering if he’s figured out about the wizard behind the Firebird. “On the first day of term, someone had left a basket of freshly-brewed Wolfsbane potions enough to last him for the entire year,” he explains further, leaning his elbows on his knees as he stares at you unwaveringly. “I almost didn’t believe it, but a Marauder has his ways.”

(His son with an invisibility cloak and a handy, enchanted parchment.)

“Thank you,” he says, guttural with emotions. “It means more to Remus than you think.”

“Your gratitude is misplaced, unfortunately,” you rasp, coiling your fists tightly, stubbornly intent on avoiding his eyes—not wanting to get caught in the storm within. You exhale with a ragged sigh. Severus was right, you had been sloppy. And this is what carelessness leads to. “Don’t delude yourself, Mister Black, I couldn’t care less what happens to you or your family.”

Sirius chuckles, like he’d expected such a response from you. “Well, do what you’d like with my gratitude, I don’t care, just know that you have it,” he says, rising from his seat. “It’s past midnight, by the way. Lily’s left you some dinner in case you woke up hungry.”

Your eyes drift to the nightstand. There’s a steaming bowl of spinach rice with mushrooms, and a plate of honey cinnamon bars. But your gaze lingers on the bouquet of snapdragons and orchids placed in a ceramic vase.

“She believes home-cooked meals help the patients heal faster,” Sirius tells you, carefully observing your reaction—but there’s none to be found. He purses his lips into a thin, white line.

As he makes his way to leave, Sirius pauses, hand resting on the doorframe. “You know,” he begins quietly. “The thing about magic—it can fool the best of us into thinking we’re indestructible. But, you’re not as inhumane as you’d like us to think.” Sirius veers his head to look back at you. “Take that mask of yours off sometimes, yeah? You’d see the rest of the world clearly if you did.”

That is all you hear from him before the door clicks shut, and you’re left alone with your thoughts.

How arrogant.

How very Gryffindor of him.

You push the flower vase closer to the edge of the bedside table, indignantly eyeing the watercolor art. The room reeks of Lily’s kindness. Lions and their constant need to see the goodness in everyone. Take off your mask? You’d give your entire Gringotts account to wear the kind of rose-colored lenses they have—they’re more pestilent than you realized. No matter, it’s high-time you reintroduced yourself to the Marauders, anyway.

If you take off your mask, they would find nothing but a barren soul.

—

It seems your newfound parasites have forgotten who you truly are—but you have no qualms in reminding them why exactly you’re called the pureblood society’s darling.

For the week or so, the Daily Prophet features you out in luxurious restaurants, a new partner each night hanging off your arm. International Quidditch players, foreign models, esteemed opera singers, and even Muggle celebrities. Men and women are captured in moving photographs, avidly fawning over you.

You’ve missed three classes in favor of shopping in France; Flooing back to Hogwarts, stinking of bordeaux and rosa centifolia. Painite gems nestled around your neck, glittery sapphires lining your wrists. On more than one occasion, you’ve seen McGonagall lift her chin in distaste at your behavior.

“Well, that’s certainly a speedy recovery,” says Lily one afternoon as the owls take the Great Hall by storm. Rita Skeeter’s new article about you is plastered on the front page, apparently you’ve gotten into a catfight with an Italian seamstress. She risks a glimpse of you from the other side of the long table, laughing away with Professor Sinistra. The sound is scraping against her ears, yet Lily can’t help but feel disappointed.

Your desk is littered with mails from admirers, invitations to galas and fundraisers. The students can’t help but notice this fact as they’re brought to the dance floor each morning. (Each day, you rewind Coppélia’s song—her wishes, and her pain—but you plan to ignore the ballad until blood trickles from your ears.)

“Mumma’s just about ready to send her a Howler,” you hear Ginevra Weasley saying in passing after class. The young red-haired girl nearly bumps into Hermione’s shoulder as Ginny dips her head low, prattling excitedly, “Called the Professor a tart, even.”

Hermione stops walking, scrunching her nose. “Really?”

“Yes, yes,” Ginny nods. “But enough about all that—have you seen the news this morning?”

Hermione looks up, lips wrinkled in thought. “The one about the Professor being seen in Muggle London? I thought that was rather stale for a headline.”

“Not that one,” Ginny says exasperatedly, rolling her eyes. “The article about the Firebird. Remember what happened during the World Cup? When You-Know-Who’s followers came and raided the entire campsite?”

“That would be pretty hard to forget, Gin,” Hermione replies softly.

“Well, the Firebird’s gone and hunted a few of them,” Ginny tells her, eyes brimming with awe. “Found their hideout and left them half-dead for the Ministry to find. No Malfoy, though, which is a bloody shame.”

At your desk, you sip your jasmine pearl tea with a knowing smirk.

On the first of October, your previous Head of House invites you to the greenhouse for an overdue get-together. Naturally, you greet Pomona Sprout with gift baskets overflowing with glacé treats, packets of tea, scented candles, and dried berries. She huffs in fond exasperation before instructing you to grab a pair of cotton earmuffs and gardening gloves. And, well, you don’t mind playing the part of a slap happy third-year under her gentle care. It’s a role you enjoy more so than others.

“You’ve been worrying me these days, dear,” Professor Sprout tells you earnestly as she wrestles with the Flitterblooms. Hoo-hoo chicks flutter around in their cage while the uprooted baby Mandragoras screech nearby. You feel the weight of her gaze, much like a knitted blanket draped over your shoulders on a cold, autumn noon. “The other staff have been expressing their. . . concern, as well.”

You busy yourself with planting the Wiggentree in its pot, allowing only a moment to raise your walls of Occlumency. You know that she couldn’t possibly be a threat, but you would not allow someone else to expose you bare for others to see. (You loathe the thought of Sirius’s blood flowing through your veins.)

You know that concern is shallow at best, forged from fear of the students being influenced by your frivolous escapades.

At your silence, Sprout continues on, “We always tell the children that their Houses will be like their second family during their time at Hogwarts.” You hear her draw in a long breath, gingerly placing the flitter tentacles on the ground. “I hope you understand that the same is true for the professors. We take care of each other, substitute teacher or not.” Pomona’s hand is leaden on your shoulder. “After all, you were our student before anything else. The Sorting Hat gave you to me, and what a darling blessing you have been, even until today. When I look at you now, I see the same young first-year student who was afraid of everything and afraid to come out of their shell—but do not forget, I will always be on my children’s side no matter what.”

How poignant that the first person who truly welcomed you to Hogwarts, is one of the only people who can see through you despite your protective barriers.

And so, the puppet show begins—like a lifeless ragdoll, you peel the deer-leather gloves off your hands, blinking away any hints of emotion. You stand tall before Pomona, dusting flecks of soil off your dovetail skirt. “No one has been on my side. Not then, not now,” you say as you snobbishly arrange the brim of your sunhat. “But do not be mistaken, Pomona. I have been fine on my own and a change still remains to be seen.”

In another life, you would have happily embraced her comfort and affection—but the fate of a lonely starlet is cruel. You’ve made your bed of thorns and wilted roses, and there you shall lay when there is no one left but yourself.

“Today was lovely, Pomona, thank you.” It is one truth you’ve permitted yourself to offer—a shred of humanity in exchange for her kindness. The dirt beneath your nail beds is real; so is the ache in your back and the sweat dripping from the side of your head to your chin. But you cannot feel any more than that—you forbid yourself. The Mandrakes fall silent, and you bid your goodbyes to the professor.

The sunlight on your skin is real as you step outside, and so is the sound of clamoring students heading for the greenhouse. Sixth-year students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw hurry down the hill. Their unrestrained laughter and carefree smiles are real. And so is the unwashed blood on your hands; the killing curses that have fallen so easily from your lips, and the ghosts that haunt you as the moon arises. Perhaps, you could withstand it all if it means the children would live through a real future without the sins of people like you.

(But why is it that every time you distance yourself. . . there always seems to be someone calling out to you?)

Cedric Diggory, your godson, yells for you with a grin that stretches from ear-to-ear. You watch as his yellow scarf swings with each hasty step he takes. Cedric crosses the gap between you in under a minute, strands of wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glimmering eyes. It’s an unsolved mystery as to how you and him were sorted in the same House.

“Your shirt is wrinkled, Cedric,” you tut, straightening his tie. “Do you go riding Hippogriffs in your spare time?”

Cedric chuckles wholeheartedly. “Father told me to tell you that you’ve been invited this weekend for a dinner at Hogsmeade,” he says, cocking his head as a cheeky simper erupts across his face. “That is, if you aren’t busy.”

You raise a brow—sly little badger, he was. Harrumphing uppishly, you swivel to turn your back to him and say, “Tell your father that I’m choosing the venue, lest he chooses some primitive pub in the village.” You draw out the distance between you and Cedric, tossing your parting words into the chilly breeze, “Tell him I’m paying for everything, too.”

His hearty laughter cuts through the hillside as you make your way back to the castle. Thinking you have the last word, you don’t expect him to yell once more:

“I’m going to enter the tournament this year!”

You’re certainly taken by surprise, but you don’t slow your pace. An imperious smirk tugs at your lips—well, at least you know where you’re placing your bets.

A day before the esteemed guests are set to arrive, you run into Sirius and James—much to your annoyance. It’s just your luck that the evening prior you were hunting down a known member of Greyback’s pack. You played a little cat-and-wolf deep in the depths of a forest, hungrily isolating him from the rest of its family. Though this lycan was unturned, you walk away with claw marks on your back. Still, you hope that Greyback licks his wounds and feels the burden of this particular loss. However, you feel that dealing with James and Sirius will be much more difficult than bringing a werewolf to its knees.

After all, this is the first time you come face-to-face with them, nearly a month after your incident in the infirmary.

“Auror Black, Auror Potter,” you say liltingly, the rhinestone tassel clinking in your hair as you swirl to face them with a devious leer. “What can I do for you today?”

Sirius scoffs in disbelief. “So it’s like that, then? Like nothing ever happened?”

“Partying around, missing your bloody classes, parading all over the castle like you’re better than everyone else. We thought you changed. You know, I actually thought there could be something real to you under all that,” he punctuates his words with a harsh laugh, sneering at your blinding jewelry. “Guess we were the fools, eh?”

James stares at Sirius, a grim expression flashing across his face, before he shakes his head. “It just doesn’t make sense. What we saw at the infirmary—that’s not something anyone forgets.” He gazes at you with grief in his eyes. “It’s like you’re two different people.”

“It’s disappointing, really,” Sirius bites, his lips curling into a snarl.

They’ve made it all too easy for you.

“What are you so frustrated for, darlings?” you say in faux sympathy, stalking towards them as you tap at your chin; a sickly-sweet pout on your lips. “What were you hoping for? For all of us to become friends? We’re not children anymore, my loves!” you exclaim histrionically. “Did you actually fall for my little trick at the infirmary? The care parcel I left your husband? Didn’t you know my mother drafted the anti-werewolf bill?”

Sirius staggers.

“The real me?” you giggle incredulously. “What you see is what you get, dearest—don’t go searching for what doesn’t exist. It’s not my fault you fall so easily for a pretty face.” You tilt your head, fluttering your eyes as you drag your nail up James’s chin. “Not every damsel is in distress, you know.”

Your eyes slice towards Sirius with a coy smile. “Maybe if you had followed your head more often than your naive, little lion hearts—you wouldn’t have driven Regulus to his death.”

James recoils away from your touch just as Sirius flinches, eyes flashing with anger—Sirius digs his nails into his palms, chest heaving as he stares at you in disgust. You expect another stab in the chest from him, and so you lift your head up high, daring him to say another word. (You hope they stopped trying after this—that they would leave you alone to rot in your stage of lies and dutiful sacrifice.) But you don’t plan for James to step forward, shielding Sirius away from your gaze.

“You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen,” says James, words dripping in sincere revulsion. “Can’t believe I thought anything less than that.”

You smile widely, despite the tightening sensation in your chest. “Are we done here now, gentlemen?”

They would learn—this is who you are beneath your masks and pretenses.

The thirtieth of October brings about a cold you’ve never felt before. As you await the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, the outside corridors are teeming with students, eyes hungry with anticipation. You lean against the wall, exhausted physically and mentally, hugging your worn-out shawl closer to your shoulders.

The skies are exceptionally gray today—you’ve had to drag yourself out of bed earlier this morning, limbs heavy as lead. The teacup in your grasp is scalding to the touch—you find that nothing hurts more than the ache in your heart. The children are particularly rowdy at the moment—each time you close your eyes, you see the hatred in James and Sirius’s eyes.

Has loneliness ever felt so suffocating before?

When winged horses make their way from the heavens, the clamoring grows louder—yet all you hear are their words.

‘You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen.’

‘I actually thought there could be something real to you under all that.’

You would not weep—not for yourself, and not certainly for them.

Sometimes, you wondered if you were hurting too much to even be considered alive. Did your marked flesh even count as skin anymore? Worthy to be cherished with gentle touches and tender lips? How much more did you have to do until the guillotine finally fell?

When does duty end? And when does life begin?

Madame Maxine and her drove of Veelas descend from their carriage; awestruck gasps and intrigued murmurs echoing along the corridor. When the Beauxbatons Headmaster comes to stand before you, you instinctively sink into the role of a diplomatic host—that is, after all, why Dumbledore hired you. With a nod of your head and a pleasing smile, you greet the first of your guests to arrive.

“What a relief that you made it safely to Hogwarts, Madame Maxime,” you tell her in a saccharine-sweet tone. “If you please, Mister Filch here will guide you to the dormitories where you’ll be staying while Hagrid will take care of your horses.”

You want to go to sleep already.

Finally, as a large ship emerges from the Great Lake—a sense of relief floods through you. Only one more person to greet and you’ll finally be able to return to your quarters, welcoming feast be damned—you’ve done your part for today. Igor Karkaroff and his students make their presence known; imposing statures and foreboding glares. The castle nearly crumbles from Viktor Krum’s entrance, Hogwarts’ Quidditch players eager to catch a glimpse of the prodigal Seeker—well, you could care less about such a barbaric sport.

Karkaroff presents you a slimy leer as he presses a kiss to the back of your palm—the dig of his long nails into your skin is a pleasant feeling, to your surprise. “Dumbledore did not inform me we would be greeted by such beauty. We would have arrived earlier, otherwise.”

You miss your cat.

(Sirius’s eyes roll all the way to the back of his head when you giggle and melt in Karkaroff’s wretched compliments.)

You want to die.

—

Chaos erupts the next day. The Goblet of Fire has chosen a fourth champion—Harry Potter himself. No one is more enraged than his mother, Lily. The Aurors on duty, James and Sirius, struggle to contain the students’ horror and verbal lashings. Some have taken to accusing James himself of putting Harry’s name in the goblet in the name of family prestige—predictably, it’s Draco and Pansy who lead that revolt. But you don’t expect for Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan to be swayed by the baseless gossip. So there’s a crack in the pride’s loyalty to one another, you surmise to yourself.

Like a Niffler drawn to shiny objects, you follow the Headmasters and professors into a room, away from all the ruckus.

“Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?” the wise Professor Dumbledore asks calmly.

The atmosphere is beyond wintry—you note the biting criticisms in their eyes, particular between Fleur and Madame Maxime. Lily hides Harry from their scrutiny, proud and unyielding despite being shorter than the Beauxbaton champion. Across the room, you find Severus and Remus engaged in a muted, albeit wound up argument.

Everyone looks to the morose Bartemius Crouch Sr., awaiting his decision with a bated breath. You sympathize with the man—for a fleeting moment—for if looks could kill, Sirius’s tempestuous glare would have dragged him six feet under.

“We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.”

Your blood runs cold.

Ludo Bagman appears to be pleased with his colleague’s decision—you see no reason why he shouldn’t be, he’s only ever put his odds in the thrill of the game. “Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front!”

Dimwitted fool.

You scoff. “In a room full of Headmasters and Ministry leaders, surely one of you can find a way to unbind young Potter’s name from the tournament.”

“Err. . .” Ludo’s gaze flickers from Dumbledore to Crouch Sr. Madame Maxime and Karkaroff nod emphatically in agreement, forcing him into a corner with a ragged chuckle. “There’s nothing to be done, the Goblet of Fire has gone out.”

“Do you or do you not have a wand, Mister Bagman?” you reply, piqued; crossing your arms over your chest. “If the rules were written by a wizard, surely it can be unwritten by a wizard. Teaching an Unforgivable to a first-year would be more difficult than that.” “It is not as simple as that, Professor!” Bagman cries. “But you are welcome to try a hand at it.”

“So we just let a child run to his death, then?” you seethe, nostrils flaring. “I never knew the Ministry was teeming with incompetent men. Shall I steal your job from under your nose, Ludo dear?”

(Harry’s brows pinch in confusion. He does not expect for you to care so much.)

“He’s got to compete. They’ve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?” says Alastor Moody as he limps across the room, flask in his hand. You fall silent, an unnerving chill slithering down your spine. Something about this man did not sit right with you. You pull the sleeves of your blouse further down your arms.

“Maybe someone’s hoping Potter is going to die for it,” Moody growls in response to Fleur. “Over my dead body!” James snarls, veins rigid against the column of his throat, eyes simmering in anger.

“Yes, yes, Potter, we all know you’d die for your son,” Moody remarks offhandedly, taking a large gulp of the liquor in his flask.

“It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it,” Dumbledore counters in an attempt to placate the tense atmosphere. Lily’s sharp sob engulfs the outraged clamors of the two other Headmasters. “Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do. . . .”

The glass sculpture of a long-haired mermaid shatters into fragmented pieces as you bump into the table; just about ready to flee before you do anything rash like point your wand at Crouch Sr. himself. Before you exit the room, you catch sight of Cedric’s eyes—worry and uncertainty pooling within his gaze. You slam the door hard enough until the wood splinters.

Harry Potter is imprisoned by his fate as the Chosen One—and it seems time has imprisoned everyone at Hogwarts, yourself included.

The first task for the tournament arrives defiantly, without care for Harry and his loved ones. You have only been to the Quidditch field twice—today happens to be the second time. Everyone is bundled in their wooliest sweaters and warmest jackets; although, Hermione did have her portable bluebell flames. You stare at it with envy.

“Oi! Professor, over here!” One freckled Weasley twin—Fred, you guess—beckons for you to sit by their swarm of red and gold. He pushes Ron away to make room for you beside Minerva.

“Thank you, Mister Weasley,” you say quietly, sniffles falling from your frost-bitten nose.

It’s quite odd—you’d have expected to be sitting with Professor Sprout and Amos, amongst your sett of badgers. But it’s not half-bad. You don’t erupt in flames when Minerva holds onto you, shrieking, as Fleur narrowly avoids her dragon, awoken from its trance. You don’t particularly mind either, when the Weasley twins bump their chests and holler into Ginerva’s ear when it’s time for Viktor Krum to face the Chinese Fireball.

“We got a traitor here!” George snickers when you flinch and yelp for Cedric as he fights shy of the Short Snout’s fire, and cheering breathlessly when he eventually captures the golden egg. You glare at George mirthfully, wondering where your fight and heat has gone.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” you say, rising to your feet as the judges mull over their scores for Cedric. “Minerva,” you nod to her, and she offers you a hint of a wrinkly smile. (McGonagall thinks that if anyone can talk back in the face of a Ministry chairman in defense of her students, then perhaps she’s misjudged a professor or two.)

Your cheeks grow numb from the cold as you cross the swarm of Beauxbatons students, past the flock of Ravenclaws. Harry’s match is underscored by the deafening cheers; the stands rumbling from the yells for his name. You’re nearing the territory of yellow banners and black insignias, trumpets blowing into your ears, when the clamor and hurrahs turn into terrified gasps; students rushing back from the edge. You don’t understand the fuss until you look back at the arena.

Harry’s dragon has broken free from its chains.

You join Professor Sprout and Severus in herding the students away from danger—spotting James and Sirius across the arena, hastily reinforcing the protective barriers around the stands, uttermost precision in their wandwork. While Harry dances a life-threatening waltz, you hurriedly clear out the space closest to the banisters. Your breath hitches as the Hungarian Horntail wreaks havoc below, inducing quakes and showers of fire.

But more frightening than any dragon, you hear the bloodcurdling scream of a student.

“Daphne!”

The Greengrass heiress, Astoria, cries vehemently as Draco holds her back from rushing to the front of the stands.

You scour the area frantically—there, only a few feet away from you, lies a fear-stricken Daphne Greengrass, staring right into the eyes of the Horntail. Its teeth bare, growls like thunderstorms, and the rising scent of embers and ashes.

“Daphne, get away from there!”

You hardly hesitate—you run to her, desperation pushing at your legs, terror holding your heart captive. As the dragon screeches in preparation to breathe fire, the nearest Aurors miles away—each gasp for air is torn from your throat. In a blink of an eye, you grab Daphne into your arms and shield her from the Horntail. The crowd bellows in fright—you close your eyes, preparing for even the most excruciating of pain.

But there is nothing.

Just you, Daphne, the Hungarian—and Remus who’s pointed his wand at the onslaught of flames, redirecting it up into the sky as Harry grabs the Horntail’s attention, now zipping freely on his broom.

Remus looks back at the both of you in relief, drawing his wand back in his pocket. “Are you alright?” he asks you first, a weary tenderness in his eyes.

You tear your gaze away from him, checking on Daphne instead; cupping her pale cheeks and wiping the tears from her eyes. “Are you alright, Daphne? What do you feel? Come, darling, let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey—can you stand? Here, put your arm around my shoulder.”

“T–Thank you, Professor,” stammers Daphne as Astoria rushes to her, the pair of sisters blubbering and crying. The blonde-haired girl nods to you and Remus, “Both of you. I–I don’t know how I’ll repay such kindness.”

“Don’t worry, Daphne,” says Remus, smiling as he offers her a lemon-flavored treat.

He steps back to make way for Lily to fuss over Daphne, his eyes straying to you, oozing with sincerity as he rubs his handkerchief to your cheek. He grins at you and your heart skips a beat. “My kindness is freely given.”

Has kindness ever felt so real before?

act iv. you wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.

“THE CHILDREN ARE terrified, Missus Fawley. Just last week, we had another incident. All the windows in the kitchen—shattered! The little ones couldn’t sleep for days.”

You hear the orphanage matron’s voice behind the bedroom door. You’re allowed but a moment of playing with your ragged, plush animals, before the matron comes barging inside. (How rude, you think to yourself. Hasn’t she ever heard of knocking before?) Although, unlike all the other times, she has a lady right on her tail. This woman is much taller than Sister Thompson, certainly more beautiful-looking, too. Not that you have anything against Sister Thompson’s wrinkly face and foul smile.

No, this woman walks with her head held up high, dressed in a burgundy leather coat that clearly costs more than the thin rag you call a shirt. This must be Mrs. Fawley, then. Her black heels click against the rusty, wooden floor; you watch impassively as she bends down to your eye level. She takes you by surprise when she grabs ahold of your chin, slowly turning your head from side to side.

“So this is the child,” Mrs. Fawley muses, red lips quirked. Haunting blue eyes stare back at you; hair dark as ebony falling to her waist. “You may leave, Sister Thompson. I would like to get to know my future ward.”

The matron widens her eyes. “Missus Fawley, I strongly advise against—!”

“You misunderstand me, Sister Thompson,” says Fawley, a sharp edge to her voice. “That was not a request.”

A strange sense of victory fills you when Sister Thompson bows her head in response, tossing you just one sour glare before exiting the room. The rickety door clicks shut and Mrs. Fawley returns her attention to you with a low hum, eyes raking over your form once more. You wonder what she’s thinking about; wondering if it’s the vast difference between her neatly-pressed clothing and your rumpled dress shirt. Many have visited the orphanage before, but none have spared you a second glance, not with Sister Thompson scaring them all away. (You suppose there is no appeal in adopting a child with temperamental issues who can make other girls’ noses bleed.)

