#remus lupin x hermione granger x sirius black

[fredgeorgegredfeorge]

Green-Eyed Monster | F.W.

For the first time ever, Fred Weasley finds himself jealous over the only person in the world he needn’t worry a bit about.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x f!reader

Word count: 8k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, oral + fingering (f!receiving, (lots of) dirty talk, name calling, praise/degradation, dom/sub dynamic, some nipple play, touch of a breeding kink, possessiveness/jealousy, some toxic themes, established relationship, swearing, drinking, arguing, angst, fluff, sorry if miss any!

first hp fic in a very long time! what better to post than this mess (jealous, possessive, sexy mess). basically pwp—let me know what you think! (Barely edited at all lmao my apologies)

You sat quietly at George’s desk, eyes focused on a piece of parchment as you both tried to break down the recipe George had scribbled down. There was a hiccup, a hitch in the plan of brewing a batch of Euphoria Elixir for the joke shop, and it was pushing back your plans to place them on the shelves this week. After a few hours of quiet deliberation on his lonesome, George decided to seek your help in hopes of speeding up the process.

So, the two of you put your heads together and re-read the ingredient list a million times, wondering how the hell it turned out murky green instead of sunshine-y yellow. The cauldron sat smoldering across the room, a rain cloud above it as the bubbly mixture spilled over the sides. Upon first glance, you had stated the absolute obvious.

“Isn’t that supposed to be a rainbow?” You raised an eyebrow, looking at your brother-in-law as he collapsed in his chair.

“Yes, you git.” George rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. You shot him a sharp look, warning him to be nice if he wanted your help. You knew George didn’t mean any of the insults—he was simply frustrated and maybe even a little embarrassed that he could not figure it out by himself. “Sorry, Y/N.” He conceded, realizing he came on a bit too strong.

“S’alright.” You assured him, stepping towards the desk where he sat. “Where’s the ingredient list? We’ll start there.” You offered, knowing you would help no matter how poor of a mood he was in. You loved George almost as much as you loved Fred, if you had to compare. Even if it was in a different way, you had a hard time refusing him when he used the same charm tactics as his twin brother.

After spending so many years in a relationship with Fred, it would be obscure for you not to have a bond with the closest person to him. Over the years, he’d surpassed a friend and had grown into your own brother. You were certain that no matter where life took you and Fred, George would always hold a special place in your heart. When the two opened their shop in Diagon Alley, you volunteered most of your free time to help them in any way you could, and whether it was tweaking new products or doing some of the dirty work, you never really minded.

That evening in specific, Fred was off on some ‘official business’, which really just meant meeting with a potential product buyer at The Leaky Cauldron. Last month, George took the burden of doing so, and they decided it was only fair for him to do it this time. Unfortunately for you, as much as you loved supporting them, it did interfere with your evening plans with him. So, sulking and trying your best to swallow it down, you distracted yourself with stocking shelves downstairs to prepare for another busy day ahead.

You were actually near grateful when George emerged from the office, calling out to you in desperation. It gave you a break from the monotonous back and forth, and someone to talk to. If it could not be Fred, you decided George was the next best.

“So, what’d’ya think it could be?” George asked, peeking over the cauldron that was still spitting back at him. He dodged out of the way, trying his best not to get any of the splashback on his new jumper.

“Well, from what you’ve told me, seems like you put all the right stuff in.” You deducted, pursing your lips slightly as you read over the list for what seemed like the millionth time. “Sad as it sounds, I doubt we can save it now, even if we figure out what happened.” You said, recalling your potions knowledge that Snape had relayed over the years.

“Right, but I’d like to know what’s wrong before I try again.” He explained, taking a moment to look over your sad expression. His eyebrows furrowed, his head cocking to the side as he tried to figure out where it was coming from. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?” Your eyes flickered upwards to meet his, your cheeks tinged red from the heat of the room. Your lips dipped into a frown as you shrugged your shoulders, brushing him off so you did not need to explain yourself. “I know you better than that. Come on, now.” He urged, placing his palms flat against the desk as he leaned towards you, a challenging look in his eye.

You narrowed your brows, keeping a stony expression as you met his gaze. “What’s it to you, Weasley?” You shot back, unsure of where your defensive nature was coming from. Perhaps you weren’t willing to discuss your relationship problems with your boyfriend’s twin brother, or maybe it was because you felt foolish for being upset at all.

“Reckon we’re past that, hmm? Your problems are our problems, and all.” He responded, also unsure of why you were being so reserved with your thoughts. Usually, you were an open book, especially with the two of them.

“My problems aren’t your problems, Georgie.” You shook your head, shutting down the ridiculous notion. “Let’s get back to the real problem, yeah?”

“No, I don’t think so.” George disagreed, his concern now over something completely different. “Is it about Fred?” At that, the tips of your ears began to burn and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “Ah, I see.” A devious smile crossed his lips.

“It’s not a big deal.” You covered your tracks, tapping the ink-less quill against the worn parchment.

“I have a hard time believing you, considering you just lied to me.”

“Lied is a strong word,” you rolled your eyes, quickly realizing that there would be no escaping the conversation. “I didn’t lie about anything.”

“What’s he done?”

“Nothing!” You exclaimed, a dry laugh leaving your lips. “It’s just… I’m just being dramatic.” And it’s true, you were being dramatic. Well, maybe not fully, but that’s what you were trying to convince yourself of. “I just miss him, I suppose. I know you both have been busy, but I think maybe I underestimated how busy you would actually be.” You continued, knowing it was wrong to confide in his twin brother about your relationship issues. Still, it felt good to get it off your chest, to voice the concern and have someone shoot you down, just so you knew you were being irrational. “This is the third night in a row we’ve canceled our plans. I’ll get over it. It’s no big deal.”

“That’s a big deal.” He hummed, sympathizing with you to make you feel better. “Bloody inconsiderate, if you ask me.” But you weren’t asking him, and somehow his justification of your feelings only made you feel worse. “What? Not allowed to speak my mind?”

“No—“ you let out a defeated sigh, slumping down in your seat. “I know that, but I was hoping you would tell me I’ve gone mad, instead.”

“Blimey, Y/N, you’re allowed to be upset. We're busy, yeah, but you’re still his girlfriend.” George said, jumping slightly when the rain cloud above the cauldron let out a crack of thunder. “If you’d rather, we can forget the elixir and grab dinner instead. I’m not Fred, but I’m pretty damn close.” He gave you a cheeky smile, earning an honest laugh from you.

“S’alright, Georgie. Thank you, though.” You appreciated his kindness, but you were sure it would only make your predicament even worse, considering Fred’s recently acquired short-fuse when it came to you and George spending so much time together. It was odd for him to be so protective, so jealous of the one person in the world he needn’t worry about, but it seemed as though the new trait was permanent. Perhaps it came from the fact he was also missing you due to your busy schedules, and how it sometimes seemed you and George were most often left at the shop alone.

“You know, I have noticed that lately.” George continued, leaning against the desk as he reminisced over the last few weeks. “Always seems to be us stuck here together.”

“Mhm.” You mumbled, slowly realizing that you weren’t as insane as you previously thought if he was noticing all of the same things. “Let’s just figure this out so I can get home.”

So you did. A grueling hour spent recounting George’s every step in brewing the elixir left the two of you puzzled and even more frustrated. By that point in the night, you were hunched over the long list of his steps you had jotted down so you could (hopefully) discover what he missed.

“I dunno, Georgie.” You sighed. “Seems like you did everything—“ you cut yourself off, leaning closer to the page on the desk as you caught something you hadn’t seen before.

“What?” He asked, his head snapping towards you. “What is it?”

“You said when you let it simmer, it was turquoise.” You said, looking up at him.

“Yeah, so?” He replied, confused why it was such a big deal.

“It’s meant to be blue.” You explained, a grin on your face as you relayed the information to him.

“Turquoise… blue… same thing, innit?” He asked, standing and walking over to you.

“Maybe to you.” You giggled, pointing to the piece of paper where he missed the step. “After you add the shrivelfig, you have to stir it until it changes color.” He walked up behind you, placing one hand on your arm as he leaned over your opposite shoulder. He smelled of butterbeer, likely due to the one he’d been nursing the entire time you sat together. You immediately noticed the warmth of his body, how similar it felt to how Fred touched you, but how drastically different it was all the same.

“Blimey, you’re right!” He exclaimed, his voice still soft so he was not yelling in your ear. “What would I do without you?” He gave your arm a gentle squeeze, leaning closer and pressing the side of his face to yours in a makeshift hug. His hand dropped to your back, lingering there as the conversation continued.

“It’s nothing, really.” You smiled, closing your eyes to enjoy the warmth for a moment. “So now you know. You can do it again, but make sure to stir it until it’s blue. By tomorrow, we’ll have it bottled and on the shelves just like we planned.”

“Our number one girl, saving the day yet again.” He sighed in relief. “I better get to it—“

Before his thought could finish, the door to the office swung open, cutting him short. Your eyes turned upwards, landing on a slightly drunken version of the boyfriend who’d abandoned your evening plans. The gloss of his eyes and the goofy smile on his lips led you to believe so, and the redness on the apples of his cheeks only solidified it. Only his cheeky grin didn’t last too long when he processed the scene in front of him, how close the two of you were, how heavy George’s hand seemed on your back and how rosy your own cheeks were.

Quickly, his jaw tightened, his gaze narrowing as he tried to decipher the whole situation. His nostrils flared ever so slightly, and his arms raised to cross over his chest. Immediately, you knew what you’d be in for; a long, tiresome argument that changed absolutely nothing. Instead of fighting the silent accusations, defending yourself for no real reason at all, you watched him with the same intensity while you awaited a snide comment.

“So what’s all this, then?” Fred asked, his face clearly conveying all of his emotions.

“Helping Georgie make the elixir while you were off getting sloshed at The Leaky Cauldron.” You muttered, noticing George straighten himself up in hopes of avoiding any further damage.

“I was not getting sloshed, I was doing business.” He corrected, defensive over the fact. “S’pose you were hoping I’d take a little longer, yeah? Give you some more time to cozy up with my brother?”

“Blimey, Fred. If you took any longer, I’d imagine you’d have to move in with the lad.” George took your side on the matter. “At least she wouldn’t have to worry about you missing dinner again.” At that, Fred’s eyes cut to you, immediately understanding where the underlying tension was coming from.

“Is that right?” Fred’s voice was no louder than a whisper, all of the pieces clicking together in an instant. “I don’t suppose the two of you had dinner? Let him fill in for me while I was gone?”

“No, we did not.” You snipped, standing as you gathered the ingredients for George’s second attempt at the brew.

“Yeah, right. What else did he fill in for, sweetheart? Anything you think I should know?” At that, your eyes widened and your face turned red. Your entire body felt like it was engulfed in flames, appalled that he would even think such a thing.

“Piss off, Fred.” You muttered, stepping out from behind the desk as tears stung your eyes. George shot you a sympathetic look as you pushed past his brother and out into the stairwell. You trodded down to the main level, swiping fallen tears away from your cheeks as you rushed out the front entrance of the building.

The cool air of the night was nice, especially after spending so long cramped up in the tiny office space, but it was not as freeing as you might have hoped once you heard footsteps following behind you. Without acknowledging him, you pulled your keys from your pocket, hoping that maybe he forgot his own set and you wouldn’t have to deal with his drunken arguments tonight if you got inside before him.

Of course, you knew that was childish and cruel, because despite being upset with him, loving him was the only thing you knew how to do. You unlocked the front door, holding it open with your boot-clad foot as he stumbled his way behind you. As soon as he passed through the doorway, you continued on your journey to ignore him and tossed your keys on the counter.

“Hey,” Fred reached out, his warm hand landing on your arm, stopping you from running any further from him.

“What?” You snapped, immediately regretting the harshness of your tone. He recoiled at the sound, shocked that you spoke to him in such a way. Usually the two of you saw eye to eye on everything, and in your long standing relationship arguing had never been your thing. Until you left school, you were certain the two of you had never been angry at each other, ever.

“What the bloody hell was that about? I leave for a few hours, and the two of you get on like that? Does that happen every time I step out?” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes again, wondering why this became such a problem in the few short months you’d been graduated.

“Merlin, Fred. You’re acting like you caught us in a broom closet.” You tried again to make your way to the bedroom, unwilling to argue a point he knew was blasphemous anyhow. “We were working, not fucking.”

“Yeah, but I bet you would’ve let him, right?” He grabbed your hand, spinning you back around to face him. He pulled you into him, his athletic build never leaving him even after he stopped playing quidditch. “Bitching and moaning cause I couldn’t be home to take you to dinner… if you were so upset, why didn’t you come to me, princess? Tell me what was wrong?” You could smell fire whiskey on his breath, feeling his chest heaving with anger against your own. As angry as you were, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of arousal run through you. The slight sneer on his face, the fire in his eyes, and the protective hold he had on you was sending your head spinning with thoughts much less pertinent to the topic at hand.

“Maybe I would have if you spared me the time of day.” You argued, finding yourself short of breath as you realized just how much he towered over you. “But, as it seems, you’ve been too damn busy to spare me a second glance.”

“Christ, when did you get so needy?” His rebuttal came easy, like he’d been waiting to have this fight for weeks. “Weren’t satisfied at home, so you thought my brother could do it for you?”

“Are you daft?” You hissed, feeling his fingers tighten on your hips. You hated that the feeling made you forget about your troubles, urging you to push the argument to the side and settle it in a better, more pleasurable way. “If that’s what I wanted, you think I’d be up here arguing with you?”

“That depends, sweetheart. Were you planning on getting caught?” He raised an eyebrow, the thud of his heart against his chest letting you know just how worked up he was. There was no way he truly believed you would do that to him, especially after all you had been through together. You wondered if maybe the lack of time spent with each other was getting to him, souring his thoughts because he missed you just as much as you missed him. “We may be identical, Princess, but he could never give you what I can.”

You hated to admit it, but for some strange reason, jealousy looked really good on him.

“What, a headache and a poor mood?” You decided to play his game if he wasn’t willing to listen to reason. If he wanted to fight, you could do it too. “I’m sure he could manage. In fact, he could probably do a hell of a lot more.” That seemed to strike a nerve in him, pushing him over the edge in an instant and changing the entire mood hanging heavy in the room. He no longer wanted to talk, but rather prove a point.

He took a step backwards, never easing his hold as he pushed you towards the kitchen table. He didn’t stop until your ass hit the edge, a mischievous look in his eye replacing the earlier annoyance. He had you locked in place, no intent to back down as he stared down at you over the bridge of his nose. Then, a small smirk turned the corner of his lips, leading you to believe he was also thinking of a much more simple way to solve your problems.

“Maybe you just need a reminder of who you belong to, yeah?” He asked, his voice quieter than it was before. You felt your mouth run dry, your eyes never leaving his as a dull ache between your legs began to pester you.

That would make you feel better, but he had pissed you off enough that you wanted to refuse him the satisfaction.

“Maybe we should get Georgie up here. According to you, he’d be the one to set me straight.” There was a slight venom in your tone letting him know you wouldn’t be letting anything go so easily. A low chuckle shook his shoulders, his eyes gleaming with a sinister look you weren’t sure you’d ever seen from him before that night. He shook his head ever so slightly, playing into you as he reached one arm behind you.

Your heart raced as you awaited a response, wondering if maybe you pushed him too far and crossed a boundary you could not double back on. You didn’t have to wonder long, because without a second thought, he cleared all of the items littering the table with one swift move of his arm. Papers scattered everywhere, floating through the air and landing all over the floor. Broken products and half finished merchandise for the shop tumbled off the edge, falling less than gracefully onto the tile below. Without ever breaking eye contact, he raised an eyebrow, daring you to say it again.

“You think he can fuck you better than I can?” He asked, giving you the opportunity to change your mind.

“Right now? Yeah.” You spat, wondering if he’d ever drop the act and get on with his day. “Seems like all you want to do is get on my nerves.”

“Yeah?” He challenged, his face so close to yours you could feel his breath on your skin. The tip of his nose grazed your own, his normally warm and comforting irises engulfed by his lust-blown pupils. Or perhaps it was anger that gave him the new look—you weren’t quite sure. “You’d rather go home with him at night? Wake up next to him every morning? Is that really what you want, princess?” He taunted, knowing very well that your heart was his, even if he found himself caught up in a few moments of doubt.

Still neglecting to give him any gratification, you nodded your head despite the sickening feeling that washed over you at the thought. As if he called your bluff before you ever said it aloud, he laughed at the certainty in your action, which only seemed to anger you further.

“If that’s the case, seems like I’ve got my work cut out for me tonight.” He responded, brushing the comment off as if it were nothing. If there was one thing Fred couldn’t ever turn down, it was a challenge, and since coming upstairs with you, it was only further proven to him that’s all this was. “Maybe I’ve gotten too comfortable, sweetheart. After so long, you think you’d know that you’re mine, huh?” Before he continued his tyrant, he used his hands on your hips to lift you onto the table with ease. The ache between your legs had grown stronger, more intense and impossible to ignore. You could feel the wetness soaking through your panties, and the thought of his strong arms lifting you so carelessly only made you spiral further. “Maybe I expect too much of you.” He theorized, recognizing the gleam in your eyes because he’d seen it a thousand times before.

He let his hands trail under the hem of your jumper, settling on the button of your jeans as he undid it with ease. You never let your eyes trail from his face, realizing that no matter how upset you were, it could never take away from how much you loved him. He was beautiful, his fiery red hair and the freckles splattered across his cheeks and nose creating a perfect picture. The softness of his complexion and the gentleness hidden deep in his expression assured you that whatever the two of you were doing was nothing more than an act. He knew you were his just as well as you did, but he knew the only way to settle the (admittedly, misguided) fear was to hear you say it aloud.

You helped him pull the fabric from your legs, wrapping your arms around his neck as you lifted your hips from the table. He discarded the clothing on the floor, paying no mind to it as he returned his hands to your bare legs. His eyes searched your face, carefully looking for any sign of discomfort. Instead, he was met with a pleading expression that only seemed to fuel his too large ego even further.

“No matter,” he disregarded his earlier rant, his eyes growing heavy as his hand fell between your legs. His fingertips grazed the thin fabric separating him from your core, a shiver running down his spine as he noticed the arousal that had soaked straight through. “I don’t mind having to show you. Least I’ll get to have my fun too, yeah?” He applied slight pressure to your aching clit, watching to see your reaction. Your eyebrows knitted together, your lips parting slightly as your hips moved forward into his hand, your body betraying your mind and begging him for something more.

At that, a grin encased his face, happy to see that he hadn’t lost his touch, even if your lives were vastly different and ever-changing by the day. He knew exactly how to make you feel good, and he took pride in it.

“See, Princess? She’ll always tell me the truth.” He taunted, his voice quiet as his eyes trailed down to his hand. You swallowed hard, knowing he had you in a stalemate. “Tell me again, who do you think knows how to make you feel good? Who does it best?” He was on a power trip, unwilling to slow down until he heard you admit it. Still, you stood your ground, pressing your lips tightly together so not a single sound could pass through. His grin faded, slowly sinking into a scowl as your disobedience remained clear.

He removed his finger from you, tracing the hem of your panties as he hooked his finger through the side of the fabric resting on your hip. He awaited an answer, giving you the opportunity to change your mind. When you kept your stoicism, he gave one, hard tug on the lacy fabric until it snapped in two. He used his other hand to do it to the opposite side, giving himself easy access to you without hearing a complaint on your end.

“So you don’t care who’s between your legs?” He continued, unrelenting as you stared him down. “Doesn’t matter who, as long as there’s a cock in you? As long as someone’s taking care of your pretty pussy?” Your cheeks flushed, your chest burning as the filthy words washed over you. “Doesn’t matter, sweetheart. When I’m done with you, I’ll be the only person you can think of. Surely then you won’t be able to forget who you belong to.”

His hand connected with your bare cunt, his fingers trailing through your arousal and settling over your clit as he began to trace slow circles into the sensitive area. Your legs trembled at the contact, finally feeling some relief from the nagging sensation that had been taking over.

“Fuck. Fred.” You whispered, giving yourself away immediately. He let out a low hum, pleased with the sound and knowing he was the reason for it. He had you where he wanted you, and now he just had to keep up the pace. You could feel his hardening length against your leg, distracting you completely from the pent up anger and frustration.

“That’s it.” He encouraged, his middle finger sinking inside of you as he let his thumb take over on your clit. “That’s my girl.” He made sure to accentuate the claim, never once letting you forget it. “All you needed was a little help remembering.” Slowly, he pumped his finger into you, keeping time with his thumb as he began to work you towards a climax. “You want to say it for me? Tell me what I already know?” Instead of responding, you let out a whine, your hips bucking forward into his hand. Although it wasn’t what he was looking for, it was just enough for him to keep going.

He curled his fingers as he pumped them into you, begging for a reaction as your hand wrapped around his bicep for support. You felt the tense of his muscles as he worked at you, only pushing you closer to insanity. You were his, undoubtedly and wholeheartedly, and you would be crazy to ever want anyone else.

“Stubborn little thing tonight.” He remarked, his eyes focused on the point in which his hand met with you, never breaking his stare as he watched his fingers disappear into you. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Need more, Freddie.” You replied, your eyes squeezed shut as you felt the pleasure pulsing under your skin. It had been a long time since you felt him this way, and your impatience was quite clear.

“My little whore needs more?” He teased, applying a little more pressure with his thumb. A gasp fell from your lips, sending your upper half leaning forward until your forehead rested against his. “Asking a lot from someone you aren’t being very good for.” He chastised you for your behavior despite being the one that caused the problem in the first place.

“M’sorry, my love. S-so sorry.” You rushed out, his fingers brushing against the sweet spot inside you only he knew how to find.

“That’s not what I want to hear sweetheart, and you know it.” His tone was firm, unrelenting as he continued his torment. You let out a groan of frustration, wishing he’d quicken the pace and give you what you wanted, even though you refused to give in to him.

He leaned forward, closing the gap between your mouths as he grew tired of waiting for the words he wanted to hear. He tasted like the whiskey that had been fuelling his poor mood, sweet and bitter all at once as his tongue grazed your bottom lip. You hated how easy it was for him to turn you into a mess, hated how easy it was for him to make you forget you were angry at all. You pulled him closer to you, holding his arm tightly so he would not pull away. You were stubborn, but despite that, you were showing him everything he wanted to see through your actions alone.

You broke from the kiss as a particularly intense wave of euphoria pulled your stomach. Your forehead continued to rest on his, holding you upright as he continued to give you just enough to keep you satisfied.

“Say it, princess.” His voice was low, raspy and laced with desire as he watched you turn into a mess below him. “Tell me you’re all mine. Tell me I’m the only one who can make you feel like this.” Instead, you connected your mouths again, letting a desperate moan out at the same time. He drank in the sound, his cock throbbing as his hips jutted forward into nothing. He was almost more desperate than you were, which only allowed for you to take him less seriously.

“G-gonna have to try harder than that.” You found a peculiar pleasure in leaving him on edge, giving him a taste of his own medicine as he continued to torture both of you at once. “Show me why I should say it, Freddie. Seems like you’re all t-talk.” You stuttered, tripping over your words as you tried to keep your composure.

He withdrew his hand from you, making you cry out in frustration from the loss of pleasure. Your eyes met his, desperation written all over your face as you protested his actions. Silently, he sunk to his knees between your legs, pulling you to the edge of the table by your hips. He didn’t spare a single glance at your face before his tongue connected with your core, the warm wetness of his tongue even more pleasurable than the rough pad of his thumb.

You laid back on the table, your hands sinking downwards and tangling in the soft locks of hair. Although you were denying him of the statement he wanted to hear, you could not deny that your last argument was wholly untrue. Fred was determined to prove a point, and he was doing it well.

You weren’t far off from an orgasm, his tongue making quick work at pushing you to the edge. The sounds falling from your lips were telling of your current state, and as delirium began to set in, your defenses began to break down.

