#muggle's fanfiction

[mischievousmoony]

𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚣𝚎𝚛𝚘

⟢ frat boy!james potter x fem!reader ⟢ a guy makes unwanted advances on you at a frat party, and the president comes to your aid ⊹ 3.0k ⟢ warnings/tags: alcohol, unwanted advances + touching and sexist comments from another character, james gets aggressive confronting said character, american!james hehehe (not that it's explicitly stated)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

By your third visit to the crowded, beer-scented kitchen, your features have set into a deep scowl. You groan, slumping against the wall—only to immediately push yourself off, unwilling to let the exposed skin of your back come into contact with any part of the frat house you're in. Was the wall sticky, or have you started sweating from the heat of all the drunk bodies around you? Either option makes you cringe.

Tonight was supposed to be fun. Frat parties weren’t exactly your ideal night out, but your best friend had dragged you to this one with the promise of a fun time. But your night has quickly turned into a wild goose chase after she disappeared with some guy.

"Are you okay?" a voice calls from your left, barely audible over the music that's starting to make your head pound. You realize that you had started pinching the bridge of your nose. When you lower your hand and turn your head, you find a pair of kind eyes staring down at you.

He introduces himself as Todd after you explain that you've been looking for your friend for half an hour to no avail. With a sympathetic smile, he offers to help, which you gratefully accept. Anything to find your friend and put this dreadful night to an end.

"Are you, like, one of the brothers?" you ask, noticing the letters on Todd's cap as you follow him through the house, but it's a little too dark to make them out. Not to mention, you don't really remember which fraternity your friend even brought you to tonight.

"Nah," Todd shouts over his shoulder. "Not here." He doesn't provide any more information than that as he changes the subject, suggesting the two of you search the backyard.

"I thought the yard was off limits,” you shout as you speed walk to catch up with him. He’s walking so fast that you barely have time to consider why he would think your friend would be outside.

Stepping into the cold, he explains, "Apparently their neighbors complained about the noise last weekend, so they're trying to keep the party inside. But a couple of quiet people shouldn't be an issue. It's nice to be away from all the noise, eh?"

You shudder when the night air hits you, hugging your arms around yourself tightly and attempting to smooth away the goosebumps already prickling on your skin.

"Maybe if it wasn't freezing."

You look around at the back yard, finding it completely empty except for a thin layer of fallen leaves and scattered beer bottles hidden in the uncut grass. Todd is leading you straight across the lawn, farther away from the house and any source of light. You’re starting to get a weird feeling about this—and Todd—so you slow to a stop while he continues to head deeper into the darkness.

"Hey, I don't think my friend is gonna be out here. I'm gonna keep looking inside–"

"What's the rush?" Todd's demeanor changes when he notices you’re falling behind. He quickly closes the distance between the two of you again in two strides.

You release a dry laugh, realizing that you've been too trusting, and your tone turns serious. "I should really find my friend."

"You said she was with a guy, right? C'mon just let her have her fun." Todd drops his voice an octave, trying to sound seductive, but it comes across embarrassingly forced. "Maybe we can have some fun too."

When he reaches to touch the side of your face, your mood starts to change from a little let down and slightly annoyed to seriously pissed off.

"Don't," you say coldly, jerking your head away from his touch.

"Aw, c'mon," he continues to try to coax you, still somehow thinking he has a chance at convincing you. When his fingers graze your sides, you shout at him to keep his hands off, but instead, he slides them to your waist, holding you firmly.

"Let go!" you demand, planting you hands firmly on his shoulders and pushing. He chuckles at your feeble attempts, making you angrier, so you switch tactics. You wrap your hands around his wrists and pry his hands off, applying a pressure to the inside of his wrists that makes him release you with a hiss.

There's an angry voice in the distance shouting "Hey!" presumably at the two of you. You hear the steady sound of footsteps growing louder—one of the brothers probably coming to yell at you for sneaking into their backyard. You're a little too busy to care as you stomp away from Todd.

Todd doesn’t seem to notice the newcomer either. Too absorbed in the sting of your rejection, he starts getting angry too.

"Don't be such a prude," he snaps. He catches your wrist and pulls you back to him with a swift tug, spinning you around to face him. You draw your free arm back, using the extra momentum from the spin to your advantage as you punch him squarely in the jaw.

The punch throws him off balance, sending him stumbling back. His foot catches on an empty beer bottle, twisting his ankle as he loses his footing and crashes onto the grass with a heavy thud.

You stand above him, a little stunned at your actions. Todd is whining pathetically about the pain from the punch to his face, and the pain from the fall to his ass.

Someone jogs up beside you, and you can feel their gaze darting back and forth between you and Todd.

"Nice punch," he says, a little out of breath.

"Thanks," you reply flatly, only now starting to process that you—with the help of a beer bottle—sent this man tumbling to the ground.

"Alright," the mystery man says like he's about to get to work. He steps into your line of sight, looming over Todd for a moment.

He has a mop of dark curls spilling out from under a red baseball cap sitting backwards on his head. The cap matches his letterman-style jacket, which clings to his broad frame, drawing attention to his muscular body. Under different circumstances, this is a view you’d appreciate.

He bends down and grabs Todd by the collar of his shirt, roughly pulling him to his feet. Even with both of them standing, he still towers over him.

"Hey, man. What's up?" he asks Todd, his casual words contrasting with his abrasive tone.

"That slut just punched me!" Todd shrieks.

You roll your eyes. How pathetic.

He tightens his grip on Todd's shirt collar, using it to shake him roughly. "Watch your fucking mouth or I'll be the next," he threatens, and Todd goes quiet.

Your eyes widen at his sudden sharpness. Almost involuntary, you shift your position, angling yourself to get a clear look at the boy’s face. Black rimmed glasses sit lazily on the bridge of his nose, under his furrowed brow as he glares daggers at Todd. His eyes are big and brown, almost seeming out of place against the hard scowl carved into his features.

"Here's what's gonna happen," he continues. "First, you’re blacklisted. You’re never stepping foot in my house again. And what's this?"

He plucks Todd's hat off his head, inspecting the letters with a scoff before tossing it to the ground. "Of course. I'm sure nationals will be happy to hear about how you've conducted yourself tonight."

Todd's eye twitches at the threat. "Let's not pretend I was doing anything she didn’t want. Look at the way she’s dressed—flaunting herself, just begging for attention."

"What did you just say?" he seethes.

"James, c'mon," Todd says, revealing the name of the taller boy. He speaks with a nonchalance that makes James' nostrils flare, angered by his dismissiveness of the situation.

You begin to wonder how they know each other when James sets him straight.

"Who the hell do you think you're talking to? My friends call me James, you don't get to call me shit. The fuck do you think this is, man? I catch you in my backyard putting your hands on a girl who clearly doesn't want anything to do with you and you think you can talk to me like we're friends? I don't even know who the hell you are."

Your eyes must be bulging out of your head by now. It feels like you’ve been dropped into a scene from a movie—an exposé on the dark side of greek life, or maybe the mafia. Not knowing much about either, it’s hard to say, but the backward hats and pounding music from the house quickly remind you of where you are.

James lowers his voice, his tone dipping into something almost menacing. "But I’ll find out from your brothers, and when I do, you’re finished here. Done. Now come on."

Todd flinches as one of James' hands clasps over the back of his neck with a sharp smack. There were some other guys you hadn't noticed before back near the house, to whom James hands Todd over.

Once James notices that you're still standing in the middle of the yard, he jogs back over. On his way, he takes off his hat, running his fingers through his hair to loosen his curls.

"Hey," he says in a soft voice, vastly different from the one he used on Todd. "Are you okay?"

The change in his demeanor catches you off guard. You exhale while you collect your thoughts, a steamy white cloud filling the space as your warm breath meets cool air.

"That was intense," you say. You don’t mean to dodge his question, but he did just switch from mafia boss levels of threatening to sunshine and rainbows.

James breathes out a laugh. "Sorry about that. Gotta be a hardass with some of these dicks, especially ones like that. Part of the job."

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued, wondering what job he's talking about.

James reads your expression, and stands up a little straighter as he introduces himself. "President James, at your service." With an exaggerated wink, he tugs at the edge of his jacket, pulling it taut to show off the letters sewn over his chest.

You nod in understanding. "Well, thank you for stepping in, Mr. President," you say, a slight tease coloring your tone.

A smile like sunshine overtakes his lips. "No need to thank me, really. Anyway, you handled it pretty well before I got here. That was some punch—is your hand alright?"

You had forgotten about that. Splaying your fingers out in front of you, you inspect your knuckles. "Mhm. Fine. I don't think I can feel my limbs anyway." You wrap your arms back around yourself, the cold become almost unbearable in your tank top.

"Shit, yeah, it's cold out here, isn't it?" James holds his hat between his teeth, freeing his hands as he strips off his jacket. Your eyes linger on his toned arms for a moment too long, and suddenly his hat has made its way back onto his head and he's holding his jacket out for you.

"May I?" he asks.

As much as you want to say no, you truly are freezing, so you let yourself be draped in his warmth and the scent of his cologne. The fabric has an unexpected weight to it, almost offering a comfort similar to an embrace.

James rubs his hands up and down over newly blanketed arms to encourage some warmth into them. James studies your face with softened eyes, his tone taking on a more serious note.

"Hey, listen... I'm really sorry that happened to you. Everything he said, and did–"

"It's alright," you interrupt.

"It's not. That shouldn't be happening. Not at my house—not anywhere. I'm really sorry you had to deal with that creep. And if you wanted to take it to the school, I'd be more than willing to–"

"No, no. That's more trouble than he's worth."

James nods, respecting your decision. "For what it's worth, I'm gonna make sure he won't be allowed in any of the parties around here anymore. I doubt I can get him completely blackballed, but I'll do what I can."

You offer James a small smile in response. You're glad to hear that, really, but now that Todd's gone and that's all over, your main concern is finding your friend and getting the hell out of here.

"Why don't you let me give you a ride home?" he offers, almost like he can read your mind. His kind, brown eyes almost make you want to say yes. But after the night you've had, you owe it to yourself to be a little less trusting.

"I don't know." You bite the inside of your cheek while you decide if you should disclose your current dilemma. James does seem eager to help. Deciding to tell him, you say, "I was looking for my friend."

James is quick to offer his assistance. "Who's your friend? Maybe I can help."

You tell him your friends name and recount what she was doing when you saw her last. "She ran off with this guy. Long black hair, leather jacket, I think I heard his name but it was something... unique."

James sucks in a breath through his teeth. "Sounds like Sirius."

"Sirius, yes! That was his name." You're momentarily excited, thinking that James could actually help, but the look on his face squashes the feeling promptly.

"Yeah, uh," James scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, "Sirius left with a girl like an hour ago. About yay high," he holds his hand out to your friend's height. "Tan. Brown hair."

You sigh. Some best friend you have. Here you are, searching for her endlessly, and she's ditched you at the party she brought you to.

"She was your ride, I’m guessing?" The corner of James' lip quirks up in a sorry half-smile as you nod. "It really is no trouble for me to drive you home."

You tap your foot on the ground anxiously. You're really wanting to just accept his offer. He seems nice enough, but there's still a little voice in the back of your mind telling you to be careful.

"I just... I don't really know you."

"Understandable," James starts. "But... you kinda do. I'm pretty sure we have chem together."

"I don't think so." You think you’d remember a muscly, likely rambunctious, frat boy in your boring chem class.

"Okay, I was playing it cool,” James’ teeth graze his lower lip in a bashful manner. “I know we have Chem together—with Professor Brown? Tuesdays and Thursdays. You sit in the front row. Y/N, right?" James looks a little sheepish as he recalls your name.

You nod slowly, really looking at James for the first time, trying to place him. Then it hits you—you do remember him. He sits a few seats down from you in chem, always rigorously taking notes and asking questions you wouldn’t have thought of (but are glad to have the answers to). Seeing him like this, though, is such a contrast to the smart guy from class that you didn’t even recognize him at first.

You feel a heat creep up the back of your neck. You’ve only ever spared him a few glances, but you’ve always thought the smart guy from chem was pretty cute.

"Oh. Oh, right. I–I'm sorry I didn't recognize you. You're James Potter." You try the name on your lips, realizing the name didn't click because you had only ever heard your professor call him by his last name.

"That's me," he grins. "And don't worry about it."

You give him a nod, a bit awkwardly. He seems like a good guy, but you’re still not sure if you want to get in his car. "Well, James, I should probably just call an Uber or something anyway. I don't know if you've been drinking or anything so..."

"Oh!" James holds up a finger, stuffing his other hand into his pocket and pulling out a black rectangle. You mistake it for one of those big, clunky box vapes and almost want to roll your eyes. But then, James surprises you by blowing into it instead of breathing in.

The device beeps, and he shows you the little digital screen, previously hidden behind his hand, that reads "0.00" over a glowing green background.

"Haven't had a drop," he confirms. "I haven't smoked or anything else, either. Not my thing."

"Why do you own a breathalyzer?" you ask, a little dumbfounded.

"So I can breathalyze people," he shrugs, fiddling with the device—tossing it a few inches up in the air and catching it.

You raise your eyebrows at him, not satisfied with his non-answer.

“Sorry,” James chuckles at himself. "Uh, I have a lot of people leaving my parties trying to tell me they're sober enough to drive. I got loads of these ‘cause they can't argue with the numbers... as much as they might try to."

"Where did you even get that?" you ask. You can't imagine there's a very big market for personal breathalyzers.

"You can get almost anything with Prime delivery!" he says it like he's proud as he tucks it back into his pocket. "Hey, you want one? I've got a drawer full back in the house." He points with his thumb over his shoulder.

You laugh, shaking your head at his offer. James laughs along with you, his lips curling into a boyish grin.

Well, if you’re going to put your trust in anyone else tonight it, it might as well be the smart boy from chem who takes safety seriously enough to own multiple breathalyzers.

You start walking towards the house. When you don’t hear a set of footsteps following behind, you call over your shoulder, "Come on."

James catches up quickly, happy to be invited to join you. "Where are we going?"

"To your car so you can give me a ride home."

From the corner of your eye, you watch his face break out into a wide grin. And from there on out, there's an extra pep in his step as he leads you to his car.

When you're safe and sound, back in the comfort of your own room, you flop onto your bed with a dreamy look on your face. You hug the jacket closer to your body, thankful for the excuse to talk to him in chem on Tuesday. Little did you know, he let you keep the jacket so that you'd have one.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[ticifics]

𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐚

James Potter x f!reader

Summary: “Hey…” he murmurs, his voice laced with amusement. “Did you just wink at me?” Your face heats up instantly. “What? No! I just—” James moves closer, and before you can escape, his hands are already around you—warm, firm, secure. And then, he attacks. Kisses. A relentless succession of them.

Warnings: muggle au, est. relationship, fluffy, no use of y/n, james doing a kiss attack, shy!reader

The rain drums softly against the window, streaming down the glass in thin rivulets, distorting the view outside. The apartment is warm and lit by a discreet lamp, casting soft shadows over the furniture. You’re sitting on the kitchen counter, your feet swinging in the air, your hands wrapped around your teacup, soaking in the warmth it offers. There’s something comforting about this silence, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall and the occasional rustle of the newspaper forgotten on the table.

And then, he speaks.

“Did you know that if you close both eyes, you can’t see anything?”

You blink, lifting your gaze from the tea and meeting his, blue and full of mischief behind the lenses of his glasses. James is leaning against the doorframe, a half-smile tugging at his lips, his black hair in perfect chaos over his forehead. He looks absolutely pleased with himself, as if he’s having fun at the expense of a secret you haven’t discovered yet.

“Of course,” you reply, arching an eyebrow. “Everyone knows that.”

“Ah, but if you close just one...” He leans slightly forward, “You can still see everything.”

The sentence hangs between you, and without thinking too much, you close one eye, testing the logic.

In the next second, you realize the mistake.

James lets out a low chuckle, and the glint in his eyes intensifies in a dangerous way. He pushes off the doorframe and advances slowly, his steps feline, his posture too relaxed to be innocent.

“Hey...” he murmurs, his voice laced with amusement. “Did you just wink at me?”

Your face heats up instantly.

“What? No! I just—”

But there’s no room for explanations.

James moves closer, and before you can escape, his hands are already around you—warm, firm, secure. One arm wraps around your waist, pulling you forward until your knees bump against the sides of his hips. The other slides up to your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your heated skin.

You smell him, that mix of woody soap and something purely James. And then, he attacks.

Kisses. A relentless succession of them.

First, one on the high point of your cheek. Then, another near the corner of your mouth, then another and another, until he traces an entire path across your flushed skin. You let out a weak protest, a breathless laugh escaping before you can contain it.

“Jamie—”

“No, no,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice slightly muffled. “This won’t go unnoticed.”

“I wasn’t flirting!”

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression absolutely delighted.

“Ah, so only I can flirt?”

You open your mouth, but he’s already smiling that impossible smile, the one that makes your heart stumble.

“Good to know,” he says, and then he’s back, nipping lightly at your flushed cheek before pressing a longer kiss there. You feel his lips curve against your skin.

Your chest tightens in a dizzying way, in a way you can’t quite describe.

It’s always like this.

James, whole, intense. He loves as if he doesn’t know how to love any other way. With everything he has, with everything he is.

You, on the other hand, feel small in the face of it. Not in a bad way. But because James lights up everything around him, and you’re not quite sure how you deserved so much.

The shyness still warms your face, but you don’t resist when he starts covering your face with kisses again, laughing between each one. Your hands slide into his black hair, your fingers digging in as he finally gives you a break, resting his forehead against yours.

He’s smiling against your skin, that smile you feel more than see, and his chest rises and falls in a rhythm that matches yours.

James sighs, dragging his nose lazily across your face before murmuring against your cheek, “Did you know I’m all yours?”

Your heart stumbles.

He doesn’t say it with the intention of being dramatic. James never says anything halfway, never loves halfway. The sentence slips from his lips with so much truth, so much certainty, that you feel your chest tighten. You feel something blooming inside you, something that’s always been there but now pulses with more strength.

Maybe it’s the fact that he always takes the initiative, always breaks down your barriers with that tireless, charming way of his.

And maybe, just maybe, you want to surprise him this time.

The idea takes shape before you can talk yourself out of it.

With a hesitant but determined movement, you lean in and press your lips to his cheek.

He freezes for a second, his blue eyes wide behind his glasses, his mouth slightly open as if he’s trying to formulate a sentence that never comes.

You almost pull back, almost shrink away from the sudden impulse, but then you see his expression. It’s rare to see him like this, speechless, without a ready response on the tip of his tongue.

Your chest warms.

So, before your courage disappears, you kiss him again.

With a touch of boldness—the most you can muster—you scatter a trail of kisses across his face, following the same path he traced on yours. The curve of his jaw, his chin, the spot just below his ear. Your shyness makes your skin burn, but something about seeing James so visibly affected encourages you.

And when you return to his cheek, nipping lightly, he lets out a low sound, a mix of a laugh and a sigh.

“You...” he stammers, looking absolutely amazed. “Did you just bite me?”

You nod, a little uncertain, and James... well, James melts.

Literally.

His body sags against yours, his arms tightening around your waist, and he hides his face in your neck, laughing as if you’ve just completely destroyed him.

“Ah, that’s not fair,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your skin. “I wasn’t prepared.”

You feel his smile there, his lips pressed against your neck, and before you know it, you’re smiling too.

“Now you know how I feel,” you whisper, and James lets out a dramatic groan, as if he’s been struck in the heart.

“No,” he says, lifting his face again. His hands slide back to your face, his eyes shining as if he’s just discovered something new and fascinating. “That was worse. You have no idea what you just did to me.”

“Jamie—”

Suddenly, and before you can react, he grabs your cheeks firmly. The gentle pressure pushes them together until your lips form a forced pout.

James smiles. Beautiful, mischievous, absolutely enchanted.

“Ah, what a precious thing,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with an almost exaggerated fondness. He studies your face for a second, his eyes shining, before lowering his head and lightly biting your lower lip trapped between your pinched cheeks.

You squirm in his hands, trying to escape the trap, but he holds your face a little longer before finally releasing your cheeks, his thumbs gently brushing over your warm skin as he watches every detail.

James is always watching.

All the time.

And he never gets tired.

His hands stay there, holding your face with an almost exaggerated care, as if he wants to memorize the feeling. He rests his forehead against yours, and the touch is lazy, comfortable.

“I’m officially a lost man,” he says, so close that it’s impossible to tell where his breath ends and yours begins. “You could ask me for anything right now, and I’d do it without hesitation. My heart? Take it. My dignity? Gone. My soul? Well, I think it’s been yours for a long time.”

You laugh, and James looks absolutely delighted by the sound.

He watches you, and there’s something in his eyes that makes your breath falter.

“Could you kiss me again?” he asks, and his voice is low, almost hesitant.

Your face burns, but you nod, and when your lips meet his skin again, James closes his eyes and lets out a satisfied sigh.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Good boy, Pads {Mini-Siris}

Disclaimer: This is a Poly!Marauders x Muggle!Reader fic concept, but it is mostly focused on Padfoot and the reader. {Divider Credit}

Summary: Long hours, late nights, and dark alleyways. Good thing you have a guardian angel looking out for you. {Aka: Padfoot protects a muggle reader on her walk home}

Main story:

🐾1🐾

🐾2🐾

🐾3...🐾

Requested:

TBD

I will be taking requests with mini ideas that do or don't pertain to the main story. If I really like a request I might just make it into a main story beat, if you don't specify otherwise <3

All Taglist: @rory-cakes @sodavrr @ailoda @lalalandincraz @maraudersgirlie @maraudersgirlsposts @2dloveshp @moonjellyfishie @raevyng @hashbrownsoncrack @rentaldarling @goosy-goose @pennedmusings @iamawkwardandshy

Main Story Taglist: @lily-mylove @plk-18 @canthavetoomuchchaos @daydreamandforget @emerald-jade1 @lovelyygirl8 @witchybabel @c0ldstvff @chaoticwixtheybe @apollonshootafar

Just comment to be added!

[jijournal]

draco malfoy x crazy rich asians inspired au!!! actually just read this from tiktok (@/brandolover21) BUT IT WOULD MAKE SUCH A GOOD FIC 🙏🏻🙏🏻

CRAZY RICH... WIZARDS? | D.M

Part 1: Crazy Rich... Wizards? Part 2: Wands, Wizards, And Wicked Traditions Part 3: Wealthy, Witty, Witches

Summary: You find out your long time boyfriend is a... wizard? Was it a prank? a joke? some kind of unamusing humor? No. It was real. And now, he wants to introduce you to his parents.

CW: muggle!reader x draco. This isn't the whole "meeting up with the parents" thing, just draco comforting reader.

WC: 1.3k+

A/N: OMG YES! I LOVEEEEE CRAZY RICH ASIANS!! I kinda want to turn this into a series, that's why this is just the "intro" part. So, look out for that!

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

“You’re—” you blink, your voice trailing off.

“A what?” you repeat, blinking again, this time with your mouth slightly agape, trying to wrap your head around the words you just heard.

“As I’ve said for the third time now, love,” Draco said, his voice gentle but laced with that familiar edge of sarcasm, “I’m a wizard.”

You stared at him like he’d suddenly grown a second head. He was smiling, but there was a nervous edge to it—a smile that said he was bracing for impact.

You searched his face for any sign that this was some elaborate joke. Maybe he’d hit his head? Maybe he’d been watching too many fantasy movies?

Because the man you loved—your sweet, level-headed, frustratingly perfect boyfriend—was now seriously claiming to be a wizard. And he kept saying it like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You blinked again. No. Absolutely not. Magic wasn’t real. Witches weren’t real. And wizards? Wizards belonged in children’s books and video games—not standing in front of you, barefoot in your apartment kitchen with bed hair and baggy clothes.

You shook your head, trying to realign yourself with reality. “I have a degree in Information Technology,” you muttered under your breath. “I don’t believe in... whatever this is.”

And yet, here you were.

You looked at Draco Malfoy—the man who had somehow stumbled into your life and fit into it so seamlessly you sometimes forgot he had a past you barely understood.

You met him on the most average Tuesday, walking your Labrador through the park. Your dog had bolted toward him like he’d known him his whole life, knocking Draco clean off his feet. You rushed to apologize, but Draco—ever the composed stranger in expensive clothes—just laughed and said, “It’s alright, love. Happens more than you’d think.”

That was the beginning. A clumsy, brown-furred collision, followed by coffee dates, late-night talks, and the kind of chemistry you thought only existed in books. He was sharp-tongued, devastatingly charming, and somehow the most mysterious person you’d ever met—and now it made sense. Sort of.

You folded your arms across your chest, narrowing your eyes. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Draco simply nodded, his silver-grey eyes never leaving yours. "Deadly."

And suddenly, the world felt just a little less solid beneath your feet.

Draco was calm, too calm for someone who had just dropped a bomb the size of a small meteor on your relationship. His pale blond hair was pushed back, and his silver-grey eyes watched you carefully, scanning your face for any sign of belief—or worse, fear.

You, however, were too busy trying to make sense of what he’d just said. You blinked once, twice, and then stared at the object he’d just pulled out of his jacket pocket.

"A stick," you deadpanned, pointing at it. "What are you doing with a stick, Draco?"

He tilted his head, that familiar smug expression playing on his lips like this was the most casual conversation in the world. "This," he said, holding it up between his fingers, "is not just a stick. It’s a wand."