“Show me,” Fawley commands, breaking the quietude; her voice stern, yet hypnotic. Much like the first notes of a pied piper’s song. For a few moments, you don’t understand what she’s asking for, until realization dawns upon you. You drop the plush toy’s limbs—seconds later, the teddy bear waves its hand as though it’s gained a soul. If this had been a wooden doll with a long nose, it would be saying: ‘I’m a real boy!’

Fawley chuckles, leaning back with a pleased look. Your head falls to the side in confusion—when you had shown this little trick to Daisy Anne and Annaliese, they’d begun to throw stones at you, screaming and saying that you were a witch. You don’t try to play with the other children anymore after that. Rather than being afraid, Missus Fawley seems to be happy with you. “My name is Agatha Fawley, special adviser to the Wizengamot, daughter of the Sacred Twenty-Eight,” she tells you, and you don’t have a lick of comprehension. “What do you know about witches and wizards, darling?” “I don’t know, maybe. . .” You scrunch your nose, making the stuffed elephant twirl the bear with just a glance—Fawley tilts your chin upwards, demanding your utmost attention. “That they aren’t real? Or if they are, they should be burnt at the stake?”

Agatha Fawley hisses, a low sound that sends shivers down your spine. You wonder if you’ve angered her. The toys fall back to the floor lifelessly. “Damned Muggles—! Is that what they teach these days?” She shakes her head. “No, never mind. What matters is what happens from now on.” “Are you going to adopt me?” you dare to ask, gaze falling to the floor, heart hammering against its confinements.

“I will,” she affirms and your eyes grow wide, breath stuttering in your throat. “But if we are to become family—there is one thing you must do for me.”

“Anything!” You all but scream in her ear, a plea for her to take you away from the orphanage; far, far away from hurtful words and a room that echoes your loneliness back to you.

“Never lower your eyes.” She smiles, teeth bared into a snarl, reminiscent of a prowling fox. “You are magic, my darling. And I will be your mother. No one on this earth can make you kneel in surrender.”

You believe her.

You believe her with all your heart.

But, you would learn that even monsters can call themselves ‘mother’ and embrace you with open arms.

The Fawley Manor is large—larger than the orphanage, and that was a place you couldn’t fully explore due to its largeness. There must be a thousand rooms, as far as the eyes can see. It’s like a princess castle coming to life—akin to the ones you’ve read about in storybooks. Missus Fawley’s home nearly touches the sky. There are tall trees, wide grassfields, and glimmering lakes. You gasp and cover your eyes with your hands as the chauffeur drives past the marble sculpture of naked ladies. (“Think of them as Goddesses bare to the mortal eye, dearest,” says Fawley when you yelp and sink into the leather seats.) Then, the family butler, maids, and chef come to greet you, all smiling at the new addition to the manor.

You meet Elsie, the house elf—your first real encounter with magic. Well, besides Missus Fawley turning paper into crystalline butterflies in the car. Elsie is a tiny, wrinkly creature who wears five different-colored knitted hats atop her head. She can’t seem to stop shuddering while speaking, too, as if drenched in cold, invisible water. But you look into her big eyes and you decide to be her friend forever.

“Get settled into your room, and then we’ll have you acquainted with the rest of the staff,” Fawley says after she ushers you into a room—a bedroom just for you, where you won’t have to listen to anyone else’s snoring or fight to the death for a blanket on a cold winter storm. The bed is bouncy and soft, not unlike the cardboard they’d given you at the orphanage. Your shelves are stocked with toys and books.

Then, you remember that in exchange for all this, you must do your best in school. That is one thing you aren’t looking forward to.

But, how bad could a school be if it’s filled with magic?

You happily imagine smelly trolls, dashing unicorns, talking ghosts, and floating crayons.

For your first week in the manor, you enjoy glazed desserts, fluffy pillows, and silken clothing—and on your second week, you are reminded of your duty to the family you’ve been brought into. Something bigger than studying in a faraway magic castle. Missus Fawley introduces you to her long line of ancestors. You stumble on your footing as the portraits shuffle around and gaze upon you with curiosity, some with a more heated glare than others. They call you a funny term as you walk past. Mudblood. But, Fawley tells you not to worry. You are now her child before anything else.

The family crest is chiseled with gold; you squint your eyes to make sense of the inscription: Virtus in Arduis.

“Virtue in hardships,” Agatha explains in her dulcet tone. As you featherly trace the emblem with your fingers, Fawley leans down to your height, clearing her throat; her expression impossible for you to read. “I brought you to this family because I saw potential in you. I sensed great magic from your person. But we all have our duties. Magic gives, and magic will take.”

“The wizarding world is in grave danger,” she tells you firmly, gripping the curve of your jaw with an intensity that frightens you. “Will you help me fight for the greater good?”

You blink.

You just got here and now you have to fight for a world that you never even knew that existed?

“Greater good?” you echo in disbelief. “F-Fight? Fight who? I’ve never even fought in my life! Making Daisy Anne’s nose bleed w-was just an accident!”

“I will be with you every step of the way,” she vows fiercely, the tips of her nails digging into your cheeks. “Tell me, do you understand? You will do what is right without any recognition at all. Think of it as a performance, my love. And I’m preparing you for your role in this world starting now.”

The ingénue in this act you have to play involves studying endlessly, practicing your wand work until Fawley is satisfied, and familiarizing yourself with every shelf in the library from dawn until dusk. You don’t understand why you must memorize every charm and every incantation—but Missus Fawley reminds you that you are bound to her and your responsibilities. You don’t want to go back to the orphanage, cold and alone—so, you acquaint yourself with parchments and quills, swallowing the discomfort when the nib harshly rubs your skin raw.

On your tenth birthday, Missus Fawley gifts you with a closet overflowing with chiffon, taffeta, and organza. Lace parasols, pretty shoes, and wide-brimmed sun hats. The chef surprises you with a three-layered cake, the constellation icing charmed to flicker like real stars in the night. It’s the best birthday you’ve ever had. For the first time, you feel like your life is actually celebrated.

The next day, your adoptive mother says with utmost exigency, “This time next year, you shall be off to Hogwarts, but that means your debut in society is drawing near. The wizarding world will officially acknowledge you as my child.”

“When that happens, vultures will flock to you as though you were a corpse.” Her eyes flash dangerously. “And you will become one, unless you learn how to fend for yourself. The most ruthless of us all can be adorned in pearls and dressed in ball gowns. Appearance is everything in this world—do not let them see that you are afraid.”

And so, you don’t tell her that she’s petrified you to the bone.

“As the sole heir to my fortune and properties, you must understand how to navigate, not only the wizarding world, but this treacherous domain, as well.” Missus Fawley straightens your back, harshly tapping you once more to spread your legs at a more acceptable distance. “To be envied by all—the perfect host must always be ready to receive their guests with attention and politeness.”

When you wince, or move to massage your sore muscles, she barks at you, “You must always be composed, even in near-death. If you crumble—if you let even a single person know what you’re truly feeling, all this will be for naught.”

The burden of her words is heavier than the textbooks she shoves in your hold.

“Control them before they can control you,” Fawley explains as the seamstress measures your waist and arms. “Exert your influence in a conversation. Not only in words, but your stature. Present yourself accordingly. Jewelry and clothing can be your armor when you cannot draw your wand.”

You grumble under your breath when the seamstress accidentally pokes you with a needle for the nth time.

“Smile when flattered, giggle when offered a dance, and curtsy when greeted.” Fawley glares daggers at you when you hiss in pain. “But most of all, do not let any of those cretins know that you are fully aware of the power you wield over them. Anyone can be a puppeteer if they want to be. You’ll just be the greatest of them all.”

(But even a master of puppets has someone pulling their strings from behind the curtains.)

Elsie stays up with you each night, carefully pouring ice-cold water over your head, and playing with the floating bubbles to distract you from the ache in your legs and arms. “Elsie will give Master her hat!” the young elf says one evening, pulling the topmost beanie from her head and laying it on yours. She tells you a bedtime story before tucking you beneath the covers of your queen-sized bed. You fall asleep to the sound of grasshoppers chirping and portraits murmuring to one another.

Then, you get your first taste of a pureblood skirmish. Missus Fawley had taken you to Diagon Alley, months away from the first of September—a letter in your hand with all the materials a first-year would need for their classes. Safe to say, you’re more than excited. (“Oh, mother, look!” you exclaim, pointing to the various shops—and also remembering the rule of calling Agatha mother out in public. “A sweet shop! Fortescue’s ice cream parlor! Mother, can we go there? Please, please, please!”) Fawley smiles at your wide-eyed wonder, your hand in hers—today is a special one, she decides. You’re allowed a bit of fun. Especially since you’ve shown unfathomable progress in your studies.

You get your very first wand at Ollivanders—and now this world of grumpy goblins and jumping chocolate frogs becomes even more real. You hardly let go of your wand, a tingle of exhilaration running through you each time you brush your fingers against the finely-carved wood. Even Missus Fawley is pleased with the wand that chooses you. Later, you’ll be given three hours to practice your charms again, but you find that you don’t mind—not when you’ve learned that you can now read books under the covers when Elsie turns the lights off.

As you exit the shop, breathless and flushed with a hunger to explore more of this world you’ve been given access to, you and Fawley run into one of her friends. This must be one of the scary people she’s warned you about. Sharp cheekbones, unfriendly gray eyes, and a stern demeanor. You immediately suck in a breath and school your face just as Agatha has taught you.

“Walburga!” Fawley greets with a lovely smile, but you notice that it doesn’t reach her eyes, not like when she smiles at you for growing another inch taller. She brings her hand onto your shoulder. “What a pleasant surprise, my dear.” She peers at the two young boys hiding behind her, much like you were doing now. “Oh, my! Is it that time already? I’d forgotten young Sirius was set to go to Hogwarts this year. You must be overjoyed.”

Walburga is a tall lady, taller than Agatha, even. She hums, lips quirked, chin held up high. “Fawley,” Walburga responds, rather displeased. “Talking my ear off, as usual.” Her trenchant eyes land on you and her smile curves into a sneer. “And who might this little one be?”

You risk a glance at Missus Fawley before offering the other woman a sweet, half-curtsy. “Madam Black, how do you do?” you smile at her, gaily revealing your name and the gap in your front teeth—the two boys snicker and your eyes instantly narrow into a glare.

Walburga stares you down harshly. “How adorable.” Her eyes slice to the two boys behind her. “Sirius, Regulus, introduce yourselves.”

Missus Fawley laughs, a grating sound—much like warning bells—as her eyes flash dangerously at her, hand tightening on your collarbone. “What a relief to know that Sirius will at least have one friend already before they arrive at the castle.”

“But—oh, dear, look at the time.” Agatha quickly casts the Tempus charm before looking at you aghast, eyes wide as saucers, mouth parted dramatically. “I promised the Daily Prophet a photoshoot today! It is my thirty-first birthday soon, after all. I’d give you tips on how to capture this look, but, Walburga, it seems you’re embodying the housewife fashion perfectly.”

“Ta-ta!” She plants two, airy kisses on Walburga’s cheeks before waving the three goodbye.

“That,” Fawley whispers into your ear as she snuggles the side of your face. “—is exactly how to do it.”

You collapse in your bed that night, wondering just what you’ve gotten yourself into and what kind of world you’re about to live in.

How confusing.

All this time, you thought that Missus Fawley had been preparing you for an intense entrance exam. Why else would she make you study twenty-five hours a day and eight days a week? But as it turns out, all you had to do was sit on a chair and have Professor McGonagall put a talking hat on your head.

“Hufflepuff!” the Sorting Hat proclaims, and the table of yellow and black welcomes you with open arms. You sit next to a boy named Amos Diggory. Later in the night, you’ll share a dormitory with a kind girl named Amelia Bones.

(Hogwarts is the best!)

The holidays arrive in the blink of an eye and you find yourself standing at the steps of the manor once more. Agatha Fawley waits for you by the door, engulfing you instantly in a hug that shields you from the falling snowflakes and biting winds. Hot cocoa with marshmallows and gingerbread cookies await you in the grand dining room; you even get a crotchety greeting from Isolde Fawley the Third’s portrait. Elsie crumples to the floor and sobs at your arrival.

“So you were sorted there,” Fawley mutters to herself, a worried expression contorting her face. The fireplace crackles as a winter storm rages outside the manor. You lay on her lap as she absentmindedly pats your head. Stories of your first few months at Hogwarts fall from your lips without pause. “This would go smoother if you had been sorted in Slytherin, however; but no matter—it’s not what I expected, but we can make do. The Diggorys and Bones’ are purebloods, so maybe not all hope is lost. But you need to get more acquainted with the Greengrasses and the Malfoys, Druella Black’s daughters as well.”

You hide your frown against her legs. You really liked Amos and Susan, Bellatrix was just downright mean to everyone, even calling this one girl, Lily, a Mudblood, too. But if mother wanted you to try, you might, but only once. If Bellatrix didn’t want to be your friend, then there’s no helping that unhinged witch. (At least the Prewett twins’ pranks were funny. Bellatrix once snuck inside the Ravenclaw tower to leave a dead pig’s head in the girls’ dormitory just because.)

On the twenty-fifth of December, Agatha Fawley throws a gala just for you—masqued as a fundraiser for Muggle children in need. (None of the families cared about them, you would realize later on.) The ground nearly rumbles from the number of guests she’s invited. From your bedroom window, you spot a few familiar faces. Sirius Black, who stands out from the crowd like a pale bean sprout; his cousin, Bellatrix, who’s already taken to yelling at the staff; Lucius Malfoy, the Flints, and the Parkinsons. Your head goes dizzy.

As long as you don’t trip during your entrance, everything should be fine, right? Right?

(You one-hundred percent trip in front of everyone as you descend the stairs. The sound of James Potter and Sirius Black’s laughter haunts you.)

But other than that, the Yule event goes by smoothly. You don’t fall flat on your face when greeting Cygnus Black and Druella Black née Rosier, and mother is thoroughly satisfied when you smile in the face of Walburga Black and Abraxas Malfoy. You stay in the corner after welcoming your guests, sitting in your chair like an abstract painting forbidden to touch; whilst the Prewett twins and James teased Elsie until she cried from anxiety. Sirius also goes out of his way to congratulate you for growing all your teeth in.

You don’t understand why Mother is so scared of these people.

But you’ll understand virtue in hardships soon enough when you receive your first tutoring in ballroom dancing. Instead of sapphire earrings or a trip to France, Missus Fawley has a different gift in mind for your fifteenth birthday. She surprises you with a tutor—you’re bewildered at first, arguing that you’ve consistently been at the top of your class. (“Madam Hawthorne is not here for your academics, my darling,” Fawley explains with her red-lips stretched in a foreboding smile. “Dance is a beneficial skill for any host to have. You’ll practice until your footwork is perfect. You will dance until I say you can stop. And when your feet are aching and bleeding, you will keep dancing.”)

Each night for your summer holiday, you go to bed, sobbing into your pillows, body trembling from Madam Hawthorne’s cane.

Everything changes on the eve of your sixteenth birthday.

Like all the years before, Missus Fawley invites the entirety of the pureblood society to the manor.

You stay with Narcissa and Andromeda, gently placating their concerns when they ask about your unnatural quietness—truthfully, you could no longer breathe in the flounced dress you’ve been forced to wear; the sides of your feet raw from constantly practicing with Madam Hawthorne, head aching from the lights and obnoxious perfumes; stomach gurgling. Bags under your eyes from revising endlessly for your N.E.W.T.S.

Eyes drooping and neck craning from exhaustion, you don’t at all expect for James Potter to emerge from the crowd; wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glasses, wine-colored suit melting into his dark skin. He holds out his hand to you with a boyish grin. “May I have this dance?”

You blink, frozen solid for a few moments until Narcissa softly nudges your side. “Y-Yes, if you must,” you splutter, placing your palm in his.

He leads you to the dance floor as the orchestra plays a song perfect for a waltz along a flower field; your eyes glued to his back. The chandelier hangs overhead as James settles your arms around his neck in one swift motion. You almost step on his feet, spluttering your gratitude when he steadies you by the waist, the heat of his hands permeating your layers of clothing.

“Isn’t it odd that the birthday celebrant wasn’t dancing all this time?” he says, pulling you in for a twirl.

“I assume the others were all too afraid to deal with my mother,” you reply timidly. “She’s quite overprotective, you see.”

“Who? That tall lady over there by Missus Black who’s currently glaring at me?” James chuckles into your ear as you step closer to hear his heartbeat. “She couldn’t possibly terrify me.”

“Lily says thank you, by the way.”

“Oh? For what?”

“Letting her copy off your Defense Against the Dark Arts essay—she’s downright shite at the subject. Don’t tell her I said that, though.”

You laugh along with him, and you find that you could rest in his arms forever.

But, as your dance with him comes to an end, so does your wistful reverie.

When most of the guests have left the scene, and when the lights have dimmed, Mother presents to you her real gift—your debut in the wizarding society. She leads you to a room, one where you’ve never ventured before. It’s deep past the cellars, where cobwebs and dust bunnies grow. (Before you enter, Narcissa grips your hand firmly, a look of dread and urgency in her eyes. “Be brave,” is all that she says, encasing you in her arms.)

In this dark room, you see Abraxas and his wife, Walburga, Cygnus, the Notts, the Goyles, and more people you recognize, all dressed in their finest black cloaks—as though it were a funeral instead of a birthday. In the center of it all, is your mother, Agatha, with a man kneeling in front of her.

“What is this?” you ask in alarm, frantically searching for answers. The man struggles against his rope, binds, screams and pleas muffled by the cloth shoved in his mouth. The sight of his bruises makes you all but retch. “Mother, what is going on?”

Walburga is the first to step forward, her lips painted blood-red against her ashen skin, curving into an edacious smile. She cradles the back of your head to her chest. “My lovely dear, it has been the utmost privilege watching you grow. Your mother is certainly proud of you, we all are. Tonight, just as our sons and daughters before you, we offer you our blessing on this very special day.”

“You know of the Unforgivables, right, my child?” Her voice is a sweet, ruthless cadence in your ear; her touch, like worms crawling on your skin as she places your wand in your hand. You bite down on your tongue, swallowing each breath as the walls threaten to cave in on you. Your fingers forcibly shake in terror and you worry that you might snap your wand in half if you aren’t careful. “The Cruciatus, the Imperius, and—?”

“The killing curse,” you breathe out, ever-so stiff in her hold. You watch as Abraxas kicks the man to the ground; you dig your nails deep into your palm to keep from flinching.

“That’s right, little one,” says Walburga, tracing your jaw with a morbid sense of satisfaction. She holds your chin in place as Abraxas tears the cloth from the man’s mouth. It’s worse now. You hear his desperate begging and his guttural cries for help. “Muggles,” she spits the word out like venom. “Look at them. They’re filthy. Infecting our blood with theirs.”

“Kill him,” Walburga says, a delicate whisper, as though she had asked for a cup of tea. “Kill him and you’ll have proved your worth to us.”

“No! No, please!” The man struggles against Abraxas’s arms. “Please! I have a family! A c-child!”

You stagger backwards, nearly losing your grip on your wand. You look to your mother for help. “I—!”

“Kill him, pet!” Bellatrix cackles from across the room, teeth bared viciously, eagerly beckoning for you to come forward. “Make sure you mean it! Otherwise it won’t hurt!”

“You know the words,” says Walburga, lifting your pliable arm—a puppeteer controlling its ragdoll. “Say it.”

The man before you is real. He’s a real person with a real family anxiously waiting for him to come home. His children worried sick for their father. How can they just stand there and expect you to kill him? “Mother, please—I can’t. I w-wont.” Your breathing grows labored, hot tears pricking your eyes; the man screams and yells, and the sound echoes ceaselessly in your ears. “I don’t. . . I don’t understand.”

Agatha Fawley closes her eyes, and you understand perfectly.

Each sob wrecks your body and the tears endlessly flow from your ears, you hiccup and shiver; blood pooling from the bite in your tongue. “I can’t do this—please!”

“You will.”

You close your eyes just as a flash of unforgiving green shoots from your wand. “Avada Kedavra!”

The man falls limp to the floor, and so does your wand. Walburga coos and drowns you in a sea of shallow praises, the men offer their congratulations, but all you hear is the sound of a lifeless body dropping to the ground.

A man who you just killed by your wand, in your home.

That night, the four walls of your bedroom bear witness to your anguish—you cry until you throw up on the floor, body lurching and quivering on the freezing red oak.

“Do you get it now?” says Agatha as she enters your room, the faintest of sunlight streaming through the windows. She bends down and cups your face in her palms. “This is your world from now on.”

You rip her hands away from you, gritting your teeth. “I don’t want to live in your world—not anymore! I don’t care about all this! Magic, wealth, and all these things mean nothing if I have to kill innocent people! You’re a monster!”

“Good.” Fawley’s voice is cold as she stands up, lifting her chin as her eyes glaze impassively. “That means you’re ready for your next lesson.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said I was done!” you retort, sore from crying.

“Don’t you see?” says Fawley, pausing underneath the door frame, gaze ruthlessly slicing towards you. “We will destroy them from the inside out. Walburga, Abraxas, Tom Riddle. All of them, one by one. That is our true duty.”

As she turns to leave, she adds coldly, “Ready yourself. I’ll be teaching you Occlumency during your summer break.” Then she slams the door shut, leaving you all alone in your room.

When you return to school after the winter holidays, you’re forced to pretend that you hadn’t taken the life of an innocent Muggle.

‘Do not let them see you are afraid.’

“Unfortunately, flaming red hair and hand-me-down robes will not complement my dress—it’s crimson taffeta, you see, handcrafted only by the finest tailors in Italy,” you say dismissively to the ragtag of Gryffindors before you, Vittoria Zabini and Isadora Bulstrode giggling at your side. The Prewett boy visibly wilts and you almost give in—almost. But everyone must play their part in this world. You know that if you show a sliver of weakness, Vittoria and Isadora will be happy enough to report to their mothers—vying for the pedestal you’ve been put on by their parents.

For the final blow, you scrunch your nose in disgust, slamming your Divination textbook close. “Can you even afford anywhere in Hogsmeade for a date, Prewett?”

(Walburga would Avada you herself if she caught you in such a place with such a wizard. You’re more terrified of what she might ask you to do to Gideon—someone she deems as a blood traitor. You refuse to utter another Unforgivable. You just won’t.)

“Oh, you cruel wench!” Marlene McKinnon steps forward and before anyone could take another breath, she slaps you in the face. And, finally, you feel something other than the guilt of taking someone’s life.

Your cheek stings from the impact, your ears ringing with the sound of your friends asking if you’re alright and Dorcas Meadowes roaring about how you deserved it—well, you’re not about to disagree. You move your jaw about, cradling the side of your face as you sigh impassively—oh, it’s nothing compared to the etiquette lessons of Agatha Fawley. “My mother will certainly hear about this, McKinnon.”

“You and your mother can kiss my arse!” she shrieks, eyes ablaze.

“Gideon didn’t deserve that, and you know it,” Lily argues fervidly, eyes sickle-shaped as she looks back at the Prewett twin’s dejected expression. “How could you even say that?”

“How could I not, Lily darling?” you reply off-handedly with a roll of your eyes.

Lily flinches. In her gaze, all you see looking back at you is the Muggle father who had cried out relentlessly for one last glimpse of his children. She stares at the badger emblem on your cloak with disdain, and you with a great deal of pity. “You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen.”

She has the softest voice you’ve ever heard, but it hurts you all the same.

You’ve scrubbed your skin raw in the bath, hoping that you’d wash the feel of your sins off your hands—it’s all for naught. Agatha might be a monster in your eyes, but you’re the fool that played right into her act.

You get to your feet, meeting her eye-to-eye. In a low whisper, lips close to her ear, you say, “There are far worse creatures out there, Evans. You’re lucky you’ve been born only a Muggleborn.”

Fortunate that she won’t ever have to play the role that you’ve been forced to. You feel an overwhelming envy towards her—effortless beauty, pure and untainted hands, a kind heart that draws in every one and every person. Compared to her, you must be a dirtied, black swan in a lake that’s only meant for white swans like Lily Evans.

And she will have more charming princes and truehearted fairies on her side than you could ever hope to gain.

