#harry potter x wife!reader

[pretty-little-mind33]

Timeless

James Potter x muggle wife!reader

Summary: James wants to take you out to one of his families' fancy parties. However, he underestimates how cruel people can be when someone is different.

Genre: Fluff, hurt and comfort

prequel - Enchanted

Warnings: swearing, insecurities, implied sexual relationship, mentions of having kids, cute banter 🥰

The candle shimmers in the room as you sit on the cushioned chair in front of your vanity. You admire your reflection in the dusty mirror and play with the silver pin in your hair. Usually, you love occasions where you can look your prettiest but, on this particular night, dread sits in your stomach.

You feel hands on your shoulders and your head leans back onto your nape as you look up. Your smile widens when you see his dark eyes and brown curls. His hair is slick with fancy gel and the smell of his citrus cologne allows your forming nerves to relax. "Hiya, lovie." He whispers hoarsely and kisses your nose as his hands slide down your arms. It sends goosebumps up your skin.

"Hi, James." You laugh quietly and sit normally.

He smiles at you in the mirror, "Y'ready?" He asks and your smile disappears. James's eyebrows crease and he lowers his head to sprinkle delicate kisses onto your neck and collarbone. You turn around carefully so you don't wrinkle the skin-fitted, satin, slip dress you're wearing and James's eyes follow your movement as you stand up next to him. He licks his lips cheekily, "Ravishing." He mutters.

You want to look unamused, but you smile wearily, "I'm nervous." You whisper.

"Whatever for?" James raises one eyebrow.

"They hate me." You reason and fiddle with his navy blue tie, "They hate everything I represent, Jamie. I'm filth to them."

James snorts and he wraps his arms around you. He kisses your temple, "It's a party. My party. You're my girl, no one will dare mess with you. You'll see my parents and my parents adore you, Y/n/n."

"I know. Of course I know that, but with Voldemort around and all this talk — " You start to mutter but James interrupts you with a sweet kiss. When he pulls away, he's looking into your eyes with a delicately serious expression. An expression so unlike him.

"No one can hurt you when I'm around," He promises. James is always so sure of himself. Some may call it overconfidence but for your sake, you can only pray this is one of the times where his confidence means he's right.

* * *

The Potter's ballroom is made out of expensive marble and lanterns, which drift in the air, illuminate the spacious room. Classical music plays as couples dance, women in elegant dresses drink their champagne in the corners, and older men converse with fancy cigarettes drooping from their wrinkled lips.

You can't help but feel out of place as you seem to be the only one who's enchanted by those lanterns and all the fancy named dishes on silver trays which look delicious and also weirdly disgusting.

James hasn't left your side all evening. Not when he meets up with his best friends, nor when his mother calls his name and wants to introduce him to someone. He guides you with him, his hand on the small of your back, and you smile at his mum, "Hello, Mrs. Potter." You say.

Euphemia Potter beams at you and leans in to kiss your cheeks. She looks down, "What a gorgeous dress, Y/n." She exclaims.

"It's an early anniversary present from James." Your cheeks become warm as you look down at your dress bashfully.

"Good boy." Euphemia chuckles and affectionately pats James's cheek. She turns to the woman next to her, "James, this is Matilda, Orianna's daughter. You remember her from your school years, yes?"

You and James look at Matilda at the same time. She's slim and bony. Her blonde hair is curled in ringlets around her shoulders and her perfume smells extremely expensive. You can't deny she's pretty and a new, uncomfortable, feeling forms in your chest.

Euphemia continues, "Matilda was asking how you were, Jamie, and I just couldn't resist bragging about my beautiful boy."

James nods, "I remember you from Potions our sixth year." He says with a polite smile and Matilda returns the smile with an ecstatic grin.

"Exactly! Oh, it's so nice to connect with you again!" She pauses and her sharp hazel eyes snap to you, "And who is this?" Matilda asks with fake sweetness.

"Y/n Potter." You reply tensely.

"Oh, so you're married." Matilda's smile falters.

"Last summer." James interrupts. He doesn't waste time outstretching his arm and wiggling his fingers as he shows Matilda his ring. It's a normal silver band but by James's excitement, he makes it seem like his ring is the rarest jewel he's ever owned.

If you asked him, it is.

"Isn't he all grown up?" Euphemia comments and Matilda stares at you as she nods absentmindedly, "Now, James, come help me choose a drink for your wife while she makes friends with Matilda," Euphemia says innocently. You turn to protest (you can easily choose your own drink) but his mother has already led James away.

You know Euphemia always means well. You don't have many friends in James's circle and she finds it important to introduce you to as many wizards and witches she knows.

You understand but, at the same time, you don't want to be alone with Matilda. She seemed like a sweet girl in front of James and his mum, but when she has you alone you suddenly feel like a lamb in a wolf's claws.

For good reason because she asks you, "So, I don't remember you from Hogwarts, Y/n? Were you a few years above us?" She fakes a smile.

Ouch, you think, you were two years younger than James.

"I didn't attend Hogwarts."

"Beauxbaton then?"

Hesitantly, you shake your head.

"Ilvermorny? Only, I don't hear an accent." Matilda frowns.

You feel a familiar fear sink in again. Should you have lied? The way Matilda's looking at you now makes you feel uneasy, "I-" You mutter and scan the room. You can't see James anywhere and your heart jumps in your chest at Matilda's next question.

"Are you a muggle?" She squints at you and then moves away a little, her eyes shimmering with disgust, "Oh my merlin, he's married to a muggle." She says and it's loud enough for a few other guests to turn their heads towards you.

You panic and mumble a quick, "Excuse me", as you walk away from her. You can't see your husband anywhere so you wander to the first person you recognize and touch his shoulder. Sirius Black turns around, a concerned look on his face when he sees you,

"Y/n?" He asks.

"Have you seen James?" You ask quietly, feeling foolish as tears brim your eyes.

"No. What happened?" Sirius's arms reach out to hug you and you quickly bury your face in his chest. You can't even form a sentence as all you can hear is cruel whispers as you feel everyone's eyes lock onto you.

"She's a muggle. James Potter married a dirty muggle." Matilda makes a scene childishly, pointing her bony finger directly at you and the entire party feels like it suddenly comes to a halt. You knew this would happen and you want to disappear.

"Don't talk about her like that," You hear your husband snap and you move away from Sirius a little, turning your head around.

"What's happening?” Euphemia asks quietly. You make eye contact with James and the moment he sees your tears, the drink in his hand falls to the floor and shatters at his feet. Striding towards you, he swoops you from Sirius's arms and almost crushes you to his chest.

Matilda narrows her eyes at him.

"You're a pathetic excuse for a witch," James insults her, a dark look in his eyes, and you wish he would stay quiet. His mother stares at him in shock but reaches for his arm anyway,

"Jamie, it's okay." Euphemia tries to calm him down but he's visibly furious now. She turns to Matilda and her family, "How dare you slander my son's wife in that manner? You have no business being here with those foolish and cruel opinions. You can leave my house this instant."

Matilda and her mother look practically appalled, "How could you allow this monstrosity to happen, Euphemia?" Her mother asks and some families look as disgusted as she is. Others look sympathetic and most of James's close friends and family look as furious as he is.

"Monstrosity? He loves her." Euphemia defends you adamantly.

"How can you possibly love a muggle?" Matilda asks James, cheeks flushed, and this time Sirius interrupts,

"Oh, you shut up. You're just nasty and jealous because no one wants a horrible woman like yourself."

Matilda gasps and she looks at Sirius with teary eyes. When she begins to cry loudly, her tears send the entire room into a frenzy. Some jump to defend her, while others start to defend your relationship with James.

In the commotion, your husband takes your hand and quickly leads you out the doors. Outside on the front stairs, you see him take out his wand from inside his blazer and suddenly your entire body jerks. In a few seconds, you find yourself in front of your home and you clutch your stomach.

James holds your hair as you vomit and he soothes circles on your back as he apologizes profusely,

"I'm sorry, my love. I'm so so sorry."

You catch your breath and wipe your mouth with your arm. Now you feel ashamed and gross. You straighten yourself and look at James. He looks extremely guilty. "Didn't I tell you that would happen?" You ask and dramatically slump into him for a hug.

He hugs you and kisses your forehead multiple times, "It shouldn't have, my darling. Matilda is a complete nutter. I don't even know why my mum invites her and her horrible family. Honestly, I know mum means well but she can be so daft sometimes." James squeezes you in his arms.

You smile into his shoulder, "I love your mum. She's always kind to me."

James pulls away and begins to move some hair away from your face, "They should all be kind to you. You're bloody amazing. The smartest and prettiest girl I know." He feels your shoulders drop and he kisses your forehead again, "Come on," He whispers and, with his hand on your back, he leads you inside.

James runs you a warm bath and he washes your body delicately as he tries to scrub away the harsh words and screams from the evening. Then, he dresses you in one of his sweaters and when you sit on the bed you share, James starts to braid your freshly dry and combed hair. It's domestic and you start to feel as fuzzy as the sweater on your skin.

"I love you." You whisper, barely audible but James hears you anyway.

"I would certainly hope so," He tries to lighten the mood as he finishes your braid and pushes your hair over your shoulder, "Otherwise, I would wonder why you married me."

You turn around. James cautiously moves your legs over his crossed ones and he pulls you closer to him, "I would marry you in every lifetime, Jamsey." You admit and he looks pleasantly surprised by your comment.

He smirks, "Even if I was a worm?" He raises his eyebrows teasingly, clearly amused by his own joke.

"Yes. If you were a worm, I'd also want to be a worm, silly.' You reason with a small smile.

"Seems impractical," James chuckles.

You kiss him. You can taste the lasting alcohol from the fancy cocktail he drank, and run a hand into his shaggy hair. "Jamsey," You whisper, burning to hear him say the words, "Tell me you love me?"

James smirks, "I love you, baby."

"And you love me even though I'm only a muggle?" You ask softly, suddenly feeling incredibly insecure that you'll never share something that is so much of who James is. You'll never share memories from Hogwarts, or truly understand the references he makes to the childhood wizard films he loves, and sometimes it still takes you time to remember all the wizard terms he uses when he talks.

James is not pleased with your question, however, "Y/n, do you love me even though I know magic?"

"Of course I do," You answer quickly.

"Then why on earth would you think I love you any less because you don't? I married you, for goodness sakes! You have that pretty ring on your finger to remind you of how much I love you."

James takes your hand and you chuckle when he kisses down your neck, "Okay, you're right, I'm sorry." You say and you feel reassured even when you didn't have to feel insecure. James loves you the way you are. He always has. You've known this from the very first I love you.

"Come on, honey, let's go to sleep." James kisses your cheek.

"Hmm, I was thinking we should do something else," You tease, kissing your husband's nose. James smiles at you and he starts to draw little tiny hearts onto your palm.

"What's that, my love?"

"James, I wanna have a baby." You say. James freezes and his eyes round. He looks at you hesitantly, unsure of his next words,

"You want to have a baby? Now?" He asks and you nod, "I-I don't know if we should — this isn't exactly the safest time to have a kid." James reasons and your heart drops.

He sees your expression and his heart breaks, "No, no, honey. I want a baby." He clarifies, "I just don't want to worry about another love in my life. I worry about you enough, darlin'." He jokes behind some sincerity and you squeeze his hand.

"I understand, James." You look at him and try to hide how sad this situation makes you but James can tell. He can always tell.

"You really want this?" He asks softly, "Even after what happened tonight?"

You let out a choked laugh, "I suppose. I just want a mini-you so badly."

James shakes his head with a smirk, "No, you don't. You know that baby will be an absolute headache if they're anything like I was."

"It'll be worth it," You mumble seriously.

You can see James think for a moment and then he beams and says, "Tell ya what, let's have our baby, yeah?"

"Yeah?" Your eyebrows raise in question.

James pauses a moment, "But, can we plan on staying with your parents for a while until things blow over? Just as a precaution?" He looks a little embarrassed to even ask.

You frown. James wants to live with your parents? Your muggle family? Your heart swells. When you married him, you'd both agreed to live with him in his world. Only a year ago it felt like James would never consider living somewhere where he couldn't access magic.

You look at him softly, "Are you sure?"

James nods and leans in to cup your cheeks, "Anything for you, my love. You and your happiness are the most important things in my life." You feel warm spread across your body as he kisses you and helps you climb into his lap. "I love you." He whispers into your ear as his hands lower themselves to your hips.

You kiss his face, all down his neck, until your hands trail down his stomach to his belt and you attach your lips to the crook of his neck. James lets out a shaky breath, "I love you more, honey." You say and sit up to caress his cheek, "Let's make that baby, yeah?" You grin.

"Don' have to ask me twice, love." James laughs in a mumble and turns you over, his arm wrapped around the small of your back as he presses his lips to yours.