"A wand," you echoed in disbelief.

"Yes," he said, as if he were explaining basic addition. "Made of hawthorn wood, ten inches, reasonably springy. Core of unicorn hair, if you're curious."

You narrowed your eyes. "You’re being serious."

"As serious as I was when I said I loved you the first time," he murmured.

You swallowed hard, the warmth of that memory clashing violently with the current ridiculousness of this conversation. "Okay," you said slowly, folding your arms. "Then prove it. Do something. If you’re a wizard, then wave your little stick and show me some magic."

Draco raised one eyebrow. “You asked for it.” Then, with a flick of his wrist and a whispered, “Accio,” your coffee mug lifted off the counter and zoomed straight into his hand.

You gasped and stumbled back, nearly knocking over a barstool. "What the—how did you—"

Draco set the mug gently back on the table and held up both hands, placating. “I told you. I’m a wizard.”

Your breath came in short, disbelieving puffs. You looked around, expecting cameras, prank show hosts, anything to explain away what you just saw. "No way. No. This is—this has to be a trick. A magnet, or wires or—"

“Do magnets make things float mid-air in perfect arcs?” he asked gently, stepping closer.

You stared at the mug, now innocently sitting where it had been seconds ago. "So... you’re telling me magic is real? Like, real real? Like... Wands and flying brooms real?"

Draco hesitated for a moment, then pulled something else from his coat. It was a photograph—an old one, faded slightly at the edges—but it moved.

The people inside were waving. Laughing. One of them was unmistakably him, younger, with sharp cheekbones and a pointed smirk. He was standing next to a tall, darker-skinned man you vaguely recognized from pictures. Blaise Zabini. And the woman beside them, regal and graceful, looked exactly like a refined version of Draco—his mother, perhaps.

"This was taken at Hogwarts. My school. It’s a boarding school for young witches and wizards," he said softly. "And yes, everything you think is fiction—wands, spells, flying, it’s all real."

You gingerly reached out and touched the photo. It rippled under your fingers, the movement so natural it gave you chills.

Your voice was quiet. “So that’s where you went? Instead of Eton or wherever posh boys disappear to?”

He chuckled under his breath. “Something like that.”

A thousand questions flooded your brain, and you weren’t sure which to ask first. "Your parents—do they know about me? That I’m... not magical?"

“They will,” Draco said carefully. “They don’t yet. And they may not react... well.”

You stared at him. “Then why tell me now?”

His expression softened. “Because Blaise is getting married. He asked me to be his best man, which means I’ll be going back into the wizarding world—publicly, for the first time since the war. And I want you with me. I want them to meet you.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. You felt as though the ground beneath you had shifted. “You—you want to introduce me to your wizard parents? At a wizard wedding?”

Draco gave a slightly sheepish smile. “It’s a week-long event, really. Blaise’s fiancée is from an old magical family. It’s going to be extravagant. Think... floating flowers, dancing candles, people Apparating in from all over the world.”

“I don’t even know what Apparating means!”

He laughed, stepping closer and cupping your face in his hands. “It means you’ll have me by your side the whole time.”

“But I don’t belong there, Draco. I can’t wave a wand or fly a broom or—”

“You belong with me,” he said firmly. “And I’ve kept you hidden from that part of my life for too long.”

You studied his eyes, those ever-stormy greys that had once made you nervous but now only felt like home. “What if they hate me?” you whispered. “What if they think I’m... beneath you?”

His hands dropped from your face to your shoulders, holding you steady. “Then I’ll remind them who I am. And that I choose who I love. Not them. Not tradition. Me.”

For a long time, you stood in the silence, watching the way his wand glinted in the afternoon light, feeling the truth of his words settle into your chest like a heavy but welcome weight. You weren’t just dating a man with good looks and a mysterious past anymore—you were in love with a wizard. A real one.

And it seemed that magic—real, inexplicable, unscientific magic—was about to turn your world completely upside down.

You finally spoke, voice small but sure. “Then I guess I’d better find something to wear to a magic wedding.”

Draco grinned. “I already had a few options picked out for you. Just wait until you see the dress robes.”

You groaned. “Please tell me they don’t sparkle.”

“Oh, they absolutely do.”

You stared at him, then broke into a laugh—half terrified, half thrilled. "This is insane."

"Welcome to my world," Draco said with a wink, twirling his wand once more and making the chandelier above glow softly with golden light.

And in that moment, the impossible began to feel just a little bit real.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

masterlist!

[pretty-little-mind33]

Ice Hockey James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: You wait for your boyfriend after his game — In the same universe as Suburban Legends

Genre: Fluff <3

Warnings: muggle au, college au, swearing

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

You stand in the lobby of the rink, your arms are crossed across your chest and you're cursing yourself for only wearing his jersey instead of something warmer. Still, you smile. How can you mind when you can remember how happy James looked when saw you in the stands?

You pace around, waiting another few minutes until you start to become impatient. All his teammates have left the rink, which is something you know because you've counted each of their high-fives.

You have only been dating James Potter for a month now, but his teammates act like they've already taken you in as one of their own. 

"I didn't think you'd wait for me this long." you hear him. His voice is a little hoarse and he's rotating his shoulder around as he grimaces.

"Is your arm okay?" you ask, standing up and meeting him in the middle of the lobby. He was shoved pretty hard into the plexiglass and you look up at him, concerned. 

His lips curl into a little smirk, "Worried about me, Y/l/n?" He whispers and leans in close.

"As your girlfriend, I feel like if I wasn't worried then we'd have a problem," you chuckle and roll your eyes at his insistence to continue calling you by your last name. He says it's a habit but you're convinced he just likes to see you flustered.

"Come on I'm starving," you take his hand and try to lead him towards the door. 

"Shit," James groans, "I forgot my gloves in the locker room," 

You drop his hand and turn around, crossing your arms. "Are you seriously making me wait for you longer than I already have?" 

He shakes his head with a smile, "No. You're coming with me this time." It's his turn to take your hand and he practically pulls you to the locker rooms. 

"Jamie, slow down," you say.

Suddenly, you're pressed against the wall of the empty hallway as James's arms cage around your head. His hockey bag had fallen onto the ground and he leans his head downwards so that you can look into his eyes. His eyes shine and he's giving you the most obvious, "I wanna to kiss you," pout. 

"What are you doing?" you feign coy behind a laugh as he slides his hands down to the side of your head and cups your cheeks in his hands. He's so close it's incredibly intoxicating.

"Kissing you?"

You smile, nodding, and he leans down to kiss along your neck. His hips press into mine and you think I've finally lost all sensibility. "You drive me insane — you and my fucking jersey," he whispers as his kisses move upwards and his knuckles skim the fabric of his jersey near your breasts.

"You're the one who wanted me have it."

"Yeah, to wear around your dorm—not during my games," he says and his hands climb up the wall again as you look up at him, "If your plan is to distract me when I'm supposed to be paying attention to the game, you should know it's working more than it should…"

You grin and stare at him with wide eyes. You make sure to chew on your lower lip so that you're doing exactly what you know turns him on. "Seems like a misunderstood then," you say, "Still, I didn't think you would have a problem with everyone knowing I'm yours, James." 

Something snaps inside him and that's when he kisses you. 

It's raw and rough, but the way his strong arms wrap around you waist to pull you closer is gentle and you melt into his arms. Wantonly, you run your hand through his hair. The dark brown locks are slightly messy from being under his helmet and when James feels me pull on them, his breath jumps in his throat,

"Everyone already knows you're mine." He whispers and then continues to kiss you.

You pull him even closer and with his good arm, he wraps one of my legs around his hip. You're both so engrossed in our activity you, unfortunately, don't hear footsteps until, James's coach clears his throat,

James stops kissing you and carefully lowers your leg onto the ground. He hides you behind him as you turn around, his cheeks crimson from embarrassment, as you attempt to calm your internal panic. 

"Hey," James says, weirdly casual.

"Rink is closing, Potter. Go home." His coach says and you peek at him from behind James's shoulder. He sees me and sighs, "You too, Y/n."

"Will do, sir." James says. Quickly, he lifts his bag back onto his shoulder and holds your hand. You mumble a small, "sorry" as you walk by his coach but you don't think he hears you considering you can't even bear to look at him. 

Once you're back in the lobby, you bury your head in your hands, "I'm so embarrassed," you groan. James laughs and rubs your shoulders.

You look up at him and frown, "This really isn't funny."  

"Coach doesn't care. I promise." James reassures you.

"Why? Is this not the first time he's caught you kissing someone here?" you ask, sounding more jealous than intended.

James's expression softens and, holding your hips, he pulls you close enough to kiss your forehead, "How many times to I have to promise you I'm not, and have never been, a player?" 

You nod, smiling guiltily, "Yeah, I know. I shouldn't have asked that, I'm sorry."

"Water under the bridge, Y/l/n," James jokes and kisses your temple. He swings his arm around your shoulder, "I remember someone said they were hungry, shall we eat now?" 

"Wait, what about your gloves?"

James grins wolfishly. "Oh, those are in my bag, I just wanted to make out with you."

[cardansriddle]

Sugar - (tom riddle x fem!muggle!reader)

Summary: Perhaps it was an accident. Or perhaps the fates were mocking him. He had not meant to venture into the little coffee shop and he had most definitely not meant to return. But he kept coming back and the waitress kept putting sugar packets near his coffee every damn time.

Warnings: Tom gets possessive halfway through so it's pretty tame for him. not proofread. oh also self-indulgent crime & punishment debate (got a lil carried away).

A/N: 5.5k words but it's kinda mehh. to the person who requested this, i hope you enjoy it at least a little &lt;3

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

Tom felt as if he was a solitary figure in a world hushed by the winter's harsh embrace. With each step he took away from the desolate building of grey against the pristine canvas of winter, he felt lighter. He did not cast a look back towards the orphanage looming behind him, instead focused on the sound of the snow crunching beneath his feet as they led him further into the dark street cloaked in a thick layer of snow.

The wizard knew if he spent another moment in that cursed place he would have lashed out and killed someone, so he had hastily thrown his coat and emerald scarf around himself before slamming the door shut behind him. 

Two more years. He thought to himself. Then he would be out and would never be obligated to return again. Perhaps he would even burn the place to the ground if his plans worked out in his favour. 

The air was crisp, and his breath materialized in front of him with each exhale. His eyes quickly scanned the narrow empty alley for a suitable quiet place where he could pass his time. There was nothing interesting, except for the tiny bookstore nestled in the corner of the street that emitted a warm, golden light through its window. Tom quickly decided it would do, and he strode towards the place with purpose. A small bell chimed as he entered the place, which he quickly realised was a bookstore with a cosy coffee shop tucked inside. 

He inhaled the pleasant aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the scent of weathered books. Before he could lose himself entirely in the intoxicating symphony of scents, a sudden, loud thud echoed from behind the counter, jolting him from his reverie.

"Blimey!" someone cursed, their voice slicing through the tranquillity. Tom found himself rooted to the spot, curiosity piqued, as a figure suddenly emerged from underneath the counter.

It was a girl. Unabashedly, his eyes traced the lines of her features, noting the delicate curve of her jaw and the cascade of hair that framed her face. He assumed she was around his age if not younger and he stared at the girl as she rubbed her head, wincing when she hit a particularly soft spot before she realised that she was not alone in the shop. She froze like a deer caught in the headlights and he watched as her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. 

Tom, still an observer, saw more than just the blush; he discerned the subtleties of her response, the way her eyes momentarily widened before seeking refuge elsewhere, fingers fidgeting with the edges of her knitted cardigan.

She attempted to compose herself and met his eyes. "Oh! Sorry, sir. How may I assist you?" She asked cheerfully, resisting the urge to duck her head down to avoid his intense stare.

He crossed the small distance to the counter. "I'd like a coffee. Black."

"No sugar?" she inquired, to which Tom raised a single brow. Her blush deepened as she quickly averted her eyes from his face.

"Right, of course. You may take a seat while I prepare this for you." With a nod, she hurried to fulfil his request, leaving Tom alone with the lingering scent of coffee and old books that were now intertwined with a pleasant smell of vanilla and sweet— 

It was her perfume, he realised with a start.

He hastily removed his coat and scarf before plopping down on the nearest armchair. His gaze remained fixed on the girl, absorbed in the rhythm of her practised motions as she prepared his drink, her movements seemingly both effortless and comforting. There was an almost lazy grace to her actions and he continued to watch as she sang under her breath so softly if he had not been staring so intensely, he would not have picked up on it. 

He wondered how he had never noticed this place before. He had been passing through this little street for as long as he could remember but for some reason, he had only stumbled upon it today. His sharp eyes darted around, instinctively searching for traces of magic, half-expecting the discovery of a hidden passage to the wizarding world but he quickly realised the place was undeniably, disappointingly muggle. 

Muggle.

He tore his gaze away from the girl at the mental reminder of what she was. He fished out a book from his bag and opened it to occupy his mind. 

The subtle shuffle of her approaching steps drew his attention back to the present, and he met her gaze as she placed the steaming cup of coffee before him. A sugar packet sat innocently beside it. His eyes lingered on the packet for a moment before lifting coldly to meet hers.

She, however, was undeterred by the intensity of his glare. “In case you change your mind.” She smiled at him softly before turning on her heel and walking back.

His gaze lingered on her retreating figure, and then, almost involuntarily, it dropped to the innocuous sugar packet.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

Tom did not know why he had returned. Truthfully, he had not even noticed his feet had led him here until he was in front of the familiar wooden door that led into the coffee shop. Perhaps he had thought more than he should’ve about the disgustingly soft smile of that girl for the last five months. She was an insolent muggle, yet here he was, walking into the place as if he had never left. 

The seasons had blurred since he had last been here. Winter had long surrendered to the warmth of summer. He had to spend at least a month in the orphanage, and he was hoping Malfoy would invite him over for the rest of the summer. 

The place was just as he remembered it. The only difference was the lack of Christmas decorations. He faltered only slightly when he took notice of the girl behind the counter, already staring at him. She had not changed much. Her face was the same, less pale perhaps, but the same, nonetheless. The oversized knitted sweater that once enveloped her had been replaced by a little white sundress, and his gaze involuntarily lingered on the exposed smooth skin.

“Welcome back!” She greeted him cheerfully, and he was not surprised she remembered him. “What can I get you?”

“Black coffee,” he replied curtly

She nodded as if she was expecting it. "Coming right up." Gently shutting her book, she gracefully moved towards the coffee machine. Tom's eyes couldn't help but trail to the volume she had been reading, and to his pleasant surprise, it was Dostoyevsky. He had not pegged her as someone who would enjoy Russian literature, with its weighty and morally morbid themes. In his mind, she seemed more likely to be a Jane Austen enthusiast, with her intricately written romances and flowery prose.

“It’s 'Crime and Punishment'." He suddenly heard her soft voice declare, and he looked away from the book to give his attention to the girl. Then feeling as if she had said something silly, she blushed and looked away quickly. "Though I'm sure you figured that. I just wondered why you look so surprised." 

He replied before he could tell himself not to. "I did not imagine you as someone who would enjoy this." 

Emboldened at his words, she turned to face him, a hand casually resting on her hip as she sported a cheeky smile. "Am I to presume you imagine me often?"

His sharp inhale was audible as he absorbed the unexpected shift in her demeanour. He had not expected this shy, timid girl to tease him so boldly. She was a little vixen.

But he did not give her the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him. A lazy raise of his brow was the extent of his acknowledgement before his gaze wandered towards the rows of bookshelves, feigning indifference. "Do you have another copy? Perhaps I shall like to reread this evening."

She frowned, walking over towards the table he had occupied last time to set his coffee down. He grimly took notice of the sugar packet placed near it. "I'm afraid not. But you can have mine." 

"No, that is quite alri—" He began to decline but she had already crossed the small distance between them and was holding out the thick book. He hesitated for a moment before his fingers closed around the object, careful to avoid touching hers. 

The girl smiled and walked away before he could even say thanks. Not like he was going to. 

Settling back into the soft armchair, he opened the book only to freeze at the sight of a name scribbled on the front page and he knew it belonged to her. The wizard rolled the name around in his mind and determined that it suited her. He stared at her name for a minute longer before turning the page and delving into the content of the book. 

He had been so immersed in the story that he had not noticed how the time had passed. The gradual hush of the coffee shop's ambient sounds finally penetrated his concentration, and he distinctly heard the girl approaching him. 

"I'm sorry to disturb you but we're closing in five minutes." She looked at the book in his hands. "You may return it once you're done." 

He hummed and looked down at where he had stopped. 

"We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken."

He wondered if the universe was trying to tell him something. 

Tom found himself caught in the silent narrative of this stranger's presence.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

He returned the next day.

She looked up to see him enter, the sleeves of his button-up shirt rolled up. 

Tom placed the book on the counter. 

"You finished it in one day?"

He shrugged. "I'm a fast reader." 

She gave him a small smile, turning to make his black coffee before he could ask for it. "Every time I reread it it takes me a few days." She paused for a moment, turning to look at him over her shoulder. "The usual?"

He nodded. "The usual." He debated whether or not to voice his next question, and decided one conversation with the girl would not hurt.

"Why do you read it so often?"

"Each time I find new details that make Raskolnikov's character more complex. Each time I discover these small little things I missed the last time I read it becomes so much better. Plus I enjoy his moral dilemma."

He hummed, his curiosity piqued. He took his usual seat and watched as she brought his coffee and set it down in front of him. "Enlighten me." He gestured towards the seat in front of him. She hesitated only for a second before taking a seat. 

"Raskolnikov is obviously a complex character. His actions are driven by a desire for power and superiority, a belief that he is exempt from conventional morality. However, one could argue that his internal struggles and eventual remorse suggest a more nuanced exploration of morality." 

Tom furrowed his brows. "I see him as a product of his environment, a desperate man driven to extremes by the harsh circumstances he faced. His morality shifts to the other side of the spectrum." 

She cocked her head to the side, and he could see her getting slightly frustrated. "But morality is not just a spectrum; it's a complex interplay of values, societal norms, and personal convictions. Raskolnikov's guilt stems from the clash between his actions and the intrinsic moral compass within him. It's the consequence of recognizing the weight of one's choices."

He scoffed before he could stop himself. "Morality is subjective. What is right for one may not be right for another. Raskolnikov was weak and he was an idiot. Guilt is a useless emotion and it is for the weak."

Her expression remained unwavering. "But perhaps it's that recognition of guilt that separates the morally discerning from those who lack empathy. The fact that you can't comprehend his guilt doesn't make it foolish. It makes it human."

Tom's eyes narrowed a glint of impatience in his gaze. "Human or not, guilt is a hindrance. It's a sentiment for those too feeble to rise above their actions. If I were to make a difficult choice, I would do it without hesitation, without remorse." 

He only realised the slip of his tongue after the words left his mouth. He stilled, gauging her reaction yet her response was measured but firm. "Raskolnikov's guilt is a testament to his humanity, his ability to grapple with the consequences of his choices. It's what sets him apart from those who operate without remorse." 

"But—"

"So what you're saying is you would kill and feel no remorse?" She cut him off.

Yes.

"You do not understand." He did not intend his tone to be so harsh, yet the words left his mouth coldly. She visibly withdrew and nodded stiffly. "Right. Enjoy your coffee."

He opened his mouth to say something but realised for the first time in his life he did not know what to say. 

He was left staring at the cursed sugar packet she had left near his coffee again.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

He did not return the next day. Nor the day after. Or after.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

Two weeks passed with no sign of him.

And then she saw him step into the coffee shop. He walked in with determination. He walked up to the counter, meeting her gaze with an intensity that mirrored the unspoken tension between them. "I'd like a black coffee," he said, his tone even, though a hint of something lingered beneath the surface. 

She nodded, her expression composed but guarded. As she prepared the coffee, the air seemed charged with unspoken words. Her usual cheerful smile was notably absent. The absence struck him, and he realised he had enjoyed her smiles.

When she placed the coffee in front of him, there was a palpable pause. He glanced at the sugar packet, a subtle acknowledgement of the lingering disagreement. Without a word, he took it, his eyes meeting hers briefly before he poured the sugar into his coffee. 

She looked at him, her gaze unwavering, before a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her lips. 

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

He returned the next day. And the day after that. And for the rest of summer.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

The next time he stepped into the familiar place, winter had covered the city with a snowy blanket once again. It had been a year since he first discovered this little place. And he had not seen his little waiter since he left for Hogwarts in September. 

When he walked in, her eyes lit up visibly. "Hi!" She waved at him with a bright grin. 

"Hello." He greeted as he unwrapped his scarf and settled in his usual seat. In a matter of minutes, she was bringing him his usual order. She was back to wearing her warm knitted sweaters. "How did you enjoy the book?"

"Oscar Wilde never disappoints," he said. She hummed in agreement, pleased at his words. He watched as her hands dropped to fidget with the bottom of her sweater. "You wish to ask me something." He stated. "Ask."

"Do you study in a boarding school?"

Tom hesitated only for a moment before replying. "Yes."

"Oh. Well, that explains the months of not showing up."

"Were you expecting me?" He teased her with an amused smirk, taking delight in the way her cheeks reddened. 

"I was just wondering that is all," she admitted, a hint of curiosity peeking through. Tom observed her, noting the return of the timid, shy girl from their first encounter. It amused him how a few teasing remarks could momentarily whisk away her fiery boldness. He couldn't help but wonder what it would take to awaken it once again.

"And do you wonder about me often, little vixen?" he added, a playful glint in his eyes.

She blushed harder at the nickname but then as if a thought had struck her, she straightened and Tom watched as she visibly mustered up her courage. "I actually was wondering your name."

He bristled, but she must have not noticed because she continued. "I suppose I have not given you mine either." She mused out loud and announced her name to him. "But I thought it bizarre that considering all the time we've talked we never got around to that. Friends who do not each other's names." The girl laughed at the last notion and only then she realised that Tom had remained unnervingly quiet throughout the exchange. She raised her eyes from the frayed edges of her sweater, and the sight almost made her take a step back. His eyes had darkened, and she could have sworn she saw them flash red. There was no warmth, no familiarity in his gaze. 

"Are you alright?"

Suddenly, he rose from his seat, an ominous tension permeating the air as he advanced towards her with every word. "We are not friends. You dare to think I would be friends with the likes of you?" His words were sharper than the keenest of blades, cutting into her with merciless precision. "Foolish, little girl," He spat out before grabbing his things and storming out of the place. As the door closed behind him, the little coffee shop seemed to exhale, the echoes of his harsh words lingering in the hushed aftermath.

She stood frozen in her place, helpless against the storm of emotions and the tears that began to veil her vision. 

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

Tom fumed for months after their last encounter. How dare the ignorant muggle insinuate that they were friends? He scarcely considered his Knights of Walpurgis as his friends, and she thought she would just appoint herself the title? Who did she think she was?

"Mate, you alright? You've been unresponsive for a while." Malfoy nudged him slightly, attempting to draw his attention back to the present.

Tom made a noise of acknowledgement before mentally shaking the image of his little waiter— no, not his, he berated himself— from his mind. 

But no matter how he tried, he could not. He could not just banish her from his thoughts. He knew a part of him, a rather embarrassingly large part of him enjoyed her company, her passion, her conversations— just her. 

And there, tucked away in the recesses of his trunk, lay her damned book— a taunting reminder of her. The temptation to burn it, to obliterate any remnants of her from his life, danced on the edge of his thoughts. He had shoved away, out of sight if only just to save himself the fury, the anger, (the longing).

He wondered if she was going through the same turmoil as him. He hoped she was. She had no right to make him feel this way and get away with it unscathed. 

But she was too enticing to give up. He did not know what it was about her. She was a muggle, an ordinary, plain girl working at a forgotten little cafe. Sure, she liked books, but so did a lot of other people. Yes, she was pretty, but so were a lot of other girls. But none could even come close to stirring his emotions as she did.

Perhaps it was the ease with which she conversed with him. Or the entirely too cheery smiles. Or her endearing knitted sweaters— though he secretly favoured the sundresses.

He, of course, knew what it was. He had tried to deny the idea to himself, but there was no escaping it. Tom had never been able to be unequivocally authentic with another individual before. From his early childhood, he refused to allow anyone close to him. He never lowered his walls and rejected anything that would yield a genuine connection. It was refreshing with her. He had no cause to uphold a curated facade.

Had she not been a muggle, he would entertain the thought of her bewitching him. He would have been convinced the girl put some spell on him or slipped a potion into his drink. 

It was maddening. 

She was maddening.

He sighed upon realising that he had spiralled again thinking of her. He needed to return the book, and maybe that would ease his mind. Perhaps once he was rid of her possession, she would not haunt him anymore. (Though he knew he was only trying to reassure himself with the last thought.)

As summer loomed around the corner, it felt both too distant and too imminent, mirroring the paradox of his tangled emotions.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

The sound of her laugh rang out before he could even close the door behind him. His head snapped up so fast it was a wonder he did not get whiplash. But there she was, his little waiter, chuckling delightfully as some boy spoke lowly from behind the counter. Chuckles escaped her lips, and she bit down on her lip in a futile attempt to stifle the laughter, her hands deftly at work preparing a drink. Despite her efforts, laughter bubbled forth once more, forcing her to set the cup down to avoid any potential spills.