“Say another word and I will tear your hair from that pretty head of yours,” Marlene snarls, pushing Lily behind her.

Oh, how easy they make it for you.

You smile in delight. “So you think I’m pretty?”

Marlene lunges.

(You are so tired of it all.)

Every night of your summer holiday, you spend it writhing on the floor, Agatha’s lessons on Occlumency taking its toll. She grows harsher, stricter, and more apathetic than the sun beating down on the manor windows. (“Again!” Fawley demands as you collapse to the ground, drenched in sweat and your head numb from her probing. “Do you think the Dark Lord will be lenient with you? Get up! We’re going again! If you want this to end, you will endure this without error!”)

While your peers are out swimming in lakes and racing around in Quidditch brooms, you’re stuck within the confinements of your home. But you are not that naive, you’ve seen the headlines of the Daily Prophet. A coalition known as Death Eaters have begun making their mark on the wizarding society. There are rumors of a great, sinister power rising. People go missing everyday, and you worry that this might be the world that your mother has been preparing you for all this time.

But why you? Why must you carry this burden all alone? Who will pick up the pieces of your battered soul when the weight of your burden crushes you entirely?

There are times when you wish you never left the orphanage at all.

A week into your summer break, you find out that your mother is dying. Violent coughing, dizzy spells, jaundiced skin, her eyes bloodshot, and the healer frequenting her bedroom quarters. You’re not allowed inside, of course, but you can hear her feeble voice and the doctor’s stern orders.

You also learn that she’s absolutely insane—but that is a fact you’ve come to terms with years ago. One night, during dinner, you’d let it slip that you have your suspicions of a classmate being inflicted with a lycan’s curse. Agatha Fawley reacts just about as one would expect her to.

“A werewolf? In Hogwarts?” Fawley staggers to her office, the tower of neatly-piled documents and research reports from the Ministry now fluttering to the floor. “No, no, no. . .” she utters to herself, panic seeping within her skin. It’s the most frazzled you have ever seen the great Agatha Fawley. You stare at her unraveling from the threshold of the room, unsure of what to do. “Dumbledore has gone mad! That old loon! What was he thinking? Sheltering a beast within the castle!”

“Don’t worry, my dear,” says Agatha as she reaches for you, a ghastly smile on her face and a near-empty look in her eyes. Your brows pinch together in confusion—you hadn’t been worried about that student at all. “I’ll have that monster out of the castle in no time. The Ministry will have no choice but to listen to me.”

“That’s it,” she mutters, haphazardly grabbing for her feather quill and blank parchment. “Perhaps a law to forbid werewolves from ever integrating into society. School, house properties—can you imagine if they manage to infiltrate the Ministry? Everything I’ve worked so hard for!”

“Mother?” you call out hesitantly, crossing the distance, hand outstretched as Fawley slips on her footing, a muttered profanity under her breath. The woman before you is unrecognizable, a sallow casing of a moribund soul. “Mother, please, Remus is no threat to the castle,” you plead, ripping her hand away from the quill. “You can’t do this!”

“Do not tell me what I can or cannot do!” Agatha seethes through her teeth, chest heaving as she glowers at you. “Everything I have done, I have done for you! Yet, you still continue to fight me? I should have left you in that orphanage to rot while I had the chance!”

“Well then, why didn’t you?” you scream, pushing her away as the words force themselves out of your throat. “Maybe that Muggle father would have still been alive if you did! Maybe I wouldn’t have to suffer so much! To hell with you and your duty!”

Fawley laughs to herself, a weak and feeble sound. At first, you think it’s in response to you, but then you watch her drag her palm down her face, unblinking when her fingers appear to be drenched in blood. You take a step forward and there’s crimson trickling down her nose, a pallid contrast against her skin. “Ha,” she chuckles once more, keeling over to the ground as she stares up at the ceiling, blood on her flesh. “Merlin, what have I done? I–I’ve gone too far—even the Gods cannot save me.”

The despair in her voice is confounding. “Come here, my love,” she croaks from the floor, reaching out to you with bloodstained hands. Reluctantly, you sink to her side, gnawing on your lower lip as she cups your face in her palms—how many times have you been in this position before? “I’m sorry,” she sobs, shoulders trembling. “Oh, my darling, I am so sorry. I’m afraid I’ve doomed the both of us.” She traces the frame of your jaw and cheekbones. “My child, my beautiful child. What have I done? Will you forgive me?”

You realize that this must be the consequence of living in a constant lie. To be an imitation of a human person, with no room for grief, rage, fear, hope or even a semblance of love. You stay silent, drowning in the arms of your adoptive mother. “I am to die soon,” says Agatha with utmost finality, eyes boring into yours. “But you are better than me. Braver. Far stronger than I have ever been. I know this must be the heaviest burden a child can carry, but you must understand that the fate of this world is at stake. I am so sorry, my love, but I must leave this duty to you.”

She lets her head hang limply. “I-I am tired, as well. I’ve pushed away everyone and anyone for this. To do what is right, to endure what is hard—that is what I’ve lived by all these years.”

“And so must you.” Agatha has been mourning all this time, but not for her life.

You hate her.

You hate her with all your heart.

But even monsters need a heart to breathe.

A month passes by in a blur, and you are now set to meet the ill-famed Tom Riddle. You know that he was a student of Professor Dumbledore; that Narcissa is extremely terrified of him, and that Lucius Malfoy idolizes him to a fault. (“This is the moment I have been preparing you for all these years,” your mother tells you, shields of Occlumency glimmering in her deep blue eyes. “Do not let him in no matter what.”) Soon thereafter, Missus Fawley apparates the both of you to the Malfoy manor.

The dining room is bleak, befitting of a Malfoy; curtains drawn, fireplace idly crackling, and hushed murmurs upon your arrival. All eyes are on you, and you’re lucky to have dressed in your Sunday best. At the head of the table, you see Tom Riddle, with Abraxas and Cyprian Nott sitting on each side. You hear something large slithering across the polished floors—your breath hitches at the sight of a monstrous serpent curling around Tom Riddle’s chair. The glass chandelier chimes overhead and you wish it would fall from where he sits on his shrewd throne.

(You find Regulus Black sitting beside Narcissa, cheeks flushed, body quivering as his skin pales to a deathly color; holding onto his left arm for dear life. And, your heart just physically breaks. You don’t understand why this is the world you must live in.)

“Come here, my dear,” Tom Riddle hisses, urging you forward with a serpentine leer in his eyes. You feel like a circus lion forced to perform its tricks.

Tom Riddle is handsome—you notice begrudgingly. A menacing kind of beauty that entices the weak and preys on the vulnerable. (You would not be one of his victims, you vow, raising your own walls against him.) His gaze drills into your own—instantly, you feel his magic snaking around in your head, searching for hidden truths. The sensation is staggering, dizzying, and you’re nearly brought to your knees. You clench your jaw at his Legilimency—obstinate bastard.

“This one is lasting longer than your son, Abraxas.” Riddle chuckles, his finger tracing the curve of your jaw, as Abraxas forces a smile. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he leaves your mind. You release the breath you’ve been holding for the last thirty seconds. He finds none of your secrets, and you suppress a vindictive grin. Riddle glances at your mother. “How fascinating.”

You wonder if his intrigue will keep you alive for another day or bring you closer to your death.

“My Lord,” you greet windedly as you press a kiss to the cold signet of his ring. “What an honor to stand before you today. Although, I could have done with a more polite greeting from you.”

Bellatrix snarls at you in warning. “Do not speak to the Dark Lord that way, you insolent brat!”

“Enough, Bella,” Tom rasps, flicking her concern away, barely so much as sparing her a glance. “I’ve no need for a little girl to come to my defense.” She visibly wilts at his dismissive words and you almost feel pity for her—almost. Then, you remember this is the man who treats the Cruciatus curse like a treat to give away freely to children—now, you pity Bellatrix fully. The curly-haired girl twitches at the sight of him toying with his wand, Nagini’s forked tongue flicking in anticipation.

“Tell me, my dear,” says Riddle, trailing his gaze down to your arm. “Has your mother arranged a marriage for you yet? Much like our dear Cissa here.”

You grow frigid in his hold. “Not at all, my Lord. Mother thought it best if I focused on my studies before anything else.”

Tom hums in thought, eventually releasing you from his clutches. “I see. . . Then, have you considered other ways of pledging your allegiance to our cause?”

Instinctively, you hide your left arm from his sight. “My Lord,” you begin, wondering how much longer you can address him as such without throwing up in his lap. “The only reason there isn’t much backlash to your. . . merciful endeavors is because Mother and I have ensured that the Daily Prophet’s eyes are elsewhere. The Ministry is blindsided, and no one expects a mondaine darling to be under your influence,” you say, desperation pouring from each word.

You don’t want to carry his Mark. Not ever. You can endure it—you can endure it all so long as you aren’t eternally condemned to his name.

“Take that away, and you’ll face significant repercussions,” you threaten boldly. “I promise you that. They look away because of me.”

For every village and family terrorized, you had shifted the public’s attention to your facetious behavior. Throwing galas left and right, appearing out in public with various partners—you had done it all to bury the looming war. Rita Skeeter is at your beck and call. For every attack, your face is plastered on the front page. For every cry for help, the Ministry is busy dealing with trivial matters that your mother has proposed—such as anti-werewolf bills.

And Voldemort would never notice that you’ve been thieving covert information from right under his nose and delivering it anonymously to a rising organization known as the Order of the Phoenix.

(You’re also not pleased that they share similarities to your non de plume, the Firebird, but you suppose that is the least of your worries.)

If Molly Weasley comes across a sealed letter on the steps of Grimmauld Place, with complete details and addresses of Death Eater hiding places, it is no one’s business but the Order’s—and yours.

For every life taken, you remember that Muggle father in your mother’s cellar. It may not be today, it may not be tomorrow—but you’ll dismantle the pureblood society yourself. All of them, one by one.

Tom Riddle smiles, and you realize that no one threatens him and gets away with it unscathed.

A day before you’re set to return to Hogwarts for your seventh-year, the Malfoy Manor is pervaded by your gut-wrenching screams.

There you are, little Firebird with your wings clipped, writhing on the floor of Lucius Malfoy’s guest room—the Cruciatus curse surging through your veins like molten lava threatening to burn you from the inside out. You hear Narcissa and Missus Fawley’s voices blend into a cacophony of panic. They’re shouting for various things: warm towels, bandages, essence of Dittany, and water. Regulus’s hold on you is tight, near-suffocating, even.

But you don’t feel anything other than the mutilated flesh of your arm.

You scream, cry, and scream again—you feel his magic over and over again. Branding you. The ink blends into your skin—but it’s not your skin anymore. A part of you now will always belong to him.

Bile rises to your throat.

Tears fall from your eyes.

(How cold is the floor? You don’t even care anymore.)

And, the worst part is that no one can see it. Riddle charmed it perfectly to coalesce against your skin tone. But you see it. You see the skull and the stupid, wriggling snake. You see Tom Riddle’s monstrous glee as he drives his wand into your arm—Abraxas and Lucius holding you down as you thrash and flail. Your only reprieve was your mother was there, cradling your head to her chest, blocking out their malignant laughter. (You can’t believe you never noticed, but your mother had been branded, too.)

“I’ll. . . kill him,” you say to yourself, blood and saliva trickling from your lips. If it is the last thing you’ll ever do, you will have Voldemort’s head on a silver platter.

“Don’t be foolish,” Narcissa scolds, tipping your mouth upwards to swallow the drops of Dittany. “None of us have the power to do that. We just have to make do with the life that we’re given.”

“I promise. . . you,” you gurgle through the searing pain, gasping for air, clawing at her arms. “I’ll destroy them all.”

You pass out in her arms.

When you awake, you’re on a train to Hogwarts, left arm bandaged and hidden under the sleeve of your school robes.

You don’t bother attending your classes—seeing no more purpose in Transfiguration and Herbology when you’re just a pawn in someone’s, everyone’s plans, apparently. The professors express their concern when you no longer turn in your homework or assigned projects. Once again, you barely see the need to. Your meals during breakfast, lunch, and dinner go untouched. You stay away from Narcissa, Vittoria, Isadora, Lucius, and Regulus. Your only friends, Amos and Amelia, stay away from you, too, having seen news of your promiscuity in the Daily Prophet. You scoff internally—you’ve never even had your first kiss yet. But even that seems like a distant dream.

You are tired.

How much longer do you have to play this part? How much more of yourself do you have to give?

You’re only seventeen—how can you even hope to defeat Voldemort like this?

The castle walls have dulled, and you drift through the corridors like a wearisome ghost. The once colorful world that you have been brought into now pales in the face of curses, spilt blood, and the Mark on your arm. You wonder what would happen—if you just run away now.

Why should you be the one to bear the burdens of this duty thrust upon you? Why do people like James Potter and Sirius Black find loyalty and a real family within Hogwarts, and there is no one willing to fight for you?

Perhaps, you have no one else to blame but yourself.

Rita Skeeter publishes her article on the growing rift between you and Vittoria Zabini—claiming that you had stolen her beau from her.

You toss the newspaper into the fire.

Some nights, you don’t bother returning to the Hufflepuff dormitories anymore. You know what they think. You know what they say behind your back.

For the third time this week, you find yourself at the top of the Astronomy Tower, legs dangling from the edge of the window, eyes blankly staring at the horizon—if you run towards there, you wonder how long it will take before they find you. The cold nips at your cheeks, but you barely feel anything other than a gnawing emptiness.

Your gaze falls to the ground below, thirty, fifty meters from where you sit.

Maybe. . .

If you move a few inches forward. . .

If you just fly.

You’d be free.

“Oh, I didn’t know this window was occupied.” You loosely turn your head to find Remus Lupin standing before you with a crooked grin, hands shoved in his pockets as he awkwardly shuffles one foot over the other. He raises his arms up in surrender. “I guess I’ll. . . find somewhere else to brood.”

I don’t care.

Go away.

I want to die.

If I disappear, would you care? Would anyone?

You rest your head back on the windowsill, hugging your legs to your chest.

Starlings chirp and fly past you—how liberating it must be, to soar in the skies. But all you can do is watch enviously. Powerless, little songbird with no more lullabies to sing and no more wings to fly with.

You let your weight shift over the window.

Maybe if you fall, you could see what it’s like to fly.

“H-Hey! Don’t—!” Remus quickly snatches your hand and pulls you into his embrace—the both of you tumbling to the floor. You feel his chest heaving, arms trembling around you, and the sound of his rapid heartbeat. His eyes are wide as he looks over your face for any injuries. “Why would you do that? Are you mad?”

You sigh.

Maybe tomorrow, then.

“Oi!” Remus pokes your shoulder. “Don’t just ignore me! You scared the piss out of me, you know? Bloody hell.” His shoulders slump in relief, and he takes another peek at you—just to make sure you’re still in front of him. “A-Are you okay?” he asks softly, afraid to spook you further away. “Do you want to talk about it or anything?”

You shrug. “Nothing to talk about.”

His gaze flickers from you to the window ledge. “I think that’s a big something to talk about, honestly. B-But I get it. Really. No judgment.”

An unwilling chortle escapes past your lips. Remus Lupin and his marauding bunch of lions would never understand the burden you have to carry each day for the rest of your life.

Remus scratches the back of his head with a wolfish grin. “Hey. . . listen. We don’t know each other all that well—so this is going to sound terribly weird. But would you like a hug?”

He opens his arms wide enough for you to fit—and you stare at him in horror. “C’mon, then. It really seems like you need it. And honestly, I kind of need it, too, especially after a scare like that.”

You stay silent.

He shakes his hands, beckoning you forward, golden hair flopping over his eyes. “I don’t bite. Promise. One hug and we’ll go on pretending like we don’t know each other tomorrow. Marauder’s honor.”

“I haven’t done anything to deserve your kindness,” you say with a prominent sneer—certainly not kindness from him. It must be another prank of theirs. You wait for Peter Pettigrew and Sirius to jump out and spray you with garlic juice.

Remus smiles. “I think you’ll find that my kindness is freely given.”

You nibble on your bruised lip.

Could you really?

Maybe just this once.

You’re only human, magic as you are.

You take one step forward.

Then another.

Another.

Until you fall right into his arms, and you inhale the scent of honey, milk raspberry chocolate, and cedarwood. The warmth of his arms around you is real. His voice is real. He whispers cruel words into your ear, “You’re alright, love. Let it out. I’m here.” You burrow your head deep in the crook of his neck. The sound of his heartbeat is real. He tightens his hold around you, and the ground underneath feels real. For a few moments, you don’t feel like you’re floating away into oblivion.

Maybe you’d stay alive—for a few more days.

To do what is right.

To endure.

Perhaps, tomorrow will be easier—if such kindness is real, maybe you’re allowed to seek it for yourself every now and then.

But your nightmare doesn’t end when you’re awake—it takes you by the throat when you find yourself summoned to the Malfoy Manor on Hallow’s Eve.

You’re not the only one caught by surprise. One by one, Tom Riddle’s followers apparate into the dining room, stumbling inside with a bewildered expression. Their Dark Lord has called for them in the dead of night—it must be for something important. You stiffen, sinking into Lucius’s shadow. You search for your mother but she doesn’t appear to be anywhere in the room. Someone brushes their hands against yours—Narcissa. She stands by your side, face impassive, her pupils frantically trying to make sense of the situation.

Then, Tom Riddle finally apparates into the room, startling you for a fraction of a second. Not far behind is Abraxas, Cyprian, the Lestranges, Bellatrix, and finally—

Your mother.

Fawley looks worse for wear, her skin sinking into her bones, clothes tattered, and her face littered with bruises. Bellatrix drags her across the floor, hair wrapped around her hands.

You move to stop Bellatrix, anger blinding your vision—Narcissa tightens her grip on your wrist, subtly shaking her head. You rip your hand away from her.

“We have found a traitor in our midst!” Bellatrix cackles, throwing your mother to the ground—your fists clench, swallowing each lump in your throat with rage blinding your vision. “I caught the bitch helping the McKinnons escape!”

“No,” you whisper, dread knocking you backwards—it just isn’t possible. The two of you had always been careful. Bellatrix hits her again, and you have to restrain yourself from marching forward and cursing her from where she stands.

One moment of weakness, that is all Tom Riddle needs. He finds you in the crowd with ease. The crowd of Death Eaters part like the red sea, and you steel yourself with Occlumency before you are sharply pulled forward, the mark on your left arm blistering as though a hundred needles are driving into your skin repeatedly.

“If the mother is a blood traitor, the child is sure to follow!” Bellatrix hisses, spit flying into the floor, her eyes gleaming with maniacal glee.

Voldemort cruelly holds your jaw in his hand, nails digging into your flesh, threatening to break through your bones. “Is this true?” he asks, drawing blood from your skin. “Tell me!”

“No!” you cry out, kicking and punching to get away from his hold. “It’s not��let me go! That is my mother! You’re hurting her! She’s sick!”

“That,” Riddle’s eyes flash with hostility, breath hot on your skin, “is a betrayer to our cause.”

“She’s not!” you scream.

“How did she find out, then?” Voldemort flings you to the ground—immediately, you rush to your mother, gathering her in your arms. Tom Riddle cocks his head and you’re blasted into the walls—you feel his Legilimency trying to force its way in, exploiting your pain and shock. But you won’t let him in. He’ll have to pry your memories from your cold, dead body.

The pain is searing—you’re being torn apart from limb to limb. Your mark is burning, head throbbing from a concussion, and still fighting against Riddle’s magic. Through your blurry haze, you see Lucius holding Narcissa back from running to you. “We’re not traitors!” you cry out desperately, crawling pathetically to your mother’s listless body. “I swear!”

Voldemort sneers just before he points his wand at your mother. “Crucio!”

“No! No! Stop it! Please! Please, stop it!” you beg on the ground as your mother helplessly writhes on the floor, the Cruciatus curse reducing the once austere Agatha Fawley to a whimpering mess. “You’re killing her!”

Tom snarls, “Good.”

Bellatrix digs her claws into your neck, her laughter resounding throughout the manor—you swallow the sobs down your throat as she drives her wand into your flesh. “Your mummy over there is done for. But you—our precious jewel, you can still prove your loyalty to our Dark Lord.”

She puts your wand and closes your fist over the wood—your eyes grow wide as you thrash in her hold, screaming as she forces you to look at Fawley. “Kill her. And you may live.”

“Just say it,” Bellatrix whispers in your ear. “Two little words. You’ve already done this before, pet—the second time should be easy enough!”

“No!” you knock your head back into her nose, slipping away as her hold loosens and she screams profanities at you—but to your misfortune, Voldemort captures you, like a defenseless bunny running into a starving snake.

“Mum, wake up, please!”

You cry out helplessly, sobbing as Voldemort forces you to watch the life gradually fade away from her blue eyes. Her magic envelops you—and you remember warm holidays spent by the fire, Muggle storybooks before bed, surprising you with breakfast in bed for your birthdays. It’s a warm feeling, a stark contrast to Tom Riddle’s invasive magic. Her voice echoes in your head one last time.

“Thank you for showing me what love feels like, if not for a moment. I am sorry I could not show it as a proper mother would.”

“Kill her!” Voldemort rages into your ear.

You watch as Fawley’s eyes drift to a close, an act of resignation. “It’s okay, my darling,” she whispers tiredly. “I. . . can rest now.”

For the second time in your life, you point your wand at someone’s heart—this time, it’s your mother’s.

“What are you waiting for?” Bellatrix asks, twitching menacingly. “Kill her! Before I do it myself!”

There’s a faint smile on her face.

“I’m. . . sorry.”

Those are Agatha Fawley’s last words before you take away her life.

The incantation falls so delicately from your lips, an act of mercy for the woman you once called your mother and your greatest tormentor.

But your eyes are on one person and one person only.

Tom Riddle.

“Avada Kedavra!”

He will know your pain.

Not today, not tomorrow.

But you’ll destroy them all, one by one.

a/n: THERE IS KISSING IN THE NEXT SCENE I PROMISE.... AND TRUST MY LILY LOVERS WE WILL GET OUR REDEMPTION ARC SKDJHFGKJH and sirius lovers too,, but yall are well-fed every day so.. next part has the yule ball, likee,, there's no way THAT becomes angsty.. if you saw a plot-hole, no you didn't just CRY and enjoy sdhgsdf... come tell me what you thought!! (if you have any constructive criticisms, just come to my dms BUT PLS BE VERY GENTLE.... oh and don't hesitate to tell me if i accidentally wrote anything super specific like height, skin color, etc.!!) i promise to better in the final part!!!! (there's only two parts to this fic.) I LOVE YEW I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS STORY AAAAAAAAAAAA

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monstersflashlight · 3 months ago

Text

To kill a king, to fuck a dragon (Day 8/8 of 10k followers event)

A/N: Hi there people! I’m so, so glad that all of you took time to read all the stories I post, especially these past 8 stories that had been super exploratory for me. I think I did good enough, at least y’all seemed to like it. For this last one I added a bit more plot than usual, this is a tiny bit longer and I think the story is really good. I hope y’all love it as much as I do. Also, and once again, I want to thank ALL OF YOU for following this little corner of the internet and being so supportive and great, special thanks to all my patrons to make my life a little bit easier <3, this has been a blast so far and I hop y’all keep reading, hopefully this account is just the beginning of a much longer exploration of monsterfuckery for us all. (PS: If someone catches the very subtle Grey’s anatomy reference please let me know so we can be friends)

Dragon x fem!reader || size kink, slow-burn (kinda), sex with feelings, magic saliva, spit on pussy, multiple orgasms, overstimulation || tw: mentions of murder

You enter the cave and are surprised to find a door, a normal human door caved into the rock. It looks like a house, a house on the rock, but still normal. What the fuck? Your hopes and dreams of finding the dragon slowly disappear, your eyes teary.

Someone chooses that moment to speak behind you: “Who are you?” You turn around so fast you fall to the ground with a scream. The stranger looks at you like you are a bug he needs to squeeze, and you feel a tear running down your cheek. Fuck. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry even if there wasn’t a dragon. “Again: who are you?” His tone is harsh and you want to cry even more, but you bit your tongue.

