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ilium-ilia · 2 months ago

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Daughters with Soft Underbellies

john price x fem!reader | cowboy/outlaw x preachers daughter | masterlist

Chapter One: everything that concerns you is pure prodigality.

tw: western!au, religious abuse, domestic abuse, antiquated punishments, reader is christian, wound cleaning, blood

He has you kneeling on rice again.

Unforgiving grains burrow deep into your skin as their wickedly sharp ends pierce straight through your knees. Eyes trained on the scuffed wooden floor below you, you do not look at your father. Leather boots skirt your vision as he paces beside you, slow and with consideration. You swallow and the aftertaste of that morning’s communion dances on your tongue. Sweet wine pairs oddly with your father’s brutality, but it is the only flavor you’ve ever known.

Bloodied fingers coil around the back of the pew in front of you as he raps your knuckles with a wooden stick no larger than the circumference of his thumb. Searing pain cuts through you with the consideration of an untrained blade, but you are good at willing your tears away. He reminds you that this is your fault, and that this is a terrible waste. A waste of time, a waste of food—everything that concerns you is pure prodigality. Gluttony in its most concentrated form. You can consume nothing—not resource nor time—without it being a sin.

Crack!

“Again,” he demands.

Biting back the acrimony boiling in the depths of your throat, you shift. Rice scatters, bouncing along the floor as it spreads, and you grimace. There is only the slightest amount of comfort to be found in your movement, but it is met by swift punishment. You are not supposed to find solace while in the midst of one of your father’s demanding lessons.

Crack!

“Then, they spit on Him. They took the stick from His hands-”

Crack!

“Wrong. Again,” he demands.

Your mind reels as it attempts to recall the sermon your father gave that morning. His words spoken with utmost faith, the ones you are always made to recall as a lesson at the end of each morning, and yet you can’t. It’s patchy. Like the frayed ends of poorly woven textiles. No matter how often you blink, it won’t fix itself. You can only stumble and pray you pull on the right string to unravel it all.

“Then, they spit on Him. They took the stick from Him, and beat Him with it,” you attempt.

Once more, you are punished. It’s difficult to hold back the tears now as the skin on your knuckles parts like dried clay in a forgotten riverbed. They’re wide, deep crevices. Broken skin is good. It serves a purpose. It allows you to soak up your father’s lessons directly from the source.

“Do you not listen at all? Does your mind wander during my sermons? What better things do you have to think about than His word? Again,” he demands.

“Then, they spit on Him. They took the stick from Him, and beat Him on the head with it.”

There is a gentle lull that succeeds your recitation. Anxious pacing ceases as your father stares down at your kneeling form, gaze burning into the back of your head. When he hums, content with your answer, you feel every muscle in your body melt. Proud, you look up at him, ready to revel in accolades, but his lips are pressed firmly together. It is the only way he is able to restrain the acidulous words he would otherwise spew at you.

“Good,” he mutters, though it is flat. There is no pride to be found anywhere within him.

He strikes the stick against your knuckles five more times on each hand. With each impact, he reminds you this is for your own good. This is what a loving father does—a man of God—he teaches his daughter right from wrong.

As usual, you are made to clean up the mess that remains after your lesson. Rice is swept up by broom and stowed away into the pockets of your apron like treasured pebbles found on a walk, and what little blood that remains on the pew is wiped clean. Your hands ache. They pulse and throb, and the apex of your knuckles sting as if you’ve rubbed salt in the broken skin. You might as well have done as much with the brine that seeps into the wounds each time you rub at your eyes.

When all is clean, and your transgressions are swept aside, momentarily forgotten, you pray. Your father always says forgiveness is God’s duty. God is the quintessence of love and mercy while your father has proved many times he is not. A devout worshiper and priest, his love and respect is saved for his savior—never his daughter. So you kneel in the pews and bow your head before the cross strung up on the wall above you, and you beg. You apologize for the simple sin of your existence. You pray that God might bless you with the tools to be a better daughter.

Amen.

You rise. The church is stilly, and you are alone. You are left to ruminate about your failures in this divine building until it is spotless. There is always more cleaning to be done. Breadcrumbs left from communion, wine that stains the wooden floors nearly as bad as your own blood does, muck from work boots; you are on your hands and knees more often than your own two feet. Perpetually in prayer. Reciting scriptures. Cleaning this house of God until not a speck of sin remains.

When you are finished with your duties at the church, your father sends you into town to fetch wine. It’s foolish of you to believe he would allow you to sit at the dining table with him and partake in lunch. To enjoy a mouthwatering meal of boiled potatoes and ham. He always sends you out when you look like this—disheveled from cleaning and still trying to stunt the bleeding of your hands. It’s the acme of his lesson: ignominy. Shame digs in deeper, settles in nicer, when there’s an audience to witness it.

Mr. Beckett’s chickens are roaming the town again. You notice a few stragglers as you come to the end of the path that slowly morphs into the main road. Colorful hens cluck and bob their heads as you weave between them. They feast on small beetles with iridescent exoskeletons that flutter and click between sparse strands of grass, but when they take note of you, they stare expectantly. You try not to wince as your knuckles scrape against the fabric of your apron, hands diving into your pockets to retrieve uncooked rice. They flock as you toss the grains on the ground for them to peck and gorge themselves, putting your punishment to good use.

Sheep bleat at you just as you turn the corner into town. The flock has grown steady this spring with several new additions of playful lambs that trot after their mothers. They curiously line the fence as you pass by, and cry pitifully as your figure grows smaller in the distance. Townsfolk flutter in and out of steady wood buildings with their pockets full of money, both earned and spent. Your own fingers brush against the cash your father gave you for your task—you keep in mind his words of warning:

I’ll be counting that change when you return, girl.

The saloon isn’t busy this early in the afternoon, yet Mr. Beckett is perched at his bar wiping down glistening glasses. Empty tables adorn scratched wooden floors, and the tops are sparkling clean. The summer sun seeps through cracked windows, though the building still seems darker than it should be. A group of four men lurk in the far corner of the bar, each talking lowly and looking at you with shifting eyes, yet you avert your gaze as you approach the bar.

“Afternoon, Mr. Beckett,” you greet. You muster your best smile as you wipe a hand beneath your eyes, worried tear stains are still visible on your cheeks. “Your chickens are out again.”

Chuckling, Mr. Beckett pushes the empty glasses to the side to give you his full attention. Wrinkles settle in his face as crows feet wink by his eyes, and they only deepen as he smiles at you. There’s a cheeky twinkle that lurks in his grey eyes, and a rosy color that fills his cheeks.

“I’m sure that broke your heart having to see those critters running amuck along the trail,” he teases. “What can I do for you, kid?”

“My father sent me to get some wine for next week’s service,” you say.

“Ah, I should’ve known. Three?” he asks.

“Yes, please.”

Mr. Beckett holds up a finger as if to tell you to stay put before he wanders off to fetch your order. Sighing, you look down at your knuckles while you wait. They’ve stopped bleeding, but the blood crusts on your skin like boulders on a mountain. Your father didn’t even give you time to clean the scabs from your hands before sending you off to do his bidding. It’s almost as much of an eyesore as it is a literal sore.

But—as it is with all wounds—your blood seems to have attracted the dogs.

Their gazes burn your flesh, and you are suddenly well aware of the men at your back. You had done your best to ignore them upon your arrival, but curiosity gnaws at you with dull, aching teeth. Casting a cautious glance over your shoulder, you soak up swift looks at each of the men. You catch sight of a masked man too large for his own good, a handsome fellow with deep brown skin and kind eyes, a stranger with an even stranger haircut, and a man with a low sitting hat. The brim nearly covers his eyes, but you’re still able to catch the blaze of his cobalt gaze as he stares at you.

You shiver.

“Alright, here we are,” Mr. Beckett hums as he returns behind the bar. Glad to have someone else to focus on, you find a smile on your face as he begins to unload the bottles in his arms onto the counter. “Three bottles of red wine. Should be plenty for everyone, I hope.”

“I appreciate it, Mr. Beckett,” you chuckle. When digging into your apron pocket, you can’t help but wince as your knuckles once again scrape against the unyielding fabric. You play it off with a cough as you present the cash to him. “This ought to be enough.”

At the same time as he grabs the cash with one hand, Mr. Beckett grabs your wrist with the other. Gently, he turns your palm over until your knuckles are on display beneath the oil lamp that sits just above your head. Pressing your lips together, you keep your eyes on the bartop, too ashamed to witness the results of your own stupidity.

“Why don’t you grab a seat, kid,” he insists.

There’s no use in arguing; you’re well aware that he won’t give you your change until you let him clean you up. Sighing, you hop onto the stool and lay your palms flat on the counter while Mr. Beckett retrieves his strongest moonshine. He pours a bit of it onto a rag before pressing it into your cracked skin where it soaks deep like thirsty soil. Your squeak echoes in the near empty room, and you feel your face heat as you attempt to keep your head down.

“Why’d he do it this time?” he asks.

“It was my fault,” you insist.

“You and I both know it wasn’t,” Mr. Beckett retorts.

You swallow as he wipes the rag along your skin before moving to the next knuckle. “I couldn’t quote his sermon today. I should’ve paid better attention.”

“Perhaps your father should have more grace. He ought to marry you off already. I reckon you’d find more peace with a husband than you would with him.”

Things grow quiet between you and Mr. Becket just as the muttering grows louder behind you. Those men—those strangers—make the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. Still, you are grateful for their presence, as they give you something else to talk about than your unfortunate life as an eternal servant to your father.

“Mr. Beckett, can I ask about the gentlemen behind me?” you whisper.

He politely drops one hand in order to move to the next, but his eyes stray to strangers at your back. “Travelers. Blew into town a day or two ago. They’ve been doing odd jobs to scrounge up some money, but they’re nothing but trouble, if you ask me.”

“What makes you say that?” you ask, voice cracking as he starts cleaning your other hand.

Sighing, Mr. Beckett keeps his tongue between his teeth for a moment as he weighs his options. Eyes turning back to your hands, he pauses as he inspects the blood crusting on the rag.

“That fellow in the mask… I’ve heard of him. Ghost stories ‘bout him anyway. They all have strange accents. From across the pond, or so they say. They’ve all got this uncanny look in their eyes and… well, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say they’re the 141 Gang. At least, that fellow in the back looks like the man wanted from Blackpeak.”

This name—141—drops from Mr. Beckett’s lips like it’s supposed to mean something to you, and yet it doesn’t ring a bell. Eyes narrowing, you tilt your head at him.

“I’m not familiar,” you admit.

“Dangerous people. Robbers. Murderers. They might greet you with a smile, but just look at how sharp their teeth are, kid. Nothing but wild animals ready to rip out throats for a bounty or good pay. Surprised they’re not wanted by half of The West by this point. They make people disappear, then vanish just as quickly. I’m just hopin’ if I keep my head down long enough, they’ll skip town before they cause any trouble.”

Neither of you speak as the rest of your knuckles are cleared of debris and coagulated scabs. You are often plagued with the human affliction of having your heart stuck in your throat, but now you know your feelings aren’t unfounded. That tingle in your skin, the heat boiling at the nape of your neck—you wonder if these men even bother to wash the blood from their clothes before pretending to be human. Do they shed their wolf-teeth before attempting to blend into the flock?

Once Mr. Beckett is content with the dismal state of your hands, he finally gives you your change. You quickly stow it away in your apron pocket before you turn to the several bottles of wine waiting for you on the bartop. You gather them in your arms before you slide off of the stool, eager to get home and well away from this 141 Gang. Yet just as your feet hit the ground, the fabric of your skirt catches on the wood stool, and suddenly your seat comes toppling to the floor with a deafening thud.

Shame boils deep in your chest where it superheats your blood until your entire body is sweltering. You look up from the mess you’ve made with parted lips, yet no words come out. Your chest heaves as you stare up at Mr. Beckett with wide eyes, yet he only looks at you with benignancy.

“I-I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean- It just caught-” you stutter.

“It’s alright, kid,” he interjects.

Silence envelops you so suddenly that you’re painfully aware of how many sets of eyes are on you. Dark gazes glint in the numbra that lurks in the corner of the saloon. The men look over their shoulders and from beneath the brims of their hats to soak up the view of you—a trembling, pathetic thing that’s about to drop the wine from her hands.

“I’ll clean it up, don’t you worry about it,” Mr. Beckett assures as he rounds the corner of the bartop, waving you off. “Now, you best be on your way. Shouldn’t keep your daddy waiting.”

Turning around feels like opening a healing wound—it burns and leaves you trembling as you mutter a farewell and stumble out the door. You keep the wine in your arms clutched to your chest with wounded hands as you rush back home. Sheep bleat and chickens cluck, yet their whining cannot drown out the sound of your heart. That booming thunder as blood gushes through your veins; it still boils. Vermillion waves of unrelenting shame and fear.

Even on the edge of town you can still feel it—the gaze of those wolves. You pray to God that they leave your sleepy livestock town alone.

Then again, God has never been merciful in answering your prayers.

#ilium writing #jp ilia #dwsu #john price x reader #price x reader #captain price x reader #female reader

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obeymeluv · 2 months ago

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How You Spend the Night Together [Riddle, Leona]

Featuring: Leona, Riddle

Romantic, fluffy blurbs. I know I have other stuff to put out but this just came easier.

I do want to note that I have an ask/fic request from a real user but that'll take more time to research/think/put out so I'm not super sure on a timeline for that yet. Just want to acknowledge that I've seen it. Might answer that one privately.

Had to cut Vil because I have to go to bed early (work in the morning). Leona's was supposed to be fluffy but I'm kind of feeling him out still. Let me know what you think.

As much as he must follow rules, he is also at the mercy of his own habits. Riddle insisted you freshen up in his private bath (perks of being a Housewarden) while he prepped his uniform for tomorrow. It seemed a little unusual--maybe a little creepy--but he had such a scheduled existence that it's comforting. He's pressing down lapels and analyzing the cuffs for lint and stray threads when he hears you humming in the bathroom. Riddle's careful to keep his back to the door, as you have it cracked instead of closed, but he would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about peeking.

Only natural, right? He could never forsake the gift of your friendship, or how it had unexpectedly become more. You were the first unplanned, unscheduled thing in his life and you were wonderful.

Quite the gift.

Much like how Heartslabyul was surely a gift from the Sevens compared to Ramshackle. He didn't think Ace and Deuce would lie about the lack of hot water and such.

Riddle moves to his undershirt, ironing board waiting patiently just in front of the mannequin where the pieces of his uniform come together. He sets it up and begins smoothing it over the shirt. A small smile twists his lips as he hears the water drain. You'd scrimped and saved for some bath products and he's secretly delighted that you smell like strawberry.

He can smell it wafting gently into the room, riding on a kiss of heat.

Ooh he could just--

"You're fixing to burn your shirt," you smother a laugh into the towel, shutting the door to change. Riddle squawks, turning off the heat and flapping the shirt out to save it. Good, no burns, he sighs. You come out in a black and red ensemble and he's touched with pride because he bought those.

Those are his colors on you. And you look lovely.

"Ready for bed?" you watch him put the undershirt on the mannequin, button the vest, and hang the coat. The hanger holding the bottom half of his uniform is hooked on the hollow neck.

"After a small stretch, my rose." Riddle goes into some light stretches, pausing midway towards the ground, bent at the hip, when he realizes you'd already fluffed the pillows and pulled the comforter back.

Something shy and warm flutters in him. It's all very cozy. Riddle muffles a laugh with his arm as he grabs his elbow and leans to the right. You've decided to skip the stretches and root around for the comfiest spot in the bed.

Darling, really.

Satisfied but peering at him curiously, almost calling him, you wait for him. Riddle kisses your forehead as he slides in next to you. "Goodnight, my rose."

"Goodnight, Riddle."

-----

Malleus would usually send a few fireflies into your room or have them blink against the window so you weren't sure who was knocking. It could be Ace or Deuce but they'd give you a heads up at NRC if they were being kicked out for the night. Suspicious, you grabbed a broom from the kitchen on your way to the front door. It wasn't the best plan to swing the door wide open and jab but what were you going to do?

"Really, Herbivore?" Leona scoffs at you, broom handle in an impressive grip. He's got one hand in his pocket, broom handle pointed firmly over his left shoulder. You try to tug it back subconsciously but he doesn't relent, the leather of his glove squeaking around the wood.

"What did you expect me to do?" you ask in the small voice that stirs something in him. He could see your brow wiggle in that 'give me some credit, I'm trying!' way.

It's tough trying to be mean when you're meant to be soft, isn't it?

Soft and his.

"To remember I was coming over to get you, at least." Leona moves past you to jam the broom back in the first corner of the kitchen he laid eyes on. You barely hold back a sneeze as his tail flicks up under your nose when he passes.

"You were being serious?" you lock the door back and follow him into the kitchen. His ear flicks so you know he heard you. Leona was a beastman full of surprises that you were slowly unwrapping as he let you. Behind his lazy facade was a literal genius and someone very interested in infrastructure and architecture. He's giving Ramshackle the side-eye and identifying weak points at the same time.

"Yep," Leona turns away from his assessing and scoops you up, putting you over his shoulder. You give a surprised yelp but he pays no mind, free hand stuffed in his pocket as he climbs the stairs effortlessly. You're comforted by the firm, corded muscle keeping you balanced on his shoulder. "I told you I was going to."

Crewel would often slide you a handful of thaumarks for 'on-site maintenance and collection' of potion ingredients after seeing Sam pay you in similar fashion for the shop and not get any flack from Crowley (not that he paid enough attention to you, in his opinion). While picking different things and updating your 'tips and tricks' notebook, you'd disturbed Leona.

Easy to do.

You were basically done and literally shushed him when he started to complain, saying it was his own fault for staying awake when he could be rolling over and going to sleep. Leona was mildly offended and intrigued. You had a mouth on you, didn't you?

Sometimes he hated that you were pretty, smart, funny, and self-sufficient. How was he supposed to make himself useful? It was hard enough since all of his reflexes revolved around him being a sarcastic ass. "Instead of shushing me, you should listen to my offer." he looked up at you with one eye, the other smashed closed since his face was pressed into his hand.

"Oh? Go on then," you gestured to him, one hand on your hip.

"I give you the money in my wallet and you let me nap. Keep an eye out so no one wakes me up again." he yawned.

That sounded easy and Leona wasn't the type to leave you empty-handed because you WOULD show up and royally screw with his sleep. He knew this, you knew this. "I'll bite. I could use the break," you sighed, flopping down beside him.

Leona was out in less than five minutes but he moved in his sleep. He rolled, growled--all kinds of things! You were surprised to find he wasn't a loud snorer. His hands were very active, often digging in the soil or scratching lines in it and you wondered if he was hunting in his sleep. Maybe fighting or wrestling some meat off of something. With a snort and muddled roar, he rolled over and plonked his head in your lap.

