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#I might’ve posted something similar to this before

lxmelle · 2 months

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The man surrounded by the theme of love…

Geto.

Gege has made several writing choices to depict Geto as someone who was handsome and loved - arguably more than any other character in the series. Maybe Gege loves him the most - not complaining at all.

More under the cut - just a few visuals I’ve collected to demonstrate this. I’m certainly not alone in noticing it and there may be others who show this much better, lol. Tag me in if you want to share!!

My post does end with a not-so brief analysis which you can skip if you wish.

Geto, despite being cursed at birth with the technique to absorb the ills of the world, the very skill that led him to fight alongside Gojo as part of the Strongest Duo - by design, each others’ counterpart in so many ways - a twist of fate led them onto opposite paths, leading to complete imbalance, one that drove him into madness.

If Geto in some ways represented Love, it is truly the most twisted curse of all which played a part in his death.

Geto witnessed the most love confessions in the whole series - I found (and stole) it off twitter/now X:

The Japanese originals seem more compelling to me:

Riko says “daisuki” whereas Yuta uses a more traditional “Aishiteru” which, is quite embarrassing of a confession, and therefore almost hints at what could be Gojo’s last words to Geto, if it directly parallels Yuta & Rika’s relationship. And that expression Geto wears when he sees Riko and Kuroi struggle with separating?

That does not look like a person who cannot sympathise and empathise with people. Geto was a person who cared too much, and in search for a way to protect those he cared for, needed an outlet and something (in this case, lesser being, the humans) to blame. He descended into a mania and much like shinobu sensui from yu yu hakusho, seemed to develop some kind of mental disorder due to being unable to carry the conflicting ideals together. The dissonance the world presented to him was just too cruel, and he himself became a weapon to defend his ideals.

Before his defection, Geto was liked by his peers:

Haibara

Mei Mei

Loved by his family for and despite his ideals:

Mimiko and Nanako

Shibuya crew liked/loved him and carried his will/beliefs even after his death, in their own ways, as family:

Miguel and Larue in the most recent chapter to date:

Translations (rough):

Larue: You and me alike, we just wanted Suguru-chan to be King.

Miguel: Yea, I followed just because it was Geto. After shibuya, I trained Okkotsu and I don’t want anything to do with the country anymore. (Something along these lines; a little too complicated for my rudimentary Japanese)

Larue: You , me, Mimiko, Nanako, Manami, Toshihisa, everyone just really liked/loved Suguru-chan.

Canonically, he was known to be handsome and popular:

Takaba

Gege’s character book:

JJK popularity poll:

I do not have screengrabs of how Manami and Larue joined, but it was said to be due to how handsome they thought he was.

Maybe he was like Rika, who did realise how she came across in her life, and manipulated people, lol. But that’s a bit of a stretch to bring that parallel/similarity in. Geto was just quite a magnetic person, according to Gege.

And in the most roundabout way:

Gojo:

“my one and only”

“Love is the most twisted curse...” “curse me a little at the end.”

“I don’t need love to satisfy me” ... “if you were there I might’ve have been satisfied”

While love surrounds Geto, the theme that follows Gojo appears to be “the strongest” cursed; he was admired, revered, feared, and disliked by many. It truly breaks my heart, to think of what he had to give up to carry the weight of this for his whole life, until the very end.

This looks like the most dizzyingly lonely picture of Gojo. It was indeed ironic to have it all but to embody what it means to have an unlimited void by being totally different.

He suffered so much for his power and to have carried this strength. The sorcerer world was practically on his shoulders. The balance was up to him; everyone relied on him. Every time he tried to protect his love (geto) it seemed to fail. It worsened each time, ending with his own demise. But of course that’s just a dramatic interpretation - I don’t really mean/believe that, but it is one way to see the tragedy between Gojo and Geto. Strength at the expense of love; it plays out with the strongest this far as those identifying with this title are plagued by loneliness and do not know love.

They met before things got twisted within themselves, between them. Even after Geto left, Gojo seemed to be looking and waiting for him - to prove his trust for him almost as if he saw through his illusions and lies. Geto was the shadow (Yin) and Gojo was the light (Yang). Only the light can see through the dark. I’ll leave the gojo characterisation for another time / to other better writers.

For now, I’ll just say that I felt that he had planned for the possibility of losing to Sukuna (with the various things we see him do between scheduling the 24th and the actual day) and if he won, he’d just carry on the plan to cremate Geto on top of saving everyone and being a good example as the strongest. Worst case scenario, he would weaken Sukuna and I guess just die on the same day as Geto - idk, maybe as a form of redemption for one of his most painful experiences in life. Who knows?

I headcanon he was relieved to pass on, doing his part to defend the world that relied on him so much, with a big bang - a really fun fight.

And I’m glad they found each other at the end - the loved and the lost.

Back to Geto:

We don’t get much insight into what Geto wanted or felt aside from a world that was better for sorcerers, those he cared about. Even at the afterlife scene, or in subsequent chapters, we only hear from others rather than Geto.

Call me biased and delusional; I believe he didn’t kill the innocent despite saying he hated them all. He loved and hurt so strongly that he hated with almost equal force. He did want to force evolution and eventually extinguish all human kind, to him: the ignorant source of suffering, but I’m glad he didn’t manage to get Rika. I headcanon that he was aware he was losing himself by defying his own principles (to kill sorcerers) for his own gain. That, and Rika with a binding vow for a life, no less, was just too powerful.

In the official character book, Geto was described as someone who told himself that he hated humans a lot, like a reminder. He didn’t kill people indiscriminately. I’m sure he was well aware of how evil he had become but he had chosen, hadn’t he? He expressed to Yuta, that self-affirmation was incredibly important in his view. And the more he interacted with the students, I think the more his humanity fought back - I mean, he was standing there crying from being so moved by what he saw. He also let Yuta heal his friends. How villainous? Or how incredibly loving in spite of himself?

Geto has been shown to lie to others too: jjk 0: described having lied to the school about the conditions for obtaining a cursed spirit, and after defecting: upon taking stage for the first time, stating that the looking the part (wearing gojokesa) was important (ie lying). At his death’s door, he also prefaces with, no matter what anyone says - why would there be a need for that if he wasn’t telling a half-truth? He sought to avenge Riko (first person at the cult he killed after calling him onto the stage + cue mic throw) and the village represented a bunch of people who he slaughtered out of rage and ignorance. I’m definitely not defending him here - his actions are reprehensible. My headcanon view is that he didn’t know how to live with himself after snapping and that was the only path laid before him, which he ardently committed to.

I just think that he held onto a form of love/humanity still- Gojo and Geto both did. Without it, Geto would’ve become the Queen of curses due to Rika (uncaring about his family, or killing young sorcerors despite witnessing the students’ bond and yuta’s selfless power of love in jjk0) and Gojo may have focused on training at all cost without embracing Geto’s principles and becoming a teacher to change the jujutsu world - he could’ve become the next Sukuna and take the title of the King of curses instead - crowning them both King and Queen - instead of both the King and Queen contributing to their deaths. Anyway, I digress...

Geto appears very mother-coded in his protective and defensive relations to the girls, but also to Riko, Kuroi, and Gojo - especially after Toji had killed them. He was so fiercely trying to avenge and defend them, but failing that had a huge effect on him. Moreover, Haibara - innocent, glowingly positive - suffered an undeserved death. It weighed so heavily on Geto, that he didn’t defend Gojo when Nanami vented about leaving things to Gojo who seemed to take it all in his stride, almost insinuating that Geto, too, had little autonomy but to carry on that cycle of curse consumption he began to loathe.

Yuki also underlined the meaninglessness of the death / sacrifice / relationship rupture / suffering. And like the novel implies: Geto was too sincere for this world. He just loved too deeply and wounds cut him too painfully. At just 17... what inner resources were they forced to develop?

He was disillusioned by the system, but respected that Gojo had a place there. This is also SatoSugu indulgent: He never once attempted to talk Gojo into joining him, despite it being the most logical choice, but Geto was the emotional and loving kind - he prioritised Gojo over his ideals / himself. This man was willing to die trying to pursue his ideals, but didn’t want to try convincing his friend even if he know it might fail. What does that say about him? I think it says he loved Gojo. And Gojo loved him.

He masked like Gojo did : the infamous “yeah I’d win” and Geto’s “I’ve made my choice” and his face fell as he had his back turned, stating that he just needed to do it to the best of his ability. This may be headcanon but it does seem plausible to me. He was under no illusions about what he had done. To love was to turn away too. To love was to let the other go. Sigh.

Backtracking a bit: When Geto encountered the twin girls, who knows what entered his mind, but there was something that emerged from being horrified, enraged, and it gave birth to new meaning. He would take control and save them - from humans and the institution that made child sorcerors die. According to Gege, he became Papa Geto. (Kenjaku is also mum-coded but the antithesis of motherly love, with the womb protrusion domain and actually bearing children.)

This is of course not limited to feminine energy, as parents, both male and female, have protective instincts. But I’m not here to go into that discourse. Just stereotypically, and loosely speaking, Geto is very Yin energy. He is a big Mama Bear. With extreme maternal aggression. We see female counterparts do this in the wild more than males. And yes, of course both male and female are protective. Both geto and gojo were protective in their own unique ways. That’s for another post. Geto would rather die than have anyone come save him. In fact, the scripture behind him in the temple goes somewhere along the lines of “death to the weak”. If he had failed, he deserved to die. His family should live.

Gojo cares for others differently. And yes we know he died whilst defending others too. He is inherently more individualistic due to what he is with his gifts and noble heritage. He is less emotional and more cerebral, the only time we saw him lose his composure was due to Geto.

He allows his students to take risks and would allow them to fight in his stead, like in jjk 0 where Toge and panda were sent to be defeated by Geto. Tough love, as Gojo admits. This is also very Dad-like in the modern sense of the word.

In my subjective experiencing of the world, it’s almost like a husband who is only really emotionally vulnerable with his wife, and is otherwise the successful businessman, dad, and whatever else he is. Geto is much like a mum that he would walk away from her husband (lol, Gojo in this case) in order to protect them in a way she deems is best. Maybe I’m a little nuts, I don’t know. (Actually I am a little eccentric, but that’s by the by).

Now this is totally just satosugu indulgent: I headcanon that Gojo also “protected” / was possessive of Geto by making a deal with Miguel since the latter said he would curse Geto if he died, lol. Especially in light of the latest chapter where Miguel said he was spared by Gojo. (And i reckon Gojo was respectful of Miguel being Geto’s family, so he spared him for that reason too). I mean, Gojo had to kill his best friend, but this was his burden to bear, you know? It’s almost sickeningly intimate to allow someone to end your suffering, and be entrusted with that too. Ugh, ouch, my heart…..

Edit: I’m reminded of that scene where Shoko reflects on loving neither of them, like Gojo, Geto didn’t want anyone to be alone anymore either. Geto said he didn’t feel happy from the bottom of his heart. Gojo felt lonely (although he said it got better at the airport scene). They weren’t alone, but probably felt it… because of the absence of their true/first love? Larue stating in the panels above that Geto wouldn’t wish for them to fight seems like a nod to what Geto believed happened between him and Gojo. Gojo raised allies - be strong, don’t be left behind. Geto a family - get along, don’t fight. Just pointing out what my take is on the parallels I’ve observed.

That ends the brief analysis portion of what I wished to convey about what appears to surround Geto. He may not have been depicted much in the series, but his presence has been felt through the eyes of many. It made me wonder why did Gege do this?

This author deliberately wrote multiple people in the verse to love and follow him (and spare him a death sentence for 10 years) despite not agreeing to his ideals.

Perhaps it isn’t Gege’s focus, understandably, to give us a lot more insight from Geto’s pov, but there is certainly some kind of narrative he is pushing to depict how this man, cruel yet kind, is somehow one of the few he seems to portray in this way more than others within the sorcerer world at the very least. That his life was somehow a tragedy that he might not have really known the love at all? I wonder what Gojo’s last words were to incite such a heartfelt reaction - well done? Welcome home? You did well? I love you? My one and only best friend? Sigh, I guess it’s a secret between them.

There are others who have written metas on Gojo and maternal energy. If I find it I’ll link it! Otherwise, search through my reblogs! So many fantastic writers and thinkers out there!

Thanks for reading if you made it this far!

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belovedmuichiro · 3 months

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I saw a post once that entertained the idea of Tsutako being in the background of Sanemi’s hometown in the anime, and it got me thinking about a sanegiyuu childhood meet cute.

…

- When Giyuu was 13, he took a trip with Tsutako to a neighboring city where her fiancé had come from

- Though Giyuu was a much friendlier person as a child, he was still quiet, reserved and nervous. As a result, being in a bigger city was overwhelming and he struggled to keep up with Tsutako as they walked

- Before they could reach her fiancé’s home, Giyuu was separated from her in a crowd

- Without any people skills to speak of or the confidence to ask for help, Giyuu let the crowd swallow him up until he found a small spot he could cower in

- He ended up hiding under the stairs of a shrine where nobody could see him. He cried so quietly, nobody could possibly hear him either, but a boy did miraculously find him

- The boy was strikingly beautiful with stark white hair and piercing eyes. His presence made Giyuu stop crying almost immediately, but only because he was mesmerized.

- When the boy spoke, he was blunt and sort of rude but Giyuu hung onto every word he said as if he was a kind spirit come to save him

- “You cry like my little siblings,” he observed. It was a simple, random sort of thing to say but it perplexed Giyuu so much that he didn’t cry any longer

- Giyuu learned that this particular shrine is where the boy would find one of his brothers hiding, so when he saw Giyuu curled up, he thought something might’ve happened to him

- Giyuu reluctantly explained he was separated from Tsutako while visiting. In truth, he wasn’t sure if he should trust a stranger but they were clearly of a similar age and that put him at ease compared to an adult

- The boy gave Giyuu a small canteen of water before they could continue because the crying had obviously overwhelmed him. He then asked for the fiancé’s name, which he scowled upon hearing, surprisingly knowing the person

- “Is that bad?” Giyuu nervously asked

- “He’s one of the sons of our landlord,” the boy explained, “He’s fine. His family’s a buncha dicks.”

- Profanities aside, Giyuu asked if he could lead him there, and the boy agreed

- “What did his family do?” Giyuu asked on the way

- “Their kid brother said some shit about my family bein’ too big and my brother got into a fight with him about it.”

- “How big is your family?”

- “Nine of us. I have six siblings.”

- Giyuu learned that his mother had just given birth, which prompted the rude comment from their landlord’s son. He also had a father who he didn’t want to talk about on account of him angering some violent people

- Though the boy didn’t seem terribly interested in prying into Giyuu’s life, he still asked, “What about you?”

- “I just have my sister. My parents died when I was young.”

- “Lucky you have a sister.”

- “Yes… I’m Giyuu, by the way.”

- For a moment, the boy looked hesitant to give anymore details about himself, but must’ve decided he doesn’t have much to lose.

- “Sanemi.”

- On the way to the landlord’s home, it began to rain so Sanemi pulled Giyuu aside near a food stall to wait it out.

- Giyuu, as luck would have it, did have a small amount of money on him and suggested they share a meal.

- Sanemi agreed, not letting on that he rarely has enough money to ever eat out. However, Giyuu became curious when Sanemi awkwardly held his food at his side and wouldn’t take a bite.

- He didnt want to admit it, but his plan was to pocket whatever Giyuu bought him to bring home to his family. He wasn’t going to tell Giyuu, but the boy’s earnest, honest face pulled it out of him

- In response, Giyuu bought him another and asked that he feed himself as well

- When Sanemi finally did eat, Giyuu smiled for the first time. It flustered Sanemi, who quickly learned he couldn’t handle a pretty face

- When the rain ended, people came flooding to the streets in overwhelming numbers that scared Giyuu again

- To reassure him, Sanemi grabbed his hand and returned his earlier smile, promising he’ll be okay as long as they stick together

- Giyuu took to Sanemi with awe. The crowd was still scary, but Giyuu grounded himself in the feeling of his companion’s hand and trusted his word.

- Eventually they did find themselves at the landlord’s house. Most of the family was out looking for Giyuu, but luckily Tsutako stayed and was there to greet him.

- This was also a relief to Sanemi, who wasn’t sure he would be able to resist driving his fist into the face of the boy who fought with Genya

- Sanemi intended to leave with no commotion, just an odd empty feeling at the notion of leaving his new acquaintance, but Giyuu stopped him

- “Thank you for helping me,” he said with much more confidence than the first time he spoke. “You’re very kind, Sanemi.”

- Sanemi, flustered, shrugged and promised it was no problem. “Couldn’t just leave ya there…”

- “Maybe we’ll see each other again.”

- When Giyuu said this, he held onto the hope that because Tsutako new husband had close ties to Sanemi’s, they would surely meet again one day

- It was hard to explain but Giyuu felt drawn to Sanemi, like he was a special person he was meant to meet

- Of course, he couldn’t predict the tragedy that would befall both of them

- Years later, long after Tsutako and the Shinazugawa family were murdered, Sanemi was welcomed into the Hashira and finally met Giyuu again

- Only this time, he was quiet and cold. He didn’t give any indication that he remembered Sanemi and didn’t have any of the kindness he was full of as a child. Sanemi decided that he must’ve turned into a conceited ass with no time for the little people, he probably didn’t even remember him.

- But it was impossible for Giyuu to forget who Sanemi was. Even under all the scars and curses, he was still the boy who saved him that day. But Giyuu knew they had fundamentally changed as people, and clearly Sanemi wanted nothing to do with him any longer

- Unfortunately for them, the draw remains there no matter how far apart they try to drift.

#emmie speaks #I’m. love them.#sanegiyuu #demon slayer #kimestu no yaiba #kny manga spoilers #baby sanegiyuu

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fictional2dcharacters · 1 month

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Why were ancient powers in TBOAH not considered strong? Let’s talk about it.

What was that thing in the beginning of the novel that talked about ancient powers not being powerful? And despite people having them, they weren’t used very much in The Birth of a Hero because of that?

Cale had said it before when he talked about the fiery thunderbolt in tboah when Pendrick had gotten it, saying that it was of equal power to like a lighter or something, nowhere as powerful as what they needed it for.

But when Cale got it, it’s suddenly just gods damnation?!?!?? And it had the power to purify dead mana and black magic like this whole time?? That needs to be a topic for a whole other post (I mean seriously, that’s overpowered af, and no one would’ve ever known because only Cale can hear the voices of ancient powers, so Pendrick would forever have absolutely no idea it could do that)

I mean, it could be the way he spent all that money just to give it more power in a way Pendrick would never be able to do because they’re so non-materialistic.

But still, it’s just such a big difference????

The Sound of the Wind, Toonka in TBOAH never used it, again, maybe just because it might’ve been a bit too similar to magic, but he also called it weak and just never used it!

The Unbreakable Shield was just never used period, despite its usefulness and utility.

I have no idea about the Sky-Eating Water because I think it also never got used.

But why does something about Cale make these powers stronger?

They’re not even fully combined with his soul! They’re not at full power!! What the hell???!??

I have a theory about this, but you have to hear me out-

So TBOAH was the story about the creation of a hero through suffering and overcoming adversity, right?

Maybe his ancient powers are so strong because of a, “high risk, high return” type thing?

For example, referencing one of my past posts, every time he coughs up blood from an ancient powers recoil, he should be dying. His plate is weak, it’s made of glass, and every time he uses one last their limit, that glass will get closer snd closer to breaking, that is, without the Crybaby ancient power.

The Crybaby ancient power serves as a cushion, a shock-absorber, for every time one of the other ancient powers tries to recoil against Cale’s glass plate.

Just think of it as, every time Cale has ever coughed up blood, he should’ve been dead.

And of course, Cale, with barely any self preservation instincts, or those mental blocks in his brain that would usually be like “oh using that much would be too harmful, let’s not,” Mr, I can used Instant for 5 seconds and come out looking like I jumped into a blender, who is willing to sacrifice himself at anytime for the ones he loves, will always use the ancient powers past the safe limit.

For taking such a large backlash, one that would, should, be strong enough to kill you, you must be rewarded with something pretty powerful, right? Balance and all that shit?

Does any of this make sense? It’s like 1 am right now

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luveline · 11 months

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Hey bestie, if you’re taking request, can you write something with Hotch helping Reader with a bout of depression? Super fluffy and sweet, I think you might’ve written something like this before but I’m in need lol.

ty for ur request!! fem!reader

cw depression

Hotch's office is eerily similar to a Principal's, in that every time he calls you in, you worry you're in trouble far before you think something good might have happened. He sits on the other side of his desk like a monolith, unshakeable, but a softness relaxes his brow that you aren't used to seeing.

"You can have some days off," he says.

You squeeze the armrests of the chair you're sitting in, the old wood creaking. Legs crossed, arms held to your abdomen to protect from a blow that won't come, you're tightly wound with exhaustion, the stick of it twisting and twisting. You're curled nauseously around it. So tired you could cry.

"If I come back to all that leftover work I'll feel worse," you say morosely. "It's better if I keep working."

"It can't get better if you're still working. And don't worry about what gets leftover, that's my job. I'll delegate."

"That's not fair from me, giving other people my work 'cos I'm feeling down."

"You're very far away," he says. You don't understand his meaning until he holds out his hand. "I know this is a work conversation, but these aren't work feelings." His strict adherence to professionalism in the face of your relationship can't withstand this, it never has. Hotch doesn't gesture for you again. His expression says enough.

It's alright.

You're not surprised when he pushes his chair out to make room for you. You perch on the desk, your legs between his, his fingers quick to pull at the end of your rising pencil skirt and neaten you up. You look at his shoulder rather than his serious gaze, arms crossed against your chest defensively.

"As your boyfriend," he begins, flattening the wrinkles of your skirt in an excuse to rub your thigh, "I'd tell you to take as much time off as they can give you, and as your boss, I'm telling you that that's as many days as you need to feel better."

"I just feel so down," you admit, dropping your face, hiding your mouth behind a closed hand.

Hotch's fingertips push against the hem of your skirt. His hand is warm. It slides far post a proper place to spread out over the fat of your thigh, his head bowed toward your stomach. "Tell me what I can do to make it better," he says.

You know you could ask him for anything, in that moment, and he'd try to get it for you.

"Can you hug me?" you ask.

There, his hand sliding to the back of your thigh and pulling you toward him. He hugs your back with his face crushed under your chest, unapologetically steel-armed. It doesn't take long for him to convince you down onto his thigh, even as you murmur about being heavy, shy to lay your weight in his lap.

"Things will get better," he says quietly, a promise, "but only if you slow down, and let people take care of you."

You hold your breath.

Hotch feels bigger than you, not in stature but in warmth, maybe.

"You don't know that," you say.

"Well, how you're feeling now? I think it needs attention. Like a cold. Like a broken bone." He speaks for you alone, his voice warm and quiet. "You can't keep walking on it. When you're here, you feel like you have to pretend to feel better. If we go home you can rest."

We, he said.

He holds you longer than he should, through emails beeping on his cell and the landlines ringing to the left. He only lets you stand when a knock sounds against the heavy door, and even then it's with a comforting kiss pressed to your temple.

"Am I interrupting?" Rossi asks at the door.

"No," you say, rubbing your tired eyes, again perched on the lip of his desk.

"Absolutely," Hotch says. "What do you need?"

"Just wondering how our young L/N was doing," Rossi says. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"She'll be okay," Hotch says.

Rossi adds that he actually did need something beyond a wellbeing check on you, and rather than shuttle you out, he and Hotch stand outside of the office, talking in dulcet tones. You sit in Hotch's big leather chair and glance idly at his things, a photo of him and Jack with a fish between them. Wedged into the corner, held between the frame and the outer glass, is a photo of you.

You might not believe you'll ever feel better right now, but you can believe Hotch. If he says you'll feel better, you trust that he's right.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

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aroacemisha · 1 year

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Okay, so, I usually see people depicting/thinking of this interaction where Caleb hugs Philip -

- and this one where Philip approaches him and Evelyn with a knife -

- as two separate ones, and that Philip reunited with Caleb first and then later met Evelyn.

However, I started thinking they might actually be the same event, and as I was editing the images for this post, I realized they definitely are!

It’s hard to see, because the image is very blurry, but Evelyn is actually in that memory where Philip, as a silhouette with glowing blue eyes, approaches Caleb:

I missed this before, probably assuming her head was just part of Philip’s shadow.

So here’s the order of the memories, and my interpretation of them:

After months, possibly even years of searching, Philip finally found Caleb. He saw Caleb walking around holding hands with Evelyn, which he would see as his brother being dragged around by the evil witch who took him away.

Philip is so infuriated that his palisman monster form partially comes out, and he tries to attack Evelyn. But he’s interrupted by Caleb, who doesn’t realize what Philip was doing, and embraces him, genuinely happy to see him again. He then starts introducing Evelyn, still not realizing what Philip’s intentions are, while Philip stealthily pulls out a knife.

He tries to attack Evelyn again, completely tunnel visioned on her. He uses a fire glyph to separate Caleb from her and keep him away from the fight. Caleb still steps in to protect his wife, and in the heat (hah) of the moment, Philip stabs him through the chest, killing him. Evelyn then chases Philip away.

And I think it’s possible that only after this, when Philip is some distance away, and the adrenaline eases off, he finally realizes what he had just done. That he killed Caleb instead of Evelyn. Though, of course, he blames her, and also Caleb, rather than himself.

The way Philip is looking at the knife in the middle image makes me think he was so focused on it, he didn’t realize whose body was lying before him, until after Evelyn attacked him.

This being one event makes a lot of sense. It would explain how Philip messed up this much and killed Caleb instead of Evelyn. He didn’t have time to plan it out, he had no strategy, he just saw red and tunnel visioned on Evelyn.

It also makes more sense for it to be one event since it would’ve been odd for Philip to leave Caleb’s side after finding him, and do so for long enough to then randomly stumble upon Caleb and Evelyn walking around holding hands.

Side note, about Evelyn’s cloak, which is something I found a bit weird in these memories, since it’s only there in one or two of them and appears out of nowhere: I think it might’ve been a witch’s wool cloak. When she saw partially transformed Philip approaching, she summoned it and put it on just in case, since she wasn’t sure what he was and how dangerous he was, but then took it off for whatever reason.

Or I’m overthinking and it’s just a stylistic choice so we don’t see much of her from up close, while letting us see more from further away, either from behind or as a silhouette, so we can identify the similarities between her and the Clawthornes, particularly Eda.

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jisunghannie · 4 months

Text

Loser 4

PAIRING: Bangchan x fem!reader

WARNINGS: Mentions of jagi/jagiya, mentions of Chan’s (FINE) accent, Dom!Chan x Sub!Reader, dirty-talk, praise, oral sex (fem!receive), teasing, LOTS of foreplay, light spanking, mentions and light actions of a second/multiple rounds

SUMMARY: Chan starts to regret his decision about the bet with his members about who would win DDD. He then saw you and thought you would gladly help him, which he was right about.

WORD COUNT: 2,084

A/N:

So sorry this took so long to release! I've been having the biggest writing block and will try to finish posting these. I am definitely feeling more of my angst stories so stay updated to see my sad angst stories!

DDD MASTERLIST

Chan had proposed the idea but deep down inside somewhere he knew that he was going to lose. When he had heard that Changbin had lost, he knew it was over since Minho was going to lose and Hyunjin was in a hit or miss situation. It was something that he took seriously. Especially because he wanted to take you to a romantic getaway. He was nervous that it wouldn’t work out though just because he might’ve lost.

He was completely panicked and didn’t know what to do. Then he remembered that he hadn’t completed his daily task. It was seriously becoming tedious for him. He felt more exhausted these days. The more he thought about it the more that he dreaded getting to the task at hand.

Just while he was deep in thought he heard the door open. He didn’t pay any mind, thinking it was one of his members until he heard you.

“Jagiya, is everything okay?” You asked him as he looked up at you. He noticed your damp hair. “Did you already shower?” He asked as you noticed his tired Australian accent pick up. You chuckled at hearing his tired tone of voice. “You sound so tired Channie. Are you alright?” You asked him as you ran your fingers through his hair. He moved his head up to your hand, similar to a cat as you smiled at the adorable gesture.

“I’m fine, just a bit stressed about the whole situation.” You looked at him confused, “What do you mean Channie?” You asked as he looked up at you with his sleepy eyes. “I regret making that bet because to be honest, I don’t think us hyungs would win. I think the Maknae might win this time around.” He admitted as you smiled at him and kissed his forehead. “It’s okay Channie, you tried your best and that’s all that matters. Okay?” You tried to reason with him as he nodded reluctantly. You still felt bad though.

