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tomriddleslove · 14 days

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Obliviate.

✩ Mattheo Riddle x Reader angst

Summary: The one where tensions are running higher, and everyone has to pick a side. You promised to stick by one another, but a stupid oath you made when you first met threatens to drive that apart. Alternatively: If you love her, then you have to let her go.

A/N: If you don’t listen to the recommended song when reading this i will fight you 🤺🤺

Song: Goodbye - Billie Eilish

The Daily Prophet

Unrest Brews as Dark Forces Loom

By Rita Skeeter

In a disturbing turn of events, Diagon Alley was rocked by an unprecedented attack last night, sending shockwaves throughout the wizarding community. Witnesses reported seeing a group of hooded figures, suspected to be Death Eaters, descending upon the famous magical thoroughfare with malicious intent.

The Flourish and Blotts bookstore bore the brunt of the assault, with its windows shattered and shelves overturned. Several nearby shops, including Ollivanders Wand Shop and Eeylops Owl Emporium, also sustained significant damage.

"I've never seen anything like it," said Horace Slughorn, a retired Potions Master who happened to be in the area during the attack. "It was pure pandemonium. People were running for cover, spells flying everywhere. It was like a scene out of the darkest days of the last wizarding war."

Ministry of Magic officials were quick to respond to the scene, deploying Aurors and members of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol to contain the situation. However, the attackers managed to evade capture, leaving behind a trail of destruction and instilling fear in the hearts of many.

The Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, condemned the attack in the strongest terms, vowing to apprehend those responsible and bring them to justice.

"We will not tolerate such brazen acts of violence in our society," Minister Shacklebolt declared in a statement issued this morning. "The Ministry is fully committed to ensuring the safety and security of all witches and wizards, and we will spare no effort in our pursuit of these criminals."

The attack on Diagon Alley serves as a grim reminder of the growing threat posed by Voldemort's followers, who have been emboldened in recent months by reports of their dark lord's rumoured return. With tensions running high and fear gripping the wizarding world, many are left wondering what the future holds in this time of uncertainty.

You frown as you observe Mattheo, watching as he tosses the paper down onto the table in front of you with a huff. The tension in his face has become increasingly evident over the past few weeks, and you've begun to forget what Mattheo looks like when he isn't frowning.

You wrap your arms around his arm, leaning in close to him as you speak quietly.

“Hey. It’s alright,” You reassure, pressing a light kiss to his shoulder. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from the fireplace, a small huff of both frustration and amusement escaping his lips as he clenches his jaw, nodding.

“It’s alright.” He scoffs, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

It’s alright? No, it wasn’t alright. His father was a murderous lunatic who was about to trigger the second wizarding war. He had to sit back and watch his own friend get tortured for hours for failing to complete a task. He can't close his eyes without seeing Theodore writhing in pain on the floor.

Mattheo was expected to fight with them. The time would come, that was for certain. Mattheo would have to stand there, and raise his wand against the people he's shared a dorm with and sat in class with.

Hell, he would be expected to raise his wand against you.

“They always say this, Mattheo. They’ve been saying it for years, and nothing has happened.” You say, but even you can see how pathetic it sounds. Despite your efforts to comfort him, it's clear that his mind is elsewhere, consumed by the looming threat of war and the impossible choices he may soon be forced to make.

Mattheo finally tears his gaze away from the fireplace, his eyes meeting yours. Your breath hitches, the sheer look of sorrow in his eyes enough to shatter your heart into a million little pieces.

"I don't want to drag you into this," he confesses, his voice raw with emotion. "You deserve better than to be caught up in my mess."

Your heart sinks as you realize where this conversation is headed. "Mattheo, please," you plead, the fear in your voice palpable, "don't do this. Don't shut me out."

But he shakes his head, his expression pained. "I have to," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "Remember our promise?"

Mattheo looks up when he sees you sit next to him, a wide grin on your face as you unpack your bag.

He had seen you here and there in the common room. You always seemed to have an impossibly bright smile, far too lovely for the gloominess of Slytherin.

“Riddle.” You hum with a small grin, and he can't help but let a small smile tug at his lips as he looks over at you.

“What's wrong? You’re looking at me as though I’ve grown another head” You tease as you sit down next to him .

Mattheo blinks in surprise as you address him, the warmth of your smile catching him off guard. He's used to being treated with caution and apprehension, especially given his family's reputation and his own reserved demeanor. But your easy manner and genuine curiosity leave him feeling strangely disarmed.

"Nothing's wrong, just lost in thought, I suppose," he replies, a hint of amusement in his voice as he watches you unpack your bag. Despite himself, he can't help but feel a sense of curiosity about you, wondering what it is that draws you to him when so many others keep their distance.

-•-

“Please-” Mattheo pleads in frustration, slamming the door shut behind him as he storms through the empty common room. You follow after him briskly, slamming the door that separates the common room from the dorms closed with a flick of your wand as you corner him.

“What do you mean, please?” You snap, frowning at him.

“Stop-” He says, his movements exasperated as he motions between the two of you “- this! Stop trying to be friends with me! It’s for your own good.” He says, looking up at you.

You let out a dry laugh, a mix of amusement and frustration as you shove him lightly.

“Oh fuck off. So you can kiss me and spend every evening with me but when it suits you we are just friends. You don't get to decide what’s good for me, Mattheo. I choose what I do and who I associate with, and if that hurts me then so fucking be it.” You retort harshly. Mattheo goes to interject but you cut him off.

“No! You don't get to choose when you want to be with me. I want you, Mattheo. All of you. I couldn’t give two flying shits about who your father is, or who you associate with. I'm capable of making my own decisions.”

He remains silent, his expression torn between turmoil and guilt, as your words hang heavy in the air between you. You feel slightly guilty for your outburst and your expression softens, reaching out to hold his hand gently as you speak.

"You know, if you really think it's that dangerous for me to be around you, you could always just obliviate me. Make me forget about you completely."You quip, trying to lighten the mood

For a moment, Mattheo's shock gives way to a burst of laughter, the tension in the room dissipating as he shakes his head in disbelief. "You're impossible," he says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."

-•-

You pull back from Mattheo, shaking your head. “No. No, that was a joke.” You stammer, but he turns to you.

“It wasn’t. We spoke about it afterwards. You promised me.” Mattheo says, sternly.

You know he’s right. You only agreed because the idea seemed so laughable. But now it was a reality, and you could see the hurt and disappointment in Mattheo's eyes.

Tears well up in your eyes as you struggle to find the right words, the weight of everything crashing down on you like a ton of bricks. "I love you, Mattheo," you say, more of a plea than anything else. He draws you into him, a strong arm wrapping around you tightly, as though he is scared to let you go. His hand cups the back of your head, pulling your head down to rest on his shoulder as he kisses the top of your head.

“I know. I love you too. That's why we have to.” He murmurs, trying his hardest to not let his voice break.

-•-

It’s not fair.

It wasn’t fucking fair.

Mattheo had just found it. Found his reason for living. Found his reason to keep going when all the odds were stacked against him. You were the air he breathed, the light that lit his life up and the tender hand that soothed him. You were his everything, and you had to be snatched away from him.

He gently raps on the door to your dorm, just to let you know he was about to enter before cracking the door open. You hastily scramble, shoving the book you were writing with under your pillow as you spot Mattheo.

He notices but he doesn't say a thing, no, he can't. Because in a few minutes, it would be as though he never existed to you. He couldn't tell what would have hurt more, you not being able to see him, or you not even knowing who he was. You’d hold his heart in your hands, unknowingly, and he would be nothing but a stranger.

“Not in here, Please, not in here.” You breathe out, your words hitching in your throat as you fight back tears. He nods wordlessly, taking a step back.

“No one’s in the common room. I’ll uh- go there.” He murmurs, his voice hollow and empty as he turns to leave, unable to bear the thought of facing you for what may be the last time.

As he makes his way down to the common room, every step heavier than the last, he can't shake the feeling of emptiness that gnaws at his insides. It's like a void, swallowing him whole and leaving nothing behind but a hollow shell of the person he used to be.

He finds a seat in the furthermost corner, where you both usually sat, facing the fireplace. He watches the embers crackle and dance, not even noticing your presence till you slide up into the seat next to him. He wants to avert his gaze when he sees the tears in your eyes, but instead, he reaches up.

His hands were shaking. Why were they shaking?

He wipes a stray tear from your cheek.

“My wand. Let me go uh-” He blurts , quickly getting up as he looks away. He blinks back tears as he hurries up the stairs. Instead of going up to his dorm, however, he sneaks into yours.

He walks over to your bed, pulling back your pillow. Sure enough, the small book you were so desperate to conceal from Mattheo was there. He looks around and then with a small huff, tucks it into his back pocket. He hurries back downstairs.

Returning to the common room, he sits back down next to you, his hand reaching out to gently intertwine with yours as you sit together in silence. For a while, you don't say anything. You fear that speaking will break this small bubble, where time has frozen and you can just enjoy your last moments together.

As Mattheo gently cups your face, his touch trembling with the weight of what's to come, he feels the soft dampness of your tears against his fingertips. Your eyes, filled with sorrow and pleading, search his for some semblance of reassurance, some sign that this isn't the end.

"I can't do this," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, his heart breaking with every word. "I can't lose you. You mean everything to me. I’m so scared"

Your sobs fill the air around you, the sound like a knife to Mattheo's heart as he struggles to hold back his own tears. He leans in, pressing his lips against yours in a tender, bittersweet kiss, savouring the taste of your lips one last time before it's all gone.

“I love you.” Is all you can muster. It’s pathetic, but it hurts to even think about anything.

You cling to him desperately, your fingers tangling in his hair as though trying to anchor yourself to the present. Mattheo feels a lump form in his throat, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket, but he knows that he has to do this. For your own safety, for your own sake, he has to let you go.

His forehead presses against yours, taking in every last moment of intimacy he’s granted. You don't open your eyes, and he's grateful, for he doesn't think he could bear to look you in the eye.

“Obliviate.”

The second after he murmurs the words he stumbles away from you, reeling backwards as though your touch has burnt him. You wouldn't remember a thing about him, not even his name. He couldn’t be close to you anymore.

Mattheo watches as you blink, confusion clouding your features as you try to make sense of your surroundings. You look around the room, your eyes scanning the familiar surroundings with a sense of bewilderment, and for a moment, Mattheo's heart clenches with the hope that maybe, just maybe, you'll remember him. But deep down, he knows that it's futile, that the spell has already taken effect, erasing every trace of him from your mind.

You shake your head slightly, as if trying to clear the fog from your thoughts, before turning and heading up to your bed. Mattheo watches you go, his heart breaking with every step you take away from him, knowing that he can never follow.

But then, just as you reach the top of the stairs, you pause, your gaze flickering back to where Mattheo stands in the corner of the room. And in that moment, you give him a small, absentminded smile, the kind of smile you might give to a passing stranger.

Mattheo's heart lurches in his chest at the sight of your smile. He wants to call out to you, to tell you who he is, to beg you to remember him, but he knows that it's pointless. You're gone, lost to him forever, and there's nothing he can do to change that.

As you disappear, he collapses down onto the sofa, He wants to sob, and for a second he thinks he is, a horrible restictive choking feeling in his throat as he looks down at the floor. He reaches into his pocket, fingers fumbling with the small black book, perhaps the last piece of you he’d truly have.

He finds the most recent entry and wipes away the tears that blur his vision as he begins to read.

Don't be alarmed when you see this. I want you to read every word of this carefully. This is you, that is writing. It is the 26th of June, 1996. You might have felt like you’ve woken up in the common room, feeling a bit disoriented.

You were obliviated. And it was your idea.

When you were that annoying, pestering little kid, you had taken it upon yourself to befriend a boy called Mattheo Riddle. You’ll see him over the next few days, perhaps. He might look at you as though it hurts him to. It most definitely does. He’s devastatingly handsome, with the softest brown curls and the most expressive eyes. I do believe you won't need me to describe him. Really, my love for him is so strong I doubt any sort of obliviate can erase the idea that Mattheo Riddle lives within the recesses of your heart. Everyone had warned you of how dangerous he was, how his father was rumoured to be the Dark Lord and that he was bound to be no good. But you, in your true Slytherin ambition, set out on a mission to befriend him.

And you fell in love. It was impossible not to, really.

He is everything to me. He was everything to you. He is the most brilliant boy I’ve known. Far too many people gave up on him early. He’s beyond just being incredibly intelligent. He feels. And that’s rarer than you might believe. For someone who was subjected to such horrible things growing up, he is tender. Do not let his bruised knuckles and split lips fool you.

Now, more than ever, he will struggle. He believes you are fully not aware of him. But with this, I hope you are.