It scared you and you froze.

It was the first time you'd seen him up close, his tanned skin complimented by the rich chocolate of his hair. You'd never noticed the tiny braids scattered throughout, just the bigger one at the side. He had beads and tiny things woven into his hair. They must be from the Sunset Savanna, you thought, pulling the tail of a braid away from the corner of his mouth. His mouth curled in a snarl, relaxing as he snuggled down in your lap.

Your alarm went off twenty minutes later. Leona sat up, his eyes bleary with sleep, and leaned forward just enough to fish his wallet out of his pocket. "Don't look too much into it," Leona was suddenly looking away at anything and everything in the garden, "but that was a good nap. I'd pay for another one later tonight."

Was he blushing?

Your back hit your bed, snapping you out of your thoughts. The money he'd slapped into your hand--A LOT!--was still on your dresser from where you'd emptied your pockets and changed into pajamas. Leona did his best to slide into your bed smoothly but, to be frank, the sheets were shit.

Kind of scratchy. His eyes had already adjusted to the dark and he was pretty sure he saw stitches where you or the ghosts had patched up some holes.

"You don't have to pay people to love you, you know." you tell him quietly. There's uncertainty in your voice, like you didn't know if you should say it. "You do have things people admire, Leona. And it's not the money."

He didn't want to think about that right now. It was nice to hear it though. You had no idea how precious, how rare, you were. A little hidden gem in this sad excuse of a dorm.

"I'm a man of my word, Herbivore." Leona realizes your eyes are still adjusting to the darkness when you try to figure out where he's at and accidentally brush against his right ear. You've got a stunned gentleness about you as you feel your way around his ear, tracing the shape and rubbing circles into the fur cautiously. He inhales the smell of your warm skin against him, tempted to skim his teeth over the soft spot on the inside of your elbow. "Now gimme my nap." Leona pushes his head against your throat until you've settled on your back.

He settles over you like a warm blanket. Leona smells faintly of musk, sun, sandalwood, and something that reminds you of cinnamon. "You gonna sleep in your clothes?" you laugh and it tickles his ears.

"I'll pay you an extra fifty thaumarks to shut it." he yawns. You flick his ear. "Please." he adds.

"Only if you buy me breakfast in the morning." you joke.

I'd buy it forever, Leona snorts and shushes you.

"Get some rest, Leona."

He knew his sleep wouldn't be as deep as when he was in the garden. He'd never slept in Ramshackle and he had to learn the sounds. Keep an ear out to make sure your territory was safe. It wouldn't be the most restful sleep, but it would be the most cherished.

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #Riddle Rosehearts x Reader #Leona x Reader #Leona Kingscholar x reader

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elizzsush · 10 months ago

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Future Child | Twisted Wonderland

Malleus Draconia X Reader

----It wasn’t everyday you’d find a three year old running around campus causing a ruckus. Usually students wouldn’t have to deal with this, but with Crowley you had to deal with everything. Now… why is it when you catch this small trouble maker it calls you “momma”?

AUs: None Rating: SFW

Note: Hi, hi! So, basically, I wasn't going to finish this and posted it as a WIP and people really liked it. So, then I had no other choice but to finish it! And I hope you like it.

____________________________________

Crowley in-listed you to help with the child problem around school. No, wait that sounded bad. A young fae no older than five got into night raven campus and has been running amok. Some students say he appeared out of thin air. So, obviously, you: the defenseless, Magic-less human with no knowledge of fae or even how some of these basics of this world work, you were the schools best bet against this ‘threat.’ And so, your oh so kind instructor pushed this task onto you and left.

Not without you demanding an extra allowance, but still.

Thankfully, you were well equipped with a grumpy cat-weasel thing who is so glad to help and definitely did not try and run away. “Ehh? Why do I have to help ya??” Grim whined as he hung limply, your hand firmly grasping his scruff as you held him up. He was so generous and did not need to be bribed at all.

You sighed, “I’ll put some money aside from this to get you tuna.” Technically, that was a lie. No, you were going to fix the window Grim broke from practicing his magic in the house, again.

“I want two cans!” The motivated cat purred and jumped onto your shoulders. Now, you can finally begin your mission and take on this… threat...?

This threat was a real threat!

The sight of the frozen cafeteria did scare you. You had learnt that after you had stumbled upon the frozen dinning hall; all of this was from the baby fae! What on Earth were you suppose to even do once you caught the child?

How would you catch this kid without being frozen exactly? Why were you put on this task?

There was a mountain of ice and a many frozen students who were actively being saved by other students most of whom were made to help. They had gotten lucky in your option. They didn’t have to find the kid. “So much magic…" An awestruck student said, "it’s hard to believe a kid did this.” The nameless person mumbled as they helped thaw the room out. You couldn’t help but hum in agreement to yourself.

What kid could do this when Deuce struggled with making anything but cauldrons while he was somewhere new! It was… overwhelming magic for sure. Even for you to stand in the middle of it, magicless. And this was just the dining hall!

Apparently, you had three more places to check out.

“Not much to see here.” Grim grumbled from your shoulder, just then a ball of fire came hurtling towards the two of you! “Eek!!” Grim squealed jumping of your shoulder while you ducked.

“Sorry!” A no name student called out… He had been using the fire to dethaw some students.

“We should leave… and fast.” You said as you turned to leave in a hurry. You tripped on the ice almost tripped on the ice while you left.

The very next place you checked was the courtyard, where Mr. Vargas liked to make you run in the blistering heat. PE was horrible. Everyone else got to be on their dumb magic brooms while you were stuck doing laps.

Mr. Vargas did like to make the boys sweat afterwards though. You got to sit on the grass and laugh at them cheer them on! Especially Ace, who always lagged behind.

Anyway, in the place of the field of green grass that your peers used to practice flying on a broom, was a field of fire. Green fire no less. At least it was still green? You stayed a distance away while you watched a group of five students try and summon water magic to help fight these flames. “If you don’t do this right, it’ll be off with your heads!” Next to them, a familiar short, red-haired boy was shouting at them and telling them what they were doing wrong.

You liked to think it wouldn't actually be off with their heads, Riddle was above that... Now. You liked to think it was just motivation to make them work harder!

Because it was mostly Heartslabyul students, it worked. "Hey! Riddle?" You called out to the boy. The Housewarden looked at you and jogged up to meet you a way away from the green flames. Was Sebek here as well? You swore you heard his voice shouting...

"You shouldn't be here. This area is off-limits to anyone outside of the Equestrian club because of the danger." Riddle crossed his arms; his tone was pretty gentle though. You nodded along to what he was saying, because it made sense.

"Crowley wants us to find the Fae doing this, do you know anything about it?" You decided to get right to the point. Riddle was busy enough as it was. He seemed to appreciate it too.

The boy glanced back at the students trying to figure out how to calm the fire and shook his head. "I think I heard a few third years mention a blur of H/C going into the school." He mentioned, you mostly knew the kid was in the school. It was one of the places Crowley wanted you to check out, Mr. Trein's class, after that you didn't really know where the kid could be.

You smiled and thanked Riddle before turning to leave, the boy glanced back at the fire before stepping a bit closer to you, a slightly embarrassed look on his face. "Uh- Y/N, I was wondering if you wanted to have tea with me later I-"

"Dorm leader! it's spreading!" A student shouted out, a panicked look on their face as they rushed up to the two of you. Riddle muttered something under his breath, before jogging back to the fire. To step up to calm the flames even more than what the regular student could do so you left.

“This seemed handled enough…” You muttered, a bit disappointed that you didn't get to finish your conversation with Riddle, Grim simply rolled his eyes and you two turned to leave.

You went to Mr. Trein’s classroom next. Your most boring class of twisted wonderland, history, uh... you think. Truthfully you hadn’t stayed awake long enough to know what class he taught.

It was not for lack of trying either!

He just drew out his words and spoke in just a boring robotic tone, it could put anyone to sleep! I digress. The cat: Lucius liked you too, he tended to let you sleep more while waking up other students.

Anyway, in place of the classroom was… an overgrown forest? In the center of it, you noticed a tall, well groomed, teal haired male, squatting down to examine what appeared to be a mushroom….

Obviously. it was Jade. He was part of the Mountain Lovers Club. The sole member actually if you remember right. Crowley mentioned something about the clubs handling the situations. So...

This seemed… handled-ish….

You would be taking your leave now. You closed the door silently and Grim groaned. "This is so boring." He whined, "Why do we have to do this?!" You shrugged slightly.

"Crowley said he'll give an extra allowance this week if we do this." You mumbled, "We could really use it to fix that window you broke." You reminded the cat. He huffed and glared at you a bit childishly, crossing his furry arms silently on your shoulder.

"I thought you said I could have extra tuna?" He realized, jumping off your shoulder he pointed at you in an accusatory manner; you sighed a bit.

You didn’t have time to find him right now. "We can talk about this later." You walked past him but when he didn't follow you, you turned around.

Where did Grim go...? You looked around the halls for him, "Grim?!" Didn’t he know not to wonder off while there was a threat on campus!

This fae would eat him alive!

Feeling even more motivated and slightly panicked, you ran off to find the cat and disregard the threat that was getting killed by meeting this Fae kid unarmed. Uncated? Either way.

“Someone help me!” You finally heard Grims's voice after looking for him for... quite a while actually. Pushing the door to the classroom open, you found...

Nothing.

Every potion was on its self, the stirring sticks where the usually go, nothing burned, frozen, or overgrown nothing was… well anywhere. At least anywhere out of place. “Someone, help me!” A cried out a very familiar voice squeaked out. Hesitantly, you walked closer to where you heard Grim’s voice.

This felt like something out of a horror movie.

A cauldron, inside of it was the soft glow of blue flames. No doubt caused by Grins fire ears. “Grim…?” You spoke softly. Peeking inside the steel pot, you saw a young boy, a long tail curled up beside him and one horn on the side of his head. In his arms was Grim, held tightly like he was a stuffed animal. He sniffled and then looked up at you with the most striking green eyes you’ve ever seen…

“Y/n!” Grim cried out, relief flooding his voice and breaking you from the little boy's curse of cuteness.

You plucked Grim from the kid's arms and He crawled onto your shoulders.

“Momma!” The boy, still in the cauldron yelled out, stumbling to get up and jump into your arms, get hindered by the caldron he found himself stuck in. His face was red from tears, and he looked scared… his small hands shaking with fear. He sniffled more, his chubby hands rubbing away his tears as they fell. Your heart ached slightly seeing those tears.

This can't be the same boy running amok in the school's campus. He was just so... non-threatening?

So, without a second thought. You picked the small boy up and cooed at him. Grim stared at you bewildered, His experience far more intimidating them yours.

Didn't you know how tight that boy was holding him?! Poor Grim almost didn't make it. He whined and frowned at the attention you were giving the boy.

Now, you just had to take this sweetheart to Crowley.

Either way, the small boy was absolutely adorable! Sure, he may or may not have caused this week's class cancelations but really, Ace was thanking the boy for it, so all was fine! Back at ramshackle, you realized, he was just a kid.

He was using some crayons to draw. He screamed like a bit of a brat when you tried to make him eat some broccoli you got... You thought it would be good for you and grim and neither of you ate it.

His big electric green eyes that reminded you of… someone? But who was it again? Well, it didn’t matter. The boy had green eyes, H/ced hair and these two small slightly curled horns on top of his head.

His ears were pointed just like a fae’s but just slightly? They weren’t as long nor as sharp as a regular fae’s like Lilia. It was hard to explain. It was the oddest thing- he had a tail as well! A long blackish purple one at that. And he was excellent at magic, if the destroyed campus told you anything. “Are you mad at me?” He looked up at you with teary eyes after you informed Crowley you caught him.

“Why would I be mad at you?” You asked the small boy curiously, blinking at him a bit confused at the question. His large electric green puppy eyes weren’t exactly helping you stand strong and not coddle him either.

“Because I made the rooms a mess…” he rubbed his large cheeks free from stray tears. Not that he was any good at it either, you just shook your head and kneeled to the floor, wiping them away for him.

Something about this boy made you wanted to care for him and protect him- he was just do cute. “Nonsense, you were scared. A little mess is fine as long as you weren’t hurt.” When you looked at him you felt something akin to cuteness aggression. This little fae was adorable! If Crowley didn’t find his parents, you’d take him in!

Ignore how poorly you yourself lived in ramshackle! And how much of your food was canned tuna because Grim insisted on it over actual food.

And the window that you still needed to fix and were most likely going to spend this week's allowance on...

The boy nodded, cuddling into your side like a small cuddly cat.

__________________________

He was adorable but children were a handful.

Crowley, after assigning you to catch the kid, gave you the poor child to take care of. So, you had been living with the child for three whole days.

Not to say the kid- who’s name you learned was Casper- was a handful. In fact, he was a sweetheart. He tended to shy away from things a bit, and he was a bundle of nerves sometimes.

He definitely got overwhelmed when left by himself, often resorting to crying and when he cried his magic tended to...

Anyway, Despite the amount of magic he held at his fingertip, he’d rush to you at the slightest creak of the floorboards, held onto you tightly, and hide his face in your shirt.

When it was finally time to go to school you didn’t really know what to do with the kid…? We’re you suppose to just… bring a kid to class with you? I mean, you already bring a cat, and the kid would probably be more well behaved then Grim.

So you brought Casper with you. And it was fine He was very sweet, maybe a little to shy, the teachers did love him. He introduced himself to them from behind your leg.

That was two days ago, now you were in the cafeteria. You hadn't been here in two days because, well you weren't sure if Casper would be okay around the crowd of students. Some of whom were still bitter about the Ice things... and the green fire thing.

“Fufufu, what do we have here?” Lilia popped up out of absolutely nowhere. "I heard a rumor about a trouble make~" He smirked.

“Grandpa Lilia!” The kid for once didn’t shy away. You had expected him to start crying. (He had before after all, when Jade introduced himself to the boy.) Lilia simply smiled and accepted the boy's affections, nodding along as he babbled about his day. Meanwhile, you were staring bewildered at the boy.

And... That was your lunch.

With of course, Ace and Deuce coming to keep you company while Lilia entertained Casper.

Most of your lunch you'd glance at the two. 'Grandpa Lilia?' You wondered why he was unusually not shy? He was a talkative boy to you, but with a stranger, no way... “Where Papa?” He asked looking up at the older fae with his large sparkling eyes. Oh, maybe Lilia knew the boy's parents! He was an older fae himself, right?

“Yes, good question indeed where is your papa?” Lilia asked, before he looked at you, a small smirk on his face, he looked at you like you’d know! You didn’t. You had tried to correct the kid on you being his mom before two- he cried and sulked over it for a while after that. “Well, I best be Off now!” Lilia cheered and gave you the kid back before disappearing off somewhere.

That was weird right?

You day went on- Ace and Deuce were good around the kid. Casper was pretty decent around Ace and Deuce, not too shy but he wasn't rambling like he was around Lilia. "Is something on your mind?" Deuce asked curiously, a mild layer of unwarranted concern.

"It's fine..." You shrugged, "I just hope Crowley find Caspers parents soon." You sighed, and the boy in question looked at you confused. He called you Mom and you basically took care of him, so you figured he thought you were his mom.

Not that you really minded, it wasn't like he thought you were old, fae tended to not age and stay good looking forever basically. Case in point, Lilia.

You really didn't mind, you already took care of Grim, so what's another, milder tempered Grim who didn't run away? "Speaking of the kid- Where is he?" Ace asked, looking around.

Scratch that, the kid wondered off.

"Oh no." You sighed and looked at the Adeuce duo with an exhausted look they couldn't say no too. They'd help you find the kid.

__________________________

How on earth did Sebek of all people get Casper?

Sebek, a first year in your class. Some loud guy who you got partnered up with once.

Why didn't Casper run away! You most certainly would and have. Instead, you found Casper on Sebek Zigvolt of all people's shoulders. Now you and Ace were whispering about how to get the kid back. No way you were going to go up to Sebek of all people and have to listen to his "fae are superior" speech... again.

"We should... Lure Casper away with candy." You whispered, Ace gave you a look and shot down your idea.

"Do you want to give him the impression that you should follow random people with candy?" He said looking at you like you just had the worst idea ever. "I say we just grab him and run."

"No, Sebek is faster than us." You noted, "Especially you, he runs laps past you in PE." Ace bumped your shoulder with an eyeroll.

"Where's Deuce?" Ace frowned, you watched with wide eyes as you saw Deuce confidently walk up to Sebek... "oh no." Ace groaned and run up behind Deuce.

You cursed to yourself. "We don't have to follow right...?" you asked the cat who agreed with you, but you knew you kind of had to follow them.

"Hey- Sebek." You smiled awkwardly.

"Mama!" The kid called out to you and reached out towards you. he almost fell off Sebek's shoulders- thankfully you caught him. Sebek looked at you in confusion and maybe a bit judgmentally...?

"No- he isn't..." You sighed and gave up.

"A human couldn't mother a Fae of Caspers caliber!" And so... Sebek began his rant. He started with how Lilia informed him of the situation, and he was here to lift the burden of Casper from your human shoulders.

Really, it saved you the time of informing Sebek you were in fact, not a teen mom. Also, it was weirdly insulting? Like hey, come on, you’ve taken care of him for three days! Almost four, “Casper is pretty happy with me, right sweetie?” You asked the boy who nodded hesitatingly. Wait- hesitantly? “Huh?”

Sebek looked a bit disheartened the Fae kid rejected him, but he was also kind of confused as well. “It’s just… I miss Papa, Mama…” the boys lips quivered a bit.

“No, no! You're not in trouble.” You fell to your knees to comfort the boy.

Apparently Sebek was hanging out with the child because he thought he was Malleus but something went wrong. Perhaps someone used their unique magic in the future ruler of briar valley.

Um… who’s Malleus?

________________

Day four of having a child.

Today you were going to find this kid someone who looked close enough to his dad. I mean, you apparently looked like his mom enough, so… yeah!

Also, perhaps his brother went to this school and that was how he ended up here. Finding him a dad sounded fun though.

It was a solid plan… “Casper?” You woke the boy up. You put Casper in the guest bedroom ace usually occupied when he was collared. Which was often. Even with Riddle being looser on the rules Ace always pushed sadly. “Today we’re finding your father.” You informed the boy.

“Really!” His eyes lit up. Why didn’t you do this sooner?

“Mhm, just tell me what he looks like-“ and so began Caspers rant on how amazing his father was. How he always makes time for you two even though he’s so busy, how good he was at playing superhero’s- and so on.

You didn’t even realize superhero’s existed here. Crazy. “He has black horns like me!” He grinned up at you, “oh- and black hair and we have the same eyes!” He giggled before again going on about how awesome his dad was.