#james potter x reader #james potter #james potter fluff #james potter smut #james potter x you #james potter fanfic #james potter x y/n #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #james potter imagines #james potter imagine #james potter angst #marauders #marauders imagines #marauders fic #marauders imagine #harry potter #harry potter fic #harry potter fanfiction #james potter x wife!reader #hp fanfic #hp marauders #james potter blurb

[strangesthirdeye]

Late Night Potions ( Severus Snape x Wife! Reader)

Summary: There are times when they are safe but still remind them of bitter thing.

Warning: it's Severus Snape, he's always slay, soft Severus, love, fluff, sweet, Severus being a good husband, ooc Severus Snape? Cannot sleep.. Severus survived Battle of Hogwarts.

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Another stir clockwise and one more peppermint, The calming draughts Severus made finally turned brown meaning it was ready. He grabbed the glass vial that was placed not far from where he was brewing and opened the lid of the vial and slowly he scooped the potion with a spoon then put it in the vial.

The clock showed 3 in the morning and Severus was still in his potion room in his own house which was a bit late for brewing something at that time but it was Severus of course he had time to brew something. Well, the reality is that he can't catch a wink of sleep directly, making him stare at the ceiling of the bedroom he and you share. While you were soundlessly sleeping, Severus decided to get out of bed without keeping you awake and decided to make some light potions to make himself tired so he could easily fall asleep.

But still, after the 3 potions he made and all the process of putting the three potions into the vial, he still couldn't catch his sleepiness and that made him frustrated.

The eye bags under his eyes are visible while his face is definitely tired but the strange thing is that he can't sleep even though his body language clearly shows that he needs to sleep.

He sighed tiredly then closed the glass vial and placed the potions on the other potions shelf according to the label. He rubbed his face trying to remove the fog from his eyes which indicated that he needed to sleep. He then swished his wand to carefully pack the potions tools on the table. And standby for the 4th brewing potions.

Severus then swished his wand towards the ingredient cabinet for the potion he wanted to make, which was the Blood Replenishing potion. All ingredients are floated and gently placed on the table. Severus then cleaned the standby cauldron and placed it on the bunsen burner. He then opened the bunsen burner with a small flame and cast Aguamenti into the cauldron and miraculously the cauldron was filled with water according to the prescribed measure.

While he waited for the water to heat for 5 minutes, he started flipping through his potions book to idly even though he was skilled and memorized all the potions he made, he still needed the potions book to be sure. Sometimes he will add some useful notes to the book so that when he teaches, he can teach students more efficiently.

After 5 minutes, he then reached the dew and was ready to be placed in the cauldron but stopped when he felt a hand hugging his abdomen from behind. He was stunned but then relieved when he found out it was you.

You who had just woken up from sleep after discovered that Severus was not in the bed hugged Severus' back tightly in a still sleepy state. Severus knew that you couldn't sleep without him because he knew that you still imagined him disappearing and never coming back after the terrible Battle of Hogwarts that happened a few months ago. Although Severus survived Nagini's attack and was put in St's Mungos for two months to recover from snake venom, you are still afraid that he will be gone.

Severus stiffened shoulders dropped then he leaned against your touch. Savoring the warm temperature from your body. He sighed tiredly. His hands that holding the potions ingredients were placed on the table and his fingers rubbed the back of your hand that wrapped around his abdomen. The flame of the Bunsen burner was extinguished by him.

"It's 3 am and you're brewing potions" you mumbled behind his shoulder.

"Just want to make myself tired so that I can sleep well" Severus said lowly in his deep tone.

"Nightmare?" You parted away from his shoulder and leaned the side of your head behind him.

"Incredulity" Severus sighed.

"Incredulity with what?" You questioned with perplexity.

"That we both survive that battle" Severus muttered.

You raised your head and instantly faced him. Your face looked up at his face. His tired eyes that clearly make you concerned with his state. You and him still have a traumatic experience from the battle, which makes you both uneasy when the matter is mentioned. It's lucky you both survived even though Severus had to be admitted to the hospital and you suffered several injuries that left scars that made you think how lucky you both were to survive the battle. It also means that you two are very strong to survive the battle.

You softened your look and reached Severus' sharp cheek and stroked it gently. Severus closed his eyes and leaned against your warm palm.

"I also wonder how we can survive that battle but that's the story line. We both survive with the hope that we both can be together. All the things we went through together before and after that battle are the main pillars of our strength. We survive because we know that we are need this 'life'." You replied softly, caressing Severus' cheek.

Severus let out a heavy sigh. "the things we went through, what if one of us didn't survive the battle? What if the battle was just a dream? What if I lost you?"

"stop it, Sev. Ignore those negative thoughts. We are both safe and alive. Voldermort and the Death Eater are gone. You don't need to be a double agent to know the plans of both parties. You are who you are now. We are both safe and sound without any obstacles . We have each other." you firmly said.

Severus leaned his forehead against yours with his eyes closed.

"What did I do to deserve you?" Severus whispered in a husky and deep tone that always made your knees tremble hearing that even though the two of you had been together for almost 6 years.

"You didn't do anything. It's me who came to you and saved you and you accept me as I am" you whispered back.

#severus snape x reader #severus snape angst #severus snape x wife!reader #severus snape #alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #severus snape x you #severus snape x y/n #harry potter #Spotify

[talesofadragon]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞

Summary: In the aftermath of the war, Draco is caged in an unrelenting spiral of distaste and distrust. The pervasive tendrils of hatred threaten to incinerate every aspect of his existence, edging ever closer to Y/N. A breakup seemed like the wisest choice. But a few bottles of Firewhiskey later, Draco is faced with something more daunting than his mind’s distorted illusions—a glimpse into his future. 

Warnings: Allusions to sex

Pairing: Draco x Reader

Genre: Angst | Fluff  

Word count: 4K

All Masterlists | Draco Malfoy Masterlist

𝐈𝐟 𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐤, the weight of guilt would have long since dissipated, evaporating into the vast expanse of time.

But tattoos, Draco had come to learn, lived on a polarizing spectrum—either itched by hope’s gentle caresses or marred by despair’s morbid claws. He liked to call them insignias because he knew that, either way, those brands never faded away. And even if, by Merlin’s stupendous power, their ink were to vanish, the tales behind them would eternally reverberate through the most somber corridors of time.

The choices made and the sacrifices offered in their creation were intricately woven into the curvatures of each tattoo, amplifying the weight of these indelible brands.

“Mate, I have never seen anyone treat Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey so foully.” 

Draco’s silver eyes were unyielding in their pursuit of the black snake that slithered into his pale skin. He refused to look away, not when he heard Theodore Nott’s voice and not when he reached out blindly for the silver goblet, determined to drown the lingering traces of Firewhiskey within it.

As the scorching pace of the liquid coursed through his veins, his heart constricted, and his eyes stung. Yet, he paid no heed to the discomfort, having endured far greater pains in the past.

“Maybe if you weren’t a lightweight then you would have known that the whole Slytherin House and half of the Gryffindors treat it with indignation,” Draco retorted.  

Theodore's arms crossed tightly over his chest, his gaze narrowing as he observed his best friend. Draco's weariness was evident, more pronounced than even during the days of the Dark Lord. 

Letting out a sigh of resignation, Theodore settled in the chair by Draco's side. Taking the goblet from his hand, Theodore filled it with some more Firewhiskey. “Not that I am unhappy to host you, but isn’t it time to go back home, Draco?”

Draco’s fingers tightened around the goblet. If he thought the Firewhiskey was testing his endurance, then clearly he hadn’t anticipated the words which came out of Theodore’s mouth. 

“I don’t have a home.” 

“But you do.” 

“No. I do not!” His voice ricocheted against the walls, pained echoes pushing against the boundaries that confined them. Draco’s voice shook, the rage in his words dissolving into meek submission. “Not without her.” 

“Mate.” Theodore watched helplessly as Draco swung his head back to gulp down the entire goblet of Firewhiskey. He violently slammed the empty goblet against the marble of the kitchen bar, gaze stuck far ahead. “This is killing you.” 

“Let it.” 

“Draco—”

“I should’ve died long ago in that war, Theo. Maybe this is retribution for everything I did.” 

“What retribution, you imbecile? Dooming everything you’ve both built after the war?” 

“Do not mention her,” Draco seethed. His bloodshot eyes matched the color of his soul, a violent red that overwhelmed every one of his senses. He’s hated the war for so long—he failed to realize how much it seeped through his soul until he became one himself. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

Theodore scoffed. He reared back, placing his weight on the back of the chair and studying Draco’s hunched posture. “I‘ve known you since we were brought into the Wizarding World, Draco. I know that you didn’t come here to escape the fray.” 

“What finally tipped you off, oh brilliant Rowena? Was it the way I shut down every mention of her name? Or perhaps my defensive stance and guarded demeanor?” Draco mocked.

With an air of indifference, Theodore replied, “You don’t run away from battles, Draco. You wage them.” 

“That was the old me.” 

"If that were truly the case, then why did you declare war on Y/N? What suddenly woke you up, making you realize that you couldn't bear to be with her for another second?"

A flash of irritation crossed Draco's face as he interjected, "I told you not to mention her name."

Ignoring the warning, Theodore continued with a pointed intensity. "Her name itself is a battle, Draco. One you’ve ignited because of the conflict that rages within you, fueled by your selfish desires."

"Selfish?" Draco roared, his anger escalating. In the heat of the moment, he flung the empty goblet against the wall, the sound echoing through the room. His nostrils flared as he struggled to control the tempest brewing within him. "What part of letting her go for her well-being is selfish? She deserves better, Nott. So I gave her better!"

"Better, is a subjective notion.” 

"It's the only notion," Draco countered, his composure slipping as he struggled to rein in his emotions. The veneer of false placidity he had tried to maintain for days proved futile in containing his anger. "You have no idea the price I have to pay for the blood that rests on my hand. For the mark that’s refusing to die with time.” 

“I know,” Theodore whispered breathlessly. 

Draco's head shook with a heavy burden of remorse. "No, you don’t. Because being a Death Eater's son and being a Death Eater are two separate realms. I would trade anything, everything, to return to a time when I was feared and hated. Because now, I have to watch the world extend their animosity to the only woman who was brave enough to try and pull me out of the Dark Lord’s dominion.” 

Theodore pushed himself off the chair, his movements purposeful and determined. With each deliberate stride, the distinct click of his shoes echoed against the ground. "By pushing her away. By hurling venomous words at her. By replicating the very path the world forced upon you, dragging her through darkness and uncertainty."

“She deserves better! Better than a semi-stable man who was a servant of darkness. Better than a wizard whose father is serving a sentence in Azkaban and whose mother is a victim of delirium. She deserves better—”

“Than a man who is stripping her of her choices the same way his lineage stripped him of his.” 

“No.” Draco negated. If only he hadn’t drank this much Firewhiskey, maybe his breath would have come out steadier and his words wouldn’t have grappled with conviction. “I left for her.” 

“You left her,” Theodore corrected. It always amazed Draco how Theodore Nott, the epitome of reticence, became a forceful and impassioned defender when it came to matters close to his heart, including Y/N. “You left her because you’re selfish. Because you craved your twisted path of redemption. Retribution, as you have so masterfully termed it, should not come at the expense of hurting Y/N. She fought for you with everything she had. And if you are so keen on being a masochist, Draco, then have the decency to leave her out of your descent into madness!”

With a final venomous glare, Theodore took a step back and began to march away from the room. Draco, caught in a state of disbelief, felt his hands instinctively fall upon the cool marble surface of the kitchen counter. He pressed his palms firmly against the chilled stone, desperately seeking solace from the tumultuous emotions raging within him.

In an abrupt intrusion, Theodore burst back into the room. Draco barely had a chance to meet his gaze before Theodore snatched the bottle of Firewhiskey from the counter and swiftly left. There was no doubt in Draco's mind that he must have also cast a spell to lock the cellar to deny Draco access to any and every liquor stored in the Manor. 

In that moment, Draco's vision was void of any specific color—not a glimpse of red, black, or any hue in between. His rage transcended ordinary perception, defying quantification by any shade or measurement. All that existed in his awareness was a hazy fog enveloping his sight, a world imploding upon itself.

With venomous intent, Draco's fingers slithered through his hair, viciously tugging at the strands. Curses and fury spilled from his lips, weaving a tapestry of disaster, painted with every twisted emotion inhabiting his soul.

The shattered glass before him mirrored his fractured heart, and the disarrayed furniture reflected the homelessness of his wounded spirit. If he excelled in wars and battles, then he might as well transform this space into a battleground.

He persisted for hours, tirelessly wreaking havoc until Theodore's once-familiar abode became unrecognizable. Yet, the knowledge that a mere flick of his wand could undo this chaos only fueled the flames of his fury even more.