Be there for him. Do not tell him about this. You were awfully good at forcing your way into people's lives. Do that for him now. Make him think it was a coincidence. Be there for him, and don’t let his stubbornness fool you. Merlin knows he will be stubborn. He is simply scared, and you mustn’t let that deter you.

People will often compare their lovers to the sun. Bright, warm, near perfect. Mattheo is the moon, casting a gentle glow in the darkness, guiding you through the night. He may not shine as brightly as the sun, but his presence is no less mesmerizing, no less essential.

You had always preferred the moon more, anyway.

Take care of him.

You stupid girl. You stupid, selfish girl.

Mattheo's hands tremble as he reads the letter, his heart constricting with every word, every line. It's like a knife to his heart, the pain of knowing that even in a situation like this, you still found a way to look after him, to care for him, to love him.

Tears blur his vision as he reads on, each word cutting deeper than the last. The book, filled with pages of recollections of the time they spent together, feels like a cruel reminder of everything he's lost, everything he can never get back.You had nearly filled the whole book, addressed to yourself with worries and letters in the hopes of getting your obliviated mind to fall back in love with Mattheo. To remember him, and to negate the whole idea of obliviating yourself by leaving this book for your future self.

And you did all of this just because you wanted to look after him.

It hurts to breathe, to even entertain the idea of going to bed tonight knowing that the love of his life sees him as nothing but a stranger. And in his hands, he holds the thing that could do the impossible, that could somehow reverse it all.

The very selfish part of him wants you to see the book. He wants to slip upstairs, and hide it back under your pillow, and let you find the words you addressed to yourself.

But he couldn’t. He could die far more happily knowing he’s not leaving you behind, no. Really, you were never his, the two of you forcing destiny in the opposite direction, living on borrowed time. Now he has to face the consequences of it all, and if he can stop you bearing the brunt of it, then he’s made no mistake.

He places the book down on the table, and doesn’t think twice about his actions.

“Incendio.”

#slytherin #slytherin boys #tom riddle #harry potter #draco malfoy #lorenzo berkshire #slytherin boys fic #theodore nott #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle x you

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sheeple · 3 months

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Miracles don't exist | 36: Extreme security measures

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): idk man... lot happens here [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

Your eyes are trained to the rough waves outside of the cottage. A steaming cup of tea in your hand. Bill and Fleur are nice enough to give you a room to stay in their home.

You've wanted to go search for Theo immediately, but Fleur forced you to have a shower. You felt grimy and dirty and just gross and once out of the shower were you glad she did so. That's what being stuck in a basement for half a year does to you.

Once you've finally seen yourself in the mirror for the first time in months, a gasp left you. You've lost weight and a lot of it. It has made the scars over your body more prominent. Your hair is matted and nasty, sticking out at odd angles. But the worst is the word traitor carved into your collarbone.

So... that is what Bellatrix did to you? Dear Merlin. It makes you want to puke. The fact that you've physically been permanently damaged by her makes your airways tighten up. Fleur has helped you through one or two nightly panic attacks. Salazar bless her.

Said woman comes over to you with a bowl filled with steaming porridge. "Eat up", she says gently, "you need to strengthen."

With a smile, you take the bowl. "Thank you. Not just for the food, but also for letting me stay here."

Fleur joins you staring out of the window. You slowly eat the porridge to not upset your stomach. You hesitate for a moment, not sure if you're in a position to ask for anything. "Do you maybe know... if- where Theodore is? Theodore Nott."

She looks over her shoulder towards Bill, who's washing up some dishes at the sink. They seem to silently communicate towards one another, leaving you out of their discussion.

"He's staying at Grimmault Place", says Bill after a pleasing look from Fleur. "But that was before he was sent to mainland Europe on Shacklebolt's orders."

A cold plunge envelops your body. He's... gone? Fighting a war that your generation has no reason to be involved in?

You feel a soft hand on your shoulder. Fleur gives you a sympathetic smile as she holds up a handkerchief. Only then do you realise that tears run in two streaks down your cheeks. You sniff and turn around, hiding away from them.

"Is there... is there any news about him?", you croak out, doing your best to get your emotions under control.

But you get the message when Bill stays silent. You nod wordlessly and turn around. You walk out the door and towards the sea. You drop to a sitting position and bury your toes in the sand.

The smell of the sea and the sand brings back memories of easier times. A time when you still had to watch out and take care of each other, it was far before the torture and heartbreak.

Someone drops down next to you silently, their hands playing with something. You glance to your side, but Hermione keeps on staring in front of her. In her hands a wand. Your wand. It got taken before you were forced into the cellar.

"Are you alright?", you ask softly, your tired eyes raking over her body. You wonder what Bellatrix has done to her.

The girl nods before looking at you. "Are you alright?"

"I will be. I just... I need to- I don't know what I will do now. What are you guy's next move?" You pull your knees to your chin, burying your face.

Hermione hesitates for a moment. She lays the wand in front of you in the sand. But you feel no desire to touch it.

"We think there is a Horcrux in the Lestrange family vault at Gringotts."

You stiffen. "How are you attempting to get in?" Logistically, there is no way that the three of them pass the goblins at the bank. They have to one, identify themselves with a wand that belongs to the Lestrange family. And two, they're public enemy number one.

"We've got her wand and a hair."

"Pollyjuice potion? That's your plan? How are you going to bypass the endless counter-spell measures?"

She looks helplessly behind you. You turn around and see Ron and Harry standing at the cottage. Then it clicks. "You're asking for my help."

"I'm sorry, (Y/n). We wouldn't be asking if it wasn't necessary."

A deep sigh leaves your lips. "Fine", you let out. "But I first need to let Sirius know that I am okay."

Grabbing your wand, you fire off a couple of spells into the sand to test if it is actually your wand. And if your magic still works after all this time.

Once that's done, you conjure a piece of paper and a pen. You pen a quick letter to Sirius about what happened and that you're okay. You also ask to let Teddy know that you're alive and kicking once he comes back. You give the letter to Bill and Fleur's owl and watch it fly away with the letter.

"So...", you ask, turning around to the Golden Trio, "what's the plan?"

"This is the most reckless plan I've ever heard", you grumble lowly as you walk between Hermione — who's Polijuiced to look like Bellatrix — and a slightly edgier Ron than normal. Your Dark Mark is in full display with the dress you're wearing and you hate it. Harry is somewhere with Griphook under the invisibility cloak.

Hermione stumbles a few times over her heels as you all approach the front desk Gringotts. You clench your teeth and sneer at the goblins that look up from their work. Pretty much what the Dark Lord's Heir should do, in your opinion.

It's very quiet in the lobby when Hermione clears her throat. But no reaction from the goblin. "I wish to enter my vault."

You cringe internally at how un-Bellatrix Lestrange she sounds. You should have taken the roll.

"Identification?", says the goblin uninterested.

The unsure look in Hermione's eyes makes you speak up. You step in front of her and glare at the goblin. "I hardly think that'll be necessary", you sneer.

The little man looks up from his work as he recognizes your voice. "Madam Lestrange. Miss Riddle." He stands up straight before turning around.

"I don't like to be kept waiting." Hermione calls after the goblin as she folds her arms in front of her chest.

"They know", whispers Griphook. "They know she's an imposter. They've been warned."

You share a look with Ron, who looks ready to pass out when guards approach your group from multiple points.

The goblin returns with another one. "Madam Lestrange, would you mind presenting your wand?", asks the other goblin.

"And why should I do that?" She's getting better at pretending to be Bellatrix, with the way she holds herself.

The way the goblin speaks to Hermione gives the impression that he's speaking to a child. "It's the bank's policy. I'm sure you understand given the current climate."

"No", you growl, "we most certainly do not understand. I won't imagine the Dark Lord be very pleased to hear when his Heir and most trusted follower are denied access." At this point, you're giving the others time to think up a plan. And you hope it comes soon.

Softly, from next to the goblin you hear Harry whisper out, "Imperio", before the goblin's face changes. He sniffs deeply as a smile forms on his face.

"Very well, Madam Lestrange. If you will follow me."

The five you get lead to a minecart that sets off at high speed. Griphook steers the cart while the other goblin sits in the back, high as a kite.

"What is that, Griphook?", questions Harry as you pass over a waterfall that splashes down on the tracks below. "Griphook!", he inquires as the goblin tries to break but the cart doesn't seem to work.

You brace yourself for the water to hit you. Once you've passed under it Hermione is Hermione again and the cart has come to a screeching halt. A red light pops up before an alarm shrieks. Suddenly, the bottom of the cart slides from under you and you all plunge into the darkness below.

Hermione thinks quick on her feet as she casts a spell which seems to stop you just short of the ground. The spell releases you and you let out a grunt as you still drop pretty harshly on the ground.

You clamber up, looking around. "Oh no, you look like you again", you point out at Hermione.

"The Thief's Downfall. Washes away all enchantments. Can be deadly", explains Griphook

Ron makes a snide remark but acts quick as the other goblin wakes up from his Imperio haze. You want to make a remark that while you are the Dark Lord's daughter, you haven't used the forbidden curses voluntarily, unlike the Golden Trio.

But now is not the place nor the time for that.

As you approach the vault, a low rumbling and growling comes from within. A pit forms in your stomach as you recognise what that means. You've heard your aunt and uncle talk about an extreme security measure before when returning from fetching you money for school. But you never believed it to be true. Until today.

White as snow and wrapped in rusty chains, a dragon lies in front of the entrance to the vault. Scars and wounds decorate the skin of the dragon. It nurses his paw with pitiful whines.

"Bloody hell, that's a Ukrainian Ironbelly." Ron looks in amazement towards the poor dragon.

A pit from in your stomach as Griphook hands out rattles. When he starts to shake the rattles, the Ukrainian Ironbelly flinches away.

"It's been trained to expect pain when it hears the noise."

"That's barbaric!" You huff out angrily.

"It's effective", quips Griphook back as your group easily bypasses the dragon to the vault. He lays the hand of the other goblin on the door and it opens.

Everywhere you look inside is silver and gold. On every table, wall, or even every inch of the floor; leaving just enough room to walk around. Holding up your lightened wand, you realise all this is yours. Bellatrix and Rodolphus don't have children of their own. So as Bellatrix' only daughter, it's yours. Or will it go to Rodolphus' brother?

"Accio Horcrux", Hermione calls out, but nothing happens.

Ron turns towards her. "You're not trying that one again, are you?"

But you know it's here. It's in the vault because you feel it. It calls to you.

"Is it in here, Harry? Can you feel anything?"

"Yes", both you and Harry reply, looking at each other.

You look around, your eyes drawn to a certain point of the vault. "It's there", you point out. Up high, you hear it whisper to you to come and get it. To touch it. It makes your skin crawl. A golden cup gleams evilly at you.

Hermione gasps as she accidentally bumps against a table. A cup topples over and starts to multiply. Of course, the Lestarnges are not that stupid to not put a curse in the vault.

"Give me the sword."

Hermione pulls out a sword from her beaded bag and throws it at Harry. Since when does that fit in there?

As cups and plates and trophies multiply around you, Harry scales the growing pile of gold. The room starts to fill with objects as everyone struggles.

"Stop moving!", you call out and the room stops filling. Only Harry's pile is still growing until he snatches the cup. He bursts out of the pile, but the cup flies from his hands. Into that of Griphook.

"We've had a deal, Griphook."

The goblin in question holds out his hand. "The cup for the sword."

Reluctantly, Harry throws the sword at Griphook, who in turn throws the cup towards you. You catch it and it sizzles in your hand. Your head twitches harshly.

A mean gleam takes over Griphook's features. "I said I'd get you in. I didn't say anything about getting you out." He opens the door and the cursed riches pile out.

The four of you stumble out and watch how Griphook escapes and the other goblin gets burned to a crisp.

Guards fire blasting curses at you and you hide behind the pillars. "We can't just stand here! Who's got an idea?", yells Hermione above the blastst.

"You're the brilliant one!", argues Ron back.

You shake your head. "I've got an idea. But it's mad. Reducto." You fire the spell at the railing and it flies off. You run back before launching yourself on the dragon's back. The others follow you and grip tightly to the spikes on the back of the dragon.

"Relashio." The chain that holds the dragon snaps. It fires another blast towards the guards before it looks up. You follow its gaze and see your way out. The dragon climbs its way up, destroying a train track in its wake and sending a bunch of guards into the depts.

Bursting through the floor of the lobby, the dragon breathes fire around itself. Finally, it makes its way through the roof and sits like a gigantic pigeon on the roof, catching its breath.

Hermione fires a spell at its tail and the dragon flies off. You soar through the sky, getting a wonderful look over London.

You don't know for how long you've been staying put before the four of you drop down into a lake.