“Horns, black hair, green eyes…” you mumbled, “and you're a fae, so we should probably go to Diasomnia, they have the most fae of the dorms” you smiled brightly. “This Malleus guy seems promising- and if he doesn’t want to, I’ll just make him!” You cheered and with Casper on your shoulders you were out the door!

Was it just you or was Diasomnia slightly terrifying?

Either way, with Casper on your shoulders like you were going to the zoo, you walked on the winding path with thorns around it and into the dorm. The halls were… very long and castle-like.

Eventually you found the dorm's common room. Witch had three students, only one of which was a fae. With as much confidence you could muster, you approached them. “Hello! Good evening gentlemen… Um, do you happen to know someone whom this child looks like?” You smiled and proceeded to the kid.

They very politely actually said that they think he looks like Malleus. You asked them to point you to this Malleus, and they again very politely refused. Apparently he was a busy man which was fair. But he was a father now! If casper deems him fit enough (By that you mean mistake him for his father like the boy did you.)

Still, throughout this process, you couldn't help but wonder if you were forgetting someone.

You kept glancing at Caspers horns… who else did you know with horns? “Tsunotarou! That's who you look like!” You finally realized after an embarrassingly long time. In your defense you had only met the guy once or twice while you were dealing with Leona’s stupid plan, and didn’t Leona mention Malleus during his overblot?

“That's what you call Papa!” Casper cheered, his eyes widening in awe. Okay so, either that was a common name… which you doubt or Casper had a weird background.

“Khee Khee what do we have here?” Lilia appeared out of nowhere! …again, still you jumped!

“Mama is going to find Papa today!” Casper cheered in all his three year old glory. Picking the boy up and lifting him to sit on your hit you nodded.

“Mhm! I’m going to meet this… Malleus demands he becomes Caspers father or pay child support!” You claim confidently because in reality, you were beginning to doubt the plan you came up with at 3am and woke up early for. “Tsunotarou would be a better bet but I really don’t know where that guy is… or his real name.” you muttered to yourself.

Either way, Lilia clapped and with a large smile said this: “You're in luck! Malleus just finished his breakfast and should be heading over for his morning coffee.” So, without verbally questioning why he knew that you smiled and plopped down on the common room’s chairs watching a bit nervously as Lilia wandered off again.

So… You were really dumb. Realistically this was a horrible plan bound to fail, but you already came this far.

Didn’t all your friends always comment about how scary Malleus was? Wasn’t he like one of the top mages of this world?

Okay, maybe if you didn’t come up with this plan at 3am last night you wouldn’t be so royally screwed! Hah, get it because Malleus is supposed to be some royal of… a whole nation right? Yeah, this was a bad idea.

Getting up to leave, you heard Casper cheer for his father.

“Child Of Man?”

“Tsunotarou?” You turned around, “Actually- no this is better than getting smited by some scary mage! Okay so I have been looking for… you, for a while!” You smiled, “This is our son: casper.” You introduced them.

“Papa!”

__________________

“Mm, He does look like me.” Tsunotarou hummed; he knelt beside the child, titling his head curiously as he observed the child. “Your horns are coming in nicely aren't they?” He commented with a small smile, the boy nodded enthusiastically.

“Mhm! They should be as big as yours soon!” Casper giggled.

“Your speech is also advanced for a child of your age.” The older boy smiled, It was a very touching sight actually.

“It is. Ace and Deuce have been helping me teach him some bigger stuff too.” you stated proudly as the younger boy nodded along. You sat beside where the boy stood in front of his new father. Your back against the armrest, you sat planted on the floor. “The headmage said he would be dealing with getting him back home but I have to take care of him till then.” You sighed.

“I see, so you thought to find me as I am the child's father?” Malleus asked curiously, an eyebrow raised almost teasingly.

“If you’ll believe it, yup.” You nodded along, I mean if he believes that the kid is his, why not get him to take responsibility for that sweet child support money?

“I see, so Crowley is making the proper arrangement to get you back to us in the future.”

“Wait, so he's actually my kid?” you couldn’t help but blurt out. Tsunotarou merely chuckles. “Am I dumb or are we actually like his parents?” You whispered a bit to Tsunotarou and stood up, he followed after you standing up as well.

“Mm? Crowely didn’t inform you?” he said with an amused and sly smile. “I suppose it's time anyway we get properly introduced seeing as you are my future spouse” He smirked, his hand on his hips.

“I am Malleus draconia”

__________________________

Fun Fact:

The events of this takes place after Heartslabyul’s and Savanaclaw overblot. So y/n doesn’t know Tsunotarou is Malleus.

Also, Lilia knew all along.

Also, also, I'm sorry this sucked lol

NOTE: Sorry this slightly sucked I didn't really plan to actually finish the WIP I posted it as "Forever unfinished" and people liked it so I thought I'd do this anyway!

________________________ ________________________

Some of Ya'll wanted to be Tagged: @yu-night-raven @kelsyntam @reivelmin @thisisafish123 @cheshire-kitsune @dmiqueles @ranbutler-epicsans-moon @dontmindmelove @swivi @halseyhatter @barbatoss-bitch @itslucieen @bell7duck @whatever-fanfics @ziankenvirus @blcknebula @leilakaro @sarraisme

(I'm not quite sure if I did it right but thank you for liking the WIP enough to comment and want to see another! I hope it was good, I kind of think It wasn't that good but Thats why I made it somewhat long... To compensate!)

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velarisdusk · 3 months ago

Text

No Room for Error

Azriel x Reader

word count: 1.5k content: [ explicit sexual content, unprotected PIV, az does not pull out (as is typical with my fics lmao), hate sex, explicit language ] summary: Your heated argument with Azriel during a mission turns into an unexpected, yet not first-time, encounter in a broom closet. author's note: AZ AND Y/N SPIES AZ AND Y/N SPIES AAAAAA i've been wanting to write this one for a while, i'm happy it's finally in existence somewhere outside of my brain and writing drive lol ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

“You really couldn’t wait to make your move, could you?” you snap, frustration leaking into your voice as you shift again, the small space feeling tighter by the second. “We’ve been plotting this mission for months, Azriel.”

“I’m getting the job done, aren’t I?” His tone is dismissive, the usual bite to it harsher. “Maybe if you focused less on talking and more on following orders, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Following orders?” You scoff, pressing back against him involuntarily, even though you’re not sure if you want more space or less. “Maybe you’d actually listen to me if you stopped thinking you know everything.”

“I do know everything,” he growls in your ear, a dark edge to his words that makes something inside you tighten. “But you’re too busy trying to prove me wrong to realize it.”

“I’m not trying to prove you wrong,” you retort, voice sharp as you shift against him again. “You’re just impossible.”

His breath huffs against your skin. “And yet, here we are,” he murmurs, tone low, barely hiding the edge of amusement. “You’re not exactly walking away.”

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter, shifting uncomfortably in the cramped space. “I should’ve completed twice as many missions as you by now. This was supposed to be my assignment, not yours.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Azriel snaps, his voice tight with annoyance, the tension between you both palpable. “Maybe if you didn’t rush into things all the time, you’d actually finish your missions instead of barely scraping by.”

“I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job,” you retort, clenching your teeth as the walls feel like they’re closing in. “I’m just fine without your help, Shadowsinger.” You spit out the title like it’s venom, though the words feel hollow as soon as they leave your mouth. The competition between you two was fierce—always had been.

“It’s not about help,” Azriel mutters, shifting just enough that you feel his presence even closer. “It’s about keeping up. You always think you can do everything on your own, but in the end, you just screw it up. It’s like you're trying to outdo me for the sake of it.”

“Outdo you?” You laugh bitterly, barely able to move without pressing into him. “I’ve been outdoing you for months, Azriel. You’re just too arrogant to see it.”

His laugh is low and dark. “If you were outdoing me, we wouldn’t be stuck in this closet right now, would we?”

“Oh, you think this is my fault?” You almost scoff, your words dripping with irritation, but the heat between you is undeniable now, thick with more than just frustration. “Maybe if you didn’t play the lone wolf every damn time, we wouldn’t be here.”

“I didn’t play ‘lone wolf,’” he growls. “You’re just too proud to accept I’m better at this than you.”

Your hand moves, fumbling to adjust—or maybe to steady yourself—and the shift in position has Azriel’s breath catching. The sound sends a rush of heat through you, though you’re still unwilling to admit it aloud.

“Better than me?” you ask, voice dropping dangerously low, your lips curling into a sharp, humorless smile. “That’s rich, coming from someone who’s been riding my coattails for months. Admit it, Azriel, you can’t stand that I’m winning.”

His hand tightens at your waist, and his next words are spoken with deliberate, biting calm. “Winning? You’re delusional. You’ve never beaten me, and you never will.”

Your lips part for another retort, but the words die on your tongue, the sound morphing into a moan as he moves. The shift in position presses him against you in a way that makes your breath hitch, his body hitting that spot deep inside you.

A faint sound of footsteps outside the closet snaps you back to reality. You barely have time to register it before Azriel’s hand is covering your mouth, his fingers warm and firm against your lips, stifling any sound you might make. His other hand grips your hip harder, pulling you even closer as he continues to thrust into you, each movement making you feel him deeper, the rhythm brutal and unforgiving.

“Do you want them to hear you?” he growls low in your ear, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “Want to fuck up the mission? Want to give us away?” His voice is tight with barely-contained pleasure, his breath hot against your neck. “You better keep quiet, sweetheart. We can’t afford mistakes.”

You can feel the cold leather of your pants bunched up at your thighs, the heat of his body pressing against you, the sensation of him pushing against you with every thrust, sending jolts of pleasure that make it even harder to keep silent. Your body trembles beneath him, every instinct screaming for release, but the fear of getting caught only makes the tension sharper.

A desperate whine escapes from your throat, muffled by his hand, and you feel him pause. The sound of footsteps somewhere outside the closet slows, a beat of silence hanging heavy in the air. His breath hitches slightly, but his grip moves up to your waist, and then, in one fluid motion, he presses his hips harder against you.

“Am I going to have to tell Rhys that you cost us months of work?” His words are a dark tease, but the edge of warning lingers in his voice. He pulls back, only to thrust forward again, his hips grinding into yours with slow, powerful force, each movement designed to make you feel every inch of him, to make sure you can’t forget for a second what’s happening. “Think about that, sweetheart. All of this… for nothing.”

Your breath catches as he shifts again, his rhythm turning into something deeper, more intense. The tight space only heightens the feeling of him—every inch of his body pressed against yours, making it impossible to escape the raw heat between you. He grinds into you again, his control slipping as the pressure mounts, but his voice stays dangerously low.

The footsteps outside fade, growing softer as they move away from the door. Azriel’s grip loosens slightly, and he pulls his hand from your mouth, his breath ragged against your skin. You can’t hold back anymore.

“Please, Azriel, don’t stop, I need it,” you whine, the words slipping out before you can stop them, desperate for more.

His response is immediate, cold, and calculating. “You don’t need anything. You want it.” His tone is firm, void of any tenderness. “You always want more, don’t you?”

Before you can answer, he shifts again, thrusting into you with a deep, controlled force that makes your body seize in response. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, using the grip to pull you onto him again and again.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, voice low but commanding, “do you always beg like this? Is this how you get Rhys to give you assignments I’m the obvious choice for? Or am I the only one who gets to see this side of you?”

Your heart races, his words swallowing you whole. But you’re beyond caring now, beyond anything but the feeling of him inside you. His hips grind into you with a brutal, possessive rhythm, and you can’t help but let out a moan, your back arching as you press against the wall. You can feel the pressure building, every part of you straining for release, but his control is absolute, keeping you on the edge, making you ache with every moment. You know you can’t hold back much longer.

With a final, deep thrust, he shudders, his body tightening as he finishes inside you. His breath is heavy, ragged against your neck, and he pauses, just for a moment, as if to savor the feeling of you beneath him.

Azriel pulls out slowly, his movements deliberate, and you feel a brief emptiness where he was. Without a word, he tucks himself back into his pants with calm efficiency, as if there were nothing out of the ordinary.

“Pull your pants up,” he says, his tone cool, detached. There’s no hint of the intensity from moments ago, as if he can shut it off in an instant.

You blink, the haze of pleasure clouding your mind as you slowly process his words. What? You’re still trying to make sense of everything when he pulls back as far as the cramped broom closet allows, glancing at you with that unreadable expression.

“We’ve got shit to do,” he shrugs, voice colder now, businesslike. “Maybe I’ll stop by your room tonight.” There’s a dangerous flicker in his eyes as he says it, but it’s gone before you can even react.

He opens the closet door and steps out, holding a hand out to you. You hesitate for a moment, still reeling, but you take his hand, letting him pull you back out into the hall.

#acotar #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x reader smut #acotar fanfic #acotar smut #azriel smut #acotar reader insert

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theodorenmyth · 1 month ago

Note

can i request a draco x childhood friend reader where they've been obliviously pinning after eachother for years and the others are so tired of it, like for example they think they're talking normally but then one of the boys just shows up and tell them to "get a room already"

Childhood Lovers

Pairings ; Draco Malfoy x M!reader

Summary ; Draco Malfoy has been hopelessly in love with you for years, and everyone—except you—knows it. After endless pining and relentless teasing from your friends, he finally promises to confess on your birthday.

A/N ; I loved writing this so much

warnings ; none

word count ; 3.8K

You were six years old when you first met Draco.

Your parents had taken you to Malfoy Manor for some fancy pureblood gathering, one of those long, tedious events where adults talked about bloodlines while the children were expected to behave.

You had been wandering the vast halls of the manor, exploring, when you heard a frustrated huff from behind a set of large oak doors. Curious, you pushed them open to find a boy around your age sitting cross-legged on the floor, scowling at a small wooden broomstick.

His silver-blond hair was neatly combed, and his grey eyes gleamed with irritation. He looked up at you, frowning.

"What are you staring at?"

You blinked, then pointed at the broom. "What’s wrong with it?"

"It’s stupid," he muttered, poking it like it had personally offended him. "Father got it for me, but I can’t make it hover properly."

You tilted your head. "You’re doing it wrong."

His frown deepened. "I am not doing it wrong."

You stepped closer, shrugging. "Let me try."

Draco narrowed his eyes but reluctantly scooted back, watching as you grabbed the broom’s handle and focused. You had seen older kids practicing with toy brooms before, so you gave it a gentle push—and to both your surprise, it wobbled into the air for a brief second before dropping back down.

Draco gasped. "How did you—?"

You grinned. "I guess I’m better than you."

His eyes flashed. "Excuse me?"

And just like that, a rivalry—and an unbreakable bond—was born.

From that moment on, you were inseparable.

Draco dragged you into every one of his childhood games, from pretending to duel with toy wands to sneaking into the manor library to look at spellbooks you weren’t supposed to touch. He insisted that you sit next to him at every meal when your families had dinners together, and he sulked if you weren’t placed in the same group during playdates.

As you grew older, the bond only deepened.

At Hogwarts, you became Draco’s safe place, the only person he truly trusted beyond his arrogant bravado. He confided in you when things felt overwhelming, when expectations from his father weighed too heavily on his shoulders. And in return, he was fiercely protective of you, standing by your side through everything.

Looking back, maybe everyone was right.

Maybe you had been in love with Draco long before you even knew what love was.

And maybe he had been in love with you too.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

The Slytherin common room is quiet, save for the occasional crackle from the fireplace and the soft scratching of quills on parchment. You’re seated on the plush emerald couch, barely paying attention to your Transfiguration textbook as your eyes start to droop. It’s been a long day, and you’re fairly certain you’re running on nothing but sheer willpower and the single cup of tea you had at breakfast.

Draco slides into the seat beside you, close enough that his knee knocks against yours. You don’t move away.

He doesn’t either.

"You look exhausted," he murmurs, grey eyes scanning your face. His voice is quieter than usual, almost gentle. "Did you even sleep last night?"

You sigh, rubbing your temple. "No, Draco, I spent the night ballroom dancing with the house elves. Of course, I slept."

Draco scowls, ignoring your sarcasm completely. "You’re a terrible liar. You have dark circles."

"You have dark circles," you shoot back, playfully nudging him with your shoulder.

He scoffs. "Mine are charming. Yours make you look like a ghost."

"You do realize you’re insulting me while simultaneously trying to care for me, right?" you point out, raising an eyebrow.

Draco clicks his tongue, unimpressed. "I’m not insulting you, I’m stating a fact. You need to take better care of yourself."

You roll your eyes but can’t help the warmth spreading through your chest. It’s a familiar routine by now—Draco nagging, you teasing, him getting even more concerned because you refuse to take things seriously.

"You’re fretting like my mother," you joke, flipping through your textbook half-heartedly. "Should I start calling you Madame Malfoy?"

Draco scoffs, crossing his arms. "Now that's just insulting."

You snicker, shaking your head. "Alright, Madame Malfoy, what’s your medical diagnosis? Should I rest? Or a kiss on the forehead will do the trick?"

For a brief moment, Draco actually falters. His lips part slightly, his usual quick-witted response caught somewhere between his throat.

Then, in classic Draco fashion, he recovers with a scoff, nudging your knee with his. "Don’t be ridiculous. You’d need at least two forehead kisses to even begin functioning properly again."

You laugh, leaning back against the couch. "Oh? So you admit a kiss would help?"

Draco rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it.

And that’s exactly when Blaise, sitting across the room and trying very hard to focus on his essay, snaps his quill in half.

"For Merlin’s beard, will you two just kiss already?"

The common room goes silent.

You and Draco turn to Blaise in perfect unison, blinking like you’ve just been smacked with a Confundus Charm.

"What?" Draco asks, his tone defensive.

Blaise stares at you both, completely done with this entire situation. "You cannot be serious. Do you actually not hear yourselves?"

You exchange a glance with Draco, then look back at Blaise in utter confusion. "Hear what?" you ask, genuinely puzzled.

Blaise throws his hands up in defeat. "You flirt all the time. All the time. It’s unbearable."

Draco scoffs, crossing his arms. "We do not flirt."

Blaise levels him with a deadpan expression. "You’d need at least two forehead kisses to function properly." He mimics Draco’s voice mockingly. "Oh, Draco, a kiss on the forehead will do the trick, right?"

You frown. "That’s just how we talk."

"That’s just—" Blaise closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to summon the patience of a saint. "Okay. Alright. Let me ask you something. Have either of you ever spoken to anyone else the way you speak to each other?"

You open your mouth, then hesitate.

Draco does the same.

Blaise smirks. "Exactly."

Draco scoffs again, but this time, there’s a slight pink tinge at the tips of his ears. "You’re being ridiculous."

"You’re being oblivious," Blaise corrects, shaking his head. "And I’m tired of it. Everyone is tired of it. You know Pansy has a bet going? She swears you’ll get together before the end of term. I said it’ll take at least another year because you’re both that dense."

Draco looks mildly offended. "A year?"