How ironic it was that he could demolish a meaningless space in mere hours, only for his magic to effortlessly restore it in seconds. Yet, the home he had reduced to ashes remained irreparable, defying any spells he cast upon it.

With a heavy heart, Draco sank to the ground, embraced by the unforgiving coldness of the stone beneath him. Leaning back against the chilling marble, he stared vacantly at the ceiling of Theodore's dwelling. It was no longer the familiar dark maroon he had once known, but a mosaic of melancholic hues. It was in that moment, as the taste of salty tears brushed against his lips, that he realized his own hollow gaze had been the architect all along.

As his shuddered breaths gradually calmed, and the twitching of his fingers ceased, Draco couldn't help but feel his heart, exhausted from its rapid sprinting and relentless pounding against his ribs.

Standing up, he reached for his wand. "Scourgify," he commanded. Instantly, his magic eagerly clung to every surface in the room, diligently working to restore order and mend the damage he had caused.

While his magic busily repaired what he had broken, Draco made his way to the kitchen, intending to pour himself a much-needed goblet of water. As he approached the marble counter, his eyes widened in surprise at the sight of a mysterious black box neatly resting there.

“What in Merlin’s name?” It must’ve been hidden somewhere amongst the furniture because even in his stupor Draco would’ve recalled coming across it. 

Gingerly, he pulled the lid up. What he found inside was something akin to a Time Turner, along with a couple of notes. Knowing well that all those magical devices had long been destroyed, Draco’s curiosity peaked. He reached for the notes, eyes trekking along the lines of Theodore’s handwriting. 

“Temporal Surger, experimental prototype number five,” Draco read aloud. He briskly skimmed across the pages, absorbing more and more information. “Contrary to the Time Turner, the Temporal Surger springboards the wizard forward through time. Though the exact destination remains unpredictable, prototype number five provides a ten-minute window for the wizard traveling into the future.” 

Draco discarded the notes in favor of picking up the device. It didn’t look any different from the Time Turner with an hourglass in the middle and golden outer rings surrounding it. Yet, when Draco tried to nudge the hourglass, it didn’t budge. He raised his brows, eyes narrowing down to investigate the object. His fingers lingered on the rings, the pad of his index finger tracing the surface. 

Inadvertently, his fingers slipped, and the outer rings turned on themselves. Draco paid them no heed, though it became increasingly hard not to notice them when their momentum increased as they followed an unfamiliar rhythm. Draco didn’t have enough time to panic before a bright light emanated from the center of the Time Surger, engulfing him whole. 

When the light weathered, Draco immediately sprung out of his seat. Taking in his unfamiliar surroundings, he blinked twice. At first, he thought it was his broken heart playing yet another trick on him till it became evident that the Time Surger had, in fact, transported him to another place.

“Merlin’s beard, Theodore is going to murder me,” Draco said aloud. He immediately clamped a hand over his mouth when it dawned on him that he didn’t even know where he was or who was in the same vicinity as him.

Draco hardly had a moment to register his distaste for the petrifying yellow curtains and cream-colored kitchen walls before he caught the sound of leisurely footsteps approaching from his right.

He sprinted across the room, his entire body whirling around itself until he spotted, what he hoped was, a door that led him to the pantry. He rushed in but left it slightly ajar, enough for him to peek through. A crease etched itself in the middle of his forehead when his eyes met a tall man with platinum blond hair tied into a bun. 

The man was shirtless, tall, and well-built. His back was littered with scars, some seemingly thinner and more recent than the others. He moved seamlessly around the kitchen, without a wand in sight, opening draws and cabinets to prepare some food. Draco tried peering closer to catch a glimpse of his face when the sound of someone apparating startled him. 

“What is Master Malfoy doing here?” a squeaky voice asked. 

Draco’s eyes bulged out of their sockets, rivaling the size of the round plates that man had been filling with fruits. He bristled, the gears in his mind rushing to concoct an explanation. But how was he supposed to explain that he’s acquired a, possibly illegal, prototype of a Temporal Surger created by none other than his best friend?

“What does one do in a kitchen?” Draco heard himself say in a mirthful tone. He sighed in relief at the plausible answer, but his relief proved to be ephemeral when he realized that it wasn’t him who spoke. 

He widened the door a bit further, revealing a house elf standing in the kitchen, gazing up at the shirtless blond wizard. With the man's face now visible, Draco was taken aback by the striking similarities between them. The man was a slightly older version of himself.

“Blinky serves the House of Malfoy. It’s Blinky’s job to prepare breakfast for her master.” 

The house elf, Blinky, attempted to pry the spatula out of the Malfoy Patriarch's hand. He didn’t relent, keeping a firm grip on it and flipping whatever he was cooking in the sizzling pan. 

“Thank you, Blinky. I do appreciate your efforts,” he said over the elf's loud huffs. “But I wanted to cook my wife a special breakfast myself.” 

A loud gasp reverberated in the narrow space of the pantry. Draco stumbled even closer to the door, almost pushing it entirely open. His eyes stumbled, intently studying the Malfoy Patriarch's hand. And sure enough, a silver band adorned his ring finger, glistening in the light. 

“Mistress Malfoy has woken up?” Blinky asked in her tiny voice. They must’ve not heard Draco’s shock over the sound of whatever it was that was cooking. 

“Hmm,” the Malfoy Patriarch hummed. He was picking up a goblet from the cupboard and filling it with pumpkin juice. “Blinky, could you please get the Mistress’ favorite flowers? I’m sure she’d appreciate the gesture.” 

Squealing in excitement at fulfilling a task for her masters, Blinky apparated out of the kitchen immediately. By the time she came back with some orchids in a small, round vase, the Malfoy Patriarch had already prepared a full assortment of food. From French Croissants to Quidditch Quaffles, he set them all on a tray and merrily exited the kitchen. Using a disillusionment charm, Draco quietly followed after his older self. 

Draco noticed that the house, or rather cottage, was significantly smaller than Malfoy Manor, yet a million times more alluring. It had a cozy and welcoming atmosphere, adorned with bright colors and pictures from his Hogwarts days. Every decorative piece, whether a vase or an ornament, seemed to have been picked with care making it evidently known that this house was not of his choosing. Whoever his future wife was, he was sure she had to be the one to decorate the house so quaintly and delicately because he could never fill any space with such beauty.

With careful steps, Draco ascended to the upper floor, his attention fixed on each stride. The walls, still adorned in their creamy hue, now bore intricate engravings of an evocative design. The sight of verdant trees and lush bushes lining the hallway welcomed him, instilling a profound sense of tranquility within him.

The Malfoy Patriarch pushed open one of the doors and casually entered. Fortunately, he left it open, making it easier for Draco to hurry inside. He found an equally charming interior, where sunlight streamed into the room, casting a beautiful glow, while the books on the bookshelf created a colorful display like a rainbow.

In the center of the bed, a woman laid peacefully under the covers. Her entire back was exposed, making a pink tint hug Draco’s cheeks. 

The Malfoy Patriarch offered a winsome smile at the painting before his eyes. He placed the tray aside and walked to the bed, letting his thumbs trace the woman’s back.

“Angel,” he called in a soft voice. “Wake up for me.” When the woman didn’t give up her sleep, the Malfoy Patriarch bent down to plant soft kisses on her arm. They were featherlight and soft caresses as if coming out of a dream. 

She sighed heavily, turning on her back. Draco watched his older self laugh, taking this as a chance to kiss his wife’s lips. 

“Draco,” she whined. And Draco had to brace himself against the wardrobe to stop himself from falling to his knees. "Please, five more minutes."

“Y/N Malfoy, you know denying you anything is physically impossible. But I really need you to get out of bed and eat something for me. Now, my love.” 

He heard Y/N say, “Don’t want to.” And Draco’s heart squeezed in his chest because he knew that she was pouting beneath the covers, and most importantly, she was wide awake but trying to get Draco to give her a few more minutes of his attention. 

The Malfoy Patriarch pulled away, surprising Draco. He walked to the tray he had placed aside, grabbing the goblet of pumpkin juice. Y/N opened her eyes when she noticed her husband’s ministrations came to an abrupt end. She hugged the sheets to her naked chest, pouting when she saw her husband against the wall, sipping from the drink.

“This is delicious,” he teased. Y/N made a face. 

“Give it.” She held her hands out, opening and closing her palms in anticipation. Her husband diligently took the whole tray to her side, positioning it on the bed. “I hate you,” she huffed while dipping one Quidditch Quaffle in honey. 

The man in front of her beamed, shaking his head. “You must hate me fiercely, angel. Your ardor set my soul ablaze a million times over yesterday night. And I've got marks on my back to prove it.” 

Both Y/N and Draco choked at the heat that permeated the air. Y/N’s gaze meandered across the room, trying to escape the heat of her husband’s scintillating eyes. 

“Well, you set mine ablaze a million times over every day, Draco! Go put a shirt on instead of teasing me!” Y/N grunted while reaching for the goblet. 

The Malfoy Patriarch’s laugh roared within the four walls of the room, and even Draco had to cover his mouth to avoid laughing at her retort. 

“Is my wife looking forward to dessert already?” 

Y/N let out a sound that was both a whine and a sigh. She pushed the tray aside and reared back, burying her body in the pile of pillows on her bed. Her husband laughed, studying her pout. Her hands rested on her stomach, and if Draco hadn’t been shocked to his core before, he was baffled at the sight of Y/N cradling a very noticeable baby bump. 

“Draco, please.” 

“Please what, angel?” 

“Not that! You know if we do that now we won’t get out of bed for another three hours!” 

“Would it be such—”

“Yes!” Y/N interjected. She looked like an angry little pixie with her narrowed eyes and pointed glare. “It would. Because we have so much to do today.” She went on to explain that she and Narcissa were supposed to meet for tea in the afternoon and that Draco had to finish seeting up the nursery. Y/N kept on listing everything they had to do while her husband intently listened without saying a single word. Instead, he watched her, letting one of his hands wander to her stomach and cover hers. “What are you thinking?” Y/N finally asked, coming to grasp with the realization that her husband had zoned out. 

He didn’t answer at first, noticeable lost in his wife’s beauty. “I’m not thinking. I’m feeling.” 

Y/N let out a semi-laugh. “What are you feeling, Draco?” 

“You,” he replied solemnly. He interlaced their fingers together, keeping their intertwined hands on her belly. “Time and time again, I only feel you.” 

“Dray.” Y/N’s expression softened. She tugged on her husband’s hand, and even though she had lamented that they couldn’t stay in bed for long, she let him pull her to his chest while he made himself comfortable on their bed. “I love you.” 

“I love you so much.” It was Draco that said it. With teary eyes and a battered soul, he surrendered to the images of his older self caressing Y/N’s lips and her cheeks. 

“I love both of my girls. And I only hope our little princess can learn to love me despite all my flaws.”

Y/N shot her husband an indignant look, her gaze filled with disapproval. However, a hint of tenderness softened her eyes, conveying a complex mix of emotions. 

“She does.” 

“How do you know?” 

“She's currently expressing her displeasure at your words by stirring up a commotion inside my belly.” 

“Oh, yeah?” the Malfoy patriarch laughed. He tightened his hold on Y/N and pulled her even closer. One hand on her belly and the other in her hair, he peered down at her and locked his silver eyes with hers. “She’s a tornado, like her mother.” 

Y/N chose not to respond, embracing a peaceful silence instead while staring at her husband. He arched an eyebrow in a silent question. “I’m feeling,” Y/N spoke out. “Time and time again, I only feel you.” 

While her husband's gaze fixated on her lips, inching closer to his own, Draco's attention was abruptly seized by the Time Surger stirring once more. His eyes dropped downward, observing the rings spinning autonomously. 

Torn between stealing a final glimpse and safeguarding the precious moment, Draco reluctantly withdrew from the room. Hastening his steps, he hurriedly exited, stealing one last glance at his future self tenderly pulling the sheet away from Y/N's body until a blinding light dissolved the scene. 

The curtain fell, and he found himself back in Theodore's living room. 

Draco struggled to catch his breath, hurriedly placing the Temporal Surger back inside its box. His restless eyes darted across the room, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions surging through him, dragging him deeper into the abyss. Gasping for air, his head whipped around, desperately trying to make sense of his surroundings.

His eyes landed on the box, the notes still outside. Future, he read in Theodore’s perfect handwriting. 

“Nott, you knobhead. If you were here right now, I would have kissed you with such intensity time would stop. And even your stupidly brilliant Temporal Surger wouldn’t have worked.” 

The numbness of his heart dissipated, and the crippling guilt roaming across his forearm vanished. Draco breathed deeply, embracing the placidity around him. Maybe Theodore’s walls were grim compared to the ones his future self occupied. Yet all Draco could feel was the warmth of Y/N’s voice and the tranquility of the mornings they were yet to share. 