“How far are you for today?” You asked him as he shook his head, “It’s hopeless.” He said as you cupped his cheeks. “How far?” You asked again as he blushed lightly, “Only 19 times…” He said as your eyes widened, letting go of his face. “Yeah you are so screwed, we have 2 hours until midnight and your endurance level is too high to cum another 4 times in 2 hours.” You told him as he sighed, “Until next year.” He said as you looked at him. “Unless,” You said as he looked up. “You can promise me that you’ll try your best to cum as quickly as you can.” You told him as he smirked, “I promise I can jagi…” He said in a low voice, almost growling, his accent didn’t make it any better.

You went crazy hearing his accent mixed with his current flirty tone. You looked at him again, using your body as an allure to get his drive up because he was definitely getting yours up.

“I thought I told you not to use that kind of tone with me.” You said, your cheeks dusted pink. He just chuckled simply. “I know, I know. But how can I not use it when a literal goddess stands before me.” He said, holding your hand. You smiled at him. “Oh shush you tease.” You told him as he chuckled.

You were only in a bathrobe as he was in a big shirt with the sleeves cut, revealing his broad shoulders and big arms, he wore baggy sweats so if he had an erection you couldn’t tell. You tried not to think about it as you sat on the bed. “How do you want us to do it this time? Mutual masturbation? Me jerking you off? Actual s-” You were cut off by Chan’s bold kiss.

“Just stop talking, talk to me with your body jagiya…” He said desperately kissing your neck earning noises from you. You were surprised by his actions. You didn’t know that Chan could become such a way around you. It was kind of exhilarating. You were so caught up in the moment and in your thoughts that you didn’t even feel Chan undo your bathrobe ribbon and pull it off, dropping it to the floor.

“Channie-” You were cut off again but this time it was by Chan giving you a light spank causing you to cover your mouth. “I told you to speak to me with your body jagi…” He said as you continued to let your hand cover your mouth. You were surprised because Chan never acted this way. The way he behaved was completely different. Usually he was so much more gentle and more vanilla but he was way more enticing and demanding. You just obeyed him as you knew how much winning this competition meant to him. It was definitely something to be interested in.

“Channie, this is certainly new for you especially.” You said as he just gave a deep chuckle.

God you can hear the growl in his chuckle.

You were smiling ear to ear from hearing his chuckle. “Jagiya, you really are trying to test me right now aren’t you?” He said as you smirked to him, “What if I am?” You asked as he pulled you into a kiss. “Then you’re doing a great job jagiya…” He said breathlessly, as he continued to kiss your neck, leaving marks everywhere and soon slipped off your bathrobe.

He saw your delicate body and felt so lucky that this was a sight all for him. He was speechless as he kissed your inner thighs. “I’m so lucky…” He said, his nose touching your thigh, nearing your core. You squealed quietly and squirmed over him as he smiled at your reaction. It was definitely a sight he loved but it was something new.

He placed you on top of his face. You were literally sitting on his face. Nervous about this you stood up slightly and hovered over his face. He then placed you back down to sit on his face once again. “Channie-” You were cut off again. “It’s okay y/n, I want you to sit on my face please..?” He begged as you blushed and relaxed a bit but he knew you were holding back so he held onto your thighs and placed your body on his face as he began to use his tongue before you could let out a sentence.

You covered your mouth in an attempt to muffle your moans. Chan didn’t like that however so he proceeded to use his fingers to stimulate you even further. That made you move your hips wanting more friction between you guys. You blushed looking down and seeing Chan eat you out. It was the hottest thing ever. But you knew that at this rate you would cum soon so you just waited to see what Chan would do. However you never expected what to come next.

Chan used one of his hands and began to insert his fingers inside, his other hand he used to play with your clit, as he teased your entrance with his tongue. You let out the most muffled, yet loud moan ever. Hell, Chan wasn’t even expecting it. He knew that you were feeling good but you reacting like that made him feel proud, in more than one.

You didn’t want to let him hear you like this but no matter how many times you tried not to moan out loud he felt as if he needed to make you moan even louder. He was definitely pussy drunk right now but it didn’t make a difference to you. You were surprised by what he did next however.

He lifted you up and moved you on his chest. He traced his fingers against your bare back. You shivered by how it caused chills down your spine.

“You want it inside?” He asked bluntly as you nodded. You cared less about being bratty at the moment. “Use your words.” He told you as you whined. First, he wanted you to speak with your body and now your words? He was complicated. “Yes…” You replied as he smirked and massaged your ass. “Yes what?” He teased as you gritted your teeth. “Yes… I want it inside…” You finally spoke out as he smirked.

You tried to move off him as he moved you back. He placed your body on his hips. “Show me just how much you want me then.” He told you as you smirked and slowly reached down to his pants. He was so going to regret this.

You kissed his bulge through his boxers as he growled. “Stop teasing.” He said as you just smirked. You then took off his boxers and lined yourself up to him. As you tried to go down slowly, he growled again as you giggled not expecting any of the events that happened next. He then grabbed your hips and pushed you down as you let out a loud moan. He smiled at your reaction, your body tensing up from the sudden action. He then began to thrust up causing you to throw your hands on your mouth not knowing if the others were still in the living room and could hear you guys.

“Just let those noises out, let them know that I’m going to be winning this challenge.” He said as you shook your head. He smirked as he pulled your wrists back as you bit your lower lip to muffle out your moans.

While he thought it was so cute, you found it humiliating to think that the other members could probably hear you guys through the thin walls of the shared house. He then began to get hungrier for your moans and put you on all fours. “You might wanna hold onto the sheets,” He warned, “You won’t be able to stop shaking.” He said as he began to thrust deeply into you, hitting all the right spots.

You gave in and moaned into the mattress clutching to the sheets for dear life as his lips touched your back and nape which soon found their way to your ears, his hot breath touching your ear as you heard him give you a light chuckle. “Told you didn’t I?” He said with that damn accent of his.

He then felt you clench around him with his words as he smirked, “I make you feel that good don’t I?” He asked you as you nodded, “Use your words jagi…” He said, his voice straining at the end, revealing that he was close too. “Yes… God yes…” You said simply as he smiled and pulled you in for a kiss. One more thrust was all it took for you to reach your climax as the intense foreplay already brought you to the edge. After you came, he pulled out and came on your back.

“God jagiya you’re perfect…” He praised as he pulled you in for another kiss. “I still have so many more to finish in order to beat the challenge.” He said as you looked at the time. “Yeah… and you are all out of time to complete it…” You said breathless as he looked at the time. “And? We still can, right?” He asked with his accent, knowing that you wouldn’t refuse him like that. Which he was right as you gave in.

He then wiped himself clean to make sure that none of his cum would get inside as he lined up with your entrance. “Wait! I’m still-” You were cut off his thrust inside, your body still sensitive came around him the minute he thrusted inside as he looked shocked. “Did you just-” You cut him off, “Yes! I was trying to tell you that I was still sensitive…” You said as he chuckled. “You are so cute.” He said as he kissed your breasts. “Let me know when I can go again.” He said.

The next morning you were regretting your decision because you couldn’t walk the next day because you guys had practically pulled an all-nighter finishing all his rounds.

Jinnie: Chan lost.

LK: Whattt how?

Jinnie: I woke up early and still heard him and y/n going since last night.

Yongbokkie: Holy, is y/n okay?

Binnie: Doubt it

Minnie: Chan is such a needy guy.

Hannie: Goodness

Jinnie: Right.

Channie: Go back to sleep and stop talking about me!!

I.Nnie: Then there were 4…

Taglist:

@juskz @annybah @its-hannjisung @cutiespaghetti

#skz #skz x reader #skz fanfic #skz imagines #stray kids #skz smut #skz bang chan #skz chris #skz chan x reader #skz channie #skz chan smut #skz chan scenarios #skz bangchan #stray kids chris #stray kids channie #stray kids chan imagines #stray kids chan smut

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 years

Text

Pt 3; Daemon’s claim

Pt1 - return of the rouge prince

Pt2 - the heart wants what it wants

A/n: this one is more Daemon centric and not my best work if I’m being honest. Sorry I really tried.

Daemon laid his back against the tree, while his hand mindlessly plucked at the blades of grass closest to him, throwing them carelessly like a child post tantrum; wondering to himself what went wrong? He loved you did he not? Was that not enough for you? or was it just that you weren’t ready for his abundance of loyalty and love that chased you away, making you fearful of the day, should it ever come, where he’d ask for you hand so openly under the public eye? Forcing you to accept in fear of backlash should you deny him his wish? Were his obstute observations to blame for being mislead by his own tempering emotions that his eyes made the rouge prince see what he wanted to see instead, What he wanted as his outcome.

If that were the truth then Daemon was hell bound on his endeavours in making you fall for him or see him in a light similar to how he see you, never allowing your eyes to wander to other suitors when the perfect suitor was before your very eyes. For such an action would only bring about a jealously so potent it could melt the very same Valyrian steel that made up DarkSister, NightSearcher and BlackFyre to puddles before his feet. He had NightSearcher crafted out of his love for you and his need to protect you but how could he when he wasn’t by your side to fulfil that vow? Remembering the memory so vividly of a moment so brief in your lives where yours was almost unrighteously snuffed out by some desperate bandit looking to pay off the false promises he made whilst heavily under the influence towards the wrong people; had Daemon not been there to sever the bandits limbs as swiftly as he did, the prince refused to even entertain the concept of what would’ve become of you then. So birthed out of paranoia the dagger NightSearcher was forged with the intent of acting as Daemon’s form of justice and fulfilment of his promise.

Seeing you wield it as it was originally intended when he came here in search of you made him proud. He had to fight the urge to smile then as it was as clear as day that you were distraught by your thoughts; overwhelmed even to the point of reckless abandon of all logistical forms of thinking in favour of a more primal approach. The look in your eyes in that moment broke the Targaryen’s heart, you looked as lost and as confused as a newborn child without their parents guidance in right and wrongs. Daemon prides himself in knowing you more then most of your so called friends, he knew you hated most of the traditional customs to that of most followed by the many kingdoms of Westeros; claiming them to be severely outdated even by their original standing. Daemon knew you hated festivities but that was more of a renowned fact that anyone within KingsLanding, should they be common folk or royal alike would be privy to.

Daemon knew you had a scar running from one end of your arm to the other from a silly accident that you made him swore not to speak of within the presence of yourself nor anyone due to how humiliating it was; but in moments of vulnerability you’d allow him to personally see to it due to your refusal to ask the maesters of aid for something so insignificant. Your words, not his. He knew you valued honesty and loyalty above all else in a person, no matter the context of your relationship to them may be. Daemon knew so much about you that if being blessed with the ability to pick up a pen as easily as he picked up a sword, he’d write novel after novel about you and your habits and still find it not befitting enough to your character. Some once claimed, and some still do, that Daemon was merely using you as entertainment before finding a new toy to play with until he grew bored as per his reputation. What they didn’t understand that whilst that might’ve been the case upon first meeting, it didn’t take long for him to grow an obsession with you overtime that he would find every possible way to preordain situations where he got to stay by your side a little longer then he would have.

You grew on him so quickly like moss on a castle wall or that of a disease that his brother Viserys oh so lovingly calls him whilst casually holding a dagger to his throat. Daemon didn’t fear death, he accepted the prospect of death when he picked up a sword and shown the seven kingdoms his potential. It was the fact of you not loving him as deeply as he did that scared him. He knew that you knew better then to believe word from a horses arse then of the horses mouth when unfavourable speculations of him began to arise against him. Yet the mere thought of you one day seeing him the way everyone else sees him was enough to break him; what was he without the one person who saw through the rumours and assumptions made about his character and saw him as Daemon Targaryen and just Daemon Targaryen. He has grown so dependant on your unwavering loyalty to him that it has now became his biggest fear that it would soon be used against him by those angered by his presence.

For without you Daemon was lost. He didn’t wish rushing your relationship when it was apparent that you weren’t ready despite feeling something for him that friends don’t normally feel towards one another. He understood how scary it could be to suddenly have everything you’ve grown accustom to change and have everything you’ve known about someone questioned and tested once their true colours shone through. Yet he knew no matter how many changes he’d go through in life, his heart remained yours and ever truly yours as to him you’ve already staked your claim on it without being aware that you had; and in return he too would stake his claim on your heart as his soon enough should he play the cards fate had handed him accordingly.

Caraxes, haven watched everything from the guise of the forest, emerged his head from the tree line to stretch his protruding neck above the tree tops, groaning softly at the defeated look on his humans face; feeling the same sense of loss that Daemon did in that moment as his eyes trailed down the dirt path you bolted down before looking back at Daemon and huffing impatiently for him to follow after you. Caraxes knew from as a hatchling of Daemon’s deep and raw emotions for you and assumed that you were already something more by the time he could open his heavy eyes. However to the dragons disappointment, that wasn’t the case at all, whilst the emotions were true, the contents of your relationship at the time remained painfully platonic up to present day. Caraxes huffed once more when he saw that Daemon made no effort in moving from beneath the tree, clearly in distraught of the potential danger that awaited you should you have delved further in to the woods then allowed.

“I hear you Caraxes.” Daemon spoke up finally, looking at his dragon to see a spitting mirror image of his own emotions within Caraxes eyes, his dragon loved you as much as he did, Daemon noted as he remembered how clingy the Blood Wrym was whenever you were forced to leave for periods of time. You didn’t know of a Targaryen’s bond with their dragons at the time so you assumed it was just Caraxes being Caraxes when in reality he was also acting on Daemon’s behalf; Fearful of your reaction back then as he was now. “They couldn’t have gone that much farther from here.” Daemon said as he brought himself to his feet, trying not to exemplify the same fear that riddled his dragon of your safety, but however found his eyes lingering on the dirt path you bolted down with the same sense of dread filling his stomach as though he had just swallow stones before looking back at Caraxes. “They’re strong remember?” He rubbed just under the dragons chin in reassurance as though he wasn’t also trying to reassure himself in the process. If danger were to touch a hair on your head Dameon would sure enough have Carexes burn the woods to the ground in vengeance.

Caraxes closed his eyes but opened them once more when he gazed upon the already darkening sky above, urging Daemon in doing the same as his riders own eyes gazed upon the midnight blue hues starting to bleed into the sky as his mind raced back to you and your steed. “Even though it is quickly approaching nightfall, we should make haste in finding them before they befall into dire situations that only a forest as vast as this one could conjure.” With that Daemon and Caraxes were quick to take to the skies and began their search for you. Unfortunately for them however it would seem that fate had other plans in means of besieging them soon enough.

Taglist: @drikawinchester @newtsniffles @favoritearcher @sarcasticpotatooncitadel @princessleah129 @skinmittensgoblin @ayamenimthiriel @julieeba

#daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen fic #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen imagines #daemon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon x you #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon imagines #hotd x you #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #hotd imagines

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solarwynd · 2 months

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/solarwynd/746878765847773184/i-actually-wish-armys-would-try-to-get-that-1

I honestly think you guys are over thinking it. Maybe it’s because I used to have this mindset so in a way I can understand where they’re coming from. Not denying there’s not a lot of Armys who hate jimins guts but a large chunk of them put him on this pedestal for the other members and think if jimin can do it then so can the rest. It’s about trying to ot7ify everything to them. They made the same posts when Jungkook got that billion but it felt almost unrealistic because Jungkook was the only member at the time who was able to do it and their logic was because he has “GP”. None of this true, he might’ve gained some fans but not nearly enough for him to completely detach from bts’s core fandom. Also how he was able to achieve that billion comes in question, he needed his song merged as well as tons of promotions to get that billion. It’s unrealistic like I said so even with them trying to still ot7ify his moment, they had to also address no other member was getting that much push. They also couldn’t talk about it because again it’s addressing the elephant in the room. Now that jimin got it, it seems more doable to them because he only needed one version and in retrospect his was more organic. There wasn’t any foul play and it was heavily carried by fan support.

Mmm no I don’t think I am. Armys might have made a few similar posts when JK hit 1B but you cannot tell me it was any where near the extent that they’ve been doing it for Jimin today. Most armys barely even let him getting that 1B marinate before trying to shift the attention off of him and planning on breaking his record with TH. Them OT7-ing things after Jimin achieves something is not out of genuine army type behavior. Jimin motivates armys (especially these heavily biased ones) to work harder because they get a sense of overwhelming entitlement after he achieves a milestone.

It’s like a birthday party where a toddler is throwing a tantrum watching the other toddler get a cake despite it not being their birthday. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with also wanting your bias to reach goals but there is so much underlying animosity whenever Jimin reaches his that there’s no denying they feel some type of way about it.

“Also how he was able to achieve that billion comes in question, he needed his song merged as well as tons of promotions to get that billion. It’s unrealistic like I said so even with them trying to still ot7ify his moment, they had to also address no other member was getting that much push. They also couldn’t talk about it because again it’s addressing the elephant in the room.”

I mean I definitely agree with you on this cause before Seven held that record it was Flowers by MC, another song payola-ed out the ass. But LC was still gaining streams at an extremely fast and consistent rate. There’s no way they’re figuring it’s more doable after seeing LC achieve 1B because LC is an anomaly. Yes it did well despite being sabotaged and only having 1 version, but no one is streaming hyung line’s music like that and never have. The highest streamed song between the 4 of them is The Astronaut at 375M and it’s going on 2 years since that was released.

No one had any complaint when JK hit 1B with seven because again he’s the common ground for everybody in that fandom. They held multiple streaming parties for him well before he hit 1B while armys pulled that stunt this morning for Jimin. They would’ve been completely content had jimin taken two more years to reach 1B. There was no sense of urgency and they actively worked against us at every turn. Everytime you look in these daily spotify chart updates QRTS and LC is above newer songs, they’re pissed/shady. The bulk of armys haven’t been genuinely happy for Jimin achieving something since he initially got that #1 on hot100 and even that has obviously soured over time. OT7-ness cannot exist in a space where armys get upset whenever a specific member is doing well.

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cheshiresense · 1 year

Text

Anon:

Fandom: Harry Potter (CLV kinda?)

Character or Ship: Hadrian from CLV, I love Hadrian/Orion but that might not work here so it's totally up to you!

AU/Trope: I'd love to see an AU where instead of the CLV dimension, Hadrian is sent to a universe still with BWL!Neville but more similar to canon. Maybe with Slytherin!Hadrian and Hadrian taking some of the other Slytherins under his wing? I just really like the idea of a world where the "good guys" win and instead of (or in addition to) Orion it's the Slytherins who need Hadrian in their corner. Doesn't have to be all of them, whoever you prefer writing is fine. I am also down for bashing if you need to work that in. Thank you!

Tags: CLV AU, Slytherin!Hadrian, Canonical Prejudices, Draco Malfoy Bashing, kind of?, tbh this is more or less how I see him in canon lol but I know he's a fan favourite so fair warning, he's not the CLV version here, at least not yet.

-0-

Author's Notes: Hello, it's been a while since I've worked on these. I think I mentioned before that my tumblr inbox got glitchy so I actually couldn't find the other 6 requests from the last batch of 10 you guys sent in for 5+ Headcanons. So I set up an airtable form instead and got someone to test it, and this was the one they sent. It works, so in the future, I'll toss out a new post with the form link for more requests, and maybe I'll get through them in a timely manner lol.

If you're not in the UraIchi server, then you might've noticed that I've sort of been MIA on the writing front for a while now, the last time I wrote and posted something was like back in May last year, and honestly I've been kind of tired and burnt out ever since, and real life is kicking my ass a bit, so when I do have spare time, all I feel like doing is reading fics or webnovels and sleeping. But the winter hols were a nice break for me, and I've started on a couple new fic ideas and added to some wips on and off over the past few months, so I'm slowly getting back into it, and this 5+ Headcanons prompt was one of the things I've been working on. Hopefully, I'll be able to get back into posting fics soon.

ANYWAY, on to the stuff you actually care about: Slytherin!Hadrian, so basically amp up the hardened war vet and dial down the friendship magic XD Way back when I first started CLV, I did consider Slytherin for his House but it felt like everybody did that, plus the politics I would have to get into gave me a headache and I felt like I couldn't do it justice anyway, so I went with Hufflepuff. Slytherin does give me more options to play with a powerful Hadrian who has less morals about flinging that around to get what he wants though since he would be viewed as a halfblood at best and he'd need that currency to make sure nobody messes with him, especially if this universe is more canon than CLV (lbr, almost everybody is at least 50% nicer in CLV lol). So okay, let's give this a spin.

(AO3 Link Here -- I’ll add this to the collection fic on my AO3 to make it a round 15 but this one will be the last for that. If I do more, I’ll start a new fic.)

-0-0-0-

Hadrian ends up being a Hatstall. He sits on the stool for a full seven minutes as the Sorting Hat sifts through his bloodstained memories with a silence so grim Hadrian is tempted to comfort it. Then it proceeds to send back memories of its own, the major points of recent Hogwarts history that would best help Hadrian fit in - Neville, the Boy-Who-Lived; an image of Hadrian's counterpart and an entire family still alive; Quirrell vanquished in first year, a basilisk slain and a diary that bled itself to death in the second, Remus teaching in the third but no Pettigrew in sight; Neville at odds with Potter, Gryffindors at odds with Slytherins, and Death Eater children who hadn't managed to come out of the last war as financially and politically secure as families like the Malfoys, subtly shunned for their parents' sins, while children from the Light side, the winning side, with parents who'd openly defied Voldemort, can do almost no wrong. On the surface, everything looks bright and happy. Beneath it, malcontent and despair bubbles and brews with hardly anyone the wiser, and those who are, are glad to look away.

The Sorting Hat offers no opinions of its own after it is done, only continuing on to extol the virtues of all four Houses while making an argument for why Hadrian would be perfectly suited for each of them in equal measure, before finally leaving the decision in Hadrian's hands.

"Even I cannot be certain where you would do the most good," the Sorting Hat tells him. "Nor do I know which House would do you the most good. There are many children in this school who could use a helping hand such as yours, and likewise, you too would benefit from the same. Who am I to decide which is more important? Perhaps it is most accurate to say that no matter where you end up, who you will help, and who you will allow to help you, a new future will unfold, one made possible only by your existence. Yours is a fate that demands change, Mr. Evans, for better or for worse. But when peril looms on the distant horizon, when our society insists on blind stagnancy, and its people have long stood divided, change is exactly what this world needs. Thus, I leave the choice to you. Where do you wish to go?"

Hadrian says nothing - thinks nothing - for a long deafening minute. The mounting whispers in the Great Hall are easy enough to tune out, and within the confines of his mind, the Hat too remains patiently silent.

The truth of it is - Hadrian is tired. Even now, in this moment, in this place, one year and an entire dimension and seven years away, he still feels like he does on most days— as if he's just walked off a battlefield at the end of one of those kinds of days that can break a man even when you think there's nothing left to break, yet still hyper-alert for the next enemy, the next fight, the next death, because he doesn't know how to do anything else, how to be anything else. On all the rest, of course, it feels as if he never left the battlefield at all.

He is tired, and he honestly doesn't feel like he's capable of helping anyone, not children, not the reflections of his loved ones, and certainly not an entire world that's rapidly revealing itself to be as stuck on a one-way train to hell as his original world had been.

He doesn't want to be a hero, doesn't know how to be one even after all these years, even when other people had always so desperately wanted him to be. A hero, until he'd proven unable to meet their expectations, and then he'd been their villain, right up until they'd needed a hero to stand in front of them again, and round and round and round they'd gone.

The only thing he could never be was just Harry, just himself, and now even Harry Potter is no longer his to claim.

But maybe that's not so bad, not when Harry Potter has always been more story than reality, a patchwork fairytale portrait of a boy, a man, a weapon, a sacrifice, stitched together by every hand except his own.

Maybe Hadrian Evans could be something different.

Gryffindor feels too much like repeating history, and Hadrian would rather not be forced to stare at the majority of those long dead to him day in and day out. Hufflepuff is too prone to crowding together for his liking, persistently eager to be friends with their own members even if they're quick to turn on those who aren't, and Hadrian doesn't think he can bear the overenthusiastic socializing that would require.

Ravenclaw might be best, a House where even the most introverted can find a home if they have a thirst for knowledge, but at the same time, for a lot of them, once they latch on to a question unanswered or an opinion that doesn't fit their worldview, they won't let go until the question is exhausted or the opinion has conformed to what they consider acceptable, and Hadrian has too many secrets and no more patience to be what others what him to be to fit in with those sorts of people anymore. Besides, he's never quite forgiven that House as a whole. Marietta Edgecombe had been Ravenclaw. Quirrell and Lockhart and Trelawney had been Ravenclaws. Every single one of Luna's bullies had been Ravenclaws. He'd worked with members of that House over the years, taught them back when the DA had been up and running, and even been friendly with some of them beyond just Luna, but generally speaking, he has no positive emotions regarding Ravenclaw. He knows that he isn't being entirely fair, because Voldemort had been from Slytherin, and Pettigrew had been from Gryffindor, and the worst of the lot who'd spearheaded the damaging gossip and baseless accusations incriminating him - first for the Heir of Slytherin debacle in second year, and then the Cup nonsense in fourth year - had all been from Hufflepuff, but still, Ravenclaw simply stands out as that one House that holds no appeal for him.

That really only leaves one place he can go though, and Hadrian finds that he minds that a lot less than he once would've. Slytherin will have its own problems, him being a halfblood at best with a very obvious muggle surname, but Slytherins also respect power, and most of them have the sense to back off if they realize they're picking a fight with an opponent they can't beat. And once that's dealt with, Hadrian will most likely be avoided and left to his own devices, with only the occasional curse to his back to worry about. From a bunch of schoolchildren, that's a negligible issue.

In his head, the Sorting Hat chuckles. "Very well then. If you're sure, better be-"

"SLYTHERIN!"

But Mr. Evans," the Sorting Hat says in the seconds before it's removed from Hadrian's head. It sounds thoroughly amused. "Do not be so quick to underestimate your own heart."

And with that last ominous statement imparted to haunt him, Hadrian stands to lacklustre applause and makes his way to his new House as his tie settles into green and silver stripes.

The briefest of glances over the stretch of the Slytherin table tells him that none of the students seated where most of the fourth-years are gathered have moved to make room for him. That's fine. Hadrian would rather not be boxed in anyway. He takes a seat at the end of the table, smiles at the suspicious first-years around him, and then waits for Dumbledore's opening speech to finish so they can start the feast.

Fifteen minutes later, one treacle tart and a glass of pumpkin juice is all he can manage. He sips at some water for the rest of dinner even as he wishes it was something a lot more alcoholic. He speaks to no one, and no one tries to speak to him, although plenty of prying eyes and sneers of disdain find their way to him throughout the meal.

It makes him feel, Hadrian thinks with some humour, almost nostalgic.

Near the end of the evening, he thinks about going over to the Gryffindor table to find Neville, Ron, and Hermione. But he's in Slytherin now, so he doesn't know how they'll react, and after another moment of contemplation, he decides against it. Not much can embarrass him anymore, but he'd still rather not be put on the spot if the Golden Trio rejects his overture of friendship. It won't help his reputation in Slytherin either if he ends up making a spectacle of himself like that. There's plenty of time tomorrow to see how they'll feel about maintaining ties with a Slytherin without too big of an audience watching, and if they're against it, then, well, it's not as if Hadrian hasn't been living as a recluse over the better part of the past year anyway. He sees no problem carrying on exactly as he has.

Fate sent him here against his explicit permission but she sure as shit can't make him dance.

-0-0-0-

Hadrian ends up shuffled into a dorm room with five very familiar Slytherins - Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Blaise Zabini, and Theodore Nott. He gets the remaining bed that's presumably been empty since the others' first year, and a very pointed silence coalesces at his back as he starts unpacking his clothes into his wardrobe.

He ignores it. Instead, he absently begins a count of how long it will take for someone - he's betting Draco - to put their foot in their mouth first. He casts a glance at the floor-to-ceiling window next to his nightstand; like the Gryffindor dorms, the room is circular so everyone has a view to the outside, but here, instead of winds and open skies, it's lake water that shimmers against the glass, with the shadows of passing aquatic life flickering by. It's not bad, just different; the ambience of it is almost soothing.

Someone clears their throat behind him. Hadrian hangs up his winter cloak before moving on to his books. They each get a desk too, complete with a mini bookcase, which the Gryffindor dorms don't have. They have to do their homework on their beds or in the common room. How unfair. But at least Hadrian gets to benefit from it now.