"Yes, a year, because you’re both pathetic," Blaise mutters, rubbing his temples like he’s dealing with an unsolvable Arithmancy equation.

You furrow your brows, still struggling to process the accusation. "We’re pathetic?"

Blaise gives you a look. "Painfully."

You scoff, shaking your head. "This is ridiculous. Just because Draco and I are close—"

"You don’t just ‘talk’," Blaise interrupts. "You gaze. You touch. You hover. You say things like ‘Oh, Draco, don’t worry about me, unless you want to tuck me into bed personally,’ and you don’t think that sounds romantic?"

Draco actually chokes on his own breath. "He—he what?"

Blaise sighs. "You two are a nightmare to be around."

Draco turns back to you, still somewhat flustered. "You said that?"

You hesitate, then shrug. "I mean… maybe? I don’t know, Draco, I say a lot of things."

Blaise lets out a strangled groan and buries his face in his hands. "I give up."

Draco exhales sharply, straightening his posture. "This is nonsense. We’re not—"

"Save it, Malfoy," Blaise grumbles, waving him off. "I’m done. You two can stay in your little bubble of delusion. But just know—every single person in Slytherin sees it, and we’re all so tired."

He picks up his books and stalks off, mumbling something about needing a headache potion.

Draco watches him go, frowning. "That was dramatic."

You nod in agreement. "Very dramatic."

There’s a beat of silence before you turn to Draco, smirking. "So… you’d give me at least two forehead kisses, huh?"

Draco groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Shut up."

You grin, nudging his knee with yours again. "You love me."

He scoffs. "I tolerate you."

"Sure, Madame Malfoy."

Draco throws a pillow at your head.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

Walking down the hallway with Draco has always been part of your daily routine. It’s comfortable—natural. The two of you are so in sync that you don’t even realize how close you walk, your shoulders brushing, his hand occasionally hovering near yours as if he’s debating whether or not to take it.

You’re mid-argument about the best dueling strategies when Draco suddenly stops walking.

"Hold still," he mutters, stepping in front of you.

You blink in surprise as he reaches towards your face, his fingers brushing gently against your cheek. Your breath catches slightly, your mind blanking entirely.

Draco, completely oblivious to the way your heart is racing, hums in concentration as he carefully tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "There," he says with satisfaction. "It was bothering me."

You stare at him. He stares back, completely unaware of how much he just melted your brain.

"Right," you manage to say, swallowing. "Thanks."

He smirks. "You’d be lost without me."

You roll your eyes, trying to regain your composure. "I somehow survived for years before Hogwarts without your constant nitpicking, Malfoy."

"Yes, but those were dark times," Draco replies smoothly. "You’ve improved under my guidance."

Before you can argue back, a familiar voice interrupts.

"For Salazar’s sake."

You both turn to see Lorenzo standing a few feet away, looking utterly exhausted. His hands are on his hips, and he’s staring at you two like he’s debating throwing himself off the Astronomy Tower just to escape this moment.

"What?" Draco asks, frowning.

Lorenzo pinches the bridge of his nose. "I can’t do this anymore. I cannot keep watching you two act like you aren’t in love with each other."

You blink, startled. "We—what?"

"You heard me," Lorenzo deadpans. "Every single person in Slytherin—no, Hogwarts—knows you two are basically a couple except you."

Draco scoffs. "That’s ridiculous."

Lorenzo crosses his arms. "Oh really? Let’s review the evidence."

He holds up a finger. "One, you stare at each other like you’ve been separated by a tragic war and only just reunited."

Draco makes an offended noise. "We do not—"

"You do," Lorenzo says, raising a second finger. "Two, you hover around him like a lovesick puppy. If someone so much as breathes in his direction, you’re glaring at them like you’re about to duel them on the spot."

Draco narrows his eyes. "That’s just basic awareness of my surroundings."

Lorenzo doesn’t even dignify that with a response. Instead, he raises a third finger. "Three, the whole hair thing just now? What was that?"

Draco blinks. "His hair was out of place."

"You tucked it behind his ear, Draco." Lorenzo’s voice is nearly hysterical now. "Like some sort of dramatic romance novel protagonist. Do you even hear yourselves?"

You shift uncomfortably, heat creeping up your neck. "I mean, that doesn’t necessarily mean—"

Lorenzo groans loudly, running a hand down his face. "I give up. You two are a lost cause."

Draco scoffs again, crossing his arms. "Just because we’re close doesn’t mean we—"

"Get a room already," Lorenzo interrupts, exasperated.

You and Draco freeze.

The words seem to hang in the air for a long moment, and suddenly, you’re hyperaware of just how close you’re standing. Draco’s shoulder is still brushing against yours. His fingers are only inches from yours.

Your face heats up, and you quickly look away. "Lorenzo, you’re being dramatic."

"Am I?" Lorenzo raises an eyebrow. "Because I’m fairly certain if I left you two alone for five minutes, you’d just stare at each other longingly instead of actually doing something about it."

Draco rolls his eyes. "You’re being ridiculous."

Lorenzo sighs and just starts walking away, waving a hand over his shoulder. "Right. Sure. Whatever you say. But when you finally admit you’re in love, I will be collecting my ‘I told you so’ payment in full."

You and Draco watch him disappear around the corner before awkwardly glancing at each other.

Draco clears his throat. "That was... strange."

"Yeah," you agree quickly.

A beat of silence.

"So... what were we talking about?" Draco asks, as if Lorenzo hadn’t just laid out the obvious truth in front of you both.

You jump at the opportunity to ignore the conversation entirely. "Dueling strategies!"

"Right, right," Draco nods, completely dismissing the past five minutes like they never happened. "Now, as I was saying—"

And just like that, you both continue walking, completely and utterly oblivious.

From around the corner, Lorenzo watches with pure disbelief.

"They’re actually hopeless," he mutters to himself before stalking off to complain to the others.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

Draco Malfoy was a disgrace.

At least, that’s what Theodore, Mattheo, and Lorenzo had decided as they sat at the Slytherin table, watching him stare at you like some tragic, love-struck fool in a romance novel.

It wasn’t just staring—no, no, that would be tolerable.

Draco was gazing at you like you were a celestial being who had graced the mortal world with your presence. His chin rested lazily on his palm, his usually sharp grey eyes softened to the point of resembling molten silver. His lips twitched with the ghost of a smile, and if one looked closely, they might even notice a dreamy sigh escape him.

And the worst part? You weren’t even talking to him.

You were sitting across the Great Hall, deep in conversation with some random Ravenclaw student. Whatever you were saying must have been interesting, because you were grinning, your eyes bright with amusement.

Draco, meanwhile, looked like a man on the verge of composing poetry.

Theodore finally snapped. He groaned, stabbing his fork into his food with unnecessary aggression. "I cannot do this anymore."

Mattheo, slouched beside him, tilted his head dramatically. "How many years has it been, exactly? Since first year?"

"Longer," Lorenzo muttered, rubbing his temples. "They grew up together. This has been happening since childhood. Childhood, Mattheo."

Mattheo let out a long whistle. "Merlin’s beard, that’s tragic."

Draco blinked, barely registering their conversation. "What are you lot muttering about?"

The three of them turned to him at once, looking at him like he was the stupidest man alive.

"You," Theodore said, pointing his fork at him. "You absolute idiot."

Draco frowned, straightening in his seat. "Excuse me?"

"Draco," Lorenzo said tiredly. "You’re staring again."

Draco scoffed, crossing his arms. "I do not stare."

"Oh, sure," Mattheo drawled, mimicking Draco’s dreamy expression. He fluttered his eyelashes dramatically. "'Oh, Y/N, your laughter is sweeter than honey. Your eyes shine like the stars, and your smile could end wars—'"

Draco kicked him under the table. "Shut up."

Theodore ignored them, leaning forward with an unimpressed stare. "You do realize you’re looking at them like they’re the last glass of wine on a stressful day, right?"

Lorenzo snorted. "More like a man lost in the desert staring at an oasis. With heart eyes."

Draco bristled, his ears turning pink. "That’s ridiculous."

Mattheo grinned. "Oh, is it? Because you practically look like you’re writing your wedding vows in your head."

Lorenzo shook his head. "No, no, he’s planning their entire future. House, marriage, family, pet names—"

Theodore gasped dramatically. "Draco Malfoy-Y/N! Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?"

Draco choked on his pumpkin juice.

"Alright, that’s enough," he coughed, glaring.

The trio ignored his protests.

Mattheo tilted his head in mock curiosity. "What do you think their pet name would be? Darling? Love? Oh, no—starshine. That’s dramatic enough for Malfoy."

Lorenzo nodded in agreement. "I bet he writes 'Mr. and Mr. Malfoy' in his notebooks when no one’s looking."

Draco clenched his jaw. "I will hex you all."

Theodore smirked. "Oh, please. You’re too busy mentally composing Shakespearean sonnets about Y/N’s hair to actually do it."

Mattheo sighed loudly. "You know what? I can’t keep watching this. Just confess already."

Draco rolled his eyes, face still slightly pink. "Oh, don’t be absurd."

"Absurd? No, what’s absurd is that you still haven’t told them after all these years," Theodore shot back.

"You make it sound so easy," Draco muttered, suddenly very interested in his untouched food.

Lorenzo groaned. "Because it is easy! You walk up to them and say, 'Hey, Y/N, I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, let’s snog about it.'"

Draco gave him an unamused look. "Oh, very romantic, Berkshire."

Mattheo smirked. "Malfoy, I promise you, Y/N likes you back. If you don’t confess soon, someone else will, and then where will you be?"

Draco stiffened at that.

Theodore pounced on his hesitation. "Oh? Struck a nerve, have we?"

Draco exhaled sharply. "Fine. I’ll confess."

Silence.

Lorenzo blinked. "Wait, seriously?"

Draco nodded, reluctantly. "Yes."

Mattheo leaned forward eagerly. "When?"

Draco hesitated before muttering, "On their birthday."

A beat of silence.

Theodore’s jaw dropped. "Which is a week from now!"

"Yes," Draco said, as if that was a perfectly reasonable time frame.

Lorenzo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Draco, I swear to Merlin, if you don’t go through with this—"

Mattheo threw his hands in the air. "A week, Malfoy? A whole week? That’s seven more days of you being insufferable!"

Draco glared. "It’s my confession, and I’ll do it when I want to."

Theodore shook his head, looking at the others. "Fine. One week. But if he backs out—"

"We intervene," Lorenzo finished.

Mattheo grinned. "And make it public."

Draco’s eyes widened. "You wouldn’t."

Mattheo smirked. "Try us."

Draco exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. "Merlin, you’re all infuriating."

Theodore clapped a hand on his shoulder. "And yet, we’re still right."

As the trio continued their relentless teasing, Draco could only sigh in exasperation.

One week.

How hard could it be?

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

Your birthday started normally enough.

A few gifts from your dormmates, some enthusiastic birthday wishes, and an especially delicious breakfast. You had expected the day to be fun, but nothing out of the ordinary.

That was before Draco decided that today was his personal mission to spoil you into oblivion.

It started with a small, elegant box left on your bed. Inside were gloves made of the softest dragon-hide, perfectly fitted to your hands, with your initials embroidered in silver thread.

You smiled, admiring the craftsmanship, when an owl swooped into the Great Hall during breakfast, dropping another gift right onto your lap. A limited-edition enchanted quill set—one that changed ink colors with a simple touch.

"Draco," you sighed, already knowing who was behind it.

Across the table, Draco smirked, propping his chin on his hand. "What? You don’t like it?"

You rolled your eyes. "I love it, but—"

"Then it’s settled." He waved his hand dismissively. "Don’t argue with the gifts, Y/N."

You didn’t even have time to recover before lunch arrived, and with it—another present.

This time, a beautiful custom-made silver bracelet. You stared at it, mouth slightly open.

"Draco—"

"It suits you," he interrupted, his tone casual, but his eyes were anything but.

You hesitated before slipping it onto your wrist. It was perfect.

By the time dinner rolled around, everyone at the Slytherin table was blatantly watching the spectacle unfold.

Draco then slid yet another box in front of you.

"Draco Malfoy." Your voice was dangerously close to scolding.

He only smirked. "Yes, birthday star?"

You glared at him before cautiously unwrapping it. Inside was a bottle of outrageously expensive cologne, the kind you’d admired in passing but never even considered owning.

Your jaw nearly dropped. "Draco, what the fuck?"

"Language," he chided, far too smug for his own good. "I thought you’d like it."

"Like it? I love it, but this is—Draco, you’ve already given me so much!"

"Exactly." He shrugged. "And?"

You groaned. "This is too much."

slightly, voice lower. "Nothing is too much for you."

Across the table, Theodore, Mattheo, and Lorenzo watched in pure agony.

Mattheo leaned toward Theodore, whispering dramatically, "This is sickening."

Theodore nodded. "Disgusting."

Lorenzo let out a long sigh. "This has gone too far."

Blaise, who had been listening in, smirked. "Oh, now you three have had enough? After years of watching these two pine for each other?"

Pansy, sipping her pumpkin juice, casually added, "Honestly, I think it’s sweet."

Theodore turned to her with a look of betrayal. "Sweet? Pansy, Draco is out here funding their entire existence. He’s like a walking, talking sugar daddy."

Mattheo snorted. "Simp behavior."

Lorenzo crossed his arms. "If he doesn’t confess today, I swear I’m hexing him."

"You’ll have to get in line," Blaise muttered.

Astoria, rolling her eyes, chimed in. "Oh, stop being dramatic. He’ll confess."

Blaise scoffed. "When? Next year?"

Theodore suddenly smirked. "Actually, he told us he’d do it today."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "He said that?"

"Well," Theodore mused, "technically, he said on their birthday, but we all know what that means."

Lorenzo shook his head. "He’s going to overthink it and chicken out."

Mattheo grinned mischievously. "Not if we force his hand."

They exchanged glances.

A plan was forming.

────

After dinner, Draco pulled you aside with a nervous but determined expression.

"Come with me."

You tilted your head. "Draco, what—"

"Just trust me," he murmured.

You sighed but nodded, following him through the castle.

Unbeknownst to you, every single one of your friends immediately exchanged knowing looks and followed—not very discreetly.

Draco led you to the Astronomy Tower, where the night air was crisp, and the stars shimmered above.

There, waiting for you, was another package.

You gawked at him. "Draco—"

"Last one," he promised, lips twitching.

With a sigh, you unwrapped it—and inside was the softest, most elegant velvet cloak you had ever seen. Silver-lined, perfectly tailored. It screamed Malfoy-level luxury.

You stared at it, speechless. "Draco… This must have cost a fortune."

He shrugged, a faint pink dusting his cheeks. "Only the best for you."

Your heart pounded. "Why are you doing all this?"

Draco exhaled sharply, stepping closer. "Because—I’ve been a coward."

You frowned. "What?"

He looked at you, his usual confidence slightly shaken. "I should’ve told you years ago. I’ve loved you since we were kids."

Your breath hitched.

Draco continued, voice softer now. "I tried to pretend I didn’t. But today, I just—I couldn’t hold it in anymore."

Silence.

Draco shifted nervously. "Say something?"

Instead of words, you grabbed his scarf and pulled him in.

Draco barely had time to react before your lips met his.

And then—

"AHHHHHHHHHH!"

The deafening sound of multiple voices screaming in joy startled you both.

Whipping around, you caught sight of your entire friend group stumbling out from behind a nearby wall.

Pansy jumped up and down. "I TOLD YOU HE’D DO IT!"

Mattheo fist-pumped. "ABOUT DAMN TIME!"

Lorenzo collapsed dramatically onto Blaise. "We suffered for years for this moment."

Theodore smirked at Draco. "Took you long enough."

Blaise grinned while holding Lorenzo to steady him. "So, Draco—how does it feel to finally get your head out of your—"

"I hate all of you," Draco groaned, covering his face.

You laughed, pulling him back toward you. "Ignore them."

He peeked through his fingers, still dazed. "You… kissed me."

You grinned. "Yes, Draco."

Draco swallowed. "So does this mean—"

You cut him off with another kiss, slower, deeper.

Pansy screamed. Astoria started clapping. Mattheo actually spun Theodore around in excitement.

Draco groaned, head dropping onto your shoulder. "I really hate them."

You laughed. "You love them."

Draco sighed. "Unfortunately."

And as your friends continued celebrating like you had just won the Quidditch World Cup, Draco decided that, maybe he didn’t mind.

Not when he finally had you.

347 notes · View notes

iamgonnagetyouback · 7 months ago

Note

can you please please please write more for mattheo riddle x potter!reader. maybe the family going to one of harry’s games, accompanied by reader and mattheo? (maybe featuring the marauders?) i’d love to read anything, it doesn’t even have to be this!! hope you have a great night :)

MOST DISTRACTING PERSON.⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ㅤ ㅤ●ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ M. RIDDLE

SUMMARY ৎ୭ ever since mattheo started tagging along with your family, he's made it his mission to annoy harry at every opportunity. so when he joins you all to watch harry’s quidditch match, he somehow ends up charming the entire crowd—much to harry’s absolute misery

WARNINGS ಇ. minor harry slander, and excessive smugness from mattheo MORE OF THESE THREE￫ ୨ৎ (coming soon....)

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 1,180

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

It was one of those rare, crisp days at Hogwarts where the skies were clear, and the breeze was just right. The perfect day for Quidditch—or at least, that’s what your brother Harry would say if he weren’t busy being a massive diva about the whole thing.

The stands were packed with students from every House, cheering, waving banners, and clapping in anticipation of the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff match. And to make the occasion even more dramatic than usual, your parents, James and Lily, had shown up, along with Sirius, Remus, and Peter, all seated proudly in the stands, ready to cheer Harry on.

Unfortunately for Harry, you had brought along a certain Slytherin boyfriend of yours—Mattheo Riddle.

“Merlin’s beard,” Harry groaned under his breath, glancing up at the stands where Mattheo had already worked his charm on the crowd. “Why did you bring him?”

You shrugged, a smirk playing on your lips. “Well, he wanted to support you.”

Harry snorted. “Support? Please, he’s just here to make me miserable.”

You glanced at Mattheo, who had somehow managed to get half the Hufflepuff supporters waving at him and even Remus giving him an approving nod. “He’s being perfectly nice. Maybe you’re the one being dramatic.”

Harry threw you a look that said he was this close to throwing himself off his broom. “Dramatic? I’m not dramatic. He’s just—ugh, why is he even waving at people?”

Sure enough, Mattheo was leaning casually against the railing of the Gryffindor stands, flashing a charming smile at anyone who passed by. Every few minutes, he waved, winked, or nodded at a student, causing a flurry of giggles and whispers.

“He’s not supposed to be the center of attention!” Harry muttered furiously, his grip tightening on his broom. “This is my game!”

You patted his shoulder in mock sympathy. “Don’t worry, Harry. Everyone still knows you’re the main attraction.”