He rushed to Theodore’s fireplace, not bothering to fix himself up. Tossing a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace, Draco finally spoke aloud. “Take me to Y/N Y/L/N.” 

He finally realized that whether time turned or surged, him and Y/N Y/L/N were bound by a string of fate that was unyielding in its war against the Sands of Time.

------------------

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@imabee-oralizard@ameliaphoenix@arcana-greenleaf@dittos-blog-dylanobrien

I have been wanting to write this one for a while! Feels good to be writing again for our favorite Slytherin!🪄

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#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco malfoy fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine

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[im-a-wonderling]

Seven Years of Bad Luck ~ George Weasley

Summary: The golden trio needs Y/N’s help, but George hates his wife being in danger

Warnings: none that I can think of? Let me know if there should be!

Word count: 6.3k

Y’all I’m so proud of the way this turned out, so I hope you like it!

“Absolutely not!” George Weasley leapt to his feet from his charcoal gray couch, glaring at Harry Potter with a fiery look in his eyes that rivaled the brilliant shade of his hair.

“Why not?” Harry argued, also getting to his feet. “This is life and death!”

“We wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t,” Ron cut in, and Hermione nodded. 

George scowled, far from convinced. “Look, Harry, I get that this is important “chosen one” business, and I am happy to see the three of you are still alive, but you’re not dragging Y/N into your top-secret mission. She’s a person, not a tool.”

“I know that,” Harry replied defensively. 

“And yet,” George said hotly, his hand gestures getting more and more animated, “you’re here in my living room at three o’clock in the morning to ask Y/N to use her powers when you know how that affects her!” He rubbed his forehead. “How did you guys even find this house? It’s been charmed to high heaven!”

Ron and Harry looked at Hermione, who shrugged. “You’re trying so hard to keep You-Know-Who out, it doesn’t seem to matter who else slips in.”

George rolled his eyes. Sometimes the young witch was too bright for her own good. “Well, if you found your way in, it means you can find your way out again.”

“But we have to talk to Y/N!” Harry protested. 

George folded his arms stubbornly. “You’re not going to.”

“Surely there’s no harm in at least asking for her help,” Ron said, and George immediately rounded on him.

“You know as well as I do that she can never say no to anyone, even if it kills her.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Hermione replied in her know-it-all voice. “No one’s ever died while attempting catoptromancy.”

George glared at the bushy-haired witch, who shrank into his brother’s side, looking terrified. “Maybe they haven’t died, but they have lost their minds. When Y/N and I first moved here, I had to remove every mirror in this house before she’d even step foot inside.”

“Please?” Harry begged. “It’s very important.” From behind Harry, Ron nodded gravely.

George’s nostrils flared, giving the impression he was a wild bull about to charge. “Do you mind telling me exactly what is so important that you’re willing to force my wife into insanity?”

Harry glanced uneasily at his best friends, and George didn’t like their solemn expressions. 

“We…erm…” Ron trailed off, his courage buckling under the wrath burning in his brother’s face. “We can’t tell you,” he muttered, his face flushing a bright red. 

George’s eyes flashed like lightning, and the trio knew the storm was right on top of them, for his thunderous words followed immediately after. “Get out of my house!” he roared. 

In the silence that followed his order, all four of them heard the same sound: feet on the stairs. 

“George?” 

Harry, Hermione, and Ron had never seen George’s temper deflate so quickly as he strode to the staircase, just in time to meet Y/N at the bottom. 

They all knew she’d just woken up, for she smothered a yawn, and there was a light, floral robe wrapped around her. “What’s going on?” Y/N asked, rubbing at her sleepy eyes.

George gently rested his hands on her shoulder, turning her around. “Nothing, honey, just go back upstairs, okay? I’ll be up there soon.”

But before Y/N had even climbed one stair, Harry piped up. “Y/N, we need your help.” Y/N immediately faced the trio, and George shot a glower so powerful in Harry’s direction, it nearly made him lose his nerve. 

“Don’t listen to them,” George said, starting to push his wife up the stairs. “Just go back to bed, okay?”

George’s wife ducked around him, walking towards Harry. “You need my help with what?” 

“Don’t you dare–” George started to say. 

“We need your divination skills,” Ron explained, shooting his brother an apologetic look. Judging by George’s barely concealed rage, Ron wasn’t forgiven. There was no indication Y/N seemed scared by their request. Her eyes just darted between the three friends, waiting for elaboration. 

Harry glanced at his friends before facing Y/N. “The mission that Dumbledore gave us…to complete it, there’s an object we have to find.” Behind Harry, Ron scratched his neck, clearly feeling awkward. 

“What’s the object?” Y/N asked. “Why do you need it?”

“We can’t tell you why,” Harry replied. He expected George to blow up immediately, but George stayed silent, watching his wife. The whole room went quiet as Y/N seemed to digest Harry’s answer. Admittedly, Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn’t know Y/N that well, for she’d been in a different house and a different year than them, but she didn’t seem scared. Perhaps George had only been exaggerating Y/N’s fear of her own capability. 

“I told them to get lost,” George finally said, coming to stand beside his wife. “They don’t know how–”

Y/N lightly jabbed her husband in the side with her elbow. “Of course I will help.”

Harry sagged with relief. “Thank you so much, Y/N, you have no idea–”

“Y/N,” George interrupted, his tone warning.

His wife looked over at him. “They need help. I can’t turn them away.”

George lifted a hand to cup her face. “I can.” His voice wasn’t loud or hostile like it’d been when he’d been talking to Harry. It was tender, enough that Harry, Ron, and Hermione all averted their eyes, feeling like they were intruding. “I love you,” George continued, “but your powers are dangerous, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Y/N covered his hand with hers. “Thanks to Galloglass, I’ve been doing so much better. Remember the last time I used his psychomanteum? It wasn’t nearly as bad as it used to be.”

“You passed out, and you were weak for months!” George protested.

“And I got back up on my feet, thanks to you. So if you help me, we can do it again.”

George stuck out his chin. “It’s not safe.”

“If they don’t succeed in their mission, You-Know-Who will kill us all.” She looked at the trio. “Right?”

“Yes,” Hermione said firmly. 

“See?” Y/N addressed George again. “This is the right thing to do.”

“The only way we even have a chance of getting any useful information is if we use the psychomanteum again, and that place is crawling with Death Eaters looking for muggleborns.”

“So we’ll be careful and quick,” Y/N said soothingly. “We’ll be in and out, and You-Know-Who will never know we were even there.”

George’s eyebrows lowered at the mention of the Death Eaters’ leader. “But if the Death Eaters catch you while you’re using your catoptromancy, who knows what You-Know-Who would do? He’d turn you into a weapon, and I can guarantee that he will not care about your sanity!”

“If You-Know-Who succeeds, it’s only a matter of time before they find me anyways.”

“It’s not safe,” George said stubbornly. “Galloglass said if you strain yourself too much, you could fracture your mind.”

“So then you can be the one to pull me back if I start to go too far. You can be my voice of reason.” She grabbed his hand, a wry smile on her face. “It’s high time you took a turn being the voice of reason in this relationship anyways.”

George stayed silent, causing everyone in the room to anxiously hold their breath, including Y/N. Then, George exhaled harshly. “If I were to agree to this, you’d listen to me, right? If I told you that you were straining yourself too hard or that it’d become too dangerous, you’d take my words into consideration?”

Y/N nodded.

“Okay,” George said reluctantly. “But I’m there every step of the way.”

Y/N smiled up at him. “I would want nothing less.”

“Alright.” George stepped away from his wife, still clutching her hand as he faced Harry again. “You three ready for a field trip?”

-

None of the young witches and wizards had ever been to Diagon Alley before the sun rose, and it wasn’t an experience any of them wanted to have again. Most of the shops were closed down—due to the fear that was sweeping through the magical community like a plague—but even the ones that were still open didn’t look a fraction as jolly as Diagon Alley used to be.

You-Know-Who’s authoritative grip on the magical community was nearly complete. 

Y/N and George skittered down the cobblestone road, looking over their shoulders often, as if they’d forgotten Harry, Ron, and Hermione were following under the invisibility cloak and were expecting to see them. George kept surveying their surroundings, his hand tightly gripping the wand in his pocket, ready to spring into action if danger dared to show its face. 

Thankfully, there were very few other witches and wizards loitering on the street, and they all seemed to have secrets of their own.

The group had almost reached their destination when George slowed. Y/N slowed with him, much to the confusion of the trio underneath the cloak…until they realized what shop they’d stopped in front of.

Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

The previously colorful and welcoming shop was completely closed down, with wooden boards nailed over the doors and windows. 

George felt his wife squeeze his hand. 

“You and Fred will open it back up,” she said softly. 

“Yeah,” George said, but he didn’t look hopeful or even convinced. He felt an invisible hand squeeze his shoulder, and despite the fact that George didn’t know whose hand it was, he felt comforted enough to keep walking. 

Y/N led the group to a shop three doors down from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, a shop that the trio could’ve sworn they’d never seen before.

Janus Galloglass, the words on the sign read. Scrying mirrors, enchanted mirrors, and haunted mirrors sold here!

Y/N rested a hand on the doorknob, and there was an audible click as the door unlocked. “I’m here so often, the door’s enchanted to let me in,” she murmured. “Now whatever you do,” she warned as she pushed the door open, “don’t look at your reflections. My knowledge is rusty when it comes to mirror magic, and I’d rather not have to fight any of the spirits or spells in these mirrors.”

With those chilling words, everyone followed her inside, dutifully keeping their eyes down, even if the shop was so dark, they most likely wouldn’t have been able to see anything anyways. 

As soon as the door behind them was closed, Harry threw the cloak off, revealing himself, Ron, and Hermione. 

“Lumos,” Y/N muttered, the tip of her redwood wand igniting to show the way forward through the cramped shop. 

If any member of the group had looked up from the worn wooden planks of the floor, they would’ve seen the largest mirror any of them had ever seen just beside the door. The whole Order of the Phoenix could’ve fit in front of that mirror with room to spare. They also would’ve seen the shelves in the middle of the shop holding every kind of mirror imaginable. Some were handheld, some propped up on their own, some were exceptionally plain, some had detailed frames that looked ancient and expensive.

But all had danger lurking inside.

“I hate this place,” George muttered as Y/N led the group through the shop.

Y/N had to agree. Even if she had grown less afraid around mirrors, she still couldn’t squash the unease that dogged her every step. 

“Why are we here?” Harry asked, as they weaved their way around the shelves.

“Oh, why are we in this creepy shop at four in the morning instead of sound asleep in our safe beds?” George asked. “Because someone decided–” 

Y/N elbowed her husband again. “There’s a psychomanteum in the basement that Galloclass lets me use.” 

Ron glanced over at Hermione. “What is a ‘psychomanteum’?”

“It’s a dark room catoptromancers go to use their powers,” Hermione explained. “The room is set up to help keep the catoptromancer safe while they attempt to see the future, including an enchanted mirror.”

“Mirrors,” Y/N corrected as she started leading them down a staircase. The trio exchanged looks, but George followed her with no hesitation. 

A stark contrast to the room above, the psychomanteum was bare. The black walls seemed to move slightly, as if they were incapable of being solid, and every now and then, there seemed to be something moving just on the other side of the watery barriers.

“Is this room safe?” Ron asked, eyeing the walls. 

George’s grim expression was answer enough. 

“Catoptromancy always has risks,” Y/N explained. “But here is a safer place to do it than anywhere else.” 

That wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement, and now the trio understood why Y/N didn’t have a psychomanteum in her own home.

Harry opened his mouth, intending to ask where the mirrors were when he saw, at the end of the room, three plain, full-length mirrors stood side-by-side. The one in the center stood parallel to the wall behind it, while the others were at an angle, like the covers of an open book.

“It’s okay to look at these reflections,” Y/N explained as she lit a few candles the others hadn’t noticed, “but stay back. The catoptromancy won’t work if the magical radius is interrupted.” 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione shrank back, hovering uncertainly at the foot of the stairs. George, however, stood in the middle of the room, closely monitoring his wife’s every move as she approached the mirrors, pulling on her fingers as if she were counting them. 

They all could tell she was nervous now. 

She stopped just in front of the center mirror, and, thanks to the angle of the side mirrors, she had many reflections, all chewing anxiously on their lips. “We’ll need silencing charms in this room if we don’t want Death Eater company.”

“I got it,” Hermione said, quickly pulling out her wand.

“What else can we do?” George asked as Hermione started muttering spells at the bottom of the stairs. 

Y/N squared her shoulders. “Someone should be ready to cast the Shield Charm, because sometimes things can come out.” 

“Come out?” Ron squeaked, and his brother shot him a look. Ron cleared his throat. “I mean, I’ll do that.”

Harry stepped forward. “What can I do?”