An immediate surge of anger coursed through him. Who was this boy? What business did have with her? What right did he have to elicit such genuine laughter from her? (Most importantly, how dare she replace him?)

Tom swallowed the lump in his throat, attempting to gather himself into some semblance of a composed, unaffected man that he most definitely was not at that moment. With a loud, purposeful cough, he sought to catch her attention.

She spun around, the practised smile reserved for customers settling onto her face as she readied herself to serve him. However, the smile swiftly vanished the moment her doe-like eyes locked onto him. She looked like a deer caught in headlights as she stared at him, wide eyes roving over his face as if to confirm that he was really standing there, in front of her, and was not a figment of her imagination. 

Because despite their last encounter, despite the anger, and the hurt she had felt, she kept hoping he would return. She kept imagining him standing there, with his ridiculously fancy scarf as he spewed out an apology. She had delved so deep into her fantasies involving him that now that he was actually there, she did not what to do or to say. Her tongue was tied, and her brain was fogged. What was she supposed to say?

It seemed he decided to grant her mercy and be the first to break the tense silence.

“Hello.” 

“Hi.”

He shuffled closer, though his steps were unsure, unlike his usual confident strides that she was used to seeing. “I wished to return your book.” He declared yet made no move to reach into his bag for the said book. He allowed his eyes to drink in the sight of her, her eyes that always seemed to glisten, her hands that were always fidgeting, her little sundress that he was afraid would drive him to insanity, (and her lips that he wished he could press against his own just so he could find out what they felt like, tasted like.) He shoved the last one into a drawer in his mind and locked it away. He could not fantasise about her. She was a muggle. He could not stoop so low as to hold affections for a muggle girl.

“Did you enjoy it?” The girl asked tentatively as if afraid one wrong word would set him off, have him spitting more harsh words that would dig deep into her skin and remain there. 

“As always.” He replied. Because every book she gave him held another meaning. She was a clever girl, choosing the ones that she knew would have him coming back with a strong debate prepared in his mind. They always seemed to stand on opposite sides of every argument that the books posed, ensuring that their discussion would get heated, exciting, and thrilling. 

While Tom vehemently disagreed with her views, he found pleasure in the way her mind worked. He admired her quick-wittedness, her ability to counter every argument he posed. No one else had engaged him in such stimulating conversations. She was a breath of fresh air, a captivating force he wanted to inhale and never release. He yearned to suffocate in the essence of her being, to be consumed and to consume in return. He wanted to own her— that irrational desire to keep her for himself was always there in the deeper parts of his mind that he was scared to venture into.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” She responded but he could detect the subtle undercurrent of uncertainty in her voice.

He hesitated. “May I have one black coffee?” He was extending an olive branch, and while it was not an outright apology, coming from Tom, it was a whole declaration. 

“It’s five minutes until closing time.” 

She would not be swayed so easily then. 

Fine. Tom thought. He would make her come to her senses. 

The boy who he had forgotten was still there suddenly came to stand next to him. Tom eyed him with disdain, his features curling into an unimpressed sneer, raising a lazy brow.

“I’ll help her close up, mate. You can leave now.” 

“Daniel, that is not necessary.” She muttered, glancing between the two men nervously. Daniel? Tom clenched his jaw, enraged. In his absence, it seemed she had gotten on first-name basis with a boy. His mouth soured with the taste of betrayal at her blatant ignorance. How could she discard him so easily? Had she not suffered all these months at the mere thought of him? Had he been alone in his suffering?

“No,” Tom stated flatly. “You will leave.” He told the boy then turned to face his waiter. “We will talk.” 

“I do not think—”

He cut her off with a hiss. “It was not a request.”

Daniel seemed wholly displeased. He opened his mouth to argue, but his girl beat him to it. “It’s okay, Daniel. I will see you some other time.”

“Whatever he has to tell you, surely he can say in front of me.”

She shook her head gently, trying to dissuade him. “It’s a matter between him and I. I would rather talk privately.” 

Tom looked smug as he faced Daniel again, struggling to contain his smirk. He could see the indignation clear on the boy’s face as his eyes flickered dubiously between her and Tom. He knew the wizard was no ordinary acquaintance of her, he could feel the palpable tension in the air like a wolf. 

Tom, of course, wished to push his buttons further, just to have the last word. “You heard her. Leave.” 

Daniel scoffed. “I will see you tomorrow then.” He muttered and with one last long look, he squared his shoulders and left the café with as much dignity as his wounded pride could muster. 

As the door shut with a final thud, they were left in pregnant silence, both unsure of the dynamics at play between them. The air in the café hung heavy with unspoken tension as if the silence itself had taken on a weight, pressing down on them both. The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed louder than usual, each second echoing in the quiet space.

She was the first to cave. "Well? You wished to talk." Gesturing towards him with a hand expectantly. "Talk." 

Tom inhaled sharply, and for the first time in his life, he did not quite know what to say. How to proceed. 

"Who is he?" The question tumbled from his lips before he could stop it. 

She raised a brow. "Seriously? After how you walked out of here last time I would think your choice of words would be different."

"Different? I hardly think the question was unfair."

She huffed impatiently, discarding her apron as she turned from him to put everything away for the night. "Of course. How foolish of me to assume that you have no business inquiring about my life when we are not even friends." She chuckled bitterly. "You made the notion quite appalling if memory serves me right. You wish to know who is Daniel? For all you know, he could be my fiancee. Would it matter? No. Because you and I are hardly acquaintances." 

An unfamiliar feeling began coiling in the pit of his stomach, and he suddenly felt sick. She briefly turned to fix him with a pointed glare and froze at the look on his face. The dancing flames of the candles seemed to mirror the flickering emotions in Tom's eyes—flames of irritation, discontent, and an unexpected pang of jealousy.

Tom could scarcely believe his fate. How was it that he— the most powerful wizard of his generation— had succumbed to the pathetic disease of— what was it? Desire? Lust? Infatuation? Such mundane urges were beneath him, he had no wish to pursue anyone or anything that was not remotely related to his quest for power. Yet there she was. In her infuriating fucking dress and those innocent eyes. Did she even know what sort of turmoil she had caused him?

All of a sudden he felt exhausted, defeated. His shoulders sunk visibly as he ran a hand through his hair. He would use a hundred of her sugar packets in his coffee if it meant she would just grace him with her bubbly smile again and just— just what? Leave him be? He did not want that. Treat him as if nothing had happened? Maybe. Release him from whatever enchantment she put him under? Yes.

"What do you want from me?" He asked at last, frustration clear in his voice.

She regarded him with disbelief as she rounded the counter to stand directly in front of him. "What do I want from you?" She repeated incredulously. "I want an apology! I want an explanation! I want—" she sighed, cutting herself off before she could finish the thought. "You cannot just show up here demanding things and ordering people around after how you treated me last time. If you wish to continue this conversation, you will apologise to me."

"You want me to say sorry?" He took a step towards her.

"Yes!"

"Fuck your apology." 

Before she could register what was happening, Tom closed the minute distance between them and caved into his desire. He grabbed her face, fingers threading through her hair, and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was not gentle; it was a collision of pent-up tension and bottled-up desires.

Tom's lips moved fervently against hers, pouring his frustration into the act. It was a silent declaration that transcended the boundaries of his complicated inner turmoil. Tom knew that. But he could not pull away from her— not after having tasted how her lips feel like. 

Her hands, which had hovered hesitantly in the space between them, found their way to his shoulders, fingers gripping the fabric of his coat, pulling him closer. 

She felt—tasted like God's favourite nectar, sweet and addictive and he knew he would never get enough of it. She might not have been a witch, but he was bewitched by her. 

As they broke apart, breathless, the air between them hung heavy with the residue of their shared kiss. He dared not to ease his hold on her, only stared at her with darkened eyes, taking delight in the way her lips were bruised, and puffy, all because of him. But it was not enough. He needed to mark her for all to see. 

He dove into the tender skin of her throat like a man starved, teeth sinking into her flesh with no warning, and a sick sort of satisfaction washed over him at the muffled moan that escaped her mouth. He sucked on the skin until he was sure there would be a purple mark blooming on the spot before running his tongue over the flesh to soothe the sting. He did not waste any second before moving to mark another spot.

"I do not even know your name." She managed to choke out in between her whimpers, hands moving of their own accord to tangle in his hair, and a particular tug had him growling deep in his throat. 

"Tom." He whispered, pulling away from her neck only to return his lips to hers. "Say it. Say my name." He murmured in between the kisses, pushing her back until her back was pressed against the counter. He easily picked her up to place her on the surface, his fingers trailing along her thighs to her knees to nudge them apart so he could stand in between them. 

"Tom." She breathed out in a daze, and he smirked in delight. 

She was his. He had already branded her, and he would do much more to ensure she knew it was him she belonged to. 

He leaned to brush his lips against the shell of her ear. "I hope you know there is no going back from this. From me." He whispered, fingers slipping under the strap of her dress and dragging it down her shoulder slowly. "You are my dirty little secret now. Mine."

She shuddered under the weight of his words but he was already snaking his hand around her throat as his lips found home on her own once again.

No going back.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

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[corrodedcoffins-blog]

Meetings On Window Sills

masterlist

note: I fucking love 60s-70s music so there's a lot of it mentioned, and also remus is a full blown music nerd so why would i not make them bond over music?? also this was inspired by 2007s Jump In! starring my first crush: corbin bleu lol

warnings: didn't edit (don't care), little tiny bit of angst between remus and his dad, smoking, remus having back problems since 11 and a city boy, reader has hair long enough to put in a claw clip

word count: 3.8 k

♡ summary: Many don't know that during summer, Remus goes home to a muggle girl, and he spends more time on his fire escape than in his room some days

♡ Remus Lupin x fem!muggle!reader

request ✗

1971

He’d known her his whole life, well since he was 6 months old. Their mums had both gone to the same ‘mommy and me’ class and hit it off when they both took a smoke break. Since then their mums had noticed they didn’t have much in common and grew apart, not after buying apartments in the same building.

Remus stretched his back, hands on his waist while leaning back, just having done all his folding, getting ready to organize in his trunk. As he stood from the small single bed in the corner he heard the soft hum of music coming from outside, the young boy lifted his widow, needing much more force than when it was made. 

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” 

Remus looks to her widow, seeing the record player playing on her desk while she reads, not seeming to be doing a whole lot of that though. From his view it looks to be Little Women, which he had read and which he would never tell her, but he had been bored on a visit to his grandparents before they died and that was the only book in his moms childhood room, so he read it and enjoyed it enough to finish and not have much of a critic.

“You always sing that song much louder than the rest.” 

His sudden voice caused the girl to jump in her seat, putting the book down and turning down the record she looked at to him, slightly embarrassed at him catching her. 

“It’s my favourite.” She said moving to sit on her window seat. Remus of course noticed this as a sign that she wanted to continue the conversation, he also noticed the way she played with the bottom button of her cardigan. The boy exited his window onto the fire escape to sit on the window sill.

“It’s The Beatles?” “Yeah, my mum got it for me for Christmas last year. Along with George Harrison’s solo album, ‘cause he’s my favourite Beatle- he actually wrote the song I was singing.” She knew she went on a little too long but Remus wouldn’t stop her, that was the type of person he was, kind hearted. When he listened to her, he really listened, he heard every word and took it in.

“Because he wrote your favourite song?” “Not just that, but I guess that’s where it started then I looked through all my albums and all my favourite songs he wrote.” She briefly pointed behind her and he saw the self of records behind her.

“What ones?” He asked, getting more comfortable by leaning his back on one side of the window frame.

“Umm, I’m happy just to dance with you, and of course here comes the sun.” “That’s me mum's favourite, tells me every time it’s on the radio.” 

The conversation stalls, to avoid awkward stares Remus looks down to the street and watches a man with a yellow jacket cross the street, it glowing in the yellow street lights. His stare only breaks when he hears her voice ask, “What’re you packing for?”

“Oh- That..” Her brows furrow at the nervous tone, he wasn’t sure how to tell her, it wasn’t like they were best friends, they talked once in a while like how they are now and would see eachother at school, “I wasn’t sure how to tell people, I’m going to a different school next year.” “Where?” “It’s a boarding school up in Scotland.” “Why are they making you go?” 

Remus would be lying to say that didn’t surprise him, she sounded like she would miss him a little more than he thought she would, and that deeply confused him.

“My father went so-” It’s interesting how much truth he could say while withholding the biggest piece of information from her.

“That sucks. Aren’t you going to miss your friends.” “I never had many friends.” Overstatement. He had no friends, never really did, kids at school made fun of his scars, or for being a nerd, or for having second hand clothes that his mother still had to sew to be wearable; take your pick really. 

“Not many people like me.” “I like you.” Remus’s head lifted from its stare at his swinging legs, “As- as a friend of course.” “Of course, I like you as a friend too.” 

-

1973 

As soon as he walked through the door, Remus set on the way to his window, leaving his trunk at the door. 

“Hun! Where’re you going so fast?” His mum asked, placing the keys in the bowl by the door, and putting her hands on her hips. His father made his way past her to the kitchen.

“I missed my room!” He yelled, never slowing down the hall. Once they believed he was out of ear shot, he heard his father say, “He wants to see Jen’s girl.” 

As he got closer to her window he saw the girls laying on her back legs up resting on the wall while she read. Her head snapped to the window after the first knock, a large grin making its way to her face. She rolled off her bed and opened the window for him and he heard the tune of Bowie flowing through the room.

She crawled half out the window to hug him, her arms going around his neck and he held her back, his hands felt warm, his embrace felt safe. He wore a thin jumper that felt soft on her skin.

“I’m so happy you’re back.” “Me too.” They say, pulling back and getting comfortable on the window sill. She was still smiling at him, and him at her, before Remus felt he had to look away or he would explode. He took the moment to look at her room and it had changed quite a bit since last summer; bed against a new wall, something she did when she felt she needed a change. He noticed her vinyl collection had grown.

“You finally got Ziggy Stardust!” “Oh yeah!” She jumped off the ledge they sat on and made her way to put it on. 

“I went with some friends to London and we got to go to a huge record shop. Remus you wouldn’t believe the stuff they had there- they had Bob Dylan’s first album so my collection of his is complete.” “Brilliant.” Remus sat down on her window seat bench and grabbed the album from her shelf to get a closer look. With the Bowie record set up, she nudged the volume dial up before returning next to the boy. She hit his leg to get his attention, “Listen to this first one it’s my favourite.” 

He put the Bob Dylan album down to give his full attention to the music. 

Many hours later, the two were still perfectly content listening to album after album, pausing their conversation when a particularly good verse came. They were now on the floor of her room, the girl laid out on her carpet flooring, looking just as carefree and stunning as ever. 

“Joni next?” She said as the album playing came to a close, before he could respond they heard a knock on the window, it was his dad.

“Bit late, innit? ‘S past one, Remus.” “Sorry, Mr. Lupin, we lost track of time.” “‘S alright, dear, but come to bed Remus.” “Okay.” 

His father went back through the window and waited. Remus stood the floor and stretched his back, the girl stood as well, “Tomorrow?” “Yeah.” “G’night, Rem.” “G’night.” 

He joined his dad out on the fire escape as they made their way back to his room, once they got inside and closed the window his father broke the silence. “I know you like that girl, but you’ve ‘ot to keep her out of this world, especially with what you are.” 

And just like, an otherwise perfect night, ruined by one comment by his father. 

“I know.” “Alright. G’night, son.” The door shut behind him, and when he heard that click he let the tear drop.

He knew from his friends that  some people don’t care, they found out this past school year and he still hasn’t told his parents that fact. But for all his life he’s heard otherwise, and he can’t help but think one day the boy’s will come to their senses and leave him all alone again. Y/n though, a muggle, if he ever told her he can imagine that  best case scenario is him having to use obliviate.

-

1975 

Remus retreated to his room after dinner, wanting to sleep or read or something that didn’t involve more people, it had been a long day even before he got on the train home for the summer. As he grabbed the book on his desk he saw a trail of smoke leading to a certain girl’s bedroom, he leaned forward to see her with her glasses on, smoking a cigarette, and wearing mismatching pajamas.

He lifted the window with ease, causing the girl to flick her eyes back to him, “You're back.” “Same time every year.” Both shared a look with smiles on their faces, the girl broke eye contact to grab her pack of cigarettes, and overing him with one.

“Yeah.” He climbs out the window and comes to now sit on her window sill and takes his own cigarette, she grabs the light from behind her and he lets her light his. Her fingertips brushing against his check as she blocks the blooming flame from the soft summer breeze.

He takes the chance to gaze at her lips, wrapped around the cigarette, residue of lipstick left behind, a soft red. She never needed the makeup, but sometimes if he woke up early he could watch her put it on. A moment that he found she looked the most beautiful, practiced movements, mouthing the words to whatever song she was listening to, and the funny faces she made made him smile. 

“I missed you.” “Yeah?” A smile creeped on his face as he looked into her eyes. “Yeah.” “I missed you too. I always do.”

The girl looks away, a smile on her face, unaware that Remus continues his stare looking from her eyes to her smile and the way her hair falls in its clip. She wore a thin olive green tank top, he could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra so he moved his eyes to the clouds she was looking at. 

“How’re your friends?” Sometimes she felt as though she knew the boys, with how much Remus talked about them, her mind began to wonder if they knew as much about her as she knew about them.

“They’re just the same pricks they’ve always been.” “James got any farther with Lily?” She muttered, flicking off her cigarette and taking another puff, she looked so beautiful and natural. She had glasses that fell down her nose, messy hair that she liked that way, and a laugh like no other.

“Lils would like me to say ‘no’, but I think she likes him a lot more than she cares to share.” “That’s the way it always goes.” She trailed off, to look at him and he was already looking at her.

It was second year Remus became friends with Lily, they were paired up for a project together and became close. At first she was jealous of the girl, she felt that Lily was going to take her spot in Remus’ life, it weirdly enough was when she heard of James’ fondness for the ginger girl that she no longer worried. Well that and the fact that Remus never did anything to insinuate that he was any less friends with her because of Lily. 

And what she didn’t know was that half of the time he was with Lily, he ended up bringing up her.

-

1977 

Y/n was waiting all day for Remus to come home, she never left her room the whole day in waiting. Looking to his window every ten minutes in hope she would see her lanky boy crawling out his window.

It was late in the evening when she came back from the bathroom and immediately went to check, she almost didn’t believe her eyes when she saw the lamp beside his bed on. The girl shrugged on her cardigan that was lying across her desk chair, and crawled out the window.

Remus had just gotten back from a nice dinner with his parents, this was his last summer as a kid and they wanted to make it special from the beginning, especially since next week he was going to spend a month at the Potter’s. 

He was interrupted from changing by a knock on his window, he turned on his heels to see the girl he’s been waiting all year to see. Her smile lights up his face, she looks away and it takes him a moment to realize it’s because he isn’t wearing a shirt, clad in nothing but pajama pants gifted to him by Peter. He quickly slips on a jumper before he opens the window and she stumbles into his room. 

“Hey.” “Hi.” They each silently take this moment to get a look at eachother, the girl noticed that she could see that scar on his chest end just where his jumper begins, it’s surprising that she could know him since they were babies yet doesn’t know when he got that scar. To be honest she never asked about them, she could tell he was insecure about the way he looked, though in her mind there was no need to be.

During this Remus is having his own thoughts about her looks, she was wearing that cardigan she’s had since she was ten, underneath was a tank top like she commonly wore. Her hair was up in a clip, the same ones Mary always wore, small pieces of hair falling out. She was beautiful.

“Urm.. How have you been?” The boy asked justering for her to sit as he took a seat on his bed. She joined him, leaning against the wall and pulled a carton of cigarettes out of her cardigan pocket. 

“Good, yeah I’m good. You?” She replied, feeling around her pockets, “No lighter.” He stood from the bed and went to his dresser drawer, retrieving the pink lighter and throwing it to the girl, she caught it with ease yet didn’t begin to light.

“Is this the lighter I gave you?” 

When they were fifteen, they first smoked weed together, at a nearby park in order to not get caught by their parents. And Y/n, high, had given Remus her lighter when they had climbed back up the fire escape to their windows and told him, “This is my favourite lighter. I don’t know why? I think ‘cause it’s pink, so that means it’s lucky- ‘cause the lighter is lucky it’s pink and not some boring lighter like yours- No, you know what Remus? You should take this one, ‘cause it’s luckier and prettier than yours. But keep it safe, it’s my favourite.” 

That night Remus put it in his sock drawer to keep safe, he never wanted to use it or worse lose it, so he kept it safe just as she asked.

“Um, yeah.” He mumbled, a little embarrassed at the amount of sentiment he put into that cheap lighter. 

“You kept it?” “Yeah, you told me to.” 

He becomes even more embarrassed when she chuckles. She looks down at it in her hands, her chuckle dying down and smile slips. There's a moment of silence as Remus doesn’t know what to say so he just returns to his spot on the bed next to her. She doesn’t look up at him still as she asks, “Why did you keep it?” 

Truthfully Remus does know why he kept it, it was just because she gave it to him, but if that sounds lame in his head it will most definitely sound lame if he says it to the girl he likes, no love, he’s always known he loved her. So once again he’ll chicken out and doesn’t respond.

She waits for his answer, and when it never comes, “Is it.. For the reason I think?” She boldly asks, looking at the side of his face as he has not looked away from the spot on the wall in front of them. 

Another moment, and the beautiful girl tries to get his attention by leaning her face in his line of vision. His gaze is unnerved, he’s too consumed by the thoughts running in his mind, until they all go silent.

She presses a kiss to the side of his mouth and says, “I like you too.”

Head snaps to look at her, eye to eye, nose to nose, and finally lips to lips as Remus presses a hard kiss right on her lips. She immediately begins kissing back, and trying to take control but to her surprise Remus is a lot more comfortable in his actions now and is the one leading the kiss and pushing his tongue between her soft lips, which she gladly accepts.

The girl trails her hand up the inside of his thigh before skipping up to hold his jaw, Remus at the same time grabs her hips and squeezes, causing Y/n to swing one leg over his and straddle the boy’s lap. Her hands fall from his jaw, to his neck, to his chest and pushes him away lightly.

Both slowly allow their eyes to open and look at eachother, smiles mirroring each other. 

“So-” “Boyfriend girlfriend?” “Yeah, that’s cool.”

-

1977

“I’ll get the Bowie album, then we can listen to it when you get back.” “When’s it coming out?” “October.”

The girl replied, her head lying on his bicep as she played with his hand, drawing shapes and tracing his veins. In his other hand, resting on her stomach, Remus held the book he and Lily decided to read over the break for their informal book club. 

Y/n thought about asking what she’s been wanting to ask since they’ve gotten together, “Are you going to come home for Christmas?” The last time he did was fifth year, last year he had gone to his friend James’ house. And from what he told her, he had the best time, so you can see she was a little worried he would do that again and she wouldn’t get to see her boyfriend till next summer.

What she didn’t know was that Remus was hoping to avoid this at any cost, it was a full moon this christmas. So even if he did come home, he wouldn’t even get to see her much.

“I haven’t thought about it.” “Oh.” Damn, wrong thing to say. She thought about it. She asked him. She wanted him there.

“I mean- I would love to come home and see you! I just- I don’t know if-” “What?” 

She saw the hurt in his face, she knew whatever he was thinking about he was trying to push down and resist it, she sat up and sat crisscrossed facing him. She leaned down and grabbed his hands, gently taking the book out of his hands and marking the page by folding the corner.

“What’s wrong, Remus?... You can tell me.” “That’s just it- I can’t, or rather I shouldn’t.” “Okay, now I’m confused.” She scoffed, shaking her head and standing up to get some space, “What can you not tell me. I tell you everything.” 

Remus sat up, leaning against the wall on his bed, head in his hands, thinking about everything. Everything he ‘couldn’t’ tell her, if he couldn’t trust her he believed he couldn’t trust anyone ever again.

“Okay, you have to believe me though, and it’s going to sound like I’ve gone mad. So just remember that I know how absolutely insane I sound, and that I’m still telling you because I trust you. More than anyone.” Met with slight hesitance, Y/n replies, “Okay.”

“I’m a wizard.” He waits for the big reaction that never comes, he stares at the confused face of his girlfriend before he stands and goes to his bottom desk drawer and grabs his wand.

“Levioso.” The boy says, pointing at his record player and directing it as it levitates, before ultimately placing it back in the same spot on his dresser. When he looked back at the girl, her jaw opened in shock. 

“Holy fucking SHIT!... That just- in air! You are!” “A wizard? Yes.” “How? I mean- you- what?” 

Remus came to her side, guiding her to sit with him on his bed, “I know this is a lot to take in, but I’ve got more.” “MORE?” She looked towards him, concerned for what was to come.

“Yes. Okay, I’m also a werewolf.” “If I didn’t know you, or see that pissing record player float- God, I’d think you were too far gone.” Her words were a relief, causing Remus to chuckle, but truthfully a weight lifted off his chest, to have the most important person in his life to not judge him, “You have no idea how much that means to me- I’m the same Remus you knew, you just know everything now.” 

-

1977

“So I werewolves are real, what about vampires?” “Yes.” “What?! Am I going to have to worry about them?” “Don’t visit Romania.” “That’s not funny.”

They laid together, well Remus laid done while his girl moved every few moments, very excited about the new world she was learning about, at this moment she sat on the boy’s thighs with her legs straddling them on either side.

