#p: bellatrix

[deadddoves]

What are Bellatrix, Cassandra and Narcissa’s birth dates in your head cannon ? (I’m a Scorpio who relates a bit to Narcissa sometimes lmao)

Straight up cannot remember the actual dates off hand BUT we had this whole discussion on the discord about their signs and their compatibility so:

Bellatrix is in October and is a Scorpio Narcissa is in December and is a Sagittarius Cassandra is in February and is an Aquarius

I also have their compatibility pinned in the discord so for shits and giggles here you go lol:

CISSATRIX "Scorpio will see their Sagittarius partner as a ray of light that suddenly makes their life brighter and better, while Sagittarius will see that there is so much to learn and enjoy the depth of their Scorpio partner, followed by emotional attachment. In time, there is a strong chance they will slowly lose interest in one another, especially the mutable sign of Sagittarius for their fixed Scorpio partner. Even though their relationship might end on bad terms, it would be a shame not to give in to it and let it fascinate and exalt both of them for however long."

NARSSANDRA "A relationship between a Sagittarius and an Aquarius partner might seem like a same sex friendship to other people and whatever they might think of this, this is the type of relationship both of these partners might need. They will get together when it is time for both of them to go through a change in their lives or leave a partner they feel restricted with. Their relationship is often a shiny beacon to everyone around them because it gives priority to the future and brings hope of a better time."

CASSATRIX "Someone might say that this is a karmic relationship, that these partners were enemies in one of their previous lives and that they could fight until one of them falls dead. This would be a bit extreme though. The truth is, Scorpio is the sign of Uranus’ exaltation and as such, it adores Aquarius in a way. In most cases, Scorpio partner will show their affection obsessively, but this might actually feel good for Aquarius. When we look at the sign of Aquarius, we will see that it exalts Neptune, the ruler of a Water sign of Pisces, and all of our assumptions on their lack of emotionality will drown in their ultimate love. The fact is they are both in a way outcasts and rebels. While Scorpio represents all of our emotions we don’t want to deal with, Aquarius represents the way of thinking most of us are not ready for. It is best to look at them as announcers of change, for this is exactly what they will bring into each other’s lives."

[multimilfs]

Agnes O'Connor x Fem!Reader: Poking The Bear

Summary: Agnes has the misfortune of being called in to work a murder case on Christmas Eve. When she leaves you frustrated, you decide to do what you do best; poke the bear.

AO3

A/N: I said "is anyone going to humiliate this woman in this ultra-specific way?" and didn't wait for an answer. Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals <3

Words: 8k

Included: Established relationship, Christmas, Porn with plot; g!p, teasing, somnophilia (implied), dacryphilia, phone sex, accidental orgasm, semi-public sex, humiliation, jealousy, blowjobs, dom/sub, sub space, throatfucking, unprotected sex, masturbation, light breeding kink, light degradation, praise, orgasm denial.

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Through the peaceful, warm silence of the morning, an alarm clock blares.

Agnes growls under her breath as she does every morning, lumbering from the comfort of the bed and over to the windowsill where the alarm clock sits. A particularly rough blow shuts it up.

God, why did she let Vidal insist on this shift?

Her routine is simple enough she could do it with her eyes closed; and does, for most of it. It isn’t until she turns the shower to a cooler temperature that she feels anywhere close to awake. She needs coffee—bad.

Halfway through said cup of coffee and one of the donuts you picked up, she realizes she hasn’t kissed you good morning yet.

You grumble a bit when she turns you over, untucking your head from the blankets, but you don’t wake. You look heavenly, painted in the warm glow of the Christmas tree you insist on keeping plugged in all night. Agnes smiles.

Pressing her lips to your forehead, she murmurs, barely a whisper, “Be good, baby.”

A hand wraps around her wrist and she startles. Pulling back, your eyes haven’t opened.

“Agnes, come back to bed.” You say, voice gravely from sleep.

“Vidal will be on my case if I don’t show.”

“I can make your morning better than Vidal can.”

You stretch, curling back into the blankets, but hold her wrist just tight enough to indicate you’re still half awake. It’s good your eyes are closed; she doesn’t need you seeing all the kinds of fond you’re making her.

Agnes really shouldn’t get you started, but curiosity kills cats, not bears, “Oh yeah? How would you do that, baby?”

“You’d come back to bed and sleep until I say.”

“And then what?” She prods, trying not to laugh.

“Then we’ll have a really nice breakfast. Donuts for you.”

“What would you have?”

“You.” You answer, casual and so matter-of-fact, “I’ll even swallow, out of Christmas spirit or something.”

Agnes jolts at the change. Though true to form, she can feel the familiar coil of arousal between her legs. She really shouldn’t have gotten you started.

She’s half awake, she won’t remember this, Agnes tells herself as she tries to move from her kneeling position on the bed. Your grip on her wrist remains.

“Sleep. We’ll have fun when I get home.”

“It’s Christmas Eve.” You whine.

“I’ll be home before you know it, I swear.”

“Fine. ‘Love you.” You murmur.

You rescind your hand and turn over, pacified as you burrow back under the covers. Agnes shakes her head.

“Love you too.” She whispers.

With one last parting kiss to your forehead, she’s gone, with you none-the-wiser.

—

You wake up a mess.

There’s a half-remembered conversation with Agnes lingering in your mind, but it’s hazy enough to feel like a dream; an unsatisfying one, the persistent throbbing between your legs says. You offered to blow her, you remember that much—it’s all pretty blank after that.

No, there was something about having fun when she got home, too.

You can’t wait that long.

It isn’t until two of your fingers are knuckle-deep and you’re missing the fullness Agnes offers that the idea strikes you. You scramble blindly for the phone on your night-stand. The movements change the angle of your fingers and you whine, rolling your hips, even as the blind grabs for your phone grow more frustrated.

Once found, it is ripped viciously off the charger, and you open it, going through your messages for the quickest access to her number. You grin at the contrast between your long-winded messages and Agnes’ one word responses.

An infinitesimal movement of your hips reminds you of your intention.

The phone is brought to your ear and it rings… and rings… and rings…

…and rings…

“O’Connor.” Her gruff voice comes down the line.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You squeeze around your own fingers at the sound.

“Yes, Detective, I’d like to report a crime.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end.

“Go on.”

“Well, my wife woke me up this morning and got me turned on, and she didn’t even have the decency to fuck me before she left. What kind of woman does that, Detective?”

You can hear the curve of her grin, “A lousy one. That’s a pretty serious crime.”

Maybe it’s the low, lilting drawl of her voice down the line. Maybe it’s the way you can see how she’s sitting in your mind; shoulders back against the seat but hips forward, legs splayed with careless confidence, one hand toying with her belt. Maybe it’s the easy humor she slips into with you that she’s never had with anyone else.

Whatever it is, two sentences from her brings you closer to finishing than thirty minutes with your hand has.

You whimper, “Keep talking.”

Another pause. Then the faint rustle of fabric.

“What are you doing?”

Her tone is utterly serious. Unforgiving. And god if it isn’t the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

Finally showing your clit some attention, you moan shamelessly. It’s nice to feel full, but your fingers never quite reach the right spots, and you can’t get off on penetration alone—with Agnes or otherwise. It’s fun to work yourself up though; pushing to the heights you can reach there before really giving yourself the stimulation you want.

If she keeps talking, that—combined with the circling motions on your clit—will send you straight over the edge.

The anticipation builds over the line. For a moment, you pull the phone away to make sure she hasn’t hung up. She’s likely weighing the best thing to say to both turn you on and strike the fear of punishment into you.

Instead, her tone is almost pleading, “Don’t do this now.”

An image strikes you of making Agnes beg, of driving her to a point where the easy dominance falls away, and she’s reduced to chasing whatever kindness you give. It brings you so much pleasure it hurts. You need it. But how to get it?

“Is Agent Vidal in the room with you?” You ask.

The idea of Vidal witnessing what you’re doing to Agnes makes your toes curl.

“No.”

“I thought you were stuck with her today.”

“Leave Vidal out of this.” She demands, but it’s strangled.

She’s clawing for control over the situation, scrambling for a foothold. Normally, you’d give it to her. Normally.

“I don’t think I ask for much…” A lie. You make many requests in the sanctity of your bedroom, “all I wanted was for you to fix what you started.”

“Baby.”

You have to pull your fingers away from your clit, desperate to come but not ready yet.

“There are so many ways you could have done it, too. You could have woken me up with your head between my legs… or with you inside me. It could have been nice, right?”

Only the sound of her breathing comes down the line. Heavy, uneven, like when she’s holding herself over you, hips driving her deeper—

God, you’re so close.

You whisper, needing to know that she’s as affected as you, needing to hear her say it, “Are you hard, Agnes?”

“Yes.”

Even though you haven’t moved any part of your hand, the mental image nearly sends you tumbling over the edge.

“Will you come with me?”

“I…I can’t.”

You know. With the shades open, her office is basically an observation room; meaning if she were to do what you ask, there’s almost a guarantee she’d be caught. A sick part of you wants it. Wants to know that you have enough power over her to make her take the risk.

Gently, you begin to toy with your clit again. You can make her do what you ask. All you need is for her to say it—the confirmation that you’ve undone her so thoroughly that she can’t help but fist her cock under the desk where anyone could see.

“Please.” You beg.

You hear her inhale, the sound sharp in your ear. The words are on the tip of her tongue. Her eyes are no doubt shifting around the office, searching for the perfect way to hide what she’s about to do.

You’re standing on the precipice.

The harsh beeping of a disconnected call blares in your ear. Yanking it away, orgasm thoroughly ruined, you yell in frustration.

—

An officer pulls open the door before you can reach for it, nodding, “Ma’am.”

The precinct is busy for it being a holiday. Uniformed officers sit around desks, either on the phone or talking with others. You spy the Chief talking animatedly to a few toward the back.

They’ve really done up the place this year. Last year it’d been sad, grey. Now there are a few little trees spread around, some personal decorations here and there, a menorah on the front desk with candles waiting to be lit. It livens up the place.

In the back sits the partial vision of Agnes’ office. The blinds are somewhat closed, but she’s left the door open, allowing you enough of a glimpse to know she’s in there. You can imagine her without having to see; her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, hunched over the desk, hand toying with strands of her hair as she frowns over evidence.

Gazes follow as you cut through the center of it all. You do your best to ignore the heat working its way up your neck. Once upon a time, a few of the other officers had tried to catch your attention. You’d entertained a few of them. But they were minnows, and you wanted the shark.

You wanted the unapproachable, stone-faced Detective O’Connor.

And you had been the one to catch Agnes, but her fellow officers couldn’t imagine their illustrious Detective not being the one to do the catching. If only they knew how you could have her eating from the palm of your hand.

A swift knock on the open door and you lean against it. She’s exactly as you imagined. Though there’s a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead and her fingers tap on the desk like she can’t sit still.

She doesn’t look up, barking, “I’m busy.”

“I’ll pass this off to one of the other officers then.”

Her head snaps up and you grin. Hanging from one of your fingers is a white takeout bag. The scent of orange chicken and rice permeates the air, but it isn’t what you’re hungry for.

Work forgotten, she looks you up and down, licking her lips. Her fingers twitch on the desk. You clear your throat and she snaps out of whatever daze she’s in. Clearing her own throat, she sits up, tugging on the bottom of her flannel shirt. Your smile widens.

“Close the door behind you.”

Stepping in, you kick it closed with a low, “Yes, Detective.”

“What are you doing here?”

“My job.” You cross to her desk, dropping the takeout bag on top. You’re perched on the edge closest to her. She looks up at you from her chair, lips pursed, tugging on her shirt again, “What kind of wife would I be if I let you go hungry?”

“None of the other guys get lunch delivered personally.”

“None of the other guys are married to me. Do I get a kiss for my troubles?”

Briefly, she looks out into the precinct—not that she can see much with the shades drawn—then back to your lips. Agnes shifts, licking her own, before nodding.

You lean forward and hold onto the chair by one arm, capturing her lips in a rough kiss. Your other hand palms the length you know pulsates between her legs. Upon contact she grunts into your mouth, hips bucking.

Her hand fumbles blindly for your wrist. Catching it in a firm grip, you can feel the tension in her frame as she decides whether to press you closer or shove you away.

Pulling back just enough to smile, “Poor baby. Have you been like this all day?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Detective?” You murmur.

Her breath hitches. Blue eyes so blown out they’re nearly black regard you, her chest rising and falling as she struggles for an even rhythm of breath. You test her grip and find its slackened. The palm of your hand caresses the entire outline of her through her jeans.

Agnes doesn’t push you away, but she doesn’t pull you closer, either. The hand on your wrist allows you enough movement to stroke slowly from base to tip. Every inch of her seems to jump at the whisper of your touch.

Looking into her eyes, you can see how she’s fighting for control. She just can’t find the path to it. Good. You want her like this—panting and desperate. It makes you clench around nothing.

“What have you been imagining all this time?”

She swallows. Clears her throat, “Vidal will be back soon.”

“I can be quick.”

“Anyone… could see.”

“We have a few options. Your favorite is off the table, though.”

The favorite in question being Agnes bending you over the desk and fucking you hard and fast. It’s efficient, allowing her drive in deep while having the benefit of spanking you as she chases her reward. Her cock twitches at the reminder.

She’s tense, taut with energy like she’s only a few strokes from finishing right here. The thought is hot and you want it, bad—but not all dreams can be reality.

“What do we have?” Agnes asks, finally.

“If I crawl under the desk no one would see what I’m doing.” You offer.

Your hand keeps moving. It’s more for yourself than anything; you like feeling her, hard and wanting, yet so restricted, jumping at the slightest bit of attention. A thumb swipes over where you know the head is and she chokes, hips stuttering from what had been a slow roll into your hand.

“Do it.” She demands.

The subtle authority returning to her voice sends a shiver down your spine. One more swipe of your thumb and she keens, before clamping her mouth shut.

You laugh. Waking up this morning, this is the last thing you expected for yourself from the day; but you can’t deny you’re enjoying every second.

“That’s my girl.” You praise.

Bracing to slide off the desk, there’s a knock on Agnes’ closed office door, and disaster strikes.

The knock startles you. You try to turn and look toward the door, but forget just how precarious your seating situation is on the edge of the desk. You lose your balance. You’re able to get your foot under you just enough to fall into Agnes’ lap, rather than onto the cold tile of the office.