Someone clears their throat again, louder this time. Hadrian smothers a twist of a smirk and bends over his trunk again to fish out his towels and toiletries. His more personal belongings can remain inside, although he'll have to ward everything to the nines anyway.

A displeased noise that comes out gilded with that distinctly familiar Dudley-esque whine of a child who's been spoiled since birth and has never known hardship reaches his ears, and then finally-

"Are you deaf, Evans?!" Draco demands, and oh, look at that, Hadrian wins the bet.

He straightens and turns, idly fiddling with a packet of quills as his gaze falls on the blond standing puffed up and bristling by the bed opposite Hadrian's on the other side of the dorm. He looks him over, looks at Crabbe and Goyle bracketing him with twin expressions of oafish scorn, looks at Zabini standing a ways away, watching the whole room with a smirk that doesn't reach his eyes, looks at Nott who doesn't look at anyone at all.

His attention returns to Draco, considering him for a moment longer before asking mildly, "Did you say something?"

Draco's cheeks flush pink even as he draws himself up and snaps, "You should at least have enough manners to introduce yourself!" His face narrows into a sneer, and Hadrian can almost predict his next words. "But I suppose even that might be too difficult for a mudblood to learn."

For a second, Hadrian wonders if he should tell him he's a halfblood. Then again, it doesn't really matter, and also some people consider halfbloods to be mudbloods too. And now that he thinks about it, the person he is in this world might actually be a muggleborn. But he was homeschooled so at least one of his fictional parents had to have known magic, right? Then again, they could've just been related to a witch or wizard but were muggles themselves. Who knows. Certainly not him since Fate couldn't be bothered to inform him.

"Evans, are you listening to me?!"

Hadrian blinks out of his thoughts. "Yes, I'm listening, what is it?"

Draco glares. His features are so… pointy at this age that the expression doesn't really carry the impact he's probably going for, but Hadrian figures it would be unnecessarily mean to mention it, so he doesn't. Instead, he quickly reviews everything Draco has said, and there wasn't actually a question anywhere in there, as far as Hadrian can tell, but maybe Draco really does want an introduction. Seems like a waste of breath though.

"Is there a point to introducing myself?" He asks. "Everybody heard my name at the Sorting. You even just used it so it's not like you don't know."

Draco splutters as if that wasn't what he expected Hadrian to say. He recovers after a moment and opts to glower harder instead, as if that would hide the way the pink in his cheeks is slowly turning red. Poor bastard. That's what you get when you have a pale complexion and fluster easily.

"Are you actually a mudblood then?" He demands contemptuously.

Hadrian honestly doesn't know, but he can't say that, so he volleys back, "Does Slytherin accept muggleborns?"

He knows they take halfbloods, but he can't remember any muggleborns in Slytherin, although if there are any, he doubts they would be willing to broadcast it, even if it means inventing a magical parent in their family tree.

"Of course not!" Draco refutes, sounding scandalized.

Hadrian can't tell if that's actually true, or if that's just Draco's own belief, but it does make things easier. "Then…" He shrugs. "If you already know, why are you asking?"

A beat of silence passes, then two. The red deepens in Draco's face as he hisses dramatically, "Are you mocking me?"

Hadrian suppresses a sigh. He probably is being too flippant for someone as high-strung as Draco, but it's still a far sight from mockery. He can definitely do better if he wants to taunt someone. Had his world's Draco been this easily riled up? They hadn't even really gotten into any exchange of insults yet. "I wouldn't say I'm-"

He stops.

Across the room, Draco has pulled out his wand, and when he realizes that Hadrian's broken off mid-sentence, the flush recedes from his face, and a triumphant smirk instantly takes its place instead.

"Since you've been sorted into Slytherin," Draco announces, raising his wand with a ridiculously showy flourish that makes Hadrian twitch with the desire to correct his posture. "You should know your place. Mouthing off to your betters is a good way to get cursed around here, especially when you're in the presence of someone like me." He sneers down his nose even as his chin tips up, all peacock proud. "My name is Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Even the likes of your kind should've heard of my family." He looks smug, as if a mere surname can protect him from anything when it comes down to it. "You'll be staying here for the next four years, Evans, and I guarantee you'll have a miserable time of it if you get on my bad side. But today's your first day at Hogwarts, so I can be generous. If you apologize, I'll let you go just this once."

An expectant hush falls as Draco finishes his little speech. Hadrian doesn't say anything right away, still turning over the packet of quills in his hands, still waiting. When nothing happens after a good five seconds tick by, and the silence gradually becomes strained, Hadrian finally nods at Draco's wand, "So are you going to use that or not?"

The stunned look of outrage on Draco's face is gold.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Evans!" Draco snarls, jabbing out with his wand. "Oscausi!"

Hadrian has time to arch an eyebrow at the choice of a pseudo-silencing charm before he's flipping a quill into the fingers of his left hand. A swipe of his thumb leaves a chain of runes glittering along its shaft, and then he brings it up, catches the oncoming spell with the tip, and swats it aside with a flick of his wrist, all in one fluid motion. His right hand doesn't stay still either as his wand slides neatly into his palm, and a single wordless modified Expelliarmus darts out and attaches itself to Draco's wand.

The white light of the Mouth-Sealing Charm is sent soaring across the room, shattering against the door in a shower of harmless sparks, and in the heavy silence that follows, Hadrian smiles.

He thinks it's a very bland smile, if he does say so himself. At the very least, he's careful to not look too intimidating or too unhinged, the way he can sometimes get, if some of his dead friends were to be believed, back during the war. Nevertheless, it still makes Draco blanch white, makes Crabbe and Goyle shrink back, makes Zabini lean further back into a convenient shadow and Nott go utterly still from where he's sitting on his bed.

Hadrian glances down at the remains of his writing utensil, most of the barbs now burnt black. It was a regular quill after all, not exactly made to withstand so much magic. He looks back up, at Draco who has a white-knuckled grip on his wand, and with his own wand, he gives the other's a tug, just enough to make Draco's eyes go wide with something like panic, but not enough to actually disarm him and - considering the sheer amount of honed intent in the charm that even Draco can undoubtedly sense - most likely bend the wand's allegiance.

Hadrian holds it for a moment longer, and then lets go. Draco staggers back a step, jerking his wand down and reflexively pressing it into his chest as if he's trying to protect it, or maybe assure himself that it still belongs to him.

Hadrian tucks his wand back up his sleeve before stooping down to pick up the rest of the quills he'd dropped. The burnt one goes in the bin by his desk.

Nobody speaks. Nobody even moves. So Hadrian does.

"That took you almost five seconds," He begins almost conversationally as he opens a drawer to stash his remaining quills away. "From when you decided to fire that spell to actually firing it. And that's not even counting all the time you wasted saying the stuff before that, after you already took out your wand. It's stupid. When you draw with the intent to harm, you shouldn't give any warning at all. And the spell itself was slow. You should work on that."

He pauses, and there's still no response, which he supposes makes sense. He doubts anybody here wants to listen to him preach. He should just wrap things up since the plan is moving along so neatly.

"Anyway, this is pretty unfortunate," He switches gears and smiles again, as fit-for-public-polite as he knows how to be. It doesn't seem to make anyone feel better, but he also doesn't feel like he was that heavy-handed earlier, was he? Ah well, can't change anything now, and it's still in line with what he wants so it doesn't matter.

"I wasn't really expecting to make any friends since I know the average Slytherin's views on blood isn't exactly in my favour," He continues in light tones. "But I was hoping that we could at least remain on civil terms and get along as schoolmates, if only because we'll be living together for the rest of our time at Hogwarts. Since that doesn't seem to be possible anymore though, how about we just go with the simplest solution?"

Hadrian surveys the room and smiles some more. "You ignore me and I’ll ignore you. You attack me and I'll retaliate. An eye for an eye, so to speak. Everybody just needs to mind their own business, and there won't be any problems. That's fair enough, don't you think?"

His gaze settles once more on Draco. "Since you're the only one who's said anything so far, I'll assume you speak for everyone in this dorm. Draco Malfoy, right? So then, do we understand each other now?"

Across from him, Draco shivers imperceptibly like a rabbit caught at the wrong end of a predator's line of sight, but he also swallows and nods and gingerly puts his wand away. It looks like it costs him, but - at least for now - he seems both too shocked and too afraid to try anything else.

"Great!" Hadrian says cheerfully before cocking his head as a thought occurs to him. "Oh, right, one more thing."

He lets his smile fall away. Lets his expression smooth over into marble. And then he lets his magic flare, lets the pressure of it roll across the room like the black merciless depths of a storm-tossed ocean, lets it eclipse them all like death come to call, and then he brings it crashing down, not most of it, not even half, because he hasn't forgotten that these are children, that they're still young, and they can learn, they can be better, and Hadrian doesn't actually want to traumatize them permanently.

But he also remembers Draco - his world's Draco - telling him once, in a fit of aggravated exasperation during one of those times when they'd devolved into insulting each other's House traits yet again because they still hadn't understood what made the other tick, but they had also reached a point in their friendship where they'd started trying to, and kept trying.

"Slytherins respect power," Draco had said, not for the first time, but then he'd also added, for the first time, and haltingly as if he hadn't known why he'd had to explain it at all, "How else are you going to know they're worth your time? Or I guess worth befriending, in your Gryffindor terms."

"You don't decide whether or not to make friends based on how powerful someone is."

"Slytherins don't have friends. I only said friend because you're a Gryffindor and you don't understand anything else."

"Fine, you don't decide whether or not to associate with every single person you come across in your life based on how powerful they are either."

"Why not?"

"Why would you??"

"How else would you know they're strong enough to stand with you? Or competent enough to protect themselves? Power is a good starting line. If they're powerful enough, then they won't be afraid to face your enemies with you, and you can trust them to be capable of keeping themselves safe without having to keep an eye on them every minute of the day. Only brainless Gryffindors prefer doing things like throwing themselves in the line of fire and dying dramatically for each other and calling that a win. Let me tell you something, Potter - it's not a victory when you're forced to suffer a loss. You haven't won anything if you're not around to enjoy the aftermath. So the best allies must be ones who are powerful enough to not only achieve their goals but also survive them."

"…"

"Well, I will grudgingly admit that I didn't put quite that much thought into it when I was younger, but who did? …It's what I believe now though. Did I finally get it through your thick skull this time, Potter?"

After that particular conversation, Hadrian had understood a little better, even if he hadn't entirely agreed with it all. But he hadn't forgotten a single word, and Draco was right— as they are, these kids definitely aren't thinking that deeply, but Hadrian thinks that the core of it at least is the same. Slytherins respect power. And he has power in spades, so at the very least, he can make them respect him.

Of course, if that also happens to make them afraid of him, then, well, he was never aiming to be their friend or even ally anyway. So long as they leave him alone, it's fine.

He brings his magic to bear, allows the weight of it to fall and fall and fall, and he watches dispassionately as Draco goes grey, as Crabbe and Goyle's knees buckle, as Zabini flinches back like he wants to melt into the walls, as Nott curls into himself and may or may not have stopped breathing.

Hadrian catches Draco's eye, and doesn't let him look away. "I have no betters. Do I make myself clear?"

He'd spent half his life being beaten down by the Dursleys, told over and over that he was worth nothing, that he didn’t deserve food or clothes or kindness, that he was a waste of space and better off dead. He'd spent a good chunk of his Hogwarts career obliviously dancing to Dumbledore's tune, and then some more of it knowingly dancing to it because what else could he do with a target on his back. He'd spent over twenty years shackled to Voldemort, to his parents' legacy, to a war that had loved him a whole lot more than he'd ever loved it. And he'd been Fate's everything since before he'd ever even been born.

Some days, he wonders if he even knows what freedom is anymore. Or if he's ever known at all.

But one thing he is sure of is that he will never passively tolerate anyone controlling what he can or cannot do ever again.

Draco whimpers something like agreement, like deference, like surrender, and- that's enough. Hadrian reels it all back, all his magic hidden away again, and in the dizzying wake of its abrupt disappearance, Draco collapses, barely catching himself and his dignity with the edge of his bed. Crabbe and Goyle do crash to the ground, while Zabini has to steady himself against his nightstand, and Nott sways like he might faint.

Too much, Hadrian thinks distantly, and tries to feel bad about it because he really hadn't meant to go that far, but his lines in the sand have also long since blurred away beneath a tide of blood and corpses.

Mostly, he just feels tired, and it has nothing to do with his displays of magic tonight.

He breathes. Turns. Grabs a towel and his underwear and pyjamas and pretends everything's fine. It is fine, now. He's gotten what he wanted. "It's getting late. I'll shower first. Won't be long."

And then he's exiting stage right, straight into the bathroom, and it's a relief to close the door behind him.

Of course, that sentiment is one that's shared by probably every single person in the room.

-0-0-0-

Theo is awake before anyone else the next morning. Or at least he thinks he is because he usually is. But everybody's curtains are drawn, and after last night, he doubts anyone was able to sleep right away, if at all, with the exception of their new roommate.

Hadrian Evans. Great Merlin, where had this person even come from? Even just the memory of his magic - vast and endless and utterly uncompromising - pressing down on them like the sky had fallen on their heads, makes his hands want to shake all over again. For a long, suspended, suffocating moment that could've lasted an eternity, Theo could've sworn he was going to die last night. And the most terrifying thing is that he is absolutely certain that Evans hadn't even been trying that hard.

Evans had radiated enough raw power to force all of them to their knees if he'd really wanted to. But he'd held back. He'd only given them a glimpse, just enough to warn them off. The rest of his magic had been out of reach, but present. It was there, reined in and waiting, but the shape of it and the depth of it had felt… unfathomable, as if it had no limits.

And that doesn't even account for the spellwork he had done. Theo had recognized the Disarming Charm, but last he checked, the average Expelliarmus only deprived a wizard of their wand. A more powerful one might send the target flying and even knock them out, but he's never heard of one that can… threaten to disarm your opponent at your leisure and - if Theo wasn't mistaken - force the wand to forsake its owner. Everybody knows that that's always a possibility in a real duel; if you win and take your opponent's wand, then that wand might not work for its owner anymore. But most of the time, you have to mean it, you have to set out with the intent to do it, the buildup of magic in the duel itself gives that intent a foundation, and there has to be an actual possibly life-threatening conflict of interest between the parties too, a real enmity that even last night - however excessive the exchange - shouldn't have qualified. Squabbles between students just don't count. If it did, with the Disarming Charm being taught in school, there would be a lot more students in need of new wands. The only way Theo can rationalize it happening anyway is that Evans must've been strong enough to compel the wand itself to leave its owner.

Pity he hadn't gone through with it in the end. Evans is powerful, but he's also… Theo is hesitant to call him soft, but if it had been Malfoy, if it had been Blaise or even himself or pretty much any other Slytherin, they would've done it. He's unsure of why Evans hadn't.

And then there had been the thing with the quill. Theo can't even explain that, and he'd mulled it over for half the night. He has the… incidental fortune of occupying the bed closest to Evans', so as soon as Evans had ducked into the bathroom last night, and the others had been distracted with pulling themselves together and possibly trying not to wet themselves, Theo had chanced a swift peek into Evans' wastebasket.

It really had looked just like any other regular quill, one that'd been burnt completely black and missing most of its barbs, but it had been a quill. He'd been tempted to open Evans' desk drawer to check the other quills, but - with Evans' ultimatum still ringing in his ears - he hadn't been that suicidal, so he'd refrained. But from what he could recall, the pack it had come from had looked just like the mass-produced writing utensils one could find in any stationery shop in Diagon Alley.

Whatever he'd done though, he had made it look like child's play. A quill and a Disarming Charm, so fast that Theo could've blinked and missed it. Could someone like that really have remained in obscurity all this time? Evans had apparently been homeschooled up until now, and they haven't even attended their first class yet, but by anyone's definition, after last night, he can't claim to be anything less than a prodigy.

It's… unbelievable. And not even because of any of the blood purity ideals that Malfoy likes to preach about. Theo doesn't think much of muggleborns or halfbloods, but he also doesn't think much of most purebloods, so he's fairly certain it's not high society prejudices that's driving his disbelief. It's just… He's never met anyone - not even his father, and Merlin knows Theo's been afraid of him for as long as he can remember - as effortlessly powerful as Evans had shown himself to be, and he doesn't understand how nobody has heard even a whisper of a rumour of this boy before he'd arrived at Hogwarts.

Someone like him shouldn't exist. Or perhaps there has been one, and that had been how the Dark Lord had made so many people bow at his feet or cower in their homes, but Theo had never met him in person, and so all he has is Evans' example to draw from. And not a single witch or wizard whom Theo's ever met could compare.

Has Evans just been hiding himself? Maybe his family hid him before they deemed him ready to face the rest of the world, and he's certainly proven that he can hide it when he wants to. But what kind of family can bring up this kind of wizard? Evans is only fourteen. None of them had thought him anything special before he'd revealed exactly how wrong they were. And he probably wouldn't have done even that much if Malfoy hadn't immediately taken a go at him, always so obsessed with making sure everyone knows he sits at the top of the food chain.

Well, he certainly doesn't anymore, and if Theo hadn't been caught up in the confrontation last night just like everyone else, he would've been tempted to applaud the spectacle of Malfoy being taken down a peg or ten. Before Evans' arrival, Theo was the one Malfoy liked to take jabs at every few days, and it was only partly because he'd had a halfblood mother. The Notts could've been said to be respectably rich once upon a time, but after the war had ended, with his father's political clout being almost nonexistent and most of their extended relatives either dead or in Azkaban, they'd been easy pickings for the Aurors. His father had escaped prison time with the Imperius excuse and some bribes, but that hadn't prevented multiple raids on their home and a hefty list of fines that had left their vaults near-depleted. And what little fortune they have left is reserved almost entirely for Theo's father's alchemy obsession that's more often focused on illegal research topics than not, as well as his black market dealings, although neither of those at least is widely known, or who knows if they would even have their ancestral manor left after the Aurors were done with them?

Malfoy loved reminding him of almost every one of those things as often as he could, and the most absurd thing is that - more than being born from a halfblood mother or poverty or loss of prestige - Theo's pretty sure Malfoy's biggest reason for disliking Theo is because Theo had refused to follow him around like Crabbe and Goyle back in first year.

So here they are now, and after three years, Theo had more or less become inured, not to mention it wasn't as if Malfoy only bullied him, or even bullied him the most - nobody could top that list while Potter and Weasley were around to fight for first place on it - but it had still been annoying and stressful because Theo was the only one who had to share a dorm with him. Considering the Malfoys' standing in society however, all he could ever do was stay silent and bear with it.

Admittedly, he'd been a little happy when Evans had been sorted into Slytherin, because between Theo and an unknown halfblood-at-best with no allies and no significant family background to speak of, the perfect prey in every way, Malfoy would definitely enjoy targeting the latter more, and even if the blond ponce still came after Theo, it would at least take some of the pressure off of him.

Now… well. That will still probably pick back up sooner or later, but Theo resents it less when he thinks about how it will take at least a few weeks before Malfoy will be able to strut around again after last night's humiliation. And also…

He thinks again of last night, of how Evans had basically smacked Malfoy down like he was nothing more than an unruly upstart getting above himself, and of that quiet oath too - I have no betters - and it hadn't even been pride or arrogance or superiority, only stone-cold certain fact.

He thinks of the fear he'd felt, but behind that, beneath that, more than that, there had also been nothing less than a breathless, heady, wondrous sense of reverence that had settled itself behind his ribcage, in his lungs, in the sudden hungry swell of curiosity that he'd just barely managed to lock behind his teeth, and it had only grown stronger after a night of fitful sleep.

He wants to see that magic again. He wants to know what else Evans can do.

And most importantly, he wants to know if he can do it too.

-0-

Ten minutes later, Theo hears Evans pull his bed curtains back. Very cautiously, he twitches his own curtains open half an inch to watch Evans get up, stretching languidly and scrubbing a hand through his messy black hair before gathering up his toiletries and a change of clothes. Like this, he looks completely normal, nothing at all like someone who could flatten all five of his roommates with a thoughtless flex of his magic. Even his eyes are just green now, no longer glowing like the light of a Killing Curse.

Of course, then Evans waves a hand at his window curtains, which obediently sweep open in response, and… yes, why not? Wandless magic seems par for the course for Evans, even if Theo has only ever heard of a handful of seventh-years capable of some very basic wandless spells if they concentrate hard enough.

Evans leaves for the bathroom as if casual uses of wandless magic is an everyday occurrence for him, and only after the door has closed does Theo let himself relax.

Evans had never even glanced over, but somehow, Theo thinks the other boy had known he was being watched anyway. But he'd said nothing, hadn't even given any indication that he'd noticed, let alone minded. Theo still isn't sure why he'd let Malfoy off so easily yesterday - because on hindsight, when it came down to it, all Evans had really done was scare them and scare Malfoy most of all; despite the verbal abuse and even the Dark charm Malfoy had shot at him, Evans hadn't actually hurt any of them in return - and Theo doesn't get it but maybe part of it is just because Evans doesn't take offence easily.

It seems unwise to Theo to not at least dole out some injuries as a reminder when that offence had been as insolent as Malfoy's, but perhaps Evans has his own measure of such things. Besides, Malfoy's known to say worse. Theo's looking forward to what happens if Malfoy forgets himself and says something even more loathsome. It's not impossible. Malfoy has been unchallenged since he came to Hogwarts. He's used to saying and doing whatever he wants, even to the upper years and those outside his own House. Most people ignore him when they can and indulge him when they can't, or otherwise manage or placate him with their own methods, but the one thing no one has ever done is tell him no, tell him to stop and make it stick. Potter and Weasley tend to give as good as they get, what with how short their tempers are, but they're louder and more obvious about it, so they get caught more often, which just makes them even angrier, so it never actually feels like they win, even when Malfoy doesn't either. Certainly, no amount of lectures or point loss has managed to deflate his ego.

But now there's Hadrian Evans. Theo doesn't need a second demonstration to know that Malfoy is outclassed in every way, but funnily enough, Malfoy himself might need it.

Theo eyes the bathroom door for a moment longer before finally getting up himself. He's barely set his feet on the rug before Blaise - in the bed on Theo's other side - also whips open his curtains, looking far more alert than he ever has this early in the morning.

For several seconds, they stare at each other in silence. And then - because he isn't sure if the other three boys in the room are awake yet - Theo pitches his voice even lower than usual and says, "He said Malfoy spoke for us."

Blaise blinks twice, and then something like distaste curves up at one corner of his mouth. "I heard."

Theo nods. They're on the same page then. Neither of them is particularly keen on this opinion that Evans has regrettably formed, Theo because of obvious reasons, and Blaise because he's Blaise.

Blaise has always been strange. He's the type who gets along with everyone and gets along with no one. You'd be hard-pressed to find anyone - biased Gryffindors aside - who would say a bad word about him, but they'd probably have to think a while if you asked them to describe something of personal significance about him too. It's not that he's average - he's never failed a class, and he's especially good at Potions - but for all that he can carry a conversation in a way that makes everyone feel comfortable and included, and he could probably talk rings around a politician without making them feel stupid, he also never lets anyone close enough to actually get to know him. He's approachable, but only when he wants you to approach him. He's generous with his smiles, but sometimes, it feels a little like he's laughing at you. He might say something condescending or spiteful to you one day, but he has the kind of charisma that makes you forget that the very next. People might call him friend and invite him over for a chat or a game of chess, but most don't make any attempts to go beyond that. And if you know what to look for, as Theo has learned to do, you would realize - Blaise views the world like it's one big boring joke, and his estimation of most of the people in it is probably somewhere around the level of dancing clowns.

Theo doesn't mind. The two of them aren't friends either. They're also not enemies though, and occasionally, they can be allies, but only when Blaise feels like it. Sometimes, the other boy will distract Malfoy from messing up Theo's potion in class or launching yet another diatribe on all of Theo's deficiencies, but Theo will never ask him to because he has nothing to repay Blaise with.

It works for them. Blaise does what Blaise wants, and even Malfoy can't control him. Theo is secretly envious of that— with the Zabinis' seat of power in Italy, it means they don't have that much clout in Britain, and yet nobody messes with Blaise, not even the few who don't buy into Blaise's charm or simply hate him because he's a Slytherin. Not even Malfoy messes with him, and even Theo can't tell if it's Malfoy's self-preservation instincts kicking in to ensure that he isn't about to go insulting someone with a black widow mother like Blaise's, or if Malfoy genuinely hasn't noticed that Blaise doesn't respect him at all no matter how pleasant his words can be. Honestly, when it comes to Malfoy, there's a decent chance of either option being true.

With all that in mind though, it's not a surprise that Blaise isn't pleased with being slotted in as one of Malfoy's lackeys, especially by someone as impressive - or, as Blaise might put it, entertaining - as Hadrian Evans has swiftly proved himself to be.

"It's fine," Blaise says next, rolling out of bed to get ready for the day. He's already regained his typical lazy slouch, as if he hadn't been just as terrified as the rest of them last night. His eyes slide to the bathroom, then away, unreadable but more focused than Theo's ever seen them. "We live in the same dorm, and we'll attend at least most of the same classes. He'll see soon enough that we don't share the same opinions as Malfoy."

Theo watches him dig into his wardrobe. "And then?"

"Then?" Blaise tips a more familiar look of knowing amusement at him. "Then you do what you want, and I'll do what I want, and at the very least, we'll have the good sense to not throw ourselves straight onto a hippogriff's talons like dear Draco."

Theo smothers a snort and rises to his feet. Neither he nor Blaise take Care of Magical Creatures, but everybody had heard of Malfoy's idiocy last year. The phrase "my father will hear about this!" had reached a record high by winter's end. Not much had come of it, not when Hagrid had had the likes of James Potter and Sirius Black and Albus Dumbledore championing him. Even Lucius Malfoy would - and had, more than once over the years - find it difficult to contend with the British wizarding world's vaunted war heroes when they join forces. In the end, Hagrid could continue teaching so long as he did it alongside a second professor hired by the school, and even the hippogriff got to live. Malfoy had not been happy, and he'd made sure everybody knew it too, but at least he'd also whined less about it once Slytherin House had learned to snigger about it where he wouldn't hear.

But 'throwing oneself onto a hippogriff's talons' had become rather popular vernacular ever since, subtle enough that even Malfoy couldn't call anyone out on using it without embarrassing himself, but funny to everyone who understood, and nobody could even say who'd started the phrase. Theo's money would be on Blaise though.

The bathroom is spelled so that nobody outside can hear anything when the door is shut, but they can hear the lock click open just fine, and almost in tandem, he and Blaise both immerse themselves in picking out their outfits for the day as if it's a task that requires every last bit of their attention.

Evans walks out. True to his word, he ignores them completely, neither greeting them nor sparing them a glance as he moves back to his section of the dorm. Theo watches him out of the corner of his eye as the boy folds his pyjamas away before proceeding to pack his bag. He catches a glimpse of an Ancient Runes textbook, and his mind abruptly flashes back to the quill. But… that can't be right.

Evans shuts his bag, pulls on his robes, and toes on his shoes. Like this, there's something vaguely familiar about him that Theo can't place right away, and the thought is gone again as Evans slings his bag over his shoulder and strides for the door.

He still doesn't look at any of them, and he's gone from the room a moment later. They might as well have been empty air.

Theo's fingers tighten around the shirt he's holding. Somehow, he-

-doesn't like it.

-0-

Malfoy gets up two minutes after Evans is gone, moving around with an exaggeratedly unaffected sort of poise that makes Theo want to roll his eyes. At least the blond doesn't try to make conversation until Crabbe and Goyle wake up as well.

Evans aside, Theo is the first out of the room, as per usual, although this time, Blaise accompanies him up to the common room and out of the Dungeon. It takes no time at all to arrive at the Great Hall, and this early, most of the four House tables are still empty of students, although more and more are gradually drifting in in groups of threes and fours.

Unlike the other Houses who like cramming into whatever space they see, Slytherins are more political about it. The end seats are left to the outcasts or first-years who don't know better yet, while the midway point of the table is typically reserved for the most influential students, such as those with the best grades or the largest range of social connections or the strongest family background, or some combination of the three. And everybody else arranges themselves between the two extremes accordingly. The only time that changes - from what Theo has heard - is when someone is so magically powerful that they can overwhelm everyone else. Then it doesn't matter what grades or connections or background they have because magic is respected most of all, although they would usually have some qualifications in those other areas. But either way, they would be given reigning place of pride in the middle with their chosen followers around them, and everybody else would sit where they're told to sit, regardless of their accomplishments.