“What’s your favourite subject in school? For real, now that I know you don’t actually take English.” “Defence against the dark arts.” “That’s a class?” “Yes, a very important one.” He replied, moving his hands up the girl's thighs, from her knees to grasping her hips. He keeps his hands there, squeezing when he feels like it.

“What’s your least favourite?” “Flying. But I haven’t taken that since first year.” “WHY would you hate flying? That’s the dream.” “I don’t like heights.” “But you’re FLYING! Through the air!” “Really? Well, now I’ve got to rethink things.” “Oh, shut up.” 

Remus was laughing now, and he could tell she was trying hard not to. He pulled her down to him, keeping her there with his hands on her back as he attacked her cheek with kisses, “Ah!” 

The small scream falls on deaf ears as Remus continues kissing her cheeks to her jaw and burrows his head to the crook of her neck. He mumbles something she can’t quite hear, but she can just barely make out the word ‘love’. But still continues to fight him off, “Ah! Rem- tickles!” “Don’t care.”

[uhhlifeig]

First Pet - Jan. 24th - word count: 215 - @wolfstarmicrofic

“I was out for a week on a business trip and you got us a dog?” Remus asked incredulously. 

“Remus,” Sirius pleaded, looking at him with his best puppy-dog eyes. “Please let me keep him?” He jostled the black puppy in his arms. “I found him on the streets, and…”

“I mean, we’ve been considering a dog for a while,” Remus sighed. “Sure, why not. We can keep him. Do you have a name?”

“I’ve been calling him Snuffles, ‘cause he snoofs at everything,” Sirius grinned, petting the squirming puppy. “You’re such a little snoof, aren’t you?” he cooed.

“Snuffles it is, then,” Remus decided. “I suppose you know what to do with him training-wise?”

“Yep,” Sirius grinned, looking back up at his husband. “I can learn how to train him from some books, don’t worry, Rem.”

“Great. I’m not sure that I want piss-covered books.”

“You won’t have any, I promise,” Sirius grinned, setting the puppy down. Snuffles wobbled over to Remus on unsteady legs and started sniffing his pant leg.

“Aw, aren’t you a cute one?” Remus asked, bending down to pet Snuffles’s head.

Snuffles did his best bark, which came out as more of a whumph instead of a true bark.

"Awww," both Remus and Sirius cooed.

Maybe he'd like this dog.

[crescenthistory]

Hey Carina congratulations on 2k!! Such a wonderful milestone for a even more wonderful writer I'm happy for you it's more than well deserved

Perhaps I can ask for an Argue? I thought of the prompt 6 from List B the Bookshop AU with Regulus and muggle reader just for the twist inside Reggie's brain baby definetly doesn't know how to act around muggles but is smitten by reader at first sight

thank you so so much my love<33 you're an angel

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i will ARGUE for prompt 6 "bookshop au" with regulus black

carina's 2k celebration

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cw: fem!reader, use of y/n, muggle!reader, references to walburga and orion's great parenting (abuse + discrimination), shy!regulus, implied overstimulation, exposure therapy

wc: 1.3k

Sirius insisted that part of deconstructing everything they had been taught growing up was emerging yourself in the muggle world.

While Regulus thought that logic was sound when they were sitting in his living room, talking everything through over a glass of wine, he most decidedly did not think so anymore. He was taking his first stroll down a strictly muggle street in Central London and though he would not admit it, he was beyond stressed and overwhelmed. 

He kept overthinking, second-guessing everything he did and whether it would give him away too much, hand constantly itching for his wand. Regulus felt naked, exposed, and was two seconds away from tucking tail and running back home to Sirius to promptly tell him exactly what he thought of this plan.

It was something he had never thought much of before as he would always just spell away any annoying sounds, but the noise level around him was deafening to the point where it genuinely hurt. Becoming increasingly desperate to get away from the sound and hide in a corner where he could apparate without being seen, Regulus began scouting for a place to hide. An alleyway, a quiet shop – anything.

When a wooden sign stood out to him in the sea of neon lights, with something scribbled about books, he knew he had found the spot. 

Sidestepping the many strangers in his path, Regulus reached for the narrow door and pushed it open, all but clambering into the space.

The bookshop was a stark contrast to the outside world, to his relief seeming more like something he might find in Diagon Alley than Oxford Street. There were small glowing orbs on grey wire strung up around the ceiling to soften the light, all the furniture was wooden and dark, and several plants decorated the space to liven it up.

At the very back, past all the beautifully decorated shelves, was a desk that he currently saw only a tuft of hair poking up from behind. On instinct, Regulus took a step closer to see what it was when the person rose back up to their full height, holding at least five books in their arms.

“Oh!” you exclaimed as you saw him, nearly losing all the books you were holding. He jumped too, clearly not having expected to see someone, despite being the one fleeing into your shop. “So sorry, darling, I didn’t hear you come in.”

Regulus tried to get his vocal chords working again. “That’s quite alright, my apologies.”

You waved him off with one hand as you rounded your little till to walk up to a semi-full shelf and begin putting the books into it. “No apologies needed around here. What can I do for you, love?”

Your voice was so melodic, almost lilting through your sentence as if you and Regulus were old friends, as if you knew him. He wondered how that was even possible, if you could be a witch in disguise using legilimency on him.

When you turned your head to look at his awestruck expression with an entertained smile, he realised that was certainly not the case — and that he had yet to answer your question.

“Sorry, no, I, uh–” Regulus had to stop himself to gather his thoughts, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose a bit abashedly. “No, sorry, it’s just my first time in this… neighbourhood and I got a bit overwhelmed by all the noise.” He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder to the treacherous, big and confusing world outside.

You pressed your lips together as you smiled, almost as if you were holding back an even bigger one. You nodded in complete understanding. “It’s rowdy at this time of day, even for us seasoned veterans.” You kept talking as you walked around your shop, fetching a ladder to fix something at the top of the shelf he stood by. “You are more than welcome to hide away in here with me, no pressure.”

Part of Regulus was terrified at the thought of being alone in a room with a muggle that he had to keep this huge secret from – it was different than with Ted, because at least he knew about magic by the time Regulus met him. You had no idea and the thought really messed with his head. More importantly though, part of Regulus was terrified at your offer because you were painfully pretty and he was too much of a stumbling mess to be trusted around you right now.

Yet a simple glance over his shoulder told him that there was no way he was heading back out there right away. 

With a sigh and his slumping shoulders, he resigned himself to his fate. He closed his eyes in defeat for a few second before turning them back on you, accompanied by a small and probably shy smile. “I would really like that, thank you…”

“Y/N,” you supplied at his pause. “And it’s no problem, it’s usually during rush hours that I have the most time to kill anyway. Those who head out for books are usually the ones wishing to avoid that chaos.” You gave him a knowing wink as you climbed back down the ladder and stowed it away in favour of bringing out a paper box filled with more books.

“You… this is what you do?” Regulus asked as he took in the place, almost in awe. “You get to just spend every day surrounded by books?”

You looked at him with a curious smile, almost as if he asked a very obvious question. “Yes, it’s quite neat, isn’t it? I organise the shelves and various seasonal collections, I dust and keep everything clean and I sell books to passerbys. There’s much worse gigs to land.”

“Sounds like kind of a dream, actually.” He had never seen a bookshop that wasn’t kept running mostly by magic. Watching you unload the books yourself and organise them, floating around the small shop with an inherent elegance was magical in itself. “I assume you’re a reader, then?”

Finally a topic he might be a bit more steady on. Until this, his only interactions with the muggle world had been through its literature. As he scanned the shelves while you worked around him, he saw various titles and names he recognised. He basked in the atmosphere of them, in how this was going quite well despite his previous shaking fear. 

You laughed heartily. “Of course, I think that has to be part of the application you send in. I trust you’re the same?”

You gestured vaguely to Regulus, presumably making some comment on how he was dressed. He didn’t quite have the muggle social cues to decipher it, so he just smiled nervously and nodded. “Yes, though I have mostly only read classics. You know, old philosophers and the like. I would like to expand my taste.”

Upon that comment, you stopped in your work to lean against a bookshelf and study him. A small smile was sneaking around your lips. “I never did ask you your name.”

“It’s Regulus. Regulus Black.”

Any hope that you might have been a witch disappeared when the name invoked no response in your face. Yet, Regulus was finding that so far, it really was no huge problem that you were a muggle. There was still some connection to be found, and you most certainly were not any of the words leftover from Walburga rattling in his brain.

“Well, then, Regulus,” you drawled with your gaze happily trained on him. “Care to have your taste expanded today?”

There was no hesitation in his smile. “I would love to.”

You had no idea to what degree that sentiment rang true for him.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Karaoke Night | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Words: ~9,000

Tags: Modern AU, Post Hogwarts, Fluff, Angst, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Drama, Romance, Jealousy and Longing, Confessions, Mutual Pining, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Muggle Born MC

Sebastian Sallow usually liked Muggle London. The chaos of it—the noise, the lights, the odd little shops tucked between tall, mismatched buildings—he found it exhilarating. But more than that, he liked it because you were always the one to bring him here. Whether it was to visit your parents, browse the little Muggle bookstores you loved, or grab takeaway from that noodle place near King’s Cross, London had become a kind of shared escape for the two of you.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he hated Muggle London. And it wasn’t because of the cold drizzle soaking through his jacket, or the fact that the group hadn’t had enough time to properly pregame at Imelda’s flat before you all headed out. No, it was because of Ethan.

Ethan, with his perfectly styled blond hair and easy smile, who walked beside you like he belonged there, like he belonged with you. His hand rested on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd, and you didn’t seem to mind one bit. You’d been laughing at his jokes all night, the sound light and warm in a way that made Sebastian’s chest ache.

“Sebastian, keep up,” Ominis said beside him, tapping his cane lightly against the pavement. His wand, charmed into the cane for moments like this, was concealed, allowing him to navigate the bustling streets with ease.

Sebastian shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets and quickened his pace. “I’m coming.”

“You’re sulking,” Ominis said matter-of-factly.

“I’m not.”

“You are. You’ve been glaring daggers at the back of Ethan’s head since we left Imelda's.”

Sebastian gritted his teeth and said nothing. Ominis didn’t press further, though Sebastian could feel his knowing silence like a weight on his shoulders. Ominis knew him too well, had always been able to read him like a book—one he’d long since memorized. He probably knew exactly what Sebastian was thinking: that he’d been in love with you for nearly ten years and hadn’t said a damn thing about it.

It had started back at Hogwarts, back when you were all stupid teenagers and he was still arrogant enough to think he had all the time in the world to tell you. There had been moments—so many moments—when he could have said something, when he’d wanted to say something. But there had always been an excuse, a reason to hold back.

And now? Now he was 25, standing on a Muggle street corner, watching you laugh at some joke your new boyfriend had made, and wondering how the hell he’d let things get to this point.

“This is it!” you announced, stopping in front of a neon-lit doorway. The sign above it blinked in garish, colorful letters: STARLIGHT KARAOKE.

Sebastian stared at it, unimpressed. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea of karaoke—he was buzzed enough to find it amusing—but he’d find it far more exciting had your boyfriend not been invited.

“This looks like a disaster waiting to happen,” Imelda muttered, crossing her arms.

“Oh, come on,” you said with a grin, tugging lightly at her sleeve. “It’ll be fun!”

“Fun for you, maybe,” she replied. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

“Yet,” Garreth chimed in, practically vibrating with excitement as he scanned the doorway. “You’re not drunk enough yet. I’ll fix that.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, hanging back as the group filed inside. Ethan leaned down to murmur something to you, and you laughed, your smile softening in a way that made Sebastian’s jaw tighten.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Ominis said under his breath, brushing past him toward the entrance.

Sebastian huffed out a humorless laugh. “When do I ever do anything stupid?”

Ominis turned his head just enough to aim a smirk in Sebastian’s direction. “Shall I list the times chronologically or alphabetically?”

Before Sebastian could respond, you turned back to him, holding the door open with an expectant look. “Coming, Sebastian?”

He forced a smile and nodded, stepping inside. The bar was just as loud and chaotic as he’d expected, with bright lights, thumping music, and a stage at the far end of the room.

“Brilliant!” Garreth exclaimed, practically bouncing on his heels. “I’m definitely getting up there.”

Imelda groaned as she slid into a booth near the back. “You would.”

Sebastian lingered by the door, his gaze drifting back to you and Ethan. The two of you were already making your way to the bar, his hand still resting on your back like he had every right to touch you. Sebastian clenched his fists in his pockets, his irritation bubbling just beneath the surface.

This was going to be a very, very long night.

Sebastian trudged toward the booth, reluctantly sliding into the seat beside Ominis and across from Imelda, who had already flagged down a server to order appetizers for the group.

Ominis tapped his fingers against the table, his cane resting neatly by his side. “For fuck's sake, stop brooding,” he said quietly, just loud enough for Sebastian to hear over the music.

“I'm not,” Sebastian muttered, though the way he slouched against the booth’s backrest betrayed him.

“Look, I’m all for theatrics, but if you don’t at least try to enjoy yourself, she’ll notice. And you know she hates that.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. Ominis was right, of course. You would notice, and the last thing he wanted was for you to feel guilty for dragging him out. He could practically hear you apologizing now, your brows furrowed with concern as you said something like, “I didn't realize you were so against karaoke! We could have done something else, Seb. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

It wasn’t your fault—not really. You weren’t the one ruining his night. Ethan was.

The guy was just so… perfect. Too perfect. He didn’t stumble over his words or let his temper get the better of him. He didn’t carry the weight of a shattered family, or the guilt of decisions made long ago that still haunted Sebastian when the nights grew too quiet. Ethan wasn’t rough around the edges, didn’t have cracks threatening to split him open. He didn’t carry around ten years of unresolved feelings and countless missed chances.

Ethan was easy. Exactly the kind of guy you deserved.

Sebastian hated him for it.

The sound of Garreth’s laughter drew Sebastian’s attention to the bar, where you and Ethan were chatting with the bartender. Garreth had joined you, and from the way he was gesturing animatedly, he'd already launched into some story that had the bartender rolling their eyes. You stood beside him, leaning slightly against the counter, your body turned just enough for Sebastian to take in the full effect of what you were wearing. And Merlin, you weren’t making this night any easier for him.

Your outfit was nothing like what you used to wear back at Hogwarts—the plain uniforms, the cozy sweaters, the casual, practical clothes you’d thrown on for lazy weekends in Hogsmeade. No, this was something else entirely. The deep green satin of your dress clung to you, hugging the curves he’d tried not to notice for years but failed miserably at ignoring. The hem barely brushed mid-thigh, showing off your smooth legs, and the neckline dipped just low enough to tease him with a view of soft skin that practically begged to be touched.

Far too low, Sebastian thought bitterly, though he didn’t miss the way his mouth went dry.

You looked nothing like the teenage girl he’d grown up with. You were a woman now, and you looked like it. Confident, gorgeous, utterly captivating—and, worst of all, completely unattainable.

Sebastian’s hands itched with the memory of his fantasies, the ones that haunted him more often than he cared to admit. He’d imagined, countless times, what it would feel like to touch you. To rest his hands on your waist and feel the warmth of your skin through thin fabric. To let his palms skim the curve of your hips, his fingers pressing into soft flesh, guiding you closer to him. He’d thought about the weight of your thighs in his hands, imagined them wrapped around him, imagined how easily he could lose himself in the way you felt.

And your face—Merlin help him, your face. You were laughing at something Ethan said, your lips pulling into that smile that had always made him feel like the ground wasn’t quite steady beneath his feet. He didn’t think he’d ever get over how effortlessly beautiful you were, the way your lashes framed your eyes, how your cheeks dimpled slightly when you laughed.

Long gone was the girl who used to sit cross-legged on the Undercroft floor, teasing him mercilessly about his hair or arguing with him over duelling strategies. And as much as he missed those simpler days, a darker, more selfish part of him didn’t want to go back. Not when this was the woman you’d grown into.

“Stop staring, you’re going to set her on fire,” Ominis drawled beside him, pulling.

“I’m not staring,” Sebastian muttered, dragging his gaze away with a scowl. He wrapped his fingers tightly around his drink, the glass cool against his flushed skin. “I’m… people-watching.”

Ominis snorted softly. “If by ‘people-watching,’ you mean devouring her with your eyes, then yes, you’re doing a fine job of it.”

For a fleeting moment, Sebastian considered reaching over, grabbing Ominis’s cane, and snapping it clean in half. He wouldn’t, of course—Ominis could hex him into oblivion without it—but the thought was tempting. Maybe if Ominis couldn’t use his bloody wand to analyze Sebastian’s every move, he wouldn’t feel so exposed.

But before he could dwell on it, Garreth appeared, weaving through the crowded bar with a tray stacked precariously high with pints and cocktails. His grin was wide, and his balance was questionable at best.

"Guess who just got free drinks!” he announced proudly. “Your girl is magic, Sebastian,” he added with a wink, nodding toward you at the bar.

Sebastian’s stomach twisted at the word your. You weren't his. Not really.

Sebastian reached for one of the drinks Garreth set down—something dark and fizzy that looked like rum and coke. He didn’t care what it was as long as it did the job. Without hesitation, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a long, greedy sip. The burn of the rum was sharp and immediate, but it was better than the heat already clawing at his chest.

Garreth let out a laugh as he slid into the booth beside Imelda. “Alright, Sallow’s setting the pace! Guess that means we’re all drinking fast tonight.”

Imelda rolled her eyes but reached for her own drink anyway. “If I’m getting through this ridiculous evening, I’m going to need it.”

Poppy and Natty followed suit, each grabbing a glass from the tray. Ominis, however, sat perfectly still beside Sebastian, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smirk.

“Pacing yourself, are you?” Ominis asked dryly, raising an unimpressed eyebrow in his direction.

Sebastian ignored him. This drink, whatever it was, wasn’t strong enough—not nearly—but it would have to do. He drained the rest of the glass in one go, slamming it back onto the table with more force than necessary.

Before Ominis could needle him further, you returned to the booth, folder in hand, your heels clicking softly against the floor. His gaze flickered to you automatically, his chest tightening at the sight of you so close.

“I’ve got the song list!” you announced brightly, holding it up like some kind of trophy. The folder was thick, filled to the brim with laminated pages, and your excitement was palpable. You slid into the booth beside Ethan, spreading it out on the table for everyone to see.

“Blimey,” Garreth said, peering over your shoulder. “This place has everything. Oh—there’s Queen! I’m doing Queen.”

“You’re going to butcher Queen,” Imelda said flatly, taking another sip of her drink.

“Oi, have a little faith,” Garreth shot back with a grin.

Sebastian’s eyes flicked to the folder, then back to you. Your enthusiasm was infectious—you always had a way of lighting up a room, of pulling people into your orbit without even trying. He wanted to lean in closer, to let himself get lost in the way your voice lifted with excitement as you pointed out song choices to the others. But the weight of Ethan’s arm draped casually over your shoulder was a bitter reminder that he couldn’t.

“What about you, Seb?” you asked suddenly, your voice breaking through his thoughts. You were looking at him now, your hazel eyes warm and inviting, completely unaware of the storm raging inside him.

“What about me?” he replied.

“What are you going to sing?” you asked, tilting your head slightly as you smiled at him.

Sebastian blinked, caught off guard by your question. He hadn’t even considered getting up to sing, much less what he would sing.

On a regular night, Sebastian would have been all over this. He lived for the spotlight, and he wasn’t shy about it. Sebastian enjoyed attention—the rush of it, the way people’s eyes followed him, the laughter and cheers his antics often earned. He’d have already grabbed the song list, picked something bold and ridiculous, and made sure he was the first one on stage.

But tonight? Tonight, he was in no mood for it.

“I’ll think about it,” he said, shrugging as he reached for another drink from the tray.

You laughed softly, the sound cutting through the tension in his chest. “You? Think about it? Since when are you not impulsive?”

He smirked faintly, lifting the glass to his lips. “Maybe I’ve changed.”

You gave him a curious glance at his comment, your brow furrowing slightly as if you didn’t quite believe him. But after a moment, you let it go, smiling politely before turning your attention back to the song list. You leaned into Ethan’s side, your shoulder brushing his as you chatted animatedly with the girls about potential song choices.

Sebastian tried not to watch, but it was impossible. The way you laughed, your lips parting just enough to reveal the glint of your teeth; the way your eyes sparkled when you teased Poppy for her love of ‘80s Muggle pop music; the way you absentmindedly brushed your fingers against Ethan’s arm.

The bitter knot in Sebastian’s stomach tightened. He took another long drink—something golden and sweet this time—and let the burn settle in his chest.

And the drinks kept coming.

Within thirty minutes, Garreth, ever the opportunist when it came to alcohol, had gone up to the bar twice already, returning with rounds of drinks that no one had asked for but everyone ended up drinking. Sebastian couldn’t even remember what his last drink was—something fruity? All he knew was that his current drink, a half-finished tankard of beer, sat sweating on the table as his head swam pleasantly in the growing haze of alcohol.

The lights in the bar dimmed suddenly, and a spotlight flickered to life on the small stage at the far end of the room. The karaoke host, a chipper man in a sequined blazer, stepped into the spotlight, microphone in hand.

“Alright, everyone, welcome to Starlight Karaoke!” he announced, his voice echoing over the speakers. “We’ve got an exciting night ahead, so I hope you’re all ready to sing your hearts out. First up tonight, let’s give a big round of applause for… Garreth!”

The group erupted into cheers and laughter as Garreth shot up from his seat, knocking over an empty pint glass in his enthusiasm. He threw his arms into the air like he’d just won a Quidditch match, grinning ear to ear as he made his way to the stage.

Sebastian smirked, shaking his head at Garreth’s antics. The bloke could barely hold a tune, but he made up for it with sheer enthusiasm.

“Ten Galleons says he butchers it,” Imelda muttered, taking another sip of her drink.

“No bet,” Sebastian replied.

As Garreth took the mic and the opening notes of a Queen song filled the room, Sebastian leaned back in the booth, his gaze drifting back to you. You were clapping along to the beat, laughing as he missed the first note completely but powered through anyway. Your laughter lit up your whole face, and for a moment, Sebastian could almost pretend it was directed at him.

But then Ethan leaned over, whispering something in your ear that made you laugh even harder, and the illusion shattered.

Sebastian drowned his annoyance in another long swig, and barely registered who went up after Garreth, some Muggle woman whose name he didn’t catch. Her voice wasn’t bad—better than Garreth’s, certainly—but he didn’t care enough to pay attention.

He only really came back into focus, if you could call his drunken haze 'focus', when the host returned to the stage multiple singers later, a wide grin on his face as he scanned his clipboard. “Alright, let’s keep the energy going! Up next, we have… Natty!”

The table erupted into cheers as Natty rose from her seat, flashing a brilliant smile as she made her way to the stage.

“Oh, this is going to be good,” Poppy said, bouncing excitedly in her seat.

“She'll nail it,” Imelda added, a rare note of enthusiasm in her voice.

The opening notes of an Adele song began to play, and Natty took the mic with effortless poise. From the very first note, her voice was stunning—clear, powerful, and full of emotion. The entire table went wild, clapping and cheering as if they were at a concert instead of a small karaoke bar.

Sebastian applauded along half-heartedly, his head still swimming from the drinks and the knot of frustration that had been sitting in his chest all night. But even he couldn’t deny that Natty was incredible.

When she finished, you were practically glowing with excitement, clapping so hard Sebastian wondered if your hands might bruise. You leaned toward Poppy, saying something he couldn’t hear over the applause, and the two of you laughed, your faces lit up with delight.

“Let’s hear it for Natty, everyone!” the host called, clapping along with the crowd. “What a voice, huh?”

She returned to the table, her cheeks slightly flushed from the attention but her smile as bright as ever.

“That was amazing!” you said, pulling her into a hug as she sat down.

Natty laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s just a bit of fun.”

“A bit of fun? You could win awards with that voice,” Garreth said, raising his glass in a toast.

Sebastian muttered something vaguely supportive, but the alcohol was really starting to hit him hard now, leaving his head fuzzy and his thoughts jumbled.

The host returned to the stage, scanning his clipboard again. “Alright, who’s feeling brave? I'm out of volunteers and I know there’s some talent in this room just waiting to shine.”

Without fully thinking it through, Sebastian stood, the sudden motion making the room tilt slightly.

“Seb, what are you doing?” Ominis asked, arching a brow.

Sebastian ignored him, striding toward the stage with a confidence that was only half his own—the rest belonged to the drinks coursing through his veins. He approached the stage, wobbling slightly, and the host beamed at him. “Alright, we’ve got a volunteer! What’s your name, mate?”

“Sebastian,” he slurred.

The host’s grin widened, clearly amused by Sebastian’s slightly unsteady footing and the determined glint in his eyes. “Alright, Sebastian! What are you singing for us tonight?”

Sebastian stepped closer, glancing at the clipboard the host was holding out. The words on the page blurred slightly as he squinted, his finger stabbing down on one at random. “This one."

The host looked down, his smile growing even brighter. “Oh, excellent choice! Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Sebastian as he sings Mr. Brightside!”

The room erupted into cheers and scattered applause, though Sebastian’s focus wasn’t on the crowd. His gaze flickered back to your table, where everyone was watching him with varying degrees of amusement and surprise.

You looked a little stunned, your lips parted in a small, disbelieving smile. It was the first time all night that Sebastian felt like he really had your attention, and the knot in his stomach loosened just slightly.