He suctioned his lips around your clit, adding his fingers to the mix and returning to his earlier pace to torture you further. Every nerve in your body was ablaze with desire, need seeping from every pore as you realized just how badly you needed the release. Sick of the game, you finally broke in fear he would leave you hanging yet again.

“Oh, god.” You gasped, your legs resting over his shoulders in attempt to stop the constant trembling of the lips. “I’m yours, Fred, fuck!” You exclaimed, a sheen layer of sweat forming over your forehead as the knot in your belly began to tighten. “Only you can make me feel this good. Nobody else.” You whined, your fingers tightening on the locks of hair as you began to tug at the strands. You could feel him smiling against you, happy to finally hear you admit the truth.

Pleased with your confessions, he curled his fingers against your g-spot one last time, generously giving you the very thing you’d been pleading for. In a mess, your entire body tensed as the pleasure took hold. The orgasm washed over you, leaving your heart racing against your chest and your head swirling with filthy thoughts for the boy between your legs. A hum of approval let you know he was more than happy with your performance, and he kept his pace until he felt you relax against the table below you.

Once he knew he’d gotten the most out of you, he rose to his feet, towering over you as you laid below him. In the dim moonlight, you could see your orgasm glistening on his chin, only furthering his cockiness as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip so he did not waste a drop of it.

“Always taste so sweet, princess.” He whispered, using one hand to free himself from his pants and his boxers. “And it’s all for me.” He continued, slipping his shirt from his head. He used it to wipe his face clean before tossing it on the floor to join the growing pile of clothes. With shaky hands, you lifted your upper half from the table and pulled your own jumper over your head. “Isn’t that right?” He stepped toward, settling between your legs as his hands ghosted over your bare thighs.

You let out a whimper, his grip landing on your already sore hips as his eyes raked over your entire frame. Your gaze flickered to his cock, hard and aching for relief as he continued to tease you. His fingers tickled your stomach as he trailed his touch upwards, his palm landing flat against your breast as he gave it a gentle squeeze. He let the pad of his thumb brush over your hardened nipple, sending another wave of pleasure through you.

“Answer me, sweetheart.” He wasn’t playing anymore; he wanted to hear the words, and he was done with your obstinacy. He pinched your nipple between his thumb and forefinger,

“Yes,” you huffed, already forgetting the pleasure from your first climax as a whole new wave of need began to take over. “I’m yours, Fred. All yours.” You reiterated your earlier statement, now willing to do whatever he wanted of you to prove the point.

“Tell me how bad you want it.” He shot you a twisted little smile, almost as if he was getting off just from the thought of you begging for him.

“I need it, baby. Need to feel you, please.” You whined, reaching for his arms and pulling him closer. “Want you so bad, Fred. Been waiting all night for it.” You felt the tip of his cock connect with your cunt, his expression faltering as soon as he felt the wetness.

“God, you make it so hard to be upset with you.” He hissed the words through his teeth, using his hand to guide himself through your folds as he sucked in a sharp breath. He settled himself just over your already sensitive clit, pushing his hips forward ever so slightly to apply pressure to the spot. “Sound so pretty when you’re begging to be fucked.”

Slowly, he let his tip run back through your arousal, settling the head just at your entrance. He pushed himself forward, but just barely. You whimpered as you braced yourself for the feeling, only to be let down when he stopped himself from going any further.

“Fred,” you warned, catching his eye so he could see your desperate face. You hoped that if he did, he would stop being such a tease. “Please fuck me.”

“What was that?” He smirked, turning his head slightly so his ear was closer to you. “Didn’t quite catch it.”

“Fred, stop—“ you cut yourself off, letting out a huff of annoyance. You knew chastising him for his actions would only make him less likely to give in, even if it was incredibly hard to hold it back. “I need you to fuck me.” You repeated, clearer and louder in hopes of swaying his decision. “Can’t wait any longer, baby. Please.”

At that, he pushed forward the rest of the way, sending your entire body raising with goosebumps. The stretch as he filled you was exactly what you craved, and as he reached the hilt, his tip brushed against your g-spot so delicately that it almost made you come undone right then and there. Your eyelids grew heavy with satisfaction, focusing on how full you felt with him inside of you, knowing that he for certain would always be the one for you.

“That good enough for you, Princess? This is what you wanted?” He asked, letting himself rest inside you for a moment. He felt your walls flutter around him, pulling him even further and making it harder for him to resist you.

“Mhm,” you hummed, giving him a tired nod of agreement. You could feel him throbbing inside of, desperate for a release just like you had been moments before, but he was still trying to prove his point.

“Nobody else gets to have you like this, sweetheart. You’re mine.” He whispered, now sober from the alcohol but intoxicated by an even stronger, deadlier force; you. “He couldn’t fuck you like this, and you know it.” As he spoke, he withdrew his hips and slammed them forward into you again. The action stole the breath from your lungs, twisting your stomach with pleasure as your nails scratched over his skin.

He began at a pace, slower than normal but the force behind his movements making your head spin. You moaned quietly, lost within the feeling of being so close to him. He never failed to take your breath away, never failed to amaze you with his every move. You were so in love with him it sometimes felt like there was no room within your heart for anyone or anything else.

“Tell me, Y/N.” He ordered, his stare never wavering as he fucked into you. As much as he wanted to succumb to the sensation of you wrapped around him, he found it hard to push the thoughts of your earlier arguments out of his head. “You think he’d fuck you like this? You think he could make you feel this good?”

“No, Freddie.” You gasped, feeling the strength of his thrusts increase, sending the legs of the table wobbling. His fingers tightened on your hips, likely leaving behind angry red marks that would fade into reminders of him for days to come.

“That’s it, Princess.” He panted, his chest heaving as he tried to resist the pull of pleasure. “Don’t you think, not even for a second, that anyone can give you half of what I can.” You both knew this to be fact; nobody in the entire world could ever compare to him. “And why do you think that is?”

“‘C-cause I’m yours,” you managed to stutter out the response, watching him as the statement washed over. He brought his hand to your thigh, your legs wrapped tightly around you as he pulled you back on him with every thrust. His head fell back on his shoulders, the dim light of the room casting a beautiful hue over his already breathtaking features.

“That’s right,” he grunted, slamming his hips forward again. There was a thin layer of sweat sheen on his chest, the toned muscles of his abdomen flexing every time he moved. The exposed columns of his neck made your mouth water, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed back his own groans of pleasure. “Was that why you were mouthing off? You just needed someone to take care of you? Just needed me to fuck you?”

“God, yes.” You moaned, feeling the pressure in your belly begin to reach a peak.

“You gonna cum for me, sweetheart? All over my cock?” He smiled, looking down at you so he could appreciate the view. “Come on now, making a fucking mess of it.”

“Fuck,” you whimpered, his words hitting you hard and causing the tightening knot in your belly to tense even further.

“That’s my pretty girl. Just like that.” He continued to encourage you, studying your expression as pleasure began to twist it.

It didn’t take much more for you to descend into another orgasm, your entire body quivering as you cried out for him, singing his name like a hymn and he was the god in which you prayed to. Your throat was raw, raspy from the constant string of moans passing your lips. You were tired, almost too fucked out to continue on, but he was having none of it. He didn’t slow his pace as you came down from the high, instead speeding up and ensuring that he pulled your entire body down on him as he fucked into you.

“Freddie, please.” You breathed, feeling the threat of overstimulation begin to creep in. He would have had sympathy had he known you couldn’t take it, but he was confident in your ability to keep up with him.

“What’s wrong, Princess? Wanted it so bad and now you can’t handle it?” He asked, his eyes glazed over with lust as he felt himself approaching his own orgasm. You frowned at his words, now on a quest to prove your own point as you tried to ignore the stinging beginning to set in.

“I can t-take it.” You huffed, a shiver running down your spine as he reached upwards and palmed your breast. He gave the supple flesh a gentle squeeze, his eyes closing in bliss as he let himself slip out of the persona he had created.

“Being so good for me—just a bit longer now.” He whispered, his voice far away as his eyes settled over your face once more. “Bloody hell, Y/N.” he groaned, his forehead creasing as his eyebrows furrowed together. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He slipped his hand between your legs, his thumb landing atop your clit. He traced slow circles, knowing you were a bit further behind him and unwilling to climax without giving you at least one more. He could see how tired you were, but it did not deter him from his commitment to pleasing you.

“I love you, Fred.” You whispered, softened entirely by the sweet look in his eyes. All of his previous anger fled, leaving him just as the boy you’d fallen so hopelessly for.

“I love you, sweetheart.” He hummed, his hips stuttering and his stature faltering. “Give me one more, yeah? I know you can do it.” And he was right, your entire body was ablaze with another orgasm much more powerful than the last two.

“Together?” You gasped, reaching up and settling your palm on his cheek.

“Yeah? You want to cum with me?” He encouraged your train of thought. “Want me to fill that pretty cunt? Really show you who you belong to?”

“Fuck yes, please.” You cried, your fingertips tangling in the locks of hair hanging over his ears. Your walls clenched around him, drawing him in and effortlessly finishing what you had started.

You felt his hips stall, a low growl leaving his lips as he pulled you down on him one last time. He managed to whisper your name as he spilled his release into you, the feeling of him filling you completely sending you spiraling on your own accord. You let out a defeated sigh, the tail end of it turning into a whine as your body went rigid. Your nails scratched at the skin of his arm, your hand on him the only thing keeping you tied to earth instead of floating up and through the clouds.

The both of you rode the high together, euphoria infiltrating every nerve in both of your bodies as he leaned down towards you. Ever so gently, he laid his head on your chest, which was still heaving as you tried to catch up from the lack of oxygen. He placed a plethora of small kisses against the warm skin, his eyes fluttering closed as he appreciated the comfort that came with your company.

Silence hung heavy between you for a few moments, neither of you sure where to go from there. You were still strung out on bliss, barely remembering what got the two of you in the position until he spoke again.

“M’sorry, sweetheart.” His voice barely broke through the room, so timid and shy that you almost missed it completely. “I know you’d never do that. Just got in my head, I s’pose.”

“I… I get it.” You sighed, twisting a lock of his hair. “If I walked in on that, after us being so.. you know. I’d likely feel it too.” You confessed. “I was upset that we had to cancel dinner. I am upset, but not at you.” You tried your best to explain yourself despite exhaustion eating away at your mind. “I’m just upset because I miss you. You’re so busy now, and I’m happy for you, really, but I miss you too.”

“You think I was bloody happy about it?” Fred chuckled, the tip of his fingers tracing shapes into your skin. “I’d much rather be here, with you.” At that, you relaxed completely, understanding that you had gotten too far into your own head. “It’s my favorite place to be. Always has been.”

“Mine too, Fred.” You hummed, smiling softly at the thought.

“I reckon I was a bit jealous, ‘specially at the thought of you and George spending so much time with each other. Would rather it be me, you know, sitting at the shop and laughing with you all night… taking you out for dinner… loving you.” Another gentle kiss was placed to your chest, just before he looked up to meet your eyes. The soft, warm, familiar sight made you feel at ease. He was back to being your Fred, the one you missed all along.

“Darling, you have nothing to be jealous about.” You promised, smiling as he placed a quick peck on your lips. “Though, if it means we get to have brilliant sex like that, by all means do what you have to do.” You explained. “Bloody brilliant, at that.” Without any further words, the two of you descended into a fit of laughter and the clouds that previously hung above your head seemingly cleared in an instant, easily proving to him there was really never a need to worry at all.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Hehehehe okay so what if you like wrote a fic about remus lupin x reader. The reader is a teacher (preferably like astronomy) and they're sneaking around together. students are making bets and stuff to see if they'll end up together, some girls just ship them really hard.

They're trying so hard to keep it a secret but they are so bad at it.

Me @ every guy who isn't a fictional wizard from the 70s ^^

An: This fluff attempt goes out to you, rip

Rumors

Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

cw: A lot of kisses and cursing, stapler mishandling

Masterlist

WC:4181

The halls of Hogwarts were filled with hushed whispers and mindless patter of gossip. The newest topic of the year? 

Professor {L/N}, the newest astronomy hire. An Alchemist who perfected her work through star charting. Lupin had recommended you for the post to assist Sinistra. Mostly, however, you were hired on to assist with the newest project under Dumbledore. With your studies in the North Pole, you were tasked with on and off communications with the centaur herd within the Forbidden Forest. Specifically, their astronomy masters. It was easy, given your track record with magical creatures. Creating a bridge of mutual understanding between the professors and the herd. Dumbledore also saw you valuable to both potions and alchemy class; meaning you met a lot of students very fast.

So almost everyone knew you, you ran a tight ship in class, playful and respectful to the students paired with a charming personality, no one could bring themselves to even hate you.

That's probably how the rumors began, truthfully. Who doesn't want their two favorite teachers to end up together?

Much like Lupin, the students adored you. Hermione especially, after learning of your academic achievements of the past, while being a muggleborn witch. 

Your first reaction to seeing him probably don't help. First few steps into your new place of employment and you hurry over to the only face you cared to recognize, and give him a hug and a thank you for the recommendation. 

It wasn't anything big and it wasn't anything of a spectacle, but Merlin, was Hogwarts boring. The thrill of gossip seemed to have every student in a choke hold. Some said you were both childhood friends turned lovers, some said you were married and it was a scandalous affair, most of the rumors were just students talking about how perfect you both fit together. 

Your caring, funny, and nurturing behavior, to his stern more rugged form of bonding, you were affectionately dubbed ‘mum and dad.’ 

Never to your face however, and mostly by the first and seventh years. Something about growing shame and losing it in your final days of Hogwarts, remarkable.

~~~

“I'm telling you! He looks at her like she is the very stars she teaches us about!” A seventh year sighed dreamily with her friends. She had her chin in her palms and was staring up at the front of class while a few of their classmates took the practical exam. “I wish someone would look at me like that.”

“Really! I haven't seen so much tension between two faculty before! I wouldn't be surprised to find them snogging in the halls!” One of them joked and the other girls laughed.

“Truly, but I saw Professor {L/N} wearing a wedding ring. She took it off and put it in her pocket before class started. I wonder if they are, you know~ Never have I seen Professor Lupin wear one.” She wiggled her eyebrows and the original girl spoke up with a gasp.

“Oh don't you say that! Professor Lupin and Professor {L/N} would never!” She tutted and another voice chimed in, a boy from a seat behind them, making the three turn.

“I heard that they spent Christmas at school together.” Cedric cheeked and the three girls gasped and began to murmur among themselves about it, before Lupin clapped his hands.

He found it a bit amusing, he had let them continue that far. This is what his classes have become, listening to the students muttering about him and you, seeing how close they could possibly get to the truth. Remus, at a fault, was a gossip. He learned to love the thrill of rumors from Sirius and James, but what was better than rumors about you and a colleague? Rumors about you and a colleague that were so close to the truth.

“Right now! Who's next?”

The rest of the class went smoothly, everyone finished their exams and the classroom began to file out. As Lupin got comfortable in his seat, his door peaked open.

“If you are here for tutoring, please note my hours are posted on the door, this first hour has been reserved already.” Lupin called out from his chair, head leaned back. 

“Tutoring, hm?” A song-like voice rang out from the door. He slowly smirked and leaned forward, eyes locking onto yours. You were holding a box of Merlin knows what, walking straight up to his desk with that beautiful smile. 

“Is that so unbelievable?” He teased, voice lower as he stood up and walked around his desk. Looking over your shoulder to peek into the box, seeing several random objects, including a stapler, a retractable ruler, a metal pointing stick, and other random muggle things.

“Oh, totally. I think I remember you almost lost it when Peter asked for your notes.” You teased him and he chuckled, his breath brushing against your neck. He admired the way you seemed to not flinch, but melt into his proximity. 

“Peter was a terrible student.” He mumbled and you laughed, his hand slipping around your waist and leaning down to kiss the side of your neck. You laughed harder and squirmed away. 

“Hands to yourself. Now, show me where I can hide this contraband.” You lifted the box and shook it a bit. “The things they allow in muggle schools! Hmph!” You mused and he laughed, walking you up to his office and to the far back near a storage closet. He opened the door for you and you set the box down, looking around curiously.

The room was small, but big enough for four people to stand in it comfortably. The walls were covered in shelves filled with items from all over the school years, you ran your finger along one of the shelves and let the dust collect.

“What's on your mind, hm?” Lupin mused and you turned to smirk at him.

“Just wondering where they are hiding the really bad stuff. Still in Filtch’s closet?” You hummed as he stepped into the small room with you. His eyes looked you over and you gave him a look.

“Why's that, darling?”

“Just curious, out of all the things in that closet,” You hummed as Remus wrapped his arms around your middle and pulled you against him. Your fingers dancing along his shirt collar. “Wonder how many of them were from you and that little gang of yours.” You hummed and he laughed.

Leaning down, he pressed his lips to yours. It was chaste and sweet. He loved moments like this, away from everyone, where he could love you properly. He gave a hum as you got on your toes and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down as he pulled you closer.

~~~

“I truly don't  think they have something going on. It's maddening really! The whole school seems to see it but me!” Ron groaned as he walked down the hall with Harry and Hermione, seemingly offended at the idea that the new Astronomy teacher was dating or even had interest in Lupin.

"I wouldn't put too much stock in rumors about someone's love life, Ronald," Hermione retorted, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, sorry Ron, but you're kind of…” Harry rolled his wrists and Ron narrowed his eyes.

“Kind of what?” 

“Kind of..” Harry trailed off.

“Kind of a complete idiot when it comes to love.” Hermione finally snapped, hugging her books to her chest. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to meet Professor Lupin.” She huffed and stomped off.

Ron was left standing there like an idiot, looking over at Harry. 

“What did I do?”

Harry tried to hide his smile and patted Ron's shoulder to urge him along and out of the halls.

~~~

The kiss had grown a bit heated, Remus pushed you deeper into the closet as he muttered about how badly he needed to have you in his arms. How much he loved you, how he wanted you closer, so impossibly close.

You, of course, returned the sentiment. He was made for your hands it seemed, every moment he wasn't between them made you yearn for just another hour of listless cuddles or moments like this. Sneaking away from responsibilities to show your love and devotion to one another. 

If only it could last longer-

“Professor Lupin?” Hermione's voice called out into his office. Remus cursed and you quickly stumbled back. He cleared his throat, shuffling through the confiscated objects, to find anything he could snag. 

“I'll be out in a moment!” He called back as you fixed his tie and ruffled shirt, he grabbed the first thing he spotted and stole another quick kiss from you before leaving the room.

You leaned against a shelf and watched from the crack of the door in amusement as Lupin hurried to his desk.

“Ms. Granger, I am terribly sorry, is it possible for us to reschedule?” Remus pressed and looked at what he had in his hand.

A stapler.

Why on earth did he grab a stapler?

Quickly he sat at his desk and pulled out a few assignments. Grabbing some he had already graded and began to staple them together. 

Hermione was no fool and he knew that, she stared at him in bewilderment, slowly putting her hands on her books tighter. “Uhm, Professor? Isn't that the stapler Professor {L/N} confiscated from Creevey?” 

Lupin began to staple things a bit quicker, waving her off. 

“Yes, Ms. Granger, I think it would be, but I did borrow it from the confiscated,” He weaned on, collected and poised, a bit too good at putting up a face. Everytime you two have almost been caught, he's shown this side. 

“Why would you possibly need a stapler?” He asked in disbelief.

“To.. staple?” He lifted his eyebrow at her. “I do appreciate your curiosity, but I assure you this is none of your concern.” He spoke idley, having opened the stapler and pressed the top down against the pages and his table. Hermione seemed appalled at the misuse. 

“Now, if you'll please allow me to pick another time-” Before he could finish his statement, he attempted to raise his hand, only for his wrist to be locked in place. He looked down, just to see he had stapled his own sleeve to the desk under a few pages of paper. 

You had to cover your mouth and so did Hermione.

“Uhm, on second thought, sir, I think I'll spend my study hour in the library.” She slowly smirked, turning to briskly walk away.

Remus slowly sunk his face into his hands, the second his classroom door was closed he waved his hand to shut his office door. Only for the room to be filled with your laughter.

You walked out of the room, holding your sides as Lupin lost his front and stared at you with flushed cheeks.

“Not a word-”

“No! No please!” You wheezed out. “Several! Several words must be had!” You doubled over his desk, struggling to get the staple from his sleeves, when you finally managed, you were throwing your head back absolutely lost in boisterous laughter.

Remus wasn't even mad. How could he be? You looked so damn happy. So giddy with joy at the embarrassing show he put on. Quickly, he stood, walking around his desk with a purpose and grabbed your cheeks. You were still struggling to catch your breath as he playfully scoffed at you.

“Not very polite, Professor {L/N}.” He taunted and you grabbed his biceps and clung to him to try and clam down. It didn't help when he leaned down and began to pepper kisses all over your hot face. 

“Mercy!” You wheezed and he shook his head.

“What happened to all those words, Professor?” He teased and you shook your head, giggling as he absolutely mawled you with his lips.

~~~

The Grandhall was lively with the buzz of Sirius Black’s attacks. Managing to get into the Gryffindors’ common room was a feat that bewildered everyone.

However, what everyone was truly talking about was how he broke into the astronomy tower and Professor {L/N}’s office. It had managed to get out that Sirius Black himself left you a note that Dumbledore promptly confiscated. More accurately, the conversation was about how unbothered you were about the news.

That, and how a certain professor reacted to that news. 

He had gone down to the commons with McGonagall to check on Harry and the other students. Only when Flitwick came up in a rush and announced the break in and how you were nowhere to be found, the students watched in horror and shock as Lupin pulled his wand and ran from the towers at a speed they couldn't determine was truly human.

He found you soon after, running down the hall towards the Gryffindor tower, also looking for Harry. He stopped and pulled you into a tight hold no one could see. You were confused at first, but you eventually melted into him. You two were spied on by none other than Colin Creevey, who snapped a photo and was showing it around the lunch table. 

“See! I knew it! What a romantic! Ran straight to her in the face of danger?” One of the seventh years swooned and Ron scoffed.

“I don't get it, it's just two people hugging.” He mumbled and began to poke at his food, the twins giving each other a look before they rushed to tease Ron.

“Two people hugging,” Fred started.

“Hands below the waist!” George chimed in, holding up the photo as if to emphasize his point, gesturing to where Lupin's hands were holding you so tight your heels were slightly off the ground.

“Oh, how scandalous.” Fred concurred and Ron rolled his eyes.

“I hug Hermione, does that make us secretly married?” Ron pushed and Hermione quickly looked down at her book in a slight flush. 

“You wish.” George snickered and Fred clapped his hand on Ron's back, making him cough on his potatoes.

“Really, Ronald dearest, you wouldn't know the difference. You hardly know how to hold a girl now.” He teased and George nodded along.

“You'll get there one day, brother. For now you'll have to trust us.”

“This,” They both pointed this time.

“Is not a normal hug.” Both of them spoke at the same time.

Angelica finally spoke up. “Given the context, that man is whipped. Even if nothing is happening now, he is so in love it's humbling.” She got up and gathered her Quidditch gear.

“Come on boys.”

“Right behind you.” Fred purred and earned himself a look from her over her shoulder, George laughed as the three of them hurried off. Leaving the photo for Ginny to pick up.

“Oh yeah, there is absolutely no platonic explanation for this.” She hummed and tossed it to the center of the table, Neville shrugged, no wanting to contribute. 

“I think that whatever is happening between those two, it's clear they care about each other.” Hermione hummed and Harry finally agreed. Suddenly, he looked at his friends with a look of absolute mischief.

“Do you know how we can find out?” He mused and Hermione gave a groan and Ron shot up in his seat.

“How?”

Harry smirked and pulled out the map the twins had gifted him, showing it off to his friends with a cocky smirk. You had caught him with it days ago, and simply zipped your lips and walked away.