Agnes lets out a cross between a harsh breath and a moan as you fall into her. Your back presses firmly to her front.

“Don’t—god, I’m gonna—”

Strong hands settle on your hips to shove you off, but it’s too late. Agnes grunts. Nails dig into your sides as she ruts helplessly against your backside, unloading spurts of cum with every press of her hips.

You freeze in shock.

Then out of habit your hands find hers. With one, you lace your fingers together. With the other you caress her wrist, brushing gently as you turn your head to meet her eyes, careful to keep every inch of your body where she needs you. Her hips tense, stuttering, whimpering as she fights the orgasm that’s ravaging her.

“It’s okay. Let it happen.” You encourage, brushing a finger against her inner wrist. A war is waging over her face as she’s caught between desire and shame. Desire must win out. Agnes movements pick up speed as she furiously grinds up against you, and you can’t help the praise that falls from your lips, “That’s it.”

Now that she’s given in, she can’t stop, the hands on your hips clenching as she presses closer, harder with every thrust, powerless to the desire she can’t stop shooting. A wounded noise leaves her throat. You empathize; you know well how getting what you want can quickly move into pained-pleasure, when your body just keeps giving and giving.

Agnes’ expression is pained, laced with helplessness to her pleasure. Her eyes don’t leave your own as she rides out the waves. You try to sit still, letting her take what she needs. She allows you to watch every twitch of her expression, hear every noise she lets slip—it’s an act of trust that overwhelms. Lifting a hand to her cheek, you wipe at the perspiration there.

Eventually, she relaxes into the seat, her hips stopping in their frantic search for friction. Her eyes slip closed and you watch her breathe.

You’re eternally grateful that whoever knocked didn’t barge in right after; there is no way you’d have been able to talk your way around what was happening. It’s a mercy that Agnes rarely shuts her office door—now that she has, everyone understands something important is going on.

Running a finger along her cheekbone, you whisper, “Are you okay?”

“What do you think?” She growls.

“Given the mess you just made, I’d say you’re on cloud nine.” You tease.

With a sudden show of strength, you’re shoved into a standing position. You turn to take in the weight of Agnes’ glare.

Agnes snarls, “Fuck you.”

“You could have… if you had a little self control.”

Your eyes fall to her lap for emphasis, the evidence of her desire stark against the front of her jeans. Her hands clench on the arm-rests. Blood has rushed to her face, painting her features in red hues that betray her forced calm.

The sight of her so humiliated is doing it for you; and you can see that she sees, regarding you with a loaded, wary look. It will take no shortage of negotiation, but you will be revisiting this again.

You open the take out bag and pluck out the napkins near the bottom. Carefully, you wipe them over the planes of her face, soaking up the sweat that had been clinging to her skin. Agnes doesn’t meet your eye.

“Agnes.” Waiting until she locks eyes with you, “It’s okay.”

She scoffs, “I came in my pants like a fucking teenager.”

“And it was hot.”

“You’re really something else, you know that?”

“Oh, I’m well aware. I also know that you love me for it.”

Agnes rolls her eyes.

“Unfortunately.”

“Careful, O’Connor, I can still give this lunch away to one of your coworkers.”

The bag is promptly snatched from your reach. You laugh.

Now that she’s standing, you breathe a sigh of relief; her flannel is long, perfectly hiding the evidence of your activities from the world. You just hope no one outside was looking in too closely.

Desire rears its head at the thought. You need to get out of here before you do something that’ll get you both caught.

You lean up and steal a kiss, “Enjoy your lunch, baby.”

When you open the door to leave, you come face-to-face with Agent Rio Vidal holding two cups of coffee in her hands. You startle and she raises her brows at seeing you.

“Agent Vidal.”

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here, sweetheart, or I would’ve bought an extra coffee.”

“That’s okay, I was just bringing Agnes something to eat.”

“Take mine.” The coffee cup is held between the two of you. You can see the faint mark of her lipstick on the lid as she leans in, “I don’t need the extra caffeine anyway.”

“Keep it, Vidal. She can have mine.”

You turn so you can take in both of them. Vidal is relaxed, posture brimming with a quiet confidence while Agnes is tense, staring at the two of you like she could throw something—and she would, if she didn’t think it’d encourage the former somehow.

Agnes has always been… odd around Vidal; moreso than the normal awkwardness between two exes. And Vidal has never been subtle with her interest in poking Agnes’ nerves.

Whatever it is, you’re going to use it and see where it takes you.

You accept the offered cup of coffee, making deliberate eye contact with Agnes as you take a long sip. A latte—thank god, Agnes’ black drip would’ve made you gag.

“Thanks for the coffee.” You murmur low. Then you throw your wife a smile, ignoring the promise of pain in her eyes, “See you at home, Agnes.”

—

Coming home you’re delighted to find a few last-minute packages on the porch. Carrying them in, one shifts heavily in your arms, and you know immediately what it is; one of the speakers in Agnes’ car crapped out on her a few months back, so the passenger-side only spits out static where there should be music—or the sports broadcasts, in your wife’s case; you bought her a new stereo system so she wouldn’t have to ‘make do’ anymore.

There’s also a few new shirts, a nice leather belt, and a watch she’d been eyeing but wasn’t willing to buy for herself. You wrap all of them with a smile on your face and slide them under the tree.

The busy work of it all eases the tension in your shoulders and some of the arousal between your legs. There’s a lingering peace in every corner of your home. It’s quiet, barring the music playing from the kitchen, casting a nostalgic glow over you where the lights seem just a little warmer.

You sit down on the couch and take it all in. Ornaments wobble on branches, glittering and winking at you as they twist. There’s a garland draped over the fireplace with dancing lights; you feel warmer inside when you remember how Agnes helped you set it up, shaking her head at your excitement.

With the bustle of the season, you’ve forgotten to take time like this to stop and let it sink in. So many spend Christmas alone, hungry, without a place to go. You don’t have to. You have a wife who will spend every second with you in the warmth of your home. Tears prick your eyes.

You fall asleep on the couch with that warm feeling in your chest.

—

The scent of garlic and butter tickles your nose. You snap awake.

Did you leave the stove on?

You shoot up from the couch and throw off the blanket you don’t remember grabbing. It falls to your feet, twisting in your ankles, and you do all you can not to fall face-first onto the floor. How long have you been asleep?

Wait. Did you even put anything on to cook?

Agnes’ flannel-clad back greets you when you round the corner. A sigh leaves you. One hand settles over your chest, willing your heartbeat to slow to a normal pattern. It all comes back to you; wrapping gifts, sitting down to enjoy the quiet, intending to get up and start dinner afterward.

You step into the kitchen and wrap your arms around her waist from behind, forehead resting between her shoulder blades. A hand lifts your own so she can press a kiss on the back.

“How was work?” You ask, voice muffled by her shirt.

“A waste of time.” She answers. Her form shifts, one shoulder tensing as she stirs what sits on the stove, “It could’ve waited until after Christmas.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Vidal’s a workaholic and fails to realize the rest of us aren’t.”

“You are most of the year.”

Agnes grunts noncommittally, “What trouble did you get into?”

“Wrapped a few gifts, took a nap. I’m surprised some of your guys weren’t beating down my door with how rowdy I was being.”

“Chief would’ve just sent me to handle you.”

“I’d like that… you, handling me…” You murmur, hand moving down her front with intent.

A strong, veined hand grabs your own. She forces it back to its former resting place. You keep your hand where it is directed. The haven you’ve found nuzzled against her back—surrounded by the scent of her cologne and the heat of her—is just as inviting as anything more salacious could be.

Something bubbles and pops on the stove. Agnes jolts, before relaxing. You drag yourself from your haven to look over her shoulder; a pan of sauce is stirred on one burner, boiling pasta churning away on another. Simple, but hearty.

You press a kiss to the skin you can reach, just behind her ear, “You’re getting better.”

Before, her dinner of choice would’ve been a canister of peanuts, maybe a microwave dinner.

“Don’t say anything until you’ve tasted it.”

“I’ll do what I want.” You answer.

“Don’t I know it.”

Jabbing her side with a finger until she cracks a grin, “Let me taste, so I can tell you how amazing it is.”

The wooden spoon is lifted from the sauce and over her shoulder to your mouth. You wrap your lips around it, immediately lulled further into bliss by the combination of onion, garlic, and tomato.

“Agnes, that is delicious.”

Her brows raise. With a flourish, she allows herself a taste.

“You love to stroke my ego.” She says in that self-deprecating tone you know well.

Your hand and mouth move before you think, “That’s not the only part of you I like to stroke.”

Whether by a lapse in understanding or simply because she lets you, your hand finds its mark before Agnes can stop it. The full width of your hand presses at the apex of her thighs. Your mouth drops open.

Agnes is painfully erect for the second time today with little work on your part.

She drops the spoon against the pan and removes your hand again, blunt nails biting into your skin in the way you like. You don’t react, still reeling from the information you’ve gleaned. Agnes libido isn’t what it once was—a reality of age—even if she’s like a well kept oldsmobile; capable of going the distance and then some once you get her properly started. But you’ve done very little in the way of actually getting her started since visiting the office.

“What on earth have you been up to today?” You ask, breathless.

“Don’t start.”

“I’d say you’re well past the starting point, given what I just felt.” A laugh escapes, then you pause, “You didn’t…”

Agnes curious gaze meets yours over her shoulder. Understanding dawns, along with indignation, “Of course not.”

“Needing a little extra help is normal.”

“This is all your doing.” She snaps, “Go sit down.”

“If it’s all my doing, you should let me fix it.” You coo.

In a sudden burst of movement, Agnes is out of your arms, sauce and pasta left behind on the stove. You blink. Did something happen at work? Have you hit a nerve?

She crosses the space to the kitchen table. The chair at the head of the table, facing the stove, is yanked from its resting place. You wince as it shrieks against the floor. But she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, turning the chair and meeting your eyes with a hard look, pointing.

“Sit.”

You move without thinking. There’s a subtle note of steel beneath the command that sends you into submission on instinct, like a pet might jump to obey their owner. The thought doesn’t chafe today; you want to be good, you want to obey.

Plopping down into the seat, hands settle on your shoulders. Agnes growls in your ear, “Stay.”

And you do.

As she finishes dinner, moving the pasta into the sauce with an unsure—but successful—flourish. As she nearly burns herself cutting the garlic bread fresh out of the oven. As she casts quick, dark glances your way every few minutes, as if having to make sure you’re where she left you.

You are the picture of poise and obedience, fighting every desperate urge for nearness to follow her command. But the longer she takes the harder it becomes. Hands settled on your thighs, your fingers scratch anxiously at the fabric of your pants, helpless and without any other way to expel this building energy.

“Agnes.” You whine.

“Quiet.”

It takes ages before she approaches you. She takes her sweet time putting dinner on plates, making it pretty in a way you know is just to drive you crazy; she doesn’t give two fucks about whether or not something looks nice as long as it tastes good.

Dinner is brought over to the table, but you tilt your head. Agnes only brought one plate.

“Up.” She commands, “You’re in my seat.”

You stand. Reaching for the chair next to hers, a hand on the back stops you from pulling it out. There’s the deep sound of porcelain meeting the wood of the table. As she leans around you, the scent of her cologne makes you dizzy.

Agnes snaps her fingers. You jolt, snapping back into your own mind. She points to the floor and your brows furrow. Then, it clicks, and your face grows warm.

You sink to your knees in front of Agnes’ chair as she sits in it.

“I can guess what a perp is going to do just by the way they sit in interrogation.” Agnes drawls, idly tapping her knee as her mind works, “But you… I can never guess how you’re going to act. Look at you now, all good and obedient for me, when you were acting like a whore in my office today.”

So caught up in the dizzying feeling of submission, you’ve been oblivious to the weight of your own desire. Agnes’ words change that in an instant. There’s a needy, pulsing beat between your legs, and you clench your thighs together in an attempt to help yourself. It doesn’t work.

“You started it.” You say, breathless.

You can’t breathe around your desire for her. Oxygen is a secondary need to the feel of her, whether she’s buried deep inside or grazing her fingers over your flesh; you want her and it hurts. But you keep your hands on the tops of your thighs.

Agnes chuckles. It’s a low, rolling thing. Agnes’ usual response to amusement is to grin, maybe even shake her head and scoff—laughter is a rare thing, aged and cultivated until it’s amber laced with smoke over your senses. You feel the heat of it. The intoxication it brings is warm, a weight settling comfortingly over the shoulders.

“I’m collecting on your offer from earlier.”

And with that, her thighs part, and you surge forward without being told. Her belt is unbuckled in one fell swoop. You moan, unable to help yourself, needy for the feel of her skin, to taste.

A testament to the overwhelm of your desire that the concept of toying with her again does not cross your mind. Your hand finds the desperate length of her cock, exposing it to the cool air.

It stands proud, tip flushed and leaking, veins stark against the fair skin. You pant. With single-focus, you lean forward.

An equally fair hand grips your jaw, forcing your eyes to Agnes’, “How many taps?”

You blink. You’re buried beneath desire, mind clawing its way to the surface.

“T-Three.”

Agnes nods and you’re free.

The first thing you do with your newfound freedom is flatten your tongue and lick a broad stripe up the length of her. The hand on your jaw goes slack in surprise, Agnes’ hips jumping. A groan echoes through the room.

You circle your tongue over the tip, drinking in her taste and the sounds falling from her lips. It’s heady, making the room fuzzy around the edges.

Submission brings with it a strange feeling of power. You’re doing as she bids, being good, but every sound and reaction coming from her is real; the truest manifestation of how well you’re doing to please her.

The world falls away. Your head feels floaty, strangely empty despite the manuevers you’re employing with your mouth. You don’t need words, you don’t need thoughts, you just need to offer Agnes whatever she wants.

Which you do by taking her cock in your mouth until she hits the back of your throat.

A thud sounds from her hand slamming on the tabletop, scrambling for something to grip as she chokes out, “Fuck!”

You do all you can to repress your gag reflex, forcing yourself to just relax everytime she hits the back of your throat. Agnes has her head thrown back, eyes closed, chest rising and falling as she pants, whimpering with every movement of your tongue and mouth.