“I- I came to find the dragon,” you confess, swallowing around the knot in your throat.

He looks at you like you are a joke, not even trying to help you to your feet. “What dragon?” He asks, his tone amused.

You get up and look at him, trying to look as serious as you can when you say: “They- They told me there was a dragon here.” You fail.

He chuckles, inspecting you up and down, his eyes zeroing on the few tears that escaped your eyes. “No dragons, just me,” he finally answers, his tone a lot softer than before.

“Uh-oh… Sorry. I’ll be on my way, then.” You try to get pass him, sniffling as you do so, trying really hard to get out before you start sobbing.

He sighs, and adds: “do you want some tea?” He offers you his hand, and weirdly enough, you don’t feel threatened or scared, you feel calm around him.

“Really?” You don’t want to sound too hopeful but you are thirsty and tired and you want to cry because there is no dragon and you basically lost hope of everything.

“Yeah, come on.” He motions you to follow him inside the rock house, and you are surprised about how cozy and homey it feels inside, like out of a fairy-tale kind of thing.

He makes some tea as you lean against the door frame of the kitchen, trying to look around as much as possible without looking too snoopy about it. Not that he seems to care that you are curious about everything, he just looks at you every once in a while like making sure you are still there.

“Why were you looking for a dragon?” He asks when he sets the tea cup on the table in front of you. A similar one in front of him. You sit and start sipping on the best tea you’ve ever had.

You sip the tea for a couple seconds, trying to decide if you can trust him, at the end you decide why not, your life is already ruined. “To kill the king,” you say. He chokes on the tea he’s drinking, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop from giggling.

“What?” He asks again when he recovers, his face red from the coughing.

“To kill the king,” you repeat. He still looks stunned so you give him more context: “I- I was bought when I was in the womb. My parents promised me to him in exchange for gold, and the day we marry is approaching. I don’t want to do it, he’s a foul man, and I didn’t choose this. I overheard some servants talking about the dragon in the mountains, and I though… I thought they would help me.” You try not to sound too bitter about it, but you can’t keep the despair out of your voice.

He looks at you like you are suddenly the most interesting specimen of a bug. “You escaped the castle and came here?”

“Yes,” you answer truthfully. There was a lot more implied in that simple question. You escaped, but not only that, they are probably looking for you and the king would probably kill those guards you ran away from. You try not to be too sad about them, they were cruel with you, laughing at you every time you passed, talking about how the king got a new hot wife.

“Are they still looking for you?” He asks, a lot smarter than you give him credit for.

“Probably.” It’s the truth but it still carries a lot of pressure as you say it. You understand though, you know it’s not his problem and you shouldn’t even be there. You’d find another way to escape the king. “I’ll be out of your hair, I promise. You didn’t sing up for any of this.” You realize the sun is setting in the horizon and you don’t know if you could find your way back to the village. Fuck. “I need to go. The village is a long journey from here,” you try not to sound scared, but an edge of fear permeates your voice.

He surprises you by saying: “Stay. I have a guest bedroom and there’s no way you could get back to the village if it’s this dark.”

You want to say no, to refuse, that’s improper, but the idea of going back to that golden prison is enough to make you say: “I’ll leave first thing in the morning.” It’s a promise you do to him, but also to yourself. That man showed you more caress that anyone in your life, and you didn’t want to cause him unnecessary trouble. You’ll leave in the morning.

Problem is… You never do.

The next day he prepares breakfast, and insists on showing you around his house. It’s so beautiful you are mesmerized. His garden especially. It’s so colorful and big and calm…. You feel an instant connection to the earth, and to him. He’s so easy to be around, he treats you so differently like what you are used to. And you like it. You like it so much that you get distracted until the sun is setting once again. And he never tells you to leave.

And days pass. One day turns into another, and you… never leave. You know someday they will come back for you. You know you can’t run away from your problems. But right there, in the side of the mountain with that nice man that took you in… It feels possible to run away. It feels possible to avoid the awful destiny that was set for you before you were even born.

He teaches you to cook, to take care of plants, to polish wood… He’s like a handyman that can do all, and you are his new apprentice, even though he insists on doing all the heavy lifting. But on top of that, he just… amazing. He takes care of you, but also you two argue about stupid stuff until you are red faced and you want to hit him, just to end up laughing when he tells you a stupid joke. You have the most fun you had in ages with him.

Until one day all shifts (pun intended).

You are laying around under the tree as he does some gardening. He wouldn’t let you near the roses in case you got hurt. “I have something to tell you,” he breaks the silence.

“What?” You ask, looking directly at him, a spark of something unknown raising inside of you, like bugs in your stomach, crawling around every time you set your eyes on him, on his beautiful smile.

He looks at you intently and says the most ominous thing: “I- I think it’s better if I show you, actually.”

“Show me what? Why do you sound so serious?” You try to joke, but it doesn’t land because he still looks at you with a poker face.

He looks worried, apprehension settling on his features. “Just… Wait until I’m done to say anything, please?” His tone is more than pleading, is more like he’s begging you to understand, and you don’t know what could possibly be so bad.

“Okay…” You tell him, anxiety spiking.

And then he turns. Literally. His body contorts and cracks, and there’s a bunch of things happening at once, and before you realize, there’s a dragon in front of you. A full on real dragon. What? He’s majestic, as big as a house and skin covered in the most precious scales. He looks like a work of art… you are mesmerized.

“You said there was no dragon!” It’s the first thing out of your mouth, an edge of hysterics creeping in your tone.

You laugh then. You laugh so hard and so much you have tears rolling down your eyes. He changes back, and tries really hard to cover his manhood with his hands, failing and making you laugh even harder.

“You are a dragon,” you say when your laughter dies down.

“I am,” he says simply, approaching you slowly until he’s right in front of you. “And I will kill the king for you,” he adds.

There’s no point in asking why he didn’t tell you sooner, you understand why. Why would he? Why would he trust his deepest secret to you? But him showing you now? It meant more than the world, it made you forget about everything and anything chasing you down. It makes you happy. He makes you happy.

“No. I don’t care about the king. I just… I love you. I think what I feel is love, I never felt like this before.” You tell him, heat creeping up your cheeks. He looks at you like he’s surprised, like he wasn’t expecting that at all. “Do you feel it, too?” You ask shyly, your hand over his chest, feeling his heart beat faster and faster.

“Ye- yes. I love you, too.” His confession is followed by his hands cupping your face, so soft and tender, you feel a tear running down your cheek as he kisses you for the first time.

You should have known better than to think your life could be so perfect.

You don’t hear them before you are captured. At least four soldiers appear at the edge of the garden and catch you before you can scream. You think about him, about your dragon, and lament how confused he will be when he returns and you aren’t there. You worry he would think you abandoned him… But you can’t do anything as they take you away from the only place you felt like home.

They don’t even wait a whole day before they are dressing you and pampering you in the best silks and makeups. Nobody says anything as you silently cry during all the process. The servants looking worried but not arguing with anyone, three guards at the door of every chamber you enter.

You are caged once again.

You walk to the aisle in between a crowded place full of people who don’t like you, nor the king for the matter. They just want to appraise his old self to gain some benefits, the same as your parents did even before you were born. He looks like a nightmare standing in front of the altar, and you want to run, to run far away, back into your dragon’s arms. But you can’t, guards all around the open garden the ceremony is taking place in. You stand before your soon to be husband and have to swallow back the tears and bile, his rancid smell hitting you like a brick.

The minister starts speaking about love and marriage, and you cry during all his speech. You dream of being far away from there, as far away as possible. Or at least as close to your dragon as you could.

When you hear the people mumbling around you, you turn around, a shadow obscuring the sun. You look at the sky and sigh, so happy to see him you could cry. Maybe you would cry if you weren’t so shocked that he actually showed up.

He roars as he lands, people running in all directions, hiding in every possible place. “YOU STOLE FROM ME!” He growls, breathing fire to the sky and making people cry out in fear. You look at him in all his glory, fascinated by every inch of his skin.

“We- we saved the queen to be,” the guard’s words are short lived as your dragon looks at him and breathes fire right over his body, instantly burning him to the ground. There’s a chorus of screams and cries again, and you have to bite your tongue to stop from smiling.

“She’s not yours! SHE’S MINE!” You shiver at his words, feeling them so deep inside you think you might combust, butterflies dancing inside your stomach once again.

“You can’t take her! I bought her,” the king’s words don’t help his case at all, your dragon roaring and launching for him.

It all happens so fast, one second he’s there, and the next one the king’s head is rolling onto the ground as everyone screams and runs away. You are shocked to the core, but he doesn’t let you wallow in that. He picks you up and takes flight. You realize he’s being very careful not to pickle you with his claws. You don’t know where he’s taking you, but soon enough you are in a place you know, a place that brings you memories of joy and love… The garden.

As soon as he sets you down, he orders you to: “Go inside.” His tone is harsh, almost a growl.

“No,” you answer, not recoiling, not moving. You approach him more, your hand softly caressing the scales of his chest.

He roars over your head, trying to scare you away: “Go inside, I’m not in my right mind right now, I can’t answer for my actions.” You aren’t scared of him, though. He saved you from your most fearsome nightmare, he’s just the big monster you are in love with.

“No,” you repeat, a big smile playing on your lips when you look up at him.

“Come on, princess… Please.” Him begging in that form does something to you, such a big and scary creature asking you to go inside so he can protect you from himself… You are more sure than anything that you are safe. Safer than you’d be with anyone else. Human or monster.

“No. I want you. I love you.” Your words finally go through him, making his big body shiver, you feel it under your hands, a big shake that leaves you breathless. “Take me, my dragon.” You know adding that isn’t necessary, but you are more than ready to be a bride, to be his bride.

“Don’t joke around,” he growls, grabbing your body with his big clawed hand and positioning you to look straight into his yes, his big dragon head so beautiful you have to reach out and touch him. He scrunches his nose, making you giggle.

“Make me fully yours,” you say again.

His responding growl is so loud it makes the earth vibrate under your feet. You shiver in anticipation. He tears your wedding dress of your body, wrapping his wings around you to create a bubble, so you won’t feel a single spark of cold in your human skin.

Your wedding dress is torn off your body as he launches for your body, your naked form shivering at the cold temperature around you, but he solves that easily. He wraps his wings around your body getting you close to his much warmer scaled body. You sigh happily.

He lets you down onto the ground and you look up at him, completely vulnerable. “Fuck me. Claim me. Love me.” You lower yourself to the ground, your upper body to the ground, your ass up. You know what you must look like: an offering, a sacrifice. And you are okay with that. You are okay being his.

“You sure?” He asks again, always the gentleman, always worried about you. You are more sure of this that you were about anything else ever.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” you chant as his claw proves your entrance. You look around in time to see him biting on his fingers, two seconds later he’s claw-less and his now not-dangerous fingers enter you. You cry out and bury your face on the mossy ground, his chuckle making you flush all over.

He plays with your pussy for what feels like an eternity, making you come twice before he starts stretching you fully. He gets to three fingers, way bigger than anything you tried before, and you can’t stop moaning.

You come again as he spits on your pussy, the sensation so filthy and so good you scream and fall over the edge again. You feel tingly all over after that, your pussy relenting under his ministrations and somehow widening further, accommodating one more of his fingers. “My saliva has magic in it,” he explains, his tone amused as he keeps finger fucking you. You don’t know if you can come again, you didn’t even know that much pleasure was possible.

“Come on, come on, please,” doesn’t matter how much you beg, he doesn’t relent.

He starts scissoring his big fingers inside of you, stretching you impossibly wide, and you squirm under him, a pleasure so big you don’t know how to deal with it, your body pliant under his actions, your brain completely void of thoughts. And then he stops and you curse him so loud he starts to laugh, moving your body and making you squirm under him. He grabs your hips to stop you from moving and you feel the tip of his cock against your entrance.

He enters you slowly, so slowly. You want to scream, but your brain is frozen with the over-sensitivity of his dick inside of you. He can’t fit inside, there’s no way, he’s probably just aiming for a third of his length, but right now, with just the tip inside, you feel like you are about to burst. You reach down and rub your clit, unlocking something inside of you and crying out so loudly he roars as your orgasm makes your pussy constrict around him. He pushes in a bit more, and you keep coming.

From that point on, it’s all a blur of sensations and emotions, so much pleasure you are blind to the world around you. His dick is barely inside, but it seems to be enough for him, and more than enough for you. You feel like he’s going to split you in two in the most amazing way. He feels so big inside of you that you think you might die if he keeps rubbing against all your special spots at once. And if you do… You’d die happy.

“Take me. Take all of me,” that’s all the heads up you get before he’s filling you, one last thrust inside before his hot seed floods your insides. It propels you over the edge one last time, the world fading into blackness.

You pass out.

When you come back to your senses, you are laying on a bed and there’s a warm body behind you. You sigh happily as he kisses your forehead and makes sure you are comfortable and warm. You feel such intense love for him in that moment, that you have to turn around and try how well it would feel to fit his human dick inside of you (this time all of him).

He feels perfect.

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bitegore · 2 years ago

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#hey red this is someone @ you upon seeing dragstrip in leg form

cruelty. unkindness. bullying. it's okay when i knock menasor over by sucking leg!drag strip's dick. smdh no love on this earth

WAIT NO DUDE DONT SUCK THAT COCK ITS LOADBEARING *whole building collapses*

#all this to say i am irl fucking crying laughing yes this is me upon seeing dragstrip in leg form #i choked on my tea and went 'surely i can take another sip' and attempted to drink more tea and choked on that too

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azen13 · 4 months ago

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CW: Yandere Themes, Kissing

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Imagine Yandere!Zhongli in a Reverse!AU, where you're Liyue's Archon and you seal him away. Thousands of years ago, you and him were friends ruling over different sections of what would become Liyue. You hardly noticed the way his eyes lingered on you whenever he saw you, hardly knew how he would dream of having you all to himself.

One day, he makes an advance as you both sip on tea at Mount Aocang, pledging to move mountains and sink continents if you ask. The price of his eternal affection remains unsaid, but you can see it in the feral, draconic look in his eye. Every dragon has a hoard, even Zhongli. And he will stop at nothing until he can have you as his most valuable treasure.

Despite his efforts to prevent you from escaping, you manage to flee back to your territory. Weeks later, Zhongli attempts to catch you off guard with a surprise invasion, but in the heat of battle, you manage to seal him away beneath the earth.

Millenia pass, and you mourn the loss of a friend, but work to build the nation of Liyue up to the ground. The Fatui come, offering a deal for your Gnosis, and you refuse. It is a mistake you will regret every day for eternity.

One day, the earth shakes in a way that makes your stomach turn.

You feel his presence before you even catch a glimpse of his crystalline horns or golden eyes. Warm and earthy like petrichor. Running out into the city streets, you help an elderly couple around some piles of rubble, before continuing towards the source of the power.

The God of Contracts finds you first, though, easily snaring your feet in stone. His power is choking in a way, and when you try to fight back with your own magic, you feel the power in your body quickly draining from you. Zhongli notices the surprise in your face, and a small smirk plays on his lips. "I've had many years to learn some new...tricks, my treasure," he murmurs, striding towards you confidently. His fingers hook under your chin, pulling it up so your eyes gaze into his. "The people that freed me said they would let me keep you if I gave them your Gnosis."

In an instant, his hand is in your chest, grasping around for your Gnosis. You cry out in pain and try to struggle, but Zhongli grabs your shoulder in a tight grip, forcing you steady. It only takes a moment for him to pull out your Gnosis, gazing at it intently. "You cannot truly understand how long I have dreamt of this day. Of you, my dearest. And now, we will never have to be apart," he whispers, pressing his lips against yours greedily. He allows himself a few seconds to savor this scene, before pulling away.

"Now, my treasure. I wish to make a contract with you." With a wave of his hand, he manifests a piece of parchment filled with words on it out of thin air. "I will help repair all the damage I have done if you promise to be mine, in body and spirit, for better or for worse." You glare at him vehemently, spitting out your refusal. In return, Zhongli simply chuckles. "In that case, I will turn every building to dust," he threatens.

Turning to some already-damaged buildings, he raises a hand, ready to demolish them with a flick of the wrist. Your cries of acquiescence stop him before he can, however. When you finish signing, Zhongli gives you a predatory smile, brushing his fingers against the side of your face. "I knew you would surrender, my dearest," he purrs, possessiveness filling his eyes. "Now, allow me to fulfill my own contract, and then we can return home," he says.

You get the feeling that you will not be leaving home for a very long time.

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musubi-sama · 5 months ago

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Papa Mama, Kiss!

Nanami Kento, girl dad, and how the small commands an almost-2year-old can etch into his heart.

A/N: Thanks @pseudowho for the gentle nudge to write this one out. And for everyone else, if it's not obvious, based on real events.

WC: 1.4K

Fatherhood, raising and nurturing children to become their best selves. To give them wings and teach them to fly on their own. This is what Nanami Kento dreamed of for years. But almost two years in, his daughter was testing his last thread of patience.

“Papa, milk!” Kento returns with a glass of milk.

“Papa, tea!” Kento blinks, and returns with a glass of tea, finishing off the milk for himself along the way.

“Milk?” Kento sighs. Just as he starts to lift himself from his chair, you put your arm on his.

“Sweetest, could you take a sip of the tea first?” you offer the glass to your daughter, and she happily starts to drink the water, quickly emptying the cup. Sufficiently satiated, she goes back to eating her lunch.

You shoot your husband a soft smile, you’re met with a weary, but loving gaze in return. Features worn by time, bolstered by love, and cut by the effort of child rearing.

You both had done your research, coming to similar conclusions with differing approaches on how to tackle the approaching “Terrible Twos.”

Kento couldn’t understand the parenting blogs, as they made any solutions to challenges seem so…. simple to solve.

“Guaranteed to solve purple crying with one simple trick!” “Sleep training made easy! You’ll have quiet nights in less than a week!” “10 steps to handling a temper tantrum in public. Number 6 will surprise you”

But every solution seemed to be milquetoast, at best, and unhelpful at worst. But almost two years in, he started to get the hang of things. The secret is that his daughter was her own person and required him to think on his feet. And despite the new levels of exhaustion he had reached, especially in the early days, Nanami Kento was euphoric to see his daughter every morning. He missed her in the depths of his heart every second she was at daycare, or even just with you running errands.

Kento was a modern dad, bucking the trend by taking the full year of paternity leave along with you. Reassuring you that there would still be an open spot in daycare once it was time to return to work. And he was right. He helped fill out the pages and pages of paperwork. And choosing the 13 facilities to rank in hopes you were offered a spot at your number 1? Of course, your salaryman husband excelled at sorting the data and organizing the thick booklets of information.

When it came time to drop off your daughter on her first day, and it was only for two hours, you both arrived with big, nervous, first-time parent jitters. And were the only full family there in the morning drop off. The other parents sharing knowing glances at you and Kento fumbling clothes, trying to find the bins you needed, almost dropping the thermometer, and giving maybe one, two, three, too many kisses to your daughter as you handed her off.

The walk to the local coffee shop was filled with dreams of what fun your daughter would have with her class. Kento was hiding his nerves well, but you could see right through him. You saw the tremor in his hand, the nearly imperceptible gravel in his voice. He didn’t hold back for the other parents’ sake; he’d never do that. But he didn’t want your daughter to catch his nervous and scared energy. He knew if she felt his anxiety, it would make handing her off so much harder. He couldn’t bear to hear your cries of separation.

So, when you both returned two hours later, Kento lit up with the biggest smile and the most eager arms as the workers handed your daughter off to him.

“Oh, my love, I’ve missed you! What did you play with? Who did you meet? Please tell me all about your day, spare no details,” your doting husband cooed at your one-year-old. He continued an entire conversation with her, even if words didn’t form from the baby babble.

You spoke with the workers to understand how she fared for the short visit. They told you how she didn’t cry not even once. And how tomorrow your daughter can stay even longer, through the morning snack. It made you so happy to get such fantastic feedback.

After a few weeks, you all settled into a lovely routine. Both of you working from home left flexibility for drop off and pick up. And as your daughter became more capable of bigger play times, Kento would take her out to the local park so that you could make dinner most days. You loved the peace and quiet, he loved the bonding time.

As your daughter’s language built up over the months leading up to her second birthday, she was beginning to string together commands. Able to ask for help, food, drink, toys. She even started to command who could sit next to her and then tell them to “moot (move)” away and a new person would be not-so-gently asked to sit next to her.

“Papa,” she would point to a spot on the ground next to her, in the middle of the playground. And Kento is not the type to ignore the requests of a child. He took a polite squat next to your daughter, waiting with bated breath for the next command she would give.

“Mmm. Ah…up,” she reached her hands up in the air.

“Do you want up?” Kento reached over to lift his little one up in the air with a light, controlled, toss.

“Papa!”

You sat on a nearby bench watching, camera clicking over and over, catching the precious moments to share with your friends and family across the world.

That night ran like every other, a well-oiled machine. You took a bath with your daughter, Kento took her for a fresh diaper, clean pajamas, and to help him make, and for her to drink, the nightly milk bottle.

And the final step, you welcomed a sleepy toddler into your weary arms. Tonight, she was laden down with her stuffies of choice, a small Sylveon and Doraemon.

“Okay, let’s cuddle up here, please,” you coax a sleepy toddler into your lap and to lay against your chest. It seems like every day it gets harder as she grows bigger. What happened to your teeny tiny bub?

“Good night, I love you,” Kento leans down to give a kiss to the tiny (well, not so tiny anymore) forehead. “And I love you,” he leans over to your waiting lips as you tilt your head up. Every night you get a soft, but gently urgent kiss from Kento.

“Papa iss?” you both break from the kiss to hear a tired request. Your daughter had sat up from your chest and looked expectantly at Kento.

“Of course,” he leans down for another kiss, this time her cheek. A satisfied smile spreads across her face.

“Mama iss?”

“Yes, love.”

“Mama papa iss?” and you looked up at Kento to make sure you heard her correctly.

“Did she…?”

“You heard her now,” and Kento leans down for another kiss, this time he lingers a heartbeat longer. As he pulls away, in the dim haze of the nightlight he catches your waterline beginning to fill.

“Oh, baby, you’re so sweet,” you coo at your daughter, pulling her into a tender hug.

“Good night, you two,” Kento is standing by the door, soft smile from lips to eyes. He slips out and gently shuts the door.

After you spend a few minutes cuddling with your daughter, you gently lay her in the crib and quietly slip out of the bedroom, leaving her to take the last step to dreamworld.

You sit down on the couch next to Kento. Still feeling the buzz from twenty minutes ago, he reaches over to cup your face.

“How are you feeling?”

“I am going to ride that high for weeks. I can’t believe it,” your eyes can’t hold back the tears of love and happiness. You feel every bit of the dichotomy between the hard moments and the soaring highs of happiness.

Kento could feel his heart grow and swell. The small command would replay in his mind until his dying breath. It would be a story he shared as the father of the bride. An endearing tale he treasured, a memory he could rely on to get him through overtime.

Coaxing you into his lap, Kento presses his lips to yours much more urgently than the last kiss.

#jen の stories #jjk #jjk fluff #nanami kento #nanami #nanami kento x reader #kento x reader #nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #nanami girldad #nanami parent

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peachesofteal · 11 months ago

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Light On - single mom/neighbor fic - reader POV - cw: grief Simon Riley/female reader

"Breathe, honey. Try to take a deep breath for me."

Simon is frantic, cradling your face in his hands, pulling away your own to try to look in your eyes, his own wide with horror, worry.

This isn't fair. This isn't right. This is confusing.

"I- I'm sorry." You sob, because it's the only thing you can say, the only thing he can think of, and he shakes his head like he disagrees with you.

"No, no. Sorry for what?" You can't make it make sense, to him, in your own head, and when you try to talk, nothing comes out but a broken cry. "Shhh. You're alright. Just breathe." He tries to soothe you, and it only makes you cry harder, sob welling in your chest. "Are you hurt?"