“If they are meeting anywhere, it's likely the astronomy tower.”

~~~

Now.. the plan didn't go exactly as planned.

“And I simply can not comprehend how all three of you continue to be the only Gryffindors I've had to reprimand this year!” Lupin’s voice filled the otherwise silent and empty Defense Against The Dark Arts classroom. Unfortunately for the trio, who were out far past curfew, Lupin just so happened to be on his way to the Astronomy tower when he spotted them seemingly just on time for his arrival.

“What about my brothers?” Ron muttered before Hermione shot him a look, elbow jabbing his side.

“Ronald.” She hissed.

The entirety of Hogwarts Valley had been buzzing with the news of Sirius Black’s newest escapade into the castle and Lupin could not comprehend why the three thought it was a good idea to do everything but what they were told. 

“Safety comes first and for me to find you lot outside of your dorms with a murder on the loose? With this bloody-” Lupin began to lift the map before his eyes snapped up at the sound of his door opening. He quickly shut his mouth when he saw you peak into the dark space.

“Remus?” You called out, before you paused and stared at the four infront of you. Your mind firing off a million excuses in quick succession. “Oh, I was unaware you had company.”

Lupin sighed and rubbed his face, seeming to untangle himself from the thralls of his anger. It wasn't uncommon for you two to find eachother late at night like this, but was certainly not the greatest idea of his yet- reprimanding the trio when he knew you'd be coming. As you always did when he didn't meet you at the Astronomy tower as promised. His favorite part of the end of a stressful day was a night full of whispers, stories and playful remarks. Reminiscing on your school years while recreating some memories long forgotten after the war. This time, not in his dorm, but his office or your room. “It's quite alright. I can still review your lesson plans.”

He was a terrifyingly good liar. That should not be attractive.

“Right. I will be in your office, Lupin.” You remarked and began to walk past the group of three who looked at you like you might save them. Sorry kiddos- he was grumpy enough as it was. 

You gave them a grimace, glancing at the map before quickly looking away with wide eyes and hurrying over to the office. Lupin caught the look and held up his hand. “Stop.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and slowly turned to face him. Giving him your adorable nervous look that you knew didn't work on him- well, you tried.

He made a come hither motion and you walked over, ready to be lectured like the kids beside you. He held up the map and you gave a nervous smile. 

“What? However, did you find this, Harry? This is supposed to be in Flinch’s office!” You gave the worst and most unbelievable fake disappointed tone, hands on your hips and frowning down at the three. You struggled not to smile as Harry gave a small one, before laughing a bit. Hermione covered her face in a mix of fluster and secondhand embarrassment. Ron was grinning ear to ear. 

“{L/N}...” Lupin warned and you huffed.

“You got me in trouble with the big boss here, Harry.” You teased and he finally cracked his lips into a brighter smile. You looked back at Remus and slowly interlocked your fingers in front of your lips, as if it did anything to hide your face. “In my defense-”

“You three are dismissed.” He mused quickly and slammed the paper on the table beside him. You tried your best to hide your smile. It was hard to take him seriously when you have seen him panic and staple his sleeve to a desk. The trio hurried to shuffle out, Harry sent you a greatful look and you simply winked at him. Something Remus rolled his eyes at.

“Did you see Harry with the map?” He asked in a stern tone when the kids left. You looked away and tried to look a little regretful. 

“It's very possible.” 

“And you didn't think to take it?” He asked in an incredulous tone.

“I mean, it certainly crossed my mind.” You slowly stopped hiding your smile and looked back to the taller man who was taking a few steps into your space.

“And you didn't?” He pushed.

“Well, in all fairness, Rem. It is technically his.” You snarked back finally and Remus gave a bitter laugh. 

“Professor {L/N}, did you think that maybe if this map fell into the wrong hands it could cause a serious danger to Harry?” He pushed and you clicked your tongue. You knew who he was talking about. A conversation you've had a million times, well, more an argument. It got worse when he heard of the note.

He was so willing to believe Sirius Black to be a killer, while you believed Sirius could bring himself to the point of ending someone's life, James Potter was more than a human to him. Even with his plea of guilty, you couldn't believe it. James, Lily, and Harry? You would stake your life on it. He was innocent.

It was what you were looking for, an explanation, hopefully that was what the note was for. But unlike your communications with the magical creatures of the forest, Dumbledore was not so willing to give up information when he had it. The old prick-

“I hate when we talk about this.” You huffed in honesty and leaned back on one of the desks of the room. He sighed through his nose and pinched the bridge that connected it to his forehead. “Honey-”

“Ah ah ah! Honey is for marriage.” You mused and he did his best to fight the smile growing on his face. Easily letting you steer the conversation from his own negative thoughts, he hated being upset around you. “That so?”

“It's very so. More so than most so’s.” You hummed and he blinked a few times at you before he couldn't help but smirk. 

“Give me my mother's ring back then.” He mused and held out his hand. You have a faux gasp. 

“Excuse you, sir. I seem to remember your mother telling you this belonged to me.” 

“When we were 18!” He challenged, letting himself fall victim to your antics. Like school children. “And last I checked, your reaction was less then pleasant.”

“We had been dating for a year and I was going to the North Pole in my defense, tart boy.” You scoffed and cringed at the memory. How you practically fall out of your chair when Hope made a comment about her ring. 

“Tart boy?”

“Tart boy.”

“I'll show you a tart boy.” He scoffed and took your cheeks. You giggled like a goofball, grabbing his lapels and trying to pull him closer. He smirked at you and kept his distance.

“Remus-” You huffed and glared at him a bit. His smirk only grew as he reached into your pocket, pulling out the modest gem. You rolled your eyes fondly and held out your hand for him, he slipped the ring back in its rightful place.

“Sorry, call me old fashioned. But I'd like to kiss my fiancé, not my coworker.” He teased and you couldn't help but laugh. 

“You absolute sap.”

“Hard not to be.” He mumbled and leaned in, finally kissing you. Both your eyelids lowered but he held eye contact. So much affection bumbling in your chests, it was too much to look away. Eventually, you gave into your shyness, closing your eyes. He slowly pushed your knees apart and slipped between them, making your face grow hot.

He pulled away at this and you huffed, he smirked at you when you looked back up at him. “Hey, sir, your lips on mine again. It's a marital duty and all that jazz.”

“Thought we had to be married for marital privileges, honey?” 

“Oh don't use anything I say around you against me, I can hardly think.”

He bellowed out a laugh at your mischievous look up at him. Slowly biting your lip as you struggled to keep your confident act up.

“Whatever will I do with you, {L/N}?”

“Well, I have a few ideas.” You hummed and began to fiddle with his tie. He curled an eyebrow and you looked forward, looking up at his hazel eyes with a playful pout. “Kiss me again. I promise, you keep my lips occupied, no more bad behavior.”

“Because you won't be able to talk?” 

“Precisely.”

“What in the world!?” You suddenly heard from the far corner of the room. Your face filled with shock and snapped over to see an empty corner, you could of sworn you heard Ronald just a moment ago.

 Remus quickly moved from between your legs and waved his wand, yanking off the invisibility cloak to reveal an appalled Ron, a delighted Harry, and a flustered Hermione.

“Bloody hell!” Remus boomed and you covered your mouth and looked away. Doing your best not to laugh.

“Yes, mum and dad do kiss when the kids are away.” You cheeked and Remus looked at you like you had just made some grand offense to his ears.

Hermione giggled and Harry’s smile grew ten fold.

Ron, however, seemed very displeased.

“I owe the twins so much money.”

[lionizingheathen]

Masterlist By Character - Updated 8.21.24

I DO TAKE REQUESTS

Draco Malfoy

Miscommunication

Edging Sub!Draco after you catch him flirting with someone else in public

Precious

Draco finding release after a day in the office

Request

"Domdraco smut please??? I mean maybe with handcuffs and some kinks?"

Ginny Weasley

Take It Out On Me

Helping Ginny unwind from a stressful quidditch practice

Ron Weasley

Take it

"Are you sure you can handle it, baby?" Ron visiting his long distance girlfriend

Request

Hey, can you do an scenario with you and Ron Weasley under a blanket around your friends watching a movie and Ron decides to finger you quietly without anyone knowing?

Sirius Black

Quickly Now

Sirius hooking up with his best friend

Prove It

Sirius eating out his FWB

Just for You

Giving Sirius a handjob in front of friend

Request

"I really need jealous fwb Sirius after that last fic, I NEED it"

Request

"hey im new to your blog but I LOVE the way you write sirius, could we have more sirius content pLEAES (soft, dark, fluff, smut, ANYTHING you can give us pleaseee🥺🥺🥺)"

Request

"Anything with FWB!Sirius Black PLEASE!"

Request

"This is my first time making a request but can you do more of fwb Sirius x reader pleaseee I love your writing btw!! Thank youu"

Hermione Granger

Quietly

Fucking Hermione in the stacks of the library

Lily Evans

Roses

Eating Lily Evans out

Relax

Strapwarming Lily Evans

James Potter

Everything

Making boyfriend James Potter be rough with you for the first time

Think About It

Giving James a blowjob

Request

"james potter smut!! i love ur writing sm"

Request

"Please I need to see you writing something with dbf!James Potter (I would be so happy if you add some size kink too)"

Request

jealous fwb sirius but what about jealous fwb james???

Request

"love ur writing!! can I request riding james potter plssss"

Remus Lupin

We Always Have Time

Remus taking you against a wall

Agreement

Giving your flatmate, Remus Lupin a blowjob to help him relax

Request

"can you do a part 2 from Flatmate!Remus Lupin? Thank you <3"

Request

"Angsty request. Post! James and Lily’s death, reader/oc was Sirius’s girlfriend/fiancé but feels lost after his arrest. All she has left is Remus and they… uh… work off post-war stress with each other."

Regulus Black

Request

"you are the best smut writer i’ve ever come across im literally speechless. can you write more about sirius fwb or maybe even regulus i will take anything you write omg."

Pansy Parkinson

You've Earned it

Sub!Pansy Parkinson x DomFem!Reader

Harry James Potter

Request

"if you write for harry potter can you do harry potter smut? i love your fics :)"

Request

"umm face riding with harry?? pleaseee"

Luna Lovegood

Love me

First time sleeping with Luna Lovegood

Group

Request

"OK NOW I CANT STOP THINKING OF REMUS ACTUALLY LETTING SIRIUS (plus james maybe) HAVE A GO WHILE WATCHING HHHNGGGF??!??"

[miryum]

A Green and Silver Ring (Mattheo Riddle x Reader)

An arranged marriage between you and Mattheo, one that might lead to something beautiful

Word Count: 10.3k

I know I haven't posted in a long time but I have a plan trust the process. Also, this is me coming out and saying that I love Mattheo Riddle and he's amazing

Warnings: Swearing, bad and manipulative parenting from both Mattheo and reader’s parents, a lot of misogyny (a bit from Mattheo but he gets better by a lot and it’s not that bad), arguments, Tom isn’t Mattheo’s brother and Tom is a creep, arranged marriage, one bed trope, enemies to lovers, greek mythology reference, talk of kids, needing kids to carry on family lines, and kids. Mistress is the feminine term for master (so reader isn’t Mattheo’s side piece when I refer to her as mistress), old timey talk a bit, reader is a bookworm

From the desk of Ginevra

My dearest friend,

My parents have informed me of your engagement. I was ecstatic, yet surprised, when I heard the news. I was of the assumption that your parents were allowing you to choose your husband as your family line is secure in your brother and his wife. Yet, once I learned who your husband-to-be is, I was trepidatious. 

My thoughts are with you, my darling friend, and I pray for you to write to me the moment you get my letter. 

I hate to break the news, but you and your fiancé are the talk of high society. Never before have two such families been intertwined. Even I have had to scold my brothers for their gossip. They seem to forget that our families are close friends. 

I do not ask why your parents have made such a decision. I know they are intelligent adults and surely must have a motive, but I admit that I am blind in that regard. Your engagement seems sudden and unwarranted to me. When questioned, my mother sighed and said I would understand when I grew older. My mother continues to baffle me. I have borne two children and a third on the way! If I am not mature now, I better gain some knowledge quickly. 

Always remember that I am by your side. If you ever need anything, my door is always open to you. I am sure Harry will agree. 

I love you, my friend.

Ginny

From the office of Lorenzo

Miss. L/n,

I believe we’ve never been formally introduced. I’m saddened to say that this letter is as formal as we’ll get - at least until your wedding. I am sure you must be taciturn and mercurial as of now. My father has told me much about you and I believe we’ll make excellent friends and confidants in our hectic world. 

You’re to be my new half-sister, aren’t you? My relatives and friends are petulant to meet you. 

Before any rumours (either about myself or your fiancé) hit your ears, I’ll put a rest to them. Bellatrix, your fiancé’s mother, had an affair with my father. They produced me and in return, I have the privilege of being your fiancé’s half-brother. 

Being a bastard child, I’m no stranger to being ostracised and ridiculed. To be blunt, I’m sure that you will be ostracised alongside me and I believe that is one reason we can connect. 

For rumours of my half-brother, I simply say this: do not fear him. He relishes in the consternation he places in other people, yet when he heard he was to marry you, I saw panic in his eyes like no other. It seems the tables have turned. He is hesitant to be wed, but you are not the problem. He simply doesn’t want to have the responsibility of another’s life on his. Your fiancé is used to belittling people - not supporting them as a husband should.

Any questions you have about your fiancé and my half-brother (whom in case I didn’t make clear, are one and the same), refer to me without any qualms. I am eager to meet you and hopefully make your transition into the Riddle family smoother.

I am well aware you have also lived your life in the upper echelons of society. But, as I’m sure you know, there are multiple circles in our complicated community. The L/ns, the Weasleys, and the Potters, for example, have grown their fortunes truthfully and innocently. They have earned the respect of their people and those whom they employ. The Riddles, Blacks, and Berkshires, on the other hand, have climbed the ranks in unconventional means and by skipping a few rungs on the ladder. They thrive and make their living on the terror and duress they cause those under them.

I’m looking forward to making your acquaintance.

Lorenzo Berkshire

P.S. I hope I haven’t scared you off.

From the office of L/n

Daughter,

You’ll be pleased to hear the engagement has gone through. Your mother and I met your fiancé last night. He seems like a nice man. He will be able to provide for you. His family is influential.

We will return home late tomorrow evening. You will depart for Riddle Estate in a week. Begin packing. 

Your father

From the desk of Ginevra

Y/n,

You worry me with your lack of communication. Usually, you can’t wait to gossip with me. We have such fun at dinners and balls, yet with the most important aspect of yourself, you don’t respond. I’m simply worried, my friend. Are you alright? I can envision you curled in your bed, not letting anyone, even your nursemaid, into your room. Please do not let your impending marriage affect your state of health. It will turn out alright. Everyone I know (even me!) had apprehensions about their marriage. And with everyone I know, it turned out alright. 

Misters Sirius and Remus visited Harry and I the day before last. They came to see James and Albus, but I know there was a hidden reason as well. They know of our friendship and came to ask if the rumours are true. As much as my husband adores them, Sirius in particular can be prone to gossip. The pair tittered and tsked when I told them of your fiancé. Sirius wishes to distance himself from his family, and I know he has pre-existing thoughts of the Black family, and by extension, the Riddles.

Sometimes I take a moment to gaze at the family tree upon my drawing room wall. It is full of interconnected lines and squiggles that sometimes, it makes my head hurt! The web of family ties is complicated and if we’re not somehow related already, I know that we will be once your marriage takes place. It seems the Black family spreads its roots into the Weasley family and the Riddle family- the latter of which you’ll soon be synonymous with.

Give yourself some grace. Your fiancé falls far from the tree; I am sure of it.

Please write to me. I need to make sure my closest friend is doing well. 

Best wishes, 

Ginny

P.S. Hermione wishes to inform you that, from what she’s heard, your Mr. Riddle is quite attractive. I have yet to hear any of the rumours  myself, but at least your husband will be pleasing to the eye. Perhaps it will make the marriage more bearable. 

***

Mattheo strode leisurely through Riddle Manor. It was one of the many estates his family owned, and it was soon to be officially his. Just as soon as he married the L/n girl.

The manor was spacious, which Mattheo couldn’t help but detest. How was he and a wife supposed to fill this void of empty rooms and dark halls? He knew servants and cooks would move in, but they wouldn’t occupy the dozens of upper rooms that were vacated. 

For a brief moment, Mattheo couldn’t help but envision a set of children running around the halls. One of the children would run up to him, shouting, “Papa! Papa!” Mattheo would scoop the child up, grinning, and would carry them to their room. The room would be bright and cheerful, and maybe, just maybe, you would be sitting on a settee, cradling a newborn or helping an older child with their school work.

But for now, the room was dark and uninviting and he had yet to meet his future wife. He had seen a portrait of the L/n family and while they were in lavish, colourful clothing, Mr. and Mrs. L/n seemed cold and stoic - just like his parents. The children, an older son and younger daughter (whom he presumed to be you), seemed kinder and by their body language, Mattheo could tell that the two siblings were close. 

Mattheo slowly made his way down the hall. There were three wings of the manor; two were residential and the other was designed for taking guests. The East Wing - in which he and Miss. L/n would stay - was also fit with an office for him. He was expected to take over half of the family business once he got married. The West Wing would remain empty for now, sans for a large library and the furniture in the bedrooms. 

The boy knew that his bride was to arrive later that day. She would stay at Riddle Estate until the end of the week. Just three short days before they were to be wed in name. Mattheo would move into Riddle Manor tonight, giving servants time to wipe the dust off of tables, shine the silverware, and fluff the pillows. 

Mattheo walked the halls of his new home. His mind was devoid of any thoughts. Perhaps it was simply because he was always numb. Even when he heard of his engagement, Mattheo didn’t make a fuss. He didn’t remember thinking anything. Nothing such as ‘Oh, I can’t wait to meet her!’ or even, ‘I can’t believe mother and father are arranging my marriage! She better be obedient.’ 

No, Mattheo had thought nothing of the sort. He had spent his childhood quietly observing his father and mother, noticing the amount of fear they could inflict on people just by silence. You didn’t have to be loud and dramatic to be powerful. You simply couldn’t be afraid to follow up on your promises - however deadly they were. 

The only question Mattheo had asked when Bellatrix informed him of his engagement was, “and what do we gain from the L/n’s?”

Bellatrix had shot him an callous and apathetic look. “Do not ask questions you needn’t the answers to, boy.” 

Mattheo had glowered, but shut his mouth. 

As he neared the foyer, Mattheo couldn’t help but think how marriage was a component in all aspects of his life. When he got married to the L/n girl, he would inherit a portion of his father’s estates, company, and wealth. Mattheo chucked to himself. Maybe he should’ve gotten married sooner.

***

“Pray tell, why weren’t you here when she arrived?” Bellatrix snarled as she gripped Mattheo’s arm. Her nails dug into his suit as she dragged him towards the drawing room.

“I was busy,” Mattheo replied harshly. Love was not a thing that came instinctively to his family. 

“Doing what? Planning your suidide?” Bellatrix scoffed. “I would march to the Underworld and choke Hades to bring you back.” Mattheo glanced down at his mother, hesitantly surprised. But he knew better than to raise his hopes and dreams. “We need this contract with the L/n’s,” Bellatrix continued and Mattheo’s jaw ticked. Of course. She didn’t love him; she never had. Her son was purely business. He should’ve known better.

“Maybe if you would tell me what the L/n’s provide for us,” Mattheo pulled Bellatrix back before she threw open the door to where you were. “Then I would be more complacent.”

Bellatrix sneered. “You think you’re smart, boy. You think you have everything figured out in that pretty little head of yours. But remember: you’re nothing without the Riddle family name backing you up.” She paused and licked her lips. “But if you must know,” Bellatrix sighed, giving into Mattheo. “The L/n’s just came into some very… lucrative land that we could gain from if you marry Miss. Y/n L/n.”

Mattheo’s eyes flickered to the drawing room door. After a moment, he asked, “is that her name? Y/n?” 

Bellatrix stared at him, aghast. “You didn’t bother to learn her name?!” She scoffed. “With a son like you…” 

She pushed open the drawing room doors and Mattheo trudged after her, muttering, “at least I know her name now.”

You had been waiting for seven minutes and thirty nine seconds in the drawing room of Riddle Estate, the trackage of time dependent on the old grandfather clock standing ominously in the corner. Its pendulum swung back and forth continuously as its second hand ticked by. Mrs. Riddle had left seven minutes and thirty nine seconds ago to fetch her son. 

While the room was perfectly clean, not a speck of dust on even the highest chandelier, it was still a cold and morose room, yet oddly epochal. The wood was the darkest mahogany you had ever seen and the lights cast odd shadows on the dark green wallpaper that had inlays of gold.

Your teacup that you were trying to hold steady was filled with a sad excuse for tea. There was a ring of gold around the mouth of the teacup. On the table beside you, a notch that looked as if someone dug a knife into the surface caught your attention. It was the little things like this that you noticed when you had nothing else to do. Your mind was trying to distract you.

The door then swung open and there stood your fiancé, his stare daring you to oppose him.

“Uh,” you stood, your teacup and saucer still in hand. You quickly placed them on the table, right over the knife nick. “Y/n L/n,” you introduced yourself. You bowed your head in an informal curtsy. 

Mattheo’s eyes flickered over your face. “Mattheo Riddle,” he said coldly. His voice was practically velvet. You didn’t mean to look him up and down, but you couldn’t help it. He was to be your husband, after all.

Mattheo’s hair coiled at the end and his eyes were just as dark as his curls. His nose had a scarred cut on it that looked as if it was just beginning to heal. Your fiancés cheekbones were practically sculpted from marble and for a moment, you believed that the gods had simply breathed life into a statue. Did this make you Pygmalion and Mattheo Galatea?

If it weren’t for their lethal eyes and stern posture, perhaps more would be friendly to the Riddles.

Mattheo spoke, “you’re to be my fiancée.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Yes.” You had the urge to add ‘sir’ at the end, but you bit your tongue. 

Bellatrix hissed something to Mattheo and thrust a small object into his hands. Mattheo rolled his eyes and stalked towards you. “My family ring,” he grumbled. He held out an intricate silver ring with three bands interweaving. A green jewel cut into a thin diamond shape sat steadily in the middle. “It has been in the Riddle family for generations. It’s tradition to pass it down to the wife of the firstborn son. And now that is you…” 

He trailed off and handed the ring to you, it laying flat on his palm. You took it from him, trying to minimise contact with Mattheo. You nodded in thanks and slid it into your ring finger. 

It seemed too concrete to fathom.

Mattheo stared at the ring on your finger. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “My… wife,” he murmured halfheartedly.

***

Three weeks had passed since the wedding and it was as if you had never gotten married in the first place. Yes, it was unsettling to wake up in a bed that wasn’t your own next to a man that you were supposed to call your own. But other than necessary, Mattheo had hardly uttered a word to you.

In the three weeks you had stayed there, you had seen Mattheo a total of twenty eight times, including mornings and nights when you were forced to sleep in the same bed. 

Your mornings, afternoons, and nights were all incredibly boring. You took long meals, pushing your food around. Sometimes you just sat by the window and watched the wind blow bits of grass and dirt past the window. The servants were still extracting the dust between the couch cushions and you tried to stay out of the way, but it only made you feel more isolated.

Mattheo was holed up in his office day in and day out. He had now inherited a large portion of his father’s company and Mattheo was determined to uphold the honour bestowed upon him. He had drafted contracts, sold and bought land, and even hosted a few dinner parties for his associates. 

You detested the dinner parties. Thankfully, Mattheo had yet to invite you to one - hell, he had yet to speak to you about the dinner parties. You had learned of the first dinner party when you had wandered downstairs one late evening because you were thirsty. You had stared at the group of strangers, all dressed in elegance, as they stared back at you in your night clothes. Not saying a word, you had sighed and returned upstairs.

You hadn’t been eager for the marriage, but wouldn't it befit Mattheo to show some affection? Or at least acknowledge your presence?

While you had continuously tried to get your husband to open up to you, his answers had been short and venomous.

It had been a long, monotonous day for you. You had returned to the master bedroom about two hours earlier than you normally would have if you were at home.

With the wealth that you came from, the opulence was sure to be evident, but you had underestimated the Riddle family’s prestige. When Mattheo had first shown you your shared bedroom, you had to allow a flicker of surprise break through your facade. The bedroom was larger than any room in your old home and had a large bed in the middle. The lamps on the bedside table were always dimly lit and the design of the room was the same as the rest of the house - dark and bereft of love and care. 

Your hair had been brushed enough, but you kept brushing simply for something to do while Mattheo finished up in the bathroom. Mattheo walked out of the ensuite with a towel wrapped around his waist. His curls were plastered to his forehead and a bead of water ran down his sternum.

Your eyes flickered to his figure through the mirror, taking in the dips and curves of Mattheo’s muscles as he silently got ready for bed. You tore your gaze away, berating yourself.