Through it all, her hand remains on the side of your face, a careful guide. You can’t help the hand that sneaks under your skirt; Agnes is shaking with tension, begging to let go and chase her pleasure at your expense, but she’s holding herself back and guiding you through taking her in the way that would do the least harm.

You moan. Agnes’ cock twitches in your mouth and she matches your moan, a semblance of that control slipping with a particularly rough thrust. You gag, tears forming in your eyes.

The hand between your thighs shakes, fumbling for your clit while focusing on what really matters. You’re so wet there’s barely any friction.

You want Agnes to make you gag again. You want her to push into you and take what she wants until you’re crying.

Looking up, you try to will all of that thought and intent into your eyes, but Agnes’ are closed.

You whine.

Blue eyes regard you from beneath drooping lids. You will one thought into your mind and one thought only; use me.

Agnes swallows. The pad of a thumb runs under your eye, collecting some of the wetness there as if to say are you sure? In answer, you take as much of her as you can physically manage, eyes meeting her own the whole time.

Her restraint snaps.

Agnes’ hand travels to the back of your head, her hips moving faster and firmer than you can comprehend. She takes over completely; driving into you for what she needs, making you gag obscenely, without a thought in the world for if it is too much.

Not having to make choices allows you to focus on obtaining your own pleasure. With every tear she forces from your eyes, you swipe over the pulsating bud of your clit. You can feel your own orgasm building low in your gut.

“I’m going to cum.” Agnes groans.

Delight shoots through you. She’s going to cum and it’s because of you; because you were good and gave her everything she needs. It feels amazing.

Why, then, do you pull off and out of reach?

Agnes growls. You blink.

Words. There are words to go with the desire you feel. You close your eyes, searching for them, mentally scrambling at the edges until you can wrap your hands around them and their meaning.

“Can I…” You start, voice rough from the beating your throat has taken, “Can I ride you?”

Agnes makes quite the scene; splayed open on the dining room chair, hair a mess and eyes blown out, cock twitching and needy through the fly of the jeans she ruined only a few hours ago. You clench.

Agnes licks her lips, “Yeah, alright.”

You stand on shaking legs and Agnes holds up a hand, stopping you as she lifts her hips and fumbles in her back pocket. She obtains her wallet and rifles through until she locates a small foil wrapper.

It’s safer, you know. You’ve used one almost every other time for the duration of your marriage.

“Agnes.”

The woman in question pauses before opening the condom. Her brow pops up in an unspoken question.

The words are instinct, comprehensive thought still far away, “I want you to cum inside me.”

Outside, the world rages on. Westview residents race down the street, returning home from last minute errands, gifts in tow that they’ll have to sneak inside. The wind is kicking up and through the trees as snow grows closer with every second.

And then there is you and Agnes, tucked in the warmth of your home, caught in the weight of your words. Stopped in the face of the potential consequences.

Agnes throws the unopened condom on the kitchen table.

“Then come here.”

You stand with your legs on either side of her own, steadying yourself on her shoulders. One steady hand settles on your hip. The other pushes your panties aside and aligns her to your entrance as you lower into her lap.

You could take her in one motion with how wet you are. Yet, Agnes keeps your descent slow, careful. She watches your face with every inch you take—same as you watch hers.

Agnes’ chest is heaving, eyes dark and stormy, face pinched in concentration. She’s the most handsome person you’ve ever seen. You clench around her and her hands tighten on your waist.

“Sorry.” You murmur, out of habit.

Agnes raises a brow, but doesn’t respond, helping you down the last few inches. When you settle fully in her lap you let out the breath you’d been holding.

One hand sneaks under your skirt to trace shapes on the bare flesh of your hip.

“You pulled an interesting stunt with Vidal today.” Agnes says. The hand on your hip tightens, “I’m not so sure I should reward your behavior.”

“Then why let me…”

“Why deny myself just because you’re acting like a brat?”

There’s a small testing thrust of her hips. You clench. She groans, head falling back against the chair. You whimper. Trying to move your own hips, eager for what you’ve been denied, you find yourself held in place.

That’s not fair. All day she’s been teasing you, driving you to the edge of what you want—what you need, just to deny you.

“You started it.” You whine, trying to move your hips again, still finding yourself held stationary as she leisurely thrusts up, “You woke me up and got me all bothered, it’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, baby.”

“Please.” You whine, “It’s not my fault, please.”

Muscles in her arms tremble as she lifts you slightly before sinking you back down onto her. The fullness makes your toes curl but it isn’t enough.

“Calling me at work and getting me worked up wasn’t your fault?”

“…No.”

Agnes laughs, “If you’re going to lie, you could at least be convincing.”

You won’t win this fight by playing fair, not when Agnes is clearly uninterested in fairness.

“You… You feel so good. Can’t think properly.” You breathe, moaning a bit more than comes naturally, “I’m so full of you.”

The thrust of her is uneven. She stops moving you completely and you fight down a grin.

You press a hand between your bodies, applying pressure to your lower stomach as she continues to thrust, subtly picking up speed. Her pants are growing louder, a wheeze leaving her mouth when you press.

“That’s you.” You murmur, leaning forward and ghosting over her lips, tracing the bridge of her nose with the tip of your own. You press harder and enjoy the way she groans, “Nobody has ever been as deep inside me as you.”

“Fuck.” She snarls.

You’re pushed up again, suddenly empty, and whine, blinking at the change. But then her strong hands are on your hips and spinning you around.

Your front is pressed against the table, bent so your cheek rests on the top of it. The texture of her jeans is rough against the back of your thighs as she lines herself and fills you in one thrust.

“Oh, fuck!” You cry.

Agnes sets a brutal pace, chasing that which only you can offer. Every thrust has her cock brushing that perfect spot inside you and you lose control of whatever sounds you’re making.

“Is this what you wanted?” Agnes snarls in your ear, “For me to leave work and fuck you like some bitch in heat?”

“Yes!”

“You haven’t earned it.”

“No, Agnes, please!”

“Hold it.” She orders.

With every move she makes, you do all you can to ignore the pleasure, to pretend it doesn’t exist. It’s somewhat possible when it’s only her cock. But then she leans down and starts toying with your clit and you cry out, fighting not to roll your hips against them.

You want what you’ve been chasing all day, but you still want to be good. You’re her good girl, aren’t you? You have to keep being good even if it hurts.

So, you hold your orgasm at bay, while Agnes chases her own. Judging by the uneven rhythm of her hips it won’t take long.

“Please let me come, Agnes. Please.” You beg.

“Why should I?”

“I’ll give you anything—anything! Please, my love!”

“Anything, huh?”

The tone of her voice is low, dangerous. Layered with a rasp that nearly undoes you.

If she doesn’t let up, it doesn’t matter how good you are; you’re going to cum.

“Anything!”

Agnes phone is slammed down on the table right beside your head. It isn’t on, but you have the sinking feeling that you’ve just landed yourself into something far worse than expected.

Her thrusts stop, but she keeps a light, teasing pressure that grazes your clit just enough to keep you engaged without getting you off.

It is torture. And the silence building as you stare down the upturned cell phone is only making it worse.

“I’m going to make a call and turn on the speaker. Then, I’m going to fuck you. And you’re going to let whoever is on the phone hear you as I make you cum.”

The weight of it is like a lead weight of nerves in your stomach, “But—“

“If you want to act like a whore you’re going to be treated like one.” She snarls, then her tone grows softer, “Yes or no, angel?”

Whoever she calls and puts on the line, you’ll never be able to look in the eye again. But you’re so full and eager that you don’t truly care at this point.

Besides, it’s Christmas Eve, maybe everyone will be too busy to pick up.

“Yes.”

A harsh thrust that forces the air from your lungs, then her lips are next to your ear, breath hot, “That’s my girl.”

The echo of your own words from earlier make your toes curl. Her phone is snatched from the table and she continues to toy with your clit as she makes the call.

It rings… and rings… and rings…

Faintly, you hear the line connect, and you gasp.

You can’t make out who the voice belongs to, but you hear a faint, “Yeah?”

Agnes barks down the line, “Don’t say a word.”

The bang! as her phone hits the table again makes you jump, a small shriek leaving your lips. It wobbles. Faintly, you’re impressed she hasn’t broken the thing with how she abuses it.

A long finger slams down on the speaker button and as the phone tilts slightly, you read the name on the screen, and your eyes widen.

Vidal.

Before you can say a word, though, Agnes is back to work. Something in the action of being heard has made her more aggressive. You swear you can feel the bruises forming on your hips where she grabs, leveraging you for every single thrust.

You try to choke down your moans and whimpers, not wanting Agent Vidal to hear you like this, but Agnes won’t stand for it; one hand grabs your jaw and pries your mouth open.

She pushes in to the hilt and you let out a shrieking moan.

“You were so talkative before. Have you lost your nerve?”

“I—please—“

“Calling me this morning and getting me worked up, teasing me in the office, in the kitchen… and incapable of handling your punishment.”

“I’m sorry, Agnes. Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Use me. I want—I need you to fuck me until I can’t remember being without you—I need you to fuck me until you cum inside and make me yours forever—please!”

The knowledge that every word from your mouth is being heard by someone else is not forgotten, but you’ve been pushed beyond caring. Agnes is intent on making you beg for what you want and you want it bad.

Agnes’ fingers and cock alternate stimulating you. If her fingers are working, her hips aren’t—and vice versa. You’re frankly astonished she’s been able to last so long because you’re teetering on the edge of pleasure at the barest contact.

But her will has always been steel. And she wants to see you humiliated.

The hand on your clit slides to your lower stomach and presses, mimicking your own actions only minutes before, “When I knock you up, you’re going to feel it right here.”

Something inside you snaps. You wail.

Agnes’ hips are moving at a clip, every inch of her rubbing where you need, setting you alight from within. Her hand doesn’t move. The faster she goes, the deeper she drives, her hips begin to lose their rhythm.

Any words devolve into animalistic grunts as she ruts into you, mouth alternating between kissing and biting at your neck from behind.

You’re so fucking close. If she denies you now, you think you might die.

“Let me cum, Agnes, please—pretty please—I’ll be your good girl, please, I’ll be so good. Let me cum and fill me up, it’s all I want—“

Through gritted teeth, “Go on then.”

Something inside you snaps.

The command is exactly what you need. Your entire body clenches so tight you fear you may never relax again. You lose track of what noises leave your mouth, you think you may even lose consciousness for a few moments.

All you know when you come to is that your throat is raw and Agnes is driving into you, choking out in your ear, “Gonna cum—“

Her hips meet your own at full force and don’t pull back, remaining, pulsing forward as if she can’t get close enough. Every spasm of her cock paints your insides with her desire, marking you as hers. Agnes holds your hips as she presses in with every twitch, struggling to breathe.

Weakly, you reach a hand back to tangle in her hair. Your throat aches, “That’s it, baby. Fill me.”

A groan. Another rough twitch.

It reaches a point where the pressure ebbs. She remains, but she’s not twitching anymore, nor is she fighting to become one with you. There’s only the sound of your breathing in the room.

Agnes moves to straighten and pull out, but you whine, reaching back to grab whatever part of her you can reach.

“Stay.” You whisper.

She pauses.

A hand gently caresses along your spine, “You can’t stay like this, angel.”

“Just let me feel you a little longer.”

There’s a comfort in the fullness; in the knowledge that Agnes is the only woman who can provide this for you. That she even wants to.

It’s all a blur beyond that.

Eventually, you can’t stand being bent over on the table anymore, even if you never want to be without the feeling of Agnes inside you. The call with Vidal is disconnected at some point. You and your wife move slowly, hand in hand, up to your bedroom.

You gently shove her onto the bed while grabbing damp washcloths. Neither of you can stand a shower at this point.

The two of you take your time, being careful to mind the sore spots. You lean slightly into Agnes as you wipe some of the sweat from her flesh.

“You’re so good to me.” You murmur, kissing the underside of her jaw, “Thank you, my love.”

“Consider it an early Christmas gift, angel.”

You tamp down on the urge to say something sappy for her to scoff at. Instead, you guide her down and kiss her, soft and slow.

[tadaxii-i]

The Black family

Spirit Halloween

[crimson-chains]

The boar is contained now at least! Bellatrix on guard at the carriage! P:

[sevilynne]

bro was literally "grieving" for like 16 years and abused her child and every other student in his damn class

you're fuckin mental

Anon, we're all adults here, no need to hide.

And yet we don't talk about how other professors did to children, I don't see you talking about Minerva doing more horrible things to Neville hmmm....

Point: It's normal in the Wizarding World to torment children, we don't comment on stuff like:

— Minerva leaving Neville out of the common room when there's a mass murderer outside.

— Minerva trying to humiliate Neville that he will never transfigure a teapot.

— Hagrid disfiguring and making fun of a kid's appearance.

— Pince hexing Ginny and Harry's things.

— And Mr. Stutter.

Minerva has favourites just like Severus and it's actually worse.

— Bending the 'First Years Aren't Allowed Having Their Own Broomsticks' rule for Harry.

— Sending Harry and the trio to Hagrid (Oh she knew OP, if Neville did that, Neville would serve detention with her.)

"Why are you bending this thing to Minerva?"

Because you are making excuses to hate on Severus, and never care about the fucked up shit that Minerva did (Because you're a fucked up shit too.)

And why not blame Dumbledore for hiring shitty staff lmao? This is completely normal for them and I'm not happy about it but I'm living.

And Neville was a sensitive child, Remus's fear isn't the literal moon, so is Ron having his boggart as a literal spider, Parvati having a mummy, and Seamus with a banshee. Neville can't have fears from Barty or Bellatrix because he never received them himself. Yet I don't see you commenting on them, hmmmm?

Yes, he was grieving for several years because his life is so fucked up no one loved him but her. And Lily was a horrible friend who laughed at him while he was being SA'd and defended his tormentors.

"He didn't wear trousers." It's literal culture in the Wizarding World not to wear trousers, James knew what he was doing and he wasn't probably even wearing trousers either.

Grieving is completely normal, it's like losing your sister who loved and took care of you, and I don't see you commenting on Sirius grieving James for twelve years and would've grieved more if he was alive.

Lastly, he's a fictional arse character ☠️ I can like anyone just like how Mstans can like the Marauders. :P

I feel so bad for the innocent Mstans who has done nothing wrong to be included into your mental help club of 1970s gay wizards.