"No!" you protest. "No, you didn't... I'm not... I-"

"Okay, okay. Hey, look at me sweetheart. I'm right here, I've got you." He coos, still holding you, wiping your tears, keeping you close. "You're okay." You bury your face in his chest, letting him wrap you up, cuddle you close, all while your mind spins and spirals, heart aching like it's been broken all over again. This wasn't supposed to happen. You're not supposed to feel this way. You're supposed to be happy. Aren't you happy?

"I'm sorry." You whisper when you find your voice, and he hums a raspy rebuttal. "No, I... you don't deserve this, to be saddled with this, a-" A widow, and a baby. An emotional basket case. A burden.

"Stop." He looks down at you with sincerity, severe certainty in his eyes, and you gulp at the intensity, shuddering when his lips graze your skin gently. "I don't deserve you, sweetheart. I know that for sure, but not in the way you're thinking right now. I'm not being saddled with anything."

"You don't understand." You shake your head.

"Then tell me." He encourages. "Tell me. I'll listen." He caresses your cheek, touch gentle and caring, devoted, and you close your eyes.

"Okay."

Simon makes you a cup of tea. When he returns to press it into your hands, you're sitting up in bed, donning one of the t shirts you found on the floor.

"Is that my shirt?" He asks, cocking his head, and you nod bashfully, lip tucked between your teeth. "Looks good on you." You reach for the mug with shaking hands, trying to take a deep breath and collect your thoughts. "Take your time." He murmurs. "I'm here. We've got all night." He's not going to want you anymore, once he realizes. Once you tell him how you feel, what you're thinking. You shake the thoughts free, trying to banish them. He said you could tell him. You trust him. You can do this. Just be honest.

"Emmaline's dad died the week we found out we were pregnant." You whisper, unable to look at him. "It was a housing fire, big building. Like this one." You take a sip, watching the way his fingers sit lax in the bed, close enough to touch you, but giving you space. "There was a power surge, or something. Half the city lost electricity and he got called in. It wasn't unusual, he was a Lieutenant, and they're responsible for a crew, a truck. I thought... I thought I'd just go to bed, wake up in the morning, and he'd be there next to me. Like always, on big calls."

"But he wasn't."

"He wasn't. Instead, his Engineer, and his Captain, were at my door with his helmet in their hands." You bite down on your tongue, fruitlessly stalling the tears and the breakdown that's fighting it's way up your throat. "I loved him so much." As soon as you say it, your voice breaks, vision going blurry, and Simon reaches for you, holding your free hand, stroking a thumb across your knuckles. "I haven't been... I haven't been with anyone, since then."

"Oh, sweetheart." You set the tea down on the table next to the bed, pulling air in through your nose as much as you can, trying to regulate your heart rate, your breathing.

"I thought I knew what love was." You whisper, peeking up at him, soft brown eyes watching you patiently. "But this... feels different. It feels like... more. And that... that makes me feel like I'm betraying him. Like I'm dishonoring the love we shared. I feel guilty, and awful, like I'm doing something wrong." You close your eyes, losing your control, your battle, lower lip trembling with a sob. It tumbles out of you, hoarse and raw, everything falling away as you cry. There's a knife, in your chest, in your heart, twisting and sawing and stabbing, and it hurts, it hurts so badly, the sharp ache only soothed when Simon pulls you into his arms, cradling you against his chest, hand smoothing up and down your spine.

"Sh-shhh." He's settled you into his lap completely now, legs and hips and entire body, wrapped up tight, safe and secure. A small amount of tension sags away from your frame, relieved that he's not running, white hot guilt and grief and still burning in the pit of your stomach. "You're not doing anything, anything, wrong, sweetheart." He thumbs at a tear on your cheek. "It's natural to feel grief like this, it's normal. But you're not betraying him, or your marriage. He'll always be a part of you, and Emmaline." He's rocking you, murmuring softly above your ear, and you relax more, letting him calm you, put you back together piece by piece, your tears starting to slow, your chest rising and falling at a more regular pace. "I want to tell you something." He says after a while, once it's been quiet for a few minutes. You nod, trying to encourage him. "My mum is gone." You push off from him, looking up into his eyes. They're sad, and you see grief in them, despair, but also a deep depth of love. "She taught me how to cook, when I was a young lad. Always told me it would come in handy, when I fell in love." He takes a deep breath, burying his face in your neck for a second before coming back up for air. "She never got to see that, me with someone else. In love. And for years, I thought I disappointed her, let her down, even in death."

"Simon." You whisper, heart breaking apart all over again for the pain that's embedded across his face, the torment that bleeds from his expression.

"But, ever since I met you- I've thought, maybe she's lookin' out for me. That she's somewhere, out there, still bein' my mum. Sending me angels." He blinks, lashes wet, the tear that drips down your face mirroring his own. "Sending you, and Emma. And maybe your husband, is doing the same." You close your eyes, remembering the first time you ever saw Simon, on the roof, handsome in the morning light, even though he seemed so exhausted. You remember the way he held Emmaline, the first time he gave her a bottle, your little baby so at home in his giant arms, safe and cuddled against his chest like she just fit there. When he came to your rescue in the park, scary enough to make every scatter but all you felt was safety. The first time he kissed you, on his patio in the snow. And tonight, when he promised to give you everything, when he held you, made love to you, promised to take care of you. Your heart races in your chest, fingers clutching onto him, holding as tight as you can.

"Am I your angel, Simon Riley?" You wondered aloud with wide eyes, leaning into him, nose to nose. He kisses you, face wet with tears, voice hoarse when he answers.

"You're mine, as I'm yours, sweetheart."

#peaches writes #light on #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader

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changisworld · 6 months ago

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“Why do you make me feel like this, pretty?”

fuckboy!hyunjin x reader

Word count; 5,902

Summary: After hyunjin took your virginity, you grew attached despite trying your hardest not to. You find out he hooked up with someone the day after it happened which broke your heart, making you cry.. but of course, hyunjin caught you crying. He didn’t really know what he felt, it being new to him, as he tries to refuse the silly ideas popping into his brain, he can’t ignore how much you being upset is making his heart.. hurt?? Surely he doesn’t like you too..?

18+ ONLY, MDNI, SMUT UNDER THE CUT.

©ANY translation, copy & paste, posting of my work is strictly forbidden for ANY posts/ writing i post.

main masterlist here

part 3 here

**This can be read on its own despite it probably being confusing but i highly recommend reading part 1!**

SMUT WARNINGS: spit/drool, PIV, needy reader, pet names, shyish reader, rimming( f rec), oral ( f rec), fingering (f rec), finger sucking, unprotected sex, jealous jinnie, edging???,pull out method, literally 1 spank, slight dacryphilia, jealous jinnie, soft jinnie, kind jinnie, hyunjins a tease obvs, slight aftercare, wayyy fluffier ending than last time you're welcome!!

You & Hyunjin walk off campus, you still hiding your face from him, embarrassed at the tears now staining your cheeks, your face tinged red, you also don't fail to miss the looks you & Hyunjin are receiving from other students walking past the both of you, his arm still around you & you can't help but feel judged, so you push his arm off.

"Forget the cafe, I'm just gonna go home, I feel.. sick. I'll see you later Hyunjin." you murmur, still not looking at him in the eye.

"Y/n stop being weird, just cmon. I promise to cheer you up." He replies back, reaching out to cup your cheek but you move your head before murmuring a quick 'bye' before walking away from him hastily, leaving him standing there, confused & a bit annoyed.

He watches as you turn the corner & he huffs before kicking a stone nearby. 'Why do I care she's actually upset? 'What did I do wrong?' 'I hope she's okay' & 'Shit how can I apologise' are all thoughts that race through his head, no matter how much he tries to shake it all off, he genuinely feels guilty. But why? He never feels sorry for the girls he fucks n chucks, so what makes it different? He barely even knows you? He only spoke to you for a week which is barely anything. He sighs before pulling out his phone & going onto his contacts, about to call Joy, another one of his side things, before deciding against it, instead calling his friend Jisung& asking to meet him.

⭑･ﾟﾟ･:༅｡.｡༅:ﾟ::✼✿　　✿✼:ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

Twenty minutes later Jisung meets him at the local dog walking park & they end up sitting on a bench, talking about random stuff before the topic of you comes up, but not because of Hyunjin.

“You’re lucky you got to partner up with y/n for that assignment, I got put with Changbin so obviously i fucking failed, tryna do that presentation on the spot was absolute torture, you still talk to her? she seems quiet as hell.” Han sighs, sipping his bubble tea through his straw & Hyunjin laughs.

“Ay! I actually helped her so shut up, just because you both have no more than eight brain cells, i’m just proof there is such a thing as looks & beauty. Nah, we haven’t really spoken since, just been busy i suppose & what the hell am i meant to say to her?” Hyunjin replies, a quick chuckle leaving his lips.

“What do you mean you’re proof that looks n beauty exist, y/n basically invented it you idiot. Wha'cha mean what are you meant to say to her? Did you fuck her too or something?" Han questions, leaning forward.

Hyunjin just kisses his teeth before nodding & Han just raises his eyebrows. "fuck, I didn't think someone like y/n would get around that way. Can you do me a favour n start speaking to her again n put in a good word about me I wanna approach her but she feels intimidating, you get me?" Once Hyunjin hears these words, a bad & gross feeling bubbles up in his stomach.. is what he feeling... jealousy?

"Uhh.. you're really not her type, she's not up for dating, she told me. Go try your luck with someone else." Hyunjin says in a bitter tone, not looking at the man in front of him & Han scoffs.

"You chat shit Hyunjin, stop gatekeeping! I'll just use my charms & trust me, we'll be fucking a week later n dating two weeks later." Jisung jokes, patting Hyunjins leg but he pushes it off.

"You're ridiculous Jisung, she won't want what's between your legs." Hyunjin spits out before standing up off the bench, stretching out & sighing. "I have things to do, you can keep day dreaming, I'll see you later. choke on your boba." Hyunjin jokes with Han & he spits out a bubble as a response before he walks away, leaving Han on the bench.

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He walks through the rest of the park, thinking about Hans words & he can't get over it. 'Why am I so jealous?' 'Who does he honestly think he is talking about y/n like that?' 'They wouldn't even look good together.' are things that keep racing through his head & he is getting more pissed off as the seconds go by.

He gets out of the park & he keeps walking on the pavement, not having an actual destination in mind.. until he seen you walking out of a random convenience store across the street & a lightbulb lights up behind his brown eyes.

He picks up the pace of his walk as he follows just far enough behind you on the other side of the road until you reach your apartment complex before entering & he can't help but feel like an absolute creep, but that doesn't stop him. He screenshots his location on find my Iphone, just so he won't forget where to go later on as he walks back the way he came, heading to the main line of shops near the campus.

He strolls around for around twenty minutes, looking at random little trinkets, bookmarks with the college logo on it, which he cringes at due to the look of it, before he keeps walking until he reaches a little florist shop.

He enters it, aimlessly walking around, fingertips grazing over a few roses & tulips, admiring the pretty colours as he sets his eyes on a bouquet of lillies. He picks it up, giving himself a better look at it before deciding he is happy with it, heading to the counter.

He places them down, not paying attention to the cashier as he looks at the little vases beside the register.

"Can I get this pink vase to- ohh, I didn't know you worked here Jennie, hiya." he says, surprised. "Sure. You know, Lisa doesn't like lillies, I suggest you get her daffodils, her favourite colour being yellow n all." she responds, smiling up at him. "Ah, they.. they're not for Lisa so I'll pass. Can you fill up the vase with a bit of water too? I think that's what you're supposed to do, right?" he says quickly, hand coming up to the back of his neck, the awkwardness filling the small space.

"mhmm. £29.11 is the total." She says in a cold voice, taking the tag off the vase as she turns around to the small sink, filling up the vase 1/3 of the way. She dumps the bouquet in the vase with no care at all before pushing it towards him, giving him the card machine. He pays, a strained, awkward smile on his face before saying thank you & leaving.

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After buying you a box of chocolates & a Vanilla bean smelling candle & following the path you walked on earlier, he ends up back outside your apartment complex.

He sits on the front steps, waiting for someone to leave the building so he can catch the door & once he is inside, he begins knocking on every door, talking to each person who answers in a quiet voice, Ignoring the confused looks of other students who recognise him who are all definitely wondering why he is knocking doors looking for you, making sure you wouldn't hear him & then refuse to open the door.

He reaches the fourth floor, mouth slightly dry from all the talking he has had to do & he is beginning to doubt his memory. He knocks on the third door & takes a step back, waiting for an answer as he hears footsteps & he can't help the smile that spreads across his face as you are the one who open the door.

"Surprise, & I'm not just talking about my pretty face. Can I come in?" he chirps as he raises his arms, making sure you see what he has brought despite it being almost all you can see, not missing the chance to give you an up & down look, you wearing black tight shorts & an oversized off the shoulder graphic shirt.

"Hyunjin, I told you I was sick.. How the hell do you know where I live?" you question, honestly just confused. "Does that matter? I asked a question, Don't leave me standing here I went to like twenty doors to find you!" he pouts. You roll your eyes & begin to shut the door but Hyunjin stops it with his foot.

"Okay okay okay! I followed you, but not in a creepy way I swear! I just wanted to.. apologise? But I knew you would ghost me If I text you." he says in a sulky voice. You groan before opening the door back open, his pretty face poking through the gap. "You are a creep, you know that? Why you apologising?" you question him, crossing your arms, not amused but slightly flattered despite not showing it.

"I'm not going to broadcast my deep, heart warming words in the corridor for everyone to hear, just let me inside, pleaseee." he pouts again & you just sigh before moving out of the way so he can enter, taking his shoes off as soon as they touch your laminate flooring.

You walk into your connected living room & kitchen before sitting on your corner kitchen counter, your legs swinging off it as Hyunjin follows behind you, looking around at the cute random decorations hung up on your walls & on the mantle pieces.

He places the flowers on your coffee table before walking back into your small kitchen & leaning on the opposite counter top, still holding the chocolates & candle.

"Okay, Can I give you my apology now? I rehearsed this to make sure I get everything right." He tries to joke but you just look at him with a blank expression before nodding, encouraging him to continue. "Okay, I didn't realise how much I've upset you & I'm sorry for not trying to check up on you sooner & stopped speaking to you. I partially didn't even mean to ghost you but I also genuinely thought you wouldn't speak to me anymore since you're always so concentrated on lessons & studying, I thought you would have thought I was getting in your way. I'm also sorry for fucking with that girl & you overheard it, if I'm genuinely being honest, I did it to try wipe my mind of you. I know what we did is a huge thing & it was wrong of me to have acted the way I did, if i'm being honest, this was the first time I did what we did so I just didn't really know how to act, but I'm genuinely sorry y/n. Chocolates?"

He blurts out, not taking his eyes off you as he feels his cheeks go hot, the nerves & also the way you're looking at him making him flustered. You both sit in silence for a minute, him waiting for a response & you thinking of a response.

"Gimme the box & light the candle for me, second drawer to your right n you will find a lighter. If you felt like this all week, You've still had seven days to come n tell me this but instead you've let me feel like shit for a week, this was the exact reason I was unsure to do it with you Hyunjin, in fear something like this would have happened & instead of just growing a pair & talking to me, you fuck someone else to just try forget?" You reply, your voice getting a bit shaky without meaning it, the feelings of it all hitting you again.

Hyunjin listens as he digs into his pocket & pulling out his own lighter & lighting it before putting it on the counter & he walks the few steps over to you, handing you the chocolate before standing right in front of you, leaning his hands on the counter on the outside of your legs, caging you in.

"Please y/n, don't think like that. I know I should have swallowed my pride n apologised earlier, I was just trying to convince myself I didn't give a fuck but I do, hence why I'm here. I honestly think you used those crystals & manifested this or something." he mumbles the last part, looking away from you, his ears going red after hearing his words out loud & your legs stop swinging as you pause at his words.

"What do you mean you actually give a fuck? What are you trying to say." you reply back, resisting the urge to reach out & stroke his hair. Hyunjin sighs & shakes his head. "Don't make me spit it out y/n, It's just gonna sound like a lie to you." You get an anxious feeling in your belly before taking his chin & guiding him to look back up at you. "Hyunjin, just say it, it's only me here anyway. Just say what you gotta say." you respond in a quiet but firm voice, honestly scared.

He doesn't have much option but to look at you as he lets himself melt into your hand lightly before taking a deep breath. "I.. care about you? I don't know, it feels weird but like... I genuinely felt like shit after how I treated you n i've tried to bury it but it just won't leave, I don't really know what it is about you n honestly it scares me." he says in a quiet, quick tone & your jaw drops.

You just freeze as you both just look at each other in complete silence not including the quiet crackling of the candle & your living room clock ticking. Hyunjin can't bare the awkwardness anymore as he gets shy for the first time in years, moving his arms to stand completely upright but you pull him in by the shirt to hug him, tears threatening to leave your eyes as his arms wrap around you in return.

"This better not be some sort of sick joke Hyunjin or i swear I'll kill you, you're gonna boost my ego to a fraction of what yours is." you half laugh as he nuzzles his face into your neck, inhaling your sweet smell. "It's not, dead serious. You're just different n I don't know how to feel about it, stop casting spells to make me attached to you. I've been itching to ask to see you all week, I wish I wasn't being so stubborn." he muffles into your neck, moving his head side to side slightly, his nose tickling your neck, making you lean more into him, chuckling at his stupid joke.

"Stop with the silly magic jokes, you're ridiculous. I want to say you're not forgiven since you need to prove to me you're not talking out your ass but I do accept your indeed heart warming apology & I appreciate it just more than the flowers n chocolate." you say in a soft voice & you feel Hyunjin smile against your neck before he moves & kisses the tip of your nose, smiling like a Cheshire cat.

"That's what I wanted to hear, I wouldn't be able to handle it if you had told me to fuck off, my first ever rejection coming from the first person I've ever bought a present for that isn't my mom." You chuckle at this before hopping off the counter, grabbing the box of chocolates that were staring at you.

"Rejection? You tryna say you like meee?" you tease, taking his hands before swaying them back & forth & he rolls his eyes, chuckling. "Was it not kinda obvious? I wanted to say it without directly saying it in case I embarrassed myself but... yeahhh I have a tiny crush, I think you made us soul tied or something." you just 'tut' at his remark but your face goes bright red at his confession, cheeks hurting from how much you're smiling.

"I'm touched. Got thee famous playboy hwang Hyunjin to like like me, not sure if it's a surprise but I like you too." You kiss his cheek before leading him to the couch as you sit on it, him flopping next to you. "Enough of the soppy talk for now or I'll get embarrassed, you can choose a movie while I get us a blanket." He just nods & you hand him the box of chocolates & he begins opening them as you scurry to your room to get your favourite fluffy blankets.

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You both end up watching a recommended Netflix romcom suggestion, both of you devouring your chocolates but you pay no mind to it.

Some point throughout, your legs end up swung over his as your head lays against his shoulder, him stroking your hair with one hand as the other hand caresses your thigh.

Every few minutes or so, you focus less on the movie & more on his touch as his hand slowly rises up your leg, then your thigh & his hand is now grazing against your inner thigh over your tight shorts, giving you goosebumps, which he doesn't miss.

This continues up until Hyunjin repositions himself, pushing your legs off him so he can lay down over your thighs, his view now sideways of the TV, not that he cares, not paying the slightest bit of attention anyway as you momentarily tense up beneath him.

You continue stroking his hair, sometimes digging your fingers into his scalp a bit to scratch it, making him let out a satisfied hum. You can't help but keep looking down at the beautiful man laying on you & you can't help but smile to yourself.

As if he can feel your eyes burning into his skull, he moves the blanket down your legs enough to expose your legs enough for him to begin planting little pecks on them, slightly tickilish but you don't miss the wetness now pooling under your shorts. "Stop teasing Hyune." you speak up, your voice quiet & he just chuckles.

"If you don't want me to tease, I won't complain if you lay back." he replies, not bothering to look up at you as his hand reaches to squeeze your thigh softly as he keeps giving your legs kisses, suckling at them slightly,

You think about what he says & you would be stupid to deny the chance, your pussy clenching around nothing. You lightly push his head up off you & he takes the hint, moving & you push the side of his arm, towards the edge of the couch & he looks at you slightly confused but does what he thinks you're hinting at, getting onto the floor right in front of you, looking up at you with his pretty eyes.

You give him a shy smile before you take it upon yourself to wriggle your shorts & underwear off, leaving your bottom half completely nude, biting your lip in anticipation.

"You really got this desperate since last time I saw you?" he teases & you put your hand in front of your cunt, covering it with how shy you've just started feeling but he is quick to pull it back off, looking at the small shimmer on your middle finger before licking it off in one go.

"Don't be shy, gorgeous. I've been just as desperate if not more, can I get a taste?" he says in a sweet voice, not looking away from you, stars in his eyes. "Please.. If you want to." you respond, hiding your face in your hands but he reaches up & swats your hands away yet again as his other hand begins to slowly drag through your folds, making your hips buck.

"Stop hiding, where's your confidence gone hmm? Do I make you that nervous? trust me, there's nothing I want more." he leans in & kisses right next to your lip before smirking at you & sinking back down onto the floor, blowing cold air onto your now soaking cunt, making your legs tense up & he tongues his cheek as he watches your face twitch.

He spreads your folds open, getting a better view of your hole, clenching around nothing before he licks a long, slow strip from your hole to the top of your clit, letting out a low groan in the process. "Taste better than anything y/n, I fucking swear." he says as he looks up at you for a split second. "eyes on me, if you look away I'll stop." he voices before digging in.

You do as he says & make eye contact with him as his mouth latches onto your cunt as he begins letting spit roll off his tongue, mixing with your juices just before slurping it back up, not afraid to make as much noise as the mixes of juices allow.

You weave your hand in his hair & play with his hair & scratch his scalp for him as he suctions his tongue onto your swollen button, both of you groaning at the same time.

"Hyune, so good" you whimper out, your breath shaky as your eyes struggle to stay open & you feel Hyunjin smile against you. He brings his fingers up to your clit before rubbing it in a steady rhythm as he lets go of before his tongue find its way into your opening before beginning to tongue fuck you & you throw your head back, your moans now louder than the TV still playing behind the both of you, your legs now closing around his head, not that he pays attention to that anyway, if anything he is enjoying it.

You begin to clench around his tongue which he remembers is your tell tail sign you're about to orgasm, your moans getting higher pitched & your grip on his hair getting tighter & he chooses to worm his tongue out of your hole before pinching your clit between his two fingers & dropping a glob of spit to it before giving it one more lick, smirking.

"I wanna try something I think you might like, turn over so you're facing your back to me, hunny." You huff at the beginning of a future orgasm beginning to appear suddenly bubbling away but you do as he says, slightly confused.

You get up on your knees & rest your elbows on the back of the couch, you now looking at the wall behind you. "Why am I fac-" you're cut off as Hyunjin spreads your cheeks & begins fondling them as he begins suckling on your pussy from behind, letting out a satisfied hum behind you as you begin kneading the couch until your fingers begin to ache, biting your lip to try hold back moans.

"G-gonna cum Hyunjin, keep g-going." you whimper, pushing yourself into his face, seeking even more from him if it's even possible & he gives you a quick slap on your ass as he removes himself from your cunt again, much to his own displeasure.

"Don't bite your lip y/nnie, I wanna hear you fully, Mkay?" he speaks from behind you as you yelp at the impact & he hums as he keeps kneading your ass, giving it a few kisses. "Your ass is to die for, you know that? Gonna taste it." Before you can even process what he says, your mind too full of lust to understand, he is letting a glob of spit fall past his lips & it landing right on your tightest hole.

You try jerk your hips away from him but he is quicker & pulls you back to him, keeping a tighter grip on your ass, keeping it spread as his tongue begins to graze over your pretty pucker, his eyes scrunching together as he smiles against you, tongue now drawing patterns on it as he lets go of one of your ass cheeks, going down to your leaking cunt again before entering two fingers, instantly finding the same G-spot that made you orgasm only a week or so ago.