The opening chords of the song began to play, and Sebastian took a deep breath, gripping the mic tightly as he stepped fully into the spotlight. The alcohol coursing through his veins gave him a heady sense of confidence, and he felt his usual self rise to the surface—the version of him that lived for attention, for putting on a show.

He knew he wasn’t a good singer—Merlin, he was awful, really—but that wasn’t the point. It had never been the point. What mattered was committing to the act, selling it with everything he had.

And maybe, just maybe, making you laugh.

The first verse started, and Sebastian threw himself into it with reckless abandon. His voice was off-key from the very first word, but he didn’t care. He strutted across the stage, mic in hand, pointing dramatically at the crowd as he sang, his free hand gesturing wildly to emphasize every line.

The group at your table was losing it. Garreth was practically falling out of his seat with laughter, slapping the table and hollering in encouragement. Imelda was smirking, shaking her head in amused disbelief. Poppy and Natty were clapping along, their smiles wide. Even Ominis, who rarely indulged in public displays of hilarity, was chuckling.

But Sebastian didn’t care about any of that. His eyes flicked back to you, zeroing in on the way you were laughing—your head tilted back, your hand covering your mouth as if you couldn’t quite believe what you were seeing. You were beaming, your eyes sparkling under the dim lights, and for a fleeting moment, Sebastian felt like he’d won.

The chorus hit, and Sebastian went all in. He dropped to one knee, his arm outstretched toward your table as he belted out the lyrics, his voice cracking on the high notes. It was ridiculous and over-the-top, but the crowd ate it up, cheering louder as he poured every ounce of his energy into the performance.

By the time the second verse rolled around, Sebastian had abandoned any semblance of shame. He hopped off the stage, weaving through the tables as he sang, pointing at random patrons like he was the lead singer of a sold-out concert. When he reached your table, he paused dramatically, leaning onto the edge of it and locking eyes with you as he sang the next line.

You were laughing so hard now that tears were forming at the corners of your eyes, your shoulders shaking as you tried to catch your breath. Ethan was laughing too, but Sebastian barely noticed him. For this one, fleeting moment, he had you—all of you.

As the song built toward its final chorus, Sebastian turned and ran back to the stage, sliding to his knees just in time for the big finish. His voice cracked gloriously on the last line, but it didn’t matter. The entire bar erupted into applause and cheers as the final notes played, and Sebastian rose unsteadily to his feet, throwing his arms into the air like he’d just won the Triwizard Tournament.

“Give it up for Sebastian, everyone!” the host called, clapping along with the crowd.

The applause roared in Sebastian’s ears, a mix of cheers and laughter that, for a brief moment, felt like triumph. He stood there on the stage, breathing heavily, grinning like an idiot as the adrenaline coursed through him. For a second, he allowed himself to bask in it—the lights, the applause, your laughter ringing in his head.

But then it hit him.

The drinks, all of them—too many to count—rose in his stomach like a tide, the nauseating swirl of alcohol and exertion catching up with him all at once. His grin faltered, replaced by a sharp twist of discomfort in his gut.

He took a shaky step back, gripping the mic stand for support as the room tilted dangerously. The crowd was still cheering, but the sound felt distant now, muffled beneath the rising roar of nausea.

“Alright, let’s give one last round of applause for Sebastian!” the host called, his voice booming over the speakers.

Sebastian managed a half-hearted wave before staggering off the stage, his legs barely cooperating as he darted clumsily between tables. His shoulder clipped the edge of someone’s chair, but he didn’t stop to apologize. He couldn’t. The only thing on his mind was getting outside before he made an even bigger fool of himself.

The cold night air hit him like a slap when he burst through the bar’s doors and into the street. He barely made it a few feet before doubling over, bracing his hands on his knees as he heaved onto the pavement.

For a moment, everything else disappeared—the bar, the laughter, the ache in his chest. All he could focus on was the sharp sting in his throat and the cold bite of the drizzle on his overheated skin.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the sober part of his brain registered how humiliating this was, but thankfully, the alcohol dulled any real sense of shame.

“Sebastian?”

The sound of your voice cut through the haze, soft and concerned, and Sebastian groaned inwardly.

He didn’t turn to look at you, didn’t even straighten up, just waved a hand vaguely in your direction. “Don’t,” he muttered hoarsely.

You ignored him, your heels clicking softly against the pavement as you approached. He heard the faint rustle of fabric as you crouched down beside him, your hand brushing lightly against his back.

“Are you okay?” you asked, your tone gentle but laced with worry.

He let out a laugh, though it came out more like a wheeze. “Do I look okay?”

You let out a small laugh—not mocking, but soft, almost amused.

“Well,” you said lightly, “you did just sing Mr. Brightside like your life depended on it, so I’d say you’re doing better than most.”

Sebastian groaned, letting his head hang lower. “I’m never drinking again.”

“You say that every time,” you teased, your hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on his back.

The touch made his breath hitch slightly, but he didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to stay out here,” he mumbled after a moment. “Go back inside. Enjoy your night.”

You didn’t move, your hand still steady against him. “I’m not leaving you out here like this,” you said simply. “Besides, you’d do the same for me.”

The sincerity in your voice caught him off guard, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He stayed silent, the cool drizzle calming the nausea as he slowly straightened up, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

When he finally turned to look at you, his chest tightened. Your makeup was slightly smudged around your eyes, likely from laughing too hard earlier, and your face had a faint shine from the heat and sweat of the crowded bar. But Merlin, you’d never looked better.

You were watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite place.

“You’re a mess,” you said gently, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

He laughed weakly "Yeah, well, nothing new there.”

“Come on,” you said, looping your arm through his to steady him. “Let’s get you some water and sit you down before you pass out.”

Sebastian shook his head, resisting the gentle pull of your arm. “I’m not going back in there,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. He wobbled slightly as he straightened, leaning back against the cold brick wall of the bar. “Still nauseous. Don’t want to risk it.”

That wasn’t entirely a lie—his stomach was still a volatile mess—but the thought of returning to that table, to him, was what truly made his chest tighten and his head spin. The way Ethan had leaned into you all night, the way you’d laughed at his every word, every touch, was enough to make Sebastian want to turn around and walk straight into traffic.

You frowned slightly, studying him, but you didn’t press. You never did. That was one of the things about you that always made his chest ache—that quiet patience, that unshakable understanding that gave him space without making him feel abandoned.

“Okay,” you said softly, stepping back but keeping your hand lightly on his arm. “We don’t have to go back in. Let’s find somewhere quieter.”

He blinked at you, caught off guard. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you interrupted gently, your tone leaving no room for argument. “Come on. There’s a bench just around the corner. You can sit, catch your breath, and I’ll find you some water.”

Sebastian hesitated, searching your face as though you might be joking, but there was only sincerity in your eyes. Even after he’d emptied his stomach on the pavement right in front of you, his breath sour with alcohol and probably vomit, you didn’t flinch.

“Fine,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Lead the way.”

You smiled faintly, slipping your arm through his again to steady him as you started walking. The rain had eased to a faint drizzle, the cool mist brushing against his flushed skin as the two of you made your way down the street.

When you reached the bench, tucked under the glow of a streetlamp, you guided him to sit down. He sank onto the wooden slats with a heavy sigh, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. You stood for a moment, watching him, before crouching down in front of him, your hands resting lightly on his knees.

“Stay here,” you said softly. “I’ll grab some water. You’ll feel better once you drink something that isn't alcoholic.”

He nodded wordlessly, his eyes flicking to yours. The way you crouched there, so close, your expression calm and steady, made his stomach twist.

He wanted to say something—to thank you, to apologize, to tell you how much it meant to him that you hadn’t just left him there. But the words tangled in his throat, too heavy to form.

You seemed to understand anyway, your lips curling into the faintest of smiles. You gave his knee a small squeeze before straightening up, your heels clicking softly against the pavement as you turned back toward the bar.

Sebastian watched you go, the sound of the door swinging shut behind you leaving him alone with his thoughts. He tilted his head back, letting the drizzle cool his flushed face, and exhaled a slow, shuddering breath.

Even now, as the alcohol dulled the sharper edges of his feelings, one truth remained painfully clear: he was utterly, hopelessly in love with you. And he didn’t know how much longer he could keep pretending otherwise.

The sound of the door opening pulled Sebastian back out of his spiral. You emerged a moment later, a takeout cup of water in one hand and a few paper napkins clutched in the other. Even through his drunken haze, Sebastian could see how the drizzle had soaked through your dress. Your hair clung damply to the sides of your face, and the smudged remnants of your makeup had smeared further down your cheeks, dark streaks underlining your tired but still warm eyes.

You crossed the street toward him, shivering slightly as the night air bit at your damp skin, but your steps didn’t falter.

“You’re soaked,” he said, his voice low and rough, tinged with guilt.

You shrugged, brushing it off like it didn’t matter. “It’s just water,” you said lightly, holding the cup out to him. “Here. Drink.”

Sebastian hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering between your face and the cup in your hand. Then, finally, he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours as he took it from you.

“Thanks,” he murmured, looking down at the cup as though it might offer some kind of answer to the mess in his head.

“You’re welcome.” You sank down onto the bench beside him, shivering slightly but making no move to go back inside. “I told the others you weren’t feeling well. Garreth offered to come check on you, but…” You trailed off, glancing at him with a knowing smile. “I figured you wouldn’t want that.”

Sebastian snorted softly, taking a cautious sip of the water. It was cold and crisp, settling uneasily in his stomach, but he forced himself to take another sip. “Yeah, thanks for sparing me that particular nightmare.”

You laughed quietly, the sound soft and warm despite the chill in the air. “It’s the least I could do.”

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the rain falling softly around you, the distant hum of the city filling the gaps. Sebastian kept his gaze fixed on the water in his hands, but he was acutely aware of your presence beside him—the faint warmth radiating from your body, the way your damp dress clung to your skin, the quiet steadiness in your breathing.

Sebastian glanced sideways at you. “Why didn’t you sing tonight?” he asked.

You turned your head toward him, blinking in mild surprise at the question. “Oh,” you said, smiling faintly. “I actually put my name in while you were up there.”

Sebastian’s brows furrowed. “You did?”

You nodded, pushing a damp strand of hair away from your face. “Yeah, but I missed my turn. They called me while I was out here with you.”

Your tone was light, matter-of-fact, and there wasn’t even a hint of annoyance in your voice. You said it like it didn’t bother you at all, like it wasn’t a big deal that you’d given up your moment in the spotlight to sit outside in the rain with him.

But it made Sebastian’s stomach twist.

“Shit,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“Seb,” you interrupted gently, your voice steady. “It’s fine. Really.”

“It’s not fine,” he said, shaking his head. He couldn’t meet your eyes, his gaze dropping back to the cup in his hands. “You were looking forward to it, weren’t you? And I—

“Stop,” you said firmly, your hand brushing lightly against his arm. “There’s always next time.”

Sebastian swallowed the tight knot of affection that rose in his chest and forced a smirk onto his face. “Wise words," he said, his eyes narrowing. "So wise, in fact... are you sure you're drunk?” he said, trying to shift the tone to something lighter.

You laughed. “I'm completely sober, Seb,” you replied, your voice light but matter-of-fact.

Sebastian blinked, his brows furrowing as the words sank in. He hazily tried to piece together the night’s events, though the drinks had turned everything into a fuzzy blur. He couldn’t recall seeing you with a drink, but he’d been too caught up in his own misery to notice much of anything.

“You are?” he asked, his voice tinged with confusion. “Why?”

Your expression faltered, the easy smile you’d worn slipping into something more guarded. You shifted slightly on the bench, turning your gaze away from him to focus on a crack in the pavement. “Just… didn’t feel like drinking tonight,” you said softly, your tone deliberately casual.

But it wasn’t casual—not to Sebastian. He knew you well enough to recognize when you were deflecting, and the way your shoulders tensed told him there was more to it than you were letting on.

He tilted his head, his gaze narrowing as he studied you. “Did something happen?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the teasing edge gone.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “Nothing happened.”

Sebastian hesitated for a moment, the rational part of his brain—the one that knew you’d been patient with him—telling him to let it go. You’d come out into the rain for him, stayed with him, got water for him. He owed you the same patience in return. But the alcohol coursing through his veins was making his tongue loose, his thoughts bolder, and his emotions louder than they should have been.

“Then why?” he pressed, his voice softer this time, but still insistent. “That's not like you. You're usually trying to compete with me."

You tensed beside him, your shoulders stiffening just enough for him to notice. You didn’t look at him, your gaze fixed firmly on the pavement.

“It’s not a big deal,” you murmured, but the casual tone you were aiming for fell flat.

“It’s a big deal if you’re lying about it,” he countered, and even as the words left his mouth, he knew he should’ve bitten them back.

Your head snapped toward him, your eyes sharp now, guarded in a way that felt like a knife twisting in his chest. “I’m not lying,” you said, and though your voice was calm, there was a clear edge to it.

Sebastian cursed under his breath, raking a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I want to make sure you're okay."

You let out a heavy sigh, your gaze still fixed on the crack in the pavement. It was the kind of sigh that made his chest tighten, like he’d hit on something you’d been trying to bury all night.

“It’s Ethan,” you said quietly, almost too quietly for him to hear.

Sebastian froze, his jaw tightening. That name was like a lit match against dry tinder, and he could already feel the heat rising in his chest.

“What about him?” he asked, trying—and failing—to keep his voice steady.

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your damp dress. “It wasn’t a big deal. Last time we went out, he made a… comment.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of comment?”

You let out another sigh, this one more frustrated than anything else, and finally turned to look at him. “He said I… I didn’t realize how many calories were in the drinks I was ordering. That I might want to be more mindful about it next time.”

Sebastian stared at you, the words hitting him like a physical blow. “He what?” he said, his voice sharp enough to make you flinch.

“Seb—”

“No,” he interrupted, his voice rising. “No, don’t ‘Seb’ me. What exactly did he say?"

You sighed again, still not looking at him. “It wasn’t a big deal. He just said that maybe I should slow down if I didn’t want to—” You cut yourself off, your voice catching slightly, and shook your head. “It wasn’t meant to be mean. He was trying to be kind about it, I think. And he wasn’t wrong. I’ve put on some weight. Relationship weight or whatever.”

Sebastian froze, his stomach flipping at your words. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if the heat rising in his chest was from the alcohol or the sheer, unfiltered rage he felt boiling beneath the surface.

“Kind?” his laugh was sharp and humorless, his hand running through his hair as he tried to process what he was hearing. “That’s not kind, that’s insulting. That’s manipulative. That’s—”

“Sebastian,” you cut in, your voice firm but quiet. “It’s not that big a deal. Honestly. Maybe he has a point. I mean…” You hesitated, looking away again. “I have gotten a bit, um. Squishy.”

Sebastian stared at you, the shock of your words rooting him to the bench. For a moment, he couldn’t even breathe, let alone speak.

“You’re joking,” he said finally, his voice low and disbelieving.

"...what do you mean? Obviously I have, none of my jeans—”

"No, not that," Sebastian cut you off sharply, his voice firm now, almost trembling with the sheer intensity of his frustration. “I mean you thinking he has a point. I mean you letting him make you feel like there’s anything wrong with you.”

You blinked at him, startled, the guarded tension in your expression faltering. “Seb—”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, the cup of water forgotten in his hands. The alcohol in his system buzzed like static in his head, loosening the leash he usually kept on himself. Every ounce of frustration, every unspoken feeling, and every burning thought about you—and him—rose to the surface all at once.

“I hated him the second I met him, you know,” Sebastian started, sitting back up and staring straight ahead. His hands were shaking, and his voice was louder now, frustration bleeding through. “I hated his perfect little smile, his smooth charm, the way he always had something clever to say. But now? Now I have a real reason to hate him. Because he’s clearly delusional.”

Your eyes widened, your mouth opening slightly in shock, but Sebastian didn’t stop. He couldn’t. It was like he’d opened Pandora’s box, and everything he’d ever wanted to say was spilling out in a flood he couldn’t control.

“Do you even hear yourself?” he demanded, his voice trembling with emotion. “You’re sitting here, trying to convince me that he has a point—as if there’s anything about you that needs fixing. Relationship weight? Fuck, if that’s what relationship weight looks like, then you should wear it proudly. Because Merlin help me, you—” He gestured to you vaguely, almost wildly. “You look damn good, and I don’t know what’s wrong with him that he can’t see that.”

You froze, staring at him as though you hadn’t heard him correctly. But Sebastian wasn’t done. Not even close.

“You know what? No, screw that. You’re more than that,” he continued, his voice rising. “You’re fucking gorgeous. Do you have any idea what you do to people? What you do to me?" His voice cracked slightly, and he let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Everything about you—everything—is perfect. And he… he’s too blind to see it. Too blind to see how lucky he is to have you.”

Your mouth fell open, your eyes wide as you stared at him in stunned silence. The streetlamp above cast a soft glow on your damp skin, your hair still clinging to your face, but to Sebastian, you’d never looked more radiant—or more surprised.

He exhaled sharply, his heart pounding in his chest as the words kept coming. "Do you know how many times I’ve imagined what it would feel like? To touch you?” he leaned back, his voice lowering, raw and trembling with emotion. “Do you even know what it’s like to ache for someone the way I ache for you? To imagine every curve, every inch, every soft part of you like it’s a map I’ve been dying to trace? You have no idea what you’ve done to me. No idea how much I’ve wanted—needed you.”

His breathing was uneven now, his chest rising and falling as he ran a shaky hand through his hair. “And it’s not just the way you look, either,” he continued, his voice rising again, his frustration spilling over. “It’s you. The way you laugh, the way you smile, the way you always know exactly what to say to make everything feel okay, even when it’s not. Everything about you was designed to dismantle me, and it has been. For ten. Fucking. Years.”

“He doesn’t deserve you,” he muttered, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “He never did. Because if he can look at you—you—and make you feel like you’re anything less than perfect, then he’s a fucking idiot. And if I were him... If I were him, you'd never question how much I love you—” Sebastian’s voice caught, suddenly painfully and acutely aware of how much he’d just said.

Fuck.

You were still staring at him, your chest rising and falling as though you couldn’t catch your breath, your expression completely frozen in shock.

Sebastian looked away, his gaze fixed on the pavement. “Shit,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “I shouldn’t have said all that. I shouldn’t—” He broke off, his hands gripping the edge of the bench so tightly his knuckles turned white.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t even blinked, your lips parted slightly, your breath coming in shallow, uneven waves. The streetlamp’s light cast a soft glow over you, illuminating every detail of your stunned expression.

Sebastian's heart was pounded so hard it felt like it might burst, each second of your silence a knife twisting deeper into his chest. He had ruined it—he knew he had. He had taken the fragile balance of your friendship and shattered it with his drunken, reckless confession.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered under his breath, raking a shaky hand through his damp hair. “I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”

Still, you didn’t say anything, your gaze locked on his, your expression unreadable. The dread pooled in his stomach, hot and acidic, as he stumbled over his next words. “Just—forget I said anything, okay? Chalk it up to the drinks or—”

But then you moved, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Your hand shot out, cupping his face. His eyes widened, his mind reeling as your thumb brushed lightly against his cheek, wiping away the drizzle that clung to his skin.

“Wha—” he started, but the words never made it out.

Because the next thing he knew, your lips were on his.

It wasn’t tentative or hesitant—it was deliberate, firm, and warm in a way that stole every coherent thought from his mind. The faint taste of cherry chapstick hit him first, followed by the soft press of your mouth against his, and Sebastian froze, his brain short-circuiting.

You were kissing him. You were kissing him.

Holy shit.

It was better than anything he’d ever imagined.

His initial shock melted away, and he responded instinctively, his hands moving on their own as they found your waist. His fingers curled against the damp fabric of your dress, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, as his body surrendered completely to the overwhelming sensation of you.

It was messy and uncoordinated—his head was still spinning from the drinks, and he was sure he tasted like regret and bad decisions—but none of it seemed to matter. Not when you were holding his face like he was the only thing that existed, not when your lips were so soft and sweet and utterly addictive, not when you leaned into him like this was exactly where you wanted to be. In fact, Sebastian thought he might actually die from how perfect this moment was.

When you finally pulled back, just slightly, he let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes fluttered open, and he found you staring at him, your cheeks flushed, your lips still parted like you couldn’t quite believe what had just happened either.

“Did that—” he started, his voice hoarse, but he swallowed hard and tried again. “Did that just happen, or am I drunker than I thought?”

You let out a breathy laugh, your thumb brushing against his jaw. “It happened,” you murmured.

Sebastian blinked, his mind still struggling to catch up. “You kissed me,” he said dumbly.

You smiled faintly, your hand still cradling his face. “I did.”

“And you…” He hesitated, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not… regretting it?”

Your smile widened just slightly, your gaze warm as you leaned in again, your lips brushing softly against his in a way that made his chest tighten. “Not even a little,” you murmured.

Sebastian exhaled shakily, his hands tightening on your waist. "...You know I just puked my guts out right?"

You laughed, the sound warm and bright, breaking through the tension like sunlight through storm clouds. “I’m painfully aware,” you teased. “But for some reason, I don’t really care.”

Sebastian stared at you, his chest tightening at the way your eyes sparkled, even in the dim light. “You don’t care,” he repeated, his voice still tinged with disbelief.

You shrugged, your smile softening into something more tender. “I figured if you could pour your heart out to me, the least I could do was give you an honest answer.”

“By kissing me,” he said, still dazed, though a crooked grin was slowly tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“By kissing you,” you confirmed, your voice quieter now, almost shy.

Sebastian’s grin widened despite himself, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol in his system. “I didn’t know that was an option,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “Because if I’d known, I might’ve poured my heart out a lot sooner.”

You laughed again, the sound soft and light. Your hand was still cradling his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek in a way that made his pulse race. “Well,” you teased gently, “better late than never, right?”

His chest tightened at the way you were looking at him, your eyes so open, so full of something he’d dared to hope for but never believed he’d see. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Better late than never.”

For a moment, you both just stayed there, the soft rain misting around you, your foreheads resting together as your breaths mingled. It felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you, the city noise fading into a distant hum, and Sebastian let himself get lost in the moment—in you.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “Even like this. Especially like this.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you tilted your head slightly, your smile turning a little shy. “You’re just saying that because you’re drunk.”

“I’m saying that because it’s true,” Sebastian countered, his voice firm but soft.

The sincerity in his voice seemed to catch you off guard, your lips parting slightly as you stared at him. He could see the faint tremble of your bottom lip, the way your eyes flickered like you were trying to process everything at once.

“I love you too,” you admitted suddenly.

Sebastian froze.

The rain pattered softly around you, the city’s distant hum faded to nothing, and those three words echoed in his head like a bomb going off. He blinked, staring at you as if he’d misheard, as if he couldn’t possibly have understood what you’d just said.

“What?” he croaked.

You smiled at him, small and unsure but real, your eyes shining with a vulnerability that made his chest ache. “I said I love you too,” you repeated, your voice steadier this time. “I always have."

The words broke something loose in him—something fragile and aching that had been buried for far too long. A soft, shaky laugh escaped his lips, and before he could stop himself, he kissed you again.

“Ten years,” he murmured against your lips. “I can’t believe I’ve wasted ten fucking years.”

You laughed, the sound light and warm, and it felt like a balm against all the years of longing and regret. “Well,” you teased, your fingers carding through his hair, “you’ll just have to make up for lost time.”

He let out a shaky laugh. “So… does this mean you’ll dump Ethan?”

You laughed, the sound muffled as you buried your face in his shoulder, your breath warm against his neck. “Yes, Sebastian,” you said, your voice laced with amusement. “This means I’ll dump Ethan.”

“Good,” he said, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.

You laughed, the sound filling the cool night air, and Sebastian swore he’d never heard anything more beautiful. In that moment, soaked to the skin and still buzzing from the night’s chaos, he realized something with startling clarity.

He was hopelessly, irreversibly, entirely yours—and for the first time, he wasn’t scared of what that meant.

[mischievousmoony]

I’m blushing so hard at frat boy James!! What about the first time she comes over and meets the guys outside a party

hope i've done your idea justice! ty for requesting

𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎

⟢ frat boy!james potter x fem!reader ⊹ 1.9k ⟢ warnings/tags: references to drinking, technically american!james potter and american!marauders

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"It'll just take a minute," James promises. "We'll be in and out."

With his hand in yours, he leads you through the door, passing under the large Greek letters as you cross the threshold.

You have been seeing James for a month and a half. You never thought you'd be interested in a frat guy—you've never even step foot in one of their houses until now—but James has proven to be the opposite of what you thought a frat guy would be like.

James is a total sweetheart. Possibly the most thoughtful and genuine guy you've ever dated. He makes you feel special, always remembering the little things like your favorite flower or your drink orders at all your favorite places. He's attentive without ever being overbearing. But honestly, you don't think you could see him that way if you tried, always loving every bit of attention he gives you.

Today, he's taking you on a study date. He remembered that you were complaining about an upcoming exam in a class he's already taken, so he's grabbing his old notes and sitting you down in a quiet corner of the library so that he can help you study.

James would already have you set up in the library on the coziest chair with your favorite hot drink from the cafe if he didn't forget his old notebook in his room—which he felt rather sheepish about leaving behind.

So, here you are. James asked if you wanted to wait in the car, but you were curious to see the inside of one of these things. You half expected to see solo cups littering the floor, a pong table in place of a coffee table, and maybe even a few hungover frat guys strewn about the living room still sobering up from last nights antics.