You built up your courage and tried to think of a conversation starter. You commented, “my parents wrote to me today.” After no reply from Mattheo, you continued, “they asked me when we would give them grandchildren.” You set your hairbrush down and stared at Mattheo through the mirror, looking for some sort of reaction.

Mattheo hummed noncommittally and put on some sleep pants. He used his towel to begin drying his hair. “It would be behoove us to produce some heirs,” he spoke. His tone was dismissive, as if children were nothing more than an obligation or duty to fulfil.

“Right,” you muttered, knowing that an uninterested reaction was all you were going to get out of him. 

You stood and moved towards the bed. “Goodnight,” you whispered, turning off the bedside lamp and tucking yourself into bed. Mattheo was still putting on his nightclothes and had yet to get into bed.

As you turned off the light and got into bed, Mattheo finished drying himself off and slid into his own pyjamas. He sat down beside you, but didn't bother turning off his own lamp. Instead, he laid against the headboard, reading a book. "Goodnight," he finally mumbled, not even looking at you.

You curled into your blanket. After a moment, you asked quietly, “what book are you reading?”

He looked at you over the top of his book. "None of your business," he replied curtly.

You simply uttered, “okay.” 

Mattheo felt an unwanted and unusual feeling root itself deep in his stomach. He scoffed and said sarcastically, "fine. Go ahead and keep asking questions all night long if it amuses you so." He opened his book again and pretended to read.

A longing and lonely pang resonated in your chest at his harsh words. You didn’t respond and instead turned your face into your pillow. You had known that your marriage was to be loveless, but it still hurt at every unspoken word. Perhaps, if you had been five years younger when you married Mattheo, your spirit would still be alive with the juvenile belief that you could stand up to him.

Mattheo huffed and his gaze turned up to stare at the wall ahead of him. “If you’re so miserable, then why don’t you just leave?” he snapped, not even bothering to hide his bitterness. “I am sure your family would simply love to have you back.” He flipped another page in his book, not even bothering to look at the printed words.

“I never said I was miserable,” you answered quietly, even though Mattheo knew it wasn’t true. Perhaps, though, you believed it to be true. You took a steadying breath, closing your eyes.

Your husband smirked and leaned against the headboard. “What do you call your attitude, then? Why are you so downtrodden and defeated? Surely, you can’t blame me for being frustrated by it.” He knew that he should be taking account of making you feel this way, but he still tried to justify his behaviour. 

“Goodnight,” you reiterated. 

Mattheo sighed dramatically. “Whatever,” he grunted. He closed his book, threw it on the nightstand, and turned off his lamp. The room was encased in darkness except for the dim moonlight coming through the window. He shifted towards the edge of the bed, making sure a noticeable gap was between the two of you. 

He thought back to your conversation. “Why don’t you just leave?” 

It was too late now to apologise.

***

Mattheo let the door swing shut behind him, returning to Riddle Manor after an outing with friends. He glanced around, waiting for a servant to take his coat, but no one answered. An eyebrow cocked, Mattheo slowly walked up the stairs, hearing you instruct the servants on something, every other sentence of yours either containing, ‘please’ or ‘thank you’. Up on the landing, he found you directing a servant who was pulling a rack of your clothing. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. “Have you lost your damn mind? Are you trying to send a message or something?” 

“You’ve made it perfectly clear that you have no interest in me, so I’m trying to make this marriage as civilised as possible,” you said diplomatically. “I believe that if I move to the West Wing and leave you in the East Wing, it will benefit our marriage.”

“What exactly do you hope to accomplish with this piteous attempt at attention?” he asked rhetorically. “Do you think it’ll make me want you more?” He stuck his tongue in his cheek, grinning incredulously. “You’re delusional if you think that’s even remotely possible.” He stepped closer to you, towering over you with anger in his eyes. “This is not some game, L/n. This is marriage. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.” 

“I’m aware that we’re married, Riddle,” you retorted. “And don’t refer to me by L/n anymore. I am now a Riddle - just like you. However, I am not going to live in a state of constant sorrow and dejection. Having a wing of the mansion to myself may help.” 

Mattheo’s jaw tightened as he stared at you, irritated by your resistance. “Fine,” he growled. “But don’t expect me to come running after you when you decide you want attention. You’re on your own now.” He turned away from you and walked into his now solo bedroom. “Just remember - this is your choice.” 

You felt your anger inflate. “I thought you would like this!” Your voice rose and you tugged a hand through your hair. It was the first time in your marriage that you had fought back. “I have done everything I can to please you, yet nothing is enough for you!” Your voice turned desperate. “What do you want from me?”

He stopped in his tracks, turning around with surprise and disgust on his face. “Dammit, Y/n! Don’t yell at me like that!” His voice thundered, stepping towards you. “I never asked for any of this! I didn’t ask for a wife or for you to try so hard to please me! All of this is ridiculous.” His hand slashed through the air to make a point. “All I want is some space. Space to figure out what the hell I want. But let’s make one thing clear: I don’t care about you.”

“Am I not giving you space?” Your fists clenched at your sides. “I am moving out of the bedroom and out of your way. Yet, you erupt at me and get angry over nothing! You send me mixed messages and I don’t know what to do.”

Mattheo took a breath, trying to regain control over his emotions. “I am not erupting! Lord, you are so sensitive!” he snapped, running a hand over his face. “Can’t you listen for once? I am not sending you mixed signals. I am trying to figure out my place in this unorthodox situation we’re in.”

After a beat of silence, you asked firmly, “did you talk about me?” After seeing a flicker of confusion on his face, you clarified, “when you were out with your friends, did you talk about me? Did you rant about how annoying I was? Did you complain about marriage?”

His lips parted before taking a breath. “Yes, I talked about you,” he admitted begrudgingly. “I complained about how frustrating I find you and how frustrated I am with my parents for arranging this senseless marriage.”

“What did they say?” you insisted. “Did they sympathise? Did they laugh at me? Did they add fuel to your fire by commenting about how… how ‘needy’ and ‘sensitive’ I am?”

Mattheo made a low sound in his chest and rubbed his temples, frustrated by your persistence. “They agreed with me, yes. A few believed that you are too emotionally attached and sentimental. Others chalked it up to the pains of an average marriage.”

Your anger flared up and you said, “Let me tell you this: I never wanted marriage either. But I at least tried. I tried to be a nice and loving wife and a kind human.” You turned on your heel, marching out of the bedroom and towards the West Wing.

Mattheo watched you go, an unwanted feeling of guilt washing over him. He sighed and walked over to the window. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Why is everything so damn complicated?”

For the next couple of weeks, you stayed true to your word. You avoided Mattheo and his office and stayed in your wing of the mansion. After a week or two, you decided to explore the mansion, stumbling upon a magnificent library. You inhaled in veneration when someone cleared their throat. Mattheo stood behind you, raising an brow. After a silence, you said recalcitrantly, “you never told me that Riddle Manor had a library.”

He smirked at your thinly veiled hatred, amused despite himself. “Well, now you know,” he said dryly. “It’s a perk of living in a Riddle household.” He walked over to a bookshelf and began browsing for a book he required for a contract that was being drafting. He showed no sign of embarrassment or discomfort at your presence. “You may use it whenever you want. But don’t expect me to join a book club or anything juvenile.”

“I would never dream of it,” you said sarcastically. You step further into the library and can’t help but gape at the vastness. You trailed your fingers over the book spines, breathing in the smell of old books. You crouched down to examine a series of poetry titles. “I can read any of these?” you asked hesitantly.

He nodded and leaned against the shelf behind him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Feel free to read whatever you would like. They’re here for the entire household. Well, the servants don’t have time to read books, so in a Riddle household, the parents and children use the library the most.” Your hand faltered over the titles. “If you find something that catches your eye, go ahead and take it. I won’t stop you.” There was a hint of curiosity in his voice, as if he wished to know what topics and books piqued your interest. You hummed quietly, not fully acknowledging his words. You were already picking up a book and leafing through it. Mattheo watched you for a moment, his eyes softening briefly.

Everyday, you returned to the library. It was an escape from the walls of your room and the walls that Mattheo had put up around his heart.

Eventually, the servants recognised your routine and began to start a fire in the fireplace to keep you warm. They moved a loveseat in front of the fire that you gratefully used. You devoured the poetry collection, including Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe, and started on the classics. Every once in a while, Mattheo would come into the library, but he wouldn’t talk. He simply took a book and returned to his study. Sometimes, you wondered if he remembered you lived in the mansion with him. 

Mattheo found himself frequenting the library more often, looking for books he had never needed before. A swell of pride filled him whenever he saw you by the fire, knowing that something in his home brought you such comfort. He still refused to speak to you, maintaining distance and ignoring your existence, but he found himself increasingly drawn to your presence. 

One day, on a whim, he decided to take a risk and left a stack of his favourite books on the table next to your chair. That afternoon, you found the stack of books. You smiled despite yourself, though you didn't make any comment to Mattheo. You picked up the first book, sat down in the chair, and began to read.

A week later, Mattheo was hosting a dinner party for his associates. He didn’t say a word about it to you, though you heard the servants preparing for it. You decided not to go, opting to stay in your safe haven of the library. 

After an hour or so of faint music, you heard the door to the library squeak open and your head whipped up. You saw one of Mattheo’s friends, Tom, enter and look around. He spotted you and his lips curled up into a smirk. “So you’re the wife we’ve heard so much about?” 

Your stomach clenched and you replied, “I guess so.”

Tom’s smirk grew wider as he took in your terse response, enjoying your obvious discomfort. He approached you with a lecherous gaze in his eyes before asking, “and how do you find life as Mrs. Riddle? Are you enjoying your… arrangement?” His words dripped with sarcasm, not believing for a moment that you and Mattheo were married for love.

You stared at him. “It has its perks,” you said simply.

Tom laughed derisively at your response, not convinced by your nonchalance. “And what are those perks?” he asked, moving closer to you. “Extravagant gifts? Luxurious vacations? Or simply the privilege of being married to such a powerful man?”

You squared your shoulders. “I am powerful without a man,” you said sharply. “I do not need a man to determine my worth and prowess.”

Tom scoffed. “Really? How exactly did you become powerful on your own?” he asked, challenging you. “I find it hard to believe that you could ever achieve anything significant without the backing of a powerful husband behind you.” He leaned in closer, grinning.

You closed your book with a snap. “The L/n family,” you said, talking of your maiden lineage, “has had control over many estates and affairs for decades. Without Mattheo Riddle, I would’ve inherited half of it, second only to my brother. I would’ve had four auspicious companies at my ready disposal, capable of doing most anything. So, yes, sir, I would have been momentous without him.”

Tom’s smirk faded as he recognised your family name. He remained undeterred, however, stating, “that explains why your husband was so eager to marry you. He must see you as a valuable asset to his business empire.”

As you opened your mouth to retort, the door banged open and Mattheo strode into the library.

Mattheo had noticed Tom’s absence from his party, but when it became too long to be excused as a restroom break, Mattheo had asked his brother, Enzo, if he had seen where he had gone. Enzo had smiled a small smile and whispered, “Tom went to the library. Where your darling wife stays hidden.”

Mattheo saw red. 

He barged into the library, a deadly, lethal, and borderline possessive look deep in his eyes. When he saw Tom flanking you, Mattheo’s expression darkened and his hands clenched into a ready fist. “What the hell are you doing here?” Mattheo demanded, his voice low and dangerous. “This is a private wing of my home - not some place for you to bother my wife.” 

Mattheo moved closer to you, placing himself between you and Tom as if to protect you from further harm. 

Tom quickly stepped back and placed a confident demeanour on his face. “I was simply having a conversation with your lovely wife here,” Tom gritted his teeth.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, showing clearly that Tom was lying and intruding. You saw Mattheo’s eyes flicker down to you, his eyes softening reassuringly before snapping back to Tom, malice in his gaze. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Mattheo snapped at Tom. “There’s no need for any sort of interaction or conversation with my wife unless I am present.” Mattheo placed a hand on the top of your chair, his fingers gripping it and his bicep flexing slightly to warn Tom.

Tom’s eyes flicked with something you hadn’t seen before: fear. Fear commonly associated with the Riddle name. He adjusted his collar and straightened his posture. “Of course, Mr. Riddle,” he said bitterly.

You raised a brow. “I think it’s time for you to go now,” you said, your face stoic. Tom bowed his head slightly before exiting the library. You didn’t look up to meet Mattheo’s eye. You murmured, “you didn’t have to do that. I had it covered.”

Mattheo watched Tom until he completely left the room before turning to look down on you. His voice was threatening, “you may have been able to handle Tom, but I won’t tolerate anyone disrespecting or harassing you while you’re under my roof. Consider this a warning - if anyone tries to cross you again, they will regret it.” 

“Perhaps you should tell your coworkers that. Not me,” you replied. 

Mattheo’s expression was cold. “Fine. I will,” he growled. “I will not sit idly by and allow anyone to disrespect my wife.” He let go of your chair and adjusted the cuffs of his suit. As if in a business meeting, he said, “And consider this another warning: if you continue to act so stubbornly, I won’t hesitate to remind you of your place in this marriage.”

“My place in this marriage is your wife!” you cried out, finally standing up. “Your equal! Something you seem to forget until it’s convenient for you. Or until another man threatens your… your property! I doubt you see me any differently than this house or your assets.”

Mattheo grabbed onto your arm tightly, pulling you close and leaning down so his face was inches from yours. “Do not ever speak to me like that. You are not my equal - you are my wife and I decide what is best for both of us. If you cannot accept that, then you should reconsider your place in this marriage.” He released your arm and turned away from you, striding towards the door. “I suggest you reflect on your behaviour,” he added icily, leaving the room without looking back.

After he left the library, you let out a scream of frustration. You shoved the pile of books that Mattheo had carefully curated to the floor. They tumbled down, book after book, covers opening and pages bending. Tears pricked at your eyes as you examined the scene. 

You slumped into your chair, the fire in front of your crackling softly, emitting a calming warmth.

Eventually, you fell asleep in the chair, tear stains on your cheeks. In the morning, you woke to the serene morning light filtering into the room - a vast contrast to your mood. The fire had dissolved into crackling embers. Tucked on top of you was a thick blanket and the stack of books that you had pushed over had been re-piled and stood majestically atop the table.

You sighed, knowing you should thank the servants for taking care of you and cleaning up. 

After you walked to the kitchen, your footfalls heavy, you thanked the servants, who were finishing preparing breakfast. They exchanged glances and one piped up, “Ma’am, while we appreciate the sentiment, we didn’t do that. We weren’t aware that you were still in the library. We believed you had retired to bed before the social last night.” They paused and then added, “however, Mr. Riddle didn’t go to bed. He was in his study until morning light.”

“Oh,” was all you could say. You bid them an awkward goodbye before entering the dining hall. 

Mattheo was already seated at the head of the table, his expression exhausted and distant. He didn’t acknowledge you when you approached, focusing instead on the uneaten plate of food in front of him. 

You sat down opposite him and muttered, “the servants informed me that you blanketed me last night and cleaned up the books.” You hesitated and finally said, “thank you.”

Mattheo looked up briefly, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t respond directly. “It was necessary,” he said simply. “You should not be cold and uncomfortable in your own home.” He doesn’t make any effort to engage in conversation beyond that. Something was weighing heavily on his mind and he seemed preoccupied by it.

You hummed in response. Eventually, you stood and whispered to your husband before walking out, “you are not as cold as you want to seem. You needn’t keep the facade up with me.”

Mattheo looked up briefly before returning to his food. His expression relaxed, but he didn’t respond.

***

Later that day, Mattheo sat in his study as he always did. A knock came from the door and he glanced at the clock. It was a bit early for lunch to be delivered, but he announced, “come in.”

The door creaked open and your head peeked into the room. Mattheo’s brows furrowed - not with malice, but with scrutiny. You entered and sat in one of the two seats next to his fireplace. Silently, you cracked open a book you had brought and began to read. 

Mattheo watched you intently, his gaze never wavering as he took in every detail of your face. He tried to find any acrimonious intent behind your actions, but you looked so peaceful. He found himself noticing the details of your face and your beauty as the fire cast warm highlights on your eyes. “What are you doing?” he asked eventually, his voice holding an armour of needed suspicion.

“Reading,” you said simply. 

Mattheo frowned, not convinced by your answer. Why would you read in his study after the way he had been treating you? He leaned back in his chair, his work forgotten. “Isn’t there something more important that you could be occupying your time with?” he challenged.

“Not particularly,” you responded. “You’re in charge of the companies and estates. I have nothing to do. I thought I would accompany you. You must get lonely in a study by yourself.”

Mattheo narrowed his eyes, but ultimately nodded slowly. “Alright,” he agreed after a moment. “But don’t think I will stop working simply because my wife is here.” His posture grew taut as he began looking over documents again. “This is still my office and I expect you to behave accordingly.”

“I’m simply reading,” you murmured, a smile inching its way up your lips.

Henceforth, a routine was established. Every morning, you would knock on Mattheo’s study door, usually an hour or so after he began working. There was rarely conversation, the silence being broken by Mattheo’s scratch of a quill or you turning pages, occasionally being disrupted by the loud crack of a log in the fire.

One day, you had finished your book (it was an excellent book, one from the pile Mattheo had recommended) and stood to go retrieve another one. At the sound of your footsteps leaving his office, Mattheo’s head darted up and he suddenly asked, “where are you going?” 

You paused and turned back to him. “I’m to get a new book. Unfortunately, as wonderful as this one was, it had an ending like all books do.”

Mattheo frowned and a hint of vulnerability broke through his exterior. “Get a servant to do it,” he offered. 

“Well, I don’t know which one I want,” you counted, raising a brow in a smirk.

He huffed and shook his head, returning his eyes to his documents. He grumbled, “I will commission the servants to build you a small bookshelf for my office. You can keep your books there.” You stood, watching him for a moment, admiring him until his gaze snapped up. “Well, go get your book,” he said sharply. “… but hurry back,” he added in a mumble. 

You finally smiled at him before exiting and Mattheo gazed at the place you once stood, trying to memorise how your lips curled up and your eyes crinkled when you smiled.

He rather liked it when you smiled.

***

“Are you alright?”

You sniffed and laughed. “Yes, yes. I’m being foolish.” You wiped some tears from your eyes. “My book is very good.”

Mattheo chuckled lowly. “And what made you cry, hm?”

“A daughter and father interaction,” you replied quietly. 

“Was the father cruel to the daughter?” Mattheo laughed tersely, shaking his head at his documents. “Are your feelings not strong enough to withstand their wrath?”

You frowned at Mattheo, setting the book down. “No,” you corrected slowly. “The father was being kind to his daughter. He was supporting her and loving her; as a father should.” There was a pause as Mattheo looked up at you. “I know that the Riddles are a harsher family - I’ve known ever since I knew I was to marry you. But… but are you alright?” 

You felt absurd asking the question. Yet, when Mattheo couldn’t meet your eye, a wistful sadness blanketing the room, you felt as if you should’ve asked the simple question weeks earlier.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then Mattheo turned in his chair so his back was facing you. "I'm fine," he finally answered, his voice rough and strained. "I am used to dealing with it, I suppose." Despite his insistence that he didn't need anyone's pity or concern, your words seem to have affected him more deeply than he wanted to admit. 

“May I ask a question?” you asked softly.

Mattheo hesitated for a moment before nodding, his eyes never leaving the window as he spoke. "Ask away," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He then cleared his throat and said, "but I won’t give a warm and fuzzy answer." 

There was a pregnant pause in the air as you gathered your courage up and suddenly thrust your fears upon your husband. “If we ever have children, which we’re somewhat expected to,” you added hurriedly. “I don’t want them to grow up in a household where they feel as if they have to vie for love or attention. And I don’t want me to be the only one giving them attention.” Mattheo turned his head so his face was angled toward you, but his eyes could still stray to the window if need be. “If we have kids, can you promise that you’ll love them? Even if you don’t love me?” 

Even though your voice was steady, Mattheo knew of the vulnerability deeply rooted within you.

He nodded cautiously, his expression serious. "I promise," he said firmly. "I may not love you, but I will love our children unconditionally. They will never have to compete for my affection or feel neglected. I may not be a fond father, but I will provide for them and protect them as best I can." A protectiveness filled his veins just at the thought of something happening to his future children. 

You nodded once, a sad smile on your face. “Perhaps we’ll have a big family. Enough children to start a sports team.” You smiled at the thought, laughing lightly.

Mattheo smiled, despite himself, imagining a large brood of children running around the manor. It was an oddly appealing idea, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud. "We'll see," he said noncommittally. "I'd rather have lots of sons; they'll carry on the family name and ensure my legacy continues." He turned back around and attempted to focus on his work.

“And daughters too.” You frowned, staring at your husband, even if he wouldn’t spare you a glance. “Daughters can carry on the family name just as well as sons.” A muscle in your jaw ticked.

Mattheo scowled at your defiance, his eyes narrowing slightly. Why hadn’t you just fallen into line? "Fine, daughters too," he reluctantly agrees. "But make no mistake, they will be raised to be strong and capable like their brothers. The Riddle name demands nothing less." 

“And the sons can be soft and caring and sensitive,” you said firmly, crossing your arms. “I thought we agreed that they wouldn’t have to vie for affection. I thought we agreed that they wouldn’t have needless competition in their life. I don’t want them to grow up… like, well… you.” You finally uttered the words that had been hanging off your tongue dangerously. 

Mattheo’s expression hardened as he clenched his fist tightly. "Fine!" he snapped. "They can be whatever the hell you want them to be! But don't expect me to sit back and watch while they become weaklings and failures. We need to teach them to be strong and ruthless like I am." He stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair in the process.

You jump up after him, crossing towards him. You whirled to a stop in front of him, jabbing a finger towards his chest. “Listen here, Riddle. Just because someone is kind and vulnerable doesn’t mean they’re weak!” You growled, “and just because you grew up like that, does not mean that’s the type of household I am going to have.”

Mattheo stepped forward and his hand flew up to grip your wrist. His eyes blazed with anger, but then something changed in his expression and he took a step back, looking surprised at his own reaction. "You're right," he admitted begrudgingly. "I shouldn't have assumed that being vulnerable meant being weak." He ran a hand through his hair, looking embarrassed, yet resolute in his decision. "But don't expect me to be a pushover either. I'll still teach them to be strong and independent."

“Strong and independent are good qualities,” you conceded. “Both for the boys and girls.”

"Agreed," he said. Mattheo straightened his cuffs and cleared his throat. "Our children will be taught to be strong and independent, regardless of gender. They will know that they are loved and valued by both of us, equally." He held out his hand to you, indicating that the argument was over - for now at least. "Deal?" 

“Deal.” You shook his hand defiantly. It was a business deal, but a good deal at least.

Mattheo exhaled and brushed past you. “I’m to a meeting,” he informed you. It was a simple comment , one that was an offhand remark, but to you, Mattheo had just let you into his life. It was something he had never done before. Even if it was just a response to where he was off to, it was a window into his life. A life that now may have enough room to hold you. 

Mattheo paused when he reached the door. “I never knew the way I grew up was wrong until I saw other families. I saw the parents bending down to listen to their children instead of hushing them. I saw parents comforting their children after scraped knees, not pushing them to the kitchen for some rubbing alcohol. I saw parents beaming when their child could plunk out the simplest of tunes on the piano. No one else got berated for being out of rhythm or playing a D instead of an E. I never saw another child get slapped by their parents or scolded as harshly as I was. It was around then I realised that something was wrong. But what was I to do about it?”

Words dried in your throat. You wanted to cry at his words, but you felt dried out. How could someone treat their child like that? It explained so much… 