Someone like that hasn't come along in fifty years though, not since the Dark Lord was still at Hogwarts.

So it's jarring to see Evans seated at the very end, furthest away from the High Table, with a book open in front of him and a steaming mug in one hand, but Theo supposes it shouldn't be. He's newly transferred in, and a halfblood besides, so he probably doesn't know about the traditional seating arrangement, and since it's still just the second day of school, it's not as if anybody else outside their dorm knows that Evans is anything but the unfortunate fourth-year with a muggle surname sorted into Slytherin, so he really can be considered an outcast.

Theo exchanges a look with Blaise before tentatively taking a seat at their usual spot a few feet away from the halfway point of the table. It doesn't feel right to… go over Evans' head like this, but it's not like they can really do anything about it at the moment. Theo in particular is technically sitting above his station, but his family is still one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, no matter how far it's fallen, and he gets decent grades in almost every class. He's also on friendly terms with Blaise, and the fact that he shares a dorm with Malfoy is a double-edged sword. Malfoy has the status to sit near the middle ever since he was a first-year, and it wouldn't look very good for him if he's seen completely spurning a Nott in his generation. So Theo is largely left alone so long as he looks like he's nominally part of Malfoy's group during mealtimes.

Theo spends the next five minutes sneaking sidelong glances down the table. Blaise does the same, and neither of them is obvious about it so nobody comes up to ask them any questions. Other Slytherins begin filing in, and more than one wrinkles their nose or sneers when they pass Evans, as if they've smelled something repulsive.

Theo has to make an effort not to wince every time it happens. Blaise watches with a shallow smirk hitched across his face and something cold and callous and thoroughly amused in his eyes.

By the time Malfoy - with Crabbe and Goyle on either side of him - sits down across from them, about half the table is full, plates of breakfast have started appearing, and Evans still hasn't looked up from his reading.

Malfoy - much less subtle - shoots something sulky and resentful with just a dash of fear down the table and mutters, "Doesn't even know how to sit properly."

Theo really does roll his eyes this time, although he makes sure to do it down at his scone. Before anyone can say anything else though, Evans unexpectedly straightens, his attention finally lifting from his book. Malfoy immediately stiffens as well like he thinks Evans had heard him from all the way down the table, which Theo wouldn't put past Evans's ability but also doesn't think that Evans thinks that Malfoy is worth that effort to eavesdrop on.

Evans looks around, but not at any of the Slytherins. He cranes his head over one shoulder, seems to catch sight of whatever he's looking for, and gets up, shutting his book and tossing it back in his bag. Then he's making his way across the Hall, past the Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws, straight over to the Gryffindor table that's only partially filled at the moment but is also hosting the Golden Trio, who had just come down for breakfast.

Evans stops a few feet away, and Longbottom, Weasley, and Granger turn to face him. What Theo can see of their expressions indicate that they're surprised and a little wary, but they also seem like they know each other. They converse about something, Weasley makes some exaggerated hand gestures, Granger smacks him, and then Evans says something else that makes the Gryffindors burst into laughter, startled but bright.

And then Evans moves forward and-

-sits down.

At the Gryffindor table.

Longbottom and Granger are smiling, and even Weasley - with his hatred for everything Slytherin - seems fine with it, going back to plating more food for himself while passing some sausages over to Evans.

In Theo's peripheral, Malfoy's face has lost so much colour that he could pass for a ghost. Theo can't tell if he's just that offended or if he's actually managed to comprehend the fact that he's already alienated possibly the most magically powerful student at Hogwarts from Slytherin House, to the point where that student doesn't even want to eat at the same table as them, and classes haven't even started yet.

Theo can't tell, nor does he care, but if he'd ever needed any more reasons to despise Draco Malfoy, this would be it.

He averts his gaze from Evans, even if the mere thought of him preferring a bunch of Gryffindors - and those Gryffindors at that; the only ones worse would be Potter's lot - over his own House is… grating. But staring isn't going to win Theo any favours and might just tick Evans off. Besides, there are plenty of others who have noticed a Slytherin sitting with Gryffindors, and they're staring enough for ten of him.

He starts on his breakfast. School has just begun. There's plenty more time in the future to observe Hadrian Evans.

-0-0-0-

Within the space of a week, Theo is cautiously pleased to find that he shares all nine classes with Evans. The core subjects are mandatory of course, but in addition to Ancient Runes, Evans also takes Arithmancy, both of which Theo is also studying, and after three weeks, he gets a slightly more detailed picture of what Evans is capable of.

In class, Evans doesn't stand out, or at least not in a way most people would notice. He doesn't take the initiative to answer questions posed by the teachers, and his spells and potions aren't particularly dazzling when they're assigned practical classwork.

But every time a professor calls on him, Evans always answers correctly. Every time they have to practice a new spell, Evans doesn't clamour to be the first to show off, and he isn't the one who produces it with the most eye-catching burst of magic, but when he's asked to show his progress, he always does it exactly the way the teacher demonstrated it at the beginning of class. Even in Potions, all he does is work discreetly in the back corner on the Slytherin side of the room. He never finishes early, but he also never finishes late, never failing to turn in a textbook-perfect potion ten minutes before class ends, and a couple times, Theo catches Snape watching Evans with an inscrutable expression after the boy quietly hands in yet another flawless potion.

After three weeks, Theo can conclude that while Evans doesn't deliberately dumb himself down, and in fact is performing spectacularly across the board, he does it in such a reserved, inconspicuous manner that even most of the professors probably aren't going to notice until they've graded a good few months' worth of homework and tests.

He does it for every subject. Every single one, except Ancient Runes, and Theo is convinced that that's less because Evans didn't try, and more that… well, some brilliance just can't be hidden.

In the third week, when Babbling hands back their first assignment - Acceptables and Poors all around of course; some days, Theo isn't sure if he wants to strangle Babbling or himself, just to put himself out of the misery that is attempting to understand anything their Runes professor says - she holds Evans back at the end of class, and half the students snicker like they think he's in trouble or did so badly that even Babbling can't stand it, and it's the best joke they've ever seen. But two days later, some papers that Evans has left out on his desk while he's off doing something else, probably with his Gryffindor buddies, catch Theo's eye while he's on his way to his own desk. More specifically, the symbol of the Department of Magical Education stamped on them catches Theo's eye, and after some very hasty and very undignified neck-straining and squinting from a prudent five feet away, he more or less understands.

Babbling hadn't held Evans back because he was doing badly. Babbling had held him back because he was doing so good he would be sitting his Ancient Runes O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams on the twenty-third of October.

Three minutes after that revelation, Theo's still sitting somewhat dazed in his chair when Malfoy returns, Crabbe and Goyle in tow. The blond also spots the papers on Evans' desk and - after suffering day after day of, in Malfoy's increasingly belligerent opinion, being disgraced by Evans due to all the time he was spending with Gryffindors, and even three of the ones Malfoy hates most - practically lights up with a malicious sort of glee at the opportunity to get a little revenge.

He seems to have already forgotten that first night's lesson, and it hasn't even been a month yet. Sometimes, Theo is honestly baffled by Malfoy's Sorting into Slytherin. What ambition is there in a boy whose solution to everything in life is to fall back on his father and surname and family money? What cunning is there to speak of when he so often acts without even considering the option of leaving himself a way out, just in case his taunts and schemes backfire on him one day?

Or perhaps the real mystery is how he's managed to go this long without anyone telling him that the world won't always bend to his demands.

"O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams?" Malfoy says loudly as he wanders over to read the papers. He scoffs. "No matter how much magic he has, there's no way that's possible. He's just a fourth-year. And a halfblood! I bet he paid Babbling to sign him up for them. Everybody knows she's not all there so Evans wouldn't even have to pay her a lot to persuade her."

Theo flicks a glance at Blaise, who'd brought up the rear, a few seconds behind Malfoy, and had entered on near-inaudible footsteps in time to witness this latest snowballing disaster. The taller boy's lip curls, and his next words come out in such a nonchalant drawl that it takes a moment for Malfoy to register the bite of them, "Why would he do that though? He's not you."

Malfoy flushes an unflattering shade of red. "Zabini! That's not funny!"

Blaise's insults are always taken as jokes. Theo thinks that's the only way Malfoy can weather them, because he doesn't truly dare to cross Blaise, so even if he does know better, he still has to feign ignorance.

"It can't be possible," Malfoy repeats, turning back to the papers. "Otherwise, why hasn't he said anything about it? If it were me, I'd let everyone know! Obviously, he knows he'll fail, so he doesn't dare to spread it around."

Theo tries to wrap his mind around that logic, fails, and gives it up as a bad job.

"Then, why is he taking them?" Crabbe suddenly pipes up, blinking with a befuddled air in Malfoy's direction.

Malfoy rolls his eyes. "Obviously, Crabbe, it's to impress the Boy Who Lived. You've seen how Evans is constantly fawning over Longbottom." And there's the jealousy leaking into his voice even as it strengthens as if he's gaining confidence in his conjecture the longer he speaks. "He's still just a vulgar halfblood with subpar upbringing after all. He needs political connections if he wants to make anything of himself in our world. And Longbottom's a soft touch, and an idiot besides at everything that isn't digging in the dirt. Just trying to take the exams is probably enough to make him think Evans is a genius."

He takes another step forward, almost hovering over the desk now, childish spite tarnishing his features. "Let's see what the rest of Slytherin thinks of this. We are in the same House so Evans should look for support from real purebloods. I'll help him out."

Malfoy reaches out, and Theo goes still, staring, avid and unblinking.

(Greedy.)

Hadrian Evans does not disappoint him.

Malfoy's hand lands on the papers, and it's as if a miniature explosion takes place. There's no warning as the desk ignites with enough interlocked, interwoven, bloody intricate runes to send anyone reeling. It blankets the entire desk in layers of circles and lines and eye-watering spirals, before even those disappear in a blaze of brilliant silver light that pulses once before bursting outward and knocking Malfoy clean off his feet.

Malfoy screams as he's sent flying across the room in a tangle of flailing limbs and flapping robes. Coincidentally - or not? - he lands on his bed in a graceless upside-down heap, the bag he's still wearing smacks him in the face, and the momentum tumbles him straight over the far side of his bed and onto the floor with a final muffled thump that cuts Malfoy's shriek to a yelp.

The light disappears, along with the runes. The room goes eerily quiet, and for a long moment, nobody moves.

It's Blaise who reacts first.

He laughs.

It's enough to snap Malfoy out of his stupor. The blond scrambles to right himself, pushing to his feet, fury and humiliation writ large across his face as he opens his mouth to shout, "Shut up, Zabini! Wait until my father hears about this! Evans will regret-"

There's a clatter. The door opens.

Malfoy shuts up so fast Theo wouldn't be surprised if he bit his tongue.

Evans steps inside, and then stops. He looks around, looks at his desk, looks at a still dishevelled and increasingly pallid Malfoy, and then he shuts the door behind him and heaves a very deep sigh.

"Seriously?" He asks in rhetorical tones. "I just went to borrow a library book. I couldn't have been gone for more than thirty minutes."

Nobody says anything. Evans sighs again before striding over to his desk. He raises a hand and combs his fingers through the air— or perhaps something only he could see, and that's proven correct as a runic array shimmers into existence, swirling together before reshaping itself into-

-a memory.

Specifically, it's a replay of everything Malfoy had said and done as soon as he'd gotten within three feet of Evans' belongings, complete with sound and colour. It's basically a pensieve without the pensieve or the removal of memories to supply it.

Theo wants so badly that his teeth ache with the leashed desire to ask a million questions immediately.

Patience, he reminds himself.

"Hm," Evans says once the memory's run its course, and the runes wisp away once more. Theo is both surprised and not when the other boy proceeds to pull out his chair, sit down, and dig out his library book, clearly intent to continue his work.

Behind him, Malfoy seethes, and before he can think better of it, or he simply doesn't think, he barks out, "Do you think you can treat me this way, Evans? Do you know who my father is? When I tell him about this-"

"Tell him then," Evans interjects, leaning back to slant a cool look at Malfoy. "Tell him you tried to steal my things, and my wards tossed you onto your bed, and the only thing it really bruised was your ego. Or you can lie and make up something that would make you more of a victim, and big bad mudblood Hadrian Evans bullied you terribly. What's the worst that could happen? Expulsion?" He huffs a laugh, and as far as Theo can tell, the thread of mirth that laces the sound is astonishingly sincere. "Malfoy, I don't actually care. I don't need Hogwarts."

He really doesn't. Worse comes to worst, which other school would be daft enough to not scoop him up if they see what he can do with runes? And that's not even getting into everything else he can do. Any school would accept him in a heartbeat and then laugh themselves to tears if Lucius Malfoy actually managed to get him ejected from Britain's sphere of influence on some trumped up charges just because his son went crying to him. Besides, since Evans had been previously homeschooled, he could always just return to that as well.

Malfoy opens his mouth, then closes it, and he does that a couple times, eyes wide in his face like he's never met anyone who has stonewalled him this way, who has challenged his authority so directly, more than once, and yet remains utterly unintimidated and untouchable.

Evidently, he never has.

Evans regards him for a few seconds more before sighing once more. "I thought I was clear enough that first night, but apparently not. When I say 'attack', I don't just mean with a wand. All my things are off-limits unless I say otherwise, so if I were you, I would keep my hands to myself. You don't want to know what my wards will do to you if they sense intentions worse than just petty theft. I hope you won't forget again."

He holds Malfoy's faltering gaze for a moment longer before turning back to his books and papers. Malfoy stumbles back a step as if he's been physically released, and he looks like he wants to pitch a temper tantrum but also doesn't dare. In the end, he storms out of the room without even straightening his robes or smoothing back his hair, and nobody tries to stop him or go after him, not even Crabbe or Goyle, who've both retreated to their beds, shoulders hunched, almost bowed, angled almost in Evans' direction.

Evans is already poring over his library book though, quill in one hand, inkwell set out, fresh parchment beside it. It's clear he's done interacting with the lot of them.

Theo almost lets it go, as he has every other time he wants to speak to Evans, to ask him questions, to know. He's already biting his tongue and swallowing down the words and opening his bag to fish out his homework.

Except-

It's been three weeks. Theo can be patient when he has to be, but more and more, it's… starting to feel like he doesn't have to be. He's had an entire childhood's worth of practice at dissecting emotions, at looking at a person's face and words and actions and taking all of them into account to figure out how they really feel, if they're angry at him or upset with him, if they're about to lash out even when they're smiling, or if there's still time to appease them even if they look like they're about to go for their wand.

Evans is harder to read than most, but at the very least, Theo can tell that he doesn't get angry often. In fact, there's only ever been that one time, that first night, and even for most of that incident, Evans had only acted to secure his own safety in their dorm once it became clear that Malfoy wasn't going to leave him alone otherwise. None of it had been driven by rage, not even when he'd nearly drowned them in the undertow of his magic over that particular handful of words Malfoy had jeered at him. And ever since then, Evans hasn't done anything except go about his business while ignoring theirs. That went for the rest of Slytherin too, and even some students in other Houses who don't like the fact that he's a Slytherin. Sometimes, they make snide remarks, usually behind his back, sometimes within his hearing range, and to a man, every student in their House has openly shunned him since he went to sit with the Golden Trio that first breakfast, but Evans has never given them a second glance, or really even a first glance, not out of anger or embarrassment or distress, and certainly not out of any desire for them to accept him, which just seems to offend them even more. But Evans is simply… indifferent to it all.

Most importantly, as much as Theo has been able to conclude, Evans isn't prone to violence. He always seems calm and easygoing when he's with the Golden Trio, and quiet the rest of the time. And from the very beginning, he's never done anything to harm any fellow Slytherins, not even Malfoy. Even his wards seem to have some kind of function worked into them that would rate the level of threat first and only respond with the same degree of damage.

Actually, not the same— if Malfoy had been caught taking another Slytherin's documents without permission, important or not, it wouldn't be too much even if they cursed his hands in return. They probably wouldn't, because it's Malfoy, and people are used to being more lenient with him, but normally, even Malfoy wouldn't do something that gauche anyway. No matter how much they've spoiled him, his parents have at least taught him pureblood etiquette. He's never even tried to rifle through Theo's belongings.

Admittedly, Theo had committed a slight faux pas as well when his curiosity had prompted him to read those Ministry forms, even if they were laid out on Evans' desk - unintentionally seeing them in passing was fine but the polite thing to do would've been to keep walking - but at least he hadn't been stupid enough to get too close, let alone put a single finger on them. Malfoy really only has his own poor impulse control to blame for going too far yet again, and Theo has every right to judge him for it.

Although since it was Evans, Malfoy had probably categorized him as someone who doesn't deserve a pureblood's courtesy.

Even then though, Evans hadn't retaliated with anything more than the ward equivalent of a watered down Knockback Jinx, which is basically a common prank amongst rowdier students. Malfoy's pride had - once again - been hurt, but nothing else, even when it would've been Evans' right. And he hadn't gotten angry this time either.

Of course, Theo isn't foolish enough to think Evans isn't capable of violence when he wants to be. If he's pushed far enough, Theo is certain that the other boy could and would inflict some significant damage that would at least end with a visit to the Hospital Wing. Perhaps it was his magic, the relentless weight of it that said it wouldn't hesitate to crush them if they proved themselves a real threat. Or perhaps it was Evans himself, who looks at Malfoy after each stunt like he's putting up with a recalcitrant child that he has to go easy on because said child is too young to know better, except the detachment in his gaze also says that he's weighing Malfoy's age on a scale and waiting for the day his youth will no longer be able to compensate for his actions.

Frankly, Theo hopes that day will come soon. But that's his pettiness talking, and Malfoy in general is none of his concern. What Theo really wants is to learn all those things for himself. Well, not all, he's more than self-aware enough to know he's nowhere near as powerful as Evans, but some of those things - the spellwork, the runes - surely those things can be taught to others even if they don't have incredible amounts of magic? Even if it's slow-going and difficult, Theo isn't afraid to work for it.

So long as he learns even just a little of what Evans knows - and he clearly knows so much, knows the things that can actually be useful in real life - then perhaps, one day, maybe even before he graduates Hogwarts… escaping his father won't be a fool's hope anymore. And if there's a chance that he can do that, then no matter how exorbitant the price Evans names, Theo would be willing to pay it, even if it takes him the rest of his life to honour the debt.

But nothing's going to happen if they're not even on speaking terms. It's been three weeks. Already three weeks. Only three weeks. Maybe it really is still too soon, but at the very least, Theo doesn't think Evans will do anything worse than say no.

At his back, he can feel Blaise's eyes on him, but he doesn't turn around.

"Is that-" His voice doesn't crack, thankfully, but it comes out croakier than normal, giving away his nervousness. He bites back the urge to hex himself and tries again. "Is that taught by the time we graduate?"

Evans… doesn't react, doesn't even look up. For several tense and increasingly awkward seconds, Theo thinks maybe the other boy will just continue ignoring him, or maybe he even thinks Theo is speaking to one of the others, not him.

But then he writes something down and flips a page of his book, and then he raises his head and shifts away from his desk to face Theo.

It's a little daunting, to suddenly have that piercing bright green regard aimed straight at him, but there's also no hostility that Theo can see, and that settles some of his nerves.

Evans looks at him, then frowns, then asks in return, blunt, but amazingly, willingly enough, "You mean the wards?"

Theo nods carefully, making sure he doesn't look too eager or too demanding. Masters of their trades are always rightfully reticent about their knowledge and skills to anyone who isn't their own mentor or apprentice, unless they're a teacher. Evans may not be a master signed and sealed and authorized to practice, but nobody who can write the exams at fourteen can be considered an amateur.

Evans shrugs. "I haven't exactly flipped through the Ancient Runes syllabus of every year so I can't really say. If it continues at the same pace as third-year and fourth-year though, then probably not. You'd maybe get to the point of basic wards, but not much more than that. Compound wards like these-" He raps his knuckles against his own desk. "-put crudely, requires the use of runic coils to weave together multiple basic arrays, on multiple levels, in varying sequential order depending on how multifaceted you want the wards to be. It's not that difficult once you start getting some practice in, but from what I hear, you guys don't even begin practical work until after your O.W.L., which… I don't really get, but maybe Hogwarts is big on theoretical learning. But yeah, at that rate, I don't see how you could be constructing something like this by graduation."

Theo's head is spinning. He didn't understand… anything in that summary except perhaps a general idea of "basic arrays". It's rare for him to feel so stupid.

Evans is still watching him, and he doesn't seem impatient for their exchange to be over, or irritated that it's taking place at all. He looks like he's waiting for Theo to reply, so Theo hurries on to keep the conversation afloat.

"So you didn't learn Runes following the Hogwarts curriculum when you were homeschooled," He surmises. "Does that mean the standards here fall short of the international schools?"

It wouldn't be the first time. Britain's educational requirements have been growing more and more lenient for years. Correspondingly, their elective options have also been reduced to four due to budget cuts and lack of interest in anything harder than petting animals and making up death predictions. Every year, more second-years choose to sign up for Care and Divination than they do Arithmancy or Runes. It's one reason why the number of incoming students has been gradually declining and consists of more muggleborns than purebloods. Foreign schools are strict about accepting any children outside of their designated countries, but those in Great Britain and Ireland who want better for their kids and can afford the higher prices tend to prefer sending them to one international school or another instead of Hogwarts.

But Evans shakes his head. "I wouldn't know that either. I didn't really follow any official curriculum when I was learning." He pauses a beat, like he's thinking about how much to reveal, or even why he's revealing anything, but then he seems to decide it doesn't much matter. "The person who taught me was a bit… unconventional about it. He was a very good teacher, but he wasn't actually a teacher with the degree and whatever else you need to be a Ministry-approved professor, so he didn't really care about following some checklist of what a student attending a magical school was supposed to learn. Plus he was kind of a genius at runes. Ward-cracking and disassembly in particular since that's what he majored in - he was a Curse-Breaker - but he was pretty good at almost everything else too, which meant he found the basic stuff pretty boring. So when he taught me, and he realized I didn't have any trouble getting the foundations down, and I could mostly keep up even when he skipped ahead to more advanced stuff, he basically ended up just jumping between the subjects he liked most, filled in any gaps along the way, and gave me free rein to research whatever I found interesting. And whatever topic I picked was the one he lectured on, or helped me look up if it was one of the few areas he didn't know much about."

His expression turns wry, if only for a moment. "Apparently though, according to Babbling, that means there's nothing left for Hogwarts to teach me. But I don't know how I would compare to students in other schools."

He finishes and falls silent. It's the most he's said since that first night, and it's clear as day that whoever this Curse-Breaker tutor was, Evans respects him a great deal, great enough to ramble on about him to a roomful of near-strangers, and considering what he'd had a hand in molding Evans into, he deserves every bit of that respect too.

Theo envies it. He is oft a creature of envy, and it hollows him out a little more every time it rears its head, but he's resigned to it. He wonders why Hogwarts can't have a teacher like Evans' instead of the whimsical mess that is Babbling, who can never get through a single class without her train of thought wandering away like an untrained dog off its leash.

"Then," Theo continues, carefully neutral, carefully watching for any signs of displeasure on Evans' face. "Once you pass your exams, will you simply have an extra study period slot? Or will you be required to attend another elective?"

Evans blinks at him. "The first, I think. I might see if it's possible to take an owl-distance university course or something, but spare time in my day isn't bad either."

"Then," Theo forges on, watching as Evans's mouth twists a little, like he knows that this is what Theo has been aiming for from the beginning. Theo can't tell if he disapproves though - he doesn't think so - and it's too late to divert his course anyway. "What do you think about tutoring?"

Evans cocks an eyebrow. He doesn't say anything for several anxiety-inducing seconds, just scrutinizing Theo with a face blank enough to rival Snape's when he bothers to stop sneering. The quill in Evans' hand taps-taps-taps against his desk before the boy swings around in his chair completely to face Theo.

"Tutoring," He repeats. "You want me to tutor you in Ancient Runes?"

And at least he doesn't sound derisive, nor does he put any particular emphasis on any part of that question. It does make it harder for Theo to gauge how he should respond though.

"Yes," He confirms, because straightforward seems to be what Evans prefers. He thinks, briefly, of including Blaise, but he doesn't actually know if Blaise would like tutoring as well, and even if he does, Blaise can ask for himself. Theo isn't that charitable, and Blaise might even take offense if he tries to be.

"I can compensate you for your time," He adds, because he's poor by pureblood standards, but not so poor that he can't afford decent education, especially with the nest egg he's been secretly building on the side since he turned eight and realized his inheritance was only going to get smaller at the rate his father was drawing from it for his… extracurriculars. His seven years at Hogwarts at least have already been paid for, robes and supplies and even some pocket money included, because even Silas Nott isn't going to let his son go into public at even more of a disadvantage than he already is. So as long as Evans doesn't ask for a huge sum of money, or even if he does, and he's willing to take part of that payment in favours, then Theo should have enough from his own funds to cover the cost.

Evans leans back in his seat and doesn't say anything about payment. Instead, he looks almost puzzled as he asks, "Why do you need tutoring though? Even if you want to learn stuff like this," He motions at his desk. "I wouldn't be able to even start teaching you how until you got at least the basics down, and that's what Hogwarts teaches, so is there any point in getting more of the same lessons from me?"

For a moment, even Theo can't come up with a way to say 'yes, because Babbling can't teach worth a damn, and I don't actually know how I passed last year but I definitely won't this year with the way her lectures keep getting lost somewhere between class and Atlantis every bloody week' but in more polite terms, if only because Evans might not appreciate anyone badmouthing her since she's obviously the one vouching for Evans' qualifications in order to let him take his exams so early.

Fortunately, Blaise has no such compunctions.

"Have you seen the way Babbling teaches?" The other boy enquires in his usual lackadaisical tone, just aggrieved enough to sound invested, but mild enough to leech the provocation out of it. It also gives Blaise a foot in through the door, drawing Evans' attention to him without making it seem as if he's interrupting.

Theo glances behind him at where Blaise is now lounging in his own desk chair, emptying his bag of textbooks and papers even as he glances over to meet Evans' gaze, and his expression has eased into an invitation to commiserate over Babbling's questionable teaching methods. All of it is designed to look casual and cordial, to keep this fragile first exchange lighthearted, if also full of a resigned sort of exasperation, funnelled together in order to lower Evans' guard.

And it seems to work too, like it does with everyone Blaise turns his charms on. At the very least, the way Evans' mouth quirks in response looks reflexive enough to be genuine.

"That's fair," Evans concedes, a wry sort of humour suffusing his voice. "She's not the best at… staying on topic."

Theo has to suppress a snort, but something of it must show on his face anyway because Evans' eyes snap back to him, and a moment later, a quicksilver grin flits across the other's face, bright in a way that lights up his whole face, and perhaps Blaise will have to try harder after all because Theo realizes that this is what genuine looks like on Evans.

"Okay, I get why you might want a tutor," Evans acknowledges. "But isn't there anyone better for that?"

Theo blinks at him. "Better than someone who's ready to take his exams in a month?"

Evans' eyebrows go up briefly, and something in his eyes sharpens. "No. Better than someone who's a halfblood orphan in Slytherin, stuck in a one-sided grudge-match with a pureblood brat who has all the maturity of a toddler and isn't going to be very happy if his friend starts hanging around the guy he wants to curse into the Hospital Wing."

Orphan? is Theo's first thought, followed by, I wish Malfoy was around to hear that. But all of it is superseded by a defiance that bursts out of him before he can curb it, "We're not friends."

Evans waves a hand. "Yeah, yeah, I know, Slytherins don't have friends. What I mean is-"

"No," Theo says, wincing internally at how he'd cut Evans off mid-sentence. "I mean, we aren't friends. Normally, we aren't even civil acquaintances most days."

Evans eyes him for a long moment like he can hear all the things Theo isn't saying. Theo's pretty sure Evans doesn't know about his family's circumstances - How would he? Why would he even care to look it up? - but he seems to be able to glean at least the gist of it in a single glance because he seems to accept it easily enough, and the next thing he says is, "Alright, but that doesn't change the fact that he's still not going to be happy about it."

"Good," Theo says, once again before he can stop himself, and with more relish than he should convey. Even if he's often thought that anything that made Malfoy unhappy was a good thing, he's certainly never expressed it out loud. He doesn't know what's come over him, only that there's something about the way Evans is watching him, patient and without judgement, that makes him… bolder than he normally would be.

And since he's already opened his mouth, he might as well keep going.