You were a little surprised to find out that it was rather clean. You know from James that there was indeed a party here last night, but apparently they clean up nicely.

Although, you’re right about there being a pong table. But it is folded up and leaning against a wall for future use.

James guides you towards the stairs, but before he can even mount the first step someone appears in the foyer from a hall that you can see leads to the kitchen.

"Jamesie! Back so soon?" the boy cheers when his eyes land on his friend first. His eyes dart to you a second later, and something like recognition flashes in his expression. "Is this who I think it is?"

The boy has long, black hair that cascades just to his shoulders in soft waves, the kind that look effortless but too perfect to not be styled in some way. He stares at you with piercing blue eyes, making you feel oddly self-conscious, which might also have to do with the big smirk on his lips.

James squeezes your hand, sensing your nerves, but he'd bet money that they pale in comparison to his own. He's been nervous about bringing you around here. It doesn't have anything to do with you, or them (well, maybe he's a little worried they'll scare you off). You're really important to him, and so are they, and he's been putting a lot of pressure on introducing you to them. So, this unplanned visit has his palms sweating, which he's hoping you haven't noticed.

"Sirius," James greets his friend. "Yeah, this is Y/N."

Your eyes widen a fraction when Sirius immediately steps forward, taking your free hand to press a kiss to the back of your knuckles. "Hi, sweetheart, I've heard a lot about you. Truly, a lot. James has talked my ear off about you so I really feel like I'm meeting an old friend. I'm Sirius."

You feel heat rise to your cheeks but you're not alone, as James' own face turns rosy as he mutters a scolding "dude!" at his friend.

"Don't tell me you were just gonna sneak in without so much as a proper introduction." Sirius places a hand over his heart, a dramatic look of utter disbelief painting his face.

"We're just stopping by to get my notes. We have a very important study sesh to get to, didn't want to delay us too much," James explains, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"I promise it'll only be a short detour then. Pete and Remus are the only ones here anyway," Sirius says. His eyes dart to you again, something mischievous swimming within them. "We've all been dying to meet the girl that has our James so smitten. I mean, he's been going on and on and on. It's nice to finally have a pretty face to the name."

At Sirius’ words, you can’t help but crack a smirk as you peer up at James.

“Don’t look at me like that,” James murmurs, now rubbing his thumb across your knuckles the way he does when he gets anxious. James is sure the tips of his ears are bright red. Sirius will go to no end to embarrass him, but despite the fact that his heart might jump out of his chest at any second, James really only cares how you feel about the situation. James tilts his head toward you, lowering his voice to ask, "Are you up for meeting some of the guys?"

"Yeah," you say with a warm smile. "I'd love to meet your friends." And you really would. James talks a lot about them, too. Always reciting some story about all the shenanigans they've gotten into over the years.

You've been able to tell he's been overthinking bringing you to meet them. You get it—you're secure in James' feelings for you, so you know it's nothing personal. Plus, you were really nervous when James met your friends. To be honest, even though they were jokes, you're friends have made digs at frat guys before because of the stigma. You really wanted James and your friends to like each other, and thankfully, they really do and you had nothing to be worried about.

You hope that meeting his friends will have the same outcome and ease some of James' worries.

Sirius provides a generous introduction as you enter the kitchen. "Boys, it seems we have a very special guest in our midst this morning."

There are two guys sitting on kitchen stools who swivel around to greet you.

There's a lanky boy with mousy brown hair whose eyes dart back and forth between you and James before he directs a kind smile in your direction.

The other boy spins around mid-spoonful of a bowl of cereal. He abandons the utensil in his mouth to wave at you, his other hand occupied by the bowl resting in his palm.

Your eyes trail around the kitchen as James introduces you to them. It's rather large, as it would have to be to accommodate the large number of guys you assume live here.

You've also discovered the mess you thought you'd be stepping into. It seems that all of the discarded solo cups and beer cans have already been shoveled into a few trash bags, which are just about ready to burst at the seams as they wait by the back door to be taken out.

"I'm Peter," the boy with the cereal pipes up after returning his spoon to his bowl.

"Remus," the tall one introduces himself. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too," you say. "You know, I've never been in a frat house before. I take it you all live here?"

Remus is the only one who shakes his head. "Not a brother," he clarifies. "Just unlucky enough to have them as my best friends."

"Oh, you know you'd be lost without us," Sirius says, rolling his eyes playfully. "And it's not a frat house, it's a frat home," Sirius says very earnestly. Too add to his dramatics, he pulls Peter into a hug (which nearly makes him fall off his stool) and raps his fist against his back as he pretends to get emotional.

Peter's laughing as he shoves, Sirius off. "Alright, man," he says, swatting Sirius' hand away as he ruffles his hair.

"Sirius had beer for breakfast," Remus informs you to excuse Sirius' behavior.

"Hey, I only had two and I know you're not suggesting I'm a lightweight," Sirius points at Remus accusingly. "Anyway, I was just telling Y/N how often Jamesie muses about her."

Remus clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "Don't tease him too badly, Sirius.”

"It's not like it's not true," Peter shrugs, earning himself a glare from James.

You look up at James. His cheeks have deepened a few shades now as he glowers at Peter. You give his hand a squeeze to attract his attention, the expression on his face immediately softening when he looks at you.

“I think it’s sweet,” you say, encouraging a smile onto James’ lips. He drops your hand, only to wrap his arm around your shoulder and pull you into his side. You nuzzle your nose against his shoulder, looking at him with expectant eyes. He knows what you’re asking for, and would rather hand his friends more ammo to tease him with than deny you, so he gladly plants a tender kiss to the top of your head.

“You two are sickening.” Sirius leans over the counter, propping his chin up with his hand as he sighs dramatically. “It’s adorable,” he adds.

“Wrapped around her finger, are ya?” Peter joins in on the teasing.

James keeps his eyes on you as he responds. “You bet I am.”

You tear your eyes away from James’ sweet gaze to address his smirking friends. “You know, I've heard a lot about you guys too," you say.

Sirius lights up with intrigue. "Oh, do tell."

"Well, Peter must be the guy to go to if you want to have a laugh. Every time James asks ‘Wanna hear a story Peter told me’ I know I’m gonna have to sit through several fits of laughter before he gets to the end of it," you say, nudging James with your elbow who nods along to confirm your story.

Peter puffs up his chest, proud to be known as the funny one.

"Remus," you continue, "I should've known you weren't a brother. James always tells me about how they drag you into things that you have to get them out of. If he hasn't told you before, he's very thankful for you. And Sirius. I think I've heard the most interesting stories about you."

"This should be good," Sirius says, a cocky grin on his face. "I've given James a whole catalog of legendary stories to tell about me."

"My favorite is the one that started with you trying to impress a girl by jumping into the pool from the roof and ended with you in the bushes after you tripped on the gutter,” you say, an air of sweetness in your tone and a smile on your lips.

The confident smirk drops from Sirius’ face and James snorts a laugh beside you. Peter cracks up, and even Remus snickers at the look on Sirius’ face.

"I think you’ve just won over Sirius," Remus says, watching as his grin returns.

“You got me, I can appreciate that,” Sirius says. “Why have you been hiding her from us for so long, James? I like her.”

"Yeah, I like her too,” James replies, squeezing you a little closer into his side. He doesn't bother trying to hide the broad grin overtaking his features. As he looks down at your giggling face, he can't remember what he was so nervous about.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[ticifics]

𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫

── james potter x f!reader

summary: "I need someone to help with him until I wrap up this case. To pick him up from school and stay with him until I get home" At your silence, James felt his shoulders tense slightly. "I know it’s a lot—" "I’ll do it." "And Henry can really be a handful— Wait, what did you say?" "The job. I’ll take it."

tags n warnings: dad!james, neighbors, fluff, nanny!reader, police!james, muggle!au, no use of y/n, implication that the reader cooks well, age gap (late 20s/early 30s), suggestive, sometime in the 90s wc: 4k

To be honest, James hadn’t thought about you more than necessary. He knew you lived in the apartment next door, a distant niece of Mrs. Jones, who had cared for her in her final moments—may she rest in peace. He knew you cooked well; sometimes, the aroma of whatever you were preparing spiraled through the air into his apartment, making his mouth water. He also knew you were kind, sweet, always offering smiles and waves to Henry, sometimes even treating the boy to small sweets.

And he knew you were beautiful. Very beautiful. Always dressed in delicate clothes—fluffy sweaters, long skirts, little things with pearl buttons and ruffles. You always left behind a sweet fragrance wherever you passed. If James had thought about it, just if, he might have wondered if, instead of sleeping in a bed, you spent the night resting in a field of flowers, like one of those nymphs from fairy tales. With the pale moonlight kissing your skin, covered by nothing but the finest petals, a serene expression on your face, lips slightly parted, dreaming of little wonders. But James didn’t think about that.

He also knew you were young. Not an absurd difference, no—he guessed you were in your mid-to-late twenties, maybe a little younger than when he had Henry.

You two occasionally exchanged small courtesies. Nods, closed-lip smiles, the occasional good morning. Once, in the building’s hallway, you called out for him to hold the elevator. Which James promptly did, watching you step into the metal box, nodding when you shyly thanked him. As you rode up together, he tried not to notice the stray lock of hair that had come loose, swaying lazily against your nape. He clenched his fists at his sides, exhaling only when he stepped into his own apartment, closing the door as if it were more than just something material—as if it were a shield keeping him safe from his own thoughts.

That was all he needed to know about you.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t have problems of his own. Being a single father took up most of his time, and work was always kicking his ass, especially when a new case came up. The hours were irregular, there was always something to investigate, always. He couldn’t afford another distraction, even if he couldn’t help but steal a glance or two. The poor man wasn’t made of iron.

Stolen moments—that was all James could have.

A new homicide had occurred. They had found the mutilated body of a woman discarded in a dumpster—again. There was a killer on the loose in the city. Which meant more hours at the precinct, or in other words: James was screwed. Very screwed.

It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, but it never stopped being stressful. A new case demanded time, attention—dedication. It meant less time with Henry. It meant always having to find a babysitter whenever he got stuck at work. It meant coming home to find his son already asleep, even though James had promised to tell him a bedtime story.

James hated disappointing his son.

So when a free afternoon appeared, he didn’t hesitate to take Henry to the park, determined to burn off every ounce of energy a seven-year-old could have. It was a pleasant afternoon, worry-free, filled only with their laughter and the sweet taste of ice cream in an attempt to cool down after running around.

“We should do this more often,” Henry commented, still holding his father’s hand while waiting for the elevator doors to open. They had arrived at the building a few minutes earlier. The boy’s hair—the same mess of unruly strands as his father’s—looked even wilder after an afternoon outdoors. “I like when we can be together,” he added, his voice low.

James felt a tightness in his chest. His jaw tensed as he looked at his son, still so small. He wanted to offer more—but more than anything, he wanted more time. James’s parents had passed away years ago, and now, Henry’s whole family was just him. With the addition of his uncles—Sirius, Remus, and Peter, though the first preferred to be called godfather.

“I know,” James replied, squeezing his son’s hand, ignoring the ache in his chest as he continued, “I like it too, but dad—”

“Has to work,” Henry finished for him, tilting his head up with a sad smile that didn’t reach his green eyes. “I know, I just… I just wish we could spend more time together.”

A bullet would have hurt less. James swallowed the lump forming in his throat, blinking a few times as he searched for an answer.

“I’m sorry, love,” James sighed. “I wish that too. But dad has to work—someone has to pay for these glasses since a certain someone keeps breaking them almost every month.”

Henry giggled, adjusting the frame on his nose. “We also need to pay for chocolate,” he reminded him.

“Oh, yes, all the chocolate this little monster has been eating.” James smiled, ruffling his son’s hair—somehow managing to mess it up even more. With relief, he noticed the boy’s smile was real this time. “When I solve this case, I promise we’ll have more time together. We could go on a trip, what do you think?”

“A trip?”

“Yeah. Interested?”

“Yes!” Henry’s grin widened at the thought, practically bouncing with excitement, but then he paused, looking at his father with a seriousness far too heavy for someone so young. “Promise?”

James crouched until he was at eye level with his son, looking at him with the same intensity before lifting his hand, pinky finger raised. “I promise, champ.”

Henry lifted his hand too, just as serious, as if he were about to sign the most important contract of his life. Pinky promises were serious business. “It’s promised—you can’t go back on it.”

“Not even in my dreams.”

When the elevator doors finally opened, something caught Henry’s attention, and he quickly slipped into the hallway. James sighed, rolling his eyes theatrically, mumbling, “Little traitor,” as he adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder before stepping out.

A few steps later, he saw what had caught his son’s attention.

You.

Standing in front of your apartment door, though it was impossible to tell whether you were coming or going. Slightly bent forward as you spoke with Henry, your back turned to James. He stopped mid-step, feeling his mouth go dry as he watched you. As always, you were wrapped in one of those pretty outfits that made you look like one of those fine pastries displayed in a shop window.

Henry liked you. It was hard to imagine a child who wouldn’t. He had mentioned you a few times before, a dreamy smile on his face as he told his father that you had given him some cookies or let him pet Mrs. Jones’s cat. Or—much to James’s eternal embarrassment—about the time Henry, in all his innocent curiosity, had asked if you were already somebody’s mom.

Since Mrs. Jones had passed away almost four months ago, you had become the only resident of the apartment next door. And you were desperate. Very desperate.

Your life had been turned upside down ever since you moved in, taking care of your aunt during the final years of her life. It had become a full-time job, and now that she was gone, you still hadn’t been able to find another one.

Apparently, your experience as a caregiver wasn’t enough to get hired. No one seemed willing to employ a young woman who hadn’t finished college. The money your aunt had left was running out, and the bills kept piling up. The electricity bill was overdue, and you hadn’t had a hot shower in weeks.

Desperate didn’t even begin to describe your situation.

You had been standing in front of your apartment for a few minutes, fingers gripping the doorknob as you tried to steady your breathing, counting to ten as you inhaled and exhaled, fighting against the sting in your eyes. It had been another afternoon of handing out résumés, receiving looks of false sympathy as you listened to the same explanations. The staff was full, the position had already been filled, you didn’t meet the qualifications.

It was always the same bullshit.

You didn’t even notice anyone approaching until Henry stopped in front of you, his doe eyes watching you carefully.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you forced your voice to come out, rubbing your eyes roughly with the back of your hands in an attempt to wipe away the tears. A weak smile curled the corners of your mouth as you asked, “Were you at the park? You have some grass in your hair.”

You reached out, a familiar gesture, removing the strand of grass tangled in his dark hair. He didn’t pull away, and although his cheeks turned slightly pink, his dark eyebrows were still furrowed.

“Were you crying?”

Your mouth fell open in surprise at the question. Sometimes, you forgot just how observant he could be.

You looked away for a moment, clearing your throat to push back the tremor in your voice. “No. No, it was just something in my eye.”

“Uncle Remy says people say that when they don’t want to admit they were crying,” he argued. “He also always makes me hot chocolate when I’m sad. Would that make you happy?”

Warmth spread through your chest at his words, easing some of the weight on your shoulders. When another smile curved your lips, this time it was genuine. But before you could respond, his father approached.

“Henry.” He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, gently pulling him closer to his side. “What have I told you about wandering away from me like that? And you can’t just go around approaching people.”

You looked up at James, breath catching in your throat. He was a few years older and lived next door. And you weren’t blind. Ever since you had moved in, you sometimes found yourself looking at him for a second or two longer than what was socially acceptable. But who could blame you?

He was kind, polite, an attentive father. And tall, and it wasn’t like those clothes hid the muscles underneath. It was a natural reaction, that’s what you told yourself sometimes. It was just a sign that you were alive.

Before you could stop yourself, the words floated out of your mouth. “You don’t have to worry about that, Mr. Potter. Henry is a sweetheart, he never bothers me.”

His gaze slowly shifted from his son to you. The way his brows furrowed was painfully similar to Henry’s. His eyes lingered on you as if searching for something. Your shoulders tensed involuntarily, wondering if that was the same look he had when he was investigating.

“That’s a very kind way of seeing things.”

You offered a small smile in response, watching as Henry squeezed his father’s hand. “Dad?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“She was crying.”

Your heart skipped a beat, embarrassment bubbling beneath your skin. “No, I wasn’t—”

“Dad, tell her she doesn’t have to cry.” James, surprised and speechless—possibly horrified—looked at his son, mouth slightly open. Henry, undeterred, simply continued, turning back to you. “My dad’s a police officer. He won’t let anything happen to you. So you don’t have to be sad. Right, Dad?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at James, your face burning. You wondered if it would be childish of you to wish for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

“Henry,” James began, his voice tense, maybe even embarrassed. “Why don’t you go inside? You need a bath.”

“But—”

“That wasn’t a request, kid.”

Henry let out an exaggerated sigh, but when James opened the apartment door, he walked inside without further complaints, though his lips were pursed in a pout and his steps were heavy against the floor.

You bit your lip, still unable to meet James’s gaze. The silence between you stretched—thick, heavy, louder than the noise of a traffic jam. You wanted to crawl back into your apartment and pretend the last few minutes had been nothing but a delusion of your exhausted mind.

He was the first to speak.

“Sorry about that.” You hesitantly looked up, watching as he ran a hand through his unruly hair. “Henry… sometimes he can be really—”

You waved your hands dismissively, forcing a smile. “He’s just a kid. These things happen. No need to apologize.”

For a moment, you simply looked at each other. What was your next move? Your keys still dangled, forgotten, between your fingers. You should have gone inside by now. And yet, your eyes remained locked on his.

If you were a little closer, you would be able to see the edge of his contact lenses. His beard was unshaven, dark circles rested under his eyes, and his hair was in its usual state of perfect chaos. He looked tired, but no less handsome. Somehow, the evidence of sleepless nights only emphasized his features, making him more human—more approachable.

“I…” James started, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. His eyes scanned your face, lingering on the way your lashes were still damp, as if you really had been crying. He knew it wasn’t his business, but the question slipped from his lips anyway.

“Are you okay?”

You blinked, surprise flooding your features. Your mouth opened, the lie at the tip of your tongue, but no words found their way out—not when he was looking at you so genuinely, almost as if he truly cared.

Which made no sense at all. In all the time you had been neighbors, you had exchanged no more than a few words.

And yet, there he was. Standing in front of you, as if he was willing to wait as long as needed for your answer.

And it had been so, so long since someone had shown any kind of concern. Your lower lip trembled, and you recognized the familiar burning in your throat. Your eyes lifted, blinking once, twice, countless times in an attempt to keep the tears at bay.

"I... I just—" you sniffled, your voice too fragile to take shape. A melancholic smile curved the corners of your lips as you wiped your eyes, feeling more miserable than ever for crying in front of your handsome neighbor. "S-sorry, this is so pathetic. I-I really—"

His hand landed on your shoulder, a comforting weight. The warmth of his palm seeped through the fabric of your blouse. You looked up at him in the same second, your heart tightening under the weight of the concern on his face.

"Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. Did something happen?" he asked, his voice low, his eyes scanning over you as if searching for any injuries. "Did someone do something to you?"

You shook your head, still not trusting your voice enough to answer. James watched the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed. He had never seen you like this—so fragile, so vulnerable, like you were about to break at any moment.

He didn’t like seeing you like this.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked again, his fingers pressing gently into your shoulder, as if to emphasize his words. The feeling of touching you was still new, making his fingers tingle, even now, as he pulled back. When his gaze started to drift away, he called you again, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're not alone."

"T-thank you, Mr. Potter, but I don’t want to burden you with my problems."

"James."

"What?"

"Call me James, please. And you won’t be burdening me, I promise."

You sniffled again, still unsure how to deal with the weight in his eyes. It was easy to understand why he was a detective. It was easy to trust him.

Fighting the urge to wring your fingers, you exhaled, surprising yourself when you finally spoke. "I don’t think you can help me, Mr. Pott—James," you corrected, feeling your face heat up. "Unless you know of a place hiring someone without references."

James wondered if you could hear the gears turning in his head. It was an idea—a terrible idea. But it burned through his mind like the death of a star. It was the easiest solution to two problems. You raised an eyebrow at the expression on his face.

He wetted his lips, hesitating for only a second before speaking. "Actually, I... uh, I do."

"Really?"

James nodded in response, watching how your eyes lit up with hope. "Yeah, but..." He glanced down the empty hallway first, then back at the way your clothes were slightly rumpled after an afternoon at the park, as if carefully considering what to say next. "Can we meet in twenty minutes? To talk about it."

You nodded, hoping you didn’t seem too eager. If he really found you a job, it could be in the depths of hell, and you wouldn’t care.

James gave a short nod before stepping back through his door. You took a deep breath, sniffled one last time, then straightened your shoulders and stepped inside.

Gigi, the cat, barely waited for you to set foot inside before curling around your legs, nearly knocking you over in the process. She must be hungry.

You poured some food into her bowl before checking that everything was in order. James had never been inside, and that made you a little nervous. With nothing else to focus on, you put a kettle on the stove.

Twenty minutes later, a knock sounded at your door. Your heart skipped a beat. Forcing your legs to move, you crossed the living room, ignoring the slight tremor in your fingers as you opened the door.

"Hey," James greeted with a small smile.

His hair was still slightly damp, a strand falling over his forehead. He had changed clothes, now wearing a white shirt that stretched just a bit across his chest, his forearms exposed. He smelled like soap and clean skin. You quickly dismissed any thoughts your mind tried to entertain.

"Hi," you replied, stepping aside to let him in.

Once James entered, you shut the door. He watched as you took the lead, walking back into the living room with small steps. Unable to help himself, his eyes wandered around the space—light-colored walls, countless books stacked on a shelf, delicate curtains. It was a feminine place, well cared for.

"Would you like some tea?"

James blinked, processing your words. "Oh, sure. Please."

You disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, and when you returned, James was still standing in the same spot, as if his feet had grown roots into the floor. It felt strange having him here, as if the place was too small to contain him.

"Please, have a seat," you motioned toward the couch with your chin. James obeyed promptly, sinking into the plush cushions, watching you place a tray on the coffee table and expertly pour two cups of Earl Grey. His eyes followed the movements of your hands, the way your fingers looked so delicate.

"How do you take it?"

"Sorry, what?"

"Your tea, how do you like it?"

"With cream and two spoons of honey, please."

When you handed him the cup, your fingers brushed by accident, sending a shiver down his spine. James cleared his throat, taking a sip, the rich, sweet taste spreading across his tongue. It was perfect.

He sighed, a sound of pure satisfaction, as he took another sip. "Thank you, this is perfect." A small smile curved his lips in gratitude. "But I know you’re interested in what I came here to say."

You waited, feeling the warmth of the cup between your fingers. He wetted his lips. "I know this might be an unusual situation, but when I said I knew someone who was hiring... that someone was me."

James watched as surprise crossed your face, so he continued, "A new case came up, and it’s taking up most of my time. Finding a reliable babysitter isn’t exactly easy. I know we don’t know each other very well, but I saw how you cared for Mrs. Jones. I see how you treat Henry. He adores you."

"I need someone to help with him until I wrap up this case. To pick him up from school and stay with him until I get home. You’d have the mornings to yourself, unless something urgent came up at the station." At your silence, James felt his shoulders tense slightly. "I know it’s a lot—"

"I’ll do it."

"And Henry can really be a handful— Wait, what did you say?"

"The job. I’ll take it."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. I mean, we're neighbors, I wouldn’t mind staying with Henry a little later. And I think I can handle it—he's really adorable."

James looked surprised, genuinely surprised. "I, uh… I didn’t expect you to accept so easily."

A nervous smile curled your lips as you remembered the growing pile of bills. "I'm kind of desperate right now."

"I'm really sorry about that."

You shook your head. "It’s not your fault."

"I still feel sorry."

"Thank you." To soothe your nerves, you took another sip of tea. "So, when do I start?"

"Tomorrow, is that okay for you? Great, this is really wonderful."

"You don’t, uh… want my résumé or something?"

"Actually, I’d be happy just with your number." Seeing the way your face heated up, he quickly added, "In case of an emergency, so I can call you."

Oh.

Oh.

Of course, that was the reason. You mentally cursed yourself for daring to think otherwise.

You leaned forward, reaching for the stack of papers on the coffee table. "My résumé has my number on it anyway."

James took the sheet, his eyes scanning over the printed details. Address, phone number, full name, date of birth—ten years, you were nearly ten years apart. But what really caught his attention was the photo. It was just a simple picture, but his eyes lingered on the way the camera had captured you. He resisted the urge to run his fingers over it.

You went over a few more details—schedules, salary, responsibilities. It was almost hard to believe this was real, that you had finally found a job. Even if it wasn’t permanent, at least it was something, and with free mornings, you could keep looking for something else. And you liked Henry—he was a truly sweet boy. Taking care of him wouldn’t be a burden at all.

You walked James to the door, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. "Thank you for this opportunity. I promise I’ll do my best."

"I know," he smiled, stretching out his hand toward you. You took it, feeling the way his fingers were slightly rough and firm around yours. You didn’t notice the way James looked at your joined hands, how he seemed to study the way they fit together. He exhaled, finally lifting his gaze to yours. "See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," you repeated with a broad smile, having no idea what was ahead of you.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Stray {Blurb}

Postwar!Remus Lupin x Muggle!Reader

Summery: After drifting aimlessly and struggling with the aftermath of war, Remus finds an unexpected ally in a compassionate woman who sees beyond his scars. Through her unwavering kindness and the simple life, Remus maybe he deserves the similar things in life.