Your hips buck at the new sensation & you let out a long mewl, letting your face fall onto the back of the couch as your knuckles turn white from how hard you're clenching on it.

Your pretty hole is clenching & pulsating on his tongue as he lets out a deep growl at your taste, so different compared to your cunt but still enjoyable, you're moans getting to an even higher pitch as his tongue enter inside you, swirling around as much as the tight ring will allow.

"Hyun- please l-let me cum, s-so- fuck!" you basically scream out, not even being able to find the strength to lift your head up to look at the man behind you as your pussy & ass clench around his fingers & tongue but right before you cum, Hyunjin pulls completely away, again & your legs shake from the painful pleasure of yet another stolen orgasm.

Hyunjin leans over so his clothed chest is touching your back & he tilts your head so he can see your pretty face & he sees your now tear soaked cheeks & your pretty, glossy eyes.

"Awww, pretty girl couldn't contain their tears, could you? I promise you can cum now, I don't have a condom on me though beautiful so do you just want my fingers hmm? or my tongue?" he questions as he strokes your now damp hair out of your face, pouting at you.

"J-just fuck me Hyune, j-just pull out." you whiimper back to him, your breath so unstable it's difficult to even push the words out. Hyunjin opens his mouth to re ask you, just to make sure he is hearing things right but you wiggle your naked ass against him & he bucks his hips before just nodding before kissing your shoulder & then shimmying his pants & underwear down, freeing his pretty cock.

He spits onto his cock, pumping it into his hand a few times, letting out a hushed groan before he aligns his tip with your pussy, rubbing himself against it a few times to coat his tip in your juices before prodding his tip against your hole, before pushing just the tip inside.

"I'm still gonna be gentle, it's only your second time, tell me if this position is uncomfortable." he speaks behind you & as you mumble out an 'okay' while your face now being mushed against the cushion again, he pushes his hips forward very slowly until he buries himself to the hilt, you both letting out a moan in unison.

He stills inside you, trying to not cum instantly from how hot your walls feel without the restriction of the condom he wore last time, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he waits for your signal to continue.

Your breath staggers as he pushes forward, the stretch being a bit painful but no way near as painful as last time & after a minute or so, you push yourself on his cock experimentally, making you both hiss.

"You- please move, mak-make me cum Hyune, p-please." you elongate the last word, turning your head to the side so he can actually hear you. He takes a deep breath & pulls out half way before pushing back in, the both of you letting out a whine as his balls slap against your clit, making it even more intense for you.

Hyunjin sets a steady rhythm, lightly using the tips of his finger nails to add sensation to your back, tickling it but also feeling nice as you know it will leave those pretty little red marks later on. Both of your moans & whines fill the small apartment, not even thinking about how your neighbours can one hundred percent hear you.

"Y/n yo-you're too tight, s-so warm." he breathes out, lifting his leg & standing it on the couch for a better angle as he keeps rutting into you, leaning over your back again to kiss your cheek, your moans going straight into his ears.

"To- so big hy-hyune, pleas-e lemme c-cum." you whimper, your eyes scrunching closed, the ends of Hyunjins hair tickling your face as he begins to nibble on your earlobe, your cunt clenching impossibly tight around his cock, almost suffocating it.

"c-cum with me baby, h-hold on for me." he groan back as he tilts his neck into an uncomfortable position just so he can kiss your lips. His tongue instantly enters your mouth & you suckle on it, tasting the remaining taste of your juices from what he hasn't already repeatedly swallowed, making you moan in content.

Hyunjin speeds up his pace slightly & your G-spot loves this, making your legs almost give out on the spot as your brain turns into mush. "I-in my s-stomach Hyun-deep." you babble out against his lips, barely even knowing your own name at this point.

As Hyunjin stands back upright after giving your shoulder a few pecks, his phone begins to ring. Your eyes spot his phone on the other end of the couch, where he was sitting earlier but he reaches over & declines it before shutting his phone completely off, throwing it to the side, his pace not slowing once.

You don't bother questioning it, instead focusing on the noises of your slick & his balls connecting together mixed with the sweat of the both of you, sloppy clapping noises of your skin connecting filling the room, your legs begin to give out as Hyunjin worms his fingers down to your clit yet again before rubbing it frantically.

"In your s-stomach hmm? You can cum for me angel, n-not gonna last, too w-wet n tight." he squabbles, breathing frantically & this i all you need to hear as your entire body tenses up as finally, your orgasm hits you like a brick wall & you let out a squeal & Hyunjin has to grip onto your hips as his life depend on it in order for you to not flop & slip off the couch.

Your noises & the way your pussy flutters around him is just too much for him to handle & as much as he doesn't want to, he pulls himself out of your wet, hot walls as his cum spurts down your ass & back, throwing his head back as his cock quite literally pulsates as his balls empty, a high pitched whimper leaving his lips, breathing staggered.

He comes back to his body quicker than you do & he helps reposition you so you're fully laying on the couch, trying to make sure his cum doesn't get onto any other surface.

He grabs his underwear & wipes the cum off your back in a comfortable silence, slightly twitching as he wipes it off. He leans over your back again before kissing your earlobe. "Did so well, so proud of you, still so pretty for me despite being sticky with sweat." you both weakly laugh as you turn onto your back before using the ounce of strength you have left to pull on his wrist.

"cuddle." is all you say as you pull on him until he lays on top of you, half his weight dangling off the arm of the couch as he lays his head on your chest, listening to your still racing heartbeat & he can't help but feel secure.

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You both sit like this for a while, talking to one another about what you both spoke about in a bit more detail & also just talk to each other about things you don't know about one another, things like family pets, favourite colours, favourite brands etc.

Hyunjin ends up powering his phone back on & you are both just scrolling through his for you page, when you remember his phone ringing. "Quick question hyune, who was it that called you? If it was important you coulda stopped to answer." you ask him, not lifting your eyes from the video playing on his phone screen, not really thinking too much of it.

"Don't stress it, it was just someone I'm not gonna be speaking to anymore." he replies in s tired voice, still scrolling. His reply slightly confusing you. "Who? I don't mean to be nosey or anything but now i'm curious." you respond back, your fingers in his hair now pausing.

Without saying anything, he switches apps, onto his call log & it's Lisas name at the top.. nineteen missed calls. He just sighs as he presses on the 'more' option before deleting her number & deleting the Imessage conversation without even bothering to read her spam of texts, yelling, crying & cussing him out before switching apps back onto tiktok without saying a word & you just blush, your hands cupping his cheeks from above, your thumbs just below his eyes.

"You're cute." you say as you squeeze them playfully & he just 'tut's but still, he melts himself into your touch.

I'm not completely sure if I want to leave this story as a two parter orrrrrr do a third n final part but to everyone wanting a happier ending here you all are!

Tags: @troublemaker02 @ismokeeweed @lmhcats @isagerada @tsunderelino

#hyunjin skz #hyunjin smut #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin #skz smut #stray kids #straykids x reader #straykids #stray kids smut #skz fanfic #skz fluff #skz x reader #skz #skz hyunjin #smut #kpop smut #fanfic

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mywritersmind · 3 months ago

Text

RULE NO.1 - LN

summary : fewtrell!sister. The one rule Max keeps strict with Lando is to stay away from his sister! Lando has always teased the girl but as she returns from college to crash at Max’s, it’s not so much of a joke anymore.

warning : kissing kissing kissing!

word count : 1740

⋆ ˚‧｡⋆

My brother has always had one rule with Lando, that is, ‘No, Under so circumstances, can you ever do ANYTHING with my sister.’ After I had my first kiss with said F1 driver, Max vetoed anything between us.

Of course there was nothing there, we were twelve and I had a tiny crush on him. But Lando is nothing if not mischievous.

He flirts. That’s the way he gets around the silly rule. His touches linger, his words tease me, and his eyes say anything he forgot.

Max absolutely hates it, especially with Landos track record with girls, it’s become a way to protect me and his own friendship.

I don’t exactly hate it. It’s a hot guy flirting with me, why would I hate it? Still, maybe my teeny tiny crush never fully left my mind. And with his meaningless words comes my own meaningful feelings.

“You look good.” I can see Lando in the reflection of the TV. He sips his tea, and leans against the counter.

He's in running shorts and a Quadrant shirt.

“Thank you.” I haven’t seen Lando in more than a year. I’ve been in my last year at Uni and his career has been crazier than ever. I would be fine around him… except that the last time I saw him it was new years. And he kissed me.

He kissed me and it’s lived rent free in my head for over a year. Max doesn’t know, of course he doesn’t because Lando is still in one piece.

Our whole childhood I was just the little sister who sometimes would beat them at mario kart. I’m two years younger, nothing crazy, yet Max seems to think it’s illegal for Lando to see me in shorts.

“Where’s my brother?” I ask, turning the page of my book without reading any words.

“Running.” He shrugs, “He’s slow.” I hear Landos footsteps come closer, then his bent over body leans against the back of the couch, making our heads next to each other.

He's turned toward me, I refuse to take my eyes off this book. “Why? You don’t trust us alone?”

Fuck Max and his slow ass.

I turn to face him, not letting myself feed his ego, “I don’t trust Max’s judgment of us alone.”

Landos slow smirk that tormented me throughout my childhood drifts back onto his face, “He’s right though.”

I sigh and close my book, getting up and walking to the kitchen, “He’s not here, Norris. You don’t have to play like that.”

“Play like what?” He turns to face me, wanting me to say it. “Oh i’m sorry, Your boyfriend wouldn’t approve?”

I hate the way he knows me because he clocks the way my lips pull into a thin line immediately, “You broke up?”

“It was mutual.” I say quickly.

“You dumped him.” He laughs out loud, walking closer to me, “God, Y/N please tell me he cried.” he did cry, actually.

I pivot and grab an apple for myself. I bite into it and Lando takes the time to assess me. I suddenly feel naked in sweats and a tank top.

“You’re one to talk. You cried after Kelly Allen kissed another boy on the playground.”

“That was in primary school!”

I laugh as he gets defensive, “I’m going to bed.”

“Wait! Come on, humor me a bit more.” He steps closer and I step backwards.

“Goodnight, Lando.” I turn around.

“Goodnight, Gorgeous.” His words make me spin on my heels.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?” He fakes innocence.

“Stop being a flirt! You’re never serious around me and it’s getting annoying.” Something in his face changes then.

“Why would you think I’m not being serious?”

The door opens right as he says it, my brother stomping in as I back away from Lando, “I- Hate- You!” he pants as Landos whole demeanor changes to casually laughing at his friend. “Oh- Y/N!” Max catches his breath, “Lando is staying here tonight so… the couch is officially closed.”

I roll my eyes and lock myself into Max’s guest bedroom. This is going to be a long night.

____

I can’t sleep.

I can’t stop thinking about Lando sleeping right outside my door.

I need water, I decide.

I slip on my Brandy Melville shorts and adjust my thin tank top, walking out into the dark kitchen.

When I open the fridge I basically get blinded. Why the fuck is this light so bright!? I’m not the only one it bothers because the body on the couch stirs, “Hmm?” Lando groans and sits up, looking at me with sleepy confusion.

I grab the water pitcher and shut the door quickly, though by this time my eyes have adjusted to the dark and can properly see Lando.

Lando who’s in gray sweats.

Lando who’s in gray sweats, only.

“Sorry.” I whisper, turning to face the cabinet and trying to grab a glass.

I didn’t even notice he got off of the couch until I felt him behind me, reaching up to grab the cup that I couldn't reach.

“Thanks.” I duck under his arm. He's not even that much taller than me!

“Thirsty?” He says in a raspy voice. I pour my water with a slightly shaky hand.

“That would explain the water.” I say in a sassy tone. He chuckles a bit and leans against the counter top, his hands holding onto the marble.

I turn to face him, sipping my water. He checks me out then. With no shame at all! His hot gaze sweeps across my body for the second time today.

“Amused?” I ask innocently as his eyes meet mine.

“With you? Always.” He says without missing a beat, “I wasn’t joking, you know.”

I don’t know what he’s talking about.

“You said I'm never serious around you. But I've never lied to you.” my heart rate raises. I'm grateful we’re in the dark so he can’t see my pink cheeks.

“Lando. You shouldn’t say that.” I try to keep my eyes above his bare torso, I'm not doing too well.

“Why? Cause of Max? Fuck Max.” He’s closer to me now, he places his hands on both sides of my waist, bracing himself against the counter, “I think about that kiss every day.”

“We were twelve, I think it’s time to get over it.” I shrug, teasing him. He puts his head down, shaking it.

“I hate you.” Our eyes lock again.

I can hear his breathing, “No you don’t.”

His eyes glance to my lips, “No I don’t.” I watch him hesitate, once. Only once. His lips are on mine in an instant after that.

He feels so familiar yet so changed. This isn’t like how he kissed me on new years, this is new, this is right.

I grip onto anything I can, wanting him closer. His hands move to my hips, slipping his finger under the waist of my shorts.

“Lan-” I try to say but he cuts me off by kissing me. “Lando.” I say again, his mouth moving to my neck so I can talk. “We’re gonna wake up-”

He stops kissing me and suddenly I'm lifted onto the countertop, the ice cold marble freezing my ass. “Love, you’re gonna have to not think about that. Alright?” The way he says it makes me want to squeeze my legs together.

I nod, unable to speak before kissing him again. He slips his tongue into my mouth and holds my waist tight. Landos touch makes me think I'm going to melt right onto the floor.

My head hits the cabinets behind me but I don’t care, I wrap my arms around his neck, having him in between my legs still.

His hand moves to my cheek, kissing me desperately. He pushes his hand back into my hair, shamelessly tugging at it. I whimper as my head nods backwards. I hear his quickened breathing against me, his lips dragging down my chin and neck.

“Fuck, do that again.” He presses wet kisses down my chest, gripping my boob under my shirt. Right on cue, I whimper again as he runs his finger over my nipple. “Good girl.”

Landos hand finds itself in my hair once again, wrapping it around his knuckles. I want him so bad and I hate him for doing this here.

When he pulls on my hair once more, I knew he fucked up. The moan I let out is raw and too loud for us trying to stay quiet.

He slaps his hand over my mouth, his eyes darting up to my face. We go silent, waiting for some sign that Max is awake or heard us.

We wait.

Nothing comes.

I look at him and lick his hand, “Ugh!” He whisper yells.

I laugh quietly, “Your own doing.”

He shakes his head and lets it drop onto my shoulder as we fall into silent laughter. I poke his side, “You like me.”

He just rolls his eyes and pushes his hair back, still panting a bit, “You like me.”

“With the way you kiss, I better.” I smirk as he drags his hand down his face.

I watch him adjust his pants, earning me a raised brow and a smirk. I push his face away from me and hop off the counter, I attempt to fix my hair but I’m still being stared at by Lando.

“You really are gorgeous, ya know?” His words surprise me, making my already hot body even worse.

“I appreciate it.”

“Let me take you out.”

“We haven’t seen eachother in a year- what makes you think this year will be any different?” He bites his lip, holding onto my hips one last time.

“We can make it work.”

“But Ma-” I try to say.

Lando rolls his eyes. “He never wanted us to fuck around-”

“Like we just did…” I interrupt.

He keeps going, “But I like you.” I can’t help but smile, “And I don’t care if he doesn’t like that.”

“Look at you… sticking up to my brother.”

He smiles, running his tongue over his teeth before kissing me, “Goodnight for real, Gorgeous.”

He lets go of me as I turn around, “Goodnight, Lando.”

#fanfic #fiction #lando norris fanfic #lando x reader #lando norris #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic

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deanscherrypie69 · 23 days ago

Text

Girl dad Logan🩷

Pairings; Logan Howlett x F!malereader Warnings; fluff, just logan and his girls!

A/n, I’m gonna try to turn this into a series. So lmk if yall enjoy this ! Cause I loved writing it!!!

🩷🩷🩷

You don’t t know what time you’d woken up, but you reach out to feel the side of the bed where your husband had laid. But it was cold.

Opening your eyes, you see that the covers had been thrown back. Huffing you throw the blankets off your body. You sit at the side of the bed and run a hand down your face. To wake yourself up.

“Logan?” You say with a raspy voice.

When he doesn’t answer back you manage to get up from the bed.

“Okay come on girl.” You say rubbing your swollen belly. You’d been pregnant for almost seven months. It was your second baby. A girl.

Logan was over the moon. He couldn’t wait to have another girl.

Your first daughter ivy was attached to Logan’s hip since the day she was born.

They did everything together.

It was adorable. It was Logan who insisted on having another baby. You couldnt say no. You were right there with him. You wanted to expand the family.

“Lo?” You hum as you reach the living room. There was no one in there.

Your head whips over to the sound of a shrieking laugh.

Furrowing your eyebrows you make your way over to ivy’s room.

The door had been open a crack. Through the crack you see Logan sitting as ivy’s tea table. With a tiara on.

“Here you go daddy.” Ivy says giving Logan a plastic tea cup.

“Thanks bub.” Logan took the plastic cup. You watched as he bought it up to his mouth and took a sip.

You couldn’t help but awe at the moment that was unfolding right in front of you.

Without saying a word you fully open the door.

Logan lifted his head up and smiled when he saw you.

His smile was big. He was glad to see you.

“Mommy!” Ivy shrieks and grabs your leg.

“Good morning!” You say ruffling her long brown hair.

Logan clears his throat. Causing your gaze to be on him.

“It’s actually the afternoon.”

You gasp and look at ivy’s clock that had been sitting. On her dresser. “Why didn’t you wake me? Did she eat did you give her a bat-“

“She’s fine-“ Logan cuts you off with a chuckle. “I figured I just let me two girls sleep. How is she doing today anyways.”

Ivy gives your leg one more squeeze, then goes back to her tea set.

“Come here.” Logan reaches out his hands of you to take.

You stand in front of him. He’d still been sitting down. He puts his hands into your belly.

“How’s my beautiful girl.” He kisses your belly. It’d been covered by his t-shirt. You’d used them as nightgowns.

Logan looks up at you.

“How are you?” He hums rubbing a hand over your belly.

“M’kay just tired.” You say with a big yawn.

“That’s why I let you sleep, I figured you needed it. And plus she woke me up at 9:30 this morning wanting to play princess tea party.”

He motions to ivy, who was feeling her stuffed bear a cookie.

You chuckle. You bring your hand down tj his hair and run your fingers through it. “You’re a great dad Logan.”

You hum. You feel tears begin to spill from your eyes.

When Logan notices he quickly gets up. “Hey, hey don’t cry.” He hums flicking the tears away.

“She’s lucky to have you.”

Logan pulls you into a hug, his chin resting on your head. "And she's lucky to have you, you're a great mom." Logan places a kiss onto your forehead.

He wipes the tears off your face. "I love you."

"I love you more." You hum.

"Mommy!" Ivy squeaks, "Play princess tea party with me and daddy!" She was jumping up and down with excitement.

"Okay okay." You giggle pulling away from logan.

Logan couldn't help but take in the sight that unfolded in front of him, he was happy. And he wanted it to stay like this forever.

Just Logan and his girls.

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a-hazbin-reader · 9 months ago

Note

Just had a fun idea but like, what about hcs on how the others would react upon realizing s/o has feelings for Alastor? Like out of everyone they could've fallen for of it HAD to be him kjbgbkjs

Thanks for the consideration and take care of yourself op! Drink water, eat food, and know ur favs adore you!

Everyone finding out that wifey is married to Alastor??? 👀 That's what I heard-

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: A little suggestive in the middle bit? Angel helps wifey buy lingerie

Description: ☝️⬆️

You meet everyone at the hotel separately from your husband, so they never make the connection until they actually see you two together

Except Niffty, Alastor just had her trailing behind him one day

"Niffty! This is my darling wife! She is the lady of the house!"

"Neat! I'm gonna go find some bugs!"

"...she's cute, Alastor."

"She's a menace in disguise, my dear~"

When you first met Husker, you were playing cards when he suddenly saddled himself next to you with the kind of confidence that only an overlord has

Luckily, the game was only for fun, the two of you competing against each other in friendly competition

It's a good time between the two of you, you're charming and witty, Husk just eats it up and keeps asking you to play another game

"You're pretty good at this aren't you, beautiful? Do you gamble often?"

You simply hum and politely sip your drink, carefully thinking about how you're going to turn down the overlord

"I don't tend to frequent these sorts of places but my darling husband and I are celebrating so it's a special occasion~"

"Husband?"

"Oh, he's harmless! A real romantic...~"

He deflates a little at the mention of your husband but moves on like nothing happened and that's the last you see of him for a couple of months

That is until Alastor comes home one day looking exceptionally pleased with himself as he sweeps you up into an impromptu dance

"Alastor~! What's gotten into you~?"

"Another victory under my belt, my dear~! You know how you've been saying you always wanted a cat?"

"No?"

"Well, I went out and got you one!"

You barely have time to ask him what he means when suddenly Husk is standing in front of you, looking shocked

"Oh Alastor...tell me you didn't go after him just because he flirted with me a little.."

"Of course not, darling~! I did it beca-he did what now?"

Husk looks around in bewilderment before his eyes land on you wrapped in your husband's arms, pointing at you accusingly

"HE'S YOUR HUSBAND!? You need to look up the definition of HARMLESS cause he ain't harmless!"

You meet Charlie because she quite literally runs into you, tears in her eyes and obviously upset

"I'm so so SO sorry! I-"

"Hey hey...what are you sorry for? Are you okay, my dear?"

You can't help but mother her, wiping away her tears as she tries to excuse her tears as nothing serious

"Would you like to talk about it? I can't just leave you crying out in the street like a lost baby, now can I?"

She sniffles pathetically and nods, letting you guide her somewhere more private

"Y-yes please..."

"Come now, we'll make some hot tea and you can tell me what's got you so worked up..."

You two grow attached to each other after that and make time to meet with each other at least a few times a month

She gets anxious when she hasn't heard from you in a while and calls you whenever she's upset about something, seeking your opinion

You listen to Charlie's problems and try to offer her advice or do what you can to help her feel better, sometimes she just needs a motherly hug

She tells you about her hotel and whether you believe in her dream or not, you support her because she obviously needs it

Other times, you two talk about your respective partners and gossip

"Your husband sounds so sweet! I've got to meet him one day! When he comes back, of course..."

You laugh at her enthusiasm, gently patting her hand to calm the excitable young woman down a little and trying to quell the sadness of his absence

"And this girlfriend of yours sounds like she really cares about you, I'd love to meet her."

You feel compelled to look after her, and Charlie sees you as a source of comfort if not a mother figure to her

So she eventually introduces Vaggie to you because you've been asking to meet her, Vaggie is just excited to meet the famous Y/N

She's heard so much about you from Charlie that she had to see if you were genuine, she had to make sure you weren't using her girlfriend

Only to be taken aback by just how much she ends up liking you, looking to you for advice just as Charlie does

She's geared up, ready to fight, when one day you two are suddenly cornered by thugs out on the street, only to be baffled when you take them out with ease

Just how powerful are you?

"Wait wait wait-how did you pull off that move? I've been trying to learn how to do that for months!"

You're casually fixing your clothes and rubbing your wrist, completely unfazed by the ambush

"It's just a little something I learned from my husband~ Would you like me to teach you?"

"Y-yes! Please!"

She readily accepts, and soon she's just as attached to you as Charlie is, looking forward to the times you agree to spar with her

Her and Charlie talk about how much they love you one night before they go to bed

"So....she's great right?"

"Charlie, I fucking love her."

"Right!?"

You meet Angel at a clothing store, the two of you shopping in the same section when you catch him staring hard at the gloves

"You should try this one, the color compliments you really well, and they're made from a good material."

He jumps in surprise, obviously startled by your sudden arrival, but does genuinely seem to look at the pair of gloves you're pointing out

Angel picks them up and tries them on, seemingly more than pleased with your picks, whatever thoughts that were weighing on his mind momentarily forgotten

"Thanks..! Uh, maybe I can help you pick something out?"

He gestures to the many different lingerie in your basket, you're obviously having a hard time deciding which one to get

You have the decency to at least look a little embarrassed, a soft blush taking over your features and making you look innocent

"Would you? My husband is back, and I just want to show him how much I've missed him..."