You feel it. His anger. Voldemort knows that Harry's been destroying Horcruxes. It's all-consuming. Searing. Red hot. He knows you've escaped the Manor. He knows you've betrayed him. And he is outraged.

Taglist (bold means I couldn’t tag you): @the0doreslover @lqndkxlmqma @st4rrry @choppedpartymuffinwinner @ledtassoo @literallyobessed @lestat-whore @vanishingcherry @harrysnovia @pietrobae @ireallywannasleep127 @yeolsbubbles @fruityfrog505 @fluffybunnyu @theroyalmanatee @shinrjj @hegdus @kermits-bitch @m1kasawps @noah-uhhh-what @mypolicemanharryyy @fals3-g0d @decapitated-coffee @thatgirljas13 @slytherinambitious @raineisms @mastermindmiko @timmytime17 @regsg18 @supernatural-lover @bubybubsters @lafrone @hermionelove @the-sander-fander @akengii @aliciacat20 @unstablereader @burns-in-the-sun @rachelnicolee @damagelove @mqndrqke @llpovi @clairesjointshurt @222244445555 @jolly4holly @padf00ts-l0ver @fandom-life-12 @prettyb1tchsblog @pari-1 @f14ever @nopedefe @randomgurl2326 @rinalouu @yazminetrahan

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phantomram-b00 · 1 month

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Why is Harry Potter trending (or was)? Can it not? Like deadass I’m being fr can it plz not. Especially that J.K Rowling is a massive TERF, a raging antisemite, and disgustingly try to deny that trans people were not affected by the Holocaust (which she was ratio’d by George Takei).

“Proof?”

Way ahead of you: (Tw: transphobia, racism, antisemitism, holocaust, Harry Potter)

Oh and don’t get me started how Hogwart Legacy, you know that game that was sworn Jk Rowling wasn’t apart of (yeah sure-) is blood libel story. Not to mention that trans people have told you not to especially since there is a canonical transgender character named Sirona. (People said Sirona is a Celtic goddess for healing. but- come on. You can’t bullshit out of this one. There are OTHER NAMES TO NAME A TRANSGENDER CHARACTER— it make those joke with how Jk Rowling naming not far off. Because it like naming a nonbinary character “NoGendora” or smth (before you say, I’m nonbinary myself—) so idc if it already have a meaning, it still is tone deaf to name a transgender women Sirona).

“But but- you can separate the art from the artist?”

Yes. You can separate art from the artist. HOWEVER before you celebrate thinking you had a gotcha moment. You can only separate if the art itself isn’t problematic or is bigotry itself. Harry Potter is as mention in the links. Not to mention, Harry Potter himself become a cop despite the cop in that world didn’t do jack shit. And don’t get me started on how they handle the whole elf slavery. Also there is heavy fatphobia in this story, proof, look at how they would talk about Harry’s abusive aunt and uncle from his mother’s side. Don’t get me started how she would describe Rita Skeeter. There even a black character who’s last names is Shacklebolt— do I need to say more (if I’m missing any other examples please tell me)

Not to mention she benefits off of it and uses her money to donate to transphobia and just don’t give a flying fuck if she offend people (which seem to usually be the case for trans/homophobia but moving on). like, this is who you wanna support? You still want to read this wizard book when there are other that don’t have transphobia, racist, antisemitic, or any problematic rhetoric and are objectively better than Harry Potter? Really? You wanna die on this hill?

Look. I used to like Harry Potter. but that was before I knew what a dirtbag of a fucking human she is (I didn’t really have social media at the time), and I cringe as I wish I learn sooner that she was a deplorable person who hates trans people like myself (nonbinary respectfully). But, I can happily say Fuck Harry Potter that series can burn in a trash for all I care and I hope the hbo series flops on its ass. And also fuck Jk Rowling, she can fuck off for all I care. That being said, If you support Harry Potter/Jk Rowling, unfollow me. Block me. Because I do not support Harry Potter/Jk Rowling. Because Trans rights/Gender Equality, Human rights are infinitely more important than a basic ass wizard book/movie with a even basic ass magic system when there are objectively better wizard/magic books that are respectful.

Anyway, that being said, Trans and basic human rights matter 🩵🩷🤍🩷🩵 🤭

Click here before liking the post

#jk rowling #tw: harry potter #tw: antisemitism #Tw: transphobia #Tw: racism #fuck harry potter #harry potter #I’m just pissed off like wtf #I’m sorry if I sound upset I just again not having the best year but overall Harry Potter trending is upsetting #transgender #trans #trans rights #basic human rights #fuck jk Rowling

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chronophobique · 2 months

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Prompt: Lust potion

— 573 words

content warning: nsfw ish

Malfoy heaves a long sigh at the sight of her. “Is that really necessary?” he asks Shacklebolt.

“What is?”

As if irritated that the wizard would pretend not to understand what he’s very clearly referring to, he scowls, before gesturing to her mouth and upper body. “That.”

“Oh, you mean the light makeup and adorable top I’ve chosen for today?” Hermione chimes in, a slight bite behind each word.

“I wouldn’t call adorable a clothing item that leaves so little room to the imagination.”

For some reason she refuses to dwell on, the thought of him checking her body out sends a jolt of pleasure down her spine. “Would you prefer I only wore turtlenecks so you could have all the latitude to imagine what’s underneath?”

The look he gives her is like nothing she’s seen in his gaze before. “That’s not what I said.”

“But you implied it,” she argues.

“It’s indecent.”

“It’s just a bit of skin, Malfoy. You’ll survive.”

He’s about to retort when Shacklebolt reminds them of his presence. “The clock is ticking—let’s not waste more time on pointless conversations. Do you know what you have to do?”

“Make the French minister believe Malfoy lusts for me,” Hermione replies matter-of-factly, a poorly hidden smirk stretching her lips.

It’s one of the worst situations she’s found herself in since she started working at the ministry, and yet she can’t help but find it particularly comical.

“That’s right.” The Minister for Magic turns to her grumpy partner. “When he enters your mind, it needs to be as clear as water that you are head over heels for Hermione, and that you will not hesitate to act if he continues to make advances towards her, do you understand?”

His ‘yes’ sounds more like a grunt.

“It’s the only way he’ll leave her alone.”

“Just give me the bloody lust potion and let’s be done with it,” he snaps, snatching the vial out of her hands before she has time to hand it to him, and chugging its contents down.

“What are you—”

“Stop talking,” he demands, his tone pleading, as he holds a hand up between them.

“But—”

“Please.”

“But it—”

“No!”

She likes this new tone no more than she does being cut off while trying to speak, but his eyes are wide, his alabaster skin is flushed, and Hermione is too entranced to say anything.

“You think it’s funny, don’t you? That I get hard by the mere sound of your voice,” he hisses as he suddenly steps into her personal space, causing her heartbeat to accelerate considerably. “You like having that power over me, I know you do.”

“What if I told you I can’t even look at you without feeling the irrepressible urge to bend you over the nearest furniture and fuck you until the only word that comes out of your mouth is my name. Will your smile waver, then?”

It doesn’t, and she can tell it drives him crazy.

“It’s torture, every second of it,” he says through his teeth. “But worse than that is the fact that I would trade the way I feel for nothing in the world.”

He turns her back to her, then, and it’s the growing distance between them that makes her blurt out, “Veritaserum.”

“What?”

Still glued to the spot, she gulps. “The vial you took; it had veritaserum in it. The lust potion was in my other hand.”

#dramione #draco x hermione #hermione granger #chronophobiquedrabbles #dhr fandom #draco malfoy #dramione drabble #dramione fanfic #harry potter #hermione x draco #myart #digital art #dhr #dhr ficlet

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tessimagines · 1 year

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The Days That Follow // Remus Lupin

Summary:

“There was a before you and there was a during you. For some reason, I never thought there would be an after you.”

They say that grief has five stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Over the course of a year after her husband’s death, (Y/N) Lupin goes through all of them.

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Warnings: A WHOLE TON OF ANGST, character death, grief, mourning and depression

Word Count: 3.8k

Masterlist | Harry Potter Masterlist

A/N: For my first imagine after coming back to writing I thought I would brake all of your hearts. Enjoy (if you can?)

Denial

May 2nd, 1998

It’s his pale, lifeless hand spread out on the cobblestone that your eyes fixate on. Not his face, not his hair, not his body. They stare at the hand that had run it’s fingers through your hair only a few hours ago. The thumb that had brushed along your jawline after your final kiss. The palm you had squeezed before the battle had separated you.

It looks cold. Dust coats it, and you can see black grime underneath each fingernail. Small patches of blood litter their way across the skin. That skin used to have colour, but now it appears to have been bleached free of it.

For the first time you feel the sharp pain of the air that is caught in your throat. It is muffling any sound right now, but you know as soon as you let it out you wont be able to help but scream.

It is almost as if time has slowed down around you. You cannot make out any sounds, just a constant hum of noise. The Great Hall is full of bodies, lined up one after another. Each one has its own group of mourners, but you don’t see them. Your eyes only see your husbands hand on the floor.

Suddenly, your knees are on the ground beside him. You reach out and grab the hand in front of you. Your fingertips glide along his skin, searching for any point of warmth, of life.

This isn’t real. It’s another nightmare, brought forth by the anxiety of war. Every second you spend holding his hand, the blurrier your vision gets. But tears would mean that this is real, not some cruel mind game you know it has to be.

“No,” you say. Your voice is hoarse and strained. “No, he isn’t dead. He can’t be.”

Nobody says a word. For the first time, you let your eyes stray from his hand. They flicker to his face. It’s just as pale, just as lifeless as his hand. His eyes are open and glassy, staring up towards the ceiling of the Great Hall.

“No,” you say the word again. It seems to be the only word you can say or think. “No, no, no.”

You drop his hand to the floor and reach towards his chest, your fingers griping the edge of his ragged blazer. Dust and soot has sunk deep into the fabric and new holes line it’s surface. Underneath he wears his green knit sweater. That had been a Christmas present from Molly. It was brown from the dust and the dirt now, and when you touched it, the particles came to line your hands.

You grip onto the clothes of his chest. You’re shaking them now, like the action will wake him. All he needs is to take one breath, one deep breath and it will be okay.

You can feel his name in your mouth. You’re repeating it over and over again, every time louder. As your voice grows, so does the violence with which you shake his body. Your cheeks are wet, there is no point holding back the tears now.

“(Y/N),” Hermione is saying behind you. She places her hands on your shoulders, trying to pull you back from your husband’s body. “(Y/N), please, he’s gone.”

You’re back to saying no again. It’s seems like the only rational thing you can say. “No, no, no, he’s not. He’s going to be fine. He has to be.”

You wiggle your way out of Hermione’s grip but now Kingsley Shacklebolt has his arms around you. He pulls you away from Remus, whispering in your ear. “(Y/N), look at him. He’s gone.”

You stop struggling and lean your head against Kingsley’s broad chest. Your breaths are sharp and jagged. You hand grips onto Kingsley’s forearm.

He’s right. Your eyes search your husband’s face. While it looks like him, with the same features you had grown so used to, there was something missing. No light, warmth or emotion.

Remus Lupin is dead.

Anger

May 13th, 1998

The glass vase hits the floor with a crash, shards splintering off and dispersing across the wooden floor. You can feel a few sharp tickles of tiny glass pieces falling on the tops of your bear feet. Water is now trickling amongst the shards of broken glass.

You look down at the mess below you, your eyes focusing on the half-dried pink peonies that are scattered through it. They were a present from Arthur. Perhaps, he had thought the beauty of them would make you feel just a little bit better. Or maybe, he thought the gesture of giving them to you would be a reassurance that he was there for you. But really, all you could take note of was the look of pity sewn into his features as he held them out to you.

You pushed all of the air out of your lungs in a single, loud huff. The pain of being alone, of not seeing him, of not being able to talk to him was suffocating. Day-to-day life had become more than just a struggle. Little things that you would normally pay no attention to had become some of the biggest annoyances.

It feels as though there is a constant scream sitting in your throat. Your chest is constantly heavy, your face is constantly hot and flushed. Your nerves are continuously active, feeling every little thing that brushes by your skin. Your own body has become a constant source of it’s own antagonism.

The idea of him not being here with you is unbearable. The idea of never looking at his face, never feeling your hands on his chest, never hearing words come out of his mouth again causes not just an emotional pain, but a physical one. It feels like every fibre in your body is being pulled apart by that swelling anger.

You feel tempted to reach across and press one of your feet down on some of the sharp shards of glass. Perhaps that would provide a release for the boiling emotions coursing through your body every moment. Blood and anger will seep out in a red, burning mix.

Teddy stirs in the next room. The loud crash of the vase has woken him up. What starts as soft mumbles of discomfort turns into piercing loud screams that echo around the otherwise silent house. You place a hand to your face for a moment, close your eyes and try to quell that rising anger in your stomach.