Sure he bullied kids, but compared to other professors who never been abused and act the complete same as him? He's better ngl.

And the grieving one? Have you never grieved or are you emotionless? ☠️

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Me & The Devil P.2 🌘| Harry Potter Imagine

takes place during HBP & DH1

Part 1 here Final Part | HP Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Black!Sister reader x HP characters (platonic), Severus Snape x reader (platonic/semi-romantic)

Content Warnings: death, violence, profanity, angst, slight cannon divergence, mentions of torture and blood, set during the book timeline of the 1990s | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 6k

Requested yes/no

Premise: A dark storm is brewing over Hogwarts. The return of Voldemort and his Death Eaters spark unease in the Golden Trio. For a certain member of the Noble House of Black, she takes on a new role of double agent with the partnership between her and a certain Hogwarts professor. Will she survive the ordeal and get her freedom when it's all over? The odds are slim when acting as a loyal servant and hunted by aurors.

Note: Snape is 37 in this like the books and reader is 31. Part 3 will be the final chapter to this miniseries but I have no idea when it will be posted. Hope y’all like this one! Also near the end the final scenes are inspired by Wanda in MOM so yeah that belongs to Marvel

——————-

Months went by. Waiting. Scheming. Y/n felt her mind deteriorate by the day. Between Bellatrix’s constant complaints of Draco’s failures and Narcissa’s moping, Y/n spent most of her time in the attic of Malfoy Manor. Hidden away to perfect her spells and create new ones. She even managed to successfully become an animagus. 

A black crow.

How fitting.

At times Y/n found herself sitting in front of the window. Especially when it rained. The lightning in the distance, the crisp air filling the attic walls. Lost in her thoughts, Y/n would caress the silver jewelry laid on her left ring finger. 

Once a month she’d receive a letter from Severus, unbeknownst to the others, detailing Draco’s attempts and all the times Snape’s had to cover for him. As part of their deal to keep quiet of the others' disloyalty and motives behind actions, Snape agreed to update her on Draco and keep the Order off Y/n’s trail. For Y/n’s side of the bargain, she agreed to deflect suspicion on him from their fellow Death Eaters. Specifically her sisters.

And what better way to do that then in holy matrimony.

“You want to get married?” she scoffed, placing her wine glass on the coaster. Having left with her sisters following the unbreakable vow, Y/n returned later that night after Severus sent an owl. Sitting in the same leather chair from before, “You humor me.”

“I can assure you I am everything but comical, Y/n,” he drawled, standing by the fireplace. The sound of wood crackling filled the room. “This is not an arrangement I suggest lightly.”

Seeing how serious he was, Y/n’s demeanor changed. “Wow,” her tone lowered, finger raising to tap her lips. Unable to read her mind since she was a gifted Occulmens like himself, Snape was left to wonder what Y/n was thinking. Truth be told the woman was more impressed than shocked by his proposal. “I think that’s the first time I’ve been rendered speechless, Severus.” Standing, Y/n grabbed her glass and approached the man. “You truly believe this would work? Proposing a marriage between us….” she trailed, glancing at the fire briefly, “is intriguing. Tell me more.”

Snape’s expression remained the same, “It is simply a matter of convenience.” No need to sugar coat it, “We want to keep our secrets hidden. So long as you can assure your sisters stay off my back…..I’ll make sure the Order stays off yours. We play the part of a happy married couple when operating business with the Dark Lord, and I will do everything in my power to get your freedom when this all ends.” 

Y/n liked what she was hearing. The more she thought about it, the more engrossed she became. Marrying Snape wasn’t ideal--as the concept itself she did not care for--but Y/n could not deny the idea made her curious. Plus Severus was handsome, a talented wizard, and obviously, he knew her motives for following Voldemort. What her end goal was. She needed to keep him close. 

“I think I’ll find playing the part of a smitten wife will be rather easy,” she rasped, stepping closer to Snape so their chests were nearly touching. Walking her fingertips up the length of his arm, Y/n leaned closer to Snape which ignited a sharp breath from the man. She smelled of expensive perfume. Their closeness allowed him to see how her eyes turned from their usual coldness to something more lustful. Almost sinister. His reaction made her smirk, “Confident you can manage the same….husband?” 

Now, almost a year later, the two managed to successfully keep their union hidden from the Order. All while any suspicion the Death Eaters had of Snape seemed to disappear. Bellatrix, initially furious and doubtful of their ‘relationship’, soon began to trust him. Still, the witch grimaced each time the pair greeted the other with an affectionate kiss. Or when Y/n took claim to Snape’s lap during meetings. An action which surprised the man himself in the beginning.

Each letter Severus sent was met with one in return, however Y/n was careful to only send her owl in the late hours of the night. When her family was sound asleep. Signing the parchment with only her initials, but instead of B as the ending initial it was S. She’d never admit it aloud, but Y/n felt a sense of comfort with Severus. There was an overwhelming amount of hate in her heart, but the pinch of sanity left in her soul connected to him. Which is not a surprise. He is, of course, the only person who can relate to her. 

Neither would call it love. Y/n possessed no love. And Snape lost his when Lily died. They had mutual respect and care for each other as their partnership grew. Finding the other’s presence calm despite the world around them going to shit. 

The news of Draco’s success in connecting the two cabinets came from Bellatrix’s glee, the woman bursting into the attic with a loud, “It’s time, sister.” Reluctantly, Y/n trailed Bellatrix to Knockturn Alley, where they met several of their associates. 

Dark clouds painted the sky. Thunder rumbling. It set the tone of the evening. 

Y/n stayed stoic the entire journey. Hating every minute, yet doing nothing to escape. Where could she even go? The mark on her arm prevented her from doing so. Until Voldemort was defeated, the only way for her to stay alive was to continue the act of a loyal servant. 

Draco was gone when the group breached the cabinet in a cloud of black smoke. The boy rushed to find Dumbledore and complete his task. He found the man on the observation deck of the Astronomy Tower. Unaware his longtime rival, Harry Potter, was below him, watching the scene play out. 

The others arrived to witness Draco complete the task, however, in the end Snape was the one to administer the curse. And so the greatest wizard in history fell from the sky. 

Y/n kept her eyes on Severus the entire time. Watching his reaction. When he went through with the unthinkable, Y/n wasted no time in rushing to his side. Cupping his face, she noticed the dissociative expression Snape wore. Mind processing what he had done. “Severus,” he didn’t respond, making her shake his shoulders, “look at me.” Finally he meets her eye and the woman matches his anxious demeanor. “We have to go. Now.” 

Clutching his robe, the two push Draco in the direction of the Death Eaters. Bellatrix’s maniacal laughter rings as she shoots a spell into the sky to bring forth the Dark Lord’s symbol in the clouds. Not long after the tower was surrounded by members of the Order, ensuing a battle between the groups. Y/n tried to avoid dueling as much as possible. Not wanting to harm anyone, especially the kids in the school. 

Cutting the corner after dodging a spell from her niece Nymphadora, Y/n spotted the wretched Fenrir Greyback attacking a man she didn’t recognize. Judging by the wild red hair he possessed, she assumed it was a Weasley. Greyback’s back was toward her, unaware she stood behind him. From the looks of it, the redhead was losing the fight. 

Not sure what came over her at that moment, Y/n raised her wand and shouted, “Stupefy!” The werewolf was flung into the wall behind him, falling unconscious. 

“Bill!” a voice screamed, Y/n turning to see a young woman running to where the Weasley laid. Bloodied and knocked out. Fluer dropped beside him, sobbing at the state of her fiance. She glanced up to see Y/n, immediately becoming frozen with fear while pleading with her to help. “Y-you--H-he’s been--.”

Cursing to herself, Y/n approached the two. “He wasn’t bit,” adjusting her dress skirt, she grabbed the cuffs of Bill’s jacket and gestured for Fluer to help. Together they moved him to a concealed area away from the battle. “He’s been scratched.” Having studied werewolves while in school, the woman was well educated on the subject. Muttering a healing spell, Y/n attempted to at least stop the bleeding, however, she knew the extent of his injuries were serious. “Nevertheless, the wounds are cursed. They’ll scar.” 

Fluer watched her carefully, “W-why are you helping us?” Y/n gave no answer, instead casting a final healing spell before standing up to leave. In her peripheral vision, she noticed movement from Greyback, and sent a second stun his way to keep him unconscious. She always hated him, so it gave her great pleasure to pu thim down. 

Truth be told Y/n didn’t know why she helped the injured Weasley. It would have best suited her to get the hell out of there and let whatever outcome happen. Whether that be Greyback killing the man or Bill successfully overpowering the werewolf. But instead, she cursed her associate. Saving the life of ‘the enemy’. 

Several agonizing minutes passed before Y/n managed to escape the tower. At Snape’s order, she ran deep into the forest until she was far enough to apparate. Back at the manor she was immediately questioned by her sister.

“Is Draco okay,” Narcissa grabbed Y/n’s wrist to stop her from escaping to the attic. Eyes glossy with tears, “Did he--.”

“Your son is fine, Narcissa,” she roughly pulled away. “You have my husband to thank for that--he finished the job.” There was immediate relief from Narcissa, exhaling the breath she had been holding. Y/n went straight to the liquor cabinent, taking a glass and pouring a generous amount before downing it. She then refilled the glass, offering it to her sister without a word. Once Narcissa took it Y/n kept the bottle for herself, saying nothing more as she made her way to the attic. 

It wasn’t long before the others arrived. Y/n heard Narcissa’s cry of relief upon seeing Draco. Bellatrix was busy scolding Greyback--something that brought a smile to her face. Other murmurs were made out, but hard to identify with all the noise. Moments later she heard the fast approaching sound of footsteps nearing her door. Jolting from her bed with her wand raised at whoever was about to breach it. Only when it was revealed to be Severus did Y/n lower her guard, rolling her eyes, “What have I told you about--.”

Snape slammed the door shut, muttering a silencing charm which caused Y/n to raise her brow. “We need to talk.” Her guarded expression returned, but Snape beat her before she could question him. “I know you stunned the werewolf to save Weasley.” All movement from the woment seized, frozen in shock.

“How do you know--.”

“I saw you with Miss. Delacour, Y/n,” Snape peers down at her with visible frustration. “Why would you risk such a thing? If you had been caught--.”

“But I wasn’t, Severus,” she interrupts, eyes flicking to the door in fear someone was listening, but then she remembered the spell he cast. “I was careful. You should know better than to underestimate me. And to answer your question….” she turned away from him, hands on her hips as she turned her focus to the woods beyond her window. “I don’t know what possessed me to do what I did--It just happened. Maybe it’s the fact the Weasley’s are distant family. Or because I fucking hate Greyback.” She throws her hands up in defeat,  “Or I want the Order to have all its members to better their chances at winning this damn war. Maybe…” her hands fall back to her sides, “deep down there’s some humanity left in me.” The words were so low it was barely a whisper. Y/n shook her head, the speck of softness replaced with disinterest. 

“Whatever it was,” turning back to him, Y/n narrows her eyes in warning. “It’s no longer our concern. Dumbledore is dead, you killed him.” footsteps echo against the wood as she approaches Snape, noticing his expression change at the mention of the headmaster. “He will be plotting his next move. We need to remain focused--I expect his attention will be on us more now given the circumstances.” 

Snape knows she’s right. Killing Albus only shined a spotlight on him, and in turn on Y/n. He was now labeled public enemy #1 in the eyes of the Order. Voldemort himself will likely turn to Snape. They will have to up their game, continuing the act of a happy couple. Well happy as one can be in the middle of a war. 

That summer was endless torture following the Headmaster’s death. Y/n not only had to deal with Voldemort growing stronger, but also the return of Lucius from Azkaban. It did bring the witch great joy to see the dark circles beneath his eyes and matted hair. One year in prison did a number on him. 

Lucky for Lucius it was only one year. Had it been 15 like Y/n, he’d surely gone mad. Thankfully the two rarely saw each other. Not long after his release following Dumbledore’s death Y/n moved into Severus' home. Only returning to the mansion when necessary. 

At every Death Eater meeting Y/n had to fight yawning with how bored she was, keeping her expression blank even when addressed by Voldermort from time to time. The man wasn’t blind. Well aware the youngest Black was not as forthcoming with her praises to him like Bellatrix. Never voicing her opinions, while also keeping any objections to herself like a smart person would do. He never fully trusted her. Even though she was married to one of his most trusted advisors, something in the back of his mind told Voldemort she’d be the first to turn on him. Without proof, Voldemort kept a close eye.

The meeting tonight was just like any other. Seated at the massive dining table in Malfoy Manor, Voldemort at the head while the Black’s and Malfoy’s flanked to the right. Y/n seated beside Draco, far from her sisters. Very telling of her attitude towards them.

Severus was the last to arrive, dark cloak tailing behind him. His entrance caught everyone’s attention, while his was on his colleague hanging in the air. Muggle studies professor Charity Burbage. The wounds on her body indicated she had been subjected to torture. 

“Severus,” Voldemort greeted, “I was beginning to worry you had lost your way. Come. We’ve saved you a seat.” The headmaster took claim to the only free chair at the table, bidding a look to his wife, to which she slightly shook her head. Silently saying, “I had no part in this.”

Voldemort then said, “Do you bring news, I trust?”

“It will happen Saturday next, at nightfall.”

“I’ve heard differently, my Lord,” Yaxley interrupted at the other end of the table, then proceeds to say he believes Harry will be moved at the end of the month. The 30th of July. The day before his 17th birthday.

“This is a false trail,” Snape insists. “The auror office no longer plays any part in the protection of Harry Potter. “Those closest to him believe we have infiltrated the ministry.”

The Death Eater seated beside Y/n laughed, “Well, they got that right aren’t they.” Several at the table joined in the laughter. The youngest Black’s expression was tight, plastered with annoyance. 

“What’s say you, Pius?” Voldemort addresses the man seated at the opposite head of the table. 

Nagini curled herself next to the chair as he answered, “One hears many things, my Lord. Whether the truth is among them is not clear.” Voldemort chuckles.

“Spoken like a true politician. You will, I think, prove most useful, Pius.” The Death Eater appears pleased by the compliment. Voldemort turns back to Snape, “Where will he be taken, the boy?”