“Barely,” he huffed.

Down in the stands, Sirius barked out a laugh, clapping Mattheo on the back. “You’ve got style, kid,” he said, clearly approving of Mattheo’s ability to woo an entire Quidditch crowd without even trying.

“Thanks, Sirius,” Mattheo replied, throwing an arm around you as you sat next to him. “Just here to support my favorite team, after all.”

Harry, overhearing from the pitch, yelled, “Gryffindor is not your favorite team, Riddle!”

Mattheo only grinned and gave him a two-fingered salute, causing Harry to grumble and fly off toward his team.

Remus leaned over to James and muttered, “He’s got quite the influence, doesn’t he?”

James laughed. “He’s a slippery one, that’s for sure. But if he’s got Lily’s approval, who am I to argue?”

Lily, who had been watching Mattheo’s interaction with you, gave a knowing smile. “I think he’s good for her. Keeps things interesting.”

Sirius waggled his eyebrows. “If Harry doesn’t throw him off a broom first.”

The whistle blew, and the game began. But the match wasn’t the only source of entertainment that day.

Every time Harry swooped in for a save, Mattheo would cheer—loudly. “Go on, Potter!” he yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. “That’s my future brother-in-law!”

Harry nearly lost control of his broom at that, swerving dangerously to avoid a Bludger. “Future brother-in-law?” he shouted, his voice shrill. “Absolutely not!”

The Hufflepuff Seeker zipped past him while Harry was distracted, and you couldn’t help but bury your face in your hands in secondhand embarrassment.

Sirius howled with laughter. “He’s really got Harry rattled!”

“Not to mention the Hufflepuffs,” Peter added with a chuckle. “Look at them. They’re more focused on Mattheo than their own game.”

It was true. Several Hufflepuff players kept sneaking glances at Mattheo, who was now waving at them enthusiastically, giving them a thumbs-up and shouting words of encouragement like he was their biggest fan.

“RIDDLE!” Harry’s voice echoed across the pitch, and he shot a death glare at Mattheo, who was absolutely thriving in the attention.

Mattheo leaned back in his seat, hands behind his head, and winked up at the sky as though Harry’s rage fueled him. “Doing great, Potter!” he yelled, entirely too pleased with himself.

When the match finally ended, Gryffindor won by a hair’s breadth, mostly thanks to Harry’s furious speed after seeing Mattheo charm his way through half the match. The second his feet hit the ground, Harry stormed over to you and Mattheo, his broom still in hand.

“You,” Harry said, pointing an accusatory finger at Mattheo. “You are the most distracting person in the world.”

Mattheo, unfazed, smirked. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It’s not!” Harry spluttered, his voice rising to that familiar, high-pitched squeak of frustration. “You—you made the Hufflepuffs fall for your stupid charm! And you kept shouting things about being my brother-in-law!”

Mattheo shrugged, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Just manifesting the future, Potter. You know how it is.”

“No, I do not know how it is!” Harry snapped. “And stop manifesting things!”

You tried to hold back a laugh, patting Harry on the arm. “Come on, Harry, he was just cheering you on.”

“Cheering me on?” Harry repeated, looking at you incredulously. “He’s a Slytherin! He’s supposed to be evil and plotting things, not—this!” He gestured wildly at Mattheo, who was now sharing a victory fist-bump with Sirius.

“Well, mate,” James said, clapping a hand on Harry’s shoulder as he walked over, “he’s certainly got style. Reminds me of me back in the day.”

Harry looked at his father, horrified. “Dad, don’t encourage him!”

James just laughed, ruffling Harry’s already wild hair. “Relax, kid. He’s not so bad.”

“Not so bad?” Harry echoed, looking around at his family, all of whom seemed perfectly content with Mattheo tagging along. “Am I the only one who sees what’s happening here?”

Lily smiled warmly. “Harry, he’s good for her. You’ll see.”

Harry groaned, defeated, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t understand this family.”

Mattheo grinned, pulling you closer as your parents walked ahead. “You’re just mad because I stole your spotlight today.”

Harry glared. “No, I’m mad because you exist.”

Mattheo laughed, a deep, genuine sound that made you roll your eyes but smile nonetheless. “Get used to it, Potter. I’m not going anywhere.”

With a final groan, Harry shook his head and trudged off to join the rest of the family, muttering to himself about how this had to be some kind of cosmic joke. You couldn’t help but laugh as Mattheo, walked beside you, his charm having worked its magic on everyone except your very, very grumpy brother.

“Harry’ll warm up to me eventually,” Mattheo said confidently, as if it were inevitable.

You smiled up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Or he’ll keep trying to hex you every chance he gets.”

“Ah, it’s all part of the fun,” Mattheo said with a wink. “Besides, I’ve got the rest of the Potters on my side. What’s one grumpy Chosen One?”

Harry, hearing that from a few feet away, let out another dramatic groan. “Merlin, why me?”

Somehow, you knew life was only going to get more interesting from here.

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎ please refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my work

#⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ivy writes ༄.°#mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #potter family #potters #harry potter #potter!reader

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ijenoyou · 2 months ago

Text

Ojos lindos.

Joaquín Torres x StarkF!Reader

WARNINGS: none rlly i think it’s just some nice fluff strangers to friends :3

note: helllowwwww it’s been a while since i’ve written sum for marvel lol anywayssss i rlly enjoyed the new cap movie!! and def did enjoy danny ramirez as the new falcon :3 so yeah i hope yall like this ohhh and if i like this storyline enough i’ll probably make it into a series ;) OH also the reader is supposed to be iron heart !!

Since Sam needed a new team for the Avengers the very first person that came to his mind, aside from Joaquín, was you. You definitely had Tony Stark’s brilliant mind and that helped you build your own suit not wanting to use the one your father made you while you were stuck in the Blip.

And Sam needs someone like that, smart, strong and brave. So when you offered to help him rebuild the team he was more than happy that you did. And he even was more happier to the fact that he got to see you. Since the passing of Tony Stark you disappeared leaving him with the wonder of where you went.

But you had to. Thanos had blasted you with the power of all the stones the moment he saw you get ahold of the gauntlet not knowing that the mixture of the power would cause your body to absorbe it.

So you had new powers, one’s that are quite hard to control, so you did what was safe to the people you care for which was disappear.

But now all was good, your powers are more than safe to use now that you know your way around them. And when Sam found out about the things you could do he knew in his heart he should take you under his wing just like he did with Joaquín Torres.

“She told we could have any room we want.” Sam told Joaquín when they arrived to the old Avengers base.

The both of them grabbed their own baggage and began walking inside the building.

Joaquín’s eyes were shining like crazy. He always thought being an Avenger wasn’t something in his path.

“Uncle Sam!” You said as soon as you saw them walking to the area that had all the old rooms the old team used. You arrived earlier since you wanted to clean up the area for the new arrivals.

Sam smiled and left his things on the floor, he then extended his arms signaling for you to hug him. Since you were quite far holding a broom you decided to teleport.

Joaquín hadn’t seen something like that. The pink glow that appeared in front of him when you appeared of the blue was something that surprised him and it made him lift the right corner of his lip, amused to the fact you were clearly too lazy to walk a few steps to greet Sam.

“So, this is my new child, also known as the new Falcon, Joaquín Torres.” Sam said while grabbing Joaquín’s shoulder.

Your eyes traveled towards him and smiled. You looked different from what he was used to. One of your eyes had a pink glow and the other didn’t, he tried not to let his thoughts show on his face after seeing your new appearance.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sam’s been talking a lot about you since we were on our way.” Joaquín said while reaching his hand out for you to shake. “I’m a big fan of your work, I was a volunteer on the charity you created a few months ago.”

Your smile became even bigger at the mention of the charity you created in honor of the fallen Avengers.

“Really? Thank you so much! I thought I recognized your face from somewhere else.” You said with a sweet tone. “People usually tell me about my father’s work and not mine so thank you, really.” You shook his hand.

Warm.

That’s what he felt inside him when he touched you. He noticed how small your hand was compared to his and how soft your skin felt against his calloused palm.

The both of you didn’t notice how Sam walked out the scene and began searching for a specific room. He wanted the one Steve used since he heard amazing stories about the incredible shower head pressure.

“Want help finding a room?” You said while taking one of this bags from the floor.

“Oh don’t worry I’ll take it!” He tried to take the bag from you.

Too late. You had already teleported a few feet away from him with a playful smile.

“Come! I think you might like this room.”

He smiled and nodded.

He walked behind you for a few moments when you stopped in front of a door that had the number 10 on it. You pushed a few numbers on the pad that was next to the door and the door opened by sliding.

“This one used to be one of my favorite rooms. “ You said with a soft tone.

You left Joaquín’s bag on an old chair and turned to him with your hand on your hips.

“You like it? The view here is amazing, my favorite out of all the rooms.”

He couldn’t believe his eyes. This room had a perfect view to the forest that connected to the base, he couldn’t help but notice how big the room is. Way bigger than he ever imagined with huge windows and a balcony that already had some furniture on it.

“I really do.” He left his things on the floor next to the old chair and walked to stand next to you. Admiring the view.

“My father built quite a lot of rooms for everyone.” You said. “He wanted everyone living under the same roof.” You smiled at the memory of the old team fighting to get the nicest rooms over the base.

Joaquín turned to see you.

You not noticing that he much preferred to have you as the increíble view you mentioned instead of the forest.

“Que ojos tan lindos.” He didn’t realized what he said until you turned towards him with a lifted eyebrow and small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“You think? I’m still getting used to the new color but it’s quite cool.” He didn’t know you understood spanish. A blush began spreading to his face and his right hand scratched the back of his neck with a bashful smile.

“Sorry I just..” He tried to speak but being caught red handed specially by you made him lose control of his words.

“It’s fine!” Your shoulder pushed his. “I don’t mind people looking at my eye, I mean, the staring was bound to happen.” You explained and began walking away from him. “I’ll let you get settled okay? Dinner’s at 8! I’m cooking enchiladas, hope that’s okay.”

Joaquín nodded. “I love enchiladas.” You gave him a thumbs up and walked out the room.

He turned again and stared at the windows for a few seconds until he registered what you said about the staring. He quickly turned on his heel and sprinted to the hall. “For the record I wasn’t staring at your eye! I was just admiring them!” He shouted for you to hear.

A big laugh was all he hear from down the hall. He smiled and turned which caused him to have a mini heart attack at the sight of Sam behind him.

“Dude! Make some noise the next time you stand behind me.” Joaquín said while putting a hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat at a fast pace.

Sam made a face at him. That damn look Sam had almost all of the time when he found something cheeky. Like he knew a secret about you.

“You and little Stark became friends really fast uh?” Was all he said while crossing his arms over his chest.

[ ]

A plate of enchiladas appeared in front of Joaquín and Sam’s eyes.

“Here you go!” You said while sitting in front of them at the aisle of the kitchen instead of the big dinning room. You had said it felt way bigger with just the three of you, but Sam reassured you that with time and effort that would soon change.

“So, do you know when Bucky’s coming?” Sam asked while cutting his enchiladas.

You nodded, your hand reaching for a napkin. “Yes! He told me he’s coming next week after he visits the wakandians for a new update on his arm.” You explained after taking a big gulp of your iced coca cola. “He’s been staying up here with me for a while so his room is already set up.”

That caught Joaquín’s full attention and Sam noticed. Sam decided to play a little game with the knowledge he now has. His new child had a crush on little Stark. Oh my, how small the world is.

“Really? And what do you guys do? I’m assuming is just the two of you.” Sam told you with a cheeky sneer.

Your cheeks became flushed and that made Joaquín furrow his eyebrows, just a little.

“Well we just spend time next to one another you know? Sometimes I’ll be reading and he would be sitting next to me while he learns how to share a TikTok.” You explained with your eyes locked on your food.

Sam lifted an eyebrows and began asking more things to get a rise out of Joaquín. “How nice of him, right Joaquín?” Sam elbowed him causing him to cough.

“Oh? Yeah…”

“He doesn’t stay a lot.” You explained sensing the weird tension in the air. “He sometimes comes when I tell him I miss my father.”

The strings of Joaquín’s heart were pulled. He couldn’t imagine what you felt. From what Sam told him, it was just you and Tony Stark. He then met Pepper and became partners but for a while it was just the two of you, against everything.

He knew your father was your rock, he was all you had since your mother died while giving birth, the doctors not noticing she was having an internal bleeding causing her to slip away without too much fuss. The info being shared by Sam.

“But now, you two are here so I won’t be feeling as lonely as before.” Sam nodded as the same time Joaquín did.

After dinner Sam had to take a call from the White House, leaving you with Joaquín to wash all of the dirty dishes you used.

It was nice. Joaquín felt a cozy vibe coming from the moment, soft jazz music playing on the background, you next to him drying the plates with a cloth he would give you after he scrubbed them.

“I totally think he faked that call because he didn’t want to help wash the dishes.” You said playfully.

A laughed erupted from Joaquín’s chest and nodded. “For sure! I mean did you see the look he gave us when he stood up?”

Now it was your time to laugh. “That damn look he has! It’s like he knows something about you, isn’t it?” The both of you exploded of laughter. Making fun of Sam was one of your favorite hobbies now that he was more present in your life.

“Thank you for the compliment by the way.” He heard you say while putting the last plate on its designated place. “Yo también pienso que tienes unos ojos muy lindos.”

He almost choked when he heard those words coming past your lips.

“I didn’t know you spoke spanish.” He explained bashful.

“Tony made me learn quite a handful of languages when I was a kid.” You told him. “Spanish was my favorite by far, I think it’s a very romantic language, don’t you think?”

“It sure is.” Was all he said while turning his body to you.

The both of you didn’t notice how close your bodies were. He could feel the warmth coming from your body, that’s how close he was to you. He could see with clear perfection every lash and every beauty mark on your face. His eyes stopping their path on yours. Joaquín could see the pink glow with perfection and it felt like time stopped.

He wasn’t attracted to your eyes just because of the pink color but because he felt really seen under your gaze. It felt like you were going under every inch and corner of his mind, leaving your mark in it.

And you felt the same thing.

“I-I think it’s quite late, isn’t it?” Your voice brought him back to reality.

He stepped back, instantly missing the warmth of your body. He cleared his throat and sighed.

“Oh right.” He spoke. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

Your lips curled and nodded. “Of course.” Your voice came out almost as a whisper. “I’m off to sleep, if you need anything my room is next to yours actually.”

He bit his bottom lip and smiled. “Okay then, sleep well mini Stark.” That damned nickname Thor gave you years ago made your skin tickle. A funny feeling forming inside your chest.

Que ojos tan lindos - what beautiful eyes

Yo también pienso que tienes unos ojos muy lindos - I also think you have beautiful eyes

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #marvel x reader #marvel scenarios #joaquin torres x you #marvel x you

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sleepiexx · 7 months ago

Note

more james x reader PLSSS so good.

maybe even james x fem Slytherin reader

Concussions ‘n Confessions

James Potter x fem!Slytherin Reader

Note: no Voldemort au so you’re besties with the skittles :)

Summary: James quickly realizes his feelings for you— shortly after you’re struck directly in the head with a bludger.

Warnings: Barty beats someone up, mild swearing, corny “hurt her and you die,” line lol

Word count: 2914

Were it any other chaser from any other team, James would have been jumping for joy that a bludger he’d dodged had flew straight past him, nailing an offending chaser right in the head and leaving a rival quidditch team down one player. Hell, it was Slytherin who was down one, bloody Slytherin! But James couldn’t bring himself to be happy, not when that ‘offending chaser’ was none other than poor, sweet you.

You and James met at precisely six o’clock in the morning on the first day of your sixth year, you just tried out and made the Slytherin team after finally succumbing to years of your friends begging you to join and put your flying skills to good use. Despite your initial hesitance towards the sport, you were on the team now, and with your overachieving nature, you had no choice but to practice hard and impress at your first game.

James was on the pitch at that time because he always was. No one else came at six in the morning, so he had the entire arena to himself to practice flying and shooting the quaffle. That was, of course, until the day you came along.

He’d groaned internally when he spotted a green robe in the sky, the last thing he wanted was to have to fight with a Slytherin over the use of the quidditch pitch when all he wanted to do was practice. He mounted his broom and flew towards the figure.

“Hey!” He yelled, startling you. You turned around with a shocked face but smiled once you realized it was just another student come to practice. “How long are you planning on using the pitch?” He asked, a little off-put by the smile you still had on your face despite his red and gold garb.

“I’m planning on staying till lunch, but there’s an extra quaffle down there so we can share the pitch if you’re up for it!”

James had to physically stop his jaw from dropping. You were so nice. What about house rivalry? What happened to the sentiment that all Slytherins were evil?

Maybe you just wanted to watch him practice to steal Gryffindor strategies. Yeah, that was it. No other possible way, Slytherin found out that James Potter practices early and sent out pretty little you to gather information. They had to have known a girl with a face as sweet as yours and an attitude to match was his ultimate weakness.

Regardless, he came out here to practice. He flew down to where you had pointed, where there was, in fact, an extra quaffle. Slytherin had prepared well.

He supposed pace would need to be the main focus of his practice today, you couldn’t watch his strategies if he was moving too fast for you to see. So he whizzed around on his broomstick, shooting goal after goal, curiously looking over his shoulder every once in a while. To his surprise, your focus remained on your own goal post. He sat mesmerized, watching you rehearse.

You weren’t bad, having a talent for the sport that James could tell was natural. You were new, that was clear, not just because James hadn’t seen you on the Slytherin team before, but also because of your lack of confidence. You were hesitating, and if you could just get past that barrier, he knew you would do great.

Screw it. What’s the harm in helping your rival team? If they’re not any good then there’s no glory in beating them at all.

Before he knew it, James found himself flying towards you, stopping a short distance behind you.

“What’s your name?” He asked, half expecting you to startle, as you had before.

You turned your broom gracefully this time, “I’m y/n l/n, you?”

“James Potter. You’re new to the team?”

“You could tell?” Your shoulders sunk, a frustrated pout made its way to your lips.

James' heart dropped, he hadn’t meant to call you out, “no, no it’s not like that. It’s just, well I’m Gryffindor’s captain so I know everyone on every team and I haven’t seen you before.”

You half believed him, still feeling a little insecure but nodding regardless, “yeah, I uhm, haven’t played since I was a kid but I like flying so my friends kinda peer pressured me into joining. I’m trying really hard not to let them down.”

James scoffed, “from what I’ve seen, I doubt you could let them down. But I could give you a pointer or two if you’d like.”

“Would you?”

He nodded in response and you smiled wide.

So began James Potter’s mentorship over you. He’d helped you and even practiced alongside you most mornings. The day of your first game, James was in the stands cheering you on. He had never watched a school quidditch game from the stands, but he found himself giddy watching you absolutely destroy Ravenclaw.