"So long as you're willing, I don't mind what other people might say," Theo says as firmly as he knows how to be. "I need to raise my grades for Ancient Runes before I take my OWLs next year or I'm never going to pass. I would appreciate any tutoring you can spare the time for." He hesitates, but only for a beat. "If you want, in addition to monetary compensation, I can also snub Malfoy at dinner somehow. And you would know it wouldn't just be some show we put on either. Malfoy doesn't have it in him to be humiliated in public, even as a stunt."

It's far more outspoken and far more audacious than Theo is accustomed to being, and he can feel Blaise's eyes on him again. But he gets the impression that if he doesn't put his cards on the table - that he really does want to learn from Evans, that it's his main motivation, even if it isn't the only one - then Evans might think Theo is playing some kind of trick on him, possibly on Malfoy's orders, and that's the last thing Theo wants him to believe.

Besides, this is also an opportunity. Theo had been resigned to living under Malfoy's temperamental rule for the duration of his Hogwarts career. It wasn't as if he wouldn't be doing more of the same as an adult, after all. Considering the difference in their social status, Theo would still have to bow his head, and jump when told to jump, and remain courteously - or at least forbearingly - deferential in front of Malfoy whenever they see each other. At least this more childish version at school is giving him plenty of practice for the future.

But now, there is Hadrian Evans, whose existence no one had expected and no one thus far can control, who isn't afraid of Malfoy, whom Malfoy is afraid of instead, and Theo honestly can't see that changing. Of course, the real world is very different from some squabbles between teenagers, and Theo has only known Evans for less than a month. But… call it instinct. Even if one day the Malfoy family can really make it so that Evans can no longer live well in Britain, Theo gets the sense that the other boy would rather up and move to a different country than ever submit to anyone.

People with inborn power like Evans won't bow. They don't know how to.

And if Theo can get even a fraction of that protection that openly siding with Evans might earn him, then the choice is obvious. He's long known that he isn't powerful enough or ambitious enough or even brave enough to stand on his own. That in order to thrive, or even to simply live a satisfactory life, it would be best to choose someone's shadow to settle in. Preferably, that someone would be willing enough to leave Theo alone most of the time and wouldn't ask too much of him, but he already knows he wouldn't be able to get that from his father or Malfoy.

Then, there's no point clinging to either of them. Before, there had been no other choices, and between his father and Malfoy, Malfoy was the better bet, though it wasn't as if the blond ponce could've gotten him out from under Silas Nott's thumb either. But at least being - loosely - affiliated with Malfoy would, in the future, offer Theo some protection from his father's obsessive tendencies. It wouldn't do for one of Malfoy's circle of acquaintances to disappear under mysterious circumstances after all.

Now there's a new player on the field. Of course, Evans probably doesn't see himself as one, and wouldn't care even if he knew. But that doesn't change the fact that his shadow casts a long and looming line, and somehow, it feels more like a refuge than anyone else's Theo has ever come across. Evans might not be willing to protect him, if only because he would have to make himself known to do so, and if there's one thing Evans has shown over the past few weeks, it's that he much prefers staying in the background. But even if he isn't willing to protect Theo, at the very least, he can teach Theo how to protect himself. So, Theo might as well take his chances with Evans, and the first step in doing that is to make it very clear to all and sundry that he's throwing his lot in with the halfblood Slytherin transfer.

He hadn't quite been prepared to go this far when he'd first decided to speak to Evans today, but doing things by half measures doesn't bode well for him either. Prevaricating or at least being vaguer about his intentions might leave him an extra hand to play, a way to retreat in case associating with Evans becomes too dangerous one day, but no one likes a fence-sitter.

In Slytherin, every decision is a power play, whether it seems like it or not. An insignificant word or action might result in large consequences that aren't always obvious until the waves and ripples have settled. And Theo's never been much of a gambler, preferring safety over potential riches. But the things he can learn from Evans are too tempting to pass over. Put in plain terms, he's technically using Evans as a means to an end, which no one in Slytherin wouldn't approve of, but for a good chunk of this House, Evans' blood would definitely outweigh any usefulness he might have, especially since he hasn't publicly proven himself in any way at all. And the way he spends all his free time with Gryffindors hardly helps.

Still, it's a risk Theo's willing to take. And now the Quaffle is in Evans' hands, and all that's left is to wait for his answer.

Of course, if Evans says no, then Theo can only hope Blaise is feeling magnanimous today and won't go spreading this little story around. Then again, there's Crabbe and Goyle too, and they'll definitely tell Malfoy, so it will get out either way.

Such is Slytherin, where the only shared secret you can trust to remain a secret is when all other parties are dead.

In front of him, Evans only raises his eyebrows for a moment before amusement quirks one corner of his mouth. "Well you don't have to go that far."

Theo can't tell if the other boy understands the implications of publicly cutting ties with Malfoy, but he's relieved to hear it anyway. He'd do it if it's a condition Evans sets, if only to alleviate any concerns Evans might have of being played, but it's not as if he wants to do it. He would happily see Malfoy humiliated any day of the week, but Theo is at heart an introverted person. Open confrontation of any kind will always make him uncomfortable.

Evans studies him for a while longer as if weighing his sincerity. Eventually, he says, "I'm not opposed to tutoring. Actually, I'm already doing that for Hermione every Wednesday and Saturday. Adding one more doesn't make much of a difference. It's just that I don't love tutoring so much that I want to do it more than twice a week. So," He smiles, and this time, his expression is one of a sharp sort of curiosity. "If you want me to tutor you, then you'll have to be okay with Hermione. And I don't just mean tolerating her presence enough to sit at the same table as her. I mean if you say one bad word about her blood, I'll take that as an attack on me and react accordingly. Understand?"

Theo blinks once, twice, digesting that ultimatum with something like disbelief because- "Is that all?" And then, because it couldn't possibly be that easy, he hastily tacks on, "How much would you like to be paid?"

Evans blinks back at him, looking like he's re-evaluating Theo on the spot. Then he makes a dismissive gesture and says, "I'm not short on money. Also I don't make Hermione pay so it wouldn't be fair if I made you pay." He sits back with a finality that starts bringing an end to their conversation. "Wednesdays and Saturdays, 4-6pm in the library. I know we share all the same classes so that shouldn't be a problem for you. Showing up isn't mandatory, you can just come whenever you want, and I'll tutor you in whatever you need help with. My only condition is that you treat Hermione with basic respect. Of course," His mouth twists into a strange smile. "That goes for her too. And her friends if they happen to stop by."

Theo has to suppress a grimace at that, but it's mostly out of reflexive distaste. Even if Weasley starts flinging insults, he's sure he's heard worse than anything a Gryffindor could come up with, and his tolerance is high, so it doesn't much matter whether Evans can prevent it or not. Actually, it's already pretty novel that he would try at all. This is by far the easiest and weirdest deal Theo has ever been offered, which only makes him that much more suspicious, but Evans also adds no other terms, so Theo is forced to conclude that this really is all Evans wants from him.

The sheer unfairness of what each party is bringing to the table is jarring. Does Evans not understand what's happening here or is he seriously willing to offer up his time and knowledge on a silver platter at basically no cost?

Part of Theo wants to ask again, to make sure Evans really doesn't want anything else, but since they've come to this point, even if Evans were to ask for something in the future, Theo would have no obligation to give it. It's admittedly somewhat uncomfortable, to receive so much in exchange for giving back so little when he wasn't even the one manipulating Evans towards this outcome, but at the same time, wouldn't he just be stupid if he keeps pushing the issue? Complaining about not having to spend any money or owe any favours seems rather counterproductive, and even though Theo is willing to pay for a chance like this, that doesn't mean he wants to if he doesn't have to. Of course, he supposes it isn't very honourable of him to not at least insist on some form of compensation, but that's why Theo isn't a Gryffindor.

So then.

"Very well, I agree to your terms," Theo says, letting himself relax a bit more when Evans' expression doesn't change. And because even a Slytherin should acknowledge genuine goodwill, he shoves past his own discomfort and manages, if a bit stiffly, "Thank you, Evans."

Evans makes a face that's something left of embarrassed. "It's just tutoring, you don't have to be so formal. Besides, you're still the one who's going to have to put up with Malfoy pitching a fit once he finds out."

Theo almost shrugs. That's not anything new. He might have to field some curses hurled his way once other Slytherins realize he's no longer under Malfoy's "protection" and is seen spending time with a halfblood, but it's not as if he has no way of protecting himself from most spells that a student can get away with using in public at Hogwarts. He already has a few family wards set up around his bed too, so Malfoy can't get to him while he's asleep, and the only time he spends in the Common Room is when he's crossing it to leave the Dungeon or return to his dorm, so his Housemates aren't likely to be able to corner him there either. So long as he's careful, he'll be fine.

Blaise's voice cuts into his thoughts, speaking this time with the lightest touch of concern seeping out from behind a thin veil of indifference that would've fooled even Theo if Theo didn't know the way Blaise can change his approach like he's changing clothes depending on his assessment of the person he's talking to. "You sure you don't need to ask Granger first before letting a Slytherin join your tutoring sessions? She might not be too happy to have Theo there. And her friends definitely won't."

Evans' attention shifts again, and as with Theo, his gaze is neither friendly nor hostile, but it's different all the same in a way Theo can't quite name. "Is that my problem?"

The room is quiet for a beat.

Evans smiles, careless, casual. "I'm the one doing the teaching. Who I teach should be up to me, shouldn't it?"

Blaise stares, unblinking, hands finally gone still. "Aren't those Gryffindors your friends though?"

"Sure," Evans agrees. "Still doesn't mean they get to tell me what to do just because they're biased against Slytherins." He shakes his head. "I doubt it'll be much of a problem though. Like you said, they're my friends, and aren't I a Slytherin too?"

Nobody says what Theo is certain they're all thinking— that in many ways, Evans isn't anything like your average Slytherin.

(And in others, Evans is the very epitome of one, but the Golden Trio probably doesn't know that, do they?)

"Are you saying other Slytherins are welcome in your tutoring sessions then?" Blaise says next, and it's the most straightforward Theo has ever seen him, skipping at least three prevarications and five backhanded compliments that Theo could've sworn Blaise would normally include just because he doesn't know any other way to speak. Apparently not.

Except Evans' response is to huff a breath that sounds like laughter, except not in any way they've heard before, not as amicable, and Theo sees Blaise's smile grow a little fixed.

If they were in the business of distributing vices, then excessive hubris would undoubtedly go to Malfoy, but only because Blaise doesn't have the same reckless self-defeating habit of flaunting what he has everywhere and retaliating like a rabid lapdog the moment he feels slighted, the latter of which is helped along by the fact that he doesn't hold many people in high enough esteem for them to offend him. After all, you wouldn't get mad if a ghost or a goblin or even a house-elf - as unlikely as that is - is rude to you, would you? At most, you'd punish the latter and move along with your day. And for those who do register enough as people in Blaise's eyes, well, Blaise far prefers retaliating when the other party least expects it.

It's the same now, in the way Blaise blinks twice rapidly but doesn't otherwise react. Of course, since this is Evans, he won't be able to retaliate later either, not with any kind of success, so it's doubly impressive that the other boy manages to keep his pride nailed down and tucked away.

"You know," Evans says lazily, mirth or perhaps mockery gleaming in his eyes. "You could just ask. Take a leaf out of Theo's book; it wastes less time."

Because even Blaise's straightforwardness needs to take a stroll or two around the block first, and apparently, Evans had caught onto that possibly since the first time Blaise had opened his mouth since this conversation began.

Blaise's lips thin, but after a moment of no doubt weighing the pros and cons, he shrugs gracefully like it doesn't sting and asks, "Then, may I join your tutoring sessions, Evans? I would also appreciate some assistance with my Ancient Runes studies. Of course, I will abide by the terms you've set as well."

Theo listens and wonders just how much self-control those three sentences took. Before today, he hadn't even known Blaise was capable of it, and the fact that he is, for this, actually says a lot more about his regard for Evans than Theo had realized even just a minute ago.

At least Evans doesn't make it harder for Blaise than that.

"Sure," The other boy acquiesces with the air of a predator sitting back on its haunches. "On your own head though."

At this, a trace of a smirk - his real one, beatific in its cruelty, instead of his regular fit-for-public one - cuts across Blaise's face for the span of a heartbeat. "No problem."

Evans levels another long look at him before shaking his head with another twist of a smile. "Okay then. We're all good now?" He looks from Blaise to Theo and even spares half a glance in Crabbe and Goyle's direction before nodding, satisfied. "Fantastic. Back to work for me."

He spins back around to face his desk, reaching for his quill, and the rest of the day passes as usual, without another word traded between them, even when they all get up for dinner. Malfoy comes back shortly before that, stalking over to his section of the dorm with the mulish single-minded intensity of someone unwilling to even acknowledge Evans' existence, although that probably won't last once he finds out what Theo and Blaise have agreed to.

Later, in private, Theo remarks to Blaise, "I didn't expect you to care so much about your Ancient Runes grades."

Blaise slants an indecipherable look at him even as a shallow smile stretches the width of his mouth. "Who wouldn't care about their grades when someone's offering to help raise them for free?"

It's a rhetorical question and answers approximately nothing, but Theo wasn't expecting anything of substance anyway.

Besides, when it comes down to it, he supposes it's not so surprising that Blaise can also see which way the wind is blowing, hard enough to tell anyone with decent enough instincts that a major shift in power is imminent.

And no one likes a fence-sitter.

-0-0-0-

Hadrian would like it to be known that he isn't quite sure how he's gotten to this point in his life.

Well, that's a lie, he sort of knows, or at least he can pinpoint all the decisions that got him from Point A to Point B, but he supposes he just wasn't expecting a couple Slytherins whom he'd always assumed - even back in his original world - were just Malfoy's lackeys in school, to commit, and commit hard. They hadn't even participated in the war on either side, as far as he was aware— Nott had died relatively early on under mysterious circumstances, and Zabini had by all accounts returned to his home country. To Hadrian, they'd been little more than faces in the background that he'd never even exchanged five words with in total before coming to this world.

But within the first week after they've asked to join his tutoring sessions, Nott and Zabini - Slytherin/Pureblood Rule Number Who-Knows-What: you can't use someone else's first name until you're invited to - make it really fucking obvious who they're… supporting? Have sided with? Because Slytherin is a nest of brewing factions and shifting alliances and political doublespeak and even a couple blood feuds, and this is precisely why Hadrian doesn't want anything to do with this House.

Except apparently, agreeing to tutor Nott and Zabini means he's… joined the power struggle? Formed his own faction? Decided to vie for in-House supremacy and possible world domination? Who knows because Hadrian sure doesn't, and he's determined not to know, because surely if he just continues doing his own thing, it'll become clear sooner or later to all and sundry that he has no interest in fighting a bunch of schoolchildren over whatever they think he wants to fight for.

It's just that he can't quite do that either, because not even three weeks after Nott and Zabini start joining him in the library every Wednesday and Saturday with a wary but accepting Hermione, something that translates to them moving their seats to sit with him in class and - when they can make it look natural, if still deliberate - walking with him in the hallways, the displeasure and animosity in Slytherin House reaches breaking point.

It's not as if Hadrian hasn't already been the target of multiple hexes and curses from his own Housemates. He's a halfblood who hangs out with Gryffindors— it's to be expected. But so far, the spells have always been in the realm of reasonable, ones that might make him trip down the stairs or rip his bag or screw up his potion, and he's been able to block or avoid them all, so he'd figured it wasn't that big a deal. He'd put the fear of a Horntail in Malfoy early on because he has to live with the berk, and he doesn't much feel like returning after a long day of classes just to have to butt heads with him every single time. But he basically has no intersections with the rest of the House, so he just hasn't bothered paying attention to any of them.

Then, perhaps rather suddenly, Nott and Zabini are there, not so much orbiting him as they do hover from afar. But they join his tutoring sessions, and they're serious about learning from him, listening earnestly and asking questions and even checking out the books he recommends they read if they have time. There are holes in even the most simple of their fundamental knowledge of Runes - Babbling, read a how-to book on teaching for Merlin's sake - so Hadrian has to more or less start from the ground up, as he had with Hermione, but both of them quickly prove themselves more than intelligent enough to keep up, and they're startling enthusiastic - by Slytherin standards - about everything he teaches them. Nott is more obvious - more ravenous - about it, but even Zabini - who likes to pretend he's only there for the novelty of it or something and therefore tends to play up a laidback sort of indifference - never fails to complete the optional exercises Hadrian writes up for them once a week.

And outside of the tutoring sessions, it's like they've decided that being tutored by him means that he's now their new Malfoy or something. Not that Malfoy was their Malfoy before, if Hadrian had understood Nott correctly, but they'd at least acted like they were part of Malfoy's groupies. Now they've done a one-eighty, and it's not as if they follow him around all the time the way Crabbe and Goyle do with Malfoy, honestly if you don't count classroom and dorm room, they're not even around him half the time, especially Zabini, but when they are around, when they move their cauldrons next to his in Potions class despite working separately, when they go down to breakfast with him despite splitting off at the entrance, when they trail behind him back to the Slytherin Dungeon after a tutoring session, they're so damn conspicuous about it that they might as well be waving neon-bright signs above their heads.

In contrast, they don't even sit next Malfoy during mealtimes anymore, much to the blond's increasing red-faced ire that vaguely resembles a Silenced teakettle on the brink of boiling over. But now they sit at the end of the Slytherin table, which Hadrian has gradually gathered that that's not a good thing, but he doesn't know how to fix it either, and neither Nott nor Zabini seems to mind.

They also talk to him now, not often, not just in private, and not just about Runes, although that does still take up the majority of their conversation topics, if only because they don't know each other that well yet. But in their dorm or in class or in the library or in the halls, sometimes, Nott would say something completely normal, like whether or not he owns an owl or if he's noticed Snape's increasingly intent attention on him or if he's found the secret passageway connecting the Dungeons to the sixth floor yet because climbing six flights of moving stairs isn't what anyone would call a good time. Zabini on the other hand prefers sharing obscure gossip that even most of Slytherin isn't aware of, sordid little secrets like whose parent has a mistress (or three) on the side that will very likely cause an inheritance problem down the road, who killed a cousin over the summer due to jealousy but has done a decent enough job of covering it up as an accident because said cousin had been the heir apparent, and even who had to go to Pomfrey for an Abortion Charm just last week but will likely have to break her betrothal contract - and consequently have her magic bound, as per the terms of said contract - in the future anyway because there's no hiding the loss of her virginity from the olde family magicks no matter how frantically she searches for a way.

To the former, Hadrian responds the way he would if Neville or Ron or Hermione were to ask him similar questions. To the latter, he says, "You have serious issues, Zabini."

Nott never smiles, but his body language is a little less closed off and his eyes look a little less hunted with every random conversation they have. Zabini is almost always smiling, and in response to Hadrian's incredulity, he only laughs like it's the grandest joke he's ever heard.

They grow on him, is the thing. One's probably abused at home, and the other is honestly half a psychopath already, and Hadrian shouldn't care but he's always had a bit of a soft spot for broken people, people who don't quite fit in no matter how well they fake it, people who remind him of himself. And the war he'd survived had only served to destroy what little compunctions he'd ever had about getting too close to dangerous things.

So they grow on him, day by day, and half a month in, the other Slytherins apparently can't handle it anymore.

Hadrian's just coming back from dinner. Nott and Zabini are with him, having joined him once he'd bid Neville, Ron, and Hermione goodnight. They're halfway across the common room when Hadrian catches movement in his peripheral, and he has half a second to decide what to do, to abort the reflex to go for his wand, to cancel the shield ward sparking at his fingertips, to pivot around on the spot and abruptly swing himself right into Nott's personal space, which means Nott immediately puts on the brakes, and - behind him - Zabini has to do the same.

Hadrian senses more than feels the curse that grazes the back of his robes and splashes against the far wall between a pair of suspiciously empty armchairs in an area that's normally a popular hangout spot. There's no sound, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees the way it oozes a sickly viscous purple that puddles to the ground and eats straight through the carpet before finally evaporating into nothing.

He doesn't turn his head, doesn't challenge anyone into a duel the way his hands are itching to do. Instead, even before the spell disappears, he's already asking, "Did you copy down the Potions assignment from today? I just remembered I forgot."

In front of him, Nott's turned three shades whiter, and he's already pale-skinned to begin with, so he obviously recognizes the spell. Zabini clearly does as well if the way he's gone gargoyle-still is anything to go by.

If they'd continued walking, that curse would've hit Nott right in the ribcage. His left ribcage.

A beat of silence passes. Then Nott takes a breath and answers in a voice that doesn't waver but is even more inflectionless than usual. "Yes, I wrote it down. I can show you."

"Cool, thanks, let's go."

Nobody else speaks, nobody even moves, as Hadrian leads the way back to their dorm.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle aren't back yet so they have the room to themselves. As soon as the door is shut, Nott almost slumps onto his bed, hands shaking. Zabini pulls out his chair to sit, a smile hooked at one corner of his mouth, but absolutely nothing about the rest of him says amusement.

(Slytherins don't have friends, and Zabini doesn't seem to know how to have friends, but Nott's probably the closest to one that his disposition will ever allow.)

Hadrian looks from Nott to Zabini and back, and then he asks, "Who was that boy? The one surrounded by that group by the fireplace."

The one who'd fired the spell. Don't think just because a bunch of students were arranged in front of him that Hadrian had missed the way his arm had moved, the jab of a wand, the blossom of light at its tip before the curse had flown across the room. Did they think he was blind?

Nott blinks up at him, features still pinched. It's Zabini who answers, soft as silk, "Malcolm Avery, seventh-year."

Hadrian takes a moment to digest that, to press that face into his memory before filing it away for later. He focuses on his roommates again instead and presses on, "Has this sort of thing happened before?"

Because even if they're spending time with him, Nott's an old pureblood name, isn't it? And Zabini is Zabini, and everybody's heard of his mother. Even if they're shunned a bit, jeered at a bit, even hexed a bit, any serious assaults should only be aimed at Hadrian, right?

Well, apparently not. That curse earlier had been a much Darker cousin of the Bone-Vanishing Spell, a variation on the more public-friendly Bone-Breaking Curse. If Hadrian hadn't seen it coming, if he hadn't stopped Nott in time, that thing would've not only shattered the left half of Nott's ribcage but also stabbed the resulting fragments directly into the nearest organs before dissolving into the bloodstream as a lethal poison— in this case, it would've been the heart and a lung. Nott would've been dead in under a minute, drowning in his own blood in extreme pain, and it's a tossup if even Hadrian would've been able to save him.

Zabini - unsurprisingly - shakes his head. For all that he doesn't have an old bloodline to rooted in Britain, he still has enough family clout to grant him a strong backing. And that's not counting his own means of protecting himself. Hadrian had actually gotten the feeling very early on, from the moment they'd had their first conversation, and he'd only been proven right as they'd gotten to know each other a little better— Zabini has all the best traits of a quintessential Slytherin. And thereby also all of the worst. Magic-wise, Hadrian can overpower him in a second, but that's why Zabini knows not to make an enemy of him, knows how to bend and stretch and profit while he's at it. He doesn't need anyone to protect him.

Nott on the other hand doesn't reply right away, and when he does, it's an evasive, "Spells like that would be an instant expulsion from Hogwarts, especially coming from a Slytherin, and from a seventh-year, they'd go straight to Azkaban. There are portraits all over the school. I'm not stupid enough to wander into places where there aren't any."

Hadrian aims a flat look at him. "That's not what I asked."

Nott purses his lips and stares at his lap. Hadrian waits him out.

"…They've tried cornering me," Nott finally admits, grudgingly, almost resentfully. "There's no avoiding a couple areas with no portraits. But they never used a curse this Dark before, and I've always been able to slip away."

Hadrian swallows the first three things he wants to say, to shout, because at his core, he likes to think he has a long fuse, but when someone crosses his line in the sand, his temper has always been explosive and violent, which won't help here.

Besides, hadn't he more or less told these two to handle the consequences of letting him tutor them on their own? Even if they weren't Slytherins and actually had the mind to reach out for help, they probably wouldn't have come to him after what he'd said, so he has no one to blame but himself and the fact that he'd underestimated just how deep some Slytherins' senseless hatred runs.

So he breathes through his first instinct, his second, his third, and then he pushes off the desk he'd been leaning on in favour of pulling out parchment and ink and the appropriate books.

"Alright, come here," He beckons, spreading everything out on his desk. "I'm gonna teach you a Fourfold Rebounder Ward so you can wear it on you from now on. The variation I'm thinking of has a chameleon element, so it'll be both strong enough to deflect a curse on the level of the one from earlier and also camouflage it when it's bounced back at whoever attacked you. It's based off of intent too, so it won't act up in a scuffle or a practice duel or something, the other person has to really want to harm you with deadly intent, so keep your guard up for other stuff, and honestly, this should just be for emergencies, you should still try to dodge it because it's not good to grow overly dependent on stuff like this. I'm confident the runes won't fail when I'm the one making it but your reflexes will get rusty if you get lazy. It's a bit- okay, a lot more difficult than anything you're learning right now, but I'll do most of the work, you just watch and provide the magic at the end, and once your foundation is a bit more stable and we can move ahead to more interesting things, I'll come back to this first so you'll be able to learn how to do this yourselves one day."

A long silence follows. Hadrian looks up. Neither of his roommates has moved. "What's wrong?"

Another few seconds tick by. It's Zabini who gets up first, an odd smile on his face, one that Hadrian's never seen before. But all he says is, "Nothing's wrong. I was just hoping if we waited a bit, Malfoy will get back in time to see what we're doing and finally keel over from high blood pressure."

Hadrian snorts with laughter. "Get over here. If that really happened, we'd be the ones who'd have to waste time carrying him up to the Hospital Wing."

Zabini's expression says that that wouldn't be his problem but he only smirks and saunters over to Hadrian's desk with his chair. When they both turn to look, Nott is already on his feet as well. He doesn't say anything, but he looks steadier, and he's watching Hadrian with a strange gleam in his eyes that makes them look almost feverish.

They settle down around him, eager - by Slytherin standards - to learn in a way that reminds Hadrian exactly why he likes to teach.

He gets to work, explaining each step even though he knows most of it is going over their heads. That's fine though; for now, these wards just need to protect them properly, and in the future, he'll teach them how to protect themselves.

-0-

Of course, things aren't over just like that, because Hadrian's temper is an explosive and violent beast, and the only things that's changed from when he was still a teenager is the fact that he's gotten a lot sneakier about it as an adult.

They aren't friends. But Nott and Zabini are his roommates and his students and kids that he's starting to genuinely care about, and nobody gets to walk away scot-free after fucking with the people under Hadrian's care so long as he's still alive to do something about it.

Malcolm Avery is seventeen anyway. That's an adult by any magical community's measure, which means Hadrian doesn't have to hold back.

It takes a week. A week of slipping out after curfew and eavesdropping on conversations, of finding out what the seventh-year's next practical Potions class will be working on and scanning all of Avery's belongings to see what Dark spells he's been mucking about with, and finally of filching Avery's cauldron for an afternoon while he's in class and replacing it before he returns to his dorm.

When it happens, Hadrian isn't even in school. Even if he were, it wouldn't matter because he'd made sure to time everything just right, and all the fourth-years - and most of the rest of the student body too - are already in the Great Hall waiting for lunch to be served. Seventh-year Potions is in the morning block, and Avery always goes overtime when there's a practical.

Hadrian isn't even in school, sitting his Ancient Runes exams at the Ministry all day instead, but he certainly hears all about it when he gets back that evening.

A few minutes before noon, a silver doe Patronus comes bounding up from the dungeons with an urgent summons for Pomfrey, Dumbledore, and McGonagall. Nobody hears what is said, but the three staff members rush off even as the food begins to appear, and nobody hears from them again until half an hour later when whispers start going around about Healers from St. Mungo's being called and one Malcolm Avery being carried out the front doors on a stretcher because his condition is too unstable to be transported through the Floo. The professors don't really tell them anything except that there was a Potions accident, but - as these things do because the rumour mill at Hogwarts is healthier than ever, and there'd still been a few other seventh-years in class with Avery at the time - everyone more or less knows what happened anyway by the time afternoon classes start. Potions is cancelled for the rest of the day, because no one else was injured but Snape was too busy furiously documenting what had happened after running multiple diagnostic spells over the remains of Avery's cauldron to teach. Also, he has to submit said documentation and a Pensieve memory to the Aurors investigating the accident, which doesn't exactly say great things about his mood, so nobody's unhappy about being able to give Potions a miss.