Angel guides you to the fitting rooms, obviously excited to be of help, he could be saving a marriage for all he knows!

"Sure thing, doll! You put on each one, and Angel Dust here will tell you which one will knock your man off his feet! If I know anything! It's how to turn a man on!"

Normally, you wouldn't even THINK about showing another man your body in lingerie, but hearing that and having an inkling of who Angel is, you trust him

And it's surprisingly fun! Angel helps you narrow it down to three favorites that are sexy and comfortable, it never once feels creepy or uncomfortable

"Now pose like this when he comes in! Yes! Just like that! Your hubby is gonna lose his mind when he sees you!"

You can't help but laugh, not at all feeling ridiculous but enjoying Angel's antics and enthusiasm

"Thank you, Angel. We should go clothes shopping together again sometime, I had a good time today."

He winks and holds out his phone to get your number before walking away, no longer seeming so...depressed

"And you'll have an even better time tonight! See you later, doll~!"

You two shop together on the regular after that, greeting each other with air kisses and judging people together

"Ugh, do you see the hair on that gal? What an absolute wreck!"

"That hairstyle wasn't even popular when my husband and I were alive...ugh..."

"When am I gonna meet this man of yours anyways?"

"When he stops going to a tailor and agrees to come shopping with me~"

You're laying in bed with Alastor one night, nuzzled under his chin and cuddling in his arms when he suddenly speaks

"You know that little...project I've been working on?"

You're nearly asleep, the feeling of his thumb rubbing your arm soothing you more than he realizes

"Mhm..."

"Well, I was thinking maybe I could take you with me tomorrow...everyone there has been dying to meet you."

You open your eyes to look at your husband, smiling at him as you lean up to kiss him softly

"More people who don't believe that you have a wife? I'll be happy to set the record straight~"

He chuckles and rolls you two over so that he's on top of you, kissing down your neck as his hands push up your nightgown

"I can't wait to show you off to everyone~"

The next day, Alastor takes your arm in his and leads you inside, you're more than a little surprised to see that his project is a hotel

You're a bit shocked to see so many familiar faces in front of you, Niffty running up to hug your leg and Husk giving you a lazy wave

Charlie, Vaggie and Angel are all staring you like you're a ghost, eyes slowly moving from Alastor to you over and over again

Charlie drops her tray of snacks in surprise, rushing up to give you a bone crushing hug while Vaggie stands in front of Alastor as if to protect you

"Y/N! What are you doing here!? Are you here to give redemption a try? Oh, I knew you would come around!!"

You laugh and hug her back while patting her head, gently prying her arms off of you so you can pet Niffty

"It's good to see you too, my dear princess, though I'm here with my husband."

Vaggie's jaw drops, and she whips around to look at you, jabbing a finger at Alastor as you see her trying to digest the truth in front of her

"You! A-and him!? The Radio Demon?!"

Alastor takes the opportunity to pull you back to his side, a loving arm around your waist as you happily lean on him, hand on his chest

"Everyone! This is Y/N, my lovely wife~! Y/N, please tell them all that you're here of your own volition and that you are happily married to the most wonderful demon in all of hell!"

You hear Angel trying to hold in his laughter, obviously flashing back to the many conversations he's had with you about your mysterious husband

"Yes yes, I'm happily married to him and I'm not under any mind control or deal or anything else like that~"

You can hear Vaggie's soul leave her body, Charlie's delighted squeal and Angel's uncontrollable laughter at the sight of you and Alastor rubbing noses in an obnoxiously cute manner

"This is the guy you've been buyin' all those sexy clothes for!? Oh my fuck!! This is too good!"

"I can't believe Alastor was your husband this whole time!! I knew he was secretly a big softie! Oh my gosh! You should hear how he talks about you it's so cute!!"

"...I don't get what you see in him..."

"I don't either, you know that when I first met her, she called him HARMLESS? She's delusional."

"He's a bad boy and she LIKES IT~!"

Your husband looks at you in confusion, gently stroking your cheek

"All this time I spent singing your praises to earn you a decent reputation around here was for nothing? I should've known you'd have stolen their hearts already~"

You smile and kiss Alastor's palm sweetly, earning a chorus of cooing and disgusted noises from your audience

"Actually, I've met everyone here before, darling... it seems we've been unintentionally been keeping our a marriage a secret from everyone!"

Charlie is just so enamored with the way you two interact as a couple, her eyes sparkling whenever she watches you two together

Vaggie is just disappointed in your taste in men and shakes her head whenever you two are affectionate, secretly she thinks it's cute

Angel gets a kick out bugging Alastor about the clothes he helped you pick out, always asking him if he liked the lingerie

Husk is just thankful for the distraction you prove to be for Alastor because then he has more time to himself, encourages you two to go on a lot of dates

Niffty is just crazy as always 😜 She likes you two together though and will stab anyone who tries to separate you two

This one took so long!! I hope you like it!!

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin x reader

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wild-jackalope · 2 months ago

Text

Don’t speak! I know just what you’re saying, so please stop explaining, don’t tell me ‘cause it hurts!

pairing :: Best friend!Yuji x reader, older brother!Choso x reader (secondary)

warning :: modern au, pining, one-sided love, angst, love triangle, friends to lovers, smut, some dubcon (reader is intoxicated), fem receiving oral, unprotected p in v sex, low-key toxic at times hehe.

note :: everyone thank Gwen Stefani’s song for inspiring this fic 🙏 strap in cos this is long and angsty.

“And who’re you showing off those legs to?” Maki asked, utter judgement filling her gaze as she swept over the outfit you’d chosen.

“You don’t like?” You asked, suddenly embarrassed of the miniskirt you’d decided to try on.

“You look fine, Maki is just judgmental.” Nobara waved her off, offering a supportive thumbs up to you.

“You still didn’t answer me.” Maki continued.

“No one, this is for me.” You huffed, sure of your answer. Despite it not being the entire the truth.

“Choso, Itadori’s older brother.”

“Nobara!” You gaped.

“Seriously?” Maki’s face scrunched, eyeing you with double the previous amount of judgement. “Hasn’t he known you since you were little?”

“Well, yes —but I’m not little anymore. I’m grown.” You gazed at yourself in the change room mirror. “I want him to see that.” From the reflection, you could see Maki give Nobara a sidelong look, one that the short haired girl avoided.

Had you said something foolish? Blood rushed to your cheeks and you slipped back into the change room, closing the curtain in a quick swish. You unzipped the skirt, letting it fall to your feet and pile at the floor.

You were grown. You could see it in your body, in the plumpness around your thighs and in the breasts that were cupped by a bra. You weren’t the little girl clinging to Choso’s leg crying because of a scraped knee anymore. You were older now, you had matured in so many ways and you wanted him to see that. You placed on your clothes and scooped up the miniskirt.

If asked, Nobara would describe your feelings for Choso as a little crush, some fleeting fancy that had come with knowing him for so long. She wouldn’t be entirely wrong, but fleeting was far from correct. Each time his calm, tired eyes softened at the sight of you, your stomach flittered with butterflies. Whenever he greeted you with a tight hug, you went as soft as a melting marshmallow in his embrace and when he complimented you, telling you he was so proud of you everything crumbled, every judgment you had of yourself dissipated into utter nothingness. The feelings you had for him were seeded since you were a toddler and had since grown into a loyal love.

So, you paid for the miniskirt, uncaring of the price.

The next stop in your shopping trip was the food court, the three of you girls needing a rest and refill after depleting your collective energies shopping and discussing whatever relevant drama Nobara spilled.

“Do you need a ride home?” Nobara asked, taking a break from sipping up her boba.

“Choso’s picking me up.” You murmured, a subtle excitement tugging up the corner of your lips.

“Why?” Her brow lifted slyly and she smiled at you.

“My family is away for a little bit, so I’m staying at the Itadori’s for a week until they get back.” It wasn’t uncommon, you’d often been tossed to your next door neighbours like an orphan during childhood. However now, it was a choice from you. You didn’t need to stay at their’s. You were an adult, you could look after yourself. “Yuji wanted me to stay over.” You added. The reason why you said yes being able to spend a whole week with Choso conveniently kept from your mouth.

“What I don’t understand is why you aren’t fawning over him.” Maki stated, stabbing her glossy chicken with her fork, then biting it.

Nobara’s eyes slid over to Maki, wide at her statement. She didn’t speak though, silently sipping at her boba tea.

“Yuji?” You blinked.

“He’s pretty much the same as Choso, isn’t he?” Maki continued, chewing her meal.

You laughed. “Yuji isn’t anything like Cho, they’re completely different.” You shook your head. “Besides, I’ve grown up with Yuji, he’s like my brother.”

Nobara seemed to cringe at the notion, but still she remained silent. Maki too, continued to eat without making another comment towards the two brothers.

It wasn’t until they said their goodbyes to you, that Yuji was brought up again.

You’d left your hug with Nobara, then reached for Maki. As usual, she wrapped her arms around you with her unusual strength that could’ve left you bruised if the embrace wasn’t so brief.

“Say hello to Itadori for us.” She muttered. Now, if it weren’t for the simple action of Nobara elbowing Maki’s side, you would have responded with a chipper ‘sure!’ But as the caramel haired girl eyed Maki with a stiff annoyance, swiftly aiming for her side you suddenly felt left out, like the third wheel of some information they both knew and had not informed you of. Maki simply rolled her eyes at Nobara, uncaring.

“Uhm, okay, sure.” Your smile weakened and you waved at the two.

Behind you, Choso parked the Itadori family car in the pickup section. A car you could recognise anywhere, especially considering it had been fairly scratched up after Yuji’s father had lended it to his brother, Sukuna, who returned the car after three days of God knows what.

You slipped inside, letting the odd interaction with your friends leave you as you left them. You were far too excited to see Choso to let it linger anyway.

As you turned to see the dark haired man, he was already leaning over to bring you into a hug. His masculine scent filled your lungs like cigarette smoke and twice as addictive as nicotine, you wanted more the second he pulled away.

However, as Choso’s let go of you, he reached for your seatbelt, pulling it over you and for a millisecond, his brown eyes lifted from where the seatbelt strapped your body to your own eyes. His face so close, you could practically taste his lips. The gesture utterly melted your insides to hot lava.

“How was shopping?” He asked, returning to the wheel and starting the car.

“So good.” You sighed, still high off his close proximity. Conveniently, the branded shopping bag hiding your new miniskirt sat on your lap. “I got some nice things for myself.” You added.

“Do you need any money?” He asked, eyes floating to you for a moment, before returning to the road. A delightful shiver slipped up your spine at his glance, and you couldn’t help the grin that reached you.

“No, Cho, you know I’ve got my own money to pay for things.” You were grown, after all.

He shrugged, cracking a kind smile. “Alright, I get it. Don’t be afraid to ask, though.”

God, he was so perfect. You wanted nothing more than for him stop the car so you could smother him with hugs and kisses. “You spoil me too much, Cho. What if I asked you for a hundred?”

He shrugged, the simple movement very telling that he would give it to you, without a second thought. “You know I can’t say no to you.”

So so perfect. Maybe if he did stop the car so you could smother him, you’d ride him too, just to make him feel as spoiled as you did. You let the dirty thought linger, probably longer than you should’ve.

“We’re excited to have you over for the week, Yuji actually cleaned his room for you.” He huffed, amused, at the thought.

“Did he?” Why couldn’t you share a bed with him? You were so tired of waking up in the middle of the night halfway off the bed with Yuji’s sprawled limbs all over you— even worse, waking up to Yuji hugging you (borderline snuffing you) with all his weight.

“Mhm, he’s always so excited to see you.” A knowing smile presented itself on Choso’s lips, and you suddenly felt left out of some knowledge again. It left a bad taste in your mouth for the rest of the car ride.

Once home, Choso opened the front door for you and you were met with an unusually empty, quiet home.

“Yuji’s probably in his room, you should say hi to him.” Choso instructed, moving to the nearby kitchen and dropping the car keys on the table.

As familiarly as your own home, you strolled through the corridor. “Yuuuji.” You sung, pushing into his room.

As the door creaked open, you were met with Yuji midway through putting his shirt on. He paused just before it looped over his head, giving you a view of his toned back. Notably, his pants were spotted with a superhero logo and the shirt he had finally let fall over his body was large and baggy.

“Are you seriously getting into your pyjamas already?” You asked, full of judgement.

“It’s five pm!” Yuji retorted. “Also knock, you could’ve seen my dick.”

“Gross, and I could say the same for you.” There had been countless times Yuji had walked in on you changing, he could likely piece together what your naked body looked like with all the occasions he’s seen various clothes off you. The idea barely bothered you. You trusted Yuji after all. Trusted that when he saw you naked, he just saw you, not your body.

Technically, it wasn’t anything he’s not seen before. During the early days of your childhood the two of you would run around butt naked causing all sorts of havoc, chasing one another with water guns during hot summer afternoons or avoiding bath time together annoyingly late. Puberty might’ve changed your body, but it hadn’t changed your thoughts towards Yuji.

However, you wouldn’t be quick to take your clothes off in front of him now. “I’ll get changed too.” You uttered, opening his bedroom door wider.

He groaned, leaving with a heavy walk. “This is my bedroom, y’know.”

“Not this week.” You grinned, shutting the door before he could come up with a snarky retort.

To say Yuji was just a brother to you, or your friend wouldn’t quite do him justice. Best friend didn’t really fit him either. He was all of it, altogether. The guy who’d answer your one AM phone calls when you couldn’t sleep, the guy who knew exactly how to massage the stress out of your shoulders, the guy to hold you when you cried over spilt milk— he was your guy. Your man.

You weren’t completely ignorant to the idea of dating Yuji, so many people had told you you’d make the perfect couple over the years, it was only natural that you’d consider the possibility. The beautiful moments you shared with him over the years seemed to become muddied in your mind whenever you thought of him romantically. Your stomach would flip uncomfortably at the idea of kissing him. The times you held hands innocently darkened as you considered what if we did that as boyfriend and girlfriend? So you placed the thoughts inside a jar, sealed it shut and threw it into the basement of your brain.

After pulling your pyjamas out from your stay over backpack and put them on, you called to Yuji from inside his room. “You can come back in.”

He did so, entering back into his room and flopping onto his bed. You joined him on his bed, letting yourself freely fall on top of him.

“What’s for dinner?” You asked.

He had no reaction, just the small breath that escaped him at the comfortable weight of you. “Choso ordered some pizza.”

“Movie tonight?” You continued, too lazy to formulate a proper question. Yuji would know what you meant, anyway, he always did.

“Are you finally gonna watch Human Earth Worm three with me?” He asked, head lifting to watch your face contort in disgust.

“Fuck that.” He laughed, shifting you on his stomach at his chuckle.

“Please? It’s seriously good, I’m telling you.” He whined, clear grin still on his face.

“I don’t care man, can’t we watch something nice?” You considered Choso, he’d be there right next to you on the couch, watching. “Something romantic?”

“That’s the thing! It is a romance, if you look closely it’s about the love between the monster and the protagonist.”

On second thought, maybe a horror would give you the chance to cuddle up next to Choso (as corny as it was). “Fine, we can watch it. Just stop yapping about it like such a fanboy.” You smacked a hand over his mouth, muffling the laugh that left him.

Just as quickly as you shut him up, you pulled your hand back as his slimy warm tongue swished against your palm.

“Gross Yuji!” You wiped the saliva on his shirt, hitting his shoulder. You raise your hand again in preparation to give Yuji’s chest another clean whack! However your plans are swiftly thwarted when Yuji grabbed your wrist, rolling you over with his body weight until he was above you.

You yelped, laughing as he smothered your body into the now messy sheets. He had you pinned face forward against the bed, legs kept down by his knees and your arms held back by the strength you’d grown to hate due to it giving Yuji a complete monopoly over your body in wrestling. You squirmed roughly, tugging at his grip. The attempt at freedom worsened your situation, as Yuji just laid flat on your back.

“Get off!” You laughed, choking on the oxygen that Yuji’s weight wheezed from your lungs. Harder now, you squirmed; flailing your arms, kicking your legs, rocking your hips.

“Don’t move like that—” Not a joke, you could hear it in his voice. It was a quick plea, that was followed by a harsh suck in of air through his teeth.

And for a split second, that jar you’d thrown into the dark corners of your mind loosened and you wondered what would it be like to have sex with your best friend? He’d be the type of guy who’d like to take you from behind, surely. Before the lid could completely pop off, Choso’s voice echoed from down the hall, an announcement that the pizza had arrived.

In a flash, the pink haired boy gave you one last shove into the bed, pushing himself off in a quick dash to the front door. You scoffed loudly, immediately attempting to catch up to him in a scrambled hurry, abruptly sliding into a wall at your departing balance.

Pizza and a movie was a usual treat in the Itadori home whenever you came to visit, it was probably why Yuji was so keen on having you over when he found out your parents wouldn’t be home (that, and he really hated the idea of leaving you alone in an empty home for an entire week).

With the hot food served, the three of you planted yourselves on the couch, Yuji eagerly recapping the last two movies in the Earthworm franchise before pressing play on the third instalment.

Having only worked up enough courage by the time the movie had reached its halfway mark to enact you nefarious plan to cuddle with Choso, you’d shuffled on the couch, coming close enough to have your thighs connecting.

Delicately, as if you touched him without the grace of a fairy he might not notice you and pull away, you laid your head on Choso’s shoulder. You must’ve succeeded in your sneaky efforts, because Choso didn’t blink, nor tense, instead he lifted an arm and casually wrapped it around you.

Beside you, sour eyes narrowed at the sight.

He knew, oh how he knew. Yuji was slapped in the face with your pining over his brother since he was a toddler. Even at such a young age, he could tell there was something in your eyes— a glimmer of pure affection— when you looked at Choso that simply wasn’t there when you looked at him. He initially hoped thought you would grow out of the crush, but he just watched it grow. He watched you grow into a gorgeous person, watched himself fall further and further in love with you and watched you watch Choso. Not him.

The too-familiar feeling of covetousness bubbled in Yuji’s stomach, bringing forward the storm that was his feelings for you and tormenting him. I’m back Yuji! Gleefully yelled his jealousy. I’m back and oh, I dunno, this time I might just make you tear your brother apart! Why not? Gotta get that girl sometime, you know, can’t keep fucking your hand thinking of her forever!

He could practically hear your heart dance for his brother even over the screaming gore on screen.

He was only tortured by the sight for another half an hour, completely minuscule compared to the years worth of moments like these. Like a blessing, Choso finally lifted himself from the couch to clean up everyone’s plates.

“What’d you do today?” Yuji asked, quick to distract you from the disappointment of Choso leaving.

“I went shopping with Nobara and Maki, they say hi by the way.” You utter, eyes following Choso to the kitchen.

“Did you give her some money?” Yuji asked, raising his voice to reach the man in the kitchen.

“Guys please, I don’t need money I’ve got my own.” You assured. Were they really so generous, or did they just think you were dirt poor?

“That’s what she said to me when I tried.” Choso shrugged, offering a smile to you. “It made me feel like a proud older brother.”

A thick pause filled the room before you truely processed what Choso had said. “For me?” You questioned, jaw falling somewhat slack.

“Mhm, like my little sister is finally able to take care of herself.” He added, rubbing pure salt into your icy wound.

“Oh.” Was all that managed to fall from your lips.

Yuji eyed you carefully, mouth suddenly sewn shut. His stomach filled with a heat that was not entirely unpleasant.

At first, a queazy glow flushed your cheeks, then the feeling of your ka-thunking! heart falling into your ass hit next. Beside you, Yuji watching your transformation into a heartbroken thing right before his carefully observant eyes.

Had you really been so delusional? That wasn’t it. That didn’t fit right. After everything, all the moments shared. After cuddling with him while watching a horror movie, he couldn’t have just seen you as a pathetic little sibling. Had you truely hyped yourself up to be this mature, romanticised woman and Choso only saw you as the little girl that clung to his knee, crying?

Yuji could practically see the thoughts flash over your eyes as you sat in a tranced— stunned silence. His lips parted to save you from being buried too deep within yourself but you beat him to it.

“I’m going to go for a walk.” You uttered, zombielike.

You’d left the house before either boys could offer to go with you, or utter a quick concern as to why you were craving a walk so late in the evening.

Nostalgia. It spilled like water, filling each crevice of your mind. You couldn’t help it, you had already begun reliving each memory with Choso, overthinking, overanalysing.

'Cho look! I drew something' you'd waddle over to him, holding a crinkled piece of paper scribbled with bright neons.

'Oh wow, is this for me?' He asked, a praising hand resting on your head and sliding down your hair.

'Yup!' You beamed. He'd take the paper you offered and held it with such kind care, never folding it and keeping it near his chest. Even now, you could recall the way he always held your childish offerings with such care.

Despite growing up beside Choso, you weren't his little sister. You weren't even apart of his family. Not really.

'Fight me Yuji!' You'd rile up the peach haired boy like he was a dog too much. Pinching and poking him until he'd finally pounce on you, play fighting until someone burst into tears (you, you were always the first to tap out with teary eyes). 'Ow Yuji! That hurt!'

And he'd be there, a hand resting on your head and swiping the frizzed hair from your puffy, wet face. 'I know it hurts, are you okay?'

Christ. He was ten years older than you, there was no way you were even on his radar! It didn't matter your body had bloomed, you really were still the little girl clinging to his knee, crying. Weren't you? You were, you were finally sure, now.

As you inhaled the fresh night, a subtle scent of rain in the air, you consider what to do with the loving feeling that had seeded its roots into you over two decades. You couldn't find an answer, until the love appeared behind you.

A large coat weighed over your shoulders, planted by Choso who now walked beside you. "You'll get a cold being out here in your pyjamas."

His little hints of affection had become recontextualized in your mind, now instead of thinking he had some buried fancy for you, you could see yourself in his eyes, someone young and needing care. Rocks piled in your stomach and weakly, you thanked him. Even the soft gaze he held you in differed. It was some kind of nostalgia that creased his eyes kindly, a memory of you at a younger age playing behind his eyelids, maybe.

The rocks now piled up to your heart, burying it between pointy— jagged stones. Each silent step the two of you took thickened the awkward sorrow looming over you, until finally, Choso spoke.

"Yuji's been so excited to have you over, you know, he really likes you." He couldn't have picked a worse time to take up the role of matchmaker for the two of you. The implication hadn't seemed to reach you.

“I like you.” You finally freed the words, the piling stones now reaching your throat. It took a confused beat until Choso cleared his throat with a light chuckle and responded.

“I like you, too.” His hand came to rest atop your head, giving you a kind stroke, like he always did, before returning it to his pocket.

But you don’t. The words threatened to spill from your quivering lip. Not like I do.

"Let's head inside." Your short walk had taken you around a loop, now you stood outside the house but you weren't ready to be embraced by the homely warmth yet, you needed to think more.

"I'll be there in a sec." You kindly evaded his attempt to bring you back inside. His warm expression seemed to falter with confusion, but ultimately, he let you go, walking inside without you.

You exhaled, taking a wobbly seat above the road gutter. Little sister. The words haunted you. I like you, but no, I'm not attracted to you, I could never be! You're my little sis after all! Another exasperated sigh left you. Even your faulty confession couldn't lift the weight compressing your chest. You couldn't wait to rip off your bra, although you doubted it would elevate the internal ache.

The rejection wouldn't have been so crushing if you weren't so into him, which anyone could've assumed, but really, you were into him. Your type in men was basically shaped around Choso, having pined for him from such a young age.

Despite attempting to date during high school and the years following, you just couldn't. No man could ever really pull you from your crush, so you were never in relationships long.

But what now? You had the confirmation you'd never be with him, should you date again? Move on with a quick rebound? Go to the club and try hooking up? God you wish you could cry and just hurry up with the grieving process but you were too numb to be misty.

Taking you from the hurricane of your thoughts, steps crunched behind you, but still, you weren't done thinking just yet.