For the first time in his life, he cheered for Slytherin at every game— save for his own against you. Even those, he found, were rather enjoyable because the conclusion he’d originally come to was right, having a harder opponent is much more fun. The stakes were higher and James loved a good thrill.

He loved this arrangement, and he was having so much fun playing against you. Right up until the moment he dodged that stupid bloody bludger that Avery sent hurtling towards him, the lack of interruption leaving it right in the course of your head.

The crack of the ball hitting your head followed by the thud of you falling to the ground was deafening. He sprung into action instantly, shooting towards you and assessing your injuries. You were still half conscious, blinking up at him in pain.

“James?” You asked, voice strained.

“I’m here, love, I’m here. Madam Pomfrey will be here any moment to fix you up.” He held your hand, knowing how badly your head must hurt from taking one of Avery’s notoriously hard bludgers and then free falling from high enough in the sky that muggle medicine likely couldn’t fix the damage to. The whole school was lucky they weren’t resigned to muggle medicine, for Madame Pomfrey’s skills surpassed them leaps and bounds. “Squeeze my hand.”

And you did, a weak grasp that felt so strong to you. James panicked as it loosened even more and your eyes fluttered shut. Madame Pomfrey and some other professors came around with a stretcher, taking you away and leaving James pale in the face. That was the last he had seen of you in a while.

James had tried, on numerous occasions, to visit you in the infirmary with flowers, but he soon found out that your bubbly personality had earned you many friends— many overprotective and scary friends, to specify. Each time he was met with a different one of your Slytherin friends guarding the door as though you had an army of enemies on their way to get you. More realistically, they kept the noise in the hallway down. Protecting you not from armies, but from boisterous students whose loud noise would only worsen your ongoing headaches.

Many first years found out first hand how dedicated they were to protecting the peace, being hexed green after multiple warnings to quiet down. James couldn’t blame them, of course, he would likely do the same were you his to claim, alas, he’d yet to confess his recently realized love for you.

This meant that to your friends, he was nothing more than a threat to the silence you needed. So every time he visited, he was immediately shot down and threatened until he would eventually leave.

He thought he would outsmart your friends, sneak to the infirmary well after visiting hours, hidden under his invisibility cloak. Still, your prefect friend Evan Rosier was sat up against the door, asleep but propped up in a way that anyone entering the room would have to wake him before doing so. Dejected, James turned around and marched back to his dorm room.

The next evening as Remus and Lily rested on the common room couch, quietly reading next to one another whilst Peter laid on the floor, James barged into the common room and disrupted their peace.

James’ eyes met Remus’s and he instantly set his course toward the brunette, stepping over their other friend in the process. “Where is Sirius?” He demanded.

Remus scoffed, “what, no hello? How are you?”

“Or an ‘excuse me Wormtail’?” Peter chimed in.

James shook his head, “no, there’s no time, where is Sirius?”

Remus saw no point in arguing, sighing, “I believe he’s upstairs, combing his hair 152 times on either side.”

James had darted away the moment Remus said Sirius was upstairs, missing the joke and making Remus sigh once more.

“I thought the joke was funny.” Peter comforted.

“Thanks Wormy.”

Much akin to his grand entrance in the common room, James slammed the door to their dorm open. “Padfoot!” He exclaimed.

Sirius, who was seated on the floor— in fact brushing his hair— smiled and turned to his curly headed friend, “what is it you need my dear Prongsy?”

James only met his enthusiasm with desperation. He fell to his knees and placed his palms on either of Sirius’s shoulders, “Regulus is guarding the infirmary right now, you have to convince him to let me in.”

Sirius tried to talk but James cut him off, “Please, mate, I really need to see her and this is my one chance seeing as your brother is guarding her rather than the usual blokes who don’t care at all about my rapport with y/n. We could actually convince him! And before you say no, I’m prepared to do all your charms homework for the next two weeks, just do this one thing for me please, I beg.”

Sirius cracked a grin as James shook his shoulders, “I was going to say yes from the moment you asked, but now that I know there’s charms homework involved, I’ll hold you to it.”

James matched his expression, springing to his feet, pulling Sirius with him. “Alright, I have no idea how long he’ll be the one there so we have to hurry.”

Sirius nodded and they scurried down past the common room, through the portrait hole, and down the halls towards the infirmary.

They stopped at the turn to the infirmary, peeking around the corner to scope it out. Regulus was still there, conjuring silent illusions of rabbits hopping down the hall to fight his readily apparent boredom.

Sirius turned to James, “alright, here’s what’s going to happen: I don’t know for sure if I can convince good ol’ Reggie to let you in, but I do know that I can distract him, so while I do that, you’re going to conjure up some flowers, and when the coast looks clear you are going to rush on in there and you are going to charm the socks off this girl with your devilishly good looks and amazing personality and then you will ask her to be your girlfriend like you’ve always wanted. Got that?”

James nodded solemnly, so Sirius turned and walked casually over to his little brother. The last thing James heard was a “hello sweet, sweet brother of mine” before he focused on getting himself ready.

He conjured some flowers as Sirius had suggested; daisies, he remembered to be your favorite. As the sound of Sirius and Regulus faded down the hall, James took it as his chance to make his break towards you.

Even in the dimmed infirmary, dazed and sore, in a concussed state, you still managed to make James Potter stumble. He forgot where he was and what he was doing the moment your beautiful eyes met his.

“James?” You called out, breaking the boy out of his trance.

“Oh, yes. Hi.” He smiled and waved.

You smiled back, glancing at the flowers in his hands. The action reminded him very suddenly of the task at hand. He rushed to your bedside and held them out toward you, “these are for you.”

You took them, leaning down and smelling the sweet scent. “Thank you, daisies are-”

“Your favorite,” James interjected, “I remember, I knew I couldn’t give you any less than the best since you’re in here because of me.”

You scoffed, “you didn’t put me here.”

He shook his head, “had I not dodged that bludger, you would be fine.”

“I’d say that I don’t blame you but I know you’d just think I was being nice so let me explain it like this: if anyone believed that it was your fault I got hurt, Barty would’ve beaten the shit out of you instead of Avery.”

James’ eyes widened, “that’s what happened to him? Bloody hell, I thought a stray badger had wandered into the castle and attacked him the way he looks.”

“That bad?” You asked, “I only saw Barty’s bloody knuckles from the aftermath, now I’m not so sure that was entirely his blood.”

The two of you laughed softly, smiling when you caught each other’s eyes.

“The flowers aren’t the only reason I’m in here, though.” James said, brushing some hair out of your face.

“Oh?” You prompted him to continue.

He’s clear with his words, “I’ve had this thing for you for a while now, I just haven’t known it. I suppose watching you get hurt like that made me come to that realization, and now that I know, I can’t stand the idea that you don’t know so I guess this is me confessing.”

“You’re into me?” You asked.

James nodded.

Your lips quirked up into a large grin, “holy shit, I should get hit in the head more often this is the best news,” you quietly exclaimed.

James’ expression mirrored your own, “so you feel the same?”

You nodded.

“Well, then I’d like to take you out. And to be your boyfriend, if you’d let me.”

You nodded once more, “I would.”

Everything felt right, you’d both finally aired out your feelings, and you were still all alone in the room so what else would you do but begin leaning in. Your lips nearly touched before the door to the infirmary burst open, James’ long haired friend running towards the both of you in desperation.

“Help me, you have to help me!” He called out.

You winced at the noise, turning to look at James to see if he knew what was going on, he was just as clueless. That is until one Mister Barty Crouch Junior came in, wand raised and ready for use.

“I’ll show you to distract our lookout!” He screamed, a murderous look in his eyes.

Your head throbbed.

Regulus sauntered in soon after, seemingly unbothered. You looked at him confusedly but he merely shrugged.

“Barty.” You said, trying and failing to get his attention as he continued to chase Sirius around the room, “Barty!”

He turned to you.

“Please don’t make me raise my voice again, it hurts.” You whined.

Barty’s face dropped, a guilty look overtaking him.

With that out of the way, you spoke again, “I think Sirius was just trying to help Jamie bring me some flowers.”

“Jamie?” Barty murmured, looking to Regulus to find that he was just as confused.

You wince as you hear Barty’s heavy boots stomping towards you. “Oh dear,” you mutter, “he’s, uhm-“ you try to explain, but you were cut off.

“Your boyfriend?” It’s Regulus who asks, voice impossibly quiet.

You would nod, but moving your head feels like a hazard so you psych yourself up just to say “yeah.”

Barty’s eyes burn with an anger you’ve seen before many times, of all of your overprotective friends, Barty is the worst. It couldn’t possibly help that James is a Gryffindor, not when Barty believes in house rivalry like it’s the Bible.

Barty grabs James by the collar, “I do not like this, nor do I condone it, however, y/n makes her own decisions and I cannot make them for her— regardless of whether or not they are stupid decisions. That being said, you hurt her and you will find your face in worse condition than a bloody troll, understand me?”

James nodded and Barty released his collar, straightening it up, and huffing off elsewhere, taking Regulus with him. Sirius follows suit, if only to give the two of you some much needed privacy.

“Salazar, I thought he was going to kill you,” you breathed out, finally exhaling the breath you were holding the entire time.

James chuckles, taking hold of your hand once more, “just to be clear, love, I would treat you right regardless of there being a threat in place.”

“Well that’s good to hear because you have such a handsome face, I couldn’t bear seeing it bloodied up.” You raised your hand to caress his cheek in emphasis.

An impulsive thought led you to ignore the pounding in your head that came with quick movements, taking your chance to touch your lips to his. You were glad that your friends had left, because the kiss was so nice, you didn’t want it to end. You knew their childish groans would ruin it. But with no interruption, you stayed in the moment for what felt like forever, allowing yourself to bask in the simple joy that was the captain of your rival quidditch team’s lips against your own.

#james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #james potter #marauders fic #marauders fanfiction #the marauders #marauders x reader #marauders

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slytherinsimp12 · 13 days ago

Text

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ 𝐼𝓃𝓀 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝓈𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓈 ౨ৎ˚⟡˖

Pairing: James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: You and James have been friends since first year. You both would spend majority of your time together due to quidditch practice. Somewhere along the way, you started to develop feelings for him. You would never assume he felt the same way towards you, even though he flirted with you mindlessly and came up with clever excuses to be around you, you never assumed he would like you any other way than as a friend. All that changes one night, when James finds your diary.

Warnings: Fluff and Kissing.

Author’s note: Hey lovelies, this was originally supposed to be a smutty fanfic but I decided to write the clean version first. If this does well, I’ll write the ‘spicy’ version 🤭. Comment if you want the other version and to be added to the tag list💌Happy reading <3

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with energy after a Quidditch match victory. James Potter, sweaty and exhilarated, looked more beautiful than usual. You watched him slip away from the crowd to grab a Butterbeer, joining you at the snack table.

“That was a nice save towards the end, Potter. I thought you were going to fall off your broom for a second.” You said.

“Fall off? Please, I had it completely under control. The dramatic dive was for effect. You know, to impress certain players” He smirked.

“Oh? And did it work?” You laughed.

“Depends… were you impressed?” He said, leaning in closer to you. A shiver ran down your spine, this is how James was. Friendly flirting until the other person was completely flustered. You should have gotten used to it by now, but you didn’t. You were anything but used to it.

“Maybe a little. But I was mostly impressed you didn’t hit your head again. That’d be, what, the third time this term?” You said, brushing him off.

“Ouch.” He groaned, dramatically clutching his chest.

The celebration continued till 1 am that night, at some point, you, James, Sirius, Marlene and Mary ended up in Sirius and James’ dorm.

“Right, it’s getting late. Me and Mary are gonna head back to our dorm, coming y/n?” Marlene asked.

“Yea. James, is it alright if I leave my bag here? I promise to take it first thing tomorrow.” You said, little did you know that was going to change your entire relationship with James Potter.

The next morning, you woke up with a horrible migraine. Still, holding up your promise, you made your way to James’ dorm, half asleep, to collect your things.

“James?” You called, before entering the room.

“Come in.” He said from inside.

His hair was messier than usual, his face a mix of surprise and sleep. He was sitting on a chair with his legs on the bed, holding up a diary, grinning like he had just found gold.

Oh for Merlin’s sake. Your diary. How could you be so stupid? You had totally forgotten your diary was in your bag, but you didn’t expect him to go through your things.

“What the hell, James?” You said, anger edging in your voice.

You marched over to him, trying to snatch the diary away, but he pulled it out of your reach.

“James Fleamont Potter, you give that back right now!” You screamed.

James laughed, “Relax, I only read… like, two sentences. Three tops. One might’ve mentioned someone with ‘wild hair and a hopeless ego.’ Ring any bells?” He said coyly.

A red blush crept up your face and made its way to your neck.

“You. Are. Utterly. Unbelievable.” You spat.

“Oh, come on, it’s kind of flattering. You wrote about me! That’s practically a love letter in diary terms.” He joked.

“It is not! Now give it back!” You demanded.

“Nuh uh” he teased, childishly.

“I also called you ‘a walking disaster in Quidditch robes.’ Did you read that part?” You asked, annoyed.

“I knew you noticed my robes! You do like me.” James said, gasping dramatically.

“James” you groaned, getting more and more embarrassed now.

“Hey—don’t be embarrassed. If I had a diary, you’d be in it. Probably underlined. With little stars and everything.” He joked, stepping closer.

He handed you your diary back, his fingers brushing yours just a second longer than they needed to.

“I didn’t read anything else, promise.” He said.

“Thanks…” you whispered.

There was a pause, neither of you moved. The room was quiet, except for the crackle of the fireplace. You could hear James’ heartbeat, his breath and you could feel his closeness.

“You know…. I was half- hoping it was about me, when I found it.” His voice was quieter, as he took a small step closer.

Your eyes searched his, looking for truth.

“Why?” You asked.

“Because I’ve been walking around pretending not to feel what I feel. And it’s exhausting, honestly. I’m James Potter—I’m not built for subtle.” He answered.

“That is definitely true.” You said, smiling and rolling your eyes.

“So if you’re pretending too… I don’t know. Maybe we can stop. Just for a minute.” He pleaded, taking your palms in his.

He was so close now. Close enough for you to see the freckles under his eyes, close enough for you to feel his breath on your cheeks, close enough for you to smell his scent.

His voice dropped lower, barely a breath.

“Is it so terrible? Liking me?”

“No. It’s terrifying.” You admitted.

James’ hand slips up to your cheek, his thumb brushing your jaw, you lean into him instinctively. He closed the space between the two of you, placing a warm kiss on your lips. It was soft, but a little hesitant at first, like the both of you were trying to memorise this feeling. His lips move against yours gently, like a question being answered with every second you didn’t pull away.

You break apart, just barely, your foreheads rest together, and he’s smiling like he’s completely undone.

“Took you long enough.” You smiled, breathless.

“Oi—I was being respectful. Chivalrous. Noble Gryffindor and all that.” He countered.

“You read my diary, James.” You defended.

“And I’d do it again if it brought me here.” He grinned, wrapping his arms around you.

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wisteria-lodge · 10 months ago

Note

If you're comfortable answering, how do you think JKR intended Draco to come across, and how did he actually come across in your mind?

I think Draco was intended to come off as a weak and kind of pathetic bully. The Dudley Dursley of the Wizarding World.

That’s how we’re introduced to him: “Harry was strongly reminded of Dudley.” Almost he first thing we hear Draco say is the very Dudley-ish - “I'm going to drag [my parents] off to look at racing brooms... I think I'll bully Father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow." Later books re-contextualize this as a brag - he is not actually able to bully his father into buying him presents, and instead of Dudley's tantrums Draco likes to embellish things in order to seem more impressive and get the result he wants. But initially, I think Draco = Dudley. They both dislike people who are different, dislike Harry for being more special (and because they’ve been given tacit permission to bully him...)They’re spoiled by their parents. They’re even both platinum blonde.

JKR loves the idea of an antagonist who realizes that they were wrong and *you were right* a little too late, and then has no choice but to punish themselves. (Basically the entire deal with Snape.) So - Draco and Dudley get some of that treatment too. After Dudley meets the dementor he breaks down, has a moment where he leaves Harry a cup of tea, and another where he says “I don’t think you’re a waste of space.” BUT Dudley’s initial breakdown is framed as pathetic (even a touch comedic.)The tea he leaves outside Harry’s door has gone cold, and when Harry steps in it he initially thinks it’s a dumb prank. Dudley says “I don’t think you’re a waste of space” only in response to a comment Harry makes. Hestia Jones is super unimpressed, and thinks Dudley should be doing more.

Like, JKR is aware that it’s not *completely* Dudley‘s fault he’s like that. Dumbledore comments on the “appalling damage [Vernon and Petunia] have inflicted on the unfortunate boy sitting between you.” But the damage is still done, and Dudley is meant to be seen as a figure of pity. All this is supposed to read as ‘too little, too late.’ If Dudley were less of a coward, a stronger person, a better person, he would’ve brought Harry the tea directly.

Now let’s look at Draco, who is given some *very* similar beats. We see him crying in the bathroom, comforted by Myrtle (a comedic character) very similarly to how Dudley basically goes into shock after the dementor. Draco and Dudley are both framed as weak, but able to see the error of their ways, and their breakdowns set up an important plot/character moment for Harry.

Draco’s little “I can’t— I can’t be sure,” when he’s asked to identify Harry at Malfoy Manor is another beat of ‘too little, too late.’ Harry takes Draco’s wand a few minutes later (absolutely castration imagery - just look at how the text treats Lucius losing his wand) and then Dobby shows up to low-key shame Draco by doing the job that he [narratively] was supposed to have done: rescuing Harry and friends, probably dying in the process. I do think that’s how we’re supposed to read that scene. And then Harry gets these very similar selfless beats of saving Dudley (from dementors) and saving Draco (from fiendfyre.) That’s why JKR is so baffled when people like Draco, think he’s attractive, or ship him with Hermione. It’d be like shipping her with Dudley, it doesn’t make sense.

But a couple things went “wrong” when Draco was released into the world. For one thing, I think a lot of people saw his more indirect underhanded approach (he likes rumors, smear campaigns, blackmail, poison, sneaky back entrances, tricking/provoking Harry into breaking rules) as evidence that he's clever, and not that he’s a cowardly, spineless little weasel.

Then because JKR is committed to making Draco look ineffectual and comedic, she also makes him… not that bad? Most of his bad behavior goes down between books 1 and 3, and I’m sorry - when you’re 12 your politics are your parents' politics. You are not not responsible for that. By the end of the series Draco’s politics *have* changed, pretty drastically, and they changed under challenging circumstances.