Your husband was a fragile man, you were just realising. And he was trying to pick up the pieces and present them to you in the only way he knew how. 

"The stars remind me of you,” he said quietly, the change in conversation sudden. “I mean that in the best possible way.” His voice was the softest and most tender as you had ever heard it. You hoped he would keep speaking the melodies that made your heart sing in tune. 

“How so?” you asked, afraid to break the plane of existence that you and Mattheo were carefully standing on.

"They are so beautiful, yet so far away. I may see them, but I can never touch them."

***

The servants didn’t know what to do. The master and mistress, Mr. and Mrs. Riddle, seemed to be at a ceasefire. The cooks lamented at how they had seemed to be doing so well. The maids thought they were destined to doom from the start. The butlers gossiped about Mr. Riddle’s letters to a Mr. Tom, terminating their long-term partnership. The scullery maid still had hope that the husband and wife would come to their senses and live a happy life.

It perplexed the servants when the mistress requested to move her belongings back into the master bedroom and the master looked on, a soft smile on his lips. It confused the servants when the Mr and Mrs began taking meals together and talking in hushed tones late into the night. And it bamboozled the servants when, one summer afternoon, the Lord of the household stood from his desk, cautiously moved to his Lady that was reading by the open window, and asked her to accompany him on a walk. She had accepted. 

There was to be a dinner party, this time hosted at Mr. Draco Malfoy’s manor, that Mr. Riddle was expected to attend. Per usual, the master didn’t invite the mistress, but she was content to stay home. A maid briefly heard the madam whisper to her husband, “hurry home, please? I don’t like it when you’re away.” The maid had scurried away before she could hear the reply.

Mattheo returned home that night, just before the sun was setting. He climbed the steps, unbuttoning his cuffs and loosening his tie. The soft glow of light was still shining under your shared bedroom - something he still hadn’t gotten used to - and Mattheo couldn’t help but smile.

“Why are you still up?” he asked quietly when he entered the room.

“You promised to be home early and I wanted to see you before I go to bed,” you reminded him, a small book in your hands.

“Right, right.” Mattheo chuckled and shook his head, slinging off his tie and jacket.

“How was the dinner?”

Mattheo hummed noncommittally. “Not the worst. A couple of my good friends, Theo and Pansy, were there to help alleviate the pain of socialising. But… I found something odd happening.”

“And what was that, husband?” Mattheo took a moment to relish in the way that word curled off your tongue effortlessly.

“I found myself wishing you were there. Nay,” he quickly corrected himself. “I wished I was here with you.”

“Oh?” Your eyes flickered up towards Mattheo, a slight blush coming to your cheeks. “Why… what do you mean by that?”

Mattheo began to unbutton his shirt and moved towards his closet. “Well,” he admitted, mumbling to himself. “I simply mean that instead of having to socialise with people who are too tightly wound and whose only intent is to take my money,” he chucked his belt into his closet and rolled up his sleeves, “I would rather be at home with my darling wife.”

A smile inched up your lips. “Really? Tell me more about this darling wife of yours.”

Mattheo hummed, stepping towards the bed. He crawled down on the bed, leaning on his forearms to lean up towards you. “My wife… I’ve come to care deeply about her. She is a beautiful, elegant woman, one who has a fiery tongue about her and an intelligent brain that even I cannot rival. She always seems to get her way, even when I try to fight back. It’s as if my wife has a command over me that I have willingly submitted to. And I am not ashamed to say so.” He lightly caressed your arm, sending a trail of goosebumps up your skin. 

“You must be careful, Mattheo,” you uttered. “That sounds an awful lot like love.” 

Mattheo brought his eyes up to meet yours, the sting of tears building up behind them. His voice cracked as he said, “that’s the first time you’ve called me by my name, Y/n.”

Your lips parted in shock. “I- I didn’t realise. I’m sorry-”

“Don’t you dare apologise,” Mattheo demanded before reaching up to pull you into a kiss. 

His lips were soft and meaningful against yours, hungrily trying to gather every ounce of love from you. His kisses were feverish at first, his strong hand coming up to cup your jawline, his fingers just teasing behind your ear, before his lips slowed. Mattheo was a starved man and he wouldn’t let anyone take away his only solace. He shifted so he could be closer to you, gently taking the book from your hands as you surrendered yourself to him. Your hands found his silk shirt, gripping it in your fists. He placed the book on the nightstand and moved so he was hovering over you, never once letting a second go by without feeling your skin against his. 

Mattheo slowly, achingly pulled away from you and his eyes fluttered open to meet yours. “My darling, my love, my life,” he murmured, dragging a knuckle down your cheek. “I apologise for everything I have ever done or said that made you feel inferior. I would be happy to kneel for you in front of my associates and family members - just to show them how much power you have over me.” He took a breath before persisting, “I was foolish. I was incompetent. I didn’t realise how much love I held for you. It is, and always will be, only you. I will promise you this: you will be the only woman I ever touch, the only voice I ever want to hear, the only skin I will ever caress, and the only eyes I ever want to see. I will wake and fall, every morning and night, thinking of you. You are the other half of my heart, for it is you who I love. I will place the galaxies and stars in the night sky for you. If you are ever unhappy, my love, I will not rest until I see you smile again. If you are ever mad, my love, I shall smite whatever upsets you, even if it is I. And I would die a happy man if you could give me only an ounce of what I give you.”

Your breath shook and you swore Mattheo had injected ambrosia into your veins for you were sure your blood was singing with the love that was filling your soul. “I wrote a letter to your mother today,” you offered quietly, as if your mere words could ever compare to the love poem Mattheo had just gifted to you. “And I thanked her.” Mattheo’s eyes flashed with confusion. You continued, “I thanked her for birthing such a wonderful husband and for raising him. I know you u wish to renounce your family, but as of now, I want to thank them with all my heart. Mattheo, I love you.”

“And I you,” Mattheo whispered, bringing his forehead down to rest on yours. His nose bumped against your cheek and he couldn’t contain his grin anymore. “How did I ever get so lucky?” he mumbled.

You laughed lightly. “Luck? Fate?”

Mattheo shook his head and his nose brushed light curves over your skin. “No, my wife. Simply love. Pure, unconditional love.”

***

The house was bright, the curtains pulled as far open as they could be. Some servants scuttled around, holding laundry or preparing for dinner. Meanwhile, Mattheo strode leisurely through the halls, smiling lovingly as his nephews chased each other through the halls. “What do I say, boys?” he called after them.

“Have fun, be safe, and don’t get caught!” they yelled back before running around a corner.

Enzo jogged after them and grumbled to Mattheo, “it’s not your duty to rule them up.”

“As their favourite uncle, yes, it is.”

“Your wife is in Andromeda’s room,” Enzo told his brother before sprinting off after his sons. Enzo wasn’t usually at Riddle Manor, but today was a special day. It was Orion’s birthday.

Mattheo chuckled to himself before Orion raced up the steps, panting. “Papa! Papa!” 

Mattheo grinned widely and scooped Orion up. “Are you alright, hm? What’ve you been up to?”

“Aunt Pansy’s carriage just pulled up!” Orion bounced in Mattheo’s arms, beaming.

“And you’re not even dressed,” Mattheo stared at Orion, pretending to be stunned. “Where’s your mother, Ori?”

“She’s helping Andy get dressed,” Orion announced. Mattheo nodded and carried his son to his daughter’s room. “Mum!” Orion cried out, seeing Y/n standing behind Andromeda, knotting her hair into a braid. 

“Oh, my darling,” Y/n tied Andy’s hair up before crossing to Mattheo and taking Orion from his arms. “Are you excited for your birthday?”

Orion hummed excitedly and wiggled down from Y/n’s arms. He darted to Andromeda and wrapped himself around her in a tight hug. Andromeda grumbled, but allowed him to cling to her as she finished her hair and rouge.

Mattheo took Y/n’s hand and pulled her back toward him, nudging his nose against hers. “Look at that,” he murmured, reaching down to play with the silver and green ring on your finger. “Mine.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. Slowly, as to not arouse suspicion from your children, he backed you up and caged you against the wall in his arms. “Seven years with you and two beautiful children to show for it.”

“Hey, mum? Where’s my- eugh!” Andromeda turned around and reeled back from the scene in front of her. “For the love of Salazar, please get a room!”

“We are in a room.” Mattheo smirked, glancing up from the crook of your neck. 

“Aren’t you two, if I'm doing my calculations correctly, nearing thirty years old?” Andromeda tsked and rolled her eyes. 

“You believe that simply because we’re getting older, I’m going to stop loving your mother?”  Mattheo chuckled before pressing a light kiss to your jawline. 

You shivered and tucked your face into your husband’s chest. “Matty, spare the poor children,” you chastised lightly. “What do you need, darling?” you turned towards Andromeda.

“You used to call me that,” Mattheo whined. He stepped back from you, letting you out of his embrace.

Andromeda sighed and asked, “where is my white shawl? It’ll go well with the dress I’m planning to wear to Orion’s party.”

“Why does it matter what you wear to Orion’s party?” Mattheo asked, puzzled. 

“Because Albus Potter is going to be here,” you said as if it were obvious.

“Harry Potter’s son?” Mattheo asked incredulously. “That scumbag?”

Both you and Andromeda ignored Mattheo and Orion left the room at the sound of Aunt Pansy entering the foyer and shouting out for her favourite nephew.

“Your shawl should be in the library,” you answered. “Ori was using it as a blanket yesterday.”

Andromeda sighed and turned towards the door. “He needs to stop taking my things. Just last week he stole my candelabra so he could read in the dark. Perhaps you should accelerate his schooling. He’s getting bored, you know.”

“We’ll raise our own son, thank you, Andromeda,” Mattheo raised a brow. Andy huffed and and flicked her dress out behind her dramatically, exiting the room. Mattheo turned to you and said, “they get that from you. The love of reading.”

“Yes, but they get their flair for the dramatics from you. And lest us not forget, you keep fuelling our love of literature by buying more books and expanding our library,” you countered.

Mattheo hummed. “‘Tis true. But how could I live without spoiling my wife and children?” He whirled you around in his arms and pressed a long kiss to your lips. “Speaking of children, what would you think of expanding our family?”

You let out a laugh. “You simply like the act of making a bigger family.”

“I love my children too,” Mattheo defended.

You reached up and brushed some of his hair away from his face. “Yes you do,” you smiled up at him. “You love your family very much.”

“Always.”

[exhaustedcatte]

You’re a Wizard.

Remus bit his cheek, the juvenile words “Detention, Prewett” died on the tip of his tongue.

No, he reminded himself harshly. That’s Fred and George Weasley. Not Fabian and Gideon.

I’m not a Prefect, I’m the bloody Professor, Remus grit his teeth.

Luna Lovegood floated into the room and Remus saw unwelcome visions, the present melting away to accommodate the past. Regulus Black was there, guiding Pandora when she was batting her lashes at Xenophilius Lovegood.

Draco Malfoy was an amusing mixture of Lucius and Narcissa. He stuck his nose up and raised one manicured brow like his mother, but his ugly words and prideful manners were all his father.

Remus laughed guilelessly, what was wrong with him. Fraternising with the enemy, Moony? A very familiar voice chirped in his head.

It hurt so bad.

Every time Hermione Granger raised her hand, to the chagrin of the rest of the class, Remus saw Lily Evans. Her fierce intelligence and determination a weapon to dismantle the prejudice faced by Muggleborns. Lily would’ve loved her.

He wiped his face with tired hands.

Honestly, Remus was never meant to survive this. He was simply unfortunate, unlucky. An anomaly.

Hah, now suffer.

There was Neville Longbottom, with ears that stuck out like his father and a shy smile to match his mother’s. I’ll watch over him now, Remus promised the smiling Alice and Frank in his memories, apologising for the years gone by.

Then there were the little things.

Snape always caused a spark of his old Marauder spirit to overtake his senses. It also brought forth very vivid sounds of two devils whispering into his ears. Potter and Black, always at the crime scene.

No, no. He batted that thought away before he could spiral.

Remus found himself shocked by the streaks of white in Minerva McGonagall’s hair, which 15 years ago that would’ve caused an uproar. Not even his own greying roots had caused him so much sadness.

His heart ached when he saw Madam Pomfrey pressing her knuckles into her strained back. How much had he missed while hiding from this wretched world?

But what struck a raw nerve was Harry Potter, of course.

The toad green of his eyes and the bird’s nest of his hair. It had been so long but all he could see in the young Potter boy was his friend. A friend who had betrayed him, but his friend nonetheless.

I know you, he pursed his lips to prevent screaming that when he was addressed as Professor Lupin and not Unc’e Moo’y. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t the one who could get Prongslet to burp or take a nap anymore. He was the weird, mismatched man for a teacher.

You know Harry doesn’t think of you like that. Ah, Lily, wise as always.

The James in Harry Potter stuck out like a sore thumb, much like his hair, when he whizzed across the quidditch pitch with innate talent, when he couldn’t hold back his tongue while talking to Snape, when he faffed about in lessons. But it pained more to see Harry stand up for his friends, like his father had always done, and when he went searching for trouble despite being explicitly warned against it.

Oh, how I miss you Prongs.

He sat back in his chair, creaky and hard as it was. There was only one person he hadn’t found in his students.

Remus closed his eyes.

Sirius Black grinned at him from behind his eyelids. Miss me, Moony?

[lucycore]

Harry Potter headcanons

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊ ˚ 🔮✨️🪄 ₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚₊

Okay so it's my first time writing for Harry Potter since I've always been shying away of doing that cuz the fandom is so fucking big and there are people that know more or even know everything if they're obsessed and I'm just a newbie but I'll try my best and of course my first time writing for them will be smut.

⚠️ Smut warning ⚠️

(Obviously the characters are old enough for such things so everything from and after ootp)

Summary: What their favorite position might be and if they're bottom,top or switch.

Includes: Harry, Hermione , Ron, Fred, George, Sirius, Remus, Snape, Draco & Lucius

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🔮✧˚.🪄༘⋆˚˖𓍢ִ໋🔮✧˚.🪄༘⋆˚˖𓍢ִ໋🔮✧˚.🪄༘⋆˚˖𓍢ִ໋🔮✧˚.🪄⋆˚˖𓍢ִ໋🔮✧˚.🪄༘

Harry:

Ok so I think he could be switch depending on his partner and experience and strength and all that. So his favorite positions might be missionary if he's dom and riding if he's bottom. I know so fucking basic but hear me out for a sec. Missionary doesn't have to be that boring if played well. So he'd fuck you while looking deep into your eyes and touching your whole body or even hold your hands above your head. For sub and riding he'd enjoy looking at your boobs while they bounce and grab your ass or hold it and move you up and down while you ride.

Hermione:

Well now that's kinda hard..I mean she's a sub yeah but can also lead if you're a virgin. I'd say she likes riding you. I think she'd just enjoy moving on your cock to her liking (or strap on if you're female). She'd know what she needs and how it's best for her. Oh if you're wearing a strap on she would like any position doggy or missionary. Ok let's leave that there....

Ron:

I see Ron as a switch, I can't decide it's similar to Harry. I think he also likes riding a lot, just watching your beautiful body bouncing up and down on his cock while looking into your eyes and maybe even blushing a little. He'd occasionally squeeze your boobs if he finds the courage. Now if he feels dom, I'd say he would fuck the shit out of you in the doggy position. Hold onto your waist, spank you and grab your hair when he feels rough.

Fred:

Sooo I think dom. He is taller, older and even tho he's goofy and all that, he can be very dominant and lead you but in a soft and fun way. Not rough and strict. I bet he loves a good lap fuck. Like you sit on his lap and can cuddle into his chest or lay your head on his shoulder or just kiss while he fucks you nice and slow or even hard where you have your hands around his neck and bounce up and down on his cock. He would love to kiss your neck while fucking you and spank your ass from time to time.

George:

He's dom too but I think is a little rougher than Fred. Therefore I think spooning would be a good pick and now hear me out, before you say spooning is not a good position to fuck the shit out of someone. It is. He could move you a little and put your leg over his shoulder preferably in front of a mirror so he could see your private parts exposed not being able to hide anything from him cuz he won't let you put your leg down, it would be locked there especially when you're a lot smaller than him and yeah he is energetic so he could thrust rough and fast into you and rip you apart. You don't have to worry about him being slow. I think you'd even wish for him to be more gentle after he's done with you, girl.

Sirius:

Definitely dom without a second thought. He would love to fuck you up against the wall or in the air like he picks you up and you wrap your legs around his waist. His thrusts would be rough but if you're shy and unexperienced he would go very slow, sweet and romantic. He's older and so gentle, he would be the sweetest man ever to be fucked by for the first time. I can also imagine him doing you from behind against the wall. Pulling your hair, spanking you and all that yk.

Remus:

Dom obviously and well we're talking about a werewolf here so doggy would be the only fitting position, right? Yeah I know it would be perfect for Sirius too but no idk shh. I think of him as very gentle and loving while doing it, not rough until you ask him to be and still then he wouldn't be as rough as Sirius for example. Stroking your cheek after he finished, asked if it hurt or something and of course while fucking checking on you. Very sweet guy. Depth is also his type of shit, he could watch your face to see how he does.

Snape:

Hell I don't even know..I mean dom yeah but position?..Probably butterfly. So you lay down, he stands and your legs on his shoulders. He likes slow but hard thrusts. That's so hot tbh..Going slow not like a Draco maniac (more to that later) but hard thrusts, I hope you all know what I mean but since you're reading this I assume you're a pervy one. Then when he's close he would go a little faster but that's about it. Don't you worry, he is thick so the pace doesn't matter, babe.

Draco: Yeah I know sorry for putting him all the way down here, I gotta admit I almost forgot him lol

Okay dom of course..I mean obviously. He likes to brag and shit but dom yeah. Dude he'd like to try many positions but I think what he likes most is to just lay down, hands behind his head and just let you ride him and do all the work for him. So yeah riding and nelson is very fitting. If you don't know what nelson is pls look it up it's hard to explain. Nelson is the perfect one fr fr. Missionary would be up there too and just rough and quick sex like his pace is out of this world..I mean makes sense given his emotions, energy and slim body type. He doesn't fuck around lol.

Lucius:

Dom of course. But the sex would be slow, romantic and noble like rich people kinda sex (what? Idk) so I think missionary yes and reverse cowgirl is kinda his thing I'd say. He likes it slow and romantic with wine and roses but when he's anxious like that he will also use you to relieve his stress so he would just grab you tight and fuck you putting his whole weight on your body so it's almost hard to breathe but you don't wanna get him mad, do you?

—

I gotta admit I'm kinda "scared?" to post this cuz I'm a newbie so don't be too strict with me..

[tricksterringmaster]

I've had an honor of hosting StarPrince Holiday Exchange 2024 and participating in it this year, and here is a little thing I did for @tajiklove!

If you really crave more snack these holidays, really recommend checking our collection of works on ao3 too!

[darkst4lker]

a bed full of snakes is a warfield. // harry potter.

slytherin!harry potter x slytherin!reader

plot: ever since your first year, when you and harry entered slytherin, you've been rivals. always wanting to be better than the other, always fighting, always teasing each other. the problem is that you're so alike, you can't stand each other. until one night harry wakes up from a nightmare, and you help him calm down.

tw: rivals to lovers, mentions of violence, trauma, a nose bleed, sixth year, half-blood prince events, harry is the same harry as always just maybe a little more arrogant bc y'know, he spent five years in slytherin. fluff, angst, nightmares. low caps on purpose. draco and harry get along here.

notes: english is not my first language, but i hope you enjoy anyways. sorry if there's any mistakes.

horace slughorn lessons weren't an easy ride for someone who doesn't know potions. luckily for you, you were one of his most talented students like you were once for professor snape before he started teaching defense against dark arts.

in fact, you were so good at potions that you couldn't possibly believe how on earth harry james potter could be standing in this class and being the best one at it when a year ago he was a failure at this subject.

there was a part of you that was livid by the fact that he was succeeding at the only field you always surpassed him, because you and harry had a tendency of making a nasty competition out of the rest of subjects. but, there was another side of you that was about to explode out of excitement.

you sure loved a good competition, and harry provided that for you and you for him every single time since the two of you entered slytherin five years ago.

it became sort of a symbiotic relationship because he stimulated your arrogance and thirst for success like no other person in your life, it was a hunger you both carried driven purely by the need of being better than the other.

yet, the problem between you and harry was probably the fact that apart from being in an eternal competition, you two fought like if you were at war. draco malfoy, a friend of both of you, hated to be in the same room as the two of you at the same time and so did harry's bestest friends: ron and hermione. you and harry knew how to be awfully insufferable.

well, at least that's what everyone thought until that day.

it was a quite beautiful and warm day outside. the sky was clear as you were leaving slughorn class after being surpassed (again) by harry. at this point it was getting tiring to always lose to him but not even harry could ruin that day for you.

as you walked out of the classroom friendly grabbing pansy's arm, you saw him: his green eyes always standing out, his messy uniform and the way his skin appeared so soft to the touch. you dismissed the thought quickly as harry's look went to yours, and a cocky smile appeared in his lips as he approached you and pansy.

“guess you'll need to settle for the second place.” harry said, obviously teasing you. hermione and ron came chasing after him making obvious that he went out of his way to mess with you.

an annoyed sigh left your lips, it was almost funny to see how harry ego became bigger after every class because it meant that you would surely enjoy much more the moment you finally archived to bring it down.

as you looked at him, his eyes made you shiver a little. the bastard was pretty as a sin, and charming as a snake, but he always forgot that you also knew how to behave like a snake too, and finally your mouth opened to answer him.

“can't live without me, can you?” you answered, an arrogant smile placing itself on your lips. “just wait until i figure out how you managed to cheat in slughorn classes, and i will become his favorite like i was with professor snape.” you added, firing back at him with a determined expression.

“oh, please (y/n). the only reason you were snape's favorite is because he literally hates me unprovoked.” harry joked and you got instantly irritated. “and don't pretend you aren't obsessed with me either.” he said, obviously teasing you.

you looked at pansy, who seemed a little desperate to flee from your encounter and you released her arm letting her go silently. then your eyes went right back at harry.

“for merlin sake, potter.” you said, rolling your eyes at him. “you scared her.”

“no, you scared her.” harry answered, crossing his arms. “you're the one who gets all worked up when i tell you the truth.”

“what on earth are you talking about, potter? you were shit at potions all these five years until months ago, don't get arrogant on me.” you mimicked his actions, crossing your arms too as the words left your mouth.

“yeah sur-...” harry was obviously about to fight you back, until hermione voice interrupted him, making you both remember that you weren't alone.

ron stood back from the encounter clearly tired of your rivalry, and hermione by the other hand seemed in a hurry.

“harry, please we need to go or we're going to be late for herbology.” she said, annoyed. “by the way, hi (y/n).”

“hi granger.” your voice came out friendly. “please hold your dog leash tighter the next time.” you added, a mocking tone on your words as you looked at harry.

you and harry's friends weren't exactly «besties» but you did not hate each other at all. not after what you did for harry in third year.

you had proved that you cared for harry deep inside when a dementor made him fall of his broom breaking it in the process and you stayed by his side for hours before he woke up and even bought him chocolate frogs. hermione and ron didn't understood why you asked them to not tell harry, but they did what you requested out of respect and you disappeared before harry opened his eyes.

and that was your little secret, one you intended to keep forever.

how could you not? knowing that would only make him more arrogant that he already is. also, is not like you did that because you liked him anyways, right?

i mean, he's insufferable, but you didn't wanted him to die by any means. it scared the shit out of you even thinking about the possibility.

in fact, it frightened you so much that you were fighting for him to be safe even now, but he doesn't need to know yet. no one had to know.

except for, of course, dumbledore.

“if im a dog then what are you? a kitten?” harry answered clearly irritated and hermione pulled him by the ear to get him off your neck and dragged him the other way, leaving you with an heated answer stuck in your tongue.

but even if harry's words had made you furious, they also had a clearly effect on you.

“bye, (l/n)” ron said as he followed them, clearly enjoying not being the one scolded by hermione for once. his words brought you to reality again.

as harry left unwillingly with hermione and ron, you stood there for a second. the corridor was almost empty, and you heart was beating subtly faster than always.

was this something normal? when did you started to feel like this?

you didn't knew at all, sometimes it was like you felt this since first year without noticing. yet, this emotion you didn't wanted to acknowledge was really starting disturb your peace.

it seemed harry potter always managed to ruin your day.

hours later, you found yourself laying on your bed. the green sheets embraced your body comfortably, trying to induce you into dreams, but it was impossible.