“To a safe house. Most likely the home of someone in the Order. I’m told it’s been given every manner of protection possible, once there it will be impractical to attack him.”

Suddenly the conversation is interrupted by Bellatrix. “My Lord, I’d like to volunteer myself for this task.” She leans against the table, voice dropping, “I want to kill the boy.”

“Of course you would,” Y/n thinks to herself, holding back the urge to roll her eyes. Frankly she found her sister to be stupid to ask such a thing. Considering Voldemort mentions his desire to kill Harry Potter everyday. And with the prophecy, there’s no way he’d allow anyone else the opportunity to do the deed. 

In the back, Charity let out a haunting groan, causing Voldermort to shout, “Wormtail! Have I not spoken to you about keeping our guest’s quiet?”

“Yes, my Lord,” the man spoke with urgency. “Right away, my Lord.” As he scurried off, Voldemort returned his attention to Bellatrix. 

“As inspiring as I find your bloodlust, Bellatrix,” the hope was clear in her eyes, disappearing with his next words. “I must be the one to kill Harry Potter.” With that she curled back into her seat, Y/n’s lips raising in a satisfied smirk.

“But,” he rises from his chair, “I face an unfortunate complication.” As much as Y/n wanted to tune out this conversation, the nature of it was hard to dismiss. Especiall when the man walked behind the chairs on her side of the table. Brushing past her sisters before ending beside Lucius. There was satisfaction seeing him visibly afraid of Voldemort. A smirk on her lips when he was to give up his wand, a wizard’s most prized possession.

Her expression shifted when Charity’s brought to the center of the table. Death Eaters laughing at her despair and cringing with disgust at her profession. Y/n moves her gaze to Severus, who’s emotionless to Charity’s pleas. Then when the woman’s killed and her body drops to the table, Y/n lifts her hand to grasp Draco’s wrist. Squeezing it in warning for him to control himself when she sees his distraught state in the corner of her eyes. 

The action surprises the boy. Draco sucking in a breath and forcing himself to relax. Once he does, Y/n removes her touch and waits to be dismissed by Voldemort. As soon as the order is given she’s quick to leave the table, taking Snape’s outstretched hand where he apparates them back home. 

“How do you plan--?” he doesn’t let her finish the question.

“I have it covered.” Moving to his study, he hears her footsteps behind him, Y/n slamming the door shut once they’ve entered. He looked annoyed, “This doesn’t concern you.”

“The hell it does!” she shouted, making him clench his jaw. Ever since the incident at the Astronomy tower the two had been on edge with each other. For one, the Order discovered their marriage causing Y/n to lose her shit. Now she was public enemy #2 in their eyes. Or 3 if you count Voldermort at the top. Her odds of the Order leaving her the fuck alone decreased immensly. 

Second, Snape told her of his and Dumbledore’s arrangement. That the headmaster asked Snape to kill him. A secret Y/n had trouble wrapping her head around and prayed to a higher power no one, especially Bellatrix, found out about. 

Crossing over to him where he stood at his desk, Y/n caught his wrist to make him look at her. “In case you have forgotten, dear husband, we are playing both sides right now. You say you want to protect Harry Potter…just how do you plan to do that during an ambush you helped orchestrate? What the hell are we supposed to do if Harry Potter dies at his hands Saturday next?” Y/n squeezed his wrist tighter, “I’m putting all my trust into Severus Snape. You promised me my freedom when this was all over.” 

“I haven’t forgotten, Y/n,” he removes himself from her grip, “You say you trust me. Do so, and you won’t be let down.”

Y/n didn’t know where it all went wrong. One moment she was flying in the sky, the next she’s being rammed into by Bill Weasley’s Thestral. Pain erupted in her chest, likely from a broken rib and caught herself on the creature's satchel. Her hand is then grabbed by the imposter Harry seated behind Bill, keeping Y/n steady to prevent falling to her death. Using her talent of legitimins, Y/n identifies the imposter as Bill’s fiance Fluer. 

“You’re not Harry Potter,” she whispers, causing Harry (Fluer) to widen her eyes. The accusation was confirmed when Fluer’s voice responded, “How did you know?” Before Y/n could answer, however, the world around her became black. Having been stunned by Bill who realized what was happening behind him.  

Acting fast, Fluer reached with her other hand to further grasp Y/n’s now limp body onto the Thestral. 

“What are you doing?” Bill shouted over the chaos, “She’s one of them!”

“And she saved your life in the Astronomy tower, William!” Fluer screamed back. Using all her might, she hauled Y/n over the bottom half of the creature. Gripping the material of her robes and dress while ducking at the incoming curses around them. 

When they finally made it to the Burrow, the shaky landing caused Fluer to lose her hold. Y/n fell to the ground, still unconscious. Bruises were sure to form on her body. Bill leaped off the Thestral, helped Fluer off and rushed to Y/n. After confirming she was alive by pressing his fingers to her pulse, the oldest Weasley took the death eater into his arms and followed Fluer into the house. But not before telling Fluer to take her wand which had been discarded into a ditch.

“Wait here,” he said, placing Y/n in the care of Fluer by setting her on a bench outside the door, Bill entered to find the others gathered around an injured George. After the shock wore off of his brother’s state, Bill announced the death of Mad-eye and departure of Mundungus. Deepening the already intense mood.

“There’s something else,” he hesitated, eyes flickering to find everyone staring at him with unease. They watched Bill exit the house, only to return a second later dragging the last person they ever expected. Gasps rang out, wands drawn in Y/n’s direction. The witch barely conscious but fighting against Bill’s hold. Eventually succumbing to sleep once again due to the pounding in her head. 

With the help of Remus, the two propped Y/n in a chair, casting a spell to bind her hands and legs. “Where’s her wand?” Remus urgently looked around, relieved to see the object in Fluer’s possession. He turned to Bill, “What the hell happened?”

As the oldest Weasley explained, Molly approached the woman, assessing her carefully. Y/n had dirt and grime in her hair. A small cut to her temple. Likely from a rock when she fell from the Threstral. Her breathing was shaky, pained groans escaping her mouth which Molly assumed was from trauma to her chest. Although the others were against it, Molly began performing healing spells on Y/n, “Had it not been for her my son would be dead! I do not care what side she is on--I shall offer the same courtesy.” 

The group was alerted to Y/n’s consciousness twenty minutes later when she groaned. Shifting in the chair, her eyelids fluttered briefly before opening to bright lights. Moaning, Y/n straightened up aware of the audience in front of her, however she did not appear concerned. Even with several wands pointing at her. “Hmmmph,” she blinks a few times, settling her gaze on Remus, “what an unpleasant situation we have here. I hoped to be dead before experiencing this.”

It pained Remus to hear her words. Thinking back to that little girl he’d met on the corner of Diagon Alley with James, perched on Sirius’ hip. That little girl was gone. In her place was a woman with the Devil on her shoulder. “We don’t want to hurt you, Y/n.”

Tilting her head as though she found his statement funny, she replies “Is that supposed to make me feel at ease?” rolling her eyes she adds, “Surely you could’ve come up with something better.”

Remus sighed, realizing it was about to be a long night. “We’re willing to negotiate terms if you provide us with information. A lesser sentence if you will,” he chose his next words carefully, seeing her demenor shift, “so long as you are upfront and answer all of our questions with honesty.” Y/n’s face tightened, no longer humored. Remus felt his stomach lurch, not breaking the intense eye contact she set with him.

“You threaten me--.”

“It’s not a threat--,” he insists but Y/n continues.

“With a cell in Azkaban and expect me to comply? By being a snitch?” she shakes her head, eyes full of fury. “Go to hell, Remus Lupin.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way.”

“Oh?” She grumbles with a glare, “and how else do you suggest it be? I’m not stupid--a tad mad if we want to get technical, but you all have yourselves to blame for that.” Y/n was referring to the Order not taking her in during the First Wizarding War. Sirius warned them of his family and the Death Eaters recruiting her at a young age. Yet no attempt to protect Y/n was initiated. 

The werewolf’s face fell, “Had we known--.”

“Known what?!” She jumped forward in her chair as the dam of pent up resentment and anger broke, making several flinch at the sudden movement. A few wands pointed up but she paid them no mind. “That I’d become a Death Eater against my will? That I’d be forced to use the Cruciatus Curse on the Longbottoms or face my sister’s wrath?” She spat with ferocity. Pupils nearly pitch black it made her appear demonic. “You knew what my family was like! Sirius knew--It’s why he left! And you did nothing to save me.” Leaning back in the chair, Y/n finished with, “Go ahead and kill me. I’m not telling you shit.”

Remus runs a hand through his hair, his patience running thin and stress levels rising. “Y/n, I’m trying to help you here. We’re giving you the opportunity to avoid a lifetime in jail if you help us--help us end this war.” When his efforts are exhausted Remus gestures to the man behind him, “Kingsley has Veritaserum and we will use it if necessary.”  Now this has her smirking, chin raising in challenge. 

“Go ahead,” her voice lowers an octave, sending chills along his arms, “I welcome you to.” Weary of her acceptance, the adult members of the Order all exchange looks before Kingsley approaches. Y/n tilts her head back, watching Kingsley unscrew the vial and pour the tiny amount of liquid onto her tongue. Once it’s entered her stream, the woman cracks her neck and returns her attention to Remus. 

He clasped his hands in his lap, leaning in his chair. “How’d you know about tonight?”

Y/n pretends to think, “I think I saw an advertisement in the Daily Prophet. Yeah,” she nods her head, acting serious. “That was it.” 

Remus’s own head falls to his chest, the others visibly confused. The potion was to make her tell the truth. Pretty much against her will. Thinking it may have not settled in yet, Remus asks another question. “Who told him we were moving Harry?” 

Deciding to play along, Y/n shrugs her shoulders, “Yaxley.” Lie. She held back a chuckle at his confused reaction.

“How did he know?”

“Overheard it.” Lie.

“Where?”

“Diagon Alley I assume.” Lie.

“From who?”

“I don’t know.” Lie.

“But he’s the one who told Voldemort.” Y/n rolled her eyes at that, gesturing to her binded hands.

“Obviously since we’re sitting in this predicament.” She sees the frustration on Remus, as well as the others. Yet, the witch couldn’t help but feel entertained. “Anything else?”

“What’s your relationship to Severus Snape?” 

“He’s my husband,” She didn’t miss the way the Order reacted to the news. Upset but not surprised. No point in lying. They already knew about their marriage from what Snape told her. The truth of why, however, was still a secret. 

“Why did he kill Dumbledore?” Harry stepped forward, drawing her attention to him. Anger was written all over his face. Filled with absolute hatred. Something Y/n had expected when her husband murdered the man he looked up to. 

“You were there, right?” she asked, head tilting with curiosity. “Snape mentioned you’d been below the observatory deck.” Tsking, Y/n surveyed him. She was getting under his skin. “Why do you think he did it?”

“I think he did it to save himself. He was a coward,” Harry saw the way her face tightened. Taking offense to his words. A mere speck of what someone could label as affection or respect to her spouse. 

“Severus Snape is many things,” she sounded sinister, anger seeping off every word. “But a coward is not one of them.”

“Fat lot of good coming from you.” Harry antagonized her. “You hightailed it out of the ministry when Sirius died. He was your own cousin.”

“My cousin who left me a sitting duck for the wolves,” Y/n reminded the boy, temper rising. An indicator with how her voice was strained. “Let’s not forget you all thought he was responsible for betraying your parents. Didn’t even hesitate to believe he was guilty.” That cut them all deep. “And I adored Sirius at one point in life. Much like you, Harry Potter,” she let out a deep sigh, attempting to calm herself, “look at where it got me.” Exhaustion was beginning to take over the witch. Her body ached and there was a pounding in her head. Molly’s healing spells worked to patch any internal injuries Y/n had, but she still was drained from the whole ordeal. 

They were getting off track. Having had enough of the tension, Remus butted in, “Answer the question, Y/n. Why did Snape kill Dumbledore?”

“I don’t know,” she simply stated. Lie. “He didn’t say. Although…I can only assume it was to spare my poor nephew.” Another shrug, “And survive the unbreakable vow. Which you already know of.” 

Harry shook his head, “I don’t believe you.” His gut was telling him there was more to the story. 

“Harry, she took the Veritaserum,” Hermoine pointed out gently, missing the flicker of amusement from Y/n. “She’s telling the truth.”

“Hermoine’s right, Harry,” Ron agreed, moving beside his friend. “There’s no way she could be lying.”

“How much did you give her, Kingsley?” Arthur questioned, also suspicious of Y/n’s answers. Kingsley held up the vial. More than half was consumed.

“Enough.”

“Something’s off,” he murmured, rubbing his chin. A bickering match ensued between members of the Order. Harry, Arthur, and even Y/n’s niece, Tonks, had difficulty believing Y/n told the truth. The majority, however, voiced opposition. 

“Veritaserum is a very potent and strong potion, Harry,” Remus stood from his chair, but before he could say anything else, Y/n’s voice took over.

“Which you just wasted.”

Silence consumes the room. Processing what she said. That’s not possible.

Heads turning to the witch, Y/n starts to chuckle in delight. A sight unnerving to the Order as it becomes more deranged. Harry looked to his friends for an answer, but they were just as perplexed as him. Y/n’s voice turns taunting, “Oh my, you lot really are daft at times. Have you forgotten? Or did you believe it to be a rumor?” Her grin is wicked, finding the scene entertaining much to their dismay. “I’m a skilled Occulmens.” 

It was as though the dementors arrived with how cold the air became. Everyone falters, stilling at the revelation. It could only mean one thing:

Everything Y/n said potentially was a lie. 

The Death Eater tsked, “What do you think I did with all that time I had rotting in the middle of the ocean?” she laughs again, more menacingly. “Your little potion is useless! My mind is more protected than Azkaban. For all you know I fabricated everything I just told you.” Her taunting laugh continues, shredding the last ounce of patience the Order had for her. 

Remus kneeled in front of her chair and smacked the table, causing everyone besides Y/n to flinch. “Enough of these games! I have tried to give you the benefit of the doubt knowing you’d been forced into this life, but you have proven to be not so different from your associates.” Now that was a nail to the coffin. Any and all of Remus’s hope for Y/n having some level of good in her gone. “This is your final warning--or we will throw you in Azkaban for the rest of your life for good!”