You walk towards the door, cursing whatever or whoever caused you to be doing this on your own.

Bargaining

April 25th, 1998

“Oh, it’s chilly out here.” Molly wraps her cardigan closer around herself as you watch her sit down beside you. “You should be wearing a coat if you’re going to sit outside.”

You offer her a half-smile and turn your gaze back to the rolling hills outside The Burrow. It’s night but the moon is bright, so you can still see the silhouette of each of them. Hundreds upon hundreds of stars litter the sky above you.

Molly places a hand on your shoulder before wrapping it around your upper arm. “You’re doing so well, dear. We’re all so proud of you.” She leans her face in closer as she says it, the tip of her nose just touching your ear.

You open your mouth to say something, but no words seem to take form. Instead, you reach your other hand up to place it over hers. You swallow sharply, stifling what you can of an inevitable cry.

“Oh, here, here,” Molly puts an arm around you, pulling you towards her. She presses your head down on her chest and coos like a mother comforting an upset toddler.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper the apology through the material of Molly’s cardigan.

“Don’t you dare apologise. I’m serious. You are doing so well, okay?” You nod against her chest.

“I could have done something, you know. If I was with him during the battle, I could have stopped it. Whoever it was, I could have stopped them. He would still be here.” Molly shakes her head, reaching up to place her hand on the side of your face.

“No, no, don’t start that. You could not have done anything, (Y/N).” She holds you tight against herself. The woman is maternal instinct personified.

“I could have. I could have begged him to stay home with Teddy and I. Teddy would have a father, instead of just me.” Your voice breaks at the last bit. If you had begged him hard enough, Teddy would still have a parent he deserves. He would grow up in a happy household, instead of one that is haunted by a ghost.

“That never would have happened, (Y/N), you know that.” Her voice is strong, trying her best to reassure your racing mind. “Remus died fighting for a cause he believed. He fought to make a world he was happy for Teddy to grow up in. You couldn’t have stopped him, my dear. Just like no one could have stopped you.”

You cry against her, your breaths loud and ragged. She continues to hold you through it, her hand stroking the side of your arm.

Depression

August 12th, 1998

For a second, your brain can’t register the sound coming from the neighbouring room. Your arms reach out into the empty space in the bed beside you, almost like you can push the sound away. After a few more seconds, you recognise the cry of a baby, his screams growing louder and sharper.

You roll over onto your back, raising your hands to rub your eyes back to life. The room is dark and dim, only a sliver of moonlight coming in through a crack in the blinds. It barely lights up the room and you can only see the outline of the door across from your bed.

Teddy continues to scream. You hear the wails ripple through his throat, coming out in a disorganised mess of sound. It echoes throughout the house, into your room and lodges in your ear cannel.

Please, please stop, you think. Just for a single second, please stop.

His cries are relentless. They’re like an endless knock at the door. They want something from you, something you don’t have the energy to provide. The corner of your eyes become wet and you stifle your own, small cry.

A shuffle goes past your door and a little head pokes itself through the crack. You see the red of Molly Weasley’s hair. She had planted herself in the small guest room the last few weeks, trying her best to manage and organise the mess of your life right now while feeling her own relentless grief.

“I’ll get him, dear.” As quickly as she had appeared, she scuttles off again. After a few more seconds, you begin to hear the whisper of her voice and little shushes of comfort. “It’s okay, little one. You’re okay.”

Teddy’s cries begin to settle, and soon enough the house becomes still.

He deserves more, he needs more. What kind of mother can leave her own child to scream like that? What kind of mother has to rely on another woman to comfort her child?

You close your eyes in anticipation of a sleep you know will never come.

September 30th, 1998

The record plays loud and clear, the fast pop song lightening up the living room around you. You have the blinds pulled wide open, bright autumn daylight streaming in through the windows. You bounce your head along to the music, taping your feet together to the beat.

You hold the duster in your hand, brushing it across the old lamp you have beside the couch. You look down at little Teddy in his rocker. He is smiling up at you with his wide gummy grin, watching as you sway to the song enveloping the two of you. You smile back down at him, reaching out and touching one finger briefly to his nose. He giggles, beaming up at you.

“Oh, you’re happy today.” His continuous giggles seem to sound out the blearing music. “Me too, bubs. Me too.”

You continue to dance for him, swinging your arms around ridiculously. It’s almost like his eyes are glistening up at you, pure happiness coming from them.

You turn and begin to dust the mantle of the fireplace, past a vase with fresh daisies. You then see the face-down photo frames resting on the brown mahogany mantle. There is about five of them, all in a row. The hand holding the duster falls down beside your body and you drop it on the floor.

You reach and pick up one of the them, turning the picture to face you. Its a photograph from your wedding day. You’re arm-in-arm with Remus. He is wearing the nicest suit that he owned and you are in your mother’s old satin wedding gown. You can see the little white flower pins you wore in your hair that day glistening in the sun outside the small and modest chapel.

You watch as you look up at Remus beside you, your smile wide and bright. He is beaming down at you as the two of you soak each other up. In the last frame of the captured moment, Remus turns towards the lens. The expression on his face is soft and golden and warm.

You cannot hear the music anymore, or Teddy’s soft giggles. You cannot hold the picture frame or bear to look at the image it contains. You place it back, face down, on the dusty mantlepiece once again.

December 25th, 1998

The cramped living room of the Burrow is buzzing with a warm, cozy energy. It’s not its usual barrage of festive noise but a slow gentle hum, half-smiles on the faces that fill the room. Everyone is trying their best to be happy, trying to make the best of the Christmas holiday. Despite the Christmas food, music and decorations, the absence of Fred and Remus still hangs in the air like an unusual smell.

Teddy sits on your lap, bouncing up and down. His blissful unawareness is the envy of everyone in the room. As he bounces, he begins to babble. Arthur sits on the ground beside him. As Teddy makes nonsensical sounds, Arthur responds with a fake confident understanding.

“Oh, is that right, Teddy? I never would have known!” You laugh and watch as Arthur holds a finger out to your son. He grasps onto it, clenching his fist around it with all of his nine-month-mite.

“Oh, (Y/N),” Molly says. “We have something little for Teddy.” She pulls a little parcel wrapped in brown paper from beside her and passes it towards you.

“Oh, Molly, you didn’t need to do that.” You smile up at her. Her red hair has noticeably more greys then last Christmas. She tries her best to smile warmly, but you can see there is a layer of sadness there.

“Nonsense, of course we did.” You take the present from her hands and place it in Teddy’s lap. You pull the brown parchment apart and smile as Teddy tries his best to help you. He grasps a piece of it in his hand, shaking it around for everyone to see. A chuckle travels around the room.

Inside is a tiny little blue tie and a grey button down shirt, one size too big for the nine-month-old in your lap.

A crooked smile makes its way on Ron’s lips. “Add a rugged little tweed blazer and he’ll be the spitting image of Rem-”

Hermione elbows him in the stomach, cutting off the rest of his sentence. You look up at him, just in time to catch the confused look he gives her. She just shakes her head, “I’m sorry-”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right, Ron.” You try your best to curve your lips into a smile. “We’ll need to get a matching jacket so you can look just like your daddy, huh Teddy?”

You look up at Ron again and offer what you can of a reassuring look. The room has suddenly become quiet except for the constant sound of Teddy’s babbling.

You turn your gaze to Arthur beside you. “Do you mind looking after Teddy for a moment while I go to the bathroom?” He nods and you pass Teddy over to him, watching as he takes his place on the older man’s lap. You slip past the group and up the stairs, heading towards one of the empty bathrooms in the burrow.

The pain builds slowly. Every step you take up the stairs feels heavier, like you have to push your way up. You only just make it to the bathroom and close the door before you give into the weight.

The sobs come in spasms, the air punching its way out of your chest. Every time you think of Remus, this seems to be the outcome. A single thought of him is enough to send you down a spiral of relentless grief. There are no happy memories anymore, only a longing for one more conversation, one more embrace, one more kiss that will never come.

There is a soft knock at the door. You don’t turn your head. You don’t want them to see you like this, eyes red raw and swollen.

Ginny whispers your name, soft and low. You hear her close the door behind her and she makes her way to sit down on the ground beside you. No eyes connect, but you feel her hand slip down, beside your arm, until it clasps onto your own hand. Her thumb gently brushes back and forth upon the skin of your hand, a slow and comforting motion.

You rest your head on her shoulder as she brings her other arm to come around your body. You feel her press her lips against the hair on your head, trying her best to sooth the cries that still flow out of you. “I’m sorry, (Y/N).”

You shake your head dismissively. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not fair what happened. You don’t deserve this.”

You remain silent for a moment, letting her continue to comfort you with affectionate touches. You grasp her hand a little tighter when you speak again. “I’m not the first widow in the world.”

She just kisses you on the head again, pulling you in closer to her. It’s a reassuring feeling. You feel your own cries slow and the clamp around your throat loosen.

“I don’t want people to whisper his name around me. I don’t want him to be a half-spoken memory. I want to be able to remember him. I want to remember his face, his voice, his life without wanting to crawl into that grave with him.”

You look up at her for the first time since she entered the room. Her expression is soft and tender. Your eyes are still wet, tears dangling on the edge. Ginny raises a hand up and rubs them away, placing another gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I just miss my husband.”

Acceptance

May 2nd, 1999

Teddy’s chubby little fist grasps onto your fingers tightly as he dawdles over towards the memorial. His feet stomp on the ground, one after the other, happy to be out and about for the day. He giggles as he goes along, pulling you behind him.

The memorial is long and vast, running the length of an entire wall. Engraved on it’s rough steel surface are the names of those who fell in both the First and Second Wizarding War. The sheer number is overwhelming. As the wall continues on, a separate list gathers at the end. Listed below The Battle of Hogwarts, is a series of 50 or so names.

Today, a group gathers around them. Many of them are familiar, friends or family of the people you had fought beside one year ago today. There is a quiet hush around them all. Teddy’s little giggles cut through them with ease. In his other hand he holds some small dandelions he picked himself. They bounce in his hand with every step he takes.

As you get closer, you reach down and pick your son up, resting him on your hip. He continues to babble as you reach the wall, the names now visible. You scan them up and down until your eyes rest on the name of your husband engraved amongst them. Under his name are a few sentences that try their best to sum up his 38 years of life.

Remus J. Lupin (1960-1998)

Original member of the Order of the Phoenix and former Defence Against the Arts Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Died defending the castle during the Battle of Hogwarts. Survived by his wife (Y/N) and son Edward.

The sentences are simple and blunt for necessity. It feels like an awful generalisation. No person reading this, who didn’t know him in life, would understand the man that Remus Lupin was. A man filled with complexities, so intelligent and kind and pure. No one would know the sound of his laugh or the way he would roll his eyes every time you told a stupid joke. No one would be able to picture the look on his face when he held his son for the first time, or the way he had played with the faint wisps of hair on Teddy’s head.

No. All those moments were just memories you had to hold onto now. Despite the fact that Teddy would never meet his father, never understand what it was like to be in his presence, you were going to make sure that he knew him. Teddy was going to know the man who had given his life to make the world a better place for him to live.

Teddy giggles and reaches his arm out in an uncoordinated jerk. His little fingers land on the engraved name of his father. You smile and press a faint kiss to his head.

The pain will always be there. You understand that now. You will carry it, always, like an open wound that never fully heals. But that is the way it should be. The pain is only there because of how much you had loved Remus in life, and how much you love him still in death. Inside that pain is every kiss you ever shared, every moment in bed beside him, every little dance you did with his hand in yours.

In this way, Remus Lupin will never truly die.

Let me know what you thought! Requests are open for drabbles and headcannons :)

#harry potter imagines #harry potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagines #marauders imagines #marauders x reader #remus lupin #harry potter #marauders #harry potter oneshots #remus lupin oneshots #tessimagines

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starlitsilvereyes · 9 months

Text

Love To Hate You | E | 1.9k

Written for @harryjamespotterweek's prompts: Size Kink, Scars, Sex Toys, & Hate Sex | Warnings/Tags: PWP, Hate Sex, Rough Sex, Size Kink, Sectumsempra Scars, Sex Toy (Anal plug), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjob, Rimming, Light Bondage, Edging, Choking

Thank you so much to my wonderful beta @intimatelyrearranged for looking over this <3 <3

Summary/Excerpt: Sex with Potter was always rough. All claws and teeth – a hand wrapped around Draco’s neck, fingernails on Draco’s hips, and Potter’s filthy mouth panting against Draco’s ear.

Read Love To Hate You on Ao3

or Expand to keep reading :)

---

Sex with Potter was always rough. All claws and teeth – a hand wrapped around Draco’s neck, fingernails on Draco’s hips, and Potter’s filthy mouth panting against Draco’s ear.