“When we’re ready, you’ll need to describe what it is that you want to know.” Harry nodded tersely. Y/N nodded back. “George?” she asked, her voice shaking a little. 

“I’m here,” he said immediately, taking a step forward, despite her warning. “How can I help?”

Her eyes found his in the reflection. “You’re in charge. You’re the one to talk me down when I’m in my stupor.” Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn’t know what that could possibly mean, but George nodded grimly. 

The trio waited with bated breath, eager for Y/N to begin. 

But she just stood there, fidgeting. 

“Hey,” George said, a playful smirk on his face. “If you faced down Snape during your N.E.W.T.s  and walked away with an ‘Outstanding’ in potions, you can do this in your sleep.”

Y/N snorted, and George seemed to relax slightly at the sound. “You’re right.” She rubbed her hands together, like she was trying to generate warmth. “Okay.” After shaking out her arms, Y/N shut her eyes, breathing in and out. 

When nothing seemed to happen, Harry looked at Ron—who shrugged—and then Hermione—who just held up her hands in an I-don’t-even-know gesture. She’d always hated divination anyways.

As Harry debated asking George what came next, the sound of Y/N’s breath started to carry, creating a cascade of echoes through the chamber. The whoosh of her lungs became so loud, Harry felt as though he were actually inside of her body, hearing the air go in and out. 

Then, with each breath, the room seemingly dropped a few degrees, and the very building shuddered around them. Harry glanced at his friends, seeing his worry matched in their expressions. Then he looked at George and saw twice as much concern in his face. 

When Y/N opened her eyes again, Hermione let out a little gasp, for Y/N’s eyes were completely clouded over, looking quite like the crystal balls with milky white smoke inside. 

George nudged Harry, who cleared his throat. “Right, Y/N, we need to find a cup.” Y/N didn’t blink or move, and George gestured for Harry to keep going. “It used to belong to Helga Hufflepuff, and it’s the artifact for the Hufflepuff house.”

Y/N’s eyes stayed fixed on some distant point of interest, but her breathing quickened. 

“Something’s happening,” Ron whispered, and he was right. 

The three mirrors no longer reflected the room’s occupants. Instead, a milky white ink matching the clouds in Y/N’s eyes started to swirl in the mirrors.

George grabbed Harry’s shoulder. “Harry, keep going, keep describing the cup.”

“It’s a golden goblet with two handles, and it has the badger on the side.” As the words left Harry’s mouth, the cup appeared in the center mirror, directly in front of Y/N. “That’s it!” Harry cried. “Where is it?”

The cup grew smaller and smaller.

“Why’s it getting farther away?” Hermione asked, sounding petrified. 

“Just give her a second.” George licked his lips. “She just needs time.”

George was right, for as the cup got further away, the background started to form, spanning across all three mirrors. The cup rested on a shelf in a dark room, surrounded by other precious objects of gold and silver. 

“There’s other things there,” said Harry, stating the obvious. “But where’s there?”

The picture continued to grow smaller, as if someone was holding a camera and stepping away. The more the location came into view, the more precious pieces appeared. Beside a neat stack of gold bars lay piles of galleons, sickles and knuts, and there were many antiques that no one had names for. 

“It’s a whole room of treasure,” Hermione breathed, and her reverence was justified. One-sixteenth of this collection would be enough to set anyone up for life. 

“Maybe it’s a hoard?” Ron suggested, shifting his weight. 

Y/N’s shoulders started rising and falling as her breathing grew more ragged. George turned to Harry. “We’ll need to stop soon, she’s reaching the end of her rope.”

“But we’re so close!” Harry objected. “We have to keep going!”

George’s head turned back towards the mirrors. The image continued to zoom out, but it was slowing down as Y/N’s breathing grew more labored. 

“She can’t take much more!” George snapped. 

“We need to see more,” Harry demanded. George stepped towards Harry, looking ready to hit him, when Ron slid in between them, holding them both at bay. 

“Guys, look!” Hermione shouted, and everyone looked at the mirror just as the view came through the doorway, and the door shut, as if by some invisible force. 

Harry recognized it immediately. “It’s a vault!” he said excitedly, turning to his friends. “The cup is in a vault in Gringotts!” He watched the mirrors eagerly. That eagerness started to fade, however, when Harry saw his own form materialize in the center mirror, covered in dirt and looking ragged. 

“Harry, it’s time to stop,” George said, but Harry didn’t seem to hear him. 

“Y/N, we need to see the number of the vault, show us the numbers!”

“Stop it,” George hissed, grabbing Harry’s shoulder. 

But one by one, the numbers on the vault started to sharpen and come into focus.

“Seven!” Ron said. “Two!” 

Suddenly, the zooming out sped up, the perspective tilting. 

“Did anyone see what the last number was?” Harry cried, but George was far beyond the point of caring. 

“Y/N, stop!” George cried, and Y/N stumbled, as if some unseen force had pushed her. George tried to run towards her, but an invisible barrier stopped him. “Y/N!” George shouted, pounding on the barrier. “Y/N!” 

“What’s happening?” Ron asked, looking horrified. 

“Her catoptromancy’s in control now!” George shouted. “It’s keeping me away so the job can be finished!”

The picture in the mirror continued to spiral, quicker and quicker, somewhat reminiscent of a muggle rollercoaster. 

“Y/N, breathe, it’s okay, remember you’re in control!” George yelled. 

The image started to settle a bit, but not on a sight any of them wanted to see. 

“It’s a dragon!” Harry exclaimed.

In a large underground chamber stood a large, white dragon. Chains wrapped around its neck, and streaks of blood ran down the scales directly underneath the restraints. As if the dragon had heard Harry, it turned towards the mirror and opened its mouth, the temperature in the room spiking.

“Ron!” George bellowed, just before flames started to spew from the dragon’s mouth. 

“Aguamenti!” A burst of water flew from the tip of Ron’s wand. The invisible barrier seemed to be gone as the water drenched everything. 

A great amount of steam burst through the room, and the trio instinctually covered their faces.

George, however, ran forwards, straight toward his wife, who was already crumpling. He slid, just barely catching Y/N before she collided with the ground. “Y/N?” he asked, shaking her slightly, but her cloudy eyes were unblinking. 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at the mirrors. The dragon had gone, and the surface of the mirrors had returned to their previous smoky appearance, but a few shades darker. 

“Y/N!” George shouted, gently laying her down on the floor, crouching over her. “Y/N, it’s George, are you okay?” 

YN didn’t stir.

“You did so well, “ George said, his voice cracking as he lifted his hand to gently shut her eyes. “You got exactly what they needed, but it’s time to wake up now.”

Covering her mouth with her hand, Hermione reached out for Ron, who wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder. 

George tapped the side of her face. “Honey, it’s time to wake up, okay?”

All Harry could do was stare as Y/N’s husband stroked her hair. “She’s not breathing,” Harry said dumbly. “Why isn’t she breathing?”

George kept talking, as if he hadn’t heard him. “We’ll go home, and I’ll make you blueberry pancakes, how does that sound? All you have to do is open your eyes, come on baby, open those beautiful eyes for me.”

Y/N’s eyes snapped open, but there was no sign of her irises or pupils. Her eyes were completely clouded over, but unlike before, these clouds were growing darker and darker. “No, no, honey, you need to come back.” George’s voice steadily rose in volume as his wife remained unresponsive. “You don’t get to leave me this way!”

Hermione pressed her face into Ron’s chest, her shoulders shaking. Tears streaked down Ron’s face as he watched his brother try to revive his wife. 

“Wake up!” George’s voice was shrill. “This is not the end, you hear me? Wake up!”

Harry stepped forward, putting his hand on George’s shoulder, but George twisted away from him. He lifted his wife’s head, resting it in his lap. “C’mon, Y/N, show me those beautiful eyes.” A tear splashed onto Y/N’s cheek, and George swiped at his eyes. “I love you so much, Y/N, I do, so you can’t do this, you hear me?”

There was no acknowledgement, and the only movement in the entire room was from the jet black clouds in the mirror.

George’s head jerked up with a savage urgency, and the trio shrank away from him, but he wasn’t looking at them. “The mirrors,” he said to himself, like he was in a trance. Then, all at once, George surged to his feet, running towards the dark smoke.

“What are you–” Ron started to ask.

George’s fist collided with the mirror on the right, and the resulting harsh shattering sound made the trio wince and cover their ears. The fracture ran the length of the mirror, the cracks radiating out like a spider web. As George pulled his fist back to smash the next mirror, his raw knuckles caught the light. 

He didn’t seem to care about that, already ramming his hand into the center mirror. This time, a pained groan escaped from George’s lips as his skin split open, but he turned to the final mirror, determination in his drawn face as he delivered the last blow.

Smash!

As the ruptures appeared in the third mirror, a sharp inhale sounded from behind George. George spun around, fist still where he’d punched the mirror, just in time to see Y/N’s eyes flutter open, her irises back to their normal color.

Harry and Hermione sighed with relief, and Ron let out a: “Oh, thank Merlin.”

George merely fell to his knees and pulled Y/N’s head into his lap again. “What happened?” she rasped as she blinked up at her husband. “Where am I?”

“You’re okay,” George told her wetly, wiping his own tears off her face. “You used your catoptromancy to help my brother, but you’re good now.”

“Did it work?” Y/N mumbled, her eyelids sagging. 

George lifted his head to look at the trio. “Did you get what you needed?” 

Harry nodded, as if he didn’t trust his voice. 

George looked back to his wife. “Yes, it worked, you did such a good job, I’m so proud of you.”

“You’re proud?” she managed to say.

Her husband choked back a sob. “So, so proud.”

Y/N’s eyes fell closed, but a soft smile appeared on her face.

“George,” Ron said quietly, and George reluctantly looked up at his brother. “Look.”

George followed Ron’s gaze to the shattered mirrors.

They were once again reflecting like normal mirrors, but from every crack oozed a strange black liquid. It dripped down, streaking the broken mirrors and mixing with George’s blood. The group had never seen anything like it.

“Talk about seven years of bad luck,” George said with a shaky grin, but no one laughed.

-

When the group returned to George and Y/N’s house, George gently laid his wife on the couch. “You relax here, and I’ll go make some breakfast, okay?”

Y/N hummed, her eyes shutting as soon as her head fell on the pillow.

George watched her, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. 

He remembered the day they’d gotten this couch. They’d decided on the style, but they couldn’t decide on the color. George hadn’t wanted anything too light, because then it would get dirty too easily. On the flip side, Y/N hadn’t wanted anything too dark. We have too much gloominess in our lives already, she’d told him, before caving and letting him get the dark gray couch. 

Looking at her pallid face now, he knew she was right. 

Hermione and Harry stayed beside the couch, uneasily watching Y/N, but Ron followed George to the kitchen. Once George was out of sight of the living room, he gripped the counter, letting his head hang as he released a slow, tense breath.

“Are you okay?” Ron asked, quietly enough that his friends wouldn’t hear.

“What do you think?” George replied. 

Ron wisely kept his mouth shut, merely watching his brother struggle to collect his composure. 

“I wish I could say I’ll never let her do that again,” George said finally, “but I know that if you three showed up tomorrow asking for help, she’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“I’m sorry,” was Ron’s reply, but it sounded as if he had no idea what he was apologizing for. 

George let out a sound halfway between amusement and disbelief. “If this was anybody’s fault, you’d bet I’d be hexing some eyebrows a neon pink right now.”

Ron shook his head, but couldn’t help his laugh. “George, I’m serious.”

His older brother looked at him. “You’re right. If I did that, Y/N would just shave off mine while I slept as payback.”

Ron knew George was trying to deflect using his most powerful weapon: his humor. Ron wanted to keep pressing his brother for some authenticity, but unfortunately, he knew if he were in this situation, he’d be handling it with far less grace than his older brother. 

With great effort, George started getting out the materials for pancakes. “Are the three of you staying for breakfast?”

“No,” Hermione said from behind Ron, who turned to see her standing beside Harry in the entryway of the kitchen. “We should probably go.”

George nodded as he poured a cup of flour into the bowl. “You have a cup to find.”

Nobody said anything. George measured three teaspoons of baking powder and dropped them into the bowl. 

“George,” Harry said, “if I’d known–”

“Shhhh.” The redhead didn’t look up from his mixing bowl, but his voice was reassuring. “You couldn’t have known, and Y/N wouldn’t want you beating yourself up over it.”

“But she could’ve died,” Harry burst out. “If you hadn’t been there or-or if I’d pushed any harder, who knows what could’ve happened?!”

George dusted his hands on his pants as he walked over to Harry. Harry tensed, as if he were preparing to take a punch, but George just wrapped his arms around him. Judging by the shocked look on Harry’s face, a hug was the last thing he expected. It took a moment before Harry hugged him back. 