Apparently, Avery had been using his cauldron to make other potions - banned potions - in his dorm room. His roommates had been willing enough to keep mum and even give him a hand, and the book he'd been learning from had been found in his trunk. Thankfully, he hadn't managed to make anything too terrible yet, and his failed attempts hadn't managed to kill anyone, but he also hadn't cleaned his cauldron properly, and so there'd been a mess of residue potion and Dark magic clinging to the metal. Coincidentally, it had ended up reacting quite badly to the potion that the seventh-years were to work on that day, and the end result was a magnificent explosion that Snape had barely managed to protect himself and the other students from in the nick of time. There'd been no helping Avery who'd been standing right next to the unholy concoction.

In the aftermath, the explosion had caused bad enough burns to disfigure Avery, but time and Healers would fix most if not all of that. Far more serious had been the potion damage to his body— the liquid had seeped right through his skin and disintegrated the majority of his left ribcage, and then it had gone on to chew even further, straight into his heart and left lung, an insidious venom that had dissolved into his bloodstream and sent him into convulsions that had wrung scream after agonized scream out of him until Pomfrey had deemed it safe enough to knock him out, although even then, his body wouldn't stop seizing from the pain.

He'd still been alive when he'd been rushed out of the castle. Word has it that he's still alive now in St. Mungo's, except the Healers have no idea how to even begin treating him. Mixing multiple failed attempts at Dark potions, most of which even Avery's own roommates couldn't list all the names of or in which order he'd made them, together with one N.E.W.T.-level potion but in an explosion that had caused the maximum amount of entropy in the magic imbued into it— Merlin himself wouldn't be able to fix it with just a wave of his wand.

By dinnertime, everybody is talking about it, and the professors have given up trying to stop them.

(In truth, the outcome probably wouldn't have been quite so serious if Hadrian hadn't added a spell to amplify the toxicity and volatility of the residue in the cauldron, as well as several looping single-use runes to hide the volcanic buildup and also bind the whole thing to Avery alone so that it wouldn't have hurt anyone else even if Snape hadn't reacted in time. Without Hadrian's interference, it would've still exploded sooner or later, but Snape might've seen the danger signs in time to evacuate everyone from the classroom, and even if he didn't, the effects of the potion on Avery probably wouldn't have been so terrible.

But then, that wouldn't have been enough. After all, lessons like these should stick.

Avery will live, but he sure won't enjoy it.)

It's almost ten by the time Hadrian gets back to the Slytherin Dungeon. Snape drops him off at the entrance before sweeping off to his own office in a dramatic billow of irritably flapping robes. He'd been at the Ministry for half the day just to piece together what had happened for them, but as Hadrian had ensured, the Potions master had been cleared of any negligence in the matter. The potion had very obviously shown no signs of exploding - three other experts had verified - and students are expected to take care of their own cauldrons from third-year onwards without the professor having to do weekly checks. Snape had been released by dinnertime, but he'd apparently decided to simply eat in the Ministry cafeteria and return with his student and Babbling, so here they are.

Except-

Just before Snape makes to leave, he turns and pins Hadrian with a long appraising look, clinical and penetrating. Hadrian stares back serenely, and maybe the fact that his mind is a steel trap wrapped around a battlefield would be highly suspect to anyone looking in, but he also doesn't feel so much as a brush of Legilimency from Snape whatsoever. The professor really is just looking at him.

It's a strange new world.

In the end, Snape doesn't say anything before walking off, and Hadrian is left to blink after him before letting himself into the common room.

Everything goes eerily silent the moment everyone realizes he's back. Even if he hadn't said anything, someone - let's be real, it's Malfoy - had spread the news of Hadrian taking his Ancient Runes exams early, so pretty much everyone had known where he'd gone today. It was never a secret though so Hadrian hadn't cared, except when he steps into the room, it's very obvious that everybody is focused on him, and just as obvious that nobody is willing to make eye-contact with him.

The younger students should've already retired for the night. At least everybody still in the common room, studying or playing chess or chatting with each other like any standard evening, are fifth-years and up, so most of these students had probably known - or had been told after the fact - exactly what that curse would've done to Theo Nott that day, and exactly who had been the one to attack him.

And everybody knows what had happened to Avery today. More specifically, they know that what had happened to him today had been an almost perfect mirror of what he'd wanted to do to Nott one week ago. Nobody here believes in coincidences, and there's only so many people who would've had the motivation to orchestrate the entire accident down to the smallest detail.

Most of them have known Nott and Zabini for at least a few years. Perhaps they're not on speaking terms, but they'd still been Housemates for a while. Something like this isn't really Nott's style, and while it is Zabini's, neither of them has the ability.

The only real unknown is Hadrian Evans, and if they still can't put the pieces together at this point, they might as well sell their brains.

The area by the fireplace, normally always occupied by Avery's group at this time, is empty today. Avery's at St. Mungo's, his roommates are in overnight lockup at the Ministry, and any who aren't but were part of Avery's faction are probably hiding up in their rooms. Nobody else has taken their seats, not even the students who usually do when Avery hasn't claimed it for the day.

Hadrian walks towards the doorway leading to the boys' dormitory, and no one stops him. It feels like the entire room is holding their breaths. Nobody speaks. Nobody even moves until Hadrian is out of earshot.

The dorm is likewise very quiet when Hadrian enters. Malfoy's bed curtains are already drawn, as are Crabbe's and Goyle's, but Zabini's are open, and he's lazing against the headboard with a book in his hands while Nott is still at his desk doing homework.

They both look up as soon as the door swings open. Zabini stays on his bed but Nott even stands up as Hadrian shuts the door behind him. His whole frame is tense with a restless sort of energy, and he's staring at Hadrian with shining eyes. They both are, although in different ways. Zabini looks equal parts ecstatic and hungry, while Nott just looks the kind of deeply confused and deeply grateful that makes Hadrian want to set fire to someone, preferably whoever stitched this very expression into Nott's range of emotions out of the pieces they'd torn from him.

Nobody says anything right away. Hadrian squints at them as he makes his way to his own bed, feeling vaguely perturbed, because he hadn't truly expected them to not connect what happened to Avery back to him, but he hadn't thought they would be so fixated on it either. Maybe a roundabout tactful thank-you from Nott, an offer of a favour at most. But not… this, whatever this is.

He laments the fact that these two aren't more stupid when it comes to this sort of thing. Ron would be oblivious. Hermione would be determinedly oblivious. Neville… would actually react a bit like Nott, Ginny would react a lot like Zabini, Luna wouldn't react at all but she'd be extra cuddly for a few days, and gods, Hadrian needs saner friends.

Not that these two are friends of course.

He manages to get through a shower, brush his teeth, and climb into a bed before Nott is suddenly at his side, eyes still shining with something Hadrian really doesn't want to put a name to. Thankfully, he doesn't burst into any heartfelt speeches that would probably embarrass everyone within hearing range. Not so thankfully, he honest-to-fucking-Merlin bows, all archaic and meaningful in every way Hadrian has never learned and so doesn't understand, but even he can sense the weight and deference behind every word as Nott murmurs, "All of mine is yours, until the end of days. I would be honoured if you would call me Theo."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Hadrian mutters, because sometimes wizarding swears just don't have enough oomph to encompass the never-ending circus trainwreck that is his life. He scrubs a hand over his face, peeks at Nott - at Theo - who's still halfway bent over, and of course, it's just his luck that he has no idea how to respond in the proper pureblood way.

He would've preferred the heartfelt speech.

"I'm a halfblood, I don't know how to respond appropriately," He says bluntly because he doesn't know what else to do. But he also flicks a Silencing Ward at Malfoy's bed, then at Crabbe's and Goyle's as well because you can never be too careful, and then he leans over and hauls Theo upright and catches his gaze and holds it, "I'll call you Theo if you call me Hadrian. One day, you'll be strong enough to take care of your enemies on your own, and you won't need anyone else to do it for you if you don't want them to, but until then, if all of you is mine, then your enemies are too, so I'll deal with them if it turns out that they still haven't learned after today. That makes us allies from now on though, which means we're equals, and that means you never, ever bow to anyone again. Not me, and not anybody else either. Understand?"

Theo stares again, wide-eyed and lost and so terribly young, and sometimes, Hadrian wonders what it says about just how messed up the world is when broken kids can be bought so easily.

Finally, almost dazedly, Theo gives some semblance of a nod.

"Hadrian," He says, and something about him straightens, grows steel, settles.

"Hadrian," He repeats and dips his head, not a bow, but respectful all the same, and his eyes are still bright with that unnamed creature, but at least he looks at Hadrian head-on. "Thank you. Goodnight."

Hadrian sighs and figures that this is about the best he's going to get tonight. Maybe it'll dial back to normal in a few days. "Goodnight, Theo."

Theo smiles, tiny, crooked, a little awkward. It's the first one Hadrian has ever seen from him, and that at least he can't be upset about.

They can finally go to sleep though. Theo returns to his own bed, Zabini is still watching them both from his bed like they're his new favourite show, and Hadrian resolutely pretends he doesn't see anything else as he takes down the Silencing Wards before drawing his curtains, rolling over, and promptly making a sincere attempt at smothering himself with a pillow.

His life.

-0-0-0-

End Notes: Ok wow so this got hella long and I didn't really get to all the stuff anon wanted whoops. Theo just… wouldn't stop thinking lmao, and also this AU has the potential to get so big so I ended up cramming in worldbuilding wherever I could. So unfortunately all you get is sort of a starting snapshot of where this is going and how Hadrian is going to turn out and a shitload of Theo's character. I kind of wanted to do him and Blaise's POV but I could only fit Theo, and I feel like getting Blaise through Theo's POV actually added to his character just as much as a personal POV would've. Anyway, those two are basically blank slates in canon so ofc I would pick them to write lolol.

#headcanon meme: answered #HP series #c'est la vie #hadrian evans #theo nott #blaise zabini #draco malfoy #headcanon #slytherin hadrian au

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houseofpendragons · 27 days

Text

New Ideas for HOTD Rhaenyra Fashion pt.7

First time I’m doing one of adult Rhaenyra’s costumes, and we’re starting off with the one I hateeee the most of all:

I just, it’s so-it’s so, wtf is this shit?!?!?

I get it’s a sort of call back go her of outfits when she was younger but bruh😶 you’re telling me this is what she chose. Even her younger outfits were better than that. And I get it, I get it, it’s supposed to be maternity wear but reminder that this:

Is what Alicent wore when pregnant with Helaena. And this is what Rhaenyra wore right after the birth:

Both are hella fire, stunning. The dress Rhaenyra’s wearing is very Velaryon esque, slowly, loose, a sort of beached of Greece type beauty. Now she can still wear Targaryen colors, but she can also still have some representation of her Velaryon marriage (as we really tryna post a happy front so no one thinks about daddy Harwin😘)

So I think she’s still be wearing something similar, but perhaps representing both family’s. This being an under dress:

With it blue threading running through the red it could easily be designed a scales.

I’d also add an open fronted petticoat so that she could keep her arms warm and protect her belly or breasts if she feels the need as a woman whom has freshly given birth.

I’d use these three for design reference:

Taking the pattern from the red gown, the design of the green gown w/ the white designs, and then the golden medallion chains binding them together from the third design.

I’d change the color of the petticoat to a Targaryen black, and trade the white designs for gold ones more similar to the ones we on her blue dress. As you can see the zigzagging in the first picture of the three is reminiscent of the blue threads on the red dress meant to be worn under so honestly those could just be changed to gold. Keeping the golden belt with the rubies in the second picture, I’d disregard the highest neck piece with the laces in the front. I’d keep the spacing of the open front in the third picture, turning the bands of the front to match the fabric of the underdress. The gold on either side of the bands could be formed into dragons heads (perhaps reminiscent of Syrax’s head if ur feeling fancy). Lastly, I think I would make the inside fabric of the petticoat a velaryon blue, replacing the yellowish color we see on the interior of the dress in the third picture.

Sorry if that was confusing, I might’ve got a little too descriptive to show you what going on in my mind 😭

As for her Jewelry, I just saw a Reddit post made before hotd came out about the color of Joffrey and Jace’s dragons. They were actually correct for the most part about Vermax (Jace’s dragon) so I have faith in their theory that Tyraxes (Joffrey’s dragon) is red & black or something similar.

(If you want to read their theory about how the colors of the dragons belonging to Rhaenyra’s first three sons reflect the Conquerors original three dragons and Dany’s three dragons check it out on Reddit u/OneirosDrakontos)

That being said I’d want to reflect his hatchling, or at least egg on her jewelry. (Bc I also saw someone say Rhaenyra wears a ring for everyone of her three sons @atopcat) Maybe it’d be cute if she did something to reflect their future dragons after their birth with her jewelry as well.

Red and black for Tyraxes, gold for the ring she wears for him:

Her hair is more of a simpler extent, as I feel like though time hasn’t calmed down her fashionista tastes to an extreme extent, she’s more concerned about her newborn baby than her hair right now.

Something like this, but instead make it a half-do w/ hair still hanging free from any binds/braids:

Replace the pink ribbon and bow with two Velaryon Blue colored bands with gold design embroidered onto it, golden thread braided at the edges of the fabric. Perhaps the bow could be replaced with a golden three headed dragon pin stick through the braid so it appears as if mini dragons heads are roaring at those walking behind her.

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heartcomms · 9 months

Text

days over a minute

pairing: abby anderson x reader

a/n: this is my very first time writing anything I post so please keep that in mind <3 also if this is similar to anything i apologise, i admit i’ve been inspired by multiple works on here so.. i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: swearing, allusions of drug addiction, violence, abby is really terrible but it gets better i promise

wc: 3k

as the car got closer to your new home stadium, your felt air get stuck in your throat. you knew your social media team kept a smaill camera focused on you to capture small candid moments to share with fans of the club, so you tried your best to remain calm.

as if he could tell how nervous you were getting, your new manager’s voice interrupted your inner chatter. still trying to get used to the accent, your eyes followed to where the older man was pointing and listened carefully,

“this is the hotel where you’ll be staying for today, i’ll have my assistant carry your luggages there while you visit the stadium.” he casually said. he might’ve noticed the way your brows faintly knitted at the mention of your luggages.

you did feel a bit uncomfortable with the idea of people pampering you, people scrambling to meet your needs and expectations. you still haven’t coped with the fact that you had, or were about to sign a multiple million dollars contract to run behind a ball.

you looked back at your manager and nodded you head with a small smile to ease the tension that was building up in the car. he just looked back at you sternly and whispered word as he turned his head back to the window.

well. what a start.

you also focused back on the road. as the car pulled into a small tunnel, you caught glimpse of your reflection in the car window. corners of your mouth rise a bit as you watch your golden pendant shine, your hand found its way around it, something you did often to calm yourself.

faster than you realized, the driver had parked into the training academy’s parking lot. you let the older man with you in the car come out first and quickly followed his steps. as you got out of the car, you were greeted by another group of people, three men and a woman that introduced herself to quickly as she guided you and your team into the building.

while she tried to engage into small chatter to fill the blanks, aware of the interaction being filmed. you were again introduced to more and more people as you walked around the spacious building, finally the conversations and introductions stopped you reach your new team’s head coach office.

as you shook the man’s hand, it all suddenly became real. this was it - you were a professional soccer player now.

you took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves, and took in your surroundings, the background chatter all blurred. this was it - you were a professional soccer player now. the excitement was building up inside you, but so was the pressure, you knew that all eyes would be on you, both on and off the field, you couldn't help but feel a wave of doubt wash over you.

did you deserve to be here?

could you live up to the expectations of your new team and fans?

you pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the present moment. you were here, and you were ready to give it your all. the journey wouldn't be easy, but you were determined to make the most of this opportunity.

the day went by faster than you would realize. you had to sign a couple more contracts, get to know the grounds where you will play and train, do interviews, and photoshoots.

it was bit later in the afternoon, you did went back to hotel to get ready for your first outing in london, with your new teammates. to say you were nervous was an understatement. you wouldn’t describe yourself as introverted but you did feel a bit anxious about meeting your new teammates, like anyone else would.

what if they didn’t like you ? tons of what ifs scenarios filled your thoughts before you took a breath as you stood in front of your bathroom’s mirror, trying to calm you nerves. you took last good look at yourself and texted lewis, your new manager, that you were ready. you carefully chose an outfit that was simple yet fitting with the help of two friends back in your hometown via facetime. you opted for a black, oversized blouse paired with matching black jeans. anticipating a lot of walking, you wore a pair of black loafers and added tiny pieces of jewelry to polish off your outfit.

you went to check your phone after hearing the device ring, it was lewis telling you he was waiting for you outside the hotel so you quickly grabbed your bag and went to meet the older man outside the hotel.

the drive was less tense than it was this morning, you did get to know lewis a little more, he was born and raised in north london so he knew the city very well, he insisted on giving you a tour in a few days. he had 2 daughters who loved football as much as he did and a little dog called elon, after elon musk, which made you frown a bit because why on earth would you name anything after that man?

when you pulled to the restaurant, you felt your heart bit a little faster than earlier and your hands getting a bit more clammy. you took a deep breath and followed lewis who was already out of the car waiting for you. as he locked the car, he smiled at you with a reassuring look,

“it’s going to be okay, be yourself, i’m sure they’ll like you alright.” he affirmed before you both walked into the restaurant. he showed you the way to the table where your teammates sat as you reached the table, you felt yourself stumbled on your feet and stepped back a bit. you didn’t expect to meet 22 people at once, wow. you did know you were meeting a whole team but the sight of all 22 women did shake you up a bit.

“hi, are you the new girl ?” your head turned in the direction of the woman who spoke to you, looking at her, you felt like you were seventeen again. you were taken back by how gorgeous the woman was. the restaurant’s dim lighting made her tanned skin beam, she had a mole above her plump red lips and one on her left cheek. her eyes were a beautiful shade of blue, so light they were almost grey and she had brown hair that was highlighted by some dark blonde streaks. she had on a black strapless top, a black mini skirt and a pair of black heels. she had a soft smile on her lips and held eye contact with you as you stuttered an answer.

“uh. yes. i’m y/n.” you tried your best to reciprocate the smile she had on.

“i like your name. i’m vladlena, but everyone calls me lena. come, i’ll introduce you to the girls.” you noticed a small accent, you couldn’t quite locate it but it did sound east european, maybe russian. vladlena took you by the arm and led you closer to the table.

“guys, y/n is here!” she cheered.

you smiled and whispered an ‘hi’ to the women at the table. vladlena, still holding your arm, patted the chair next to the one she was going to sit on, signalling you to sit on it. you both sat and the conversation started again.

“is everyone here, i don’t see andy?” vladlena asked as she looked around the table.

“yeah, she said in the group chat, she’ll be late. some issues with her dad.” a woman that looked like she was your age answered. she also had an accent but she sounded local, british. “oh, i’m leah, by the way, so nice to meet you.” she was a bit far from you, so she just smiled at you. you nodded, smiling back to her.

“speaking of group chat, i’ll add you. you have a english phone number, right?” vladlena asked you as she pulled her phone out of her small bag.

you also pulled out your phone and start reciting the digits.

Waltfield Girls ⚽️

+44 7911 123456 added you

“guys, andy’s here.” a voice far from you announced.

you looked up from your phone to look at the person that was coming in.

oh my god.

you almost dropped your phone when you saw who was coming up to the table. you’d heard your new teammates refer to her as ‘andy’ but you didn’t make the connection. Abigail Anderson. you felt your ears get hot and your palms get clammy as she got closer and closer. you idolised her. you were only a couple of years apart but her talent put years between the two of you two. she was a national hero at only 24 years old, being a well decorated player both with her and the football clubs she played in, her impact in women’s sport was also quite undeniable. you were just in awe. you knew you were going to meet her, you dreaded this part of the day, in fear of embarrassing yourself in front of oh so great anderson.

“hi everyone, sorry i’m so late, had to drop my dad off at airport.” she stated with an apologetic tone and a small smile.

“andy! don’t apologise kotik, it’s okay.” she threw her phone on the table as she stood to up to go hug abigail. abigail hugged her back and quickly kissed vladlena on the forehead and sat at the head of table. vladlena sat on abigail’s lap and got the conversation going again.

abigail’s legs were spread apart leaving just enough space for vladlena’s legs to cross, her tiny skirt riding up. abigail’s left arm rested around vladlena’s slender waist and vladlena’s right arm sat around abigail’s neck. they looked like the jock and cheerleader couple from every single cheesy movie you’ve seen before. you looked away from the pair and glanced around the table. abigail had everyone in this sort of trance. from the moment she sat down, the conversation only revolved around her. even when she didn’t speak, the conversation would somehow comeback to her. you enjoyed listening to everyone talk about their vacations, their world cup anecdotes and latests gossip.

you eventually got to talk to almost everyone on the team during the dinner, you got numbers here and there and warmed up a bit more to the team, as you talked with everyone, you found out that two girls of the team were staying in the same hotel as you, sofia and bruna, the pair played in the brazil national team and just came back from the world cup. they both transferred from their academy a few months ago and still haven’t found a place to permanently reside in. they were kind enough to ask you to join them on their house hunting journey and you gladly accepted.

“guys, let’s take a picture for insta!” vladlena said as she got up to pick up her phone next to your chair.

everyone scurried around abigail to pose for the picture.

“lena, wait. let’s put y/n in the middle, since she’s new.” abigail said while standing up from her chair to let you sit in it.

you felt the hair on your body stand when you heard her say your name. you hesitatingly sat in her chair, thanking her with a shy smile. you sat down on the chair and leaned into it. you flinched a little when you felt hot hands in your shoulders, you tried your hardest to keep the teenage girl squeal that almost came out when you looked up and met abigail’s glance. you quickly looked back at the camera and posed for the picture.

“in the box, ladies !” vladlena chirped.

everyone went back to their seats, and got back to their little chats. you also took time to get to know more of your teammates, then came the time to eat. you’d all decided that you’d all leave before 10pm because you all had practice to tomorrow. sofia and bruna had asked to go back to the hotel you three stayed with them and you had agreed cause why not.

tracy, who sat on the opposite side of you, left first, the entire team huffed when she argued that she missed her daughter.

“she always does this when we go out.” bruna whispered next to me.

after quite sometime more girls started leaving. you also felt time fall on your shoulders and got more and more stale. you tried to keep up with the small conversations around you but failed to register anything. you glanced around the table and noticed that you, bruna, sofia and two other girls that names you forgot were the only ones left at the table. you mentally patted yourself on the back for actually staying that long.

“y/n. we have to go out for a smoke, do you want to come with us ?” you hear bruna say, taking you out of your inner rambling.

“yeah sure, i’ll just go to the bathroom first.” you announced before getting up to look for the bathroom. you almost whistled when you pushed the door of the bathroom. everything was impeccable.

you quickly jumped inside a random stall and you eased yourself. as you stood up to get out of the cabinet, you hear the bathroom door slam and flinched at the person who just entered the bathroom’s voice.

“stop fucking following me, lena, i’m gonna get violent.” the woman said.

you hear heels clanking on the bathroom tiles.

“abby, this isn’t you. look at me babe. you’re not you right now, okay?” you recognised vladlena’s accent.

you sat back on the toilet with your feet up, not wanting to make yourself known. you almost laugh at how nosy you were being.

“where did you put them, you fucking bitch. i fucking told you. i- oh my god,” heavy breaths and heavy steps resonated in the large bathroom.

you flinched again when you heard a thump against the door next to the stall you were in.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, baby, i’m so-,” her heels clanked against, you guessed she was getting closer, to who you assumes was abigail.

“shut the fuck up, you bitch,” she grunted, you tried not to gasp when you heard the slapping noises.

you hear vladlena gasp.

“abby. abby, please. please stop. you’re choking me.” she struggled to let out. abigail was choking her.

you had to get out there. you had to help her.

“where. are. the. fucking. pills. you stupid fucking bitch,” abby grunted again, you could hear vladlena let out small whimpers. you were just stuck, you couldn’t move. your own breath hitched and you felt your entire body got cold. your arms were stuck together around your legs. you just couldn’t believe what you were hearing. vladlena’s gasps got louder, you just shut your eyes, praying she would stop.

“you, you need help, abby,” she whimpered, “i am helping you, kotik.” abby let out a breathy laugh.

“you think you’re helping me, you cunt?,” she spat, ”these pills were prescribed to me, you fucking idiot, they help me more than you ever will, bitch.” she hit vladlena and the poor girl moaned.

“abby. abby, please, please stop. you’re going to kill me.” she gasped again. you knew you had to do something but you just couldn’t move. you knew for a fact that you couldn’t take abigail out in a fight, she was massive, compared to you. you couldn’t come up with anything, your whole mind was blank. you were scared.

you heard struggle noises, vladlena tried to fight abigail back but failed, she gasped again.

“fine, fine, i’ll tell you.”

her heels clanked again and she inhaled again.

“i’m sorry abby. i, i was just trying to, to help you-“, she sniffed.

“do you want to get hit again, you whore?” abby spat. “where are they?”

“no, no!”, vladlena whispered. “i hid them at my place, okay, you take me there and i’ll give them back.”

heavy steps resonated again in the bathroom.

“you try anything funny, i’ll fucking kill you, lena, i’m not fucking joking. let’s go.” she hissed.

heels clanked again.

“wait, babe, i have to clean up. they can’t know.” her voice was low, your heart broke even more.

“10 minutes. i’ll wait for you in my car.” heavy steals resonated again, as well the sound of the door opening and closing behind her.

abigail is deranged. you felt sick.

you heard vladlena sniff again and you before you even registered what you doing, you were out of the stall. vladlena was already looking at you through the mirror. you couldn’t help your heart from breaking into more pieces when you saw the state she was in. her hair was now out of her tight ponytail and disheveled, her red lipstick was smeared and her black mascara and eyeliner had stained her cheeks. her eyes were red and glossy. she had red marks all over her throat.

“did you hear everything?” she didn’t turn around to face you, still looking at you through the mirror. your mouth felt dry, it just fell open but you couldn’t say a word. you just slowly nodded.

she sighed and took tissue out of the dispenser in front of her and made a pile. she pulled a hair tie out of her small bag and tied her hair. she dried her cheeks with one of the tissues for her small pile. you just looked at her. you felt like maybe keeping her company was helping in someway. so you just stood there,

she felt your eyes on her and spoke,

“i’m okay, you know.” she looked back at your reflection, “she needs help. she.. abby, she’s going through something right so. it’s okay. we’re okay.” she gave you a small smile. you tried to give her one back.

“we’re gonna go back home, she’ll have a xanax...or two, we’ll have some makeup sex and she’ll be good as new.” this poor girl. you watched as she pulled out a small concealer container and applied some on her face and on her throat. she winced a little when she tried to blend the concealer on her neck. she applied some mascara and let her hair fall on her shoulders again.

“how do i look?” she said with a smile on her face. this time she turned and looked at you. you couldn’t look at her in the eyes. you fell eye to eye with the poorly covered marks in her neck. you felt like crying.

“hey! eyes up here young woman!” she chuckled. how was she doing all of this. you assumed she was in a denial state about what happened to her. you felt sorry and scared for her. what if it happened again? what if this time abigail didn’t stop?

you worked up the courage to look at her in the eyes. she looked so bright yet so sad.

“y-you look great.” what a fucking loser, you were.

“great!” she turned around and put her things back in her small bag and turned around again,

“hey. i’m okay. yeah?” you nodded, “if anyone asks, and i mean anyone, asks, you say that you caught us having sex in the toilet, okay?” you nodded again. “great! you have my number, right? you call if you need anything, i mean, anything.” before i could react, she wrapped her arms around your body and kissed your cheek,

“you have a goodnight, love. thank you for staying with me.” and with that she left.

you let out air that you didn’t even know you were holding.

what the fuck.

you looked at your reflection and worked up the courage to go back to the girls waiting for you outside. you went back to the table and saw that everyone was gone. you looked around the chairs, looking for your phone and your handbag but failed to find them. exactly what you needed to end the weirdest day of your life.

you hesitated between just sitting back in defeat on a chair and waiting the police to take you out or going to look outside if bruna and sofia were still outside the restaurant. you chose the latest option. you stepped out of the restaurant and luckily, you found bruna, waiting for you with your handbag in her arms. you sighed in relief.

“what took you so long, friend” she said handing you your bag.

“if i tell you won’t believe it.” you plainly stated. she just shrugged and asked if you’d care for a ride back to your hotel. you jumped in the car with her, you didn’t have it in you to deny yourself a free ride. the ride back wasn’t that long, bruna insisted on walking you to your room despite the fact that the both of you had rooms on 2 different floors.

you got into your room and took a quick shower, got into comfy clothes and immediately fell asleep.