“I fucking hate you, Draco.”

Satisfaction bloomed within Draco at the frustrated expression plastered upon Potter’s face, knowing he’d been the very cause of it.

They had been in the Ministry Gala not even an hour before, with Potter’s green eyes piercing through Draco from across the table. Draco made sure they’d been seated right across from each other, so he could slide his socked foot up Potter’s leg.

Potter ignored him at first, but there was no mistaking the tightening of his fingers around his glass. He tried to close his legs a short moment after Draco settled his ankle against Potter’s knee, but Draco thought quicker than him, sliding his foot right on Potter’s wool-clad crotch, trapping it between Potter’s thighs.

“The wine is exquisite, Minister,” Draco praised, licking his lips as Potter let out a soft gasp when Draco pressed his foot more firmly against Potter’s clothed cock.

“I’m pleased to hear it suits your fine taste, Mister Malfoy.” Shacklebolt smiled proudly. “I hope you’ll be as delighted with our dinner. I especially picked out the most luxurious Jamaican dishes, and I plan on developing a trade of goods between my home country and Wizarding Britain this year.”

“I’m sure the dinner will be just as ravishing,” Draco drawled, eyeing Potter before he made a show of closing his eyes in delight when the first dish was served in front of them.

Draco settled his foot on Potter’s inner thigh for the entirety of their meal, brushing his heel against Potter whenever he spoke to someone else at the table. Potter tolerated it, until Draco dragged his foot along the length of Potter’s entire cock, now fully hard.

Potter visibly jumped, earning him looks from almost everyone around the expansive dining table.

“Alright, Harry?” asked Weasley, glancing suspiciously at Draco before turning his gaze back at Potter.

“Yeah,” Potter said, breathless. “I just need some air. If you’ll excuse me.”

Potter left the table without another word, and Draco followed halfway through his meal, as to not be too suspicious.

He found Potter outside, hidden behind the grand oak tree Draco was certain was older than the both of them combined, a cigarette between his lips as he leaned against the brick wall.

“Took you long enough,” Potter spat, flicking off his fag and crushing it beneath his boot.

Before Draco could come up with a snarky remark, Potter crossed the space between them, latching is hot, wet mouth against Draco. Out of habit, Draco slot his knee between Potter’s legs.

But Potter seemed to have a different idea, backing Draco to the wall and snogging him senseless until Draco had to pull away to catch his breath.

“Potter–”

Without another word, Potter flicked his hand, and a silk magically appeared around Draco’s wrists, tying them together and pinning them in place above his head.

Oh.

“If you’re going to act like a cock-hungry whore, you’re going to get treated like one.”

Draco barely had any time to grasp what was happening when Potter knelt before him, hurriedly unbuckled his belt, and pulled his trousers down along with his pants. He inhaled a sharp breath when the cool autumn air hit his cock.

Potter made a show of mouthing at Draco’s tip, lapping around it like some – well, some cock-hungry whore, but Draco was too occupied with the velvety warmth of Potter’s mouth to make his point.

“So big,” Potter moaned. “So fucking perfect for me. You like this, hm?” He took Draco even deeper, only pulling off to spit on his palm and wrap a first around the base of Draco’s cock. “You like my throat around your dick? Tell me you like it, Draco.”

“I love your mouth,” Draco gasped when Potter started fucking Draco’s cock into his mouth hungrily, desperately. “I love it when you suck me off like you’re made for it, Harry.”

They only called each other by their names whenever they fucked. It was not something they particularly agreed on, but neither of them had complained in the past six months, and Draco hadn’t exactly thought of calling Potter by his first name outside of their rendezvous.

Potter’s eyes, lightning green and striking, stared through Draco as he opened his throat a bit more, taking Draco deeper than he’d ever taken him. Draco shut his eyes closed, eyebrows furrowing as Harry’s name fell from his lips. “Harry, god, don’t stop. Fuck – fuck --” Pleasure rose from the depths of him, his knees growing weak, mouth going slack, and fingernails digging through his own palms.

On the brink of Draco’s orgasm, Harry pulled off, and the pleasure stopped.

Draco opened his eyes to find Potter wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, tucking Draco back into his pants and smirking devilishly as he rose from the ground.

“Don’t like the taste of your own medicine?” Potter smirked.

“Fuck you, Potter.”

“With pleasure.”

The Apparition to Potter’s flat made Draco dizzy, as though he just downed an entire bottle of whiskey. Upon trying to balance himself, he realised Potter didn’t even bother to untie his wrists. Draco shut his eyes and braced himself to fall face flat on Potter’s hardwood floor, but Potter wrapped a steady arm around his waist, unabashedly pressing his fucking crotch against Draco’s arse.

“Bend over.” Potter’s breath was hot against Draco’s ear.

“What?” Draco asked, bewildered. “Right here?”

Without another word, Potter vanished both of their clothes with a flick of his wand. Draco shivered, gooseflesh rising on his skin as Potter’s magic wrapped around him like an intoxicating curse.

Potter placed a firm palm on the back of Draco’s neck, guiding him to the red velvet couch and bending him over.

“Draco –”

Draco smirked, cheek against the cushion as he looked back at Potter smugly. He arched his back even more, relishing the surprise on Potter’s face as he eyed the plug nestled into Draco’s hole.

“Draco,” Potter sighed. He reached for the base of the plug, pressing a firm finger against it and pushing it back. Draco closed his eyes, breath hitching as pleasure jolted within him. He knew there was no other way to end this night than to fuck Harry – or rather, be fucked by Harry, so Draco got himself ready earlier that evening by fucking himself with his fingers at the thought of Harry. Both for the intent of preparation and because he knew Harry would like it.

“Fuck me, Harry,” Draco panted.

Harry was already hard, pre-come glazing the tip of his pink cock. He pumped himself a few times, gaze never leaving the sight of the plug in Draco’s arse. Draco’s mouth watered at the sight. He wanted Harry to fuck him now, the desperation nearly all-consuming.

But Harry had different plans. He pinched the base of the plug between two fingers, pulling at it before letting go with only the tip in, and letting Draco’s body pull it back.

“Oh.” The protest was at the tip of Draco’s mouth, but pleasure and want only kept building up within him. So, he resorted submitting rather than complaining. “Oh, Harry.”

“Yeah?” Harry hummed, fucking the plug slowly into Draco. “You like that?”

Draco closed his eyes, mouth going slack as he tilted his hips higher. He could come like this – untouched, only by the mercy of his plug and Harry’s fingers. “Hmmpphhh – Harry, fuck, fuck, fuck —” He was close again, cock sensitive from rubbing against the velvet couch. He thrashed under Harry, whimpers falling from his lips like a whispered prayer, a promise, a curse – begging for Harry to let him come.

Without warning, Harry pulled the plug from Draco’s arse. Draco gasped. He could feel himself gaping and dripping from the lube, his hole desperate to be fucked.

Harry shifted above him, dipping the cushion with his weight. Draco braced himself to be filled by Harry’s cock, but something wet, hotter, and softer pressed against his hole.

The moan that spilled from Draco’s mouth would’ve embarrassed him if it weren’t for the scorching pleasure soaring through him like lightning blazing through a sky. Harry’s mouth kissed Draco’s hole, tongue prodding at it like Draco was something to devour.

Draco had never come from rimming before. No doubt, it was pleasurable to him, and it aroused him to the point of neediness, but he never found it to push him over the edge. It was a pleasure that crossed the line but not quite enough to finish him off.

Until the moment Harry inserted a single finger alongside his tongue, pumping slowly until he was knuckle deep. Draco wanted to cry from it. He was certain he’d do anything just to come – he’d live and die and go to the ends of the earth if it meant Harry made him come by his tongue and finger. There wasn’t anything Draco wanted more.

But like all the pleasure brought by Harry tonight, he pulled away, leaving Draco panting, desperate, wanting, on the verge of madness from it all.

Draco was limp and boneless, sedated by being brought to the edge, as he let Harry turn him over to his back.

“Fuck you, Potter,” he said weakly.

“I fucking hate you, Draco,” Harry said. Both of them knew it didn’t matter if they hated each other or not – not when Harry was finally pushing inside Draco with a punched out gasp.

The tension coiled within Draco like a whirlwind brewing through a thunderstorm. A tear rolled down his cheekbone when Harry’s cock slid inside of him, overwhelming relief rushing through him. Harry started moving, slowly and earnestly at first, like Draco was delicate and untouched. Like he was someone in need of softness.

Sex with Potter was always rough. All claws and teeth – a hand wrapped around Draco’s neck, fingernails on Draco’s hips, and Potter’s filthy mouth panting against Draco’s ear.

But sex with Harry – his Harry, was always gentle. Soft lips mouthing at the intricacy of Draco’s silver scars; calloused palms caressing the expanse of Draco’s body; lightning green eyes rolling back from pleasure.

Draco didn’t know who he wanted more. But he’d always been a selfish man, unashamedly so. He decided he wanted to have them both.

With what was left of his strength, he hiked both of his legs up and settled them atop Harry’s broad shoulders. Harry opened his eyes, mouth slightly agape in surprise as Draco gazed up at him in challenge.

“Fuck me like you hate me, Potter,” he said through clenched teeth.

Harry let out a breath, eyes darkening as he held Draco’s calves on his shoulders, hips pistolling into Draco like he was being paid for it. He fucked and fucked until Draco was reduced into aching hunger, his mouth only ever knowing how to moan Harry’s name.

Above Draco, Harry was a powerful storm blazing through his violent desire. He was anger and rage and fire bursting into flames – a feverish desperation clinging to Draco’s bones. Draco wanted only to have him – all of him – both Potter and Harry. He thought he could die from it and live for it. He would kill for it.

He opened his eyes just in time to marvel at Harry in all his orgasmic glory – mouth hung open and eyebrows furrowed as he pumped his hips harder and faster. Like he was desperate for this as much as Draco was. Like there was nothing he craved more than being inside Draco.

It hit Draco when Harry opened his eyes in post-orgasmic haze, starlit emerald eyes telling more than words ever could.

I hate you; I hate you; I love you.

Draco came as he looked into Harry’s eyes, with Harry’s name falling from his lips like sinful and heavenly poetry all at once.

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blooming-violets · 2 months

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Sorry this is gonna be a bit of a rant since it’s something I’ve had strong feelings about since joining the AG/TASM fanfic part of the internet, and you’ve provided me a great opportunity to talk about it.

As a trans person, I am BEGGING fanfic writers to stop writing Marauders stuff. I’ve seen so many people defend it with “separate art from the artist” but like it or not they are still supporting JKR. Separating art from the artist only really works when the artist can’t profit from it. She has done SO MUCH harm to trans people and particularly trans youth in the UK and it’s so fucking disheartening and gives me such an ick when I see TASM writers also write for Marauders because it truly comes across as “I love and support the trans community except when it comes to this because I like it.”.

Even if you ignore the transphobia and holocaust denial (YES IM SERIOUS, she’s denied parts of the holocaust at LEAST twice and she literally did it a second time the other day), the original writing is so fucking problematic. Things just off the top of my head being;

The goblins being stereotypes of Jewish people

The fucking racism with characters like Cho Chang and Kingsley Shacklebolt

The last Fantastic Beasts movie’s plot literally being trying to make WW2 and the holocaust happen

This point needs to be taken with a grain of salt since this was some bullshit Joanne said after the books came out, but werewolves in the universe being meant to represent people with aids. Which is so fucking awful considering one of the two werewolves was attacked by the other as a CHILD

The most ironic part of this is that if Andrew is truly the person he presents himself as, he would probably fucking despise being associated with HP, even if it is just a fancast. But yeah all this to say fuck JKR, fuck Marauders fans but also thank you so much Katie for that last anon answer because I genuinely don’t see that enough in this corner of the internet.

Even Daniel Radcliffe, Harry Potter himself, has spoken out against her and continues to loudly support the LGBTQ+ communities. When your own beloved Harry doesn't even want to stand by your side, you should know you fucked up. Sadly, she does not, and instead leans harder into her bigotry and hatred.

I've always been someone who is very loud and opinionated when I see things that I disagree with, which I know can rub some people the wrong way, but fuck it. I don't like to whisper about my issues on the sidelines, I like to confront the problem head on by being very clear about where I stand and how I feel. I'm not gonna sit around and let someone align me with JKR just because I'm writing a stupid werewolf and Peter Parker fic that exactly 5 people are reading lol. It's not even a popular fic like get out of my asks jfc. Esp when I can tell this person has not read a single sentence of my story and is completely basing their judgements on my header image of AG's face next to a wolf gif.