George pulled away, earnesty all over his face. “She made the decision. Even if–” George’s voice faltered. “Even if it had ended in the worst possible way, she still would’ve gladly done it to help you.”

Harry looked down at the floor, guilt written all over his face. 

“Listen to me. She was right. If I were in her shoes and you told me I could’ve done something to help take down You-Know-Who, I would’ve done whatever I could to help you guys.” Hermione and Ron rested their hands on Harry’s back as George smiled at him. “You’re our best hope, Harry. Whatever we can do to keep the hope alive, we will.”

Harry nodded solemnly. “Will you…will you tell her ‘thank you’ when she wakes up? She was a huge help.” Ron and Hermione nodded vehemently. 

George grinned. “I’m not sure she’ll believe it, but I most certainly will tell her.” His expression turned stern. “I will also tell her that you won’t be asking her to use her catoptromancy again any time soon.”

Harry winced and nodded. George walked them to the front door. He gave Hermione a side-hug and shook Harry’s hand. Then, he turned to his little brother with a smile. 

Ron gave his brother a bear hug. “Stay alive, okay?”

“Same goes for you,” George replied. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

A mischievous smile appeared on Ron’s face. “So I have free reign to dye some eyebrows neon pink?”

George snorted. “Okay, fine, don’t do anything Percy wouldn’t do.” Ron smiled at his brother. “I’ll tell Mum and Dad I saw you and that you’re okay.”

Ron’s smile turned wistful, but Hermione took his hand, which seemed to steady him. The three of them walked down the path of the house, reaching the end of the lawn and waving before Disapparating. 

George stood watching the place they’d been. He knew his mother would shout at him and quite possibly box his ears for seeing Ron and letting Ron go. But George also knew that whatever they were doing would be crucial before the end. Still, his heart was heavy as he looked to the sky, the rising sun turning the clouds vibrant oranges and pinks. 

Slowly, he shut the door and returned to making pancakes.

George could’ve waved the wand safely stowed in his pocket and had the pancakes making themselves, but he wanted to linger in the kitchen.

For every bit he loved Y/N, it was hard to see his strong, self-sufficient wife so pale, so weak. George’d never been good at watching his loved ones be in pain, especially when there was nothing to be done about it except watch.

Pancakes were easy, and he knew that once he was done, he’d be drowning in his own helplessness again.

But when the fresh blueberry pancakes lay steaming on a plate, he knew it was time to go check on Y/N.

Her eyes were already open when he tentatively returned to the living room, and his stomach sank when he saw how still she lay. “Hey,” he said gently, kneeling beside the couch. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” she said, in a voice far too frail for that statement to be true. 

“Let’s get some food in you, yeah?” Y/N nodded, and she tried to sit up. “Don’t you dare get up,” George barked. “I’ll bring it to you.” Y/N didn’t protest, and George brought her a plate drowning in syrup, just the way she liked her pancakes.

“Just one?” Y/N said with a frown, causing George to chuckle.

“If or when you finish it, I’ll bring you another.” He placed the fork in her hand, closing her fingers around it.

Y/N clumsily cut a piece of the pancake, the fork shaking as she raised the bite of breakfast to her mouth. Once her lips closed around the bite of food, her hand fell to her side, still clutching the fork. 

Wordlessly, George took the fork from her hand and cut the next bite. He fed her, slowly, allowing her all the time she needed to chew and swallow. Somehow, chewing and swallowing had never seemed so difficult—or so precious—before. 

“I must say,” George said with a smile, “I’m suddenly in love with the sounds of your chewing.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the soft smile on her face made him feel like he’d won a great big prize. The more she ate, he noticed with great satisfaction, the more the color returned to her face. When the plate was empty, Y/N sat back in her place against the arm of the couch, looking much better, much more alert. 

“Are you hungry for more?” George asked. Y/N shook her head. “Are you sleepy?” She shook her head again. The restlessness reared its ugly head. “Are there some socks you need ironed or perhaps some carpet that needs dusting?”

She laughed quietly, looking the very picture of contentment. “No, but you can hold me.”

George didn’t hesitate. He set the plate down on their coffee table and carefully laid in between the back of the couch and Y/N, wrapping his arms around her. She nestled into his arms and rested her head on his chest, a soft smile on her face. 

For a while, they were both silent. George watched the sunlight from the nearby window creep across the carpet. It should’ve been relaxing, just the two of them sitting here, awake, but not speaking. 

Unfortunately, George’s thoughts kept returning to the ordeal his wife had just endured. 

The woman in his arms, the love of his life, had almost died today. He’d almost lost this beautiful creature to the fearsome power lurking within that powerful mind of hers. Despite the fact that he did everything he could, it almost hadn’t been enough to bring her back.

The thought made him shudder and pull her closer to him.

“I’m not looking forward to reimbursing Galloglass for those mirrors,” he commented. 

Instead of laughing, Y/N twisted to face him, her hand catching his and bringing it up to her eyes to inspect the fresh damage to his knuckles. “Does this hurt?” she asked him, her voice small.

“Only about as much as a bite from a garden gnome,” George lied, because, really, they didn’t hurt, not at any level of pain worth mentioning.

Y/N began running a finger down his cheek, tracing the path of his earlier tears. “Are you okay?”

George felt trapped, trying to find some way around the question. “I should be asking you that,” he said. 

“You already have, so now it’s my turn.” 

Darn his wife for knowing him so well. 

She rested a hand on his jaw, soothingly running her thumb across his cheek. “Are you okay?” she repeated.

With a shuddering breath, George buried his face into her neck. “No,” he replied, his voice muffled. 

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked, one of her arms winding around his waist. 

“Can you just give me a second?” Y/N’s eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. “I just need us to stay like this,” George clarified, his grip on her tightening. “Just for a little while.”

Y/N lifted a hand, starting to run her hands through his hair. “Okay.” She kissed his cheek. “Okay, we’ll just stay like this.”

Neither of them said anything for a while, and slowly, George felt the knots in his stomach loosen. Nothing healed him so well as proximity to his wife. 

But he felt himself getting antsy, his brain begging for some humor to relieve the emotional charge in the room. “I’m getting rid of this couch,” he finally said. “You’re right, it’s too depressing.” He didn’t need to tell her that it wasn’t due to the color, but due to this whole night. 

He waited for an I-told-you-so, but when Y/N didn’t answer, he looked down to see her eyes shut and her breathing even. 

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to her forehead, breathing in the smell of her hair. “You get to pick the next couch,” he promised her. “Stick with me, and I’ll get you all the couches in the world.”

-

If you enjoyed this, please reblog and read my other George Weasley fanfic called Is It Still Punishment if It Was Worth It?

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle​ @valiantlytransparentwhispers​

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #george weasley #george wealsey x reader #george weasley x y/n #reader insert #george weasley x you #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #protective #divination #magic!reader #wife!reader

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Touch-Starved - Sirius Black X Female (Wife) Reader

Title: Touch-Starved

Sirius Black X Female (Wife) Reader

Additional Characters: Harry, Remus (Mentioned), James (Mentioned), and Lily (Mentioned)

Requested by: Anon!

WC: 3,285

Warnings: Nightmares, death mentioned, crying, very brief yelling, italics, Pre-Battle of Hogwarts, wife Reader, touch-starved Sirius Black, nicknames, banter, teasing, flirting, Azkaban mentioned briefly, Reader mentioned in a dress once (very brief), alcohol mentioned, spiking pumpkin juice mentioned very briefly, sort of sad, bittersweet, slight angst, and bunches of fluff

It was dark, except for the spotlight on your figure. The tears in your eyes ran down your already wet cheeks like waterfalls, dripping from your chin, falling down, down into the never-ending abyss where you stood, and in which was surrounding you. He tried to move, but his feet wouldn't listen; feeling as if they were stuck, cemented down to the ground that seemed to have no end. He opened his mouth to speak, to cry, but no words escaped, not even sound. His heart began to pound loudly behind his ribcage, hammering against him as if it were trying to escape, the thumping in his ears beginning to ring as he tried again to speak, but still nothing.

It was too hot. The air around him was thick and suffocating, seeming as if it was choking him slowly, the feeling of no air making him gasp and sputter. It was a slow, agonizing death, and he was forced to endure it. The silence was deafening, the only sound was that of your quiet cries and his heavy breathing.

He tried to scream, call out to you, but still; nothing. His eyes flickered over himself before looking over at you, and in a matter of moments, your cries grew louder as you cried hysterically, dropping onto your knees, your hands pressed firmly against your face. Your sobs rang out, echoing throughout the darkness.

From the corners of his eyes, long black, spindling fingers reached out from behind him. A multitude of whispers echoed around him menacingly; the words ‘murderer,’ and ‘monster,’ combined with your agonizing cries. He tried to move to run to you, but he was still unable to, watching in horror and absolute panic as the inky-black arms began to twist and swirl around him; like a snake, constricting its prey. They tighten before pulling him backward, his feet lifting miraculously, stumbling as he was dragged.

"Sirius!" You called out to him, your voice harrowing, searing into his mind as you dug your face deeping into your hands, hunching over, your tears pooling around you in a thick puddle of despair. “Don’t take him away from me!”

"Y/N!" He called out to you, finally finding his voice, but it was too late. The hands were dragging him deeper and deeper into the darkness. He tried to hold on, falling onto his stomach harshly, desperately clawing at the ground that seemed to be getting farther away. The only thing he could do was reach out for you, his hand outstretched and tears brimming the corners of his eyes as he stared at you in fear. You tried to reach back out to him, but it was useless, and before he knew it, slowly his vision began to darken around the corners, his sight becoming blurry, and you fading.

"No!" Sirius shot up from the bed, gasping for air. He looked around the room in a panic, finding himself in his bed in Grimmauld Place. He tried to catch his breath, taking in the scenery around him. The early morning sun shined through the window, the curtains swaying with the wind as it blew in. The room was quiet, the only sound was that of his heavy breathing. He quickly looked to his left, finding the space beside him empty.

Another wave of panic settled in the pit of his stomach as he kicked the covers off of him, sweat almost drenching his sleepwear as he shakily ran a hand through his messy, equally sweat-ridden hair. Moving to the side of the bed, Sirius made his way to stand, to search, and find you, but at your sudden appearance at the bedroom door, he stopped.

"Siri, I heard you yell for me." You spoke, your voice like a godsend, calming the man in question just enough for him to take in a deep breath. You stared at him, surveying him, eyes raking over his slouched figure, and panicked expression before you walked further into the room. "Another nightmare?" You then asked, taking a seat beside him, and turning your body towards him.

Opening his mouth, he almost expected to have a hard time finding his voice, but the words came out soft, "... Yeah..." He answered, voice rough, but audible. "Are you alright?" He then asked, his head turning slightly to look at you, his gaze gentle, tired, and yet worried nonetheless.

“I should be the one asking you that, honey,” You nodded your head nonetheless, bringing your hand up to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear, your thumb gently brushing against his stubbly cheek as you cupped his face. "I'm fine, Sirius. Do you want to talk about it?" You answered, your smile small, but comforting.

Sirius sighed through his nose, taking your hand from his cheek to hold in his lap, "It was the same from Monday." He muttered, staring down at your hand, his fingers subconsciously fiddling with yours, thumb brushing against your engagement and wedding band.

"Same from Monday? The abyss one?" You asked carefully, shuffling impossibly closer to him, shoulder to shoulder.

"Yeah, but this time, uh, hands came out of nowhere, and were- were dragging me away." He added, swallowing thickly, as he licked his dry lips, "I couldn't reach you. You kept calling for me. You kept screaming for me... You wouldn't stop crying. I- I couldn't do anything." His brows furrowed, a frown settling upon his lips as his eyes brimmed with fresh tears, his breathing becoming heavy as he closed them, trying to push them back.

"Siri..." You whispered, "Sweetheart, it's alright." You turned his face towards you, "It wasn't real, okay? You're safe. I'm safe, and everything is alright." You tried to assure him, moving closer to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, "I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you. You know that me, Harry, Remus, and so many others would do anything to make sure that the Ministry doesn't come after you again. You know that I would do anything.”

"I know... I just- I can't lose you, Y/N." Sirius choked out, "I- I've lost so much already. I can’t lose you again."