you were wide awake in the pale moonlight crossing the water covering the windows of the slytherin girls dorm in the dungeons. a sigh left your lips, as you rolled in bed trying to find the exact position to finally catch sleep but instead you heard the door of the boys dorm opening and closing. then steps and a calm sob.

this was not the first time you heard this in your time on hogwarts and you knew what was it, but all these years you were too coward to go out and do something about it.

it was harry, and you knew that he had one of his horrid nightmares.

you decided this was the last night you wouldn't go out and help him, because even if he was annoying, irritating and a bastard, your rivalry had its limits.

as you stood up in your black pajamas, your heartbeat got faster. what were you going to say to him?

for once, a part of you decided it didn't matter.

so when you opened the door, you saw him sitting im one of the sofas of the common room, crying quietly, his face slightly red and with a nose bleed that was getting worse and worse, staining his neck and his pajamas.

you almost ran to his side, casting a quick accio charm with your wand to get an elegant green hanky with your silvery initials embroidered in one of the corners. a gift from draco that you haven't got to use until that night.

harry looked at you almost in shock as you sat on the sofa with him, but he stayed silent, sobbing without making almost any sound. he seemed surprised to see you there but he seemed to calm down a little when you grabbed his face sweetly and used your hanky to carefully try to clean the blood from his face, holding it to his nose.

your fingers got stained with his blood, but you didn't seemed to care.

“hold it in place” you almost whispered, talking to him like he was a crying child.

he subtly nodded, tears still coming out from his eyes.

your fingers approached his cheeks, wiping his tears away even if they would keep coming out. then, while seeing his face, you remembered the photo of james potter in his seeker uniform on the quidditch shelf on one of the hallways in hogwarts. yet, when you eyes met his, another iconic photo came to your mind.

the portrait of lily evans in slughorn's shelf. her loving eyes were the same ones her son had inherited, the constant vestiges of her life were alive in harry and spoke through him like an ocean of sweetness.

you didn't knew why you paid so much attention to harry's parents photos, but something had drawn your curiosity and through the years it became more and more real what everyone thought:

“you really look exactly like your father.” your voice came out, still in a whisper while grabbing his cheeks. “except for your eyes.”

you didn't added what everyone said next, because harry knew it all too well.

he leant against your hands, accepting your touch and a sad smile came out his lips, genuinely moved by your words. words that even if he had heard them a thousand times before, for some reason, he never expected to hear them from you.

and that made his heart skip a beat.

“thank you.” harry managed to say. your soul felt almost wounded at the sadness in his voice, the voice of a dying man, a dying boy, that once had survived death but it kept chasing him over and over again.

and while you fought him on daylight, now you wanted to protect him under the watery moonlight coming from the windows.

“don't mention it.” you answered. your hands didn't moved from his face, now caressing it tenderly.

“please don't tell-...” he was going to say, but you interrupted him.

“i won't tell anyone, you don't have to worry.” you said as you got closer to him. “i never did.”

of course you wouldn't tell a soul. as much as you loved your slytherin mates, you knew that a bed full of snakes is a warfield, and being a lot of them the sons and daughters of death eaters they were surely going to eat harry up with rumours and mean insults.

and, every other time you had heard him come out of his room at night, you always kept it private because being a snake meant surviving at any cost, even if that meant feasting on your own kin to keep yourself alive. slytherin was about enduring, about succeeding.

and those were qualities that helped harry in the many times he had to face tom riddle, slytherin made him understand the dark lord much better but the cost was the constant fear of becoming him, of not being capable of surviving, of transforming into an omen.

“it was one of your nightmares?” he nodded after you muttered the question, taking one of your hands to hold one of his.

“it was about the night my parents died.” harry confessed. the tears had stopped for a moment, but a couple of them left his green eyes. “snape taught me occlumency to keep voldemort out of my head, but i keep having nightmares.” he explained, his voice too calm for someone that cried a lot just minutes before.

you looked at him, his burden becoming extremely palpable to you. the curse of being an unwilling child forced to fight a war that he didn't started, and that he didn't wanted.

you didn't thought much about what you were doing when you took off his glasses, put them on the small table beside the sofa and pulled him into a tight hug, one of your hands in his back, the other on his nape, caressing him.

harry cried on your shoulder, and you tried your best to make him feel held.

“it's okay, let it all out.” soft words left your lips, reassure him. “im here”

he hugged you back, almost desperately. like if he hadn't been comforted in a long time.

“im here, harry i will help you. you're not alone” you said and you instantly regretted it, knowing your words probably blew up your intent of not revealing the secret you've been keeping from him.

as you both broke the hug, harry spoke.

“help me?” he asked, clearly in disbelief. “why would you ever help me?” he asked you, a smile escaping his lips through the tears as if you just told him a joke.

you sighed. it was time to reveal your secret.

“because even if i love to fight with you, i don't want to see you die.” you confessed, you words in a seriousness harry had never heard on you.

he went silent for a moment, suspecting you had something say.

and it was true, because when the year started you parents began to pressure you to become a death eater. a destiny you would quickly share with draco in no less than a couple months.

but you knew way better than that, and in fear of having to do something awful or worse (having to hurt harry) you ran to dumbledore and explained him everything.

albus received your confession with open arms and offered you a way to help harry: joining the order of the phoenix and act as a double spy under the tutoring of severus snape who also acted as a double spy.

you were forbidden of sharing most of that information with absolutely anyone, but here you were, about to confess in front of one of the people you hated the most.

or maybe you loved the most.

because who would put their lives on a stake for a person in who they don't believe? for someone you don't love?

the most beautiful sacrifices are made out of love, out of adoration.

and maybe and just maybe, you loved harry potter.

the realization came to you suddenly, as he waited for an explanation while looking at you.

yet, a realization came to him too.

“(y/n), what did you do?” harry asked, his eyes widening for a moment. “what did you do?” his voice was soft, yet desperate.

“there's a lot of things im willing to do for you.” you admitted, trying to dismiss his question one last time.

“for salazar, please tell me what did you do.” he pleaded, scared that you could be in danger.

something cracked on your insides because facing his desperation, how could you deny him all your secrets?

“i've joined the order.” your answer struck him like a punch straight on the face. “my parents want me to become a death eater, so i spoke to dumbledore. i'll be a double spy.”

harry face went from having a sad expression to a surprised one.

“but how? why?” he desperately grabbed your hands, you thought his eyes had a hint of fear in them but you dismissed it. “you can't just do that for me, you're sacrificing your life if voldemort finds out.”

“i'm doing it happily, harry.”

“but why?!” harry exclaimed, then he remembered that everyone were sleeping and closed his eyes in frustration. “we were fighting this morning, tell me why would you do this?”

“you don't understand.” you said as his hands grabbed yours tightly.

“you can't say that after saying all of this to me, (y/n).” he answered, obviously getting annoyed. “i don't want you to do this.”

“i think i love you harry.” you admitted, looking at him in the eyes. “i did it because i love you, i was just too stubborn to admit that to myself. i sat by your side in third year when you passed out and fell off your broom because i love you. i bought you chocolate frogs that time because i love you, i beated the shit out of crabbe in fourth year because i love you and he said some blood purist shit about you.” you confessed, looking at him, your voice getting weaker with every word said. harry smiled at the last sentence, now understanding why you did that to crabbe in fourth year. he had thought all this time that it had been just a discussion between both of you that escalated. harry remembered your wounded knuckles, and something inside him trembled. “all i ever did was because i love you, even when i fight you.” you finished, your eyes about to tear up a little.

the realization was too hard for you to handle, knowing he probably didn't liked you back.

you both were tearing up, his nose bleed had stopped long ago yet some stains of blood were in his clothes and in your fingers.

your hanky rested on the sofa, your eyes were on his like it was the first sip of water you got on a whole lifetime.

“remember that time in fourth year i approached you with ron, and i stayed silent for like a whole minute im front of you and then fleed?” harry asked, smiling sweetly towards you. you nodded in response, clearly remembering the awkward encounter. “i wanted to invite you to the yule ball, but i got scared.” he confessed. “and then you ended up going with draco so i started picking on you the whole event because i was jealous.”

a laugh escaped your lips as he spoke, you could have never imagined his intentions and now here he was, erasing your fear of harry not loving you back.

“i think i love you too.” he continued. “this is weird tho, i never thought we would be speaking of this”

“yeah, you're right.” you answered, taking your hand out of his to give him a friendly punch on the arm. “how i will get used to be all sweet with you when we're always insulting each other?”

“we'll get there someday.” harry said, chuckling.

a brief silence came between you both as your eyes explored each other's faces, and in a moment he just stopped thinking and made a move.

harry grabbed your cheeks and pulled you to steal a kiss from you, it was sweet yet you felt his subtly swollen face because of the tears, a little taste of blood because of the rest he had on his lips, your own tears finally running free. both of you weren't exactly experienced on kissing, but you managed to keep it loving.

it was the kind of kiss you never thought you and harry would give each other. the intoxicating embrace of a hidden love that somehow managed to survive all these years to finally bloom.

a kiss soaked in a infinite mantra of sacrifice, of purity, of unconditional love. the kind of love you're willing to die for.

yet, the kiss was brief and tender. when you both broke it, your cheeks were subtly pink and his were too.

“this is a good start.” you whispered close to his face, finally accepting the feelings inside your heart.

“yes, it is.” he smiled at you, and then it seemed like an idea crossed his mind.

there was a brief moment of silence before he spoke again.

“if you're going to be a double spy, you'll need to be trained.” harry said. “i can help you practice. it frightens me to think of you dying.”

his offer made you giggle, and you nodded.

“okay.” you answered. “i can help you with potions in return.”

“i mean, i've been managing as you already know, but i don't understand a single thing of what im doing so i could really use your help.” harry confessed, smiling. “you see, i found this book on my first class, it has notes to get every potion right.” he added. “and a spell i desperately want you to learn if you're really going to risk your life like that.”

you leant against his shoulder intertwining your hands.

“im up for it, what's the spell called?” you answered as he leant his head against yours.

harry didn't answered right away, he struggled in his insides to share the information, but now he felt safe with you.

you both didn't had a clue of what was going to happen or if you were going to be together right away. harry needed time, you needed time and all these confessions after years of fighting non stop were confusing the hell out of you. yet, a war was coming and you were going to play a dangerous part on it.

and knowing that you had already made your big move on the board to help keep him safe while putting you at risk, harry realized you really could use knowing his secret.

« a secret for a secret » he thought, thinking on your confession.

when he finally answered, his voice sounded serious but the intention of helping you was there.

his words were dripping honey, the kind of honey someone has inside when they want you to be safe. when they love you so much, they are willing to die thousands of times for you too.

“sectumsempra.”

I HOPED YOU ENJOYED IT!! im a sucker for slytherin!harry so im planning writing more things of him in the future!! ♡

[pukopukopowpow]

when I'm reading a fanfic and the characters decide to act canon compliant:

[lilithslittleworld]

Doing it with the Harry Potter characters is like (headcanons):

Girls:

Hermione Granger: mostly submissive, though she 100% sets the pace w Ron. I feel like she's really delicate and loving, a soft kind of seduction. She looks really pretty and sounds even prettier if yk what I mean ;) She most definitely looks up or over at you with doe eyes.

Luna Lovegood: Switch 100%. Like Hermione, she's angelic and so soft, her fingertips are as gentle as the breeze. She isn't too loud but still sounds so lovely. Her dominant side is very encouraging, filled with praise and pretty words towards you.

Ginny Weasley: More dominant than submissive. Ginny seems like the kind of girl that knows what she wants and gets it. Definitely into praising you but would rather see you on your knees begging. Totally into dirty talking.

Boys:

Harry Potter: total sub, what can I even say? He loves to please you and make you feel good, even if he is a little shy about it. Will listen and follow any request or demand you give. Definitely into being restrained and watching you touch yourself. Whimpers.

Ron Weasley: switch but leans more towards the submissive side. Like Harry, he loves making you feel good but isn't shy about it. (he was at first.) Into roleplay and having sex in risky situations/places. Makes a lot of noise and isn't ashamed about it (he sounds so hot).

Fred Weasley: Dominant with an exception for sometimes being submissive. Fred loves teasing you, watching you squirm in anticipation. Into anything that involves sex in risky places/situations, sensory deprivation, tying you up and making you watch him, etc. Dirty talk throughout every interaction but with a lot of praise. His more submissive side is literally submitting to you fully, like on his knees and up for anything you ask of him.

George Weasley: George is really wholesome and loving during sex. Like his brother, he's after making you feel good but from a softer approach. Loves caressing you, watching you as he makes you feel good, telling you he loves you, and especially loves it when you moan his name.

Draco Malfoy: Draco's a tricky one because he gives off both very dominant and very submissive vibes, depending on context. I say he's a switch but is never a hard dom. He's really caring, though he doesn't show it in public. Loves when you wear different sets of lingerie and when you take the upper hand. Ngl, he probably likes being humiliated a little LOL.

Tom Riddle: very passionate. very. Is more dominant than submissive and likes to be in charge of what and how much you feel. Loves when you beg, when you look up at him, watching you touch yourself but also loves when you watch him too. Into literally almost anything. However, he cares deeply for you and is loving in his own way.

(Marauder's era) Remus Lupin: switch, leaning towards more submissive. Loves pleasuring you and having you tell him what to do. Quiet and shy but in the hottest way. Loves worshipping you and telling you how much he loves you. Soft, caring, sweet and wholesome vibes.

(Marauder's era) Sirius Black: definitely dominant. Similar to Freddie, Sirius loves teasing you, having you beg for him, and watching you squirm under his touch/words. Loves head, both giving and receiving, dirty talking to you (praise mixed with humiliation) and hearing you say his name, especially when you cum.

[addictiontohp]

Harry, looking at Ron and Hermione: dad do you feel like your third wheeling your own friend group?

James, glaring at Sirius and Remus: tell me about it!

[mori221c]

Harry and Draco's Halloween adventure!!🖤✨🦇

With the help of a gobbler demon and a smart angel, they set out to find the evil bat of Slytherin. One after one they meet mysterious allies on their journey. Who- or "what"- is the man under the red riding hood? Is the outlaw who claims himself to be Harry's Godfather trustworthy? And when they finally stand before the legendary vampire, what astounding truth will be revealed?

[unconventional-lawnchair]

hi loveee!! hope you’re doing well!

i was wondering if i could request no Voldemort AU, Wolfstar!daughter reader where her parents and harry’s parents have been making jokes about her and harry dating, and since then they have seen her slowly fade and eating less and kind of just drifting away for a few months, and when her parents, lily, and james talk to her about it she just tells them she likes girls and was really scared of telling them because she felt she was disappointing them.

if you don’t feel comfortable that’s totally fine!! love your work

An: Thank you and I'm sorry this took so long! I got a little carried away I am so sorry.

Expectations

Wolfstar!Daughter who is struggling to express her sexuality...

Summary: (See above) Reminiscing on some romantic encounters, you have come to the conclusion Harry Potter is not someone you'd ever date. HURT/COMFORT

WC: 7.1k

CW: The reader is so gay, she kissed Luna and Ginny, almost kissed Hermione, some intense negative self talk, mentions of not eating and guilty James and Sirius

The warm smell of toast and coffee wafted through the kitchen as you thundered down the stairs, your shoes slapping against the wood with unbothered energy. The kitchen was alive with the sound of the radio crackling softly in the corner, a cheerful tune mingling with the chatter of voices and the occasional clink of dishes.

Lily stood at the stove, flicking her wand to keep the eggs from burning. James leaned casually against the counter, chewing on a piece of toast and grinning at Sirius, who was regaling everyone with a clearly exaggerated story about his work as an Auror the day before. Remus sat at the table, reading the Daily Prophet with a steaming cup of tea in his hand.

You slipped past Lily with precision, she hardly glanced over her shoulder, smirking. “Late again, I see. I suppose your grand entrance was worth skipping breakfast?”

You gave her a cheeky grin, swiping the slice of toast right out of James’s hand as you breezed by. “Skipping? Please, I’m right on time,” You quipped, taking a dramatic bite and ignoring James’s exaggerated gasp of betrayal.

“Oi!” James protested, clutching his now-empty hand. “I was munching on that!”

“You snooze, you lose, Potter,” You shot back, already rounding the table to Sirius. He was mid-sentence in his story when your arms looped around his shoulders, pulling him into a quick hug. He stopped talking just long enough to lean into the affection, grinning like the proud dad he was.

“Morning, Cherry Bomb,” Sirius greeted, ruffling your hair as you pulled away.

“Morning, Dad,” You hummed breezily before turning to Remus. You leaned down to give him an exaggeratedly loud kiss on the cheek, making him chuckle and shake his head.

“You’re in a good mood,” Remus observed, a small smile tugging at his lips as he folded his newspaper.

“Am I not always?” You asked, snagging another slice of toast from the plate on the table and tossing him a wink.

Laughter and banter filled the room again as the chaos resumed. The radio switched to another upbeat tune, and Lily turned back to her cooking, muttering something about “pot-stirrers” under her breath. Sirius leaned back in his chair, smirking at James’s ongoing complaints about his stolen toast, and Remus sipped his tea, watching the scene unfold with fond amusement.

“Pops, can you-” You started, pointing toward the creamer sitting just out of reach on the table. Before you could even finish your sentence, Remus flicked his wand, and the creamer floated gracefully into your hand. 

“Thanks, Pops,” You sang with a grin, pouring a splash into your coffee. “You’re on top of it today.”

“I try,” Remus replied with a faint smirk, returning to his tea and paper without missing a beat.

Before you could reach for the sugar, a familiar hand slid it toward you from the corner of the table. Harry, his hair even messier than usual, had just shuffled into the kitchen, still looking half-asleep but apparently sharp enough to anticipate your needs.

“Here,” he mumbled, stifling a yawn as he pushed the sugar closer.

You gasped dramatically, holding your hand to your chest as though he’d just saved your life. “And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why you’re my favorite Potter.”

Harry blinked at you, clearly too tired to respond with his usual quick wit. “Not a high bar,” He muttered, sliding into the chair next to Remus and slumping forward.

James, who had been about to take a sip of coffee, froze mid-motion, eyes widening in mock offense. “Excuse me?! I am the original Potter- one might say the prototype- and therefore the best!”

“Don’t forget the loudest,” Sirius added with a grin, earning a glare from James.

Lily turned from the stove, wagging her spatula in your direction. “Careful, love, you’re going to give Harry a big head.”

You snorted, swirling your coffee as you leaned back against the counter. “Please, his head’s big enough already. I’m just giving credit where it’s due.”

Harry, now more awake, gave you a sideways glance, a hint of a smirk creeping onto his face. “You know, you’re really setting the bar low if all it takes is a sugar bowl to win you over.”

“Hey,” you shot back, pointing your spoon at him, “don’t underestimate the power of good timing and selflessness, Potter. You could learn a thing or two from your favorite person.”

Harry rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “If I’m your favorite, I dread to think how you treat your least favorite.”

“Easy,” You cheeked with a wicked grin, “I steal their toast.”

James groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Unbelievable! You two are ganging up on me. Is this what parenthood leads to? Betrayal at every turn?”

“Seems like it,” Sirius chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a wolfish grin. “Honestly, Prongs, they’d make a great couple- at least then someone would appreciate your genes.”

You nearly choked on your coffee, sputtering as you quickly set the mug down. “Oh, come on,” You shot at Sirius, your tone sharp but playful, though a prickle of discomfort crept into your chest. 

James was grinning now, clearly enjoying himself. “You know, he’s not wrong. Potter and Black- it’s destiny, really. Perfect balance of brains and chaos.”

“Merlin’s beard, not this again,” You groaned, running a hand down your face. “The only thing Harry and I are destined for is quidditch captain, and I’m winning.”

“But think of the headlines!” Sirius pressed on, clearly relishing the way you were squirming. “‘Auror Legacy Marries rebel Black 2.0.’ It’s got a ring to it.”

“Don’t,” Lily cut in sharply, waving her spatula like a weapon. “You’re embarrassing them.”

Remus huffed quietly, setting his tea down with a frown. “Honestly, can’t the two of you give it a rest? They’re kids, not a tabloid story.”

You seized the moment, folding your arms and aiming your most cutting glare at your dads. “Thank you, Pops. Finally, someone with some sense.”

Sirius, unbothered, leaned over to nudge James. “You notice how defensive she’s getting? Means we’re onto something.”

“That’s because you’re delusional,” You snapped, though your tone had lost its bite. “For the record, Harry and I would never work. He’s a disaster, I’m a disaster, and that’s just too much disaster for one relationship.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at you, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Speak for yourself. I’d carry this disaster just fine.”

“Oh, please,” You fired back, your grin tight but still intact. “You can’t even carry your Firebolt without tripping over your own feet.”

The room erupted in laughter, and you forced a chuckle, though the weight of their teasing lingered. You’d always been good at playing along, but this time, something about it felt different. The jokes stung in a way they hadn’t before, but you weren't ignorant to why.

The laughter in the kitchen echoed around you, but it began to feel muffled, as if someone had pressed a pillow over your ears. You stared at your coffee mug, your grin faltering slightly, though you were careful to hide it. The jokes about you and Harry- something you’d always brushed off with ease- felt heavier lately, the sting burrowing deeper into your chest. 

Your grip tightened around the coffee mug as the laughter in the kitchen grew distant, the sound blurring into background noise. Your mind wandered, pulling you back to a quieter moment, one you rarely let yourself dwell on.

The library was quiet save for the soft rustle of pages and the occasional whispered reprimand from Madam Pince. You’d been helping Hermione find a particularly elusive book for her research, one she was determined to get her hands on without incurring the wrath of the ever-watchful librarian.

“You’re sure it’s up there?” Hermione had whispered, standing on her tiptoes as she pointed toward the highest shelf.

“Positive,” you’d replied, smirking as you pulled your wand out and flicked it expertly. The book floated down, landing gently in her hands.

“Show-off,” she murmured, though her lips curved into a faint smile.

You’d grinned back, feeling uncharacteristically shy under her warm gaze. The moment lingered longer than it should have, her eyes searching yours as she clutched the book to her chest. There had been something there- something thrillingly unfamiliar. The space between you had felt electric, the quiet of the library amplifying every breath, every heartbeat.

You’d thought about leaning in, about what it might feel like to close the gap. But the creak of Madam Pince’s footsteps had shattered the moment, and you’d stepped back, laughing it off as Hermione tucked the book under her arm and muttered something about returning to the common room.

“Oi,” Sirius’s voice cut through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. You blinked, realizing the room had gone quieter. Sirius leaned back in his chair, his expression softening as he looked at you. “You alright, trouble?”

“Yeah,” You smiled quickly, plastering on your signature grin to mask the lingering thoughts. “Just tired, I guess.”

Sirius didn’t press, but his gaze lingered a moment longer before he turned back to James, who was recounting a story you’d already heard a dozen times.

“Well,” Sirius said, clapping his hands on the table as he stood. “Time to pack it up, everyone. Let’s head home before the house decides to redecorate itself again.”

Lily shot him a look, though there was a smile playing on her lips. “That house doesn’t need redecorating. It needs a miracle.”

Sirius smirked. “And I’m just the man for the job.”

You chuckled softly, slipping off your stool and stretching as the others began gathering their things. 

For now, you focused on the warmth of the kitchen, the familiar sound of Sirius and James bickering, and the way Remus always managed to keep everything running smoothly. It was enough, at least for the moment.

The goodbyes at the Potters’ were as warm and chaotic as the morning had been. Hugs were exchanged, and James couldn’t resist pulling you into an exaggerated bear hug, practically lifting you off your feet. 

“Take care of my heir, Cherry Bomb,” James teased, grinning ear to ear as he nodded toward Harry. “You two are a dream team, after all.”