In this past week I have seen both a Steven Harrington werewolf au and a Daredevil werewolf au cross my dash. Do we think they're getting called out for supporting HP?? No. Because their actors weren't "fan casted" as something years ago. Fan casts don't even mean anything! There was never a movie about them. AG was never casted or played this role. It's literally nothing but a bunch of fans agreeing that they like his look for a fictional character.

Anyway, I'm also ranting back at you haha. You can rant to me anytime. I love a good rant and I agree with you 100%.

Werewolves were not created by JKR. Andrew Garfield has nothing to do with Harry Potter. Don't make make snap judgments about a person's character based on a picture you saw. Support your trans community. Don't be dick.

And, if they actually read my werewolf au, they would see that it's literally about learning to overcome your own hatred and biases of people different from you and learning to love those you were taught to hate. Crazy concept, I know! 🙄😉

#asks

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quill2parchment · 2 months

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In Light of You is a collection of Hinny moments that date post Battle of Hogwarts to pre In This Darkness. The complete series is now up on the FFT archives as well as on A03; however, I'm currently going through the chapters, making tiny edits to them, noticeable to probably nobody other than me. As I go through them though, I thought I'd also add a few of the pieces on here. So, without much further ado, here is Chapter 1 of In Light of You.

*Please note that this installment does contain slight smut towards the end. It also makes references to violent events that happened prior to the start of the story.

The-Boy-Who-Lives

Harry doesn’t do much talking in the days that follow the final battle.

He doesn’t believe the words to fill the voids exist. And if they do, his mind is too muddled to think them up, so he doesn’t even try, letting silence wrap him up and take him whole.

He wishes he could stop listening too, but that’s less so of an option. The noise around him continues. Everyone’s crying. Everyone’s lost someone.

It’s not over yet either. The Dark Lord is gone but the violence continues, fueled not by logic but by rage and hatred and fear.

On their second day back at the Burrow, Kingsley Shacklebolt comes to pay a visit. He sits with Harry, Ron, and Hermione and tells them, “We still need you.”

When he’s gone, Hermione says, “We have to go back to Hogwarts and graduate.”

Ron says, “What for? We’ve learned enough.”

Harry doesn’t say anything at all.

The days pass through them. They bury Fred Weasley. They bury Severus Snape. They bury Remus and Tonks Lupin. They bury Colin Creevey. Every day, several funerals to attend. They start to lose track of whose coffin they’re mourning over. The grief becomes a bundle thing living inside of them, a one-size-fits-all for all the ones they’ve lost.

Late one afternoon, they’re all sitting around the kitchen table. Ron passes behind Ginny, his eyes catching sight of the shoulder that has accidentally been left bare by the thick cardigan she’d been wearing. “Shit, Ginny,” he says, his whole face pinched. “What happened to you there?”

Harry automatically lifts his gaze to meet hers. It’s a hot, summer day, even for June, and that should’ve been his first clue that she had wrapped herself to keep hidden, not warm. From where he’s sitting, he cannot confirm what it is that’s caught Ron’s attention, but the green shade that’s taken over his face tells him enough.

Ginny draws her cardigan back up and rolls her eyes before snapping sarcastically at her brother, “I’ve been dabbling in masochist foreplay, Ron, that’s what.”

Harry doesn’t mean to laugh. She’s obviously been hurt, and there’s nothing funny about that. But Ginny’s sitting there, looking cheeky, and whole, and her. She grins back at him and gives him a playful wink.

They haven’t interacted much these past few weeks but when everyone falls asleep that night, Harry goes to her room, and she opens the door before he even knocks, like she’s been waiting for him all along.

They sit in her bed, her facing away from him. He brings the strap of her tank-top down her arms, below her elbows, away from her wrists. She brings her hair forward, letting him see what he came to see. The scars on her back are red, angry lashes that contrast sharply against the softness of her skin.

“They look ghastly,” says Ginny, not much bothered, “but not as ghastly as Carrow’s face whenever someone would mention your name. She was terrified of you, that dumb bitch.”

He presses his lips to her back, tracing the scars with his lips, perfect roads on the hills he so loves, and he rides them up and down, through the bend of her shoulder blades, up the hard hills of her spine, down the soft dip of her shoulder-neck.

“You’re beautiful,” says Harry, finally finding words worthy to speak, something he can actually mean. “You’re so beautiful, Ginny.”

When she turns around to face him, her face is a deep frown, her brown eyes intense on him. For a moment, Harry thinks she might be angry with him, for leaving her then, for kissing her now. But Ginny leans forward to kiss him hard on the mouth, like she’s done waiting for him to come back.

He doesn’t notice much when their clothes come off. All the while, she’s been dressing him with kisses that burn him whole. He gathers her beneath him, touching all of her, and it’s still not enough, never enough. She runs her hands down his chest, his arms, his back, her touch awakening the parts of him that had gone numb with war.

He’s trembling above her, wanting her desperately. “I have never…” he says.

Ginny kisses his neck, his jaw, his mouth. Her hand reaches below him to guide towards the place he would’ve found anyways but makes for a much sweeter find with her as his guide. The space between them ceases to exist, and Harry’s been dead before, but he’s never been outside of himself, not until he’s inside of her.

“I love you, Harry,” Ginny tells him. “I love you, I love you, I love,” and she keeps saying it again and again and again, carving those three words deep into him, so that even when it’s over, it’s not really over, the feeling of her tattooed on every inch of his skin.

For the first time in a long time, he’s no longer just someone who’s survived; he’s someone who lives.

#hinny fluff #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #ginny weasley #harry x ginny

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draqo-pctter · 1 year

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*:..｡o○ - ○o｡..:* Dramione Master List *:..｡o○ - ○o｡..:*

It Started With A One Night Stand During the worst date of her life, Hermione Granger might have given herself a mild allergic reaction in order to leave early. When she goes to the Emergency Room to confirm she isn’t going to die, she runs into Healer Draco Malfoy. They hooked up three months ago. And he's about to tell her she's three months pregnant. words: 6,900 | chapters 4/6 | rated m | explicit sexual content, one night stand turns love of her life, tooth-rotting fluff

A Madness Most Discreet | A Dramione Text Fic In two weeks, the papers will be smeared with headlines detailing every moment of the Granger-Weasley wedding. Article after article will paint the happiest day of Hermione’s life, and the worst day of Draco’s, for all to see. A TextFic AU in which Draco and Hermione come to terms with a decade of unresolved feelings in the two weeks leading up to Hermione and Ron's wedding. words: 8,857 | chapters 25/? | rated m | mutual pining, idiots in love, miscommunication, extramarital affair, explicit sexual content

Life Grows Colder | Truly Madly Deeply Fest 2023 Submission Draco Malfoy remembers a lot of things. He remembers the way that Hermione’s hair curled around his finger and the way that his name sounded coming from her lips. He remembers desperately trying to save her, as she desperately tried to save him, both of them meeting in the middle with a promise of forever at the end of so much pain. And he remembers having a second chance. A second chance he’s still waiting for. Or: The year is 2003, but Draco is still in 1998. words: 7,431 | chapters 1/1 | rated m | dead dove: do not eat, major character death, mental health issues, non-hea, minor depictions of violence, explicit sexual content

Stay For Breakfast and Other Dramione Drabbles A collection of my Dramione drabbles/microfics, originally posted on Twitter (also some old ones from my Tumblr I’m storing here for safe keeping). Fics will be individually tagged in the author’s notes at the beginning of each chapter. Over-arching tags are defined in the Additional Tags section.

Devil In His Own Way Series Draco Malfoy, in his quest to find himself, ended up creating a lifestyle magazine so prolific that its reputation soon became his own. Disrobed quickly became celebrated for glorifying sex, money, and what it meant to be a young person coming of age in post-war Wizarding Britain. One afternoon, Hermione received an unexpected visit from Pansy Parkinson and a personal invitation from Draco Malfoy himself for a weekend of pleasure at Malfoy Mansion. One thing led to another, and the two soon found themselves searching for more than a “what could have been”. words: 154,260 | works: 3/3 | completed?: no | rated m | draco malfoy as hugh hefner au, minor theomione, porn with plot

Mysterious Thing About Love Hermione Granger had never believed herself to be the type of witch to break into the Department of Mysteries in a drunken bid for some kind of happy future. She also couldn’t have imagined waking up in a reality in which she was happily engaged to Draco Malfoy, having found a kind of companionship that Ron had never shown her. As Draco attempts to help her get back, she finds herself falling for the man who worries if his fiancé will ever return. words: 26,316 | chapters 7/26 | rated m | soulmates, alternate timelines, strangers to lovers

Run From It All Sometimes, after particularly brutal raids, Hermione would invite Draco back to her flat. She would feed him, let him shower, and sleep the next day away in her bed while she told Shacklebolt Draco was having his injuries checked at St. Mungo’s and would be back after the weekend. And, one night, he asks her to sleep with him. words: 4,487 | chapters 1/1 | rated m | coworkers, soft, porn with plot, mild hurt/comfort

A Love Like This Won’t Last Forever | HP Flower Fest 2022 Submission After the war, Draco hadn’t known what to do with himself or Malfoy Manor. He’d tried to settle his mind with a bit of botany -- a hidden favorite pastime of his -- and soon enough, the estate was covered in hundreds of plant varieties. Hermione was surprised when she received an invitation to the grand opening of The Gardens at Malfoy Manor, a botanical garden for flora and fauna, both Magical and Muggle. Wiltshire breathed a sigh of relief when the two finally came together among a sea of Dahlias. words: 7,857 | chapters 1/1 | rated m | botany, porn with plot, soft

A Million Little Times Hermione didn’t blame Draco for the affair. She couldn’t blame Theodore, either. If anyone, she blamed herself–she was the one who followed Draco to the hallway during a Ministry Gala. Their late-night meetings and middle-of-the-day escapades had been going on for some time–three years if her memory was serving her properly–when Hermione found herself torn between dependable security and wanton risk. Draco wanted a promise of her devotion and commitment, while Theodore wore the symbol of it on his left ring finger. words: 9,760 | chapters 1/1 | rated m | infidelity, extramarital affair, not dramione endgame, porn with plot

Sunday Mornings Hermione finds herself slowly falling for a handsome blond during springtime. words: 8,457 | chapters 1/1 | rated m | eighth year, soft, just two young people falling in love, porn with plot

Winter Holiday The one in which two lonely hearts fall for each other during wintertime. words: 8,076 | chapters 1/1 | rated m | eighth year, winter vibes, porn with plot

It Happened One Holiday Party Hermione had only stayed for the office Christmas party because Harry asked her to. Draco had stayed because he’d gotten Hermione for Secret Santa and couldn’t bring himself to simply leave the gift on her desk. Somehow, they both end up back at Draco’s family home beneath some mistletoe. words: 5,867 | chapters 1/1 | rated m | coworkers, holiday party, dramione first time, porn with plot

Loving In Truth Series After finishing his Ministry-ordered probation, Draco had to decide on a “new life path”, whatever that meant. He wasn’t sure the judge knew what that meant. What it sounded like was a farce. How was he supposed to decide on a new future when he still hadn’t come to terms with the past? Enter Hermione Granger in all her Ministry glory. As an employee of the Ministry’s Department of Magical Law Enforcement, it became her job to ensure that Draco did what he was supposed to do: find a new career path, and disavow everything that his family had stood for. As he tried to piece himself back together, and put distance between himself and his family values, he found himself wanting to be closer to Granger, who wanted nothing to do with him. words: 38,357 | books 1/3 | completed? no | rated m | excessive drug/alcohol use, dark themes, hurt/comfort, angst | on hiatus

Let Me Get You Off | Dramione Kink Challenge 2020 Submission Hermione was drunk when she told Draco that she’d led a boring sex life. He’d also been drunk when he admitted that he was more than capable of showing her a good time. When an owl arrived at her window, she jumped at the chance to see what Draco Malfoy was really about. And she had a delightful time. words: 3,841 | chapters 1/1 | rated m | explicit sexual content, porn no plot, breath play, dom/sub

Do You Remember? Five years had passed since Draco and Hermione shared a steamy night in the Hogwarts dungeons. Three years had passed since the war. Six hours had passed since Hermione - incredibly hungover - was greeted by Draco getting a tour on his first day at the Ministry. When he shows up at her flat in Muggle London with an anti-hangover potion as a peace offering, things get steamy. words: 4,549 | chapters 1/1 | rated m | explicit sexual content, re-introductions, dramione first time

Stay For The Night Draco thought he was going to the bar to get a quick drink after work. He didn't realize he'd be in charge of making sure Hermione Granger didn't fall asleep in a cheap hotel room. words: 5,446 | chapters 1/1 | rated m | redeemed draco malfoy, re-introductions, smut and fluff

The Shrine of Your Lies On the night of Dumbledore’s death, Draco makes a promise to Hermione that he isn’t sure he can keep. words: 5,486 | chapters 1/1 | rated m | angst, not a happy ending, major character death/depictions of violence

Baby Bump Hermione is pregnant and feeling insecure about her new body; Draco thinks she looks as beautiful as ever. words: 835 | chapters 1/1 | rated t | pregnant hermione, body insecurities, domestic fluff

#dramione #master list #dramione master list #draco malfoy #professor hermione granger #ao3 #dramione ao3 #ohthedrarry ao3 #draqo_pctter twitter #draqo-pctter tumblr

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gywin97 · 1 year

Text

I’ve been re-reading some of my favourite HP fics as I wait for HL to come out, and I love how you can tell which house the author is in based on how they’re ‘fix-it’ fic goes:

Gryffindor

- Massive, Avengers-style epic final showdown between Voldie and Harry

- Golden Trio + Neville

- “Harry no-” “Harry YES!”