"I know... I know... But I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. It's alright..." You cooed, pulling him into your arms, and hugging him close. He held you back tightly, his hands gripping onto your shirt as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, a shaky breath leaving him.

~~~

The rest of the day was slow. After calming Sirius down, you brought him down to the kitchen; knowing that a good breakfast always helped Sirius after nightmare-filled nights. As you were sizzling some bacon on the stove, you felt two arms wrap themselves around your waist, a nose then pressing into the back of your head; nuzzling slightly in your hair. Sirius said nothing, and so did you, smiling lightly as you continued to cook the food, one hand coming to cover one of his around you. Sirius Black was a strong man, but he still had his fears, and he still had his weaknesses. You weren't a stranger to the nightmares, the night terrors, and the constant worry that he carried around with him. You were plagued with your own nightmares of the Ministry taking him away too.

Being in Azkaban for more than a decade, Sirius came back different. It was inevitable. Back when you both were in school, he was confident - almost arrogantly so - he used to fool around and pull pranks with James. But, all the more, he was brave, loyal, and protective of those whom he called his friends. He was still brave, loyal, and protective, but he was far more complex nowadays, and there was a lot more going on in his head that he didn't always let on. He was still very much Sirius Black - still very flirtatious when he wanted to be - but he had been changed by the experiences he faced in that prison.

You couldn't imagine the horror and the evil he had dealt with in that awful place. To be sentenced and looked at as if he was the villain, someone who had killed two of his best friends, but he wasn't. The thought of him rotting in that place, being tortured, and put through absolute hell made you sick. But, you were glad that he was safe now, and you will continue to make sure that he remained free and safe until the end of your days.

It was a rough journey at first, for both of you, but you gave him time and encouragement. You were always there for him. You will always love him. There was no doubt about that. He was your soulmate, your other half, and your best friend. And even though you could have never predicted that this was how your life would be, you wouldn't change it.

His arms tightened around you slightly, making you blink rapidly out of your thoughts. After escaping Azkaban, and finding you again, the one thing that you noticed so obviously from him was how touch-starved he had seemed. He was always hugging you, holding your hand, cuddling with you, or just simply touching you in some way; almost as if he was making sure you were real or even just because he hadn't seen you - held or touched you - in over a decade. It saddened you, knowing that he had been gone so long, away from you, unable to hold you. You also thought that you were touch-starved too, in a sense that holding him close gave you immense closure. Overall, you were not complaining in the slightest.

"It smells delicious." He mumbled against your hair, making you snort.

"It better, I'm a damn good chef." You teased, reaching out to turn off the stove and pull the pan from the heat. "Bacon, eggs, and toast. Your favorite."

"You're too good to me," Sirius muttered, dropping his face into the dip between your neck and shoulder, "What did I do to deserve you?" He then asked, and you shook your head, placing your hand on his arm. 

"You don't need to deserve me. You've always had me." You reassured him, "I will always be here. No matter what."

"Promise?"

"Promise." You answered, turning your head to press a gentle kiss to his temple, "Now, let's eat, yeah?" You suggested, earning a hum in response, but before you could slip out of his arms, Sirius turned you in his grasp, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. It lasted for a moment before he pulled away, a small smile on his lips.

"I love you," He whispered, and you blinked slowly, still reeling from the sudden kiss.

"Love you more, Siri." You replied, smiling back at him.

~~~

Later in the day, in the early afternoon, you and Sirius sat in the library; the classical music from the record player softly played in the background. Sirius was on the couch, while you were on the floor in front of him, reading a book quietly that you had been planning to read for the past month, but never had the time for. Sirius's hand was in your hair, gently massaging your scalp as he read the Daily Prophet with the other, his brows furrowed in concentration. You hummed, leaning into his touch, making him glance down at you briefly, his furrowed brows lifting as a small grin twitched at the corner of his lips before he went back to reading. It was nice and peaceful. It was quiet. No worries, no secret meetings. Just peace, comfort, and each other.

As the song came to an end, the next one began to play, your eyes quickly lifting from the words on the page to stare at the record player. A nostalgic smile appeared on your face, your head tilting slightly as you felt Sirius's hand still in your hair. "That's our song..." You muttered, chest warming as you immediately thought about a particular night long ago.

"Our song..." Sirius muttered, his hand slipping from your hair before you felt him move off the couch.

Looking up at him, you raised an eyebrow at the sight of his outstretched hand. "Sirius-"

"Dance with me, my love?" He asked, sounding more like a gentle command, but how could you refuse such an ask?

Unable to stop the giddiness that began to bubble up inside of you, you placed your hand in his, a wide smile growing on your face as you stood. "Gladly." You answered, giggling as he pulled you closer to him, his other hand coming to settle on your waist, while you placed yours on his shoulder. He swayed you both slowly to the music, and you smiled up at him, eyes crinkling as he returned the same look.

"I remember our first dance like it was yesterday." You then muttered, your mind flashing back to that moment. Biting your lip, you couldn't help but laugh at a specific memory that swirled in your mind, "It also reminds me of when you took me to the Yule Ball." You spoke, playful in your tone.

Gasping, Sirius spoke up, "Hey! I was an amazing dancer!"

"Siri, we ended up falling onto the ground." You reminded him, snorting when his face began to heat up.

"You stepped on my foot!" He insisted, letting go of your waist to spin you out, and back into his chest expertly.

"You pulled me too close and spun me so fast I lost my balance and tripped over the hem of my dress!" You giggled, rolling your eyes at the memory as Sirius huffed and rolled his eyes playfully. "Of course, I was going to step on your foot after. I was dizzy."

"We were drunk." He answered insistently as you raised an eyebrow, giving him a look.

"That too, but whose fault was that?"

Glancing away briefly, Sirius shrugged his shoulders, "You can't only blame me. It was James’s idea to spike the pumpkin juice too."

Humming, you slipped your hand out of his, unable to break your gaze away from his as you clasped your hands together behind his neck; subconsciously playing with his soft, dark curls. His own hands fell back to your waist, and you pressed yourself closer against him, leaning up slightly to press a soft kiss to his nose. "That's true," You muttered, "At least you learned how to properly dance before our wedding."

"I was an amazing dancer then too. I only messed up once." Sirius continued to joke, feigning a small pout as your eyes softened. At the small glimpse of Sirius's old self. A warm unknown feeling began to tingle across your skin; more nostalgia with a hint of something else. You missed seeing him like that, happy, confident, and just carefree; joking around. It made you happy to see him like that again. You knew he could never go back to how he was, and you would never want him to.

"I remember." You muttered, sucking in a breath, your eyes glancing down at his lips and back up, "Do you remember our kiss?"

Sirius's pout quickly slipped into a small frown, his gray eyes looking up at the ceiling as if he were in deep thought, but he remembered that kiss perfectly... It was something he couldn't forget, something that he thought of a lot back when he was trapped in his cell doing nothing; it kept him from going insane, the thought of you. "It's hard to forget," He muttered, and your heart began to pound against your ribcage, a flush beginning to creep up your neck, onto your cheeks, and the tips of your ears. "You were a vision," His deep, almost bittersweet-filled voice, and the way his eyes stared down into yours so intently made a shiver run down your spine; the world around you seemed to float away, just like at your wedding - so much so - that you didn't even notice that you both had stopped dancing. Sirius raised his hand, brushing a few stubborn strands of your hair from your face, tucking them behind your ear as his eyes flickered between yours. "So beautiful. Still are."

You felt like you couldn't breathe, your throat felt tight and your chest felt like it was filled with butterflies as you stared up at him. You hadn't felt like that since you first started dating him; that fluttering feeling of new love. Back when you both were still teenagers, not even out of Hogwarts yet. Sirius Black still knew how to make you feel like you were the most important person in the room, that you were the center of his universe. An almost bashful smile twitched at the corners of your lips, your eyes flickering down to his own, and back up.

"And I remember, we were standing just like this," He continued, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip softly. "Your eyes, wide and bright, shining like the stars."

"Siri..." You whispered, but he continued.

"The music was loud, but I didn't care. The room was crowded, but we were all alone, the whole world had disappeared for us. It was just you and me. I wanted it to last forever..." He paused, swallowing thickly, his hand moving to gently wrap around the back of your neck, "I held you like this, and then I kissed you."

His head dipped, closing the gap between the two of you. Your eyes fluttered shut, your hands coming to grip his shirt, pulling him closer, and deepening the kiss. The kiss was slow, passionate, and sweet; it was everything that you both wanted and more. It was just like the kiss at the end of your first dance, and it almost felt as if you had been transported back to that night, wrapped up in each other's arms, surrounded by your loved ones; during a time when you didn't have a care in the world.

As Sirius pulled away, you chased after him, making him chuckle before he pulled you close once more. "Taking me down memory lane… You just wanted me to kiss you, didn't you, Mrs. Black?" He whispered.

"Maybe..." You answered, your voice breathless. "It worked though, didn’t it, Mr. Black?"

Sirius looked like he was going to say something else, but at the sound of footsteps and Harry's voice echoing through the halls, you both pulled away, but you stayed close together, hands finding one another. Sirius's thumb brushed against your knuckles as Harry entered the room, a large smile on his face.

"Hey, Sirius, Remus owled. He's coming for supper." The young man gestured back to the hall with his thumb as Sirius smiled brightly.

"Wonderful, my boy," Sirius exclaimed, patting your hand with his free one, "Did he say when he was getting here?"

"Six."

Sirius nodded, "Wonderful." He repeated, "We should prepare for his arrival, then." He responded, looking back down at you with a grin, "What do you think, my darling? Should we prepare a feast?"

You scoffed, "Of course, we should! It's been over a week since he was last here."

"Well, you heard the woman, let's get to it!" Sirius agreed, reluctantly letting go of you walking over to Harry, wrapping an arm around him, "You, Harry, can help me make the mashed potatoes."

"Mashed potatoes?" Harry asked as you joined them, walking together down the hall to the kitchen; Sirius’s hand finding yours once more.

You couldn't help but laugh a little, "It's the only thing Siri can prepare without burning down the house." 

#cute #fluff #x reader #slight angst #fanfiction #fanfic #x female reader #x you #x y/n #request #requested by anon #requested #harry potter #x wife reader #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x wife reader #sirius black x female reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #marauders #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #hp fandom

[robarazzii]

wasn’t gonna drink tonight but i’m missing james and lily potter like mad 😔

(rip to the loves of my life)

#marauders #marauders era #james potter #marauders fluff #marauders headcanon #james potter fluff #james potter headcanon #robarazzii says #james potter x reader #lily evans fluff #lily evans #lily potter #jily #james potter is my boyfriend #lily evans is my wife #halloween #voldy #harry potter

[pleasantangelpaper]

To Keep You Warm

so, there’s a lack of Remus Lupin fluff on here, and I need to fix that. So, here is a silly fluff oneshot about him <3 Also this is my first time writing like genuine fanfic so I hope it’s good! (Also ignore if my paragraphs are formatted weird, I wrote this on my phone)

Warnings: none :)

gender neutral! reader, Unspecified House! Reader

“Darling, would you like me to take you back to your dorm? you’re freezing” Remus Lupin whispered as he held y/n’s ice-like hand. The couple had been sitting in a cozy back corner of the Hogwarts library as Remus prepared for his D.A.D.A exam. It was a cold December afternoon as snow fell from the sky like salt from a shaker. Students drew shapes in the frosty windows as they got bored of studying and instead were dreaming of the winter break that would soon start. Remus’s lovely y/n sat by his side with their head rested on his shoulder as they read a muggle book called “Sense and Sensibility”. Remus’s eyes flickered over to his darling as they spoke,

“No, Rem, I’m fine, really, you need to study for your exams.” They spoke as they huddled closer to Remus inhaling the aroma of coffee and chocolate that seemed to swirl about him. Though they spoke with an air of confidence, Remus knew from their shivering that they would much rather be sitting in bed with a hot cup of tea than in the library, but it was a sacrifice they would make to be with him. Remus sighed and closed his book, a puff of dust from the desk below rose into the air. He gently tapped his partner so that he could push his chair out and begin to pack his things.

“Remus, what are you doing? Your exam is tomorrow. You need to study. I’ll be okay,”

He simply continued to put his books away as he grabbed their hand. Throwing his worn messenger bag over his shoulder, he gently pushed in his chair and ushered his partner to do the same. “Love, I already have made excellent marks in that class, but you will surely freeze if we are to stay here any longer.” He said with a tinge of worry and love in his voice. Y/n’s cheeks flushed at his remarks, and they quietly pushed their chair in as well and began to walk by his side. The couple walked through the corridors which were left empty due to the fact that most students were either huddled by the common room fires, or outside enjoying the winter weather. Noticing the guilt on his partner’s face, Remus let out a sigh and glanced at them, “You know I would do anything for you, dove.” “I know you would Mooney, but your grades are important, I don’t want you to fail out of the class you love the most just because I’m cold” Worry filled their voice as they stopped in their tracks. Tears prickled their eyes as they interlocked with Remus’s. He stopped and placed a slow kiss on their cheek. “Darling, I would fail every class if it meant I could keep you warm.” Y/n’s cheeks flushed a bright crimson red as they leant up and kissed Remus. His lips tasted like mocha with a hint of caramel, and warmth fell over the both of them as Remus pulled them closer, wrapping his arms around their waist. As they pulled away, Remus was now the one with flushed cheeks. The shy boy looked down at the ground, his hair flopping over his right eye. Y’n bent down to look into his eyes, and gently took his hand in theirs as they began walking to the Gryffindor commons once more.