***

the next morning, you surprisingly woke one hour before your alarm. after tossing and turning in your bed, you decided to start your day. you check your phone before getting up. 8 am. you scrolled through all the notifications you’ve gotten while you were asleep. you frowned a bit you saw how many you’ve gotten. you check your hometown friends’ groupchat, the conversation was still on going so you scrolled up to see what was going on.

ellie🤍 i got so scared when i got the twitter notif i thought y/n got injured. i was abt to cry. turns out it’s WORSE. MY HERO ABBY💔.

dina💕 ???

ellie🤍 abby injury 💔 she probably won’t play until the next international break

you frowned even harder. what? when did she get injured? mind still foggy, you tapped a quick reply.

you wait ellie where did you hear about this ?

ellie🤍 oh look!!! it’s a professional football player 😨 you’re so busy you don’t even know what’s going with your teammates. wow.

you i’m serious ellie

ellie🤍 wait you fr didn’t know? here’s the link https://twitter.com/waltfieldfc/status/1700793208819622151?s=46

you clicked on the link and read the entire statement.

Waltfield FC @waltfieldfc

We can confirm that Abigail Anderson suffered a ruptured anterior cruciate ligament on Wednesday night.

Abigail will now begin a period of rehabilitation and is set for an extended spell on the sidelines. She will undergo surgery in due course.

Everyone at Waltfield will be supporting Abigail closely throughout the journey ahead and we would ask that her privacy is respected at this time.

We're all right behind you, @abby19anderson ❤️

“that’s bullshit”, you yelled to yourself still lying in bed. an acl injury is any footballer’s nightmare. how could they just lie like that. some players never come back from that. how could they?

you copied the link, and sent it to the number you saved as ‘lena’ yesterday.

you is this serious [link attached]

FINALLY! ahhhh hope this wasn’t too long… PLEASE GUYS BARE WITH ME this is my first time writing bare with me okay!!!!

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson #abby anderson fics #abby x fem!reader #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x reader #abby x you #abby x y/n

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dilucsclaymoreandgrapejuice · 1 year

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An Awful Feeling. [🍃]

Dom!Kazuha x GN!Reader, Third Person View(?), Contains a Slightly Serious Kazuha, Soft Sex, Fluffy Smut, Jealousy.

Kazuha finally reveals his feelings for you, his dear friend for 3 years due to his jealousy and proves his sincerity in.. his own ways.

Requested by a friend of mine, might as well post it. Not proofread.

Flowing hair, shiny eyes, and soft smile. They were beautiful, pretty, gentle, every word similar to what mentioned describes them, Kazuha thought. It hasn’t been long since Kazuha realized his romantic feelings for (N) until Beidou pointed out how he was acting even more like a gentleman with them. He felt a sense of comfort and joy whenever they were around, different from his feeling towards his friends and the people he looks up to. Kazuha strangely finds himself yearning to see them, have a chat to catch up with them, to be closer to them, and to be special to them. All of his haikus seemed to remind them about (N), every beautiful little thing, actually. The melody of the flowing river, the crisp rustling of leaves, the sweet tweeting of the birds, he can’t help but to think of them.

“Staring at them again, I see?” Beidou teased as she placed her arm over Kazuha’s shoulder while a mischievous smirk formed on her face. Kazuha only responded with a soft sigh, Beidou tightened her grip of Kazuha and squeezed him gently. “Just make the first move you know? I can hear the sound of your heartbeat 12 meters away! Just do-” The sentence stopped, Beidou glanced upon (N) and saw a person with them. In response— Kazuha also glanced at (N). He saw the two laughing, they looked very close. A bang of pain can be felt on his chest, what is this feeling? He can’t describe it, he had never felt like this before, but it’s an awful feeling. (N) looked delightful with a small smile on their face. A train of thoughts hovered through Kazuha, had they ever smiled like that to me before? Do they have a closer relationship than ours? Kazuha looked down, wearing a long face.

“Dang, isn’t that the person they used to like? Oh, shit—” A hand covered Beidou’s mouth from realization that she said something bad, she didn’t mean to say that to Kazuha. “Kazuha used to like okay? Don’t get your hopes down!” An awkward laugh is the only thing Beidou let out, as she patted Kazuha’s back aggressively. Lost in thought, Kazuha didn’t realize that (N) walked up to him, waving enthusiastically. “Kazuha? Are you okay?” You said while you waved your hand in front of Kazuha’s face. I swear I saw Beidou with Kazuha earlier, she must’ve left hurriedly, a confused thought that made you scratch your head.

“(N).. That person earlier, who are they?” Kazuha asked with a stern face— it was unlikely to see him like this; he had always worn a calm and rested face. “Why do you want to know? Give me a reason first.” You teasingly replied, not knowing what Kazuha is feeling or thinking in the moment, with the two of you standing in front of each other as the dry leaves fall gracefully beneath the two of you. “..I.. like you, (N). Is that enough of a reason?” That sentence shook you up. Is he serious right now? It looks like it, but it might’ve been a joke right? It was too sudden for a calm and sweet guy like him to make this kind of action..

“Ahahaha, good one! They're just a friend okay? I didn’t know you’re into that kind of jokes—” Your sentence was cut off by Kazuha stepping towards you until you hit the wall, slowly he leaned towards you. Though he had a serious look on his face, his ears and cheeks were flushed with pink. “I’m.. not joking, (N). We’ve been friends for 3 years, you know me well enough that I don’t make those jokes. (N).. may I show you how genuine I am? How can I show you my sincerity?” He had his usual soft gentleman tone, but his actions didn’t match that. He cornered you into a wall, strangely you didn’t feel overwhelmed with his sudden actions— maybe because you also like him. “You can do anything..” A shy response came out of your mouth, you felt your heartbeat quickening, a feeling of excitement was felt, what would Kazuha do to show how much he likes you? You can’t really think of anything right now, all you can here was the sound of you and Kazuha’s heartbeat. “May I show my sincerity by.. pleasuring you, (N)? Or would you like another way?” Right now? It’s strange to see Kazuha saying such a sentence that you never imagined him to say— He seems very serious, his eyes stared directly at yours, brows furrowed. Should he do another way? Doing that right now seems too fast, but.. you also wanted it, Kazuha pleasuring you.. it’s something you yearned secretly.

“The.. first one.” After saying such a decision, you anticipated a feeling of nervousness— instead you were hit with even more excitement. The tension between you was increasing as the two of you stare at each other. “Let’s move to a room then, if you ever change your mind, let me know, okay?” I won’t. You thought, how can you change your mind on such thing? Everything felt like a dream as Kazuha gently grabs your hand to guide you towards the chosen room. He immediately locks the room and lets you sit on the soft mattress. Nervousness, it was written all over Kazuha’s face. “I.. don’t have any experience, I’ll try my best to make you feel good, (N).” He gently grabs the back of your head to push it towards his face, kissing you softly and passionately. A sweet taste lingered on your lips, a gentle touch on your waist can be felt. Sound of rustling clothes, Kazuha lifted up your shirt slowly— not pulling away from your lips.

Kazuha broke off the kiss and he continued to take off your clothes and his, as he looks at you with eager eyes. “I’ll loosen you up first so that it won’t hurt (N), is that okay?” You can only respond with a nod, you were mesmerized by Kazuha’s beauty. His once tight side-ponytail was replaced by flowing white hair, his calm face soon turned into a face full of excitement and love. He slowly put his finger, pressing it and stretching it— a feeling of pleasure came on you. Before you were about to hit your climax, Kazuha stopped and wiped his hands. “That.. should be enough. Please tell me if it hurts, (N). I’ll stop right away.” The sound of unzipping pants, Kazuha revealed his hard member, looking all shy. He breath in and out slowly, leaning closer. “Can you spread your legs for me?” You continued to do so, obeying almost immediately after him saying it. It.. hurts. Though it hurts, you didn’t want to tell Kazuha. The face he’s making right now, closed eyes, and the pleasure you see from him, you want to see it more. The pain soon turned into a feeling of pleasure, as he slowly thrusts in and out. Gentle and comforting, the two words you’re feeling right now aside from pleasure. Kazuha was gentle, asked if he’s doing too much or if you’re enjoying it. Small kisses and compliments, love— that was all you felt that night.

“You’re up, (N)? I made you breakfast.” As you open your eyes, you were greeted by a warm smile, and a warm person.

#genshin smut #genshin fluff #kazuha x reader #kazuha smut #kazuha fluff #kazuha #kazuha scenarios #genshin fanfic #genshin impact

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moonlightdancer26 · 9 months

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I love Percy Weasley (and Ronnie, but thankfully I've seen more Ron defenders and appreciation posts popping up in recent years, as they should) SO MUCH. He's legitimately one of my favourite characters and my poor little meow meow. Him and Severus have SO MANY parallels. They were both intelligent, ambitious young men who came from poverty and experienced bullying from the people who were supposed to support them. Controversial opinion, but the other Weasley kids (ESPECIALLY Fred and George) were unnecessarily brutal to poor Perce to the point of being malicious. Of course young Severus and Percy went along with the "wrong" crowd when the "right" crowd continuously mocked, belittled, and taunted them, while the "wrong" crowd told them that they were brilliant, that they would go so far, and that anyone who tried to belittle them just didn't get it, that they were just jealous of how successful they were gonna be. Long story short, Percy is adorable and precious and so cute and smart and I want to brush his hair out of his face and kiss him on the nose.

I just drank carrot juice for the first time in 15 years I’m currently going through something

Anyway, I 100000% AGREE. I’ve answered a somewhat similar ask a while ago. I have a headcanon that Percy was actually Snape’s secret fave student. I just know Percy would scold Ronald in a Hermione-like way whenever he’d say anything bad about Severus, “Who cares if he can be a git sometimes? He’s an absolute genius at Potions and passes down his knowledge to his students. If you just got your head out of your arse for a bit, you’d see just how much I’m right.”

Percy’s like my fourth fave HP character, I totally see a younger-Snape in him. Percy was belittled and ridiculed by his family and his ambition and desire for power led him to walking out on them and going after his dreams so his talents can finally be acknowledged. Snape was relentlessly bullied by the Marauders (four Gryffindors) which was dismissed by the headmaster of Hogwarts (also a Gryffindor) and was already ostracised by the rest of Hogwarts for being a Slytherin, he soon joined the Death Eaters alongside Lucius and the Slytherins after graduating because he likely believed that he would finally get recognition for his great knowledge in the Dark Arts. They also both did it at age 19 (I think Sev might’ve joined a little before he turned 19, either way it was after graduating).

Controversial opinion, but the other Weasley kids (ESPECIALLY Fred and George) were unnecessarily brutal to poor Perce to the point of being malicious.

I CAN’T EXPLAIN HOW MUCH I AGREE WITH YOU. I’ve made a few posts talking about this and defending Perce, x, x, x, x, x (my all-time fave Ron defender liked this post and I’m simply never getting over that), x (probably my fave post I’ve made on my blog), and x. Also I hate the claim that their treatment of Perce was normal because “that’s just what siblings do,” like no I literally have 5 other siblings, and while yes we all act like psychos together, we’ve never come close to doing the shit the twins did to Perce and Ron. There’s a difference between being an asshole to your siblings and endangering their life and constantly mocking them. They never took his dreams seriously, and honestly that would be such a horrible thing to go through. Tbh I’m impressed Percy didn’t leave them sooner 💀

and same, I’m such a hardcore Percy apologist that I will go absolutely insane if I see anyone criticise him 😭 He’s literally so hated and for what

#percy weasley #pro percy weasley #harry potter #severus snape #pro snape #pro severus snape #snape #hp #ask #asks

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gvfgal · 1 year

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Not So Strangers

Sam Kiszka x reader

18+ minors take a hike!!!

Content Warnings: graphic sexual content, dom!sam, sub!reader, roleplaying, brief thigh riding, dirty talk, fingering (f rec.), impact play, restraints, choking, degredation kink, edging, throat fucking (yeah I'm sick), unprotected sex, maybe some more but you get it… filthy.

A/n: I postponed uploading this, considered not posting it at all because as I was editing it to post, I saw another fic writer had posted something similar to it. But after thinking on it for a few days, I realized I could post it in confidence knowing I didn't intentionally try to copy anyone's work. Plus, our fics went in two entirely different directions, so that makes me feel a lot better.

BUT WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, please enjoy this delicious fic I cooked up. Think I temporarily threw myself into Sammy's lane with this one cause whew...

Word Count: 5.4k

****ANY RELATION TO OTHER FIC WORKS IS PURELY COINCIDENCE****

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You liked this woman that you were tonight. By yourself at some upscale bar, strong, sexy, confident. This bar, void of loud rock or techno music and drunk bachelorette parties, wasn’t made for your everyday appeal. But for the woman you were tonight, it was perfect.

Without the pressure of holding conversation with company, you were able to relax and listen to some music (at a reasonable volume), and enjoy some much needed alone time.

Two lemon drop martinis in, you were sips away from finishing your third, and ready to order another, when a handsome 'stranger' began to approach you. You’d noticed this stranger across the bar awhile ago, practically eye fucking you for the last 30 minutes, but you paid him little mind, attention like that wasn’t foreign to you.

“Excuse me,” his grin was charming, “I’m sorry to bother you. You just look really familiar, have we met before?”

So much for that alone time.

In no rush to respond, you took several moments to look him over.

He was tall and lanky, and you immediately noticed his long slender fingers wrapped around a sweating glass of brown liquor. His hair was fairly long, about shoulder length with loose, silky waves,and his face supported nicely trimmed facial hair; a thin mustache and a goatee that were both as silky as the hair on his head. His outfit was simple, a pair of slacks and a button up shirt, a couple top buttons undone and the cuffs rolled up around his forearms messily, as if he’d just finished a long day of work.

Yes, very handsome indeed.

“Can’t say that we have,” you finally answered, looking back to his face.

Your response was clipped and lacked enthusiasm, your body language making it appear that you were uninterested, but honestly, you were quite intrigued.

The stranger continued smiling at you anyways as you downed the last sip of your drink, “yeah, you’re probably right. I think I’d remember a face as beautiful as yours.”

Scoffing, you decided to call his bluff, “really laying it on thick huh? Does that line work with all the girls you decide to randomly approach at bars?”

You thought your smart response would ward him off, but it only seemed to interest him further.

He chuckled, “actually, that’s my first time using that one. So you’ll have to tell me how it’s working.”

Strangely, you admired his confidence. There was something about the way he carried himself that had you slowly falling into his trap. He was cool and composed surely, but he still had a sort of boyish, whimsical charm that you found magnetic.

“Might’ve worked a little better if I had another drink in me,” you lifted your empty glass and shook it briefly in his direction.

He flagged down the bartender, “I’ll have a rusty nail, and the lady...” he paused to let you answer.

“Lemon drop martini,” you smiled at the bartender sweetly, and he sent the two of you a nod before moving to prepare your drinks.

“I’m Sam,” the stranger extended his hand to you.

Hesitantly, you took his hand in yours, noting his firm grip, “y/n.”

The handshake lingered longer than you wanted, as he looked directly into your eyes.

“Y/n, that’s beautiful. You live around here?”

You withdrew your hand, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Why? Plan on following me home later, Samuel?”

He laughed at you rather loudly, causing a few people in the bar to turn in your direction, but that didn’t stop you from eyeing him skeptically.

“Hardly. It’s just, I come here often and I’ve never seen you before.”

“So you live in the area then?”, you questioned, flipping the question back onto him, keeping him on his toes.

“About five blocks away,” Sam answered truthfully, leaning onto the bar, a sign that he planned to be there awhile.

“This is a nice area,” you feigned being impressed, “you must be doing pretty good.”

“You could say that,” he humored, “I’m in stocks.”

The corner of your lip quirked up slightly, and Sam sent you a wink.

“Stocks, huh? Sounds boring.”

“It can be pretty dull, yeah,” he nodded, still smiling at you, “that’s why I try to get out as much as I can.”

“And meet pretty young ladies.”

Before he could answer, the bartender returned with your perfectly constructed drinks, and Sam pulled out his wallet to hand the man his card.

He handed your drink to you before grabbing his own, raising it in a toast.

“To meeting a pretty young lady.”

Your gaze was still cynical as you touched your glass to his lightly before bringing it to your lips for a delicate sip, your red lipstick marking the brim.

Sam’s eyes fell to the imprint, his tongue briefly making an appearance to lick along his bottom lip before he turned his attention back to you with a smize.

“You know I find you very fascinating, y/n?”, he finished signing his receipt, sliding it back across the counter.

You cocked your head to the side as the two of you ogled each other.

“Yeah, and why’s that? I’ve hardly told you a thing about myself.”

He sipped his drink again, “perhaps that’s part of the attraction. I admire a woman of mystery.”

You hummed around your glass as his eyes continued boring into you.

“Most girls would be ready to go home with me by now, the stocks are usually my selling point. They seem to love a man in a suit. But you, you’re a tough cookie to crack.”

You scoffed, setting your drink down and leaning in close to him. He smelled rich, and you swore his eyes flickered down to your cleavage that your little black dress left clearly visible.

“Are you saying you’re trying to take me home, Samuel?”, your voice dropped to a seductive tone.

His eyes were on your lips as you spoke before they met yours again.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Your red bottom heel extended to run up the expanse of his leg, slow and calculated movements.

Sam Drew in a deep breath, zeroed in on your bare leg. He looked like he wanted to reach out and grab it, but was showing difficult restraint.

“And tell me, Sam from stocks, what would we do if I came home with you? What would you do to me?”

Unable to hold back anymore, his hand grabbed ahold of your outstretched leg, clenching your thigh with a twitch of his mouth.

“There’s a lot of things I’d do to you, but a woman as beautiful as you, I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

“Is that right,” you raised an eyebrow at him, this once civil conversation taking a hard right turn, but you were far from opposed.

Sam was too handsome to let slip through your fingers, and the size of his hands had you wondering what else on his body might carry the same trait.

Your faces were inches apart now, breathing in each other’s air as his hand continued rubbing soothingly along your leg.

“Yeah that’s right. And I have a sneaking suspicion you like the sound of that. Is that right?”

You let your hand run along the expanse of his chest, growing frustrated that his button up shirt stood between what you really wanted to get your hands on.

“It might be,” you were so close that you could’ve planted a kiss to his lips, but the lingering suspense felt too good to give into just yet, “but I guess you’ll have to find that out for yourself.”

His grin was devilish as he pulled away from you, and you found yourself already missing his touch.

He drank again, grin still visible through his glass.

“You always leave bars with guys you just met? We haven’t established that I’m not a serial killer yet.”

Matching his smugness, you decided to finish off your drink, more than ready to make your exit, “only the ones who are in stocks,” you teased at his ‘profession’, “and call me crazy, but I think that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

With a final gulp, Sam’s drink was now empty as he nodded towards the door, “well then let’s get out of here, shall we? I can show you why the ladies love stock brokers.”

Momentarily slipping out of character, you giggled at the statement, causing Sam to send you a look that read ‘stay in character. Things are starting to get good.’

You gained your composure before putting your sexy persona back on as he presented his arm for you to link onto.

Rather than accepting it, you grabbed your clutch purse from the bar top, standing and straightening your dress before making your way towards the exit, hips swaying a little more than necessary, giving Sam an eyeful.

He stood dumbfounded as he watched your round backside before lighting a fire under himself to catch up to you.

He hailed a cab as the two of you stood outside the bar, and quickly one came to your aid, Sam, ever the gentleman, opening the door for you and ushering you into the back of the car.

The driver input the address that Sam gave him, and as the car took off from the curb, Sam latched his lips onto your neck, no concern for the aging cab driver that was transporting you.

He had you cornered, his body pressed into yours as he kissed and nipped your flesh fiercely, hands roaming your body with no particular destination.

An airy moan left you as he did so, and you gripped tightly on his shoulders before forcing him off of you, although you wanted more than anything for him to continue, and your face read just that.

“Some restraint, Sam. You can’t jump my bones in the back of this cab.”

He was breathing heavily as he drank you in, that cool calm collective act he had at the bar now long gone, replaced with a primal desire.

“You don’t know how badly I want to. From the moment I saw you at that bar I had to have you, y/n,” his fingers tracing along any part of his skin he could get his hands on, “this sexy little dress you have on, leaving so little to the imagination…”

His warm breath danced across your face as he leaned in to whisper in your ear, faint smell of alcohol on his breath turning you on even more.

“You look so beautiful, but also like such a slut.”

The word sent electricity humming through you, some girls might have been offended by it, but coming from Sam, it sounded like the most elevated of praises.

“The entire time we were talking, all I could think about was taking it off of you, getting my hands on that tight little cunt I know you have. Putting you over my knee,” his hand began inching underneath your dress, “making your body bend to my will, just having my way with you.”

As he whispered his desires to you, you allowed your hand to rub along his covered erection, feeling how hard he had made himself.

Both of you inhaled as he came in contact with your soaked underwear, his finger rubbing along it delicately.

“God, I can’t wait to have you in my mouth, angel.”

Taking advantage of the position, you leaned in and nipped at his ear, “oh I’m far from an angel, Sammy.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed roughly, losing his composure quickly as you continued palming over him.

Luckily for the both of you, the ride was a short one, and the cab was pulling up to the high rise building just before you two were about to pounce on each other.

Sam fumbled with his wallet as he fought to pay for the cab fair as quickly as possible. Not wanting to waste any more time, he handed the driver a crisp $20 bill for the $8 charge, before pushing the door open and all but yanking you out onto the sidewalk.

You thanked the driver with a sheepish grin and half wave, and stumbled behind Sam as he pulled you into the building.

He raced through the lobby towards the elevator with his long legs, your heels clicking against the floor rapidly as you struggled to keep up.

Once inside the thankfully empty elevator, Sam’s body was back against yours, pinning you against the wall as his lips crashed carelessly into yours. The kiss was hungry and feral, both of your hands gripping and tugging at one another as your tongues battled.

Moans and groans filled the elevator as the two of you attacked one another, and after several moments, Sam pulled away and wrapped a hand around your throat securely.

“I’m gonna fucking wreck you, you have no idea,” he growled, and upon seeing how much you were enjoying his hold on you, he tightened his grip ever so slightly.

You pushed your body into his, and he slotted his leg between yours to give you something to grind against.

Accepting the invitation, your allowed yourself to rub against him, sighing at the relief it gave you, if only momentarily.

“Yeah look at you. Such a needy little fucking thing. You like how that feels against that pretty cunt of yours?”

You nodded breathlessly as he kissed you sloppily again, starting to get lost in the feeling.

Just as you were about to pick up your pace, the elevator dinged, signaling that you have reached your floor.

Sam pulled away from you, biting your bottom lip harshly before moving away completely.

You were panting against the wall as he stared at you hungrily, before grabbing your hand and once again yanking you behind him.

A few long paces down the hallway had the two of you standing in front of what you assumed was his apartment; 2217.

“So this is where the magic happens?”, you teased as you looked at him with twinkling eyes.

“Among other things,” he winked.

He began patting around in his pockets, in search of a key, but after his search came up empty, he turned to you with a meek smile.

You scoffed, putting your hand on your hip, “babe, did you really forget your key?”

“May have been a little too excited to get the night started,” he shrugged.

With a playful roll of your eyes, you fished your own house key out of your clutch and unlocked the door, Sam stepping in first to regain control of the narrative.

“Ah yes, here we are, Casa Del Samuel,” he put on a phony Spanish accent.

You looked around the apartment that you were more than familiar with, as if it were your first time, allowing yourself to fall back into character.

“Nice guitars, you play,” your question full of mischief as Sam retrieved a bottle of wine and two glasses from the cabinet.

“They’re bass guitars actually,” he corrected with a smirk at your féaux cluelessness as he poured, “and yeah I play a little. More as a hobby, really.”

He crossed over to you with wine glasses in hand, “not like I’m a rockstar or anything.”

He handed you your respective glass, and you took a sip, “yeah, you don’t give me much of a rockstar vibe anyways.”

His face dropped into a pout momentarily at your teasing, before straightening his back, taking a sip of his own.

Clearing his throat, he cocked a brow at you, “now what?”

“Well, Sam from stocks,” you took one large step that landed you directly in front of him, “as much as I love being wined and dined, I think I wanna skip that part, and get straight to you making good on all those promises you made earlier.”

You shifted your balance on your toes so that you could reach and give his bottom lip a quick nip with your teeth.

“What was that you said… something about putting me over your knee, bending me to your will,” your lips ghosted along his ear, hand pressing against his ever growing erection, “fucking wrecking me.”

Although you couldn’t see his face, you could tell that your seducing was working, his breathing becoming increasingly unstable, his hand feathering over your ass and the back of your thighs, almost as if he’s afraid to touch you.

“Let me show you the bedroom,” he whispered, pulling you gently down the hallway.

Once inside, you made yourself comfy on the edge of the bed as Sam shut the door and locked it.

He turned back to you with a shit eating grin, twirling his wine glass.

“Now what,” you used his question on him.

He was still for a moment as he stared down at you, appearing as if he was in deep thought before he answered.

“Take your clothes off, all of them,” his voice was low and gruff, and with the look on his face, you didn’t dare challenge him.

Sam stepped forward and took your glass from you, and you stood from the bed, tugging your dress down to your ankles.

As he sat both of your glasses onto the dresser, his eyes never left your frame, and when your tits spilled from the dress, he practically tripped over his feet.

You stood before him in nothing but your heels and lacy red underwear, Sam leaning back against the dresser, waiting for you to finish the task he appointed you.

Slowly and seductively, you hooked your fingers around the material, making a show out of working them down and off your legs. Once they were discarded on the floor, you kicked your heels off one at a time, losing significant height, until you were finally completely nude in front of his watchful eyes.

He drank you in with a hunger you’d never seen him display before, taking one final swig of his wine before taking long strides over to the bed, sitting in the spot you occupied moments ago.

You stood and waited for instructions, but he gave none to you verbally, only beckoning you over with a single curling finger.

Swaying your hips, you took your place in between his slightly gapped legs, and his hands immediately latched onto the back of your thighs, squeezing and rubbing them as he peered up at you.

“You really are beautiful, you know? The prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

You nodded, bringing a hand to stroke along his jaw.

The once enamored look that graced his face quickly shifted to one of twisted desire. It was dark, like a predator hunting its prey.

“But I meant what I said, love. I’m gonna fucking wreck you.”

Without warning, his hand crashed around your right ass cheek, sending you reeling forward into his body.

He steadied you with a hand on your waist, his other large palm soothing over where he struck you.

“You think I don’t know about girls like you. Parading around in posh bars, skimpy little dress on, waiting for some well off guy to come pluck you out of the flock. Well you got picked darling, how does it feel?”

“Feels good,” you gasped as the remaining sting from his lashing began to cease, but you were far from mistaken if you thought that was the last of it.

Sam roughly pulled you into his lap, stomach down, your legs dangling behind you off the edge of the bed.

“I have to punish you, for being such a little slut, you understand that, right?”

You did your best to nod in your awkward position, adding a mousey “yes sir,” along with it.

“See,” he cooed as he rubbed circles on your ass, “I knew you weren’t a brat, just a needy little whore. Letting some stranger from the bar take you home, after a very brief conversation, might I add, and have his way with you, hm? Are you gonna let me have my way with you, y/n.”

“Yes Sammy, yes,” you were whining now, wriggling underneath his touch as he admonished you, “have your way with me. Hit me, spank me like you do your bass.”

He smirked at that, but still in character, he raised a questioning brow, “now how would a stranger I just met only an hour ago know that I like to do that to my pretty lady,” another lashing against your flesh sounded into the room.

You caught yourself then, a simple goof up in a moment of heat, but ever quick on your feet, even with the searing pain of another strike to your skin, you managed to fix your mistake.

“You look like the type,” you huffed through gritted teeth, “doesn’t surprise me.”

This made him laugh, but only briefly, before he sent two more rapid smacks, his hand soothing over them afterwards.

You were soaked now, your arousal began to leak from you and onto Sam’s lap, there was no way he wouldn’t be privy to it soon.

And as if the thought itself brought it to fruition, Sam’s fingers snaked down and began playing in the mess between your legs.

“Only sluts get this wet from getting treated this way,” his tone was casual. You moaned out as he sunk a digit into your waiting hole, “and look,” he continued, although he knew that in your position you could do no such thing, “even got it all over my good work pants.”

You managed to roll your eyes at his silliness, still obviously involved in his story arc.