“James,” Lily said warningly, her tone sharp but her smile betraying her amusement. 

“You’re delusional,” You shot back with a scoff, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed how much the teasing was starting to wear on you. You glanced at Harry, who offered you a small, sympathetic smile before pulling you into a quick side hug of his own.

“Don’t let them get to you,” Harry mumbled under his breath. “They’re impossible.”

“Right back at you,” You replied with a crooked grin, but your heart wasn’t entirely in it. 

As you stepped back, Sirius clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder and gave you a knowing smirk. “Don’t worry, Prongs, I’ll make sure they don’t elope without your blessing.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” You groaned, throwing your hands up as Remus gave Sirius a pointed look and muttered something about restraint. 

“Goodbye, Lily,” You said pointedly, ignoring the boys and turning to give her a warm hug. She gave you a small squeeze, whispering a quick “Be patient with them” in your ear before you stepped away.

Sirius finally ushered you toward the car, jingling the keys in his hand like a prize. “Alright, let’s hit the road before James gets any more brilliant ideas.”

Remus rolled his eyes as he slipped into the passenger seat. “Or before you make any, for that matter.”

You climbed into the backseat, slumping against the window as Sirius started the car with a triumphant flourish. He seemed to take a little too much pleasure in the sputtering growl of the engine, muttering something under his breath about “showing Walburga what she’s talking about.”

The car pulled away from the Potters’ house, and the chatter in the front seat quickly turned into playful bickering between your dads. Sirius insisted he didn’t need a map, while Remus quietly pointed out every turn they were about to miss. 

But you barely registered their voices. Instead, you stared out the window, your mind wandering again. The familiar streets blurred together as you replayed the events of the morning, the teasing, the lingering stares, and the way Harry’s half-smile seemed to carry a shared understanding.

But still, you were elsewhere.

You and Ginny had been wandering aimlessly, avoiding curfews and teachers, giggling over whatever nonsense had entertained you that day.

She had shoved you playfully against the wall in a narrow corridor, her fiery red hair catching the dim light as she grinned up at you. You’d retaliated immediately, pushing her back with a mock growl, but she was quicker, spinning and pinning you to the stone wall with a strength that belied her smaller frame. 

“You’ve got to stop underestimating me,” She teased, her freckled nose scrunching as she smirked. “One day, I’ll wipe that cocky grin off your face.”

“Big words for a Weasley,” You quipped, grinning. “Want to back them up?”

Ginny paused then, her smile faltering just enough for you to notice. Her hands lingered on your shoulders, her grip light but steady. Her brown eyes softened, and something thick hung in the air between you, heavy and electric. 

Her voice dropped, quiet and teasing, but there was a nervous edge beneath her bravado. 

“Have you ever kissed a girl before?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at her, the confident grin slipping from your face. You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say a word, Ginny leaned in.

Her lips brushed yours, soft and tentative, the kiss lasting only a heartbeat. It was over almost as soon as it began, but the feeling lingered- a spark, warm and thrilling, like the crackle of fire catching on dry wood. 

You barely had time to process it before Ginny leaned back, her cheeks flushed as she studied your face. “Well?” She asked, her tone light but her eyes searching. “How was that?”

You swallowed, your voice coming out a little breathless despite your best efforts to play it cool. “Not bad, Weasley. Not bad at all.”

Ginny’s grin returned, bright and cheeky. “Told you I’d shut you up one day.”

Before you could respond, Ron’s voice rang out from the far end of the corridor, calling for Ginny. The two of you jumped apart as if burned, your heart racing as her brother’s footsteps approached.

“Guess I'm caught.” Ginny muttered, casting you a quick glance. Her expression was a mix of amusement and something deeper- something you were familiar with. She turned on her heel, jogging down the corridor to meet Ron as if nothing had happened. 

You stood frozen for a moment, your fingertips brushing your lips as you replayed the moment over and over in your mind.

“Oi, trouble,” Sirius’s voice yanked you back to the present, his tone amused but curious. “You’ve been awfully quiet back there. What’s on your mind?”

You blinked, realizing you were still in the car, the hum of the engine grounding you as the memory faded. You plastered on a grin, shaking your head as you leaned back in your seat. 

“Just tired, dad,” you replied, your voice light and teasing. “Long morning.”

Sirius glanced at you in the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion, but he didn’t press. “Well, don’t fall asleep back there. I’m not carrying you up the stairs again.”

Remus chuckled softly, turning in his seat to look at you with a knowing smile. “He says that, but we both know he would.”

You laughed, grateful for the distraction they didn't know they provided. 

The car pulled to a stop in front of Grimmauld Place, and you were out of the backseat before Sirius could even turn off the engine. The heavy door creaked open under your hand, and the familiar musty air of the house greeted you. You were halfway up the stairs when Walburga Black’s shrill voice began to echo from her portrait in the hallway.

“Filthy half-bloods! Defilers of the noble house of Black!”

Without missing a beat, you stopped at the landing and turned to face her, smirking as her painted eyes glared daggers at you.

“Oh, shut it, you old hag,” You snapped, your voice dripping with mockery. “If this house had any standards left, your frame would be collecting dust in the attic.”

Walburga’s wails grew louder, incoherent insults tumbling from her mouth. Behind you, Sirius strode in, shaking snow from his jacket as he glanced up at the commotion.

“Oi, pup, what’s all this noise about?” He called, grinning when he spotted you leaning casually against the banister.

“Just giving dear old Gran her daily reminder that she’s irrelevant,” You shrugged, crossing your arms. “Thought she might appreciate the consistency.”

Sirius barked out a laugh, dropping his keys onto the hall table. “Ah, you’re a good kid. Keeping family tradition alive.”

He turned to Walburga’s portrait with an exaggerated bow. “Lovely as always, Mother. But if you don’t pipe down, I’ll have to introduce you to my new Muggle rock records.”

Her screeches hit a new pitch, and Sirius winked at you before turning to Remus, who was rolling his eyes and carrying the bags into the livingroom.

“Don’t encourage her,” Remus muttered, though his lips twitched with a faint smile.

Sirius waved him off, clearly pleased with himself. You snickered and started back up the stairs, shouting one last retort over your shoulder at Walburga.

“Hope you have a terrible night, you miserable cow.”

Her howls followed you all the way to your bedroom door, but you ignored them, shutting yourself inside with a satisfying click. 

You flopped onto your bed with a dramatic sigh, your body sinking into the mattress. The familiar creak of the springs beneath you was oddly comforting, even as your mind wandered. Staring at the cracked ceiling, you let the faint noises of the house fade into the background: the distant hum of conversation downstairs, the occasional groan of the pipes, the muffled screeches of Walburga’s indignation.

The memories came rushing back unbidden, weaving themselves into the present.

It was well past midnight. Grimmauld Place was silent except for the occasional creak of the old house settling, its usual cacophony of voices replaced by the muffled hum of distant dreams. The kitchen was dimly lit by a single candle, its flickering flame casting dancing shadows on the aged stone walls. You and Luna had crept downstairs, stifling giggles like two schoolchildren sneaking past a strict headmaster.

Luna sat on the counter, her legs swinging idly, her pale blonde hair catching the soft glow of the candlelight. She watched you rummage through the pantry with the serene curiosity she always seemed to carry, her gaze steady and unbothered even when you nearly dropped a jar of biscuits.

Her soft laughter bubbled up, the sound light and airy, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. “Careful,” she teased, her voice barely above a whisper. “We wouldn’t want to wake the ghosts.”

You turned to her, holding up the jar triumphantly. “Ghosts don’t care about biscuits, Luna,” you quipped, though your tone lacked its usual edge. Something about her presence always softened you.

Luna tilted her head, a dreamy smile playing on her lips. “Maybe not. But I imagine they’d enjoy the company.”

Her words hung in the air between you, her gaze steady and unwavering. The intimacy of the moment- the stillness of the house, the shared laughter, the closeness- felt overwhelming. You set the jar down on the counter, your movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid to shatter the fragile quiet.

“What?” You asked softly, your voice low as you stepped closer. The question wasn’t accusatory, just curious, as though you could feel the weight of her thoughts pressing against you.

Luna didn’t respond with words. Instead, she leaned down, her movements slow and deliberate, as if giving you the chance to step away. When you didn’t, her lips brushed yours, soft and tentative. The kiss started slow, hesitant, like the first notes of a melody yet to find its rhythm.

But then it deepened, a quiet fervor building as her hands found your shirt, tangling in the fabric and pulling you closer. Your hands instinctively rested on her hips, grounding yourself in the warmth of her presence. The candle flickered wildly, like its flame was threatening to extinguish under the intensity of the moment, but neither of you paid it any mind.

When you finally pulled back, the world felt different, quieter, as if the house itself was holding its breath. Luna’s gaze held yours, her cheeks flushed but her expression calm, steady.

“Was that alright?” She asked, her voice barely audible in the stillness.

You nodded, your heart pounding as you offered her a small, shy smile. “Yeah,” You murmured, your voice thick with something you couldn’t quite name. “It was more than alright.”

Luna’s smile widened, and for a moment, the weight of everything else fell away. In that kitchen, under the flicker of candlelight, it was just the two of you, wrapped in a moment that felt like it had been waiting for you all along.

The memory lingered like a soft melody, playing on repeat in your mind. Luna’s serene gaze, her touch, the flicker of candlelight that had seemed to mirror the spark between you- everything about it had felt right. Safe. But as you tried to focus on her eyes, your heart sank.

Like some cruel trick, the silvery blue of her irises shifted, darkening until they glowed an all-too-familiar shade of green. The serene warmth of Luna’s face dissolved, replaced by Harry’s steady, piercing gaze.  

A shock ran through your body, sharp and unforgiving, jolting you out of the blissful memory like a bucket of ice water. Your chest tightened, the sudden dissonance between memory and reality leaving you breathless.

“No,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head as though you could physically dislodge the image. “No, no, no.”

Your hands clenched into fists, and a frustrated growl tore from your throat. You grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it across the room with all the force you could muster. The satisfying whomp of impact was immediately followed by a loud crash as the pillow toppled your bedside lamp, sending it to the floor in a spray of shattered glass.

The sound made you wince, your frustration replaced by a pang of guilt. You sat up, running a hand through your hair as you surveyed the mess on the floor. The dim light of the room cast eerie reflections off the broken shards, and for a moment, you felt as fragmented as the lamp lying before you.

“Oi! Everything alright up there?” Remus’s voice carried up the stairs, calm yet laced with concern.

You winced, glancing down at the shattered remains of the lamp, your heart sinking. “Uh… yeah!” You called back, scrambling for an excuse. “Just… taking out some aggression on a pillow!”

There was a pause before Remus replied, his voice tinged with amusement. “And did the pillow learn its lesson?”

You hesitated, looking at the broken lamp before sighing. “Uhm… it seems my lamp learned it for him!”

A loud bark of laughter echoed from downstairs, followed closely by Sirius’s booming voice. “Don’t touch it! I’m coming up!”

Your stomach twisted as the familiar sound of Sirius’s boots on the stairs grew louder. You quickly crouched by the broken lamp, trying to sweep the shards into a neat pile with your hands, only to nick your finger on one of the sharper edges.

“Bloody hell,” You hissed, sticking the wounded finger in your mouth as Sirius’s voice reached the landing outside your door.

“Oi, trouble,” He called, knocking once before pushing the door open without waiting for an answer. He took one look at the broken lamp, the glass scattered across the floor, and your sheepish expression before crossing his arms and leaning casually against the doorframe.

“What happened?” He prodded, though his tone was more curious than accusatory.

You stood, brushing your hands on your trousers and avoiding his gaze. “The pillow was out of line, so I threw it,” You admitted, gesturing toward the offending pillow lying innocently on the floor. “Didn’t realize it had a vendetta against my lamp- unfortunately he took her down with him.”

Sirius’s lips twitched as he tried to hold back a grin. “Sounds like the lamp got the short end of the stick,” He mused, stepping further into the room to inspect the damage. “What’s really going on?”

You hesitated, unsure how much you wanted to share. Sirius had a knack for prying the truth out of you, but sometimes you weren’t ready to give it up.

“Just… had a lot on my mind,” Your voice muttered quietly. “Needed to let it out.”

Sirius tilted his head, studying you for a moment. Then, without a word, he pulled his wand from his back pocket and pointed it at the shattered lamp. “Reparo!”

The broken shards flew back together with a soft clink, reforming into the lamp as if nothing had happened. Sirius smirked, giving the now-intact lamp a light tap with his wand for good measure. 

You stared at it, your cheeks heating with embarrassment. “Of course,” you muttered, rubbing the back of your neck. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Sirius grinned, tucking his wand away. “Because you’re dramatic, Cherry Bomb. Always have to make a scene.” He leaned back against the doorframe, crossing his arms with a knowing look. “What’s the fun in fixing things when you can wallow in the chaos a little longer, eh?”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Alright, alright. You’ve had your moment. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late, just lets me know you still need me.” Sirius replied, flashing a cocky grin. Then his expression softened, his gaze flickering to you with something closer to concern. “But seriously, kid, you good?”

You hesitated, the weight of his question pressing down on you. Sirius might joke around, but his ability to see through you had always been unnerving. 

“I’m fine,” you finally said, though it sounded unconvincing even to your own ears. You tried to smile, hoping it would sell the lie. “Just a long day, you know?”

Sirius didn’t look convinced, but he let it go- for now. “Alright, if you say so. But if you ever need to talk… well, you know where I am.”

You nodded, feeling a flicker of gratitude for his understanding. “Thanks, Dad.”

Sirius smirked at the title, ruffling your hair as he passed by you toward the door. “Get some rest, pup. And maybe lay off the pillow abuse next time, yeah?”

“Only if it's learned its lesson.”

He gave you a playful glare. You laughed softly as he left, shutting the door behind him. The room fell silent once more, save for the faint hum of the house around you. You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at the repaired lamp and letting out a long, steadying breath.

"Dramatic," you muttered to yourself, shaking your head. But the small smile faltered, slipping away as something cold and heavy began to settle in your chest. A creeping dread gnawed at the edges of your mind, setting your breaths into an unsteady rhythm.

Dramatic.

You could almost hear Sirius’s teasing tone, James’s bark of laughter. The word echoed, sharp and cutting in the stillness of the room. 

“They’re just joking.”  

“Don’t take it to heart.”  

“They don’t mean it.”  

You’d told yourself these things countless times before. But their voices played on a loop in your head, louder and louder, until you could hardly think of anything else.

“If you get married, we’ll finally be a big pack!”  

“You two would be perfect together!”  

“You’d work so well- balance each other out!”  

James and Sirius’s teasing words replayed with such vivid clarity, the echo of their laughter twisting in your chest like a knife. Even Lily’s and Remus’s softer reassurances slipped in, well-meaning but hollow now, reminders that they’d never taken it as seriously as you did.  

Because all jokes have a bit of truth to them, don’t they? That dark, nagging voice in the back of your mind whispered its usual poison. What if they mean every word? What if they’ve always meant it?

The years of good-natured teasing, the remarks, the suggestions- they stretched out in your memory, suddenly too heavy to ignore. And for the first time, you wondered if that was all you were to them. If you were just a puzzle piece waiting to fit into their perfect picture. 

The thought made you feel small, insignificant. Like your only worth to them was tied to something you didn’t even want. It wasn’t a new fear- not really- but it had always been something you could push aside. Something you could shake off with a roll of your eyes and a forced laugh.

But not today.  

Today, it was eating you alive.

The weeks that followed were quiet. Too quiet. The lively energy you usually brought to Grimmauld Place seemed to dim, like a fire struggling to stay lit. The teasing banter that once felt like second nature now felt heavy, stifling. You found yourself retreating into your room more often, your appetite waning as the days blurred together.  

At first, they didn’t notice- not fully. James and Sirius chalked it up to stress, maybe a rough patch. “She’ll bounce back,” Sirius had said confidently, leaning back in his chair like it was a guarantee.  

But then you started skipping meals. Not just breakfast, but dinner too. You’d pick at your plate, offering vague excuses before excusing yourself early. The chatter at the table would falter each time you slipped away, the tension thickening like storm clouds.  

You avoided Harry most of all. The warm sibling bond you’d always shared felt unbearable now, every interaction laced with an invisible wall you couldn’t bring yourself to break. He’d tried to confront you once, standing awkwardly in the doorway to your room.  

“Hey,” he had said, his voice uncertain but soft. “You’ve been… quiet lately. Everything alright?”  

You had plastered on a smile, too tight to be convincing. “I’m fine, Harry. Just tired.”  

He’d hesitated, his hand gripping the doorframe like he wasn’t sure whether to stay or leave. “You can talk to me, you know. About anything.”  

The lump in your throat had felt insurmountable, and you’d turned away under the guise of searching for something on your desk. “I know. Thanks.”  

He hadn’t pushed further, but you’d felt his lingering gaze before he left, the door clicking softly behind him.  

Sirius, of course, noticed the cracks in your armor. He’d tried to coax you back to your usual self with his over-the-top antics, but your forced chuckles only seemed to worry him more. Remus had asked if you were feeling ill, his sharp eyes scanning your face with parental concern, but you waved him off with a quiet reassurance that everything was fine.  

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, casting Grimmauld Place in a muted twilight. The kitchen was quiet, save for the gentle hum of the radio in the background and the occasional clatter of dishes as Lily cleaned up after dinner. You sat at the table, idly tracing patterns on the wood with your fingernail, your untouched tea growing cold in front of you. 

“Alright, love,” Lily said softly, breaking the silence. She pulled out a chair and sat across from you, her eyes kind but steady. “I’m not one to pry, but something’s been eating at you for weeks, and we’re all worried.”

You froze, your fingers stilling on the table. “I’m fine,” you muttered, the words automatic, rehearsed. 

Lily tilted her head, her fiery hair catching the faint light. “You’re not fine. And that’s okay. But shutting us out isn’t going to help.” 

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “It’s nothing. Really.”

“It’s not nothing,” Lily pressed gently. “You’ve been pulling away from everyone-especially Harry. You barely eat, you hardly talk, and you don’t even sass Walburga anymore. That’s not like you.”

The mention of Harry made your chest tighten. You clenched your jaw, your hands curling into fists on the table. “It’s nothing he did,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Lily’s brows lifted slightly, her gaze sharpening. “Then what is it?”

You hesitated, the storm of emotions that had been building for weeks threatening to spill over. The kitchen felt too small, too stifling, and Lily’s unwavering gaze made it impossible to retreat. 

“I just…” You started, your voice trembling. You shook your head, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “I’m tired of the jokes. The teasing. All of it.”

Lily frowned, leaning forward slightly. “What jokes?”

“The ones about me and Harry,” you snapped, your voice louder than you intended. “About how we’re perfect for each other. About how it’s destiny. It’s like that’s all anyone sees when they look at us.”

Lily’s expression softened, but she didn’t interrupt. She waited, giving you the space to continue.

“I’m not…” You took a deep breath, the words sticking in your throat. “I’m not in love with him. I never have been. And I never will be.”

Your voice broke on the last word, and you buried your face in your hands, your shoulders trembling. Lily reached under the table, her hand resting gently on your knee. “It’s alright, love,” she said softly. “Keep going.”

“I hate it,” you admitted, your voice muffled. “I hate how they act like it’s inevitable. Like my only purpose is to… to marry Harry and make everyone happy.”

Lily’s hand squeezed your knee, her touch grounding you. “No one expects that from you,” she said gently. “Not really.”

“They do,” you insisted, lifting your head to meet her gaze. Tears blurred your vision, but you didn’t care. “Even if they don’t say it outright, they mean it. And I’m just supposed to go along with it because it’s what they want.”

“Do you want to date Harry?” Lily asked, her voice careful, measured.

You shook your head vehemently, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “No. I don’t. I’ve never wanted that. I don’t… I’m not even attracted to men.” 

The confession hung heavy in the air, the weight of it both terrifying and freeing. Lily’s eyes widened briefly, but she quickly masked her surprise with a soft, understanding smile. 

“That’s what’s been eating at you,” she said quietly, more to herself than to you. “You’ve been carrying this alone.”

You nodded, your throat tight. “I just… I didn’t know how to say it. And I didn’t think anyone would take me seriously.”

“I take you seriously,” Lily said firmly, her hand never leaving yours. “And I’m so proud of you for telling me.”

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway. The door creaked open, and you looked up to see James, Sirius, and Remus standing there, their expressions a mixture of concern and uncertainty.

Lily turned her head toward them, her gaze sharp. “Don’t you dare say a word.”

“We weren’t eavesdropping,” James said quickly, raising his hands in surrender. “We just… heard voices.”

You flushed, your chest tightening as their presence threatened to overwhelm you. But Lily’s hand squeezed your knee again, her steady presence grounding you.

“It’s alright,” She murmured, her voice low. “If you’re ready.”

You hesitated, your gaze flickering between the three men. James looked as though he was holding his breath, Sirius’s expression was unreadable, and Remus’s eyes were filled with quiet understanding.

Finally, you exhaled, your shoulders relaxing slightly. “I’m not in love with Harry,” you said, your voice steadier now. “And I’m not interested in men. At all. And I- hate that you guys assume. Assume I-” Your voice cracked and there was a long moment of silence.

Sirius moved first, his usual bravado stripped away as he slowly approached you. His grey eyes were soft, filled with something that looked painfully close to regret. He crouched down beside your chair, resting one hand on the table and the other gently on your arm. 

"Kid," he started, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. "I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to... I didn’t realize we were pushing you like this."

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. Sirius squeezed your arm lightly, his expression heartbreakingly tender. 

"You’re my little girl," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "The last thing I’d ever want is to make you feel like you’re anything less than exactly who you’re supposed to be. And if we made you feel that way... I’ll never forgive myself."

That did it. The tears you’d been holding back slipped free, and you let out a shaky breath. Sirius reached up to gently wipe one away, his touch careful and loving. "You don’t owe anyone an explanation. You don’t have to be what anyone expects, not even us."

Behind him, Remus was watching with a guarded expression, his gaze flickering between you and James. The latter stood frozen in the doorway, his face pale and his hands trembling at his sides. He looked like he’d been punched in the gut.

"I..." James started, his voice cracking slightly. He swallowed hard, his hazel eyes glistening as he took a shaky step forward. "I didn’t know. I didn’t- Merlin, I’m so sorry." 

You looked up at him, your tears blurring his figure. His voice broke again as he continued, his words tumbling out in a rush. "I thought we were just joking around, just... having a laugh. I didn’t realize we were hurting you. I would never-" He cut himself off, running a hand through his already-messy hair. "I never wanted you hurting."

Sirius’s hand remained steady on your arm as he glanced back at James, his expression unreadable. But the slight twitch of his jaw and the flicker of his gaze told you he was holding back words of his own.

Remus finally stepped in, his calm, measured tone breaking the tension. "It’s not about what any of us wanted," he said softly, addressing James but keeping his focus on you. "It’s about what she needed- and didn’t get- from the people who were supposed to protect her."

James visibly flinched, his shoulders slumping as he looked at you again. "I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "For every stupid joke, for every time I didn’t think- just, all of it. I’m so, so sorry."

For the first time in weeks, you felt the weight in your chest lighten, just a little. You nodded slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just want to be seen for who I am. Not... not who you all want me to be."

James nodded, his eyes glassy but determined. "You’re right. And from now on, we’ll do better. I’ll do better."

Sirius tightened his grip on your arm briefly before letting go, his hand coming up to cup your face. "We’ll figure this out, pup. You’ve got us. Always." 

"And for what it’s worth," Remus added, his soft smile offering a flicker of comfort, "we’re proud of you. For being honest, even when it’s hard."

Before silence could over take the room; Harry entered the kitchen with his usual messy hair and an expression of mild concern, but the moment he saw your tear-streaked face, his demeanor changed entirely. His eyes darted between you, Sirius, and James, his body tensing like he was ready to jump to your defense.

“What’s going on?” He asked, his voice sharp with alarm. He pointed an accusatory finger at James. “Dad, what did you say? Did you-”