The two walked in a comfortable silence together towards the Gryffindor common room, where their friends, James and Sirius, sat, bickering over something silly. “Sirius, you can’t catch a jumping frog in your mouth as it jumps, what if it tries to jump again while it’s in your mount??”

“ Yeah I can! Watch this!”

The boy caught the frog in his mouth and instantly spit it back out at James as it had tried to jump around in his mouth. The two continued their spat, until they noticed their friends’ entrance. “Mooney, why are you two back so early, I thought you were studying for your exam,” Sirius questioned, considering his best friend usually was quite the bookworm. The aforementioned boy simply continued to walk his lover to the grand red couch by the fire, “ y/n was cold,” he bluntly stated. The two other boys simply stared with their mouths agape. Their mooney was really head over heels for this person. James got up and awkwardly dragged a, still shocked, Sirius up to the boys dormitories as he muttered something about leaving the two alone. Y/n had turned a bright shade of fuchsia at the exchange. They laid their head on Remus and stared into the fire and wished that the moment could last forever.

#Remus lupin x reader #remus lupin is my male wife #remus lupin #remus x reader #harry potter #marauders era #marauders x reader #y/n #remus x y/n

[starstruckwillows]

james potter x wife!reader

okay, what if we see little moments of the two of them raising harry all the way through his 7th year? like harry hosting sleepovers with ron and hermione and ginny and y/n and james being the best parents ever. and dropping harry off for the first time at platform 9 3/4. and girls coming into the picture. and idk, but you get it right?

♡ we deserve this life - j.p ♡

starstruckwillows 🂱

pairing; james potter x wife!reader

category; fluff, tiniest bit of angst if you squint with reading glasses on

summary; your beautifully regular life with your husband years after the war

warnings/content; none

other; fem!reader, erasure of so much death and canon sadness cos no thanks, bi harry

the war was painfully long and sorrowful, and when you fell pregnant, you were terrified to bring a baby into such a warstricken world.

but when your son was only a year old, the terror ended with what you thought would become a sacrifice. ultimately, things shook out and voldermort was killed.

you and james got the happy years raising your son that you needed.

"this is the life we deserve angel, i promise." james had whispered on the night of your wedding.

philosopher's stone

"go on harry, run!" james nudged your son's shoulder, who gripped his trolley uncertaintly.

you ruffled his hair, "don't worry, dad'll go first."

your husband shifted awkwardly, "erm well, i haven't... in a while, you know... since our last year and..."

with a laugh and an eyeroll, you slipped through the barrier, harry and james appearing just after, confidence restored.

and as harry rushed away to converse and load his things onto the train, you watched him with bittersweet love.

when the train took off, chugging away, james squeezed an arm around your shoulder as you buried your face into him to hide your upset.

"he's gonna have fun! don't cry love."

you sniffled, "oh yeah, like you won't be bawling later."

chamber of secrets

well, have fun he did.

amongst hosting sleepovers with his newfound trio over the holidays, it had slipped his mind to mention he could speak parseltongue, or that the heir of slytherin was traversing the school with a murderous basilisk.

you clutched your heart with an open mouth as you read the letter from dumbledore, "basilisk?" you screeched.

meanwhile james enthusiastically encouraged your son with a howler.

"oh merlin is ginny alright?"

"so proud of you harry!"

"fawkes? oh gods-"

"how's quidditch going anyway?"

"hermione, petrified?"

"oh, and also-" james frowned, cutting himself off and turning to you, "did you just say hermione was petrified? how'd harry and ron get anything done?"

you laughed shakily, still in fear, "oh i'm sure she found a way to tell them anyway."

james noticed your unease, ended the howler and swept you up into a dramatic hug, spinning you round until your ribs hurt from laughter.

"jamie, put me down!" you gasped out through your giggling, which he finally did.

"we raised the coolest son in the world."

prisoner of azkaban

your heart dropped when you read the headlines - peter pettigrew escapes azkaban.

james and you shared a look of pain. for the first time, this was not your husband comforting you when you fretted over harry being so far from home. this was a real threat, maybe even more so terrifying for james.

"mum, dad? what are you reading?"

wordlessly, james leaned back onto the sofa and a ran a hand through his signature mop of hair.

harry moved forward, peering at it, "peter pettigrew? who's that?"

you let out a sigh. thirteen years without harry knowing wormtail as the man that had almost got you all killed had been a push. it was always going to come to this eventually.

you felt better knowing remus would be teaching at hogwarts this year, sirius moving to the castle with him.

still, that night you could do nothing for james but let him push his face into your neck and tighten your arms around him.

goblet of fire

when harry's name was pulled from that goblet, james surprised everyone by being fully and completely on your side, screaming in dumbledore's office with mcgonagall's backing, so loudly the owlery rustled every few minutes.

and when you finally accepted the situation, you were his most enthusiastic supporters, taking temporary residence up in hogsmeade and spending your weekends burning the 'potter stinks' badge.

"you can't beat up a child."

you scoffed, "james, i'm not going to beat him up. the malfoys weren't ever going to raise a nice kid, i don't blame him yet."

james hummed, nodding, "mhm, right, so why is your wand in your hand?"

you looked down at it with a sharp laugh, "this isn't beating him up."

order of the phoenix

admist the war, something you never wanted your son to experience, there was a tiny beacon of what you thought was hope.

harry's relationship problems - he did not consider them hope.

"so in short, i really like cho, but she's just broken up with cedric."

you hummed in thought, "i see. are you close with cedric, will it impact your friendship?"

harry groaned, thunking his head back onto the wall, "well, i really like him too. it's a classic bi crisis situation."

considering the triangle until it made both of your head's hurt, he threw his hands in the air, "alright, i'm putting this behind me and focusing on my o.w.ls, and throwing umbridge off a cliff."

james walked in at that moment and admonished him lightly, "c'mon harry, y'know your mum doesn't like you talking about teachers like that. even sniv- snape."

you snorted, "umbridge is a troll. actually, that's harsh... to trolls."

half blood prince

you and your husband were curled into balls on the sofa, laughing until tears burned on your face.

"half- oh merlin i can't!" you wheezed, coughing.

"prince! oh my, snivellous his royal highness!" james pushed his glasses aside as they grew misty from the condensation of his crying.

you gasped, "he called himself that. seriously."

harry mumbled, "actually, he still does."

and the laughter started all over again.

"also, i kissed ginny."

you bolted up, almost knocking heads with james, chanting at the same time, "knew it!"

deathly hallows

the battlefield was rough and shredded and covered in debris. many had been lost. other's changed for life by injuries. all traumatized by the destruction.

your son trembled in your arms for the first time in a year, exhausted and drained. for the most awful, wrenching, angry feeling in your life, you thought you'd lost him. dry screams had brought you to your knees. but he was here now. it was over.

"you're alright harry, you did so good, i'm so proud of you." you fought back your sob as your husband joined you sitting on the stairs.

families were embracing and mourning across the space, and in this moment, you had never appreciated your family so much.

you deserved this life.

taglist:

@anordinarymuse @ellora-brekker

#starstruckwillows #fluff #marauders #marauders era #james potter x reader #james potter fluff #james potter x wife!reader #james potter #harry potter

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

Date Night

pairing: regulus black x wife!reader

genre: fluff

requested by: @shyposttree

Date night, no longer a time that comes often since children came into the picture. Regulus was thrilled once he convinced Y/N to leave their two kids with Sirius and Remus so they could have the evening to themselves. 

After a nice dinner the two walked back to their house and crashed on the couch instantly becoming a tangle of arms and legs. Y/N rested her head on his shoulder and sighed contently before turning on the t.v. 

Regulus yawned, “It’s getting late, my love.” Y/N turned to look at him with a pout, “You’re not leaving me here are you?” He smiled softly and shifted them around so he laid his head on her lap. “I guess not.” She smiled and watched as Regulus wrapped his arm around her legs. The light from the television  reflected off his grey eyes lit up his face.

Y/N placed a kiss on his forehead and ran her hands through his black curls, admiring him. Regulus smirked, “Like what you see?” She nodded shamelessly, “You’re so handsome.” Y/N’s star-struck smile turned into a smirk as she watched his cheeks turn pink. She leaned down and kissed his cheek, “I love you.” Regulus smiled, “I love you too.”

#regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black x wife!reader #regulus black x you #regulus black x y/n #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagines #ellora.writes #requested

[beachatsunset]

Proofreader

Hello,

I know what it's like to write a story and reread it 1000x times and still find mistakes, sometimes it just needs fresh eyes. As an avid reader of both original content and fanfiction, I am more than willing to proofread your work and give you suggestions.

I have 5 years of experience in creative writing. I am a full-time student who is trying to get by, it was either becoming a freelance fanfiction writer or opening an OnlyFans account and let's hope I backed the right horse. I have been writing seen I was a teenager and I have developed my writing skills and have developed my own style of writing.

#ellie williams fluff #ellie williams #harry potter fandom #the marauders #poly marauders #tlou fanfiction #ellie williams x female reader #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x wife!reader #joel and ellie #george wealsey x reader #fred weasley x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x harry potter #hermione x reader #levi ackerman #eren yeager #erwin attack on titan #attack on titan #mha #mha fanfic recs #fanfic #proofreader #writers #writing #creative writing

[ifconfusionwasaperson]

I'm so in love with Lily Evans

#James can date Regulus as long as his wife is free #Im convinced her and I would make such good couple too #lily evans hc #james x lily #lily evans x reader #Lily evans x me #Date me pls #james potter #harry potter #james & peter & remus & sirius #remus lupin #sirius black #the marauders #peter pettigrew #the marauders era #the marauders era headcanon #the marauders headcanon

[miryum]

A Green and Silver Ring (Mattheo Riddle x Reader)

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

Word Count: 10.3k

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

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

From the desk of Ginevra

My dearest friend,

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

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

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

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

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

I love you, my friend.

Ginny

From the office of Lorenzo

Miss. L/n,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m looking forward to making your acquaintance.

Lorenzo Berkshire

P.S. I hope I haven’t scared you off.

From the office of L/n

Daughter,

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

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

Your father

From the desk of Ginevra

Y/n,

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

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

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

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

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

Best wishes, 

Ginny

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mattheo had glowered, but shut his mouth. 

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It seemed too concrete to fathom.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You simply uttered, “okay.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight,” you reiterated. 

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

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

It was too late now to apologise.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mattheo saw red. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“Reading,” you said simply. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He rather liked it when you smiled.

***

“Are you alright?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How was the dinner?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laughed lightly. “Luck? Fate?”

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love my children too,” Mattheo defended.

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

“Always.”

#mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle #reader #x reader #tom riddle #ginny weasley #harry potter #lorenzo berkshire #bellatrix lestrange #hermione granger #pansy parkinson #shes a great aunt #draco malfoy #sirius black #remus lupin #blaise zabini #theodore nott #albus severus potter #arranged marriage #one bed trope #enemies to lovers #greek mythology #victorian au #manipulative parents #Tom isn't Mattheo's brother #hope yall like

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Could I please get a fic with Sirius being touch-starved with his wife after Azakaban in Grimmauld Place? xo

This was very fun to write, probably my favorite of the Sirius Black fics I've made :) I'm sorry it took so long to post! I hope you like it! <3

#cute #fluff #x reader #slight angst #fanfiction #fanfic #x female reader #x you #x y/n #request #requested by anon #requested #harry potter #x wife reader #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x wife reader #sirius black x female reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #marauders #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #hp fandom

[queers-gambit]

I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good

prompt: ( requested ) basking in the sunshine, breathing fresh air, bare skin tickled by tall grass, and Felix, who can't focus on the Half Blood Prince when his girl's got his full blooded attention.

pairing: Felix Catton x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Saltburn

word count: 2.3k+

note: i wrote this in an hour 'cause, you know, brainrot.

warnings: slight request variation (you'll see), there's probably cursing. anyways, suggestive language, no real spoilers, slight Ollie slander, college kids doing drugs, and no HP spoilers for those who haven't read.

All you could smell was his expensive cologne, barely breaking a sweat under the summer sun as he remained wrapped around you like a child did their mother on the first day of school. You were never one for suffocating affection nor clingy behavior, something leftover from childhood, but with your boyfriend, you craved it; and he knew it. He took advantage of it.

"Are you even listening or are you too busy trying to identify the smell of my shampoo?"

"Hmm? Yeah, yeah, 'M listenin', love, uh, you know, something about... Harry doing something stupid, yeah?"

You snorted lightly, head tilting back to look up at your boyfriend's amused expression. "A lucky guess - 'cause Harry's always doing some dumb shit."

"Yeah, you know, there's a reason he wasn't considered for Ravenclaw."

"