Wc:3860

Cw: Use of {Y/N}, fem reader, self doubt, mentions of major character death, financial insecurity, drifting, self indulgent.

Remus Lupin never really believed in rock bottom. Everytime he thought he'd hit it he would fall harder and deeper than he ever thought possible.

After the war there was a long period of time he was drifting. Not necessarily liking the idea of staying in one place too long, not that he could if he tried. Most of the highlands were packed with nosey wizards and witches, his paranoia getting the best of him every time someone asked a bit too many questions, and then it was on to the next town.

It didn't help that no one was enthusiastic about hiring him after learning of his special requirements. He couldn't hold down a job let alone a stable place to stay, staying in the rougher bits of London and Scotland, too busy wallowing in grief to truly feel sorry for his situation.

His full moons were the worst of it. Without James, Peter, and Sirius, Moony reverted back to its most volatile form. His mental state didn't help much either. He had grown comfortable, complacent, with the nurture his friends provided him those nights. So much so he forgot what it was like to have battered and bruised skin. What the scars on his body felt like.

Everything was back to his normal.

Well, not everything. This was the first time he's woken up to the sight of a gun barrel in his face. His body throbbing and his leg caught in a snare. If he looked just past the barrel, he could see glimmering eyes. Fear. He was used to that look.

Though, he could argue he should be the fearful one, considering his lack of dress and immobile position. Bleeding and scared, with a women he's never seen before saying something his ringing ears couldn't quite comprehend.

Soon, his blood loss and blurry eyes made him unable to stay awake. The last thing he saw was a large white dog coming up to sniff his face.

~~~

It was soft, everywhere he turned. Like he was being held in a cloud, he was sure she must have shot him.

When his eyes opened he was greeted with a dim room. It was small, a cream off white with floral designs, it looked like his mother’s, truthfully. He tried to shift his leg only to notice a sizable weight, looking down to see a large white cattle dog, he couldn't quite place the breed immediately, but the moment he shifted it seemed to wake up. Staring at him in his very soul.

The large beast gave a low and steady grumble before he gave a few barks, something he didn't quite know how to place. He just sunk back into the soft plush bedding, giving a low sigh. “Bloody hell..” He mumbled and closed his eyes.

He was still in pain, a lot of it, and he could feel the throb of his injuries pulsing through his body. But there was also a strange sense of comfort in the softness of the bed and the warmth of the room. Even the soft smell of Shea butter and thick wool. It had been so long since he had felt anything remotely close to comfort that it almost seemed foreign to him. He almost convinced himself to fall right back asleep, screw the consequences.

The dog continued to bark, and soon after, Remus heard the soft patter of footsteps approaching. His instincts kicked in, and he tried to sit up, but his body protested vehemently. Leaving him to prop pathetically on his elbows.

As the door creaked open, he came to the conclusion that he was most certainly dead. And he guessed the muggles were right about God. Why else in Merlin’s name would an angel be stepping into this room? With a tray of food, no less.

Like that, the barking stopped. The dog satisfied he notified his master in time.

The woman who had been holding the gun stood in the doorway, looking significantly less threatening now. She had a cautious yet gentle expression, her eyes scanning Remus with a mix of curiosity and concern. Retracing his now bandaged chest and bruised skin, clicking her tongue before she walked over. Setting the tray down and picking up two pill bottles from the side of the bed.

"You're awake.” She assessed softly, her voice carrying a lilting accent that Remus recognized to be Scottish. "I wasn't sure if you'd make it through the night.”

Remus tried to respond, but his throat was dry and his voice came out as a weak croak. She poured a glass of water from the tray and handed it to him, with three pills in her palm.

He didn't think twice before he took them, his concern for his life had far since left his mind. He just felt.. safe.

As the cool water soothed his parched throat, Remus couldn't help but wonder who this woman was and why she was helping him. He hadn't known genuine kindness from anyone since he entered the war- everyone was a suspect until proven otherwise. He glanced around the room, taking in the subtle details- the worn but clean furniture, the soft light filtering through the curtains, and the faint smell of herbs mingling with the scent of the shea butter that he could now conclude came from you.

"Thank you.” He managed to say, his voice still weak but sincere. "For... everything."

The woman gave a small smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You're welcome. My name is {Y/N}." She hesitated for a moment before adding, "You're lucky I found you when I did. The Highlands aren't exactly the safest place for someone to be..” She gestured vaguely. “What were you up to? Naked forest dancing?”

Remus let out a weak, humorless chuckle at your comment. Despite the situation, he couldn't help but appreciate your attempt to lighten the mood. His muscles protested every small movement, but he managed to shift slightly, trying to get more comfortable.

"Something like that. I'm Remus.” He muttered, his voice still hoarse. He didn't dare dream of expressing the full length of his woes; the full moon, the transformation, the uncontrollable rage and pain. It was too much to burden you with, not to mention the rapid fire excuses he'd have to come up with. Still, he still felt horrid for lying, especially to someone as kind as you.

You seemed to sense his reluctance and didn't press further. Instead, you busied herself with adjusting the pillows behind his back, making sure he was as comfortable as possible. "Well, whatever it was, you're safe now.” You muttered gently. "You need rest and time to heal. Those pills should help with the pain and prevent any infection."

Remus nodded, grateful for your understanding. "Thank you, {Y/N}.” He repeated, feeling a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the cozy room or the medication. "I don't know how to repay you for this."

You waved off his gratitude with a dismissive huff before walking over to set up the simple bowl of oatmeal and apple slices you had managed in the kitchen.

“Seriously, I don't have much but-”

“Your money's no good here, I fear.” You remarked calmly and turned to face him as you handed him the bowl carefully, wrapped in an oven mitt so he wouldn't burn himself. “But your body is.”

Remus blinked, taken aback by the statement. He opened his mouth to respond, but you quickly clarified, sensing his alarm.

"Not in that way.” You quickly corrected with a soft laugh, the first sign of genuine amusement he'd seen from you. "I meant, it's coming up on winter. Once you get better, if you'd like to repay me, there are holes in the barn that need to be patched. There is wood to be collected, there is always work.”

Relief washed over him, and he nodded slowly, understanding the exchange you were offering. That was something he could do. Easily. "I can do that.” His voice was still weak but filled with sincerity. "I'm more than willing to help out."

You smiled, this time a bit more genuinely. "Good. We'll worry about that when you're back on your feet. For now, just focus on getting better." You placed the bowl of oatmeal and apple slices on his lap. "Eat up, you'll need your strength."

Remus took the bowl, feeling a deep sense of,, peace. It had been so long since anyone had shown him patience and kindness this real. He spooned some of the oatmeal into his mouth, savoring the warmth and simple flavor. It was raw. Something unfiltered and unprocessed. You had made these from scratch, while it wasn't impressive, it made the gesture all the more real to him.

As he ate, you busied yourself around the room, tidying up and making sure everything was in order. The large white dog, now lying by the foot of the bed, watched him with curious eyes.

"What’s his name?" Remus asked, nodding towards the dog.

"That's Hugo.” You hummed, a fond smile tugging at your lips. "He's a good boy. A fine worker, too. Found him as a pup wandering near the woods. Much like you, I suppose."

Remus chuckled softly, though it hurt his chest a bit. "Well, I'm glad he found his way to you. And I'm glad I did too."

You paused for a moment, looking at him with a studying looking in your eyes. "We all need a bit of help sometimes.” You said quietly. "No shame in that."

Remus nodded, feeling a lump form in his throat. For the first time in a long while, he felt a glimmer of hope. The care you had shown him was a balm to his weary soul, and he couldn't help but feel that perhaps, just maybe, things could get better from here.

As he finished his meal, he felt a wave of exhaustion washing over him again. The combination of the medication and the warm food was making it difficult to keep his eyes open. You seemed to notice and gently took the empty bowl from his hands.

"You should rest.” You said softly, but stern, placing the bowl back on the tray. "Sleep will help you heal faster."

Remus nodded, unable to argue with common sense. As he settled back into the pillows, he felt the soft weight of Hugo shifting in a commando crawl up to his side, offering him a sense of security and companionship. His heavy head resting on his chest.

"Thank you, {Y/N}, Hugo.” He murmured one last time, his voice trailing off as sleep began to claim him.

You watched as his eyes closed, a small smile playing on your lips. "You're welcome, Remus," you whispered, turning to leave the room. "Rest well."

As Remus drifted off into a deep, healing sleep, he couldn't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, he had found a place where he could finally stop destroying himself and start rebuilding.

~~~

The days turned into weeks, and Remus slowly but surely regained his strength. Each day, he marveled at the patience and empathy you and Hugo showed him. It was a simple life, far removed from the chaos and pain of his past, but it was exactly what he needed.

You never pried into his past, never asked questions, never pushed past what you needed to know in the moment. You hardly even acknowledged the night he showed up on your property. Instead, you offered gentle conversation, warm meals, and a quiet companionship that Remus found deeply comforting. In return, he began to help around the property as he had promised. Fixing the holes in the barn, chopping wood for the winter, and tending to any task you needed of him.

It was symbiotic. You got the help you needed, and he felt like he was contributing to something meaningful without the threat of being chased away.

As the weeks turned into a month, the next full moon loomed. Even as his irritation grew and his stomach sank with dread, you never said a word. You filled his plate, kept him busy with work on your land, and didn't question him when he took a stroll into the woods on the night of the full moon. Though you were a bit baffled when Hugo went with him.

That morning, you were on the porch waiting for him. You said nothing about his tattered clothes and suitcase, just welcomed him home with a warm smile.

It was more than he ever thought he'd deserve. You reminded him of nectar in the mornings and like fine wine most nights. As sweet as honey but as deep and rich as the most ancient oak, your presence grounded him in ways he hadn't thought possible. Each day with you was a melody, a harmony that soothed the tempest within him. He found himself looking forward to your soft laughter, the way your eyes sparkled with unspoken thoughts, and the gentle touch of your hand as you handed him a steaming cup of tea.

Your kindness wasn't just a balm for his physical wounds; it seeped into the deepest recesses of his heart, mending the fractures that years of pain and loss had wrought. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment it happened, but somewhere between your shared meals and quiet evenings by the fireplace, he realized he was falling in love with you.

It wasn't a whirlwind or a blaze; it was a slow, steady burn that warmed him from the inside out. He cherished the simplicity of your life together, the unspoken understanding that passed between you, and the way Hugo seemed to understand it all, lying at your feet as if guarding this fragile, precious thing you were building together.

In those quiet moments, when the world outside seemed a distant memory, Remus realized he had found something he never thought possible: a home, a sanctuary, and he didn't dare hope for more.

Even as you sat on the small couch, in the simple living room. Knees tucked to your chest as you continued to fight with yourself.

“Writer's block?” He prodded as he walked over, sitting down in front of you. Your eyes flickered up to his, your expression still holding slight irritation. “You've been looking at that page for ages.”

“I have ideas.” You argued, looking back down at your pages with a huff. “Just not sure.. how to work them together.”

“Isn't that supposed to be the fun part?” He teased softly and that earned a playful glare form you. He flicked his hands up in defense, slowly smirking.

You managed a soft laugh, your irritation melting away under his gentle look. "Easy for you to say, you're not the one staring at a blank page.” You challenged, but there was no real bite to your words.

Remus leaned closer, peering at your notes with genuine curiosity. "Maybe you should write something else. Just for today. Heard it's supposed to help, yeah?”

You sighed, but there was a hint of a smile on your lips. "Alright, Mr. Lupin, what do you suggest I write about?"

“Maybe your affinity for strays?” He teased and that earned a belly laugh from you.

“Do you hear him, Hugo? He just called you a stray.” You smirked and Hugo gave a huff and a long sigh from were he laid on the floor by Remus’s feet.

“I meant the both of us, really.” He muttered, eyes drifting away. But he knew you knew that already. You would do anything to make him think he wasn't burdening you, but self doubt was his biggest flaw.

Your eyes softened that way that made him feel his stomach turn. Then, your lips turned upward, eyes sparking with amusement. “You make it sound like a talent.” You hummed before you leaned in a bit. “But I wouldn't call you a stray, Remus. You're no more a stray then Hugo.”

Remus felt his mouth go dry as he stared down at you, his heart pounding with an intensity that made his ribs feel bruised. The way your eyes seemed to look straight through him, seeing every hidden part of his soul, left him feeling exposed, yet desperate for the intimacy of it all. The air between you crackled with a palpable tension, each second stretching out as his expression turned thoughtful.

He watched as you slowly reached out, your fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against his arm. The contact sent a shiver down his spine, and he couldn't help but lean into your touch, his breath hitching.

“I mean it, Remus.” You whispered, your voice barely audible but the loudest thing he's ever heard.

He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving yours as he nodded, inching closer. The space between you seemed to shrink and expand all at once, his movements hesitant yet driven by an undeniable force he couldn't fully understand.

“Yeah?” He whispered, his voice raw and almost pleading, his vulnerability never felt more purposeful.

“Yeah.” You affirmed without a moment's hesitation, your grip on his arm tightening as if to anchor him to your reality. A reality he wanted to understand more then anything. Your gentle loving reality, one that fooled him again and again into safeties he didn't think he deserved. “You're home, Remus.”

The words hung in the air, a lifeline he desperately needed. The tension between you reached a breaking point as you tilted your head. Every so slightly, your eyes lingering on his lips.

It wasn't long before his lips were on yours, not giving himself time to second guess it all. It was patient. It was sweet. It was ancient and timeless and yet as new as the flowers that were blooming just outside the door. Winter had come and gone and yet here he was, still demanding more of you. As he moved in closer, you felt the book fall against the ground. Not that you minded, it freed up your hands to slide along his chest.

He continued to test the waters, his hand coming up to cup your cheek and deepen the kiss. Affection you reciprocated easily. Just as hungry for it as he was. He couldn't find himself wondering if he should think it through. He didn't have much of a choice, the way your hands traveled up to his hair, the way you shifted your legs to make room for him.