“Harry,” You interrupted quickly, your voice wavering but firm. You stood from your chair and took a step toward him, guilt tugging at your chest. “It’s not him. It’s not anyone’s fault. I just… I should’ve talked to you sooner.”

Harry blinked, his brow furrowing as he looked down at you. “Talked to me about what? Are you okay?”

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding as you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “I’ve been ignoring you, and that wasn’t fair. I’m sorry, Harry.”

He shook his head, his concern not easing. “Don’t worry about that. I just want to know what’s wrong.”

The words caught in your throat for a moment, but then you found the courage to say them. “I like girls.”

Harry stared at you for a second, his expression unreadable. “Yeah,” he said slowly, his tone filled with cautious confusion, “Me too.”

For a brief, horrifying moment, you thought you’d miscalculated everything. But then he raised an eyebrow, smirking as he added, “You kinda snogged my girlfriend, though.”

You blinked, startled by the unexpected quip. Then the absurdity of it hit you, and a laugh bubbled out of your chest, light and free. Harry grinned at your reaction, pulling you into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around you like a protective barrier, and for the first time in weeks, you had your best friend back.

“I was so worried,” He mumbled into your shoulder, his voice softer now. “You’ve been so distant, and I didn’t know what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything,” You assured him, your voice thick with emotion. “It’s just been… a lot. But I’m okay now. Or I will be.”

Harry pulled back just enough to look at you, his green eyes searching yours. “You could’ve told me, I’m always on your side, you know that, right?”

You nodded, tears pricking your eyes again, but this time they were accompanied by a warm smile. “I know. Thanks, Harry.”

He ruffled your hair affectionately, his grin mischievous now. “And, for the record, you owe me for Ginny. That was cheeky.”

“I’ll buy her flowers,” Your smirked with a chuckle, feeling lighter than you had in weeks.

“I said you owe me. Stop trying to take her from me.” He chuckled, shoving you softly.

The room, once so heavy with tension, now felt warm again. Sirius, James, and Remus watched from the sidelines, their expressions a mixture of relief and quiet pride. Harry kept his arm around your shoulders as he turned to his dad and the others.

“Well,” he said brightly, “looks like we’re all good here. Is the kitchen open again? I feel like I'm owed desert- you made my cousin cry.”

The group erupted into laughter, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could laugh with them- truly laugh, without the weight of expectation holding you down.

[lov3-lik3-ghosts]

Smitten!Neville Longbottom

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x fem!Lupin!reader

Summary: Neville watched you be sorted and hasn’t stopped thinking of you since. To his luck, during your fifth year, you finally start to take interest in the male species.

Warnings: Not beta read. Use of Y/n. Voldemort stays dead after the first war. Umbridge free au. WolfStar raised Harry Potter and reader. Mentioned Drarry. Usage of ‘Moomy’ and ‘Dadfoot’.

Format: Headcanon’s.

Word Count: 4k.

Request Guidelines Main Masterlist

~ 𐀔 ~ △⃒⃘ ~ 𐀔 ~

• Fifth year for you looked miles different to that of your brothers and your fathers had no clue how to handle it.

Growing up with only men wasn’t the hell that some of your girlfriends thought it was, but it was off putting to potential interest in boys. You were well aware how messy and lax they could be, how oblivious they were when it came to more female matters, and it wasn’t appealing. There was a time during muggle primary school that you’d found a boy cute but your brother was quick to scare him away — egged on by the background nudge of your dad. Since then, boys hadn’t really crossed your mind.

But last year, when the TriWizard Tournament took place and Durmstrang made home on Hogwarts grounds, something stirred. Looking back, they weren’t really all that cute, but tall, muscly, foreign men with thick accents were bound to make something click in anyone’s head. Of course, you weren’t the only one to notice their attractiveness, as proven by the whispered conversations by any group of girls you came across, but you were proud to say you didn’t pick one boy to be your favourite and all but claim him from the dating scene when he didn’t even know your name.

What your fathers didn’t know how to handle was your liking to famous stars, what they considered to be ‘suggestive’ muggle romance novels, and your need to gush about them. You weren’t overbearing, most of the time going back and forth with a surprisingly interested Luna Lovegood, but on the occasion that you’d come to them they’d freeze.

It was more the thought that their daughter was taking interest in boys than your want for conversation, how could you go from thinking men were so uninteresting to thinking their faces were “crafted from Merlin’s dirtiest desires” and calling them “babygirl material” so quickly?

In retrospect they found your tangents funny, or they would if you weren’t their little girl.

Harry was easier for them to deal with when he’d taken an interest in dating. Boys they were familiar with, they’d been them and they’d known them and they knew how to guide him. And Harry was sensible when it came to women, respectful and understanding, but he’d taken more of an interest in boys so there wasn’t too much to warn him off of. Your brothers exploring came during the throes of the TriWizard Tournament but you took on a more observative state than you did an explorative one.

In the beginning of fifth year you realised that big and muscly wasn’t really what you wanted from a boy. Teenagers tended to be run by appearance, social standing and magical prowess, you could understand the appeal of it but those that had all three were unappealing in the personality aspect of attraction, at least to you they were. Sadly, you’d found that out the hard way when you’d agreed to go on a date with a popular Hufflepuff and come out of it with bruised knuckles.

But nervous Gryffindor’s obsessed with Herbology? That was your type.

And you might not be a Potter, but your brother was one and every behaviour you have now is learned from your small family, why not his ability to grovel too?

• You’ve been trying for weeks to get Neville to return your feelings, nothing seems to be working.

With Neville you couldn’t be so public with your affections as Harry had been for his boyfriend, Draco Malfoy. Luckily, that worked better for you, too. You were never one for dramatic displays and magical scenes.

Neville liked soft, sweet moments and deep conversations — he liked to be heard, to be seen, and you were wonderful at noticing everything about him. He didn’t like expensive jewels and flashy gifts but he did like the Herbology books hidden in the depths of the Black library and the muggle plants you’d find in local shops. He didn’t like public confessions and loud admittances but he did like telling his deep dark secrets in the cover of the greenhouse so long as you shared yours too.

He didn’t like people pointing out his struggle in potions but he took swimmingly to you pointing him in the right direction. He got deeply embarrassed when others pointed out a stain on his shirt but he grinned so wide when you bought him a new one on your next trip to Hogsmeade — especially when he noticed that you’d taken the time to get it made by his favourite seamstress in his preferred style.

As much as he took to your advances, nothing seemed to be changing between you. Neville didn’t reciprocate the small actions you’d taken but he didn’t decline them either and you’d began to wonder if he just didn’t feel the same. The realisation was crushing, a festering feeling largening in your chest, and it had you taking solace in your fathers quarters with tear-tracked cheeks.

“I don’t get it,” You sobbed into Remus’ chest. “I’ve been trying really hard, I’ve been listening to everything he has to say carefully to make sure I don’t miss anything, I’ve been learning Herbology just to make conversation with him and he just- just doesn’t like me.”

Remus swallowed, blinking his heartache back. “You don’t need to try so hard for some boy, sweetheart. You’re perfect as you are. Sometimes boys are stupid and they don’t notice what’s right in front of them, and I would know, I’m a boy.”

You sprung up, sitting back onto your haunches. “But he’s not just some boy, Moomy! He’s Neville, he’s perfect, he’s kind and he’s sweet and he listens! And-” You paused, lips quivering with held back cries. “And I love him. I love him so much it hurts.”

His face softened, silvery scars unwrinkling. He pulled you back into his chest with a grip on your wrists, settling you back between the v of his legs. “Oh, baby, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.” You gasp out. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I must be doing something wrong, Moomy, I have to be.” His arms tighten around you, a pressured hug to ground you from spiralling into anxiety’s grip.

The door creaked behind you, silent behind the pitch of your heart, but still, Remus’ head whirled at the sound, finding your brother and your second father standing under the arch. “Remus?” Sirius asked tentatively. “What’s going on? Why’s she crying?”

Remus frowned deeper, shaking his head once as he turned and buried his nose into your hair. Your cries kept on, retching from the pits of your stomach and choking the breath from you, Remus’ shirt dampened under your face and you knew it must be leaking through to his chest but he didn’t seem to mind. “Sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer. Your tears began to slow, drying along with your sobs. You noticed a third hand rubbing along the length of your back, the familiar scent of leather and spice flourishing into your nose. “Dadfoot?”

“Kitten. You doing alright?” His hand didn’t still. “Did something happen?”

“I’m in love with someone,” You whispered. His fingers paused, flexing out against your spine. “He doesn’t love me back.”

“What?” He gruffs, “Who?”

You copy Remus, you shake your head. Sirius wasn’t as restrained as Remus, he’d lost hinges in Azkaban that couldn’t be screwed back in, telling him would put a forever target on Neville’s back — you might as well paint a big red circle on the back of his head should he find out. Sirius snarls, more animal than human.

“Sirius.” Remus warns, growl underlining his own words.

Black sneers, eyes darkening under the stare of his husband. “Remus.” Their gazes don’t falter, like one scorching laser beams trained against the other, sparking crimson and crackling with tension. Sirius breaks first, glancing down at you. “Who?” He says, softer.

“Neville Longbottom.” When Harry speaks his voice is taught with all-knowing. He’s looking between the three of you like you're as mind-gone as any troll, his eyebrow raised and his lips curled. “He’s been in love with her for years.”

• After Harry’s confession, you profess your feelings to Neville.

You could always find him under the glass of the greenhouse, surrounded by vining plants with his fingers dug deep in potted soil, your search for him started and ended there. There was an open book beside him, set against one of the murky windows, and you recognised the weathered pages to be that of a book you’d given him.

The Arts of Potted Mastery by Arlen McCline. It was one of the lightest novels that the Black’s had kept in Grimmauld’s library, and you reasoned the only reason they had it was because it contained additional — vital — information pertaining to a particularly testy flesh-eating plant grown in the Amazon’s depths. You’d warned Neville to not go flaunting his possession of it, lest he want to attract the possessive eyes of other purebloods.

His hands slid from the dirt when you called his name and you glimpsed the remnants embedded under the crescent of his nails and staining his palms when he turned to you. “Y/n.” He grinned.

You smiled back, stepping over his satchel to grab his dirt caked hands and brush the larger clumps to the ground. “Hi. What’re you working on?”

“It’s pretty simple, just some second year stuff that I wanted to try potting myself.” He shrugged, looking down at you with furrowed brows.

“There’s second year stuff in that book?” Neville nods. “What is it?”

“A Puffapod.”

“You planted Puffapod’s in second year?”

“Not exactly,” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Nan bought me some at the end of second year to plant with her over the summer but you know how she is, she doesn’t like when I do the touching.”

“Yeah,” You scoff. “I’m well aware.”

“Well aware?” He flinched back. “What’s that mean?”

“Nothing, nothing.” You shake your head, cutting a hand through the air. Neville raises a brow at you, calling your bullshit. “It’s just–” You sigh, looking at the half-full pot beside you. “I just don’t like how she underestimates you all the time. You’re good at what you do, Nev, you’re good with plants. I think people could be more appreciative of you.”

Everything is silent for a long minute and when you look back at him, his eyes are trailing the slope of your face with a look you could never before place; now that Harry’s tipped the pot though, you knew it all too well — he was admiring you.

“You appreciate me.” He whispers, swallowing roughly.

A dirt tracked hand raises to the apple of your cheek, you steady yourself for the touch, your cheeks reddening, but he hesitates before dropping his arm.

Your fingers wrap the span of his wrist just barely when you grab it, shuffling your feet so close your shoes touch. “Always.”

His breath catches in his chest. He chokes out a strangled noise, chin tilting closer to his chest to keep the contact between you. Your eyes flicker to his lips, the plump shine of them enticing you onto the tips of your toes.

“Neville?”

Neville hums, a rumble through his chest that vibrates through you.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” His head inclines to the side, an anxious puppy dog gesture he always does when he’s anticipating bad news. You’re quick to try and placate him.

“It’s nothing bad, at least I don’t think it is.” You frown. “I just- I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but things have changed over the last few months. At least, for me they have. And yesterday, I had this whole…breakdown? I don’t know, but Harry spilled that you might fancy me and I- I guess–”

His cheeks flame. His breath quickens to an unnatural pace, he steps back, wriggling his wrist in your grasp. “He what?”

“Nev?” You ask smally. He ignores you, too wrapped up in panicking to really hear you. “Neville?”

“I’m sorry he said that. He didn’t mean it, he was being stupid. You didn’t need to know that. You shouldn’t know that. We’re friends. We’re good as friends. I mean sure, I’ve always thought you were really pretty, really lovely, but you don’t like me. And now things are going to be all awkward. I’m so sorry, Y/n. Really, I am.”

“Neville.” You try to placate. “It’s okay.”

“No. No, it’s not. You deserve better than me lying to you.” His breath shutters.

“Nev, I wanted to tell you that I fancied you, too.” You blurt, grasping onto the hunch of his shoulders.

“I’m so sorr-” He stops, looking at you with wide, crazed eyes, and stares through you. “Oh. What? No!” You see the grief flash through him, inflaming his forest eyes and furrowing his face.

“Yes.” You counter with a scoff. “I fancy you. I fancy you, a lot. And, if you’d do me the honour, I’d like it if you went on a date with me.”

“Oh.” Neville’s voice cracked in a squeak. “Yeah. Yes. Sure. I mean, I’d be delighted. Truly.” You grin.

• You asked him on a date but Neville’s more romantic than you anticipated and he’s planned it before you could even try.

If you were being honest with yourself, you’d have taken Neville where all your peers took their dates, a ruddy bar packed full of too loud men and music or a too sweet cafe filled with superficial witches — maybe you’d have drug him between the shops of Hogsmeade, hoping he’d find something he liked, and made filler conversations between that. It wouldn’t have been much, but you’d never thought ahead of the chance he’d say yes, so it would have been something; it would have been a start.

But Neville had bigger, greater plans than that.

He’d asked for the greenhouse for two hours, reserved it with Madam Pomfrey a week in advance, before visiting the kitchens through the passageway you’d shown him. The house elves reserved there were surprisingly stingy with the food they gave him, handing along the woven basket with stern stares and sideway glances, but he’d gotten over it when he’d seen people rushing off to the Great Hall, ready to pile their plates high with the food lining the tables and figured they hadn’t wanted him to spoil his dinner.

He knew taking you to the greenhouse wasn’t so special as some fancy diner, that laying a blanket on the muddied floor wasn’t original at all, but the greenhouse was where most of your dearest memories together were created and it had more sentimental value to the two of the any other place yet.

He’d thought and thought and overthought some more about whether it was good enough for you, he’d ran himself into a rapidfire panic three nights in a row before the day came, but all the anxiety in the world was worth it when you walked through the keep, smiling and fiddling with your sleeve.

“Hi.” You said, meekly.

Neville stared. The evening sun reflected in golden beams off you, kaleidoscoping through the bubbled panes above and haloing the outline of your body, the ivory dress you’d worn flourished around your hips and cuffed around your wrists — he remembers it being the same one you’d gushed over for days, for all its pockets and its charm. The longer he looked at you, the more the thought surfaced, and the only thing he knew you were missing were large, feathered wings mounting your back.

“Hi, Angel.” He hadn’t meant to say it, but he’d been thinking it since first year and you deserved to know how otherworldly you always looked, if only through a pet name. You flushed through to the tips of your ears. “I’m sorry it was such short notice. I just thought we should take this in before the rain starts up again.” He nodded to the sun.

“That’s okay.” You sat across from him. “Though, I thought I was planning this date? I did ask you, after all.” You teased.

“Nan lettered. Told me it was my duty to court you, not the other way around, especially because your dads a Black. I know you don’t usually abide by pureblood rules but she insisted, and I know you hate planning things.”

“You’re right, I do hate planning things,” You nodded, stomach fluttering. “But on the contrary, I’d have planned this gleefully. No matter how bad it’d have turned out.” Him taking over meant more than just that, he was anxious enough for three people and you know it must’ve sucked getting it done; he did it anyway, for you.

Neville snickered. “You should give yourself more credit. Don’t you remember the big drop of ‘93?”

You gasped, scandalised. “Mister Longbottom! I thought we agreed to never ever speak of that again!”

“Miss Lupin! If you didn’t want to speak of it, you shouldn’t have dropped it!”

The two of you stayed silent, glaring between each other with narrowed gazes. He cracked first, lips twitching open to bare a grin, you followed, giggling. The nerves you’d walked in with had gone, dissipated into that familiar warmth and comfort that Neville always gave you. You’d been lucky enough to realise what that feeling meant this year, instead of brushing it off to that same friendship feeling. When Neville planned the date, and sent you a letter with a suggested time and place, you knew your gut had picked right.

The two of you spent hours giggling and sharing food and telling tall tales of your childhood that somehow sounded real and not all at once. You made a game of guessing between each story; Neville won: 5:3. Along the line he pulled over a pot of daisies, muggle flowers he’d planted for you in secret when you’d sent him some chained together over the holidays, and made another game of naming each one.

• Neville tells you he loves you; you cry.

You’d been together for five months and the honeymoon phase was finally settling into a more domestic comfortability. Your relationship had flourished rather slowly considering you’d both liked each other beforehand, but your anxieties had finally begun to diminish and your affection towards each other was becoming less calculated.

Remus had bought a chocolate cake for the two of you to share when you told him you’d confessed with the words “I’m so proud of you” iced atop; it was a little joke on his part but one you both thoroughly enjoyed. His treatment of Neville hadn’t changed at all, except for maybe a kinder smile thrown his way during his classes, but Sirius took it a little more seriously and had tried the “hurt her and watch what happens” talk before you’d put a stop to it. You loved your dadfoot, but he could be a bit much, especially to your boyfriend — Merlin, you loved saying that — who was fragile at heart.

You’d only started venturing to Neville’s dorm a few weeks back, which Harry had at first side-eyed before realising the most you did was cuddle — he gagged, but you were more comfortable there than you had ever been anywhere else. Neville kept his space relatively clean with only a few loose papers smattered and spilled ink staining his desk, but the sheets of his bed smelled so like him that you were prepared to suffocate inhaling them.

Your boyfriend smelt like the wispy, airy scent of an earthy cologne that was always underlined by something so incredibly him, and something you could never quite get out of your nose — not that you’d ever want too. You’d begun to collect the shirts he wore, switching them out every couple days to keep their scent fresh and using them at night to sleep better, Neville just about combusted when he saw you in one.

Now, you were lay in his bed, leg hiked over his hip with your head on his chest and wearing one of his comfier shirts. The dorm was otherwise empty, the other boys gone to the after party of a victorious quidditch season; the music vibrated up through the common room, loud jeers leaking muffled through the gap under the door.

“Nev,” You spoke. “Did I ever tell you how much I love how you smell? ‘Cause I do.”

The breaths he took were even under you, rising and falling in a steady pattern, and your head followed as he chortled lightly. “Yeah, you have.” His thumb strokes along your arm. “But you smell much better.”

You move to rest your chin against his breastbone, “I do?” Neville hums. “What do I smell like?”

His eyes meet yours, the emerald depths piercing through yours with a heart-stuttering suddenness. He takes a minute to think, looking over the curve of your face with a gentleness. “Honestly?” He swallows.

You furrow your eyebrows. “Yeah?”

He takes a breath, one that you feel catch in his chest and bob his throat, “Like… like Amortentia.” He says tentatively. “I- I just– Professor Snape had it made for seventh years and there was a vial left on my desk, I knocked it over. It- it smelt amazing, like mum’s perfume and dad’s robes and… and you.”

You can’t do anything but stare at his flushed cheeks. Amortentia. The love potion. Neville smelt you in the love potion. Did that mean he loved you? Were you looking too deep into it? Surely, he thought it was too soon to love you, surely he needed more time to love you.

“Y/n? I’m sorry. It’s too soon, I’m sorry. So sorry. I should’ve just shut my mouth. I’m so stupid. I’m really sorry.” He gently manoeuvres you off of him, guiding your leg to the red duvet and moving your torso back to the mattress so he can sit up, create distances between you. Your head lands against the plush of his pillow, sinking into the cloud of it, and it’s his gentle manhandling that forces you back into the throes.

“No.” You spring up, grasping onto the muscle of his shoulder. “Nev, no, it’s not too soon. It’s not. I– I don’t know what you're trying to say but it’s never too soon.”

When he turns to you the flush of his cheeks has spread down his neck and dusted his ears, his eyes are wide and crazed — like when you’d confessed; he’s beautiful, more tempting than the allure of a Veela could ever hope to be. But he’s panicking and his breath grows ragged as he spits the words, he’s not being mean, not intentionally, but anxiety has a funny way of making people act differently.

His panic makes your eyes well over, clouding with panicked sorrow of their own. There’s a dam waiting to break as his lip quivers, cracking in the corners of your eyes and ready to drown trails down your cheeks.

“I love you.”

You sob. Neville scoots closer to you, gripping the fat of your thigh. “I’ve loved you for a long, long time and you– you’re just so sweet, and lovely, and perfect, and you do everything right, all the time. You could burn the world and I’d praise you for it because you’d have done it perfectly. I watched you be sorted and I knew I was done for; you looked like an angel, my angel. I love you.” He takes a breath. “You don’t have to say it back, I just needed you to know.”

The emotion swirls in your chest, you don’t know what it is, you can’t place it, it takes your breath and collects in your throat and you don’t know it, but you know what to say. “I love you, too. So much it hurts.” Your voice breaks through it, a cry caught in your throat.

“Oh.” It’s becoming his go to response with you, you seem to always know how to render him speechless.

~ 𐀔 ~ △⃒⃘ ~ 𐀔 ~

I can admit that this isn’t my best work, my heart wasn’t in it after all the kafuffle it caused, but likes, comments and reblogs are very appreciated and extremely encouraging all the same!

[isbreulla]

Ok… I may have gotten carried away with the character designs and made several o them just for fun... You can't blame me though!

Tell me who's your favorite and who do you want to see next!

[lumillsie]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ harry potter masterlist. ੈ✩‧₊˚

╰┈➤ godric gryffindor, salazar slytherin, rowena ravenclaw, helga hufflepuff, newt scamander, theseus scamander, tom marvolo riddle, abraxas malfoy, barty crouch jr, regulus black, severus snape, evan rosier, james potter, sirius black, remus lupin, peter pettigrew, lily evans, marlene mcckinnon, pandora lovegood, xenophilius lovegood, bill weasley, charlie weasley, fred weasley, george weasley, ron weasley, draco malfoy, theodore nott, blaise zabini, hermione granger, harry potter, oliver wood, cedric diggory

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ godric gryffindor. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ salazar slytherin. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ rowena ravenclaw. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ helga hufflepuff. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ newt scamander. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ theseus scamander. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ tom marvolo riddle. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ abraxas malfoy. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ barty crouch jr. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ regulus black. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ severus snape. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ evan rosier. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ james potter. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ sirius black. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ remus lupin. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ peter pettigrew. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ lily evans. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ marlene mckinnon. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ pandora lovegood. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ xenophilius lovegood. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ bill weasley. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ charlie weasley. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ fred weasley. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ george weasley. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ron weasley. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ draco malfoy. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ theodore nott. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ blaise zabini. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ hermione granger. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ harry potter. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ oliver wood. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ cedric diggory. ੈ✩‧₊˚

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