- Harry Potter / Ron Weasley have absolutely zero impulse control and it’s giving Hermione high blood pressure

- Weasley Twins! Weasley Twins!

- The Order is like 60% Weasley it’s basically gingers against fascism

- Dumbledore is powerful but angry Minera McGonagall is terrifying

- Sirius Black has more than five minutes of screentime.

- Remus Lupin is the one responsible adult in the room

- “There’s no need to call me Sir, professor.”

- Slytherins are all baddies, no redemption arc for you

- Umbridge get’s GOT

- *Draco makes a Weasel joke at Ron* Hermione: “You were literally a ferret.”

Ravenclaw

- Harry visits the library and learns more spells than goddamn ‘expelliarmus’

- Sassy!Harry, Smart!Harry,

- The fuck kinda school is this??!?!

o *See’s moving staircases* Really, right in front of my OSHA regulations?

o So they’re really just letting anyone teach DADA, huh?

o Susan Bones / Kingsley Shacklebolt shows up and lays down the law

- Callouts for every plothole, and I mean EVERY plothole.

- Someone notices the SOUL FRAGMENT living in Harry’s forehead

o “Harry Potter must die” “Ok but have you tried literally anything else???”

- Using magical gadgets (Time Turners, Sneakoscope, etc) and the Room of Requirement

- Actual pagan rituals sprinkled in for flavor (Samhain, Yule, etc)

- Witch Wizard Wixen

Hufflepuff

- Everyone lives / nobody dies, Happy Endings, Found Family

- Characters actually sit down and deal with their TRUMA

- “My cupboard-” “Your what?”

- Harry is a sweetheart, polite to everyone

o This includes Filch / House Elves / Goblins

o no one can say no to his big green puppy eyes, sorry that’s illegal.

o Snape/Minerva see’s Lily’s eyes and have emotions

- Someone (Often Pomfrey) notices Harry’s abuse and takes action.

o *Smacking Dumbledunce with a rolled-up newspaper* What! Were! You! Thinking!?

o Harry gets adopted, and his new guardians are outside the Dursley’s house holding baseball bats.

- You get a redemption arc, you get a redemption arc, EVERYBODY GETS REDEMPTION ARCS!!

Slytherin

- Harry is a Slytherin / befriends Slytherins.

o “Slytherin will never accept Harry Potter!” *Ten minutes later* “We’ve only had Harry Potter for a day and a half but if anything happened to him we’d kill everyone in this room and then the Dark Lord.”

o Slytherin kids get personalities besides ‘mean’ and ‘henchmen’

o Blasie Zabini is always a slut. I don’t know why this is universal, but it just is.

o Theo Nott is always the nerd.

- “So are we just gonna just not talk about the Chamber of Secrets or…?”

- Fuck this, Fuck the Ministry, Fuck the Wizengamot, here’s 60 reasons why

- BAMF Narcissa Malfoy

- Harry gets a pet snake and regularly speaks Parseltongue

- Severitus or Mentor!Snape:

o Severus Snape hates James Potter but he hates child abuse more

o “So I live with my aunt Petunia-” “Tunie?!?!”

o The Eyebrow of Doom

o Harry learning more about his mum than her eye color

- Severus Snape ends up with a small pack of children following him around and he’s not sure how that happened but Merlin help anyone who fucks with them

- Dumbledore call-out

- It’s not dark or light magic, it’s just magic

#Harry Potter #slytherin #Gryffindor #hufflepuff #ravenclaw #hogwarts legacy #fanfic

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theplanetofthesnapes · 2 years

Text

Under the Weather

Summary: You’re in the order, staying at 13 Grimmauld place and manage to catch wizard flu. Snape ends up taking care of you.

Warning: mentions of sickness and throwing up so if that affects you don’t read.

I wake up with a pounding head and a sore throat. Oh great this is just what I need right now, to get sick.

I’d been working with the order for a few months now ever since I got suspicions that there was something a miss going on in the ministry. I worked in the foreign correspondence department and I’d heard Fudge mention that there were a group of rogue wizards that believed Harry Potter and they were making a plan to defeat Voldemort. He laughed at the idea but I felt I needed to join them. I managed to find out Kingsley Shacklebolt was part of this group of rogues and I approached him offering my services.

The order welcomed me with open arms and I was happy to be a part of it, so now I spend all my waking time (and sleeping time) here too. Today I was supposed to go to Hungary with Sirius to seek out some werewolves living there and convince them to join us but my body has other ideas. I move to get up and everything aches, I’m going to have to tell him I can’t go.

I trudge downstairs and into the kitchen Remus, Sirius and Severus are in there chatting and look up at me as I walk in. “Oh wow you look terrible lass” Sirius said concerned.

“I feel terrible, I think I caught that wizarding flu from Umbridge in that meeting on Tuesday. She sat right next to me and was coughing and sneezing the whole time. I wish she’d stuck to the rules she gives the students at hogwarts and kept her distance from me like she wants the students to from each other” I laughed weakly.

“Why don’t you go back to bed y/n, I will go to Hungary with Sirius I have just come back from my own mission so I don’t have anything else I need to be doing right now. You get some rest and maybe you can join me in Scotland next week.” Lupin said kindly.

I opened my mouth to argue but honestly all I wanted to do is curl up in bed with a cup of tea. “Okay” I agreed and go to put the kettle on.

“Let me do that Y/L/N, I’ll bring it up to your room” I turn around shocked by who that voiced belonged to, it couldn’t be Severus Snape could it. To my surprise that’s just who it was, looking at me with that same emotionless expression he always does. I must not have heard him correctly surely he must have said something else.

“You don’t have to..” I start, looking to Sirius and Remus who looked equally shocked by Severus’ kind offer.

“Hush now, get some rest. Let me make the tea, go on upstairs.” He dismissed me like I was one of his students after class.

I left the kitchen grateful but confused. Me and Severus Snape have not really had much communication the time I’ve been here, he only stays here for meetings and generally doesn’t stick around to socialise. I mean I always smile and say hi when I see him and make small talk about the weather or something but the only real conversation I’d had with him was when we’d argued in the last meeting about how to handle the giant situation. Oh well, I’m not gonna complain I really did feel like hell right now.

I got in to bed and closed my eyes. After a few minutes I heard a small knock at the door “come in” I croak.

Snape walks in with a tray that contains tea and a strange green potion vial that I’ve never seen before. “Here, I brought you a potion that should make you feel better, it’s a concoction of a flu remedy and a sleeping draft. It’s perfectly safe don’t worry.” He states as he places the tray next to me on the bedside table.

“Thank you” I say weakly as I sit up. I take the tea and start to drink it.

“Let me know if you need anything else, I will be in the study.” He says as he quietly leaves.

I wake up to a quiet rap at the door, I check the time I’ve been asleep for 5 hours. I sit up and immediately regret it, I feel worse than before it really must be the flu, my head is spinning. Snape opens the door a crack then sees that I’m awake and opens it wider and walks in. “ I just wanted to see how you were doing”.

I can’t focus on what he’s saying the room just keeps spinning. I jumped up and run to the bathroom, he follows me and just in time I reach the toilet to throw up. I groan thinking about how I probably just got sick in my hair then realise there’s someone behind me holding it back.

“Are you done or are you going to vomit again?” Severus says gently. My words don’t answer his question as another wave of nausea washes over me. I should be embarrassed he’s here and tell him to leave but I can’t find the strength to.

After what seemed like an eternity the uneasy feeling in my stomach settled and I stood up carefully. I walked over to the sink and cleaned my teeth. I looked at myself in the mirror, I looked terrible, my hair all over the place and my face was pale.

“I’m sorry you had to see that” I chuckle weakly. “You shouldn’t have followed me in here”.

“I’m a professor at hogwarts, I have to have a strong stomach to work around children all the time. They often take those puking pastilles created by the Weasley twins to get out of my class, compared to some of them that was nothing. Besides anything I can do to help I will”.

“I need to go and lie down” I say starting to feel a little dizzy. He said nothing and just helped me to my room in silence.

Once I was in bed he said “I’ll be back in a moment, I’ll get you something that should help with the sickness” and he walks out the room.

I close my eyes hoping it’ll help but it doesn’t and I open them again once he comes back in. He hands me a yellow vial which I drink without questioning it because if it kills me then at least it’ll put me out of my misery. “Why are you being so nice to me, you never have before?”

He chuckles “I’m not nice to anyone, that doesn’t mean I don’t care. You’re probably the only person around here that actually treats me like a human being and not something they’ve wiped off the bottom of their shoe.”

“Oh” I say, I didn’t know what to say because thinking about it no one does treat Snape with any kind of respect in the order. “I’m sorry they don’t treat you with respect. If you want I can say something to them” I try to smile at him but I feel too crappy I think I end up just grimacing.

“No I’m used to it, it’s been the same since we were all in Hogwarts. But anyway let’s not talk about me, you need to get some rest to feel better. Is there anything else you need, do you need anything to reduce a fever?” He says but doesn’t wait for my answer he presses the back of his hand to my forehead “you seem to feel like an okay temperature. Do you feel hot or cold?”.

I shake my head to answer his last question “I don’t need anything” I reply, he nods and goes to leave “wait” I say a bit too loudly because it hurts my head, I wince.

“What is it, do you need be sick again I can…”

“No” I interrupt him. “It’s nothing like that just would you mind if. I mean it’s okay if you don’t want to I just, can you…”

“What is it, come on you can ask me anything” he says in concern.

“Would you stay with me? I’m just feeling a bit sorry for myself so don’t want to be alone” I say weakly.

“Oh, of course.” he goes to sit on the other side of the bed. If I didn’t feel so rubbish I might laugh at the way he’s comically perched right on the edge almost falling off.

“You can get closer you know, I don’t bite” then regret what I’d said because I realise that he’s probably sitting so far away because I’m contagious. I’m an idiot. “Oh wait yeah it’s probably best you don’t get too close, I wouldn’t want you getting ill too. I mean I would take care of you but my potion making skills aren’t as good as yours so I’d probably end up making you worse” I try to make a joke to hide my embarrassment from my earlier stupidity.

He scoots closer and goes to press a kiss to the top of my head. “I’m not worried about getting sick, I assume you have the same flu that is sweeping its way around the ministry and took a viral prevention potion before I came in here, the ministry has just given the recipe to all teachers and hospital staff to ensure that students and patients can be properly looked after if they get sick. I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by sitting too close” he says matter of factly.

“You couldn’t ever make me uncomfortable Severus.” I slur the last part of that sentence and close my eyes, man I’m tired all of a sudden. I try and open them to stay awake.

“Oh sorry I forgot to mention I added some more sleeping vial to the anti sickness medication to help you sleep. If you want me to leave I can go” he says sounding genuinely apologetic for not warning me.

“It’s okay” I say my voice barely legible. “Please stay at least until I fall asleep” I move to cuddle up against him, enjoying the body heat because I’m suddenly feeling very cold. It must be the fever setting in, I was wondering when that would hit.

He hugs me back. “Always.” he replies and I drift off to sleep not knowing whether I imagined that last word from him or not.

_______________________________________

I wake up, groggy and realise that it’s the next day. I realise I’m alone in the room. Maybe Snape being here taking care of me was just a hallucination thought up by my fever driven mind. Then I turn over in the bed and see a piece of parchment on the other pillow.

“Dearest Y/N,

I have had to go away on business of the order for a few hours. Please forgive me for leaving you I did however administer you some anti fever potion and your fever appeared to break not long after that so I do hope by the time you are seeing this you are feeling much better.

I will check on you once I return but I have left you some headache potion on the side as my research suggests the usual progression of this illness that is most likely what you will be suffering with when you wake up.

Yours,

Severus Snape”

Oh so it wasn’t a hallucination or dream after all, he was really here. I smile to myself especially at the word yours. “If only” I mutter. I realise he was right I did feel a lot better, still a bit of a headache and my throat hurts but there’s no nausea and general aches have all gone. Also I realise my appetite must be back because I’m starving.