Never straying her stare, the Death Eater murmered cooly, “You have no idea how reasonable I’ve been.” This time it was Remus’s turn to scoff.

“Holding children hostage at the Ministry, attacking Hogwarts, marrying Snape, and sending assassins after the officials who locked you up,” He lists off, surprising the Order with the last detail. They had heard rumors of Azkaban guards and Ministry officials killed in the last few months, but assumed it was Bellatrix. “I don’t see how that’s being reasonable.”

Y/n gave a sound that was a mix of a chuckle and scoff, leaning forward in her chair. “Sending those assassins after them instead of myself was mercy.” A chill rose, Harry’s intuition telling him something was about to happen. “And despite your hypocrises and insults I have warned you time and time again to simply get out of my way.” Remus saw her hands fidget, tightening his grip on his wand. 

“You’ve exhausted my patience,” Her voice lowered once more, almost to a whisper as her bottom lip quivered. “But I do hope you understand…that even now--with what’s about to happen…..” lips curled into a deathly smirk. “This is me being…reasonable.”

Faster than the speed of light, Y/n casts a non-verble, wandless spell that mimics a gust a powerful wind, ripping the binds off her hands and ankles. Remus flies onto his back, the lights flicker and burst. The windows and glass shatter. Papers fly. Hermoine screams, echoing amongst the shouts as Ron pulls her into his arms. Molly leaning over an injured George to protect him from shards. 

 Fluer gasps at the feeling of Y/n’s wand in her hand ripped from her. The death eater had snapped her fingers in the chaos with a non-verbal Accio.

With her wand now in her possession, Y/n unleashes another bout of wind, crippling the Order from attacking her. Once satisfied she makes her escape. Black smoke fills the room before flying out the window and into the night sky. The storm inside the burrow seizing. 

“What the bloody hell was that?” Ron coughs, catching his breath. 

“That,” Kingsley stands up straight, sore from colliding with the wall which knocked him down. “Was the closest thing to experiencing the Devil on Earth.”

Tags: @unloved-and-outspoken

[emberamethyst]

don't call me angel, you can't pay my price !

My name is Ember Amethyst Harvey, a French-Italian pureblood witch. I'm fourteen, and just transferred to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. I'm a Slytherin, of course, unlike someone.

P E O P L E

@flyasaphoenix - unfortunately, he's my older idiot of a brother.

@anastasia-selwyn - the girl my brother is in love with but is too scared to ask out because he's a wimp

@thathojamie

@james-the-amazing-potter

@starlight-starbright-thatsme

@looneymoonyy

@wormy-loves-ch33se

@mystical-magical-me

@king-ofthe-crop

@xeno-graphical

@rodolphus-le-strange

@averykissableguy

@fire-allayer

@poison-penmanship

@lifeofthe-barty

@whokilledevanrosier

@pandoras-nox

@reg-arc-black

@hjonesworld

@mary-mcdeal

@emmelineandhervans

@sybill-patrica-trelawney

@lilytheginger

@alicethekindone

@flowers-of-narcissus

@andromedashoax

@the-queen-bellatrix

@severusprince-snape

@fabian-with-an-f

@mollberryshortcake

@fawningamos

@k1ndest-keeper

@aelius-with-a-quill

@annajohn-silvae

@adam-lukas-morningstar

@imogenmorningstar

@oxxen--free

@camille-laurier

@luciagraham

@your-favourite-callie

@addison-caddel

@daughter-of-spring

@magandang-kaluluwa

@tjsinclairofficial

@secretlifeof-asher

@toby-newtman-tics

@bones-and-edgar

@scattered-across-thesky

@alectocrow

[cissyenthusiast010155]

If you’re up for it, numbers 17, 22, and 49 with Bellatrix please? I was thinking hate-sex but you can do something else if you prefer. Preferably no mommy kink, but anything else is fine <3

Snowball Puppy ~Dom!Bellatrix Lestrange xFem Puppy!Reader ~Holiday Bingo

Summary— A day in the snow turns a heated rivalry into a passion filled night. Anon Response— Hey hey anon!! Thanks for the request. Bellatrix could always use more content! No mommy kink, just like you asked. Enjoy! ♥️

Previous Day <—found here!

Holiday Bingo <—Here!!

Mommy… Masterlist

Requests & Prompt-List

Prompt— Playing in the Snow

#17. “Don’t make me ask again”

#22. “Stop doing that”

#49. “You look so good when you beg...”

Warnings: NSFW, light smut, fingering, dom/sub relations, puppy play, begging, begging kink, teasing, taunting, intimidation, hate-sex, enemies to lovers, implied future smut, etc.

Enjoy (;

You, Bellatrix, and Draco were outside, in the middle of a snow blurry, running around and playing in the snow.You were Draco’s Godmother, and you live and adored Draco. Bellatrix you barely stomached. It was his idea to invite her out in the snow. You merely grumbled along.

Suddenly you felt a hard pelt of snow on the back of your neck. You turned around and saw a grinning Draco, his hands filled with snowballs.

You smirked and quickly began rolling your own icy weapons. But instead of throwing them at Draco, you flung them Bellatrix’s way. The witch shrieked as an icy ball hit her in the shoulder. She looked madly furious. Then you threw another one, hitting her neck this time.

You giggled endlessly as she jumped about in a cold spout of rage. Your last throw of your snowballs landed right in the woman’s face. You gasped and placed your hand over your mouth in reaction. Draco bursted out in laughter.

But then Bellatrix stared you down and began charging toward you. With intent and ferocity. And you quickly made a run for it. You scampered back into Malfoy Manor, yelling back at Draco for help. But Draco was rolling in the snow, laughing endlessly, and certainly not helping you.

You ran inside the Manor and up the stairs, down the corridors, until you reached your guest room. You ran in, shut the door behind you, and collapsed against it panting.

It wasn’t long before Bellatrix caught up with you. You could tell from her sinister cackling. It always sent shivers down your spine.

She banged on the door, taunting your name and trying to get in. But your body kept the door firmly closed. That was until magic was involved.

A split second later, you were hurled forward onto the ground and the door swung open violently. It closed itself as Bellatrix entered, staring down at you as you scrambled to get up. But she hindered you, stepping on your chest, effectively keeping you pinned on the ground.

Your eyes widened and your breathing shallowed at this compromising position. But a spark of courage lighted in you as her dark and dangerous eyes met your gaze. You weren’t going down without a fight.

“Stop doing that. Let me go.” You gritted out through your teeth.

Bellatrix grinned like a Cheshire Cat and tilted her head, pushing her foot down further and threatening to cut off your oxygen flow to your lungs.

“I think you like it…!” she jeered in her taunting manner.

You growled in response, barring your teeth while squirming underneath her heel. Bellatrix chuckled and accepted your challenge.

“Fine then. Beg. Beg me to let you go.” She jeered.

Your breath hitched in your breath.

“Fuck you!” You sneered.

Bellatrix chuckled darkly and shook her head.

“Don’t make me ask again” she threatened darkly.

The newfound edge and dominance to her tone got to you.

“I… umm” you stammered, your face getter redder and redder.

“What’s the matter, pup…?” Bellatrix jeered.

The pet name sent waves right to your core… ferocious, unrelenting waves.

“P-please…”

The pressure tightened once more on your chest. She was saying it wasn’t good enough.

“Please Bellatrix… please…” you begged, “please please please—” you chanted, closing your eyes out of embarrassment.

This made the woman smirk wickedly.

“Please please…!” She mocked you.

Your eyes shot opened widened at her tone and you gulped.

This time you involuntarily jerked your hips upward, your body suddenly needing relief and some sort of friction. This made Bellatrix chuckle darkly. Bellatrix then released her foot from your chest, letting you breath once more.

With a muttering spell under her breath, Bellatrix moved you onto your bed. You were frozen as the woman pounced on you, pinning you to the bed. You moved your head to the side, as her face came right up to yours, and her tongue licked up the trial of your neck and jaw.

You wanted to hate it. But you didn’t… You coudn’t… your body was giving in.

Your hips jerked up once more, making the woman chuckle again. While keeping you successfully pinned to the bed, one of Bellatrix’s hands wandered down in between your legs, her fingers grazing your clothes center. This only made you jerk your hips even more, making your mind more and more dizzy.

Bellatrix growled in response.

“P-please please… don’t stop—-” you sputtered.

“You look so good when you beg, pup…” Bellatrix cooed wickedly. 

“I h-hate you… I��” you breathed out roughly.

But you were cut off as her fingers slipped under your clothing layers and two of them slid into your warmth.