“You're home, Remus.” You whispered again, much softer, in between the ever heating kisses. He pushed you fully on your back, his lips traveling the bare skin of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, each kiss igniting a fire that spread through your veins. The words you had spoken echoed in his mind, grounding him in the moment, making everything feel more real and more impossible to resist. He whispered your name, a reverent prayer, as his hands explored the contours of your body, committing every inch to memory.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, as if afraid he might disappear if you let go. The urgency of your kisses matched his own, a silent agreement that this was right were you both belonged.

~~~

The next morning, you woke up in your bed. Remus was hugging you from behind, his nose buried in your neck and still sound asleep.

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room. You felt the warmth of Remus's body against yours, his steady breathing a comforting rhythm that lulled you into a delightful peace. For a moment, you simply lay there, savoring the feeling of being so intimately connected to someone who had come to mean so much to you. Your heart ached with affection, selfishly hoping he'd wake up so you could stare into his lovely eyes again.

You shifted slightly, careful not to wake him despite yourself, and turned to gaze at his sleeping face. There was a peaceful calm there that you hadn't seen before, a loveliness that spoke of a man who had finally found a measure of peace. It made your heart swell with a mixture of love and protectiveness.

As if sensing your gaze, Remus stirred, his eyes slowly fluttering open. When he saw you looking at him, a soft smile curved his lips, and he tightened his hold on you, pulling you closer. Your eyes indulged in his own like it was sin.

"Good morning.” He murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

"Good morning.” You whispered, your own smile mirroring his. "Did you sleep well?"

"Better than I have in years.” He admitted, his eyes searching yours for any sign of regret or hesitation. Finding none, he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Thank you, {Y/N}."

"For what?" You asked, absolutely melting as he continued to trail kisses from your temple to your neck.

"For everything.” He sighed, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion that took your breath away. "For giving me a place to heal, for your patience, and for... well, for last night." He cheeked.

Your cheeks flushed at the memory of the previous night, but you couldn't help but smile, playfully glaring at him. "I should be the one thanking you, Remus. You've brought something into my life that I didn't even realize I was missing."

He looked at you with a mixture of surprise and gratitude, his fingers gently tracing the contours of your face. "I'm not easy.” He whispered.

“I've always been one for a challenge, Remus.” You whispered as he leaned down to bury his face into your neck. “Unfortunately, I find falling for you quite easy.”

He chuckled, the base in his voice bringing a shiver to your spine. “... I'm a lot of work.”

“You earn your keep, Remus.” You whispered softly and he slowly began to let his hands slip up to your waist, lowering himself to draw lazy kisses along your chest.

“You'll tire of me. When you know me.” He urged and you closed your eyes blissfully.

“Wouldn't dream of it.”

“You'll-” Before he could finish and fall deeper into his own self doubt, you covered his mouth. Cupping his jaw to pull him into another kiss. One he returned with full earnestness.

You broke the kiss and stared up at him with your doe eyes he almost caved.

“I'll love you, Remus. I do. I will. I'm not going to give up that easily,” You huffed. “No matter how much convincing you try to do.”

He stared at you a moment longer, leaning in and running his lips along yours. “It's rotten work.”

“I've never shied away from work.” You whispered and pulled him close. Letting him hide away from the world in your room. “I'm never going to shy away from you.”

Remus sighed deeply, the weight of his doubts lifting as he whispered, "Then I'll never let you go."

And in that shared promise, they found a peace that neither had ever dared to hope for.

[jijournal]

WEALTHY, WITTY, WITCHES | D.M

Part 1: Crazy Rich... Wizards? Part 2: Wands, Wizards, And Wicked Traditions Part 3: Wealthy, Witty, Witches

Summary: After barely surviving a disastrous dinner with your wizard boyfriend’s parents, you’re forced to endure yet another nightmare—this time, with his ex.

wc: 2.9k

cw: for tha sake of the story astoria is younger by a year, astoria is a fake bitch (sorry to all the astoria lovers), jealous astoria, Druella Black is also perfectly alive in this.

A/N: Omg!! We are almost at the wedding part!!!

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

This was torture.

You were now zoning out as a group of rich, classy girls sat beside you at a long black-and-gold dining table, talking about clothes, shopping, men, and something called a beautifying charm.

You only met her once, but Daphne had already insisted on inviting you to her bachelorette party. In her own words:

"I know we just met, but I really like you and I’ll be thrilled if you come to my bachelorette party in two days! It’s going to be so much fun, and you’ll get to meet all the other amazing girls who’ll be in my wedding!"

So now, here you were—sitting in a grand dining room that could almost be mistaken for a great hall. Pillars of gold adorned the dark oak walls, and you had no doubt those blocks of gold were real. The golden columns gleamed against the marble floor, which mirrored the massive chandelier hanging above the long dining table.

You found yourself surrounded by elegant women who all weirdly looked the same. You swore that half of the girls in this room has their hair up in a bun, wearing a nude lipstick shade, and their dresses colored black, white, and beige.

You wore one of the dresses Draco had bought you in Diagon Alley—a long black pleated skirt and a sleeveless dark green scoop-neck top, paired with matching dark green slingback heels. You stood out like a sore thumb.

Gosh this was dreadful.

"Hi! Y/N right? Draco's girlfriend." you look at the girl who suddenly sat on the empty seat beside you. She had porcelain skin, wavy dark brown hair that's up to her waist, and eyes that match the color.

"Yup that's me!" you smiled at her, your body fully facing her now.

"I'm Astoria! Astoria Greengrass" she said, sticking put her hand hoping for you to shake it. She had this huge smile that's obviously forced, her perfect white teeth glimmering.

"Greengrass? Are you related to Daphne?" you questioned, head titling ever so slightly. Then your hand finally shook hers.

She pulled her hand away and her smile got bigger, grinning ear to ear. "Yes I am! I'm younger by a year."

"But enough about me. I want to get to know you!" she exclaimed, doing a tiny clap of excitement. "How long have you been with Draco?"

You smiled, polite and composed, keeping your posture relaxed. even with the growing tension. “Two years,” you said, and you noticed immediately how Astoria’s eyebrows lifted a little too high.

“Two years?” she echoed, her tone light and questioning, the kind of disbelieving surprise someone uses when they’re hoping they’ve misheard you.

“Wow, that’s… longer than I thought,” she added with a short forced laugh, her hand resting on the tablecloth with practiced grace as she leaned just slightly closer.

You stayed still, your smile steady. “Yeah.”

She gave another sharp little nod, her perfectly styled hair barely shifting. “That’s just… funny,” she said, voice softening into something more intimate, more insidious.

“Because Draco and I dated for nearly two years too. Back before the war, of course. We were… very close,” she added with a meaningful glance, as if you hadn’t quite registered her significance yet.

You didn’t flinch, but something cold curled in your stomach. “I didn’t know.”

She beamed at you like it was a compliment. “Oh, everyone assumed we’d end up together. Our families were thrilled. It all made sense—pureblood lineages, similar upbringings, same social circles. You know how it is.”

You offered a gentle shrug. “Things change.”

She laughed lightly, but there was a strain to it now, something tightening around the edges. “Clearly,” she said, eyes sharp. “So, how did you and Draco meet then? Was it at some function, a fancy gala, or…?”

“No,” you said, your smile pulling wider, warmer, realer. “We met at a park in Muggle London. My Labrador knocked him flat on his back—spilled his coffee, then my dog started to lick his face. Total disaster, honestly.”

Astoria blinked at you, her expression faltering ever so slightly. “Oh.”

“I bought him a new coffee. We talked for hours. It just… happened.”

There was a pause where she seemed to recover, blinking too slowly, too carefully. Then she laughed again, airy and a touch too high. “How… quaint.”

“It was,” you said simply.

She looked away, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, then turned back toward you with a more curious glint in her eyes. “So how are things going with his parents?” she asked, voice overly casual, like she was trying not to sound too interested when she very clearly was. “I mean, you being a Muggle and all… that must be a bit complicated, right?”

You paused for just a second, and it was enough.

Her smile widened just slightly, as if your hesitation had confirmed whatever she was hoping for.

“It’s… complicated,” you admitted, choosing your words with care.

“Complicated,” she repeated slowly, savoring the word. “That’s understandable. Draco was always so close with his family. Especially Lucius.”

“Narcissa has been civil,” you said, carefully measured. “Polite, distant, but not unkind. I think… she’s trying. In her own way.”

Astoria nodded knowingly. “That sounds like her. And Lucius?”

“He won’t speak to me,” you replied with a soft shrug, like it didn’t sting, even though it did. “He made it clear from the beginning that he doesn’t approve, and he hasn’t changed his mind.”

Astoria looked almost pleased, though she masked it poorly. “That must be hard for Draco,” she said, her voice faking sympathy. “I remember how much their opinion used to matter to him—he used to talk to me about it all the time. Lucius adored me, you know.”

You gave her a look that was calm, collected, unreadable. “Draco makes his own choices now.”

“Still,” she said, glancing down at her manicured nails, “it’s not easy, trying to convince a family like them that you belong.”

“Draco never made me feel like I had to convince anyone,” you said simply, and her smile faltered for the first time.

She took another sip of her drink, eyes scanning the room like she was bored of the conversation already, before leaning in again, voice lowering discreetly. “So… does he still get nightmares? He used to wake up reaching for me, like he was terrified I’d disappear. It was… heartbreaking.”

You forced a smile. “He sleeps peacefully now.”

Her lips parted, caught slightly off guard.

You looked at her with a steady gaze. “I guess he’s finally where he’s supposed to be.”

The silence that followed was stiff, heavy with unspoken irritation. Astoria’s expression wavered between disbelief and dissatisfaction, as though she couldn’t quite decide whether she wanted to continue playing the 'nice' ex or rip off the mask entirely.

She exhaled through her nose, straightening her back. “So tell me,” she said after a beat, voice laced with derision hidden under feigned curiosity, “does he even understand Muggle things yet? Like… telly? Or whatever that little card is that opens doors.”

“You mean a keycard?” you asked, smiling politely.

She waved her hand as if the difference didn’t matter. “Yes, those.”

“He’s learning,” you replied, tone light. “He likes television. Got really into one of those long series. Refused to let me skip the theme song. Drives like a menace, though.”

She blinked again, thrown off by your directness.

The air around her fumed with quiet, unspoken frustration. But before she could say another word, Daphne’s voice rang from the other end of the table, cheerful and commanding.

“Astoria! Come here for a second!”

Astoria glanced at you one last time—half glare, half forced smile—before standing in one smooth motion, brushing invisible creases from her skirt, posture as perfect as ever.

As she turned to walk away, you caught her muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Two years with a Muggle.”

You just lifted your water glass and took a sip, hiding your grin behind the rim as you watched her retreat across the glittering dining hall.

This was definitely not the night you’d imagined—but at least now, it was a little more fun.

⸻

“Sooooo, did you ever plan on introducing me to Astoria?” you said cheekily, eyes squinting, mouth in a dramatic frown as you dropped your purse onto the ornate armchair near the fireplace.

Draco looked up from where he was loosening his cufflinks, perched on the velvet settee in his bedroom at Malfoy Manor. He blinked, as if the name took a second to register. Then his brows lifted ever so slightly.

“Astoria?” he echoed slowly.

You folded your arms, waiting.

Draco sighed and leaned back, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So you did plan on keeping her a secret forever, then?”

“I wasn’t keeping her a secret,” he said, sitting up straighter, running a hand through his hair. “It just… didn’t seem important. That was ages ago. Hogwarts-era. Practically a different life.”

“She told me you used to wake up reaching for her in your sleep,” you said, arching a brow. “That doesn't exactly scream 'unimportant.’”

Draco groaned and stood, pacing a few steps before stopping in front of you. “That girl thrives on drama. She always has. She wants to remind everyone of what could’ve been, just to feel like she’s still relevant in my life. But she’s not.”

You watched him closely, studying the tired set of his jaw, the way his shoulders tensed as if he expected you to press harder. So you softened—just a little.

“She was testing me,” you said quietly. “She wanted me to feel small. Like I didn’t belong.”

His face darkened at once. “Did she say something to you?”

“Not directly,” you said with a light shrug. “She didn’t have to.”

Draco cursed under his breath and turned away, fists clenching briefly at his sides. “I should’ve warned you. I didn’t think you’d be ambushed like that.”

“I handled it,” you said simply, and when he looked at you again, your expression was steady.

That made his lip quirk. “Of course you did.”

You stepped closer, your voice dipping. “But it’s hard enough already with your father pretending I don’t exist. I didn’t need an ex-girlfriend parading around like she’s still the future Mrs. Malfoy.”

Draco reached for your hand, grounding you both. “She’s not,” he said firmly. “You are.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and his grip tightened, just enough to anchor you.

“I mean it,” he went on, quieter now. “I didn’t choose her. I chose you. I keep choosing you. Even when it’s hard. Even when they don’t approve."

You swallowed hard, your throat tight.

“I know,” you said after a beat. “I just needed to hear you say it.”

He pulled you into his arms, his chin resting lightly atop your head.

“She hates that I’m happy,” he murmured into your hair. “That’s all this is. She thought she could shake you.”

You smirked against his chest. “I think I shook her.”

Draco let out a low laugh. “I don’t doubt it.”

You leaned back slightly to look at him. “Next time, I want a heads up before I walk into a social trap filled with pureblood peacocks and their horrifyingly symmetrical faces.”

“Deal,” he said, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Though I have to say… you looked like you were enjoying yourself near the end.”

You gave him a wicked grin. “Just a little. Her eye twitch was a highlight.”

“She twitched?” Draco’s smile split wider. “I’m so proud of you.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed anyway, resting your forehead against his. “You owe me dinner. Something greasy. Muggle-style.”

“Anything,” he promised.

And for a moment, the rest of it—all the whispers, the stares, the bloodlines, the judgment—faded into nothing.

Because he chose you.

And he always would.

⸻

The morning light filtered into the drawing room, catching on the carved edges of the mantel and the polished floors of Malfoy Manor. You were curled in an armchair near the tall windows, Draco’s oversized shirt hanging off your frame, tea warm in your hands. The manor was quiet, unusually so, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy the illusion of peace.

That is, until the echo of sharp heels clicked purposefully down the corridor.

Draco tensed before the door even opened, halfway through buttoning his shirt. “She’s early,” he muttered under his breath, glancing toward the hallway like he could delay her arrival by sheer force of will.

You straightened a little. “Who’s early?”

He didn’t get the chance to answer. The door swung open with barely a sound, and in swept a woman who carried herself like the room belonged to her—which, knowing this family, it probably once had. Regal and composed, dressed in deep lavender robes embroidered with constellations in silver thread, she had the unmistakable look of someone who had never once asked permission to speak.

Her sharp eyes scanned the room before they settled on you, expression unreadable.

“Draco,” she said smoothly, voice like velvet over ice. “You didn’t tell me your little guest was so charming.”

You stood instinctively, setting your tea aside, uncertain whether to curtsy, shake her hand, or just vanish through the floor.

Draco managed a stiff, “Good morning, Grandmother,” the edge of tension in his voice making your spine straighten further.

Druella Black. Even her name sounded like it belonged in a history book, one with bloodstains on the pages.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” you said, trying for polite but steady. “I didn’t know you’d be joining us.”

“I rarely announce myself,” she replied, sweeping into the room without waiting for an invitation. “That’s half the point.”

Without asking, she settled into the armchair across from you, her posture perfect, hands folded over one knee. Her gaze flicked over you again, like she was peeling back every layer of your thoughts.

“You have a good presence,” she said after a pause, eyes narrowed slightly in thought. “You hold your space well. That’s rare these days. Most girls fidget. Shrink. Apologize for existing.”

You gave a careful smile, sensing a trap and stepping around it. “Being underestimated has its advantages. People rarely guard themselves when they think you’re not a threat.”

Her lips quirked faintly, almost like approval. “Indeed.”

“I watched you at the party yesterday,” she continued, reaching for the cup of tea that had just appeared beside her—house-elves always knew when she arrived. “You didn’t flinch. Not even when Astoria tried to bait you.”

“She wasn’t exactly subtle,” you replied, tone dry.

“No, she never was. Pity. I had such high hopes for her when she was little. But she grew up soft. Whiny.”

You raised a brow. “Entitled.”

Druella actually chuckled at that, a soft, dangerous sound. “I like you. Most girls in this world either stay silent to keep the peace or snarl to prove a point. You’ve done neither.”

You tilted your head, curious. “What do you think that says about me?”

“That you think before you speak. That you aren’t desperate for approval. That you have a spine,” she added, her voice almost pleased. “Which is more than I can say for most of the society girls who’ve wandered through these halls.”

You didn’t reply right away, unsure how much to let show.

“I don’t trust easily,” she said then, as if sensing your hesitation. “But I know what I see. And I see that my grandson looks at you the way Lucius looked at Narcissa.”

That made your breath catch. Druella’s gaze didn’t waver.

“Love,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

To your surprise, you and Druella ended up talking for nearly an hour. Just the two of you, with Draco excusing himself to give her space—or perhaps bracing himself for disaster.

But it never came. Instead, you spoke about everything from magical theory to literature, to the ancient portraits lining the corridor walls, some of which she personally remembered posing for. She asked about your opinions, challenged your logic, and occasionally smirked when you held your own.

She may have been the only one in Draco’s family who seemed genuinely happy to meet you.

When she finally rose to leave, she took your arm without ceremony, letting you walk her to the door in a silence that felt earned rather than forced. Just before she stepped outside, she gave your wrist a light squeeze.

“You’ll do,” she said, her voice soft but certain.

You watched her disappear down the drive, her figure shrinking into the sunlit morning until it vanished.

When you returned to the drawing room, Draco was still seated where you’d left him, watching the doorway like he was trying to decide whether or not the house had burned down in his absence.

“She liked you,” he said slowly, voice full of something halfway between awe and confusion.

You smiled faintly, settling back into your seat. “Is that so shocking?”

He blinked. “You talked to her. For an hour.”

“She didn’t hex me,” you pointed out.

“She once hexed a Ministry official for standing too close to her peacocks.”

You snorted. “Then I’m making progress.”

Draco leaned back, eyes narrowed as he watched you. “She never likes anyone. She barely tolerates Mother. I thought she’d hate you. I thought—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair. “I thought she’d say something horrible.”

“She didn’t ask questions. She just talked to me like—like a person.”

“She must be slipping,” he murmured, but there was a note of reluctant amusement in his voice.

You smiled into your tea. “Maybe I’m just irresistible.”

He smirked. “I already knew that.”

Neither of you knew, of course, that there was still one thing Druella hadn’t discovered—something that, for now, remained quietly unspoken.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

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[ur-local-wizard]

Angel on the Court

Mattheo thought today would just be a normal day after classes… Until he saw you.

fluff, banter, basketball!matty x basketball scholarship!f!reader, muggle college au

written in response to this ask. also my submission as part of week one of @acourtofchaos's au event!

w/c: 953

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a/n: pls don't flame me if the basketball info is wrong. ik practically nothing abt the sport, as I'm more of an ice hockey girl myself.

Mattheo had already finished his classes for today. He was doing alright grade-wise, even though college, nor school in general, wasn’t exactly his strong suit. His father forced him to take up the next level of schooling, and as much as Mattheo would’ve rather gone to art school, his father would be even more pissed about that than him not going to college at all. So, he picked a happy medium: visual communications. It was creative enough to keep him sane and relatively happy, yet practical enough to keep his father’s lectures over the phone away.

Normally, he would’ve been in his dorm by now, sketching while half-asleep, listening to the music blasting from his headphones. But something pulled at him as he walked past the outdoor courts. The rhythmic thump, thump, thump, of a basketball against concrete and the swish it made as it slid through the net caught his attention. Curious, he turned his head, and stopped in his tracks. 

There you were, alone. The afternoon sun cast a golden glow over everything, causing the sheen of sweat that had formed on your skin to shine as you pivoted, dribbled, and made another shot. The ball easily slipped through the hoop once again. Your movements were fluid, unhurried, as if you didn’t have to think about any of it, and you looked good doing it. Distractingly so.

He walked closer, moving to the basketball court. Leaning against the fence, he watched you practice longer than he probably should have. You picked up the ball from your previous shot, crossed the court to the three-pointer line, and made another shot like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Damn,” he murmured to himself. But you must’ve heard, because you turned, and walked over to him once you saw him. “You say something?”

He blinked, surprised. But his usual cocky grin spread across his lips. “Just admiring the form.” 

You raised your brows. “Didn’t know my practice was a spectator sport.”

He laughs. “Didn’t know we had someone out here giving Shaq a run for his money.”

A laugh left your lips, but your stance remained somewhat guarded – arms crossed across your chest, weight all on one hip. “Do you play, or just watch from the sidelines and look pretty?” 

He grinned, setting his keys down onto the nearest bench and walked fully onto the court. “You think I’m pretty?” he asked, holding his hand out. “Mattheo.”

“I know who you are,” you said, taking his hand and introducing yourself. “You’re the guy who flipped a table at intramurals early this semester.” 

“That was an accident,” he retorted. You gave him a sharp look. “Alright, a passionate accident.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

He couldn’t help but grin, his tone mischievous when he spoke. “Want to see if I’ve improved from my rage quitting days?”

You laughed, handing him a ball. “Are you challenging me?”

“Unless you’re scared,” he countered, bouncing the ball once. 

You scoffed, but a smile crept onto your lips. “Fine. First to five?” 

“Winner gets bragging rights,” he agreed, stepping back to the center of the court. “And the loser buys us smoothies.”

You caught the ball when he passed it to you. “I’m not paying for anything.” 

That was the last time he smiled for the next ten minutes. He went in cocky, but you read him like a book, blocking every move he made and side-stepping him when he attempted to steal the ball. 1-0. 2-0. Then he made a shot, and when you ran to grab the ball as it landed, your shoulder bumped him so hard that he lost his footing, nearly falling over. That small stumble cost him yet another point. 

By 5-1, he was bent over, hands on his knees, panting. You, on the other hand, simply grabbed your water bottle and took a sip. 

“Holy shit,” he gasped. “You really don’t hold back, huh?” 

“Anything for a free smoothie,” you half-joked, shrugging. When he chuckled and stood back up, you put the bottle down. “But on a serious note, my scholarship doesn’t just keep itself.” 

His gaze was appreciative then, as if he saw you in a whole different light. However, it wasn’t any less admiring. “You’re on the team?” 

You nodded, grinning. 

“Could’ve led with that,” he grumbled. 

“And miss the chance to humble your cocky ass? Never.” You hit him playfully on the shoulder.

He huffed a laugh, dragging his hand through his curls. “You’re evil.” 

“Sure. But you have to admit it was fun.” 

There was a pause then, charged and lingering. He stepped closer, and you could hear the distant thump of the ball as it bounced across the court, forgotten. “Do you always practice alone?” His voice was softer now. 

You shrugged in response. “Hard to find anyone willing to. Or if they are, we can never agree on a time.” 

He sighed. “Well, clearly this solo practice is working. Your skill is impressive. Honestly, I think it’s hot.” 

You raised a brow, but when you spoke, your tone held no bite. “You think losing to me is hot?” 

“No,” he said, biting back a boyish grin, “I think you kicking my ass while looking as incredible as you do is hot.” 

That earned him a small, surprised laugh, and he filed that sound away as a victory. It was better than winning, if he was honest with himself. 

“I’ll give you a rematch,” you said, turning to grab your stuff. “But only if you promise to try not to embarrass yourself again.”

“Oh sweetheart,” he said, still watching you like you were the center of the universe. “I promise.”

Ty for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!! Feedback is appreciated, and comments/reblogs mean the world <3

©ur-local-wizard translating, republishing, copying, or claiming my work as yours is not permitted. all my work belongs to me and me only. thank you!

taglist: @mattyriddlesbitch @sturniolover13 @thereeallink @voidangxls @gibsluv @viperify @winnie1emon @catching-fire-in-the-wind

[malfoy-mrsdracomalfoy]

Yes, Mr. Malfoy

Pairing: CEO! Draco Malfoy x Muggle!Assistant!Reader

Universe: After Hogwarts AU

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Rough, unprotected vaginal sex with degrading names. Authoritarian Draco.

Word Count: 2740

Summary: Draco Malfoy and Muggle!Assistant resist the urge to break office conduct... Until it breaks them.

Reader's Point Of View:

I set the cup of black coffee down near my boss Draco Malfoy's hand on his desk with a small breakfast sandwich. Bacon and cheese on a biscuit, his favorite. He looks up from his paperwork at me thankfully. "You're the best, y/n." I preen at his compliment and give him a thankful smile and nod.

"You have a busy schedule today." I tell him.

"Oh yeah?" He says, sipping his coffee and looking at me through his sharp and perceptive eyes, attention focused solely on me. I feel my heart pick up at his glance.

"Yes. You do a have free block this morning, about an hour and a half. But when 9am rolls around, you have a meeting with the Zabinis. 11am you have a meeting with a potential partner for the dark magic artifacts you're seeking out. 1pm is the best time to take your lunch because when 2pm comes around, you have a meeting with your father." I look up at his face for his reaction, his expression went from content to unreadable immediately. His eyes betray his otherwise stony expression, I see the dread and anger boiling. I know better than to push and silently slip his schedule to him. He takes a few moments to collect himself before returning back to CEO of Malfoy Apothecary. "That all?" He says professionally. I nod. He takes a minute to look over my features before saying,

"What did you do this weekend? You look... calmer than usual." He looks at me, interested. "What stress-relieving activities did you get up to?" He smirks, leaning in.

"I got a massage." I laugh airily "It was nice. How about you? Do you like massages?" His expression turns slightly mischievous "Oh, I absolutely adore massages." He leans in slightly closer, maintaining eye contact in a way that could be seen as either intimidating or flirty. "In fact, I've been feeling a bit... tense lately."

"I can tell. Your shoulders are really tight." He rolls his shoulders back in a mock stretch, trying to play it off. "You think so?" He asks, his voice dropping lower. "You think you could... help with that tension?"

"Would you like me to?" I lean in towards him. He watches my eyes linger on his shoulders, and I hear him clear his throat and lean in even closer to me, his voice a husky murmur. "Would a massage be considered... inappropriate workplace conduct?"

"Maybe. If anyone finds out." He smirks at my cheeky response, the dangerous glint returning to his eyes. "Then I suppose we'll just have to keep it our little secret, won't we?" He leans back slightly, shrugging off his suit jacket and draping it casually over the back of his office chair.

"I guess so." I purr and walk to his side. As I move closer, he turns in his chair to face me, his long legs spreading slightly to make room. He looks up at me with a raised eyebrow, a hint of a challenge in his gaze. "Well? Aren't you going to get started?" He asks me.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy." I start by running my hands down the back of his neck. I feel him shiver slightly, almost imperceptible. I knead my thumbs up both sides of his neck, gently pressing as I work my fingers into his muscle. He groans. I continue the momentum, massaging down to his shoulder blades, rubbing slowly as I add pressure in between them both. His breath hitches, his muscles tensing briefly before slowly uncoiling under my hands. He leans forward slightly, giving me better access to his back. "Fuck" He hisses out, his head falling forward.

"Do you like that?" I continue kneading his shoulder blades, rubbing firm circles to any knots I find, working them out. His jaw clenches slightly, I see a mix of frustration and pleasure crossing his features. "You know I do" his voice comes out husky. I walk around his chair, leaning over the back rest.

I caress down his spine with my thumb. Listening as he lets out a low, rumbling groan. His eyes flutter open to meet mine and I see a fire burning behind the ice-blue. It's melting into silver now. Molten silver. "Bloody hell." he mutters.

"You're quite vocal" I tease, pressing gentle circles down his spine. He inhales sharply as I hit a particularly sensitive spot at the base, his head falling forward again. "Shut up." he growls, slightly shifting in his seat, adjusting his tightening pants.

"I like it, it means I'm doing something right..." I press harder with my thumb, rubbing circles. His breath catches again, chest heaving as he tries to maintain even minimal control. "You're bloody enjoying this, aren't you? Getting some perverse pleasure out of making me..." He trails off, another groan escaping as my fingers dig in. "Fuck me, woman..." he groans, eyes closed again.

"I want to." I say, boldly. I feel his entire body go rigid, muscles locking up as my words hit him. For a moment, he's frozen. "Fuck," he repeats, his voice strained "I... I need a moment."

"Yes, sir." I step back, sliding my fingers down his neck as I pull off. He swallows hard.

I sit on the edge of his desk, crossing my legs, heels dangling close to his position still in his desk chair. His eyes snap to my legs as I sit. He watches as my skirt hitches up slightly, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of thigh. He tries to tear his eyes away from me, but they keep returning. "Damn it." He mumbles.

"Something the matter?" I feign innocence. He clears his throat, attempting to gain some semblance of composure. "Nothing," He snaps, his voice sharp "Why are you sitting on my desk?" I get up and smooth down my skirt. "Just waiting." I say sweetly. His eyes look at the window behind me where he can clearly see a reflection of my butt in this tight skirt. He watch as he bites back a groan "Waiting for what?" He asks, his voice strained.

"Are you done with your massage?" I point at his shoulders.

"Yes."

"Okay, I'll get back to work then. Please let me know if you need anything else" I say professionally, hoping he gets my double entendre. He watches me as I turn to leave, and I purposely sway my hips as I walk to his office door. I see him clench his fists, his nails digging into his palms hard enough I'm sure it hurt. "Wait." He barks out, desperation laced in his voice.

I turn to him and purr, "Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" I see his entire face darken.

"Come here." He commands. Once I'm in front of him again he says, "Is the door locked?" I glance back and nod "It is."

"Good." He growls, standing up and pulling me to his chest, slamming me against his body. "This is what's going to happen. You're going to keep your mouth shut as I fuck you against my desk, understand?" He stares at me dominantly, daring me to argue.

"Yes sir." I meet his eye, biting my lip.

"Unbutton your shirt. Quickly." He demands. I do as he says with shaking hands, unbuttoning my shirt.

"Off." He demands. I slide it off my shoulder and on the floor. He leans against his desk, hungrily taking in my torso. "Take off your skirt." He looks at me intently. Heart racing, I unzip my skirt and let it fall to the floor next to me. I'm left in my matching bra and panty set. Lacy and black. He growls in approval.

"What a good little assistant you are. Do you always wear matching sets?" He takes a commanding step toward me, taking his eyes off my body to look at my face. I nod. He smirks wickedly. "Step back." I do as he says. "Turn" He watches my body intently as I do a complete turn for him.

He loosens his tie and pulls it off, grabbing my hands and pulling them behind me. Once my wrists are crossed and behind me, he wraps his black silk tie around them. I look at him, confused. He ignores me, disregarding the look completely. "Bend over my desk. Don't mess up the paperwork." He shoves me toward the desk and I slightly stumble, still in my heels and bend over it, placing my tied up hands on my lower back, fingers splayed over the top of my butt. He gives my butt a rough smack. My body lurches forward on it's own accord. "Good girl."

I hear him fumble with his belt, undoing it and then unbuttoning his pants followed by the sound of a zipper being slid down. I feel him running his hand down me, starting from my shoulders, to my spine and then around the curve of my butt cheeks. I feel him step back and I look over my shoulder at him to see him standing there, pumping his already erect dick while looking at my body. He meets my eye with a wicked smirk and demands, "Turn around. Now." I turn around quickly. "Get on your knees." His voice is filled with arousal.

I get on my knees and he grabs my hair "Suck my dick." He pulls my head towards him, rubbing the precum on the top of his dick over my lips. I dart out a tongue to taste him. He chuckles darkly. "Desperate little slut. Open." I open my mouth, tongue out. He shoves his dick roughly in my mouth, making me gag. He grabs my hair and holds me in place while roughly fucking my mouth. I wrap my lips around his dick and hollow my cheeks, using my tongue to rub the underside of his shaft. I look up at him to see his head is thrown back and his chest is wracked with pants. He looks down at me with a dark smirk as he roughly fucks my mouth, not giving me a chance to breathe. He shoves in deeper, now in my throat.

I gag on his dick, tears running down my face. His smile turns sadistic, his eyes nearly black with arousal and desire. "Oh, fuck. That's right. Good girl." He increases his thrusts. "Open wider, slut." He demands. I open my mouth wider and unhinge my jaw, holding on to his thighs for balance. He pants and keeps his wild eyes on me, animalistic grunts fall from his slightly parted lips as he deep-throats me. I begin massaging his balls to help coax his orgasm. His eyes roll back "Fuck, you know what you're doing, dirty fucking slut." He pulls back suddenly, I gasp and cough, trying to catch my breath. "Bend over my desk."

I get up and turn and he shoves me down on his desk before I even get a chance to bend. "Spread your legs." He demands and once I comply I feel him roughly grip the top of my thong and yank it down my legs. I step out of them and kick them aside with the front of my black stiletto. Without warning he shoves into me, not giving me time to adjust. I let out a scream in which he covers with his hand immediately, cold snake ring pushing against my face. "Shut the fuck up." He warns, leaning his chest against my back. I feel his lips brush my ears as he says "Don't you fucking make a sound. Got it?" I don't answer, focusing on the pleasure I feel in between my thighs as he roughly thrusts in and out of my soaking pussy. "Answer me." He commands into my ear. I shiver and nod. "With words you fucking slut." He yanks my head back by my hair suddenly, arching my neck so I am forced to look into his eyes. "Yes." I whine, voice muffled by the hand still covering my mouth. "Yes, who?" He snarls into my ear, panting and still roughly thrusting into me, angling his hips so he hits my g-spot diligently. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy." I whimper, eyes closed with pleasure. He roughly bites my neck "Good girl." He lets my hair go, and my head falls forward. "Grab on to the desk. I'm going to finish quickly, I have shit to do." He growls and smacks my butt again. I arch my back for him and he quietly groans in satisfaction.

I hold onto his desk while he thrusts in me recklessly and roughly. I hear his breathing increase and become ragged, his groans becoming deeper and more guttural. He's close. I squeeze my pussy walls around him and he hisses. "Do that again" He demands. I do it again and he groan louder. "Fuck, yes. Such a good little slut." He laughs darkly "I'm going to cum and you're going to take every last drop like the good fucking slut you are." His hand tightens against my face, still covering my mouth, as he takes his free hand and presses firmly on my clit, rubbing circles quickly. I clench at the sensation and I hear him hiss at the feeling. "Go ahead, I feel you clenching up. You can cum before me. You have my permission." I nod and begin to thrust my hips back against his hips and focus on his fingers rubbing my clit.

I feel the tug in my lower stomach. I whimper into his hand as he bites my neck, sucking a dark spot on my pulse point. I finally reach my peak, crying out into his hand, eyes closed and pussy clenching. He groans against my neck and I feel his release follow soon after. His warm cum fills me up and he keeps thrusting his hips and rubbing my clit to prolong our orgasms.

Reaching over-stimulation, I slightly lurch from his hand. He lets me, leaning up off my back, pulling his dick out of me with a wet plop. I stand up on shaky legs, slightly losing my balance. He helps steady me and once he's sure I won't fall he tucks himself back into his pants, refastening his belt. I look at him- he's pristine. Despite his flushed cheeks and slightly glazed eyes, you would have no idea he just finished roughly fucking his assistant. He smirks at me once he notices my stare. "See something you like?" He says arrogantly. I let out a small laugh of disbelief and begin to pull my panties back up my legs before his hands stop me. I look up, confused. "Leave those. They're mine now." He takes them from me, slipping the black lace fabric in his pocket.

"But..." I gesture to his cum sliding down my leg. He gives me a dark, arrogant look. He wants me to walk around with his cum sliding down my legs all day. I look at him, shocked "You can't possibly..." I start.

"I can and I will. Go on, get dressed. I have shit to do." He gives me a wink and heads to his desk chair, casually settling back in to begin work. I quickly dress, astonished. I face a mirror he has hung across the room, patting down my hair and wiping my smeared mascara and lip gloss. I catch his eye in the mirror and he's eyeing my body appreciatively. He meets my gaze in the mirror and gives me another wink. I try to suppress the smile and blush that covers my cheek to no avail. Once I'm satisfied I look presentable, I wipe the cum that's ran down my legs already, knowing I'll have to do this all throughout the day. I head out of his office and give him one last look over my shoulder and I'm met with a facial expression showing me something that looks similar to appreciation and warmth. I brush it off and head back to work.

Noon

I unlock my car, getting ready to take my lunch when I see a huge bouquet of red roses in the drivers seat. My favorite. I pick up the note and it says,

"Thank you for this morning. Let me take you to dinner? -D.M."

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