His finger worked into you at a lazy pace, and you deeply wished that he’d speed up, or at least add another finger. You knew he was aware that this wasn’t enough stimulation for you, just barely enough to keep you steadily leaking. He wanted to toy with you, but you wanted to cum.

“More,” you whimpered, “more I need more.”

He struck your ass again, this one causing you to yelp loudly, out of shock and at his force; this one was harder than all the previous.

“You take what I fucking give you,” he scolded you, voice raising several octaves.

His hand gripped your hair tightly as he pulled your head back, the awkward angle straining your neck.

Sam's eyes burned as he looked into yours, your waterline beginning to well up with tears for many reasons, known and unknown.

He sunk a second finger in you down to the knuckle, and your mouth dropped open, a single tear sliding down your face as your eyes fluttered closed.

“You’re so pretty when you cry,” he sounded so gentle, so enraptured, that even though he was teasing you with his words, it made your heart swell.

He loosened his hold in your hair, letting your head rest back on the bed before using his thumb to wipe the tear from your cheek.

His fingers began hitting that sweet spot inside of you at a quicker pace, sending you racing towards your end.

“Fuck Sam,” you moaned loudly, “I’m gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cum, please!”

Right on the brink, you could see the light ahead of you, just out of your grasp, before everything stopped.

Sam had removed his fingers from you, holding them up in the dim light of the bedroom to watch them glisten with your slick.

You could do nothing but whimper. You should’ve known he wasn’t going to let you cum yet, but you were oh so hopeful.

You laid in place panting, listening to the sound of Sam sucking his digits clean above you, humming in satisfaction at the taste.

“Bet that was gonna be a good one, huh baby? Shame I had to take it from you.”

He sent a quick tap to your thigh, “up on the bed lover.”

Your movements were slow as Sam helped you from his lap, legs buckling as you stood.

Sam chuckled a bit as you crumbled back onto the bed, deciding on crawling up the bed instead of walking around.

As you did your best to get comfortable with the constant throbbing between your legs, Sam stood and began working his clothes off.

His shirt was the first thing to go, then he made quick work of his belt, tossing it onto the bed rather than letting it drop to the floor.

He removed his pants and underwear in one swift movement, his cock springing up causing you to gasp at its intimidating stature.

It stood practically pointing towards the ceiling, unbelievably hard and tinted red, beads of pre cum leaking from it slowly.

Sam stood and allowed you to marvel at him for a few more seconds before taking himself in his hand, stroking slowly and shivering at the sensation.

“This is what you do to me,” he huffed out as he continued working himself, “see how hard you made me?”

You nodded, moving your hand down your body in search of your clit, needing desperately to relieve the pulsing heat that radiated from it, but Sam stopped you with only the tilt of his head.

“Hands to yourself, y/n. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You pouted, a small whimper of disappointment, “please Sam, I need to…”

The thought trailed off, not knowing exactly what you were asking for. Of course being able to cum would be nice, but you knew that wasn’t happening until he said so.

He was still pumping along his length as he climbed onto the bed with you, straddling your body.

Your breathing was ragged as you looked up at him, feeling touch starved already. You wanted him on you in some form, and he knew that.

“Need to what? Cum?”

You nodded meekly.

Sam grunted at a particular downward pull on his shaft, head lulling down for a moment before he looked back up at you again.

“I’ll tell you what, you take my cock down your throat like the good little slut you are, then maybe after that I’ll let you cum. How does that sound?” He stroked your cheek lovingly.

Again, another nod was all you could manage.

He let go of your face in favor of reaching behind himself and retrieving his belt, cock still fisted in his other palm.

Reluctantly, he let himself go with a soft moan, taking both of your hands and entangling them with the belt and the brass headboard.

Once your hands were secure above your head, he smiled down at you.

“So perfect like this,” he spoke warmly, bending down to kiss your forehead. But the sweet display was cut short, as he now hovered over your waiting mouth, his cock bobbing up and down.

“Three taps on the headboard if you need it. Okay?”

“Yes sir,” you were growing impatient, and you lifted your head off the bed, trying to close the space between your mouth and his mouthwatering erection.

Sam gently pushed you back down on the bed, “so eager to choke on my cock. You’re gonna get it, don’t worry.”

He grabbed himself again, giving his shaft two slow pumps, “open up love.”

You did as he said, mouth open as wide as you could, and slowly, he sunk his length down into your mouth.

A gag sounded out of you as he nudged the back of your throat, the constriction causing him to inhale sharply.

“Fuckkkkk,” he moaned out, “fuck y/n.”

He sat still in your mouth for a moment, and just when air was needed, he pulled out of you swiftly, letting you catch your breath.

Once you recovered, he plunged back in, repeating this until soon he was moving in and out of you at a steady pace.

Your throat was full with every pump of his hips, and the noises he was letting out above you made the wetness between your legs increase. He sounded like he was in a complete state of bliss.

You had an ironclad grip on the bars of the headboard as he used your mouth, fresh tears replacing the ones from earlier, and just when you thought things couldn’t get any better, Sam leaned back and began rubbing quick circles onto your clit, watching the way your eyes bulged with rapt attention.

He smiled at the way you moaned around him, still fucking into your mouth, and by the way your body was fidgeting nonstop, he knew he was bringing you close to your end.

But just like earlier, everything stopped just before you could reach it.

He removed his fingers from your heat and his cock from your mouth, causing you to sputter and cough, spit running down your chin. In a move that knocked the air out of you, he took your face in his hand and licked from your chin up to your mouth, cleaning the mess that stuck to your skin.

“Sam,” you groaned as he continued to lick, even the tears were cleaned from your face by his mouth.

Without a word, he slipped his cock into you to the hilt, capturing your moan in his mouth in a heated kiss.

“Say my name again,” he mumbled onto your mouth as he began pumping into you, hand finding your throat and squeezing lightly.

“Sam,” you purred, “feels so good. I wanna touch you.”

Taking pity on you, he swiftly untied your bound limbs, and no sooner than you were free were your hands clawing at his back, his thrusts becoming increasingly powerful.

The sound of your skin slapping against his, the way your pussy squelched with every pass of his cock, the way he groaned out your name and a mixture of curses, it was a sinful symphony.

“You like being fucked like a little slut don’t you?”

“Yes yes yes,” you repeated like you were casting a spell, your nails digging further into his back as he sped up, “please can I cum? Fuck please?”

You were breathless now, and so very close to finishing, all you needed was his approval.

With a smirk, he nodded his head at you, “let me have it. Cum for me love.”

His finger began working at your clit, and with a long guttural moan, you were spilling onto his pulsing cock. Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist as you did so, your cunt squeezing around him.

“Oh my god,” you whined in a high pitched tone, “fuck Sammy.”

His thrusts didn’t stop or slow, Sam’s mouth hung open as he continued wrecking you, just like he said he would, and you felt another release building up after being denied for so long.

“Again,” was all you managed to say as your eyes screwed shut, followed by another pathetic moan.

“Me too,” he nodded, thrusts now sloppy, “me too baby. Fuck.”

Finally, unable to hold on any more, you let out a loud yelp as you came undone again, and Sam was right there with you, the hand that was around your throat tightened as he did so.

“Fucking milking me,” he grunted through clenched teeth as he rode out his high. His eyes became transfixed with the sight of your mixed releases seeping out of the side of his cock lodged inside of you, “so good y/n. Shit.”

You couldn’t manage any words, only pitiful whimpers and sobs as your release streamed out of you.

He came to a stop finally, collapsing onto your body, sticking to you like glue.

Both of you were a panting mess as he softened inside of you, until you broke the silence.

“Stocks, huh?”

He grinned at you mischievously, “you said I could choose whatever job I wanted.”

“And you chose stocks?” You giggled, wrapping your body around him as he rolled over to lay beside you.

“Stocks, it’s the language of love you know?”

He reached into his nightstand drawer and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a box of matches.

“Ugh Sam,” you scoffed, raising off of him and shoving his shoulder lazily, “I told you smoking on the balcony only.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” he chuckled, sitting up with a grunt, “come join me.”

After taking a moment to fully regain your composure, you wrapped yourself in the white duvet and tiptoed across the cold hardwood floor to join Sam on the balcony, his naked body perched on a stool like some 17th century French painting.

A cloud of smoke was already billowing above him as you sat between his legs, looking out on the cityscape below you.

“Hey,” he whispered, and you turned your head to the side to hear him better, “it was nice meeting you tonight.”

#greta van fleet #gvf #greta van fleet smut #greta van fic #greta van smut #gvf fic #sammy gvf #sam gvf #sam kiszka #danny gvf #jake gvf #josh gvf

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psychedelic-ink · 2 years

Text

— cinema.

pairing: javi gutierrez x fem!reader

genre: shameless smut, minors dni

word count: 4.1 k

summary: movie nights with javi were always the best, but this time it seems he has other plans for you.

warnings: established relationship, vaginal fingering, piv, creampie, dirty talk, size kink (javi's pp his huge in this one don't @ me), oral (receiving), dom/sub undertones, a bit of subdrop at the end, cockwarming

a/n: this isn't meant to be chubby!reader but there is descriptions of javi squeezing readers stomach soo just letting you guys know just in case-- enjoy xx

inspired by this post right here

my smut writing playlist that no one asked for

Movie nights with Javi is always the best.

First of all, he owns a home cinema. It’s big, spacious, has a popcorn machine to give the illusion of this being an actual movie theater and, by your request, is fully stocked with alaska frigo’s, which is a chocolate ice cream bar that was especially distributed in movie theaters in Turkey. The country you lived in prior to moving in with him.

Second, Javi is a movie nerd, meaning he has the ability to give so many interesting insights about the films you’re watching together. He knows so much and you’re always in awe of his knowledge, especially when it comes to Nick Cage. A true fanboy indeed.

But luckily for you, due to a bet you had won prior, you get to pick the movie.

With the remote in hand, you sit upon the couch cross-legged, Javi soon joins you after dimming the lights. He places an arm around your shoulder and he pulls you even closer, prompting you to extend your legs over his lap. A smile spreads across your face as he begins to caress the loosely thrown limbs, his fingers thick and strong against your thighs.

“So what have you chosen for us, love?”

“Spirited Away,” you reply, giddly. “I’ve been feeling rather nostalgic,”

“Ohh good choice,” Javi playfully slaps your thigh. “Go one then, start the movie,”

Your eyebrows slightly raise, a gesture so small that it’s completely hidden thanks to the dark atmosphere. Something feels odd, the way he speaks, the way his voice drops an octave in an almost sultry way. You stare at him, his countenance illuminated by the light of the screen. He’s smiling, rather widely, like he always did. Your gaze travels down to your thighs, his thumb draws soft, slow circles, a gesture so feather-like that it sends a shiver up your spine. You swallow, cursing at yourself for your mind being in the deep ends of the gutter.

The movie starts, the familiar blue screen of the Studio Ghibli logo showing up. But no matter how hard you try you can’t focus. His hand now fully begins to caress your thigh, going up and down as his brown eyes follow the characters on the screen. Damn, did he seriously have no idea what he was doing to you? This was torture. Face feeling warm, you force your gaze to the screen, you watch the beauty of the drawings, it’s a familiar sight but one you never grow tired of. It makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Soon you’re completely absorbed by Chihiro’s journey and her struggle in adapting to her new surroundings. You completely forget about the hand on your thigh, which might’ve been a mistake on your part.

Javi suddenly pulls you on top of his lap, your backside sliding between his thighs as his arms snakes around your waist. With a gasp you turn to him, you haven’t moved by much but you feel disoriented.

“Javi–”

He shushes you, “Focus on the movie my love, I just want to feel you closer. Don’t mind me,”

Nodding, you get comfortable on his lap. You rest the back of your head over his broad shoulder and tug his hand so they lay on your stomach. He hums as he lightly squeezes the softness of it, lips momentarily grazing against the skin of your neck, puckering them to lay a fleeting kiss.

The sudden heat you felt before comes rushing back. His large hands toying with your stomach, fingers digging into your flesh in a similar fashion of when he fucks you. You shudder. The mere memory of his cock splitting you open proving to be enough to have your pussy dripping and clenching around nothing. A soft whimper makes its way out of your lips. Upon hearing the voice, Javi’s hands slide further down, fingers trailing the waistband of your loose gray sweatpants.

And there his hands remain, only occasionally pulling your waistband and releasing it.

Thirty minutes pass and once again you forget the presence of his hands, observed by the movie. To be honest, he’s more comfortable than the couch. The steady rise and fall of his chest lulls you into a sleep-like daze, his steady breath a lullaby as it tickles the back of your ear. Your eyelids feel heavy. You can barely keep them open, blinking heavily as you try to focus– A yawn parts your lips and you shimmy on his lap, getting even more comfortable.

You fail to see his kind-hearted smile shift into something more mischievous. His fingers sneak under your waistband, spreading them across your pelvis as they travel further down. The sound of your mid yawn turns into an odd choking sound, you cough profusely, his fingers now inching closer to your aching core. You shift awkwardly, a whine forming against your lips as he drags his fingers between your folds, he feels how wet you are, the curls tickling the tips of his fingers while gathering your slick across the digits.

Your eyes flutter close when he pulls out his fingers, he brings them close to his face. Javi purposefully inches closer to you, the side of his cheeks brushing against the tip of your ear. He inhales and groans at the unaltered scent of you. There’s something explicitly dirty about hearing him inhale, it drives you to the edge of insanity, there’s just something so animalistic about it. More slick gushing from your needy self, you feel the dampness grow across the fabric of your underwear. You moan, grinding your ass down and feeling his hard cock underneath, your mouth waters.

He clicks his tongue, his thick fingers covering your mouth– You groan, eyes rolling back, you can smell yourself on his fingers.

“Shhh, I can’t hear the movie,”

Fuck, he’s teasing you. Javi’s very aware of what he’s doing.

His fingers slide down to your throat, he feels your pulse, he feels how maniacally your heart is beating. With a smile, he nibbles the skin that hides behind your earlobe, the tip of his tongue playfully moving against it. Your breath hitches, pulse quickening once again.

“Calm down, mi princesa, focus on the movie,”

It’s easier said than done, is what you want to say, but you don’t. Javi, despite being a sweetheart, is an avid brat tamer and you’re not in the mood to be teased more than you have to. Instead you chew your bottom lip, taking in deep breaths as you will your heart to calm down. Thankfully, he doesn’t say or do anything. He waits. Patiently. His eyes glued to the screen much like yours. When your pulse steadies, he hums with approval. His hand once again sneaks down the waistband of your sweatpants and nudges his thick fingers between your folds.

By the end of ten minutes you’re on the verge of tears. Everytime a whimper, moan, groan– Basically whenever any kind of noise escapes from your lips Javi stops.

And after a while passes, the torture begins all over again.

You feel like a heroine of a Greek tragedy. You feel like Prometheus, only including less gore. He brings you to the edge, the taste of your orgasm thick on your tongue, and as soon as you indulge he takes it away. You grit your teeth. Again with the waiting. You wish to close your eyes but you can’t. He made that perfectly clear when your eyelids mistakenly fluttered closed– Though, instead of stopping, he had pinched your clit, eliciting a sharp hiss from you.

Again, the heel of his palm presses against your clit while he thrusts his fingers in and out. You try your very best not to make a sound. The way Javi curls his fingers electrifies your every nerve, you’re positive if you were to look down you would see a rather large dark gray stain spreading across the crotch of your sweatpants. The pressure between your legs starts to build again, fuck, you grit your teeth. You want to cum so bad. You need to. A fog settles over your mind as a tear slips from the corner of your eye. Javi’s quick to lean in and lick it away, lips trailing down the apple of your cheek as he adds a third finger.

You can’t take it anymore.

“Javi–” you cry out, grinding your hips to meet his fingers. It feels so so good, your eyes roll back. “Please, please, please– I’m sorry, I’m sorry– Just please let me cum, please!”

You pant, rolling your hips despite Javi’s fingers coming to a full halt. It doesn’t matter, he’s still inside, you can still feel him, his fingers, thick and long and–

“What are you apologizing for?”

You can barely register the question, let alone answer with an incoherent sentence. The movement of your hips slows down and you blink heavily. The movie plays in a blur, all colors and shapes muddled together as you desperately try to clear up your mind. Your chest heaves as your insides clench around his finger, your gnaw on your bottom lip. Everything feels so overwhelming.

“I-I-”

Javi nibbles your earlobe, the gesture acts as an anchor, pulling you back to reality. You take a shaky breath, hips coming to a halt.

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice raspy.

“I am,”

Much to your disappointment, he pulls out his fingers, hands traveling up your body and cupping your breasts.

“You’re so distracting, all these noises and the way you just act out when you don’t get what you want–” he tuts, shaking his head. “Don’t I already give you everything? Tan mimada, you even picked out the movie and you still can’t behave,”

Your eyes flutter close and you lose yourself in the soothing timber of his voice. You’re aware that he’s scolding you but it’s so hard to care when he speaks in such a soft, hushed tone. He roughly squeezes your breasts and your hips twitch, you whine. With a chuckle Javi scoops up the remote from your lap and pauses the movie.

“It seems like we won’t be able to enjoy ourselves unless you’re thoroughly filled up, isn’t that right?”

Fuck, the way he purrs into your ear is going to make you explode.

“But before that I want to taste you, stand up,”

What?

“What?”

“You heard me,” his tongue dances across the column of your neck, leaving a wet trail. “I want to kneel in front of you and make you cum with my tongue, I want you to soak me, my love,”

A rather violent shiver consumes your very being. This wouldn’t be the first time where Javi ate you out until you couldn’t see straight anymore but it would be the first time where he did it while you were standing. Anxiety along with excitement claws at your gut. Your mouth feels dry, you want to, you really do but you would be so exposed. Breath stuttering you stare at the paused screen, his hands skimming across the frame of your body, a soothing gesture.

“We don’t have to do it like that, of course,” he says, lips moving along your neck. “I can eat you out on the couch as well, it’s all the same to me– Just decide soon, my tongue craves your taste,”

Instead of voicing out your answer, you stand up, slowly taking a few steps forward until you stop and turn to him. Javi watches you with a hungry gaze, the corner of his lips slightly curling up as you shed yourself out of your clothes.

Javi is the definition of eye fucking.

His already dark brown eyes now seem completely engulfed by the blackness of his dilated pupils. He looks you up and down multiple times, taking in every patch of skin and crevice you have to offer. You can almost feel it. His gaze washing over your body in the form of a lover’s caress, you can’t help but let out a faint moan, your pussy clenching around nothing but air. Javi instinctively spreads his legs, your eyes follow the outline of his thick cock. He’s not the one to wear the tightest of pants but man it looks like he’s wearing skinny jeans right now–

“Aren’t you going to get undressed?” your voice breaks towards the end, you need him like you need air.

He shakes his head.

“Not now, no.”

Javi finally gets up, his steps slow and controlled. He stands an inch away from you, the fabric of his shirt grazing against your erect nipples as his palm cups the side of your face. You lean in to the touch, sighing when his thumb presses against your lips.

“I love it when you’re like this,” he murmurs. “So eager, so beautiful– The most gorgeous flower I’ve ever seen,”

His words make your heart skip a beat, before you can retaliate, however, he kneels down, hands moving along your body as he does so.

When you look down your thighs quiver, he’s staring directly at the ache between your legs. His fingers dig into your thighs as he pushes them apart, eyes taking in the sight of your glistening pussy. You’re embarrassed at how your inner thighs are soaked with your own wetness, but instead of inquiring about it, Javi darts his tongue out, kissing your slick coated thighs hungrily. His tongue is so warm against your own skin, ticklish almost, you card his hair back with your fingers. Javi’s eyes are squeezed shut, humming as he devours the meat of your legs. Your breath stutters. He looks so good like this, his head between your legs, kneeling for you, pleasuring you– Shit.

A wave of wetness grows between your thighs, you can’t help it, this man is mesmerizing. Your cheeks hollow when you take a sharp breath, you don’t think you have enough willpower to keep yourself upright during all of this. Even now you’re barely standing, legs trembling.

His trail of kisses leads to your core, Javi drags his tongue across the seam of your cunt, groaning as slick coats his tongue. Your fingers tightens around his hair, hips bucking forward as he buries the wet muscle deeper. Javi’s large hands cup each mound of your ass, squeezing and kneading the muscle. When he pushes you forward you almost topple over, barely able to keep yourself from falling. He looks up to you, big brown eyes heavy with lust. The bridge of his nose constantly moves against your throbbing clit as he fucks you with his tongue, lapping your juices and moaning into you. The vibrations alone makes you close your shaking thighs, when your eyes flutter open you see him trapped, quickly apologizing as you spread your legs once again.

Pulling slightly back, he licks a stripe between your folds and grins.

“I don’t mind, I love it when you lose control,”

“Javi…” you whine, grinding your hips towards him. “I want to cum–”

“Do you, now?”

He suddenly buries his lips between your folds and sucks in your clit, he flicks his tongue. A wanton moan rips from your throat, pleasure spiking from your core and spreading throughout your entire body. His tongue brings you to the edge, your thighs closing around his head as you rock your hips, slick dripping down his mouth to his chin. You’re delirious with lust, rasping out his name over and over again, your heart thudding loudly against your chest. You’re dangling on the edge, his tongue threatening to push you over. You tug at his hair, silently begging him to move his mouth faster, but just as you lose yourself into the pleasure, he shoves in two fingers–

Your mouth spreads wide, a string of curses and moans falling from your damp lips as your body twitches and stills. Your cunt squeezes around his fingers, gushing around them as slick drips into his mouth. Javi hungrily laps up everything you have to offer, obscene sounds of slurping and groaning filling the room. He continues to move his fingers, curling them and shallowly thrusting them. You grit your teeth, another wave of pleasure washing over you as you come again. This time Javi moans, his one hand sliding to his clothed cock and squeezing it. The movement sends a spike of arousal up your spine, you need him.

When he pulls away his chin is dripping with the essence of you, his facial hair damp. Looking up, Javi grins at you, clearly proud of making you crumble. The sight makes both your heart and pussy throb and you can’t hold yourself anymore, you drop to the floor, knees scraping against the carpet. His strong arms quickly come around you, pulling you close as his lips find the middle of your forehead.

“Was that too much?” he murmurs. “I’m sorry,”

“What are you apologizing for?” you tease him with his own words, a weak smile spreading across your lips. “That was amazing, Javi. But I need you, need you inside, need you to split me in half,”

His eyes go wide, eyebrows reaching all the way up to his hairline.

“Fucking hell,”

He pushes you until your back is against the floor, the sound of a zipper soon follows and you feel the blunt tip of his cock nudging at your entrance. You claw at the floor, back arching by the mere thought of his cock plunging into you. Javi leans in and captures your lips in a voracious kiss, he licks the inside of your mouth, sucks on your bottom lip and openly moans. Your arms come around his neck, pulling him closer– You want him to devour you, suck the air out of your lungs and leave you breathless. He does about that, kissing you until you’re gasping for air, which he provides, momentarily, before sucking your tongue into his own mouth once more.

You know what he’s doing, he’s done it before. But it’s like your brain resets every time, forgetting that Javi purposefully distracts you with kisses and torturous touches while he pushes in, filling you slowly, inch by inch. The sheer length and thickness of his cock surprises you every goddamn time, you gasp away, brows scrunched up painfully as your chest heaves.

Javi mouths the underside of your jaw, whispering words of encouragement as he tastes the salt of your skin. He’s not moving anymore.

“I-It feels so good but– fuck–”

He kisses your eyes, then your nose, the ticklish sensation of his facial hair coaxing a giggle from you.

“We have all the time in the world, just breathe for me,”

You do as you’re told. You breathe in once– twice–

“I-Is it fully in?” you ask already knowing the answer.

He chuckles, another fleeting kiss follows, this time on your lips.

“It’s only half way in,”

Neither you or he expects a moan to ripple from your chest, your head falls back, slick growing between your legs as your insides squeeze around him. Javi hisses between clenched teeth, hips stuttering forward at the pressure. You’ve only taken half of him in, you remind yourself and another moan follows, another squeeze around his cock. Javi presses his forehead against yours, both of your skins wet with perspiration. A growl ripples out of his throat, a sound so animalistic that it makes you clench a third time.

“You’re going to kill me, little one, tell me–” he swallows. “Tell me you can take me. Tell me I can fuck you now,”

“Yes,” you blurt out, lips brushing against his. “Yes, Javi– Please, fuck me,”

Javi buries himself completely and your vision blacks out for a moment. The stretch of his cock is the perfect mixture of pain and pleasure, he closes the distance between the two of you, capturing your lips in another heated kiss. While your tongues intertwine, he slowly pulls back his hips and pushes forward, when you moan into his mouth, he repeats the movement, then again and again and again–

You break away from him and cry out his name, as an answer to your cries, he bites your neck, lapping the dents his teeth provide. You have no idea how to describe what you’re feeling, your brain short circuits, all you can feel is him. Javi. Waves of mind numbing pleasure soothes over your burning body, you raise your legs in a silent attempt to make him go deeper, which he obliges. He grips the back of your knees and pushes your legs up, grunting, he begins to slam his hips. The way his pelvis bruisingly hits your oversensitive clit again and again forcing out another orgasm. He stills as you thrash about, screaming and crying. You can almost hear the way slick drips down to the carpeted floor, you feel embarrassed, body tingling.

With a smile Javi presses his lips against your calf, gently nibbling the muscle as he grinds his hips. Each time he does you gasp, eyes rolling back. Pressure begins to build behind your eyelids, your overwhelmed cunt throbs, it’s too much.

“Where do you want me?” he asks, lips still latched onto your skin.

All you do is whine, still slightly dazed. He growls and rolls his hips, your back arches at the pressure, your eyes momentarily focusing on nothing by him.

“Dimelo ahora,”

Javi talks so fast that you can barely register the words, scraps of your spanish lessons flashing in your mind. Tell me now, he’s saying.

“Inside,”

The little self control that Javi had crumbles with your one word. Burying his face into the crook of your neck, he sets a bruising pace, cock gliding in and out of you desperately as he chases his own orgasm. Your eyes roll back, heat builds between your legs again, a tear rolls down your cheek, it feels so good, so good that you can’t help screaming out his name. Javi drags his teeth against your skin, the mere sound of him fucking into you is enough to push you over the edge again–

You don’t even know where you are anymore. Your ears ring, heart beating as if you’re running a marathon, your body visibly shivers. Javi thrusts again and again, his lips murmuring something in spanish. With one more thrust he’s coming undone, thick ropes of cum spurting out of his large cock and filling you up to the brim. You can feel him pulsing inside, a groan tumbles out of your parched lips. You’re spent. You don’t even know how to talk anymore.

After moments filled with the sound of the both of you panting, Javi pulls out. You wince at the way cum trickles down your inner thighs, you feel so empty, a sudden feeling of sadness corrupting your heart.

“Talk to me, flower. Are you alright?”

You blink heavily, your body reacts at his words, heart swelling at the nickname. You nod.

“Please use your words,”

“I’m–” you clear your throat. “I’m good,”

“I’ll be right back with supplies,”

When he attempts to get up, you scramble forward with hopes of grabbing his wrist. The sadness you felt prior gathers in you like a storm, your face contort with incoming tears when your fingers merely brush his wrist but Javi feels it. He turns and after a moment of observation he kneels, pulling you close to his chest.

“What is it?”

You sniffle, “Don’t go, I-I want to feel you, it…it feels so empty now. I–I,”

“It’s okay,” he presses his lips against the top of your head. “I won’t leave, don’t worry,”

Before you can answer Javi scoops you off of the floor, while he takes a seat on the couch, he parts your legs and nudges his softening cock between your folds. Your eyes roll back when you feel him take his rightful place inside of you, this time he slides in with ease, your insides still wet from your slick and his cum. A smile graces your lips as you feel his cock starting to harden again.

“How about we watch the rest of the movie like this? Does this make you feel better?”

You nod, feeling a bit light-headed.

“Yes, much better. Thank you, love,”

“Of course,”

Javi unpauses the movie, the nostalgia of the animation soothing you like a security blanket. With a hum, you relax into him, back flushed against his, still, clothed chest.

The way that his cock is buried inside of you feels like the most natural thing in the world and makes your heart swell up with emotion. Tilting your head, you give him a quick kiss on the cheek and shift your gaze back to the movie. Javi chuckles as he places his chin over your shoulder, arms tightly wrapped around your waist.

Movie nights with Javi are certainly the best.

A/N: to be notified of future work follow @burnthoneymintsathenaeum and turn on notifications✨

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