"It's okay, Cho, I'll come back inside in a moment I just—" But it was Yuji standing in the silhouette you thought belonged to Choso. "Oh, sorry." You muttered.

He joined you, sitting atop the gutter. “What happened?” He asked.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” You sighed, face falling into the palms of your hand.

“I’m glad.” You could hardly see ‘glad’ on his face, it was stone, unwavering.

“What?” What exactly was he glad of?

"You finally know how he feels about you."

"Yuji—" Utter mortification. If you'd considered the idea of Yuji knowing about your little crush for a moment longer, you'd likely think huh, I guess he would've known this whole time. He's my best friend after all. But you didn’t have time to think about it, flushing hot blood to your cheeks.

“—Now you can get over this stupid obsession with him.”

Now, finally, the tears could start to form. Yuji's cruelty broke the dam that was your numbness. You stood, him tensing over your quick movement. “Stupid ob—? ugh! You—” A reasonable sentence caught in your throat and you were only able to wave an angry finger at him. Did he really see your feelings that way? Thought that Choso liking you back was such an absurdity? That it was an obsession? You suddenly wondered, if Choso came face to face with your love for him, would he think it was stupid, too?

Yuji swallowed, silently sticking by his rude statement.

“I wouldn’t love him—someone if I didn’t think I could be loved back.” Your voice crumbled. The slight crack tugged painfully at Yuji’s heart and despite the regret that washed over his mind like a cold tsunami, he wasn’t able to utter an apology.

Before the tears burning your eyes could spill, you turned on your heel and began walking inside his home. “Wait—”

“Just let me be, Yuji.”

He’d only left you alone for about an hour.

You'd decided to hide away in his room, after all.

Creaking his door open, Yuji's head peaked through the crack. His eyes fell on you cradling a pillow on his bed, your back to him. Guilt clawed at his gut to know he was the reason you were so upset (truthfully he wasn't, but he sure as hell pushed you over the edge).

Maybe, maybe if he finally told you how he felt about you, you'd understand why he acted so cruelly. What Yuji had conveniently forgotten to consider was the sheer amount of emotions that had currently resided inside you. Another confession? Well, you might just die of a heart attack!

“We should talk—”

“I don’t want to talk, ass.” You picked up the pillow slightly wet with tears and tossed it at him. You weren’t furious with him at least, that was a good sign.

“Look, the thing is, I—”

“No! Get out Yuji—”

“But! Just wait, I have something I need to say.”

"Don't speak!" you held your hands over your ears, kicking another stray pillow at him.

He held his hands up, surrendering himself and his voice to your demands but quickly, he peeped. "Can I at least sleep?"

"Fine." You shuffled across the bed, burying yourself into your usual side and flicking the covers over your head.

With the careful ease of a predator stalking its prey through the long grass, you felt Yuji's hands and knees crater into the bed as he slowly approached his rightful spot beside you. The warmth you developed under the sheet blew away as he lifted them, fitting under the covers with you.

He shifted, finding a comfortable spot on his back staring up at the ceiling. Five minutes went by and the skin on his palms began to itch, the muscles on the back of his neck tightened.

He shifted again, an attempt to reach real comfort. After five minutes of staring at a wall his mouth went dry and his toes curled in irritation.

Again, he shifted, this time, turning to face the back of your head. You let an annoyed puff free whilst his movement crinkled the sheets loudly, one he didn't seem to hear. Five minutes passed and he remained still, but his palms itched, his neck remained tight, his mouth was still dry and his feet were beginning to cramp.

You remained in a tense, motionless lay, eyes unknowingly shut tightly, begging sleep to take you far, far away from your body.

The covers softly crinkled again, but Yuji hadn't moved. You realised the sound was his arm moving as he pressed a light hand to your back, a silent ask. Will we cuddle tonight, or are you still mad? The question soon turned into a bribe as his palm pressed into the stressed muscles in your back.

You allowed him to work his apology into your skin, thumb tracing the muscles beneath your shoulder blades back and forth, creating a relieving rhythmic pattern. I'm sorry.

He continued grinding his palms against the soft tendons of your back. I'm sorry I was such a dick.

Sliding lower, he pressed into the thin muscles of your lower back. It's because I'm in love with you.

But when his hand began to lose motivation and slip from you at your unforgiveness, you sighed, reaching to pull his hand over you. You forgave him, kinda. He grasped your tummy, pulling you into his chest and his glowing warmth.

Friends cuddle all the time, okay? It's pretty normal. Thank you very much.

You could feel his breath pat the side of your neck and his hand occasionally twitch whilst holding you. It was normal, Yuji's always had a slight twitch in his fingers whenever you felt him hold you.

“If you had a boyfriend, would we still do this?” His low words rumbled from his chest into your tender back.

"I thought you agreed to no talking." You responded.

"Sorry." A deafening silence followed his swift apology that basically begged you to answer his question.

"If I had a boyfriend, I wouldn't need this."

Again, his hand twitched.

"And if you had a girlfriend, you wouldn't need it either." It was true, and fair. Friends who cuddle only do it because they need a substitute partner, right? "G'night, Yuji."

"Night."

You weren't sure you had fallen completely asleep by the time you awoke, because when you checked your phone, you were face with the time being eleven PM. Fuck, you'd really had an early night. No wonder you hadn't slept long. Your throat ached to be soothed with cold water, prompting you to get up and poor yourself a glass.

You left the warmth of Yuji's arms, immediately regretting your decision to quench your midnight thirst. Lazily, you searched the floor for Yuji's red hoodie and placed it on.

The kitchen light illuminated your pathway to the tap and you wondered if Choso had accidentally left it on before going to bed, but you were greeted with him when you entered the kitchen.

"Oh, hey." Your voice came out in a groggy crack.

"Couldn't sleep?" He asked.

"Just thirsty."

Choso eyed you, a gentle smile pulling at his lips. You looked so cute drowning in his brother’s jumper, it warmed his heart and cheeks. “Good to see you and Yuji finally got together.”

The excitement in his words stabbed at your chest and you could feel yourself plummet into sadness again.

“I was starting to worry that you two had a fight.”

“You’re wrong.” You attempted to state the words with a strong intent, however a quiver ripped the will from you. “I don't like him, Choso.” Your burning eyes threatened your already raw cheeks. “It’s you.” You hiccuped. “Please don't think I love someone else.”

In a swift rush, Choso had reached you, bending to catch your eyes. His hands hugged your arms gently. “I’m sorry.” He murmured, softly mumbling your name. "I'm so sorry I didn't know—"

He wiped away the salty drops that pooled in the corner of your eyes, his upturned expression guiltily taking in your devastated shake.

“It’s you, I love you.” You uttered again, chanting the statement that hung around your heart.

He pulled you into his chest, cradling your head in a solid embrace that lasted until your shaky breaths subsided. You pulled away from him, noticeable tear stains watering his clothes.

He took a deep, regretful inhale and you knew the words he was going to utter. “I've always thought of you as—"

“I know. It’s so obvious.” You stated in a huff, almost laughing at yourself for having thought otherwise.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured.

“Choso,” you finally looked into his eyes, finding a sorrow lacing his dark browns, but still, his gaze was so soft, affectionately taking you in. It made your heart clench. “Does me telling you I love you, make you happy? Even a little bit?”

A beat rung out as he considered your question. “It does. Thank you.”

“Choso, will you kiss me, please?” His brows furrowed further and his lips parted to utter a polite no, but you begged again. “Please. Just so I know what it feels like.”

And Lord knows he couldn’t say no to you.

Both his large hands came to cup around your cheeks, his thumbs lightly pressing into the sides of your mouth. He dipped his head down as he angled your jaw. His lips were just as soft as you imagined they'd be and the way he kissed you with such sweet sensitivity was heavenly. Your heart stung with the melancholy of it all.

He broke away, lidded eyes solemnly staring at your tear bleached cheeks. His expression filled with utter guilt, completely ashamed he was the one making you feel this way. He pressed another, deeper kiss to your lips. As if begging that his lips would heal you, despite knowing deep down they’d likely make you yearn for him more.

The pity became too much to bear, so you let yourself fall away from his kiss. A sweet smack sounding at your lips separating.

His hands lingered until you began to speak. "Thank you, Choso, I..." You had nothing else to say.

"You should head back to bed, I'll... see you tomorrow."

He left you with those weak words filled with regret. You could practically feel the sickly feeling in his stomach as he walked to his room, metaphorical tail between his legs and head hanging low in shame.

What would did it feel like to kiss you? His little sister? Expect you weren't his little sister, you weren't apart of his family and most importantly; You were grown. You could go and do whatever the hell you wanted. So you did. To the only place that would accept a broken hearted girl with a fierce desire to get drunk. You were going put that damn miniskirt to use.

Yuji somewhat realised you were absent from his bed when he heard the front door of his house shut. You went to the bathroom, probably. Although, the longer he waited, the more he thought about it and laid there without your weight, the less asleep he really was.

When an hour passed and you still weren't back in his arms, he finally sat up and checked the time. Midnight. He first wandered the house in search of you, checking the bathroom, kitchen, lounge. You weren't there.

His heart hadn't dropped as much as you would expect it had, it merely ached because in truth, Yuji had a feeling he knew where you had gone. Checking your phone's location only confirmed his theory.

However that guilty ache developed into an aggravated disappointment during the drive to you.

His expression was scrunched with frustration by the time he reached the club, having spent $15 dollars just to enter and find you. He pushed past wobbly, half naked bodies, searching for your hair, your skin, hell he even tried to smell you over the stench of artificial smoke and spilled fireballs.

He found you tucked away in a corner, surrounded by smoothly dancing drunks, you fit perfectly into the moving crowd, having the alcohol serging your veins lull you into a swooning dance. Despite easily falling into the sea of people, to Yuji you were outstanding.

The peach haired boy became keenly aware of you in your perfectly blissful state; the flickering neons shining against your glistening skin, the way your lashes fluttered at the brightness and how your lips remained parted, puffing hot air and occasionally sipping at the almost empty glass in your hand. Wide eyed, Yuji soaked the image into the deepest part of his mind, remaining unblinking until his eyes began to burn with smoke.

Yuji had gone completely stiff against the grinding bodies and despite your inebriated condition, you had turned towards the intense aura piercing you. As though the moment passed in slow motion, the two of your eyes locked past the haze and lights. You had come to a halt, hand going weak around the glass of alcohol.

Unaware of their space, another body bumped into you, sending you stumbling forward and into another group of people who rejected to support you. You’d gone dizzy now, reaching the peak of blackout and it sent waves of disorientation over your eyes.

Now by your side, Yuji had taken you into him, holding you with a firm almost too-tight grip. His fingers cratered into the skimpy outfit you threw together before leaving, grabbing at your plush waist. You sighed against his steady, hard person. Your hand was empty now, no longer clutching your drink but being rested over his shoulder.

“Let’s go, cmon.” And despite the room thudding with music you heard his words with a calm clarity.

You came to outside the club, cool air kissing your bare legs and face. Your arms, however, were protected by a large red hoodie. You closed your eyes at the sudden vertigo, unable to remember how exactly you’d left the dance floor.

“Did you take something in there?” Yuji asked, you turned to see him sitting beside you, a wide eyed serious stare drowning his beautiful features.

You were mad at him, you quickly remembered. “No.” You brooded, leaning away from him and averting your eyes.

He sighed, relieved to see some emotion seep through your glossy eyed, dazed drunkenness. “Why are you here? And by yourself, Jesus, do you know how stupid—”

“Why are you here.” You returned, slurred venom drooling your tone.

“To make sure you’re safe, and bring you home.” He squeezed your shoulders and you realised he'd had his arms around you the entire time.

Hotness pooled around your eyelids and you slowly blinked away the wetness. “I wan’ to keep dancing.” You tried to shoulder his arms off you, failing miserably when he held you tighter.

“Just tell me what’s wrong.” He pleaded, searching for your eyes.

“I don’ wanna talk about it.” You murmured, the searing tears now falling from your eyes and to the concrete floor you stared at.

Yuji exhaled quickly, the sight of your glistening tears sucking the air from his lungs. “I’m sorry for what I said, okay? It was rude.”

“’s not that, Yuji.” You gave into his hold, letting him pull you into his warmth and smell. “He doesn’t like me. He doesn’t even see me that way. I was so stupid.”

His heart ached to see your wet, bruised eyes, the raccoon ringlets of mascara, the smear of lipstick.

“Am I ugly? Why doesn’t he like me?” The way you looked at him, your eyes wounded, pleading, inarticulate, it made his heart lurch.

He hugged you, so tightly that the bones in your back groaned.

"Stop it Yuji," You sobbed, weak hand swatting his back. He continued to hold you. "You're makin' me feel worse." You hiccuped violently, chest surging and pulling.

"Don't think about him, it's not worth it, he's not worth it. He's— Fuck." He was trying to find a tone, an adult rhythm of speech, and failing. Your shivering and sobbing had regressed him.

“Just—Jus' take me home, Yu.”

And he did, but not to his home, to yours. Empty, with nobody but the two of you.

You remember slipping, but not making any contact with the hard floor. Yuji had held you close, his arm basically attached to you, being the pillar of your nonexistent balance.

You were now in the bathroom, bright lights yelling at your hazy eyes.

“You should shower, sober up.” Yuji hoisted you up by your hips and placed you on the bathroom sink, giving his side a much needed break from supporting you.

“No.” You leaned back, lazy eyes gazing up at the ceiling.

“C’mon, please stop being like this.”

“Help me then.” You threw him a bone, letting into his ask of you.

He exhaled, relieved. “Okay, fine.” Delicately his fingers pinched your skin tight shirt, hesitating to lift. You raised your arms lazily, giving him the consent he was looking for. The shirt slowly rose over your hips, tummy then chest. Yuji let it fall to the corner of the bathroom. His eyes avoided your boobs, like he would be cursed if he copped a look. Instead he intensely glared at your face.

“S’okay, you can look.” You murmured. Yuji shook his head in disagreement, but his eyes betrayed him, glancing at your cupped tits. You huffed a laugh at his weak will. Truthfully you enjoyed the attention. You hated that you enjoyed it.

“Sorry.” He took a step back and breathed. “Look, for what it’s worth, I think you looked pretty. The skirt is cute.” You hadn’t known you craved that compliment until it filled your aching heart with flushing blood.

“Jus’ take it off.” You slurred. He did so slowly, shaken hands unbuttoning then unzipping the skirt, slipping the short garment off with ease. This time, he didn’t even hide his gaze as he stared at your underwear. He swallowed, jaw tensing.

“Can you take the rest off?” He asked, a little desperately.

“No.” You droned.

“Then I guess you’re showering in your underwear.” He finished, freeing himself from responsibility. You groaned.

He gazed at your lidded eyes intensely, trying to gauge your soberness, were you just playing with him? Were you really that drunk? You hated the silence, you wanted more from him.

“So do you like me or what?” You prodded his heart. You knew the answer. You supposed you always knew. You just never wanted to hear it until now.

“Yes. I do.” He swallowed thickly. It made him nervous when he could feel his heart beating in his ears, and wrists, as well as in his chest.

“Don’t believe you.” You muttered, swatting his arm pathetically. It was a dangerous game you were playing, insinuating you couldn’t dare to imagine someone— anyone— him— having feelings for you.

"Believe it." He warned, playfulness evading his intention.

"No." More, you wanted to tease more out of him like a comb knotting straight hair.

His hands grasped at your nude sides and he kissed you. Harsh and desperate, he was proving a point. Through your fluttering eyes you could see his were screwed shut in angered focus. He was making out with your mouth, licking up the remnants of alcohol on your tongue and teeth. Compared to his brother, Yuji was sure and feverent. He wanted you, so desperately.

He seemed like the one with the stupid obsession now.

"Shower."

You allowed his order, adding your own. “Stay. I might fall.”

Stepping into the hot water substantially dinted your drunkenness, bringing a hot clarity to your mind. The running water falling down your skull was a constant tapping reminder that this was happening, or it was going to happen.

You could see Yuji's form through the fogged glass, his back turned from the shower. You wondered briefly, was it out of respect for your naked body that he turned away from you, or maybe, was it for his own sanity?

The steamed water cleaned your face of ruined makeup and the sticky club residue. Your ears still held a slight ring, amplified by the silence surrounding the tapping of water.

When you stepped out Yuji was there to wrap you up in the towel with a turned head. Useless, really. You thought. It'll be gone soon.

In a slow walk, he accompanied you to your bedroom, a silent knowing thickening the air between you. Darkness ate up your view up him, but you could feel the tension permeate off of his body.

��Y’gonna fuck me, Yu?” You asked, staring up at him with dazed eyes.

“Yeah, I am.” His words were hugged by a breathlessness. A shortness of breath that hadn’t stemmed from his lungs, but from his heart.

You both needed it. You needed to be desired, to be wanted, to be loved and Yuji needed to finally take you, feel you, show you how much he loved you.

Again his hands found you, the first points of contact on your still wet body. Next, his lips, hunting your pulse until he reached your mouth. With his unseemly strength supporting you, he dipped you into the bed, his weight following you, pushing you further into the mattress.

You could feel is thick, strong hands on you, feeling, exploring, pulling with helpless desire but no real strength. Multitasking between your lips and feeling for the hem of the towel, unwrapping it from your body.

He stayed for a moment, bringing space between you, staring at you as if he'd never seen you before. Your breasts heaved rapidly. Your face, all flushed and blazed with lust.

"I'm gonna make you feel good." He said, struggling not to pant as he spoke. That would not sound good. That would sound weak, unsure.

Your heart was not breaking anymore. It seemed rather to broil in your chest, melt. You were afraid the heat from your heart might soon destroy your sanity in fire.

And he was so gentle, not tugging or pulling but caressing you with a consideration that was almost prissy. Fingers rolling down your damp tummy, hesitating just before your hip bone.

You spread your legs, inviting him to your aching middle. The offer knocked the air from his lungs and he knew only your taste could allow him to breathe again.

Like you were his salvation, Yuji kneeled at the end of your bed, his face pressed up against your longing, breathing in your scent. His hot exhales patted your sex, dragging you into a moment of utter desire and need.

His breath came closer, until the thick humidity closed and he pressed a wet kiss to your clit. The melodic sigh of ease lifting from your mouth tugged on Yuji's already stiff dick, making him suddenly aware of his own arousal. That was for later, for now, he was starving.

He pressed another moving kiss to your bundle of nerves, adding a smooth swipe of his tongue. Another symphony played from you and he drowned himself in your cunt, playing with you like an instrument. His wet, sucking pampering your leaking sex.

The intensity ripped a twitch from your hips but Yuji caught your thighs before you could jut away.

You leaked such a bitter sweetness, it was too perfect. Food would never taste the same now that he'd had you in his mouth. Live, squirming and moaning so beautifully. When your hand came up to rake though his messy hair, he fell deeper into your cunt.

His make-out with your sex had fallen into the perfect rhythm, sending clean jolts of pleasure throughout your body, you hadn't needed to concentrate or hold your breath to be forced up the hill of your orgasm, Yuji was walking you up with utter ease.

His tongue only occasionally dipped to your chasm to drink up the slick leaking from you, but as he dipped past a single ring of your insides, a selfish desire to feel more arose.

He shifted and you felt a warm pressure circle your chasm. Your cunt was already sucking in the two thick fingers he offered you. He slipped in further, sliding along your tickling nerves, massaging you closer and closer to a release.

The tips of his fingers curled into you, working in perfect time with his mouth until you tensed in preparation around him. Another slight suck and roll over your clit had you cumming on his fingers.

You cursed loudly, a lovingly weak moan of his name leaving you.

The way your walls fluttered around his fingers had his dick jutting painfully in his pants. Now he could finally fuck you.

His weight returned over you, coming back to his rightful place above your naked body. He shed two layers, his jumper and the shirt underneath it. Not because he was feeling hot or sweaty, but because he wanted you to see his tight body and throb. Force into you a sexual attraction and utterly crush your notions of friendship.

It might've been the way he made you cum on his tongue, or the way he took your wrist and made you slide a shaky hand over his abs and chest, maybe it was the way his eyes drooled obsession when he looked at you—perhaps it was a lusted blend of everything— but you could feel the sickening flutter of love butterflies develop in your stomach.

His hand next arrived at the rim of his pants, freeing his erection from the tight confines of his pants. You hardly shied from the sight.

Nothing you haven't seen before, right? Well, the way his blood fat length leaked beads of precum that belonged inside you from his flushed, burning tip was certainly a sight you'd never seen before. He let your eyes linger. It was all for you, all because of you.

He only spared a glance to line himself against your cunt, he cared more to see the way your face would twist to be filled by him.

"Yu— oh fffuck." You weren't sure what kind of rejection would've left your mouth before you felt Yuji enter you, but you were glad it never reached your lips.

Sliding into you was like sliding into some exquisite oil. The white that flashed over his eyes at the sheer— everything— of you blurred his vision for brief moment. He blinked it away quickly, needing to see the way you threw your head back in pleasure.

His size filled you perfectly, reaching each sensitive crevice inside your mushy tunnel, you only wanted more. Yuji sat inside you for a beat, needing a break from the feeling of you sliding around him. He wasn't sure if it was his or your heart he could feel thumping between his legs. The break was short-lived when you began moving your hips in pleading.

He moved with you, using you, but letting you use him as well. The only sounds were the wet sonances of your sex and breathing; his heavy and horse, yours quick and light.

You wondered, if Choso could see you being fucked soft by his brother, would he still say 'good to see you an Yuji got together'? as if Yuji could sense your thoughts by the way your cunt fluttered around him, his fingers dug craters into your side and he spoke.

“You— shit— you thinkin’ about him?” He asked in a thin carping voice, sneering into your neck.

Your lips stayed zipped, unable to lie nor tell the truth.

“He couldn’t— hng— fucken' love you like this.” To stress his statement, Yuji rolled his hip deep into you, pressing a bruising kiss to your cervix. Your hands smacked over his shoulders, clawing his back.

"I know— oh fuck! Yu." Despair in your words, but Yuji worked to fuck it out of you, suckling hickies to your neck.

"I told you I'd make you—hahh— feel good. You feel good, baby?" He wasn't sure where the pet name came from but the moment it rolled off his tongue he knew he'd never use your name again.

His words regressed you into a submissive, panting mess. "Mhm, hngh! yes, Yu." You didn't mean to sound so ravaged and pleased, but your tone made Yuji's eager dick expand more inside you, becoming girthier with blood.

His rhythm finally dissolved into an excited bucking and from it Yuji drunk up your little gasps like a starved man. "You know I love you, yeah? My girl."

You could only nod, unable to even babble a response.

"Say it, hng— say you love me back."

"L-Love you, Yu."

And oh God, your words go straight to his cock, hurling him into a driven frenzy of mushing thrusts that glide right over your g-spot.

He can feel your cunt tighten in preparation, drawing a guttural moan from his stomach. He knew you were going to cum. It was like knowing him all these years had let him memorise your body, inside and out.

"Let me hear it, baby." He cooed softly.

Like an enraptured fizzing firework, your orgasm rolled over you. It bubbled loaded moans up your throat. You cunt fluttered around him, sucking him up, begging him to fill you with his cum. You jump at his sharp canines sinking down into the flushed skin of your neck and he shivered when he feels your nails dig into the sides of his neck.

He couldn't hold himself back anymore, barrelling over the edge as you clamped around him. His cock punctured your cervix in three strong half-way thrusts, leaving kisses of cum across your insides.

You both fucked your fleeting orgasms out on each other, you with rolling hips and Yuji with messy, unfocused thrusts that prodded against your walls mercilessly.

Even when you both came to a panting halt, Yuji still twitched hard and thick inside you.

"You're mine, now." He couldn't even conceal his absent breath. "You're my girl, yeah? M'gonna love you like this forever."

Aside from the proof in the territorial marks decorating your skin, or your gummy cunt being soaked from his cum, you already knew in your heart you were his.

But as his hips drew out in a slide you assumed would mean his exit, then pushed back in, making a circle of frothy cum and slick form around his cock you knew you weren't going to make it out alive without those words tattooed on your tongue.

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