I also think JKR accidentally gave him a better relationship with his father than she meant to? Jason Isaacs plays Lucius Malfoy as cold, I could see him being a *bit* of a bully when it comes to Draco - but in the book, they go on outings, Draco complains to his father, Lucius is patient with him, gives him advice, sets boundaries, sends him little newspaper clippings in the mail. Lucius and Narcissa are running around without wands during the Battle of Hogwarts looking for him, and it’s supposed to be like “here are the Malfoys defanged.” But it's just a sweet moment. And if you’re positioning Draco as a romantic lead, then yeah I’d say that “good relationship with his parents” is an attractive trait.

The movie also did Draco Malfoy a HUGE favor by saying that yes, he absolutely does have the Dark Mark. That is never confirmed in the book. You can make the case that he doesn’t have it, and he’s doing what he does and embellishing the truth to seem more impressive. Hermione doesn’t think he has it. Ron says “I still don’t reckon You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join.” If he doesn’t have the Dark Mark, Draco gets to stay a semi-pathetic minor villain. But the second he does have it… well now you have someone who was given this tattoo/brand thing the *moment* he turned 16 (Draco has a June birthday) and now is 100% stuck. He is on a magical leash to Voldemort. He can’t run, can’t hide. All he can do is ride out this thing as best he can, and hope it doesn’t kill him or his parents. That’s a much more sympathetic character.

And my last thing, about the moment where he lies for Harry in Malfoy Manor (movies frame it as 100% a lie, books keep it more ambiguous)... is I don’t think J. K. Rowling realizes that Draco is the first person in the entire 7th book who helps Harry, at all. Molly Weasley is actively sabotaging the Golden Trio's planning by splitting them up and making them do wedding chores. Xenophilius Lovegood betrays them, Bathilda Bagshot betrays them, Rufus Scrimgeor is no help, Remus Lupin needs *their* help, Dumbledore gave them a series of maddening riddles. Snape gives them a weird puzzle to solve (also he’s very much acting under Dumbledore’s orders…) So when Draco DOES put himself on the line to buy them a few minutes, it makes for a pretty striking moment. He also keeps to this lie even when Lucius tells him not to, he lies to Bellatrix, he is almost certainly going to have to repeat this lie to Voldemort, who can read minds…

So I think most fans look at Draco and see someone who is arrogant, a little bit of a shit, but is also sensitive, clever, emotional, nonviolent. (He’s definitely got a little bit of boy band non-threatening sexuality going on.) Draco will go out on a limb for the people he loves, and he comes through when it counts. There’s a survivor-mentality practicality to him, which is especially appealing in a series where so many characters are so willing to martyr themselves.

#draco malfoy #hp #draco malfoy meta #dudley dursley #framing #literary critisism #jkr critical #anti jkr #writing stuff

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sodamnradd · 4 months ago

Text

“You’ve been ignoring me,” said Malfoy, sidling up next to Hermione in the library.

Her hand froze on the spine of a book. “What?” She glanced at his hurt face, baffled.

“After we… you know.”

“What are you on about?”

“The party on Friday night,” he said, growing irritated. “You came back to my room.”

“Nobody’s around to laugh at your jokes,” she snapped, certain he was messing with her. “Go away.”

He staggered back as if something dreadful had occurred to him. Then cleared his throat and left without a word.

Later that afternoon, Hermione found Ginny in the common room. “Did you go to that party on Friday? With all the Slytherins.”

“It wasn’t just the Slytherins.” She grinned. “But yeah. I told you to come.”

“What did you get up to?”

“Nothing too wild. Some drinking games. Harry and I ducked out early, but I heard some people were messing around with party potions.”

The next morning, Hermione sat with Luna in History class. “You were at the party on Friday?”

“It was fun,” replied Luna.

“I heard some people were taking…” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “…special potions.”

Luna’s eyes twinkled. “Fantasy Elixir.”

“What’s that?”

“It makes your wildest fantasies come true.”

Hermione’s eyes veered towards Malfoy sitting alone several rows to her right. “Was it consensual?”

“I think Pansy spiked the punch,” said Luna, unbothered.

“So some people didn’t know their… fantasies… never happened?”

“I suppose it’s possible. Depending on how wild the fantasy might have been. I skinny-dipped in the moon’s craters.”

Hermione stopped Malfoy outside class.

He gave her an impatient look. “What?”

“About Friday…” She began, and his stare grew suspicious. “What did we do exactly?”

“I wasn’t in my right mind.” He tried walking around her, but she followed, blocking his path.

“I kissed you, didn’t I?” she said.

Confusion flickered in his eyes. He glanced at the buttons of her shirt.

She touched them. “And you took this off?”

“No,” he replied, watching her undo the top button. “You did. Just like that.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She dropped her hand. “And you… touched me.”

He leaned down, whispering into her ear, “I spread your legs and tasted your sweet little—”

She gasped. He grinned, and she saw a devilish look in his eye. “Or maybe that never happened,” he mused. “Tell me, Granger, would you let me do that?” When she didn’t answer, he stepped even closer. His breath warm on her cheek. “Would you like it?”

She stormed away, hot and frazzled, as his laughter echoed down the corridor. Prick.

Finally, Hermione went straight to the source. “Were you drugging people at Friday’s party?”

Pansy sat on the ledge of a stone fence; her bag leaned upon a gargoyle. “Of course not.”

“Malfoy told me about it.”

Pansy pursed her lips. “It was harmless.”

“It was completely inappropriate. He saw me naked—”

She burst into laughter. “What?”

“He said…” She flushed, mortified to repeat what he said. “That we did some… vulgar things.”

Pansy’s eyes glittered. She raised her voice, gaze falling upon an object behind Hermione. “Sure. If taking you on some corny ride on his broom and kissing you beneath the stars is vulgar. Remind me, Draco, did you also profess your love?”

Hermione whirled around to find Malfoy standing behind her, hands white knuckling his broom. He was redder than she’d ever seen him, eyes shooting daggers in Pansy’s direction. His gaze shifted to Hermione. She watched his throat move as he swallowed. “No.”

Pansy hopped down from the fence and grabbed her bag. “Well then, here’s your chance.” She skirted around them, pinching Draco’s arm with a wicked smile on her face. “You’re not hallucinating this time. I promise.”

(630 words, cross-posted from bsky)

#dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #dhr #dramione drabble #sodamnrad #sodamnraddrabbles

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igotanidea · 6 months ago

Text

Superstition: Jason Todd x witch!reader

requested by anon because it's October!

***

For some reason, the world is always in danger on Tuesdays.

And the newest threat to the existence of the people involved a group of superheroes and vigilantes and even anti-heroes gathering together to discuss the best way to tackle it.

Familiar faces and new ones, arrived at one deeply hidden lair (not really), not causing any reasons for suspicions (again – not really).

Who would pay attention to various, spandex-clad people, climbing to one apartment in the suburbs through the doors and windows, from the ground, air and water, right? It was freaking Gotham after all, weirdest things have happened.

And she was definitely someone new.

He didn’t pay much attention to that girl.

But somehow he noticed how she stood in the back of the room, watching everyone instead of joining in the conversation. How she mostly stayed quiet while the gathered was discussing plans and methods to defeat the newest opponent, only now and then throwing some well-pointed argument.

She was weird with that watchful eyes, focused face, specific kind of humor, wearing unusual clothes, speaking in a manner that indicated she knew something no one else did.

And that smell, he couldn’t quite decipher.

What was it?

Sage? Lavender? Rosemary?

Who, out of normal people, smells like kitchen seasoning?!

But –

Out of it all, she was at least useful. Or so it seemed, otherwise Dick would not bring her out to this meeting in the first place.

And hell, he wouldn’t let her know everyone’s identities.

Well – not everyone. Jason was pretty stubborn with keeping his signature helmet on. He was not risking a stranger to know too much about him. Always the one to keep his cards close to his chest.

“Who is she?” he muttered to Dick, his voice distorted by the metal

“Her name is-“

“I don’t care about her name. What is she?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t make that face on me, Dickhead. You have aliens friends, robotic friends and turning-into-an-animal friends. What is she?”

“Oh, that!” Dick laughed, but then turned serious “I am not telling you that.”

Jason rolled his eyes. This was obviously a bait, and he was not some silly fish to rise to it.

“Fine. Don’t tell me.”

“You will have to- wait, what? You don’t want me tell you?” Dick’s face dropped a little

“Nope.”

“But-“

“I said nope.”

“Come on, Jas-“

“Don’t use my real name, idiot!”

“But I want to tell you!”

“A second ago you claimed that-“

“You are no fun.” Dick pouted like a five year old, crossed arms over his chest and after a moment of zero reaction from his brother walked away, probably to share how unfairly he had been treated.

***

She was a witch.

A freaking witch.

Without hair in her ears, warts, boils and hooked nose.

A witch!

Where was her cat? Her broom? Her – whatever else was a signature for that type of supernatural being.

“You might want to take it a little easier on me, you know?”

“Huh!?” Jason spun around only to notice she was now standing behind him with a soft face expression. “What are you-?”

“Oh, don’t you know that witch can read minds?”

“What now?” he blushed under the helmet on being called out on that, but obviously did not let it show. “Who gave you the permission to invade my head, witch!?” The last word was almost spitted with anger and venom dripping from the voice, followed by crossing arms that was supposed to be intimidating. However, much to his surprise she only chuckled. “Are you laughing at me now?!”

“Yes.”

“Careful there, harpy.” The second that word left his mouth he regretted it. First, she did not deserve to be judged so superficially and Jason should know better how painful it can be. Second, it showed that he was getting agitated and that was not the point. Third, fourth and fifth – she could drop him dead on the spot with her dark magic powers.

“Careful there, tin-head.”

Oh wow. She was mean.

“Or what?” he challenged

“Or I threw a curse at you.”

“And what?”

“Don’t test me.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh I bet, you’d be so happy, being able to boost to everyone who’d love to listen that you battled a witch that’s half your size, huh?”

“You don’t know me.” He scoffed, feeling a little offended and hurt.

“Well you don’t know me.”

Shit.

“What’s that scent you smell of?”

“Excuse me?!”

Idiot. At this point he felt like facepalming. So stupid trying to rectify the situation while simultaneously not wanting to say anything that would even resemble apology.

“The- ”

“It’s thyme. And verbena.”

“Why-?”

“It’s supposed to bring out luck and peace . And thyme brings out mental powers.”

“Hence the mind reading?”

“Oh, I was kidding about that. I cannot truly read minds. You were muttering to yourself and since I was standing close there was no way for me to not overhear.”

“So you are not-“

“A I’m -going-to-curse-you-with-pain-in-the-ass witch? No. I’m a little bit more reserved when it comes to that, but don’t tell anyone. I would be casted away from the clan.”

Despite himself he chuckled.

“So, what other discrepancies are there between you and the myths about the witch.”

“I’m not giving such secrets to just anyone, Hood.”

“I can respect that. Got my boundaries too.”

“Hence the helmet still on your face?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“I can respect that.” She nodded, “The world can be awful when it comes to quick and superficial conclusions, right?”

His head snapped her direction. How come she was speaking freely all those words he was holding deep inside his heart. Why did it feel like she actually meant everything said and didn’t just throw around empty platitudes?

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, you look at me like I’ve just murdered a cat for a dark ritual.”

“You can’t see my face. And I don’t like cats.”

“Sure not. Cause you are a dog person, right?”

“You’re being annoying.”

“And you’re being dramatic.”

God, he was hating her already.

***

Two weeks later, he was sitting in her apartment, helmet off, with her black cat on his lap, caressing the soft fur, observing carefully how Y/N was getting ready for the Valpurga Night, taking the weirdest clothes existing from the wardrobe. Judging by the style she had either robbed a homeless man or a prank store.

“Seriously this is how you guys are dressing?” he pointed out at the black robe and a pointy hat.

“What? No! Of course not, are you crazy? This is my Halloween costume. No respectable witch will ever wear a hat like this. God, last time the chairwoman of the assembly had a channel costume and three sets of pearls. Show off she was…”

Jason laughed despite himself.

“You’ve got a Halloween costume six months in advance?”

“Stop laughing or I’ll-“

“Curse me, yeah, yeah, I know the drill.” He raised hands in surrender, causing the cat to meow desperately, demanding more touches. “See, your cat likes me, why can’t you?”

“That cat happened to swallow too much catnip when I was preparing my potions earlier today. He’s not a credible judge at the moment.”

“I’d rather take his judgment over yours.”

Y/N flicked her wrist and the blanket on the bed wrapped over Jason turning him into a giant burrito.

“Seriously, this is the best you can do? Claiming to be powerful and –“

A second later he was levitating by the ceiling, heads down, not liking it at all.

***

One month later he found himself having a panic attack during the night. All the memories from the pit, the pain, the hurt, the trauma came back flooding him like a freaking tsunami.

The last thing he wanted was seeing and hearing things that did not exist.

A lunatic that was what he was.

And there was only one person he knew who was familiar with supernatural things and knew how to play with minds and reality with her skills.

“Y/N.” he stuttered to the phone, her name the only lifeline connecting him with the remnants of crumbling reality.

“I’m on my way.”

Of course she already knew what was happening.

Of course she was already coming to him, to save him from himself.

Ten minutes later, the window creaked and she just flew inside effortlessly, discarding her cloak on the floor and rushing to his side.

“The doors are out there, you weirdo” he stuttered, hating that she saw him in this vulnerable state. “You had to make a show, didn't you?”

“Though it could lift your spirits.” She muttered, without a hint of tease in her voice “and speaking of spirits, can I?” her hands lingered around his head.

“Please…”

Softly and slowly, she placed both palms on his temples, whispering something that might have been a spell, incantation or that curse she was threatening him with since the moment they met.

Regardless of what she chose to place on him, it seemed to work. The fog on his brain slowly dispersed and he almost felt the fear and anxiety floating away.

At least she was useful.

“What- what did you-?”

“hush. Quiet. Here, take that” she handed him a little vial.

“what’s that?”

“A poison. What do you think, jar-head? It; a potion. It will strengthen you.”

“I don’t need strengthening-“

“Just take it.” Her smaller hands wrapped around his, forcing him to keep the bottle. “Please.” For a moment their gazes met and the time seemed to stop. “I can’t risk having you waking me up in the middle of the night again, right?”

“Waking you? Thought you were out casting spells and running naked over the meadow?”

“Not really. It's the incoming moon phase. It’s the time for white magic, and we both know I’m a dark witch right?”

They both chuckled softly. She was as dark as Jason was lenient towards criminals.

“Stay?” he asked softly

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

***

He didn’t plan it.

Definitely not, but how was he supposed to help being drawn towards that weirdo that seemed to shake up his world? How could he resist the pull towards the otherworldly and the only person that seemed to understand him completely?

The first time she saw him use the all caste he almost noticed the admiration in her eyes.

The first time he observed her actually casting curses and using her powers he felt like he could jump into fire for her.

And it was not because of a spell.

He was –

Oh boy….

A vigilante and a witch.

A walking zombie and a mistress of spirits and supernatural.

What could possibly go wrong?

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x y/n #jason todd fluff #red hood fluff

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lov3notts · 18 days ago

Note

Random thought I had for Boyfriend’s Enemy!Theo

Imagine going to a quidditch game, Hufflepuff vs Slytherin to support Cedric but you can’t stop staring at Theo the entire game, like your eyes always end up following his figure instead of your boyfriend’s… THE TENSION🙂‍↕️

Oh my god YES. imagine you're in the stands, all dressed in yellow and black for your golden boy Cedric, but your eyes keep slipping to Theo.

Bf's Enemy!Theo; ;more

Your voice joined the cheers when the players took off. You clapped, you smiled, you did all the right things. But your eyes…

Your eyes drifted. They didn’t mean to—not at first. But the second you saw Theo on his broom, hair tousled, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, jaw set in that effortless, bored concentration—your heart did something stupid

Slytherin green was supposed to be the color of the enemy today. You were supposed to glare. Boo. Maybe even shout a few friendly insults. But your gaze kept hooking on Theo’s lean figure like a thread pulled too tight.

And when he flew close—close enough that you could feel the air rush past, close enough to see the slight furrow of his brow—you felt his eyes flick to the crowd. And land directly on you. Just for a heartbeat. But long enough. You didn't look away. Not fast enough.

And the smirk that curled across his lips? Slow. Purposeful. Infuriating. because he knew he had you wrapped around his finger.

#bf’s enemy!theo #theodore nott #theo nott #slytherin boys #ᯓᡣ𐭩queue post #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #theosang3ls #theodore nott drabble #theo nott au #theo nott x you #theo nott x fem!reader #theodore nott au #theodore nott oneshot #theodore nott x fem!reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott imagine

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1800bitchcraft · 26 days ago

Note

If you ever feel up to it, you should write a little ticket with Ford going crazy feral facefucking the reader. Bonus points if he’s in college. Bonus points if it’s his first time getting a blow job.

A/N: This is so fun, I love it! Trying to get back into the swing of things with writing smut, too, and this felt like the perfect way to do it since I could probably get this one banged out pretty quickly, heh. Hope you like it my dear!

CW: blowjobs, first time, bimbo!reader, college!Ford, reader is the aggressor, Ford goes feral, face fucking, think that's it?

!!! MDNI OR ILL GET THE BROOM !!!

Smut below the cut!

Ford's head was pounding.

The house thudded with the music thrumming through its walls, the sounds of a million different conversations overlapping in a raucous cacophony that was sure to give Ford a migraine if the jungle juice in his hand didn't. Fiddleford had abandoned him ages ago, his more social counterpart being dragged away by the first pretty thing that caught his attention. He wasn't envious, no, but he was definitely more than a little put off. After all, it had been his idea to drag Ford out in the first place.

Well, he supposed that wasn't entirely true.

Truthfully, the invitation had come from the unlikliest of places: you. The pretty botany major in his econ class. He'd noticed you immediately the first day of class, how could he not? Always dressed like you were darting off to a photoshoot as soon as classes ended. Heels always at least 5 inches tall, setting you towering over half the people in your class. Curves like a coke bottle, clad in the perfect shades to match your skin tone and long, bouncy curls. Always wearing the shortest skirts or tightest pants Ford had ever seen. He wasn't the only one who noticed, of course. Wherever you went, there seemed to be a small flock of men and women alike, hanging onto your every word that fell from your glossed lips. Long lashes batting as you simpered and all around you, hearts were thudding out of their chests, Ford's included.

Honestly, you were lightyears out of Ford's league, and he knew you wouldn't have the slightest clue who he was. Or, at least, he thought he knew. When he ran into you a few weeks prior, he was surprised to see you stacking books on the back shelves in the library. He was even more surprised when he ran into you, scattering the books in your arms over the floor, and when he knelt down to help gather them, stuttering and stammering apologies, you had only laughed. A bright, warm sound like liquid sunshine and placed one perfectly manicured, soft hand on his arm.

"Don't worry about it, Stanford. Accidents happen," you shrugged lightly at him. Ford could only blink at you, mouth opening and closing dumbly for a few seconds before he found his voice.

"You- you know my name?" You'd laughed again, eyes crinkling in the corners as you smiled.

"Hard not to know the name of the pride and joy of BMU," you teased. Though, unlike when he was usually teased, your voice was warm, and your expression was inviting. Like he was in on the joke with you, instead of just being the butt of it. "Besides, it doesn't hurt that you're real easy on the eyes, too." You winked at him, and he flushed, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish expression.

"Ah- ha," he huffed out a nervous laugh and helped you stack the books back on the cart you were using. You stood close, too close. Enough so that he could smell the warm vanilla and brown sugar of your perfume. You flicked a wayward curl from your face, leaning even closer and looking up at him with a mischievous little smile, a glint in your eyes that made nerves flutter in his belly.

"Hm, looks like I was right," you hummed softly, almost to yourself. He cocked his head to the side, brows furrowed in confusion.

"Right about what?" He asked.

"That you're even cuter up close, especially when you blush," you cooed back, not missing a beat. Ford swallowed, his heart and stomach doing flips. You leaned up, tapping the tip of one manicured finger on his nose and giggled, leaning back down to your shorter height. A quick glance down confirmed you were wearing flats, a rarity for you.

"Gosh, you're so tense. D'you ever relax?" You mused, gently leaning against the shelf behind you as your eyes scanned him. He tugged at the collar of his sweater, suddenly feeling far too warm as his eyes darted around nervously.

"W-Well, I guess that depends. I think I do, but my roommate would probably disagree." He chuckled nervously, and you laughed, that mischievous look returning to your face.

"Hmmm.." You hummed thoughtfully, tapping your finger against your chin. Ford squirmed a little under your scrutiny. "How d'you feel about parties, Stanford?"

"Um, just- just Ford is fine. And, uh, I'm not sure. I haven't, um, been to many before. Or any, really." He gave and awkward chuckle then and you gasped excitedly. Eyes lighting up, you turned to rifled in your purse, which had been sitting on one of the lower shelves of the cart. Your skirt rode up and Ford just barely caught the flash of your pink silk covered cunt before he was roving his gaze up to the ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut and frantically trying to banish the image from his mind.

"Oh my gosh, that settles it! One of the guys in my chem class invited me to this party - total frat guy, I'm so not interested - and I wasn't even gonna go but," the sound of tearing paper hit his ears and he opened his eyes again, looking down to see you tearing a piece of paper from the notepad and turning back to face him. "You seem like you could use the opportunity to relax, and I'll definitely go and have a much better time if you're there." You held out the paper to him, eyes wide and hopeful.

"Ah, I don't know," he started slowly, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing away. When he looked back at you, you had visibly deflated. There was a slight puppy-ish quality to your gaze now, and a pout marred your pink glossed lips. You batted your lashes at him and Ford could feel himself beginning to cave when you parted your lips and spoke.

"Please?" That was all it took. Just that one, simple word, simpered out in the most pleading voice you could conjure and he was caving. Blushing and reaching out to take the paper from your grip.

"Yeah, okay," he muttered, and you perked up immediately. He had barely any time to react before you threw your arms around his neck. Hugging him tightly, breasts pressing into his chest from the confines of your too tight top. You were gone as quickly as you came, waving goodbye and telling him you'd see him then and wheeling your cart off to a different section of the library. Leaving Ford standing there, very confused, and only mildly aroused.

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"There you are!" The familiar sound of your perky voice floated to his ears. He turned his head, spotting you in the doorway to the kitchen, and you tottered over to him somewhat unsteadily in your 5-inch pink heels.

"Whoa!" Ford exclaimed as you all but fell into him. Your drink, which was half gone at this point, sloshed up over the sides of your cup. He took it from your hand, setting it aside on an end table. "I think maybe you've had enough," he chuckled and you giggled back at him.

"I swear I'm not drunk!" You laughed, and he smirked. "M'jus' a lil' tipsy! I was startin' t'think you left me here all by myself!" You pouted at the thought, and he laughed again, shoulders shaking.

"Perish the thought," he teased, and you gasped in mock outrage, slapping his chest lightly. You seemed like you might've been about to say something more before your gaze drifted to where your hand rested on his chest. He blushed as you brought your other hand up to join, feeling the muscle beneath the shirt he wore, hidden by his burly frame.

"Oh," you breathed, and it was so soft he might not have heard it if he wasn't already so close to you. "You're- wow, I didn't expect that. Gosh, is it hot in here?" You quickly changed the subject, snatching one hand away and using it to fan yourself, though he noticed you kept one still on his chest. He cleared his throat, blushing so hard now he was sure you'd be able to see it, even in the lowlight of the crowded room.

"Ah, yeah. Ahem! S'a little warm," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck and deliberately not looking at you. It was because of this that he didn't notice your eyes roaming over him or the way you bit your lower lip slightly. Suddenly, he felt the warmth of your hand in his, tangling your fingers together, and you were marching off determinedly, tugging him insistently behind you. Even though he was bigger than you and could've easily shaken you off, the thought didn't cross his mind for a second. Not even when you pulled him up the stairs, hunting through the doors that lined the upstairs hallway until you found an open one, peeking inside to see it was empty and pulling him in behind you. You bumped it closed with your hip, and suddenly, the noise outside was muted. Seeming softer and far away. Ford's heart started to pound in his chest. You turned to him, back pressed against the door and looked at him through your lashes.

"Sorry about that," you murmured, not seeming sorry in the slightest. "There were too many people around, I just... wanted to be alone with you," you admitted and shrugged one shoulder as if that wasn't an earth shattering revelation.

"Me?" He repeated. "Why me?" Your brow furrowed adorably, plump lips twisting in a firm pout.

"Why?" You parroted back, sounding perplexed and almost... irritated that he would ask. He nodded slowly, sheepishly, feeling as if he'd done something wrong and praying he hadn't. "You can't be serious, Ford, I mean- look at you!" You gestured to him as if that would answer everything, and Ford's brow merely furrowed, confusion marring his features.

"I'm... not following," he admitted softly. You stared at each other then, staying like that for a few moments before you huffed a laugh.

"Oh gosh, you really don't know, do you?" You murmured, and he swallowed thickly. Your indignant pout had been replaced by a sultry smirk, eyes still glassy with alcohol but you weren't out of it by any means. You al but prowled towards him, and, instinctively, Ford walked back until his knees hit the bed. "Well, let me teach you something, yeah?" You murmured, planting your hands on his chest. You stared up at him, not moving or speaking, and belatedly, Ford realized you were waiting for him. He swallowed and nodded. When you merely raised a brow, he cleared his throat, lips parting.

"Yes, please," he said finally, all but begging. You smirked, triumphant, and then pushed at his chest. Ford went willingly, falling back onto the bed with a soft oof. He had no time to react, however, because you were quickly crawling into his lap. Tugging your tight skirt up until it bunched around your hips, not wanting it to tear as you straddled thick, burly thighs. You draped your arms over his shoulders, leaning in so close your lips were just a hair away from each other.

"Don't be shy," you cooed. "I want you to touch me." As if to emphasize your point, you grabbed his hands and brought them up to rest on your thighs. He hesitated a moment, then slowly slid them up and around, grabbing handfuls of the heart-shaped curve of your ass like he'd been dreaming of since you'd bent over in front of him in the library. He was rewarded with your soft, pretty moan, and Ford wished he could live in that sound.

"Stanford?" You murmured then, snapping his attention back to you but you were staring, instead, at his parted lips.

"Yes?" He answered, tongue darting out to swipe across them. Your eyes tracked the movement. He shivered as he felt your nails glide gently over his skin, stroking through the hair at the base of his neck.

"Have you ever," you paused for a moment. "Kissed someone?" He swallowed thickly, mouth going dry.

"No," he answered after a moment. You hummed thoughtfully, and he could feel your finger tracing idle patterns across the back of his neck.

"Do you want to?" You murmured finally, somehow drifting even closer without kissing him just yet. He couldn't hold back the groan that rumbled in his chest, hands squeezing at your ass.

"God, yes," he groaned, and you giggled softly. Suddenly, he was kissing you. Your soft lips pressed to his, slightly sticky still with the remnants of your lip gloss. He followed your lead, sinking into the feel of you pressed against him. The way you curled your fingers around the back of his neck and held him there, like you were scared he might pull away. He wanted to tell you there was no way in hell he would, but that would've required him to stop. So, instead, he simply settled for tugging you closer. Your hips fitting against his as you settled your cunt over his rapidly hardening erection.

You broke away then, unable to help it as a soft, panting moan ripped itself from your lips. Watching you closely, Ford's hands moved to grip the fat of your hips, tugging gently at them until you were rocking yourself along his cock. Your nails dug into his skin slightly, and he hissed, the soft, biting pain making his cock twitch against you. He kept rocking your hips into his, unwilling to relinquish the sound of your soft, panting breaths until the urge to kiss you grew to be too much again. He surged forward, settling his mouth over yours and dipping his tongue to coax yours into a wet glide. The kiss turned messy, and that only seemed to spur you on more. You could feel him under you, the shape of his cock where it was tugged against your damp panties making you shiver. You wanted, no, needed to see him. Now.

Ford only had a moment to mourn the loss of your weight in his lap before you were sliding down to your knees on the floor. He blinked down at you, dazed, pink smears of your lipgloss across his mouth. Your hands touched his knees, applying just a little bit of pressure to have them spreading wide. Giving you ample room to crawl just that little bit forward. Your eyes practically glittered with your excitement, fingers creeping towards the button of his pants before Ford was stopping you with a hand over yours.

"What-" his voice was hoarse. He swallowed. Jaw clenching, throat working. Then tried again. "What are you doing?" You looked up at him then, the picture of innocence as you batted your lashes at him. The sight of you there, perched on your knees between his legs, was anything but.

"I wanna see you," you said softly, as if it were that simple. Ford swallowed again, cheeks heating up.

"You- you don't have to-"

"Tch." You scoffed. Rolled your eyes and looked back at him with a devious little smirk. "I know that, silly," you murmured. Slowly, almost like an afterthought, you let one pink polished finger slide down his zipper. Just tracing its path between his legs. Ford inhaled sharply through his nose. "But I want to." Again, your lashes fluttered so sweetly. Your finger veered left, and suddenly, you were tracing over the ridge of him where he sat achingly hard in his pants. Ford watched your eyes dart downwards to where your finger lay. Watched your pupils dilate, your pretty plump lips fall open as your breath hitched. He could feel himself twitch under your scrutiny, and if the soft, barely there whimper you let out was anything to go by, you saw it too. Ford inhaled, tried to gather himself before speaking.

"I- it's not that I don't want to, it's just- I've never, um," he cleared his throat nervously. His hands fell to grip at his pant legs over his knees, bunching the fabric. You saw the struggle he was clearly having, and your heart ached. You figured he wasn't used to being pursued, but seeing how he acted now, you realized it had to run much, much deeper than that.

"Stanford?" You intoned softly. Reaching out to grab one of his hands and hold it to your cheek. When you had his attention again, you turned and pressed a kiss to his palm. "Wanna know a secret?" Ford raised a brow and nodded. Grinning, you let your hands rest on his knees again, sliding up and to the side so your fingers glided up his inner thighs. Ford cradled your cheek in his hand still, feeling it tethered him even as the sensation of your wicked fingers gliding dangerously towards his cock unmoored him. "I've wanted to get on my knees for you ever since classes started," you said finally, voice lowered almost conspiratorially. You chose that moment to glide your hand up so that your palm rolled over the head of his cock, a delicious friction and slide that had his head dropping back.

"Fuuuuuck," he huffed, unable to keep himself quiet for much longer. The noise you let out was needy, and he tipped his head forward to look at you again. Your eyes shone in the lowlight, a soft, pleading pout on your lips.

"God, y'sound so pretty. I can make it better, y’know, I want to. Please, Stanford? M'dyin' for it," you shifted, and it was a moment before he realized you were clenching your thighs together. The realization made him groan, and he shifted the hand on your cheek to stroke his thumb along your bottom lip.

"Yes, fuck, yes please," he said finally. Eagerly, you popped the button and zipper of his pants, tugging them down just far enough so that you could pull him free from his boxers.

"God, you really are a slut," he mumbled, though there was no heat or bite to his words. Nothing but warmth and fondness. You hummed softly in agreement, lips parting over just the tip of his thumb, tongue flicking over it curiously. Your fingers crept back up towards the button and zipper of his pants, eyes looking to him questioningly. Ford sighed, slipping his thumb free of your mouth as he slid his fingers back into your hair.

Oh. Oh, God.

You were staring. You knew you were, but you couldn't help it. You figured he was probably packing, most quiet guys were, but this? This was.. ridiculous.

He had to be at least 8.5 inches, maybe 9, and curved to the right in a way that you knew would have his pretty pink tip skating over all your sweetspots. He was thick, too. Your fingertips just barely touched as you wrapped your hand around him. He was cut, which gave you ample opportunity to ogle every inch of him and boy, did you. Ford had opened his mouth to say something, maybe gently chide you for staring, when all that came out was a strangled groan as you chose that moment to lean forward and slide the flat of your tongue over his slit, curling it slight so the tip dug into and slid over the sensitive divot that ran through his head and to his tip.

"Ohhh-" he huffed, falling to rest back on his forearms. His hand left your hair, and you barely noticed, preoccupied as you were with your new favorite activity. It wasn't gone for long, anyway. As your lips slid over the head of his cock, tongue sliding down and coating him in a thin sheen of saliva and oh, fuck, did you have a tongue piercing? His hand flew back to your head, fingers sliding and tangling into your curls. The slight pain as he tugged on them only made you wetter, and you moaned around his cock.

You sucked him off with a will and a passion, messy, sloppy slurping noises blanketing the room, interspersed with Ford's moans and grunts. His thigh twitched under your hand as you slid your fingers up, fondling his balls and stroking gently over that sensitive patch of skin just behind them in a way that had Ford jerking in your hold. His cock twitched, another messy spurt of precum lathering your taste buds as you moaned, sucking him down happily. His hand in your hair tightened, and he barely registered the force he used to push your head down, hips bucking. He shouted a moan, throwing a hand over his mouth to muffle himself, when he felt his cock slid down your throat.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck I'm- shit, m'sorry couldn't help it you feel- oh god, you feel so good, mouth is fucking perfect," he babbled and you squeezed your thighs together. He sounded fucked out. Voice low and hoarse, edged with just the barest hint of a whine. God, it was so hot. His grip in your hair loosened and you whimpered, pulling off of him with a soft pop!

"No," you whined, looking up at him with eyes glassy with tears, and that shouldn't have made him twitch like it did. "No, please, I want it. Use me, Ford, please? Promise I won't break. I just want you to feel good." You fluttered your lashes at him, letting his cock rest against your cheek as you planted wet, messy kisses down his shaft. He sighed shakily, renewing his grip in your hair. He wanted to be a stronger man, he did, but how could he when you begged for him so sweetly?

"A-Alright, just dig your nails into my thigh if it's too much, okay? Don't wanna hurt you." You nodded quickly, eagerly, and settled back on your heels. You opened your mouth, sticking out your tongue just enough so that he could see the little silver ball sitting in the middle of it. You guided him so that his tip sat on your tongue, pink and oozing precum that coated your taste buds. Using your hair as a handle, he tugged you forward. Just enough to have his tip sliding across that silver ball in the middle of your tongue. His toes curled, back arching slightly as the pleasure sparked along his nerves. He breathed out a heavy groan and kept you like that for a few minutes at least. Seemingly content to just bask in the sensation of that slick little piercing stroking back and forth along the sensitive divot in the head of his cock.

Your lashes fluttered, and your thoughts went soft and hazy. Lulled by the sensation of Ford's strong fingers in your hair, guiding you along his cock like a toy. You shuddered at the thought, an involuntary whine leaving you and vibrating into him. His hips jerked, a choked moan leaving his lips as he sank into the tight clench of your throat just barely. You sputtered around him, and obscenely sloppy, wet noise leaving you as you choked just a little on the intrusion. You looked up at him and locked eyes, and Ford felt you relaxed in his hold. He slid deeper and felt your throat clench around him reflexively. He didn't know what happened, really, but he guessed he just... snapped.

"God, you're so- so fucking pretty," he stammered. Pretty, kiss bitten lips were wrenched open by the moan that tumbled from his lips. He held your hair tightly, ensuring you couldn't pull away even if you wanted to, and pulled you further down onto his cock. Your answering moan vibrated into him, and he swore. "Fuck! God, yes, so fuckinfg pretty n'such- such a perfect - tight, god so tight - lil' throat just- fuck just look at you."

His voice had gone low and almost growly, and it made you embarrassingly wet. Your panties were ruined now. They had to be. And if his voice didn't do it, the way he was fucking your throat would have. Harsh, sudden snaps of his hips as he used his grip on your hair to meet his every thrust. Obscene slick, sucking noises bubbling from your open maw that, really, would've made a pornstar blush. Tears streaked down your cheeks, but still, you didn't ask him to stop. He waited for the bite of your nails in his thigh, but it never came. Instead, you seemed to lean into it. You looked dazed, almost dreamy, as he used your throat, and it was bringing his orgasm hurtling forward faster than he wanted it to.

"Oh fuck, fuck, I'm gonna- where- where d'you-?" He tried to stammer out his question but couldn't. You seemed to understand, though. But instead of demanding he pull away, you sucked at him harder. Tongue flicking over whatever part of him you could reach, desperate little moans vibrating around his cock.

"Oh god, y'really are a lil slut, huh?" He huffed, amazed and horrifically turned on. He groaned, eyes squeezing shut as the frantic, brutal pace of his hips stuttered. Thrusts turning messy and uncoordinated. "Oohhh- Oh fuck, if y'want it so bad then take it- take it, take it, take it." And take it you did. If he'd been looking, he might've seen the almost gleeful glimmer in your eyes as you felt him twitch and throb on your tongue. Once, then twice, then suddenly he was spilling down your throat. Cumming so hard his back bowed and he seemed barely able to breathe. His eyes crossed behind his lids, and his toes curled, feeling like you'd sucked the soul out of him.

You swallowed, of course, happily. Looking very much like the cat who got the cream as Ford flopped back onto the bed, breathless and desperately hoping this wasn't some elaborate wet dream.

"Well, I'm certainly wet, but this is not a dream, big boy," you giggled from your place on the floor, and Ford blushed when he realized he said that out loud. He moved to sit back up, to look at you, but you beat him to it. Standing on shaky legs and crawling into his lap, not before you'd stripped off your skirt, however. Now clad in only your tank top and lacy pink panties, you grinned down at him.

"Please... please tell me that is not a one-time thing," he panted, and you giggled. Trailing along manicured finger down his heaving chest.

"Oh, sweetie. I'm just gettin' started."

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