I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth and shower this icky feeling of illness away and then make my way to the kitchen to see what I can find and decide to make a sandwich. As I’m buttering the bread someone walks in.

“Feeling better I assume” Snape says hopefully.

“A lot, thank you for taking care of me Severus, it means a lot. I promise if you ever get sick I will be your number one nurse” I smile.

“If that’s the case maybe I shouldn’t have taken the protection potion after all” he makes a joke. I’m surprised by this, what’s he trying to say? My brow furrows. He seems to notice this and says. “If it meant I’d get to spend more time with you, then I’d do whatever it takes.”

I laugh. “Be careful what you wish for. But seriously I wouldn’t wish how I felt yesterday on anyone, if you want to spend more time with me just ask.” I say hopefully.

He picks up the headache potion I was about to take with my sandwich and hands it to me. “How about once you are fully recovered, you let me take you out to Hogsmeade for dinner.”

“I’d like that a lot” I say before I drink the potion and kiss him on the cheek. He looks into my eyes for a second and I don’t know what comes over me, maybe I’m still slightly delirious from the fever but I get the strong urge to kiss him so I press my lips to his and for a second he kisses me back. Before I can take it any further though he pulls away, sighs and goes to carry on finishing making the sandwich I started. I stare at him, tears forming in my eyes slightly from the rejection.

He looks at me and notices my tears he lifts his hand to wipe them away before they can fall “You need to eat, and rest and if by some miracle once you’re feeling completely better you want to do that again, I will be more than happy to oblige.” He says reassuringly. “You were saying some very odd things in your sleep and I need to know that your consent is truly valid and not a result of some sort of delirium before I even so much as kiss you.” He looks sad for a moment. “It’s just I can hardly believe you would want to kiss someone like me anyway.”

“Oh Severus” I say. “I barely even feel sick anymore I swear, but it’s admirable that you’re waiting until you know for sure I can consent. You’re such a gentleman and I promise you once I’m better I’m definitely going to want to do that some more” I wink at him.

He smiles, then thrusts the plate containing the sandwich towards me. “Then I will look forward to it greatly but for now please eat”.

I take the plate and sit down, he sits next to me and we sit in silence while I eat. For the first time since Harry had announced Voldemort was back I felt hopeful for the future. Maybe getting sick isn’t so bad after all.

#harry potter #imagine #hogwarts #severus snape #slytherin #tw sick mention #fluff #snape fluff #snape x reader #sick reader #snape

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phoenixtakaramono · 6 months

Text

Writing Pattern Game

Thanks for the tag, @deliciouskeys (♛) and @plasticfangtastic (♛).

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns!

Ah…. *side-eyes my total AO3 WIPs and Twitter threadfics* I can scrounge up 10. My “writing style” tends to reflect whose character’s POV it is and the atmosphere/ setting of the writing itself. Looking at these listed below from an objective standpoint, I think my pattern is the typical writing strategy us writers try to use to hook readers in. 🤔 I’dunno if it comes off that way on your guys’ side when you read through my stories. But I usually view the first paragraph as a window of opportunity to grab the reader's attention and have that hopefully stir enough interest to lead them right into the story. It is your first impression after all. :) I’ll show the first sentence to abide by the rules of this game (hehe)—but then strikethrough the following sentences after that, if it’s in the same paragraph, so you can see the following context.

(Symbol Key: ♛ - direct links you can click)

AO3 Stories

The Name of the Game (♛)

The Boys: Billy Butcher/The Homelander | John

Fine coils of gray smoke spiraled from the end of a dying cigarette, the ember buffeted from the winds by a black leather gloved hand. In the frigid overcast sky, the little ember sparked across half of the person’s sharply defined features. Rooted in place, this man was a sculpture hewn from rugged granite and adolescent dreams.

Truce (♛)

The Boys: Billy Butcher/The Homelander | John

When Homelander had first heard the news, he’d laughed. When no one joined in, his smile dulled. Looking Ashley Barrett in the eyes, he’d said, “You’ve got to be f*cking kidding me.”

The Untold Tale (♛)

SVSSS: Original Luò Bīnghé/Shěn Yuán | Shěn Qīngqiū

Let it not be said that Shen Yuan didn’t know how to be an accomplished—arguably better—writer than his nemesis Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky.

A Prince and His Baron (♛)

Helluva Boss: Blitzo/Stolas Goetia

It was undeniable that there was an upcoming new threat in Hell, rivaling some of the realm’s most ancient fiends in ruthlessness despite his pedigree. Like a chaotic storm, his killing efficiency—a startling track record of a hundred percent hits and zero failures—made waves in demon society. His calling card was left behind at every crime scene: a business card or a horned smiley face doodled with the victim’s blood on the corpse. With the amount of dark energy consumed and the carnage wreaked and demonic pacts made, they cemented his candidacy as a new, potential Overlord of Hell.

Green and Gold (♛)

HP, InuYasha: Harry Potter/Sesshomaru

"We've arrived at the Higurashi Shrine, Pottā-sama," the Asian wizard moonlighting as a Muggle taxi driver said respectfully, pulling the car to a smooth stop along the curb. The stars stood out among the dark night sky, beautiful in this wondrous occasion. Dark eyes surveyed the still figure in the back seat, said infamous wizard who had his eyes closed throughout the long drive from the Apparition Point in the Narita Airport. With an awed smile, the young man lowered his gaze reverently from the Boy-Who-Lived. Turning the ignition off, he added, "I shall accompany you to the spiritual grounds as per Shacklebolt-san's request."

Finders Keepers (♛)

Borderlands, TFTBL: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands)

The storm of profanities died on his lips as Handsome Jack immediately performed a double-take at the man he’d nearly tripped over on his way to Hyperion’s artificial intelligence branch. The ECHO devices he’d been carrying were strewn all over the floor, with the bright light of personnel photos and the information he’d been reading now glaring up at the ceiling of the space station.

Twitter Threadfics

M3GAN AU (♛)

The Boys: Billy Butcher/The Homelander | John

One day, CIA agent Billy sees a life-sized male android from the company Becca works at. It’s handsome, it’s blond, and Billy’s creeped out that it’s in his girlfriend’s flat.

Fix-It AU (♛)

The Boys: Billy Butcher/The Homelander | John

The first time Homelander met William “Billy” J. Butcher isn’t the romantic spy thriller the media thinks it is. It’s not what his now-fiancé thinks either.

Sugar Baby AU (♛)

The Boys: Billy Butcher/The Homelander | John

It’s months in, and Homelander’s discovered the pleasure of being catered to by a handsome British expatriate whose c*ck is worth $7K per night.

Vampire & Lycan Hunter AU (♛)

The Boys: Billy Butcher/The Homelander | John

Chains rattle when Billy hears the screeches. Dark hair and loose articles are sent flying as a maelstrom of golden bats eclipses the balcony view.

Thoughts: Comparing the two categories above, I tend to get straight to the point for my threadfics—since I’m constrained by the wordcount—whereas for my AO3 stories I like to tease my readers in (hopefully hook you in and guide your eyes to the second paragraph and so on). At the very least, my sentences tend to be descriptive (lol, my word salads, haha) so I think I tend to describe the main character, give the first insight into the main character(s)’ personality you’ll be reading about, or tease the worldbuilding/ setting/ premise. I do see it as the introduction into the story so my thought process essentially goes: 1) it’s gotta be intriguing, 2) it gives the reader the general gist of what you’re probably getting yourself into, or 3) it ironically foreshadows a big narrative device later so if you wanna see how we get there, ✨you should follow along and read the story✨ hint hint nudge nudge.

I tag: @fuckingpajamas, @kosmochlor, @tzeentchs-secretary-tea-time, @officially-tilly, and feel free for anyone who wants to do this!╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ Only if you wanna!

#writing meme #writing #my writing #writing pattern game #ask #deliciouskeys #phoenix talks #I notice I have a lot more butchlander fics in my portfolio than in any other fandom I’ve written for *amused*#my brief impromptu vacation in the rarepair hotel somehow extended into what it is today haha #if you wanna see how I handle purple prose TUT is the golden child in my AO3 portfolio #after that is G&G (which is essentially a crackship that we treat seriously; it’s the reason why I made an AO3 & was my 1st popular fic)#TNotG is how I handle purple prose through a Western style & not the stylistic Chinese light novel style in TUT #G&G reflects modern juxtaposed against Japanese feudal fantasy #FK is my attempt at sci-fi #the threadfics are just how I usually write—but pared down to fit the twitter wordcount

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krethes · 2 years

Text

@wolfstarmicrofic october four: tumbling

read the previous parts on AO3 here: wherever flames may rage

(you can also search my tags for firefighter au)

"That's it, I'm done. This is cruel, Captain!" Sirius wheezes. His lungs burn and he's drenched in so much sweat, his t-shirt is plastered to his chest and his hair to his neck. He gets to his feet, panting, and looks up through his sodden fringe at their captain who is standing all calm, cool, and collected. It's dangerous—no, it's fucking rude, is what it is! To Sirius's left is Remus, looking just as done in as he feels, and to his right, James, well, he's just fucking fine if a little sweaty, but he's basically not human.

Group workouts suck.

Captain Shacklebolt raises his brows. "'Cruel' would be making you do these intervals in full turnouts. Don't test me, Black. Ten more. Go."

By the end of it, even James has to take a sit to catch his breath, and Remus and Sirius are flat on their backs in the barn. Their captain releases them, finally, and they trudge and stumble and limp off to the showers. "If there was a fire right now, everyone would be fucked," Sirius mutters darkly.

"Since you appear to have the energy to snark, you can do five more, Black."

Sirius gives him an incredulous look and whines low in his throat. "Fuck."

____

"Fuck!" Sirius gasps later with Remus's body between his legs. He's in that hazy, half-asleep state where part of him is worried he's going to say something embarrassing and the other part is worried that he'll come in his pants. Remus doesn't seem to care, the way he's grinding against him. After Sirius's sass and subsequent attempted murder by Captain Shacklebolt, he'd been assigned desk duty (which he'd normally bitch about, but was privately very thankful for). He'd been asleep before his head hit the pillow, but when Remus and McKinnon returned from their quick aid car call, Remus woke him up for this, covers thrown atop like that would conceal what they're doing.

"Keep...unh, fuck, Remus, keep it up and I'm gonna come."

Remus pulls his head up, his lips reddened and slick with spit, his beautiful eyes blown nearly black by his pupils, leaving the thinnest of gold rings, an aureate laurel, around the outside just barely visible in the dim. "You know," he drawls, dropping hot, hungry kisses to Sirius's exposed neck that make his cock bob. "That's not a bad idea."

Sirius can hear James's quiet snoring from across the room, and no one else is sleeping yet, but it's risky, doing this here. Still, with Remus sucking a bruise into his clavicle, Sirius be bothered to care. Everyone knows they're a thing. James knows they're dating. It's hardly news.

Remus pulls away again, and Sirius reaches for him pathetically, desperate to have him and his warm friction back. Remus takes his hand and presses his fingertips to his lips before taking them into his mouth. "Fuck," Sirius breathes, automatically imagining what this wet heat would feel like on his cock Sirius covers his mouth to stifle his moans (and keep the aforementioned embarrassing commentary quiet) with his free hand. Remus lets him thrust his hips underneath him a little and Sirius can almost pretend it's Remus's arse he's plunging into, and it's Remus who has to muffle his sordid sounds. His dick certainly seems to be buying into it, the tension ratcheting tighter low in his belly. God, he wants to fuck Remus so badly it hurts, and he thinks they're almost there, but Remus is worth it. He can wait.

>>LADDER, ENGINE, AID CAR 10. RESPOND: APARTMENT FIRE AT 2785 NORTH SPEER BLVD.<<

Sirius's hopes of anything more go tumbling off a cliff. Looks like he's going to have to wait a little longer. "Fuck, that place is huge," Remus whispers, his voice lust-roughened and his curls irreparably mussed. They spring apart with surprising ease, given how they were nearly worked to death earlier, and though Sirius was so fucking close, he adjusts himself in his trousers and races out the bunks to the barn.

"Good dream?" James, the shit, teases next to him as they step into their turnouts. "Heard some fun noises coming from your side."

"Ah, Jimmy, if you wanted to join us, you just have to ask!"

"By appointment only," Remus quips, but blushes scarlet when McKinnon makes a comment about his swollen lips and wet chin. Regardless, Remus grins at Sirius as he swings into the aid car, all electric energy that the adrenaline of a call provides. Sirius watches him mouth 'later' and 'I love you' before he has to climb into the scarlet number 10 engine and smiles like an idiot into his helmet.

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #my fics #wolfstarmicrofic #microfic #firefighter au

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