“I know, pup… I know…” Bellatrix cooed lustfully, pumping and curling into your cunt at a fast and harsh pace.

~~~

Next Bingo Fic <—Here!!

Bellatrix Lestrange Masterlist

Holiday Bingo 2023 Masterlist

Tag List: @storiesofsvu @willowshadenox @aemilia19 @lunala-rose23 @sapphixwriter @vexed-jade

[cmanse]

M Y SIX N E W S H A R R Y P O T T E R C H A R A C T E R A I B O T S

here are some new bots on Harry Potter since I saw that you rather appreciate this fandom (thanks for the 800 followers on c.ai and the more than 110k chats on some of my bots). I want to apologize for those who lost the chats because of character ai who removed the bot: harry potter you both can't go to hogsmead. I put it back immediately (link bellow the image) but unfortunately the old one is lost forever…

Anyways, the most important thing is that a new version has been put back and that I have added bots on this fandom! I hope you will like them. do not hesitate to order some from me, I take all types of requests

For the request and my character ia masterlist -> CHARACTER IA BOTS (1)

he has a crush on percy’s best friend (five years!fred weasley x two years older!user) — since he was 12, fred has had a crush on his older brother percy's best friend, user. but now that he's grown up, maybe he has a chance? [mxn]

be his fake girlfriend that he spoils (draco malfoy x pure blood!user) — draco is fed up with his parents pestering him for a girlfriend so he asks user, a pure blood to pretend to be one in exchange, he buys her everything she wants. [mxw]

is he his son? (post azkaban!sirius black x ex girlfriend!user) — during all these years in azkaban, sirius only dreamed of one thing, to see his girlfriend user again. but after his escape, she never came back to see him. however, when the order of the phœnix calls her, user arrives at grimmauld place…. with her son. Could it be sirius's? No, she would have told him otherwise… yet… he look like just like him. [mxw]

you both can't go to hogsmead (prisoner of azkaban!harry potter x user) — just like harry potter, user can't go to hogsmead. when everyone has left, they are only two, alone. [mxn]

bake cookies together (ron weasley x neighbours!user) — on a quiet summer afternoon at the burrow, ron and user decide to make cookies. [mxn]

he found your diary (george weasley x friend!user) — when he was searching user's room with fred, george discovers that she/he/them has a crush on him. so of course he has to confront her/him/them about it. [mxn]

girl, so confusing (hermione granger x old friend pure blood!user) —user was hermione's first witch friend but with the rise of voldemort the two girls chose different sides. after bellatrix torture hermione, user comes to give her food. [wxw]

★

I'm pretty happy with these bots, despite the annoyance of having lost a bot with more than 20k chat. I loved doing a calm and laid back vibe with Ron and George. As for Draco, I don't really know. He's a bit like a sugar daddy 😭 I'm working on the second masterlist. All these bots will be available on this one!

mxw] = man x woman | [mxn] = man x non-binary/man/woman (you can choose your gender) | [wxw] = woman x woman | [wxw] = woman x woman | [mxwxw] = men x woman x woman

……………………………..……………………………..……………………. • masterlist — my character ai elizabethmanse • bots of 19 jan 2025

[marls-mckinn0n]

who’s volunteering to kiss this face at midnight tonight because crush is flirting with someone else 😝😝

@starlight-starbright-thatsme @looneymoonyy @wormy-loves-ch33se @mary-mcdeal @mystical-magical-me @king-ofthe-crop @xeno-graphical @malfoy-lu @rodolphus-le-strange @averykissableguy @fire-allayer @poison-penmanship p @lifeofthe-barty @whokilledevanrosier @pandoras-nox @little-king-official @cas-not-the-band @flyasaphoenix @hjonesworld @emmelineandhervans @sybill-patrica-trelawney @alicethekindone @flowers-of-narcissus s @andromedashoax @the-queen-bellatrix @fabian-with-an-f @severusprince-snape @mollberryshortcake @fawningamos @k1ndest-keeper @annajohn-silvae @adam-lukas-morningstar @imogenmorningstar @oxxen--free @camille-laurier @luciagraham @your-favourite-callie @addison-caddel @daughter-of-spring @magandang-kaluluwa @secretlifeof-asher @toby-newtman-tics @bones-and-edgar @scattered-across-thesky

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

I thought it would be fun to play with a genderbent version of The Goldenhearts (both versions)

Yes I did basically just swap Ambrosius's hairstyles and call it a day but HEAR ME OUT C!Amb has a gender non-conforming hairstyle so his female version should as well. Much like her male counterpart she feels pressured to perform masculinity to be taken seriously as a knight, and also like her male counterpart she is a little princess at heart. I wanted to give M!Ambrosia Gloreth Hair because as a descendant of Gloreth I feel like that would be the image she'd be pressured to have.

The Bellatrixes I gave both a half-up bun, with Blackheart having an undercut beneath it and Boldheart not. I think gender and gender presentation was less relevant to their stories so p much nothing else about them changed, I just wanted to draw my Pretty Girl Blorbos

Might trace it digitally and add color sometime soon ^^

[motherfuckingmaneater]

What was Bellatrix like after Azkaban? How did it impact her and her relationships?

Anon I have to be honest, I hate fanon interpretation and the more I watch the movies the less I enjoy HBC's interpretation too. Don't get me wrong she's an exceptional actress and I absolutely fell in love with her the moment we saw her on screen but her version of Bellatrix is very very ooc from book canon.

There are some aspects of her I absolutely love from the films, but honestly book Bellatrix is where its at. Now, we don't know what Bellatrix was like pre-Azkaban. We get snippets of her but everything else we get is from Harry's perspective and he thinks her simultaneously repulsive and attractive.

So here's my take on post-Azkaban Bellatrix:

Mentally changed - no, not insane. Not in the way the films showed. I think she was marked criminally insane when she was sentenced to life in Azkaban however the actual meaning of 'criminally insane' is: not being responsible for ones criminal actions because of a mental disorder. She was fully aware of what she was doing and she did it all with pride for the love of her life and likely also because every action she took acted on her own personal beliefs that muggleborns and halfbloods and muggles are below her.

Similarly, a personal headcanon - she is mentally changed because she's been occluding so deeply and for so long. I think her perceptions of reality are slightly distorted, I think her perception of time is completely thrown off and I think this is because she was locked in a cell for 14 years and unable to be with the love of her life who she knew was alive but no one else believed her and she couldn't do anything about it.

I see her physically changed too. I think Azkaban didn't leave her too thin for too long and too ragged looking (like HBC's version with the birds nest hair and disgusting teeth) considering witches have a lovely little thing called magic... and Bellatrix also strikes me as too conceited to let herself look that bad. She was described 'feverish' in the department of mysteries but I personally put this down to bloodlust like a predator finally released from its cage. I think she practiced a lot of wandless dark magic in her cell whether it was rune marking - with her own blood too probably. I don't think she just sat there and rot away. I think she went deep into her magic while she occluded, calling to the stars to keep her love safe and so on.

Relationships:

Rodolphus. I think she missed him. I will forever headcanon they are best friends (who also happen to have very good sex) and they get on like a house on fire but Voldemort was always the one she felt that chemistry and deeper rooted passion with. I think they likely grow closer post-Azkaban.

Narcissa. This one is complicated. I think Narcissa is a little apprehensive of Bellatrix this time around. I think Bellatrix is a lot darker than she remembers, I think Narcissa sees a lot more of Voldemort in her sister and she begins to really resent it. I can imagine however that there's something about her darkness that Narcissa likes...something she can't resist getting close to given she too is a Black.

Voldemort. I think they find their rhythm fairly quickly. I think they spend a lot of time together, even if its just relearning each other. I think he doesn't see her as any different - if anything, he thinks her more beautiful. I think they spend every night together, I imagine her clingy and him for once not minding it. Their passion goes through the roof and I think Voldemort wants to indulge in her again and again for months on end (I mean with canon Delphi, how did that happen? Lots of hot filthy toe curling sex).

Delphini. in which of course I mean my AU where she's trio era. Now this one I think is more complicated. I love to headcanon that Delphini looks a lot like Bellatrix. I like to think Bellatrix finds her hard to look at for exactly that reason. She sees what she used to be in her daughter. I think physically she restrains herself from affection for a long time because she mentally can't take looking at her. However, I think eventually they start to heal and things will go back to normal.

Death Eaters. I don't doubt for one second every single one of them is shit scared of Bellatrix. I think they know her reputation well since pre-Azkaban and now she's even more ruthless they're not for a second going to test her.

Family: she's come out of prison 14 years and everyone she loved in her family (save Narcissa) is dead. That's a lot to wrap your head around. She loses her father, her Aunt, her Uncle (though I do like to HC Orion dies just before she goes to Azkaban) and she and Cissa are the last Blacks.

[emeritusemeritus]

Vulnera Sanentur [Weasley Twins x Reader]

Part 12

Previous/ Next

Masterlist

Title: Vulnera Sanentur

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley {established relationship}

Timeline: DH1&2- Initially set during the battle of the seven potters. Canon and certain plot points have been altered for the needs of the story.

Summary: The battle of the seven Potters throws your world into chaos when one of your boyfriend’s is cursed. As Snape’s ex-potions assistant and previous protégée, you recognise the inflicted curse immediately and demand answers from your mentor.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of war and Voldy, descriptions of injury and blood, descriptive smut, p in v sex, shower sex, tension. Outside sex. Semi public sex. None sexual nudity. Crying. Snape has a soft spot for reader. Arguments. Probably some cursing. Mentions of nightmares. Reader is part of the Order of the Phoenix. Mentions of death (Dumbledore). Mentions of Tonks’ pregnancy. On it got a angsty. So much angst I can’t tag it all. Not spellchecked nor beta read, we die like Madeye.

We stan older brother Bill 🖤

"You should have seen her, she was bloody brilliant!" Fred says excitedly from beside you.

"Yeah took her down like it was nothing! 3 blasts and she was gone!" George adds with an identical excited look on his face, his fresh mug of tea nearly spilling out as he raises his hands in excitement as he speaks.

"You were very brilliant dear," Arthur says, leaning down to press a timid kiss to his wife's blushing cheeks. The family had just recounted the demise of Bellatrix Lestrange at the hands of the Weasley matriarch and you looked up at Molly with a proud smile, in awe of the lengths she'd go to to protect her family.

"But you four, can you tell us everything now?" Arthur says, looking between you, Harry, Ron and Hermione. You feel their eyes flicking between each other and you but you don't look to them, choosing instead to look towards Bill who is already looking at you supportively, as if anticipating your trepidation at telling your story. He never knew much, only that it was the snake that had caused your anguish and your injury but you could always tell that he knew it was more, just polite enough not to pry. He offers you a soft, encouraging smile that you mirror, turning towards the others who have already begun recounting the tale.

There's a few interruptions from Molly, especially when Ron tells her about how he left the three of you during Winter as she leans over and hits him across the arm but you are hardly listening, knowing all too well that the part about Godric's Hollow will come up soon enough.

"Does anyone want another drink?" Bill says suddenly, standing up and interrupting Hermione as she begins to explain the decision to go to visit Harry's parents graves. "Perhaps we should offer to help get everyone home, get the Floo network going," he says after a few murmuring replies to his original question. It's obvious to you what he's doing and you shoot him an appreciative look, seeing him subtly wink back at you in understanding.

Kingsley had managed to get the anti-apparition and disapparition jinxes temporarily removed from the school grounds so that people could disapparate to get home, freeing up the limited number of other transportation methods that were almost immediately used up to get the younger students back to their families.

"Good idea son," Arthur says, slapping his knees before standing up and gathering Percy, who'd made a full recovery, Bill, Fleur and Fred and George to help him. The twins looks apprehensive to leave you but you pushed them off with a smile.

"Go, you need to learn a thing or two to fix ours at home," you said, playful sarcasm dripping from your voice. The floo network was tricky back at the flat and only seemed to connect to various places on a whim, like the moving staircases in the school.

The word home tumbled naturally from your mouth and filled you with a warmth you hadn't felt in some time, daydreaming of your large, warm bed with two indentical figures beside you. A proper hot meal, filling and appetising, a hot shower and a long sleep, all of which were very overdue.

Molly went to grab another hot drink with Ginny and you looked at your little team beside you, noticing that there were varying levels of happiness amongst them. Ron looked jubilant at reuniting with his family, as he should, and sharing your stories, filling them in on everything he'd not been able to tell them all this time. Hermione looked tired but happy, again glad to be able to explain what had happened, reflecting herself as if she was narrating a memoir in her mind. Harry, quite frankly, looked frustrated. You sensed the same frustration in him that you felt within yourself.

You slid over to him on the bench, careful not to disturb or shock him but just to offer a quiet comfort as Ron and Hermione debated what kind of dragon you'd escaped on during the skirmish at Gringotts.

He smiled at you warmly as he noticed you sliding in closer beside him but his smile didn't meet his eyes, only further proving your point.

"You feel it too don't you? Just wanting to get away, for some peace and quiet?" You asked quietly, leaning in to him slightly.

"Love some," he says with a subtle nod, eyes fixed on the table in front of him. Ever since you'd returned it had been a constant stream of people congratulating you, the outpouring of thanks and affection, spending time with the bereaved and shaking hands, especially for Harry who had been the saviour of them all. It hadn't occurred to anyone that you had all not slept, hardly eaten or taken a calming breath since before you entered Hogsmeade what seemed like days ago.

"You have your cloak don't you?" You said quietly, eyes flickering up to his as you waited for confirmation. "I'll distract them."

He looks at you very briefly with an affectionate and appreciative glance and you smile, tiredly, before shouting over the table to get the attention of your friend, loud enough for the people around you to take notice.

"Luna!" You call out, pointing with your finger out of the cracked, glass window, "wasn't that a Blibbering Humdinger?!"

There's a breeze that drifts past you and a warm hand placed on your shoulder for just a moment and you smile to yourself as you no longer see Harry, the cloak covering his form entirely as he glides through the hall without interference, able to escape temporarily to get some peace, hoping that you'd soon get the same allowance.

The Weasley men returned a little while later after fixing the floo and you found yourself unwittingly dragged into a family wide argument about where everyone would be going. Molly had tried to convince everyone to go back to the Burrow, to stay at least for the night to rest and recuperate but you knew this was a guise, that it would never be just one night. You knew that she wanted her children around her, you could hardly blame her for that after everything you'd all been through but you just wanted to go home. It had been months since you'd last slept in your bed, just the three of you and you felt yourself getting less and less reasonable as the hope of what you wanted faded away, though you remained silent on the matter.

Fortunately, it appeared that Fred was also just as desperate to go home as you were, having lived at Muriel's for far too long under Order protection, something he was very vocal about despising. He managed to talk Molly around with the promise that you would all go to the Burrow tomorrow night, spending your first night back at home. You tuned out the conversation out moment that she began excitedly planning what she would make for dinner that night, looping through everyone's favourite meals and how she could incorporate them in.

You tried your hardest to not be rude or sulky but the longer you sat there, the more irritated you were getting, desperate to be alone again or at least with only a chosen few for company, beginning to feel overwhelmed by the large group.

You were painfully exhausted, both physically and mentally, feeling like the months of hiding and fighting, every horror you had seen and lived through was now taking its toll on you. Your shoulder hurt again, though thankfully not like before. It was tender and sore, like it was beginning to heal and finally knit together. You rolled your shoulder subtly, trying alleviate the ache and found yourself standing and walking over to the drinks table on autopilot, just for something to do, for a little headspace.

"Tough girl," Bill nods as he moves to stand beside you, filling up his own mug which you noticed was far from empty, your eyes squinting a little in suspicion. "Do you want it numbing?" He asks quietly, leaning in so that no one would hear, looking pointedly at your shoulder, having sensed your discomfort. You immediately want to say yes but hesitate, mortified to strip down to your shirt in front of everyone. You look up at him and he nods, understanding your conflict, before shooting you a wink.

"I'm borrowing y/n," Bill says towards the group, most notably the two twins who had begun immediately frowning, "I'll keep her safe," he teased before placing his arm on your good shoulder, "need her expertise, not be long."

He doesn't wait for anyone to reply and gives you a little nod of his head to lead you out from the great hall, guiding you down the corridor, past Filch who had begun sweeping with debris and dust on the floor.

"You need to teach me how to do that," you say with a smile, wrapping your arms around yourself as you fall in step with Bill, "even your mum never questions you." He chuckles with a little shake of his head, guiding you down the staircase with a gesture of his hands to allow you to go first.

"The trick is to be confident in what you're saying, especially with mum. Plus it helps to be the oldest, having so many younger siblings to look after meant that she trusted me more, didn't have the time to watch out for me too so," he says with a shrug.

"That must have been hard though," you say delicately, looking up as he pulls his long hair back away from his face. He shrugs again, his small smile still remaining.

"It's all I've ever known, mainly it was fine until the twins came along, then mum really couldn't split herself as much, if she didn't watch them for even a minute they'd create chaos," he says with a chuckle. You laugh, completely understanding his words as you twist around lower corridors.

"Still do," you joke.

"I don't know, you seem to keep them in line," he smirks and you smile back, appreciating his words. "You're good for them." He stops now and you stop along with him, entering through a door that he'd opened for you.

"They're good for me," you reply fondly, not doubting your statement for even a second.

When you look up, you realise that you're in a classroom just off the potions wing and a little pang of sadness hits you as you think of Severus. Bill shuts the door behind you and you look around at the unfamiliar classroom, never having been in this exact room before.

You take a seat at the larger desk and begin to slowly peel off your jacket, wincing again at the material drags over the newly sealed but tender gashes on your arm and the sore patch on your shoulder. He immediately steps over and grabs the collar of your jacket, helping you peel it away from yourself, over the curve of your shoulder.

You then peel back the collar of your ruined T-shirt, the blood that covered your body now hard and dark against the material as you expose your shoulder to him.

"It looks better," he says, pulling over a stool and sitting down beside you, looking at your wound as you pull down your bra strap that was in the way. "Looks like it's healed up a bit."

You don't reply, only nod as you look away, not wanting to see the mangled flesh. He pulls out his wand and begins tracing the scars, casting a numbing spell and healing enchantments across the flesh. It feels better almost immediately, the throbbing ache and tenderness drifting slowly away until you can no longer feel any pain. Your eyes close on their own accord in relief, only to open a moment later when you feel Bill's cold fingers reaching for your arm. "These are new."

"Snake," you say quietly, watching anxiously as his fingers ghost over the marks on your arm. He doesn't reply and instead moves his wand to to try and clear them using a healing spell, which doesn't do anything. You watch his face as his brows knit together, confusion evident on his face. "It's, the curse, that George had."

You nod, beginning to look away again as you gaze at your boots, feeling an emotion that hovered between sadness and shame.

"It won't heal, not completely," you say quietly, flicking your gaze back to the marks on your arm. "They'll always be there."

"I know the feeling," he says, still looking at your arm even as your eyes flick up to his face, a new wave of guilt tugging at you for your silly remark, momentarily forgetting about the scars that covered his face. "But you learn to live with it." His gaze meets yours and the moment is tender and meaningful as he gives you a tight lipped smile.

"I know what you're thinking, that Fred and George won't find you attractive anymore, that you're different now, changed for the worst. I had the exact same feelings with Fleur. Who would want someone so scarred and ugly?"

Truthfully, you had been thinking that in the back of your mind, but you hadn't let yourself really acknowledge those feelings, only forcing yourself to pull away and never let them see.

"But they'll surprise you and you'll surprise yourself. I never thought Fleur would stay with me after this, someone as beautiful as her should never be stuck with someone like me, disfigured or not. But everyday she surprises me by loving me more, by accepting the scars and proving to me that it's not just about looks, especially when I can't change anything. And you'll find that too, I have no doubt. Fred and George adore you. I never told you when you were with us, I wasn't entirely honest about how much they missed you, how badly they took you being away. They weren't the same, hardly joked and just sat staring into nothing most of the time, they even fell out with each other a few times, which I'd never known them to do."

You felt another, more intense wave of guilt hitting you until he spoke again.

"I'm not saying this to upset you, it's the last thing I want to do. But you need to know just how much they adore you. They'd have given anything to have you back, done anything, they tried so hard. So, a few scars are really nothing in the bigger picture. You're back together, that's all that matters. And overtime you'll see that too, learn to live with them. The external scars and the ones on the inside too."

You can't stop the tears that threaten to spill at his words, feeling both broken and put back together by his speech.

"You're so strong," he says, reaching out to place his hand on your good shoulder. "The things you've done, what you've seen and lived through, most people out there couldn't even fathom. But you're here and you made it, there's a reason I call you tough girl," he says with a smirk. "Everyone says it but if you ever need someone to talk to, for anything at all, you have me. It's not always easy to open up to the people we love but sometimes someone familiar but not too close feels more comfortable to open up to."

"Not too close," you say with a snort, feeling empowered and comforted by his words, "I'd say we're pretty close now." He chuckles and nods, taking his hand off your shoulder to slide his wand back into his pocket.

"You're family," he says with a shrug and a smirk, mirroring how he'd said it to you all that time ago in Shell Cottage, making you smile. "I know the memories of Shell Cottage aren't the happiest for you but you're welcome anytime, if you ever need space or an escape. Hopefully in the future we can replace those bad memories with good ones, memories where we are all together."

You're more than touched by his words, rendered speechless at his abundant and unwavering kindness as you try to find the words to thank him, knowing nothing would ever be good enough. There's a look shared between you and you hope understands completely what you're trying to say, hoping your eyes convey every ounce of gratitude he deserves. He nods his head gently, understanding, and smiles as if you'd thanked him a million times over.

"Is there anything else I can do?" He asks, gaze flicking down to your exposed shoulder but you shake your head, knowing he'd already done so much. "No zouwu scratches or thornback bites? And here I was thinking you were an expert beast slayer." You laugh and nudge him playfully, glad for the unlifting banter.

"Let's get back, you need be home and go rest." He stands up from the stool and replaces it under tbe desk he'd pulled it from, walking over to reach for the door.

"Bill, wait," you say, standing up from the chair, a sudden alarming thought making panic erupt in your previously relaxed mind. "Severus, his body, I can't leave him there."

Reasonably you know that your sentence probably made no sense to him as he didn't know what had happened but the sadness in your voice pulled at your own heartstrings, never mind his. He immediately nodded and reached out for your hand, signalling for your to take him with you.

You placed your hand in his and thought of the boathouse, the pair of you immediately surging through dimensions and space until you landed with a crack outside of the boathouse, overlooking the small shack that you were certain would haunt you forever.

"Stay here," Bill says, still keeping a hold of your hand as he squeezes, knowing that you wouldn't be able to look again at Snape's body. You pulled out your wand and reverse the concealment spells that you'd placed there, the shielding charm working to hide his body from anyone who may have wished him harm.

You had no idea what Bill did or how the ministry was organising collection of the deceased but you trusted Bill to do the right thing on your behalf. You looked out at the water of the lake, watching the slight movement of the tranquil water, a stark contrast to the billowing waves and roiling undercurrent that had been present during the last time you were here.

Bill walked out soon after with a tight lipped smile and a nod, reaching out his hand for you to take. You paused to look once more at the cracked glass windows still stained with blood before you placed your hand into his and disapparated.

"Right, I don't know about anyone else but I'd like to be getting off, darling what do you think?" Bill says as you walk back to your extended family in the hall, Bill turning to Fleur in the hope that she would agree. From there, everyone seems to follow his lead and you can't help but chuckle as he shoots you a wink, proving once again that he was right about the confidence thing.

"Ready to go home Angel?" George says, moving to stand in front of you, his left hand clutching your waist and pulling you slightly into him as his right hand comes up to pull back the hair from your face, his thumb tenderly stroking over your face. The very mention of home makes you feel a deep rooted excitement and you smile wearily as you nod, the anticipation of a hot shower and long sleep feeling well within your grasp now. You reach out for Fred who stands just behind George and pull him in, rest your head between their shoulders as their hands rest across your tired body, your entire being melting into their warm embrace.

"Right everyone, don't forget, tomorrow evening at 5pm, not a moment later!" Molly calls out after everyone has said their goodbyes, reminding you all of the promise you'd made. You wave goodbye again and walk out to a secluded part of the hall so that the three of you could disapparate together, your hands joined tightly.

With a smile at your loved ones beside you, you picture the spot just outside of the shop where you were able to apparate into and closed your eyes, feeling yourself stretched and pulled until your appeared looking up at the bright orange building.

Diagon Alley was decimated and deserted, most of the buildings falling into disarray, either abandoned in fear or destroyed by death eaters. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had been left virtually untouched, with only a singular broken window on the third floor where the confectionary was usually displayed though from the outside everything looked to be relatively unharmed. The bleak, dark street filled with empty or ransacked shops did seem to dim the brightness of the shop however, making it look much less vibrant and exciting as you remembered it.

"Princess?" You hear Fred say gently, pulling you out of your thoughts as you turn in his direction, seeing both of them watching you in concern. You gave them a small smile and moved forward to where George was casting the unlocking charms so that you could all enter and lock yourselves away back home.

Stepping back inside the shop was still impressive as ever, even without the lights and the effects playing in the windows, no music or vibrant chatter from the excited customers. The smell was the same comforting blend of cleanliness, whizzbang smoke and comforting vanilla, mixed with a hint of Fred and George, a perfect combination. The twins quickly surveyed the shop, checking that nothing was damaged or unaccounted for as you made your way up the stairs, feeling a slight hesitation in yourself.

You realised that for the first time in so long that you would be alone, just you, George and Fred. Could it ever be the same? Would they punish you or act different to you now after you'd left them? Would your life ever go back to normal after everything you'd faced without them?

All of your spiralling thoughts were silenced the moment you unlocked the door to the apartment with your wand, seeing and smelling the comforting things all around you of home. It wasn't the tidiest you'd ever seen it but you understood that they'd had to pack quickly and leave immediately to flee to the safe house, as you'd been told by Arthur.

"I'm sorry it's not," George begins to say from behind you but you stop him, interrupting without turning.

"It's perfect."

Taglist:

@missryerye

@football1921

@rk-ceres

@weasleywheezer

@lotusloisstuff

@c0comichi

@xthatpottahfanx

@aigowen

@fandom-taylor

@weasleyluver85

@mariamkhaled87

@jewelsrules

@ledger-kaos

@bucksdonkey

@clara-carpenter-morgan

@jinxxangel13

@darkrozesblog

@slytherin4536

@crookedwerewolfobject

@chipscanbeevil

@justromaaa

@rebeldotty88

[tophthedaydreamer]

mini beetlejuice art dump!

first two are some reference sheets for my personal designs of beej and lydia :P the second is a redesign of a really old beetlejuice oc that some longtime followers might remember: bellatrix!!!!! she's beetlejuice's sister in the orion au, a wacky universe where beej has siblings named after other stars in the orion constellation :D

[ilovehugslikealotalot]

Ask Rules & Guidelines:

18+ ONLY. Minors do not interact with my blog in any way shape or form. You will be blocked if I find out you are a minor reading 18+ fics.

I will not write about real people.

(the occasional inncorrect quote, but there will be NO romantic or sexual relationship implied. These are REAL people, therefore they have their own lives. If I write an incorrect quote, r and the person will be PLATONIC. Everything will be absolutely platonic)

I do not write for male characters.

I will not write about: inc*st, p*dophilia, b*stiality, r*pe/non-con, stepcest, sexual content containing minors, pieces that are racist, or bigoted, or homophobic

I usually write better with angst, so, if you ask for smut it might be a bit off since I don’t usually don’t write smut.

I don’t usually emphasize the race or appearance of r only because it has led to some conflict before (will say things like h/n [hair color] or e/n [eye color]) but if you want something with more description on appearance please ask first.

REQUESTS: OPEN

Characters I currently write for:

Lady Dimitrescu - (Resident Evil Village /RE8)

Mother Witch - (Hocus Pocus 2) [my version of Mother Witch’s first name is Morgana]

Rebecca Welton - (Ted Lasso)

Captain Phasma - (Star Wars)

Narcissa (Malfoy) Black & Bellatrix (Lestrange) Black - (Harry Potter)

Melissa Schemmenti & Ava Coleman - (Abbott Elementary)

Mother Witch - (Hocus Pocus 2)

Gail Meyer - (The Fall Guy 2024)

Emily Prentiss - (Criminal Minds)

Alma Peregrine - (Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children)

Lady Lesso - (The School for Good and Evil)

Isobel Castille - (FBI - CBS)

Rebecca Welton

Hurtful Words Unexpected Call Why You? Nine-ing Armor Make My Wish Come True (Christmas Fic 2023). How She Got that Girl

Alcina Dimitrescu

The New Arrival (Series)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Captain Phasma

Knight in Shining Chromium (Series)

Emily Prentiss

Love’s Silent Night (Christmas 2023) She Was Only Ever Mine. A Fool’s Love. Hold onto You. Caught in Your Focus. So Long, London (Series). This is Her Trying

Gail Meyer

None

Mother Witch (Morgana Calloway)

None

Lady Lesso

Everything to Me

[mrsfrecklesmarauders]

It had been a crazy dream. The craziest dream Sirius had ever had. But oh God! How good it had felt to be kissed like that, to be touched like that.

Sirius woke up sweating from head to toes, with blushy cheeks and a very hard member.

"Toujours Pur!" The voice of his Grandmother echoed in his brain. All the awful things she had said about people like that. "Filthy people like that deserved only hell"

"Cissy boy" His Grandfather used to groan when Sirius had his hair a bit too long. "They are going to think you're a girl with that hair. Or worse. One of those..."

"A bloody ponce, that one" Orion always said about Alphard all the time "Filthy mind, filthy man. Being too much with him is going to turn you into a faggot."

"Don't cry, Sirius. You're such a pussy" Bellatrix used to tease, making her friends laugh at Sirius. He had been a kid. "Are you ever going to please a girl? Uncle and Auntie would have to pay someone to be your wife. Nancy boy!"

What would they say now? Having such a dream with none other than his best friend.

It was common for teenage boys to fantasize. Sirius had heard many times how James had dreamt about Evans. Even teased him when he whispered things in his sleep. James talked about Evans' body a lot. And loved to stare when the girl wore a tight blouse or a short skirt.

And Peter had fantasies about many girls from his magazines. Even girls at Hogwarts he found hot. He kept posters of sexy birds in bikinis and stared at girls in P. E. all the time. The boys teased him for that.

Now, Remus... Sirius had never heard of Remus's fantasies. If he fantasized at all. Who did he think about? Was it boys or girls? Sirius hadn't even think about it. Remus was just Remus. Moony. Sirius’s friend. Sirius’s confident. So sweet and funny and tender.

Now out of nowhere, Remus had been in Sirius’s dream. And what a dream. Not like his best friend. Someone who made Sirius see stars. Someone who Sirius had desired and found absolutely sexy. Someone he wanted to do nasty things to.

He couldn't get that image of Remus's face with red cheeks, his lips wet in anticipation and that hair... Uff... Those curls were wild above his head. Sirius had wanted to pull it and ran his fingers through it.

Now the next morning all Sirius felt was shame. His mind had been playing a real trick with him.

Sirius had to admit he had imagined women in his mind. Usually just body parts he got from magazines. Never with an specific face, color of hair, color of eyes. No one real to fantasize about. Not even with his last girlfriend Julie, Sirius had dreamt of such filthy things.

So why did Remus... REMUS... had to appear like that?? Sirius was going insane.

"What's wrong, Padfoot?" Remus asked when Sirius made an excuse when he asked him to go for a cigarette.

"What?" Sirius was busy 'looking' for something on his bag. Only not to stare into those eyes.

"You've been weird all morning" Remus said "You've been avoiding me... Are you angry? Have I done something wrong?"

Sirius looked up only because he heard desperation in Remus's voice. He looked confused. And very cute with those pouty eyes.

"No, of course not" Sirius faked a smile "Sorry... Have a lot of things on my mind. I didn't sleep well last night".

Because I was dreaming about you, Moony.

His cheeks burnt only remembering it.

Sirius wondered how well Remus kissed. If he would feel the dry skin of those lips. If it would be soft to ran his fingers through that hair. If his skin was warm and if those hands could touch his skin in that way...

Fuck! What was wrong with Sirius? Was he blushing?

Faggot, faggot, faggot...

Sirius was only confused. Ever since what happened that summer. Everything with his Uncle. The confused thoughts. The confused feelings. Sirius was only probably going insane.

Sirius couldn't like Remus. Not only because he was a boy. But because they were best friends. Sirius didn't want to ruin what they had. They had found each other again just recently. Sirius didn't want to lose him.

And honestly speaking, Remus deserved better than whatever mess Sirius was.

Faggot, faggot, faggot... Coward!

"Sirius? Sirius!!" Remus snapped his fingers in front of his nose. "Are you okay?"

"What?" Sirius was an idiot.

"I asked if you were going to Biology with the others"

"You're not going?"

Remus tapped the cigarettes' pack.

"Popping out for one first. You said you didn't want to come"

Sirius was just confused. He had to drown whatever he was feeling. It had been just a dream. And dreams were crazy sometimes.

Sirius smiled "You know what? I think I'm gonna go with you. God knows I need a fag right now..." a pause "A cigarette, I mean!!" he added quickly feeling ashamed of what that could have meant.

Remus stared. If he found something odd with Sirius, he didn't say. Even though Sirius noticed the caramel tone of his eyes.

"Okay" Remus shrugged in amusement.

"Let's go" Sirius nodded.

As they went, Sirius thought it was alright. One time, he heard how Rick Stevens had a crazy dream about how McGonagall slashed him in the tush for being nauthy. "She even wore a spandex" he had said. The guy was teased for several weeks after that. He had even been called "cat whisperer" for a while by the Rugby Team.

Dreams were messy and weird all the time. Sirius was probably going to forget about it when he found a hot bird to fantasize about next.

Moony was special. He was very important for Sirius. So probably that part of his brain used him. But Sirius knew that Remus was always going to be his best friend. And that was it.

Sirius hadn't done anything wrong. He hadn't kissed him or touched him. So he wasn't guilty of sin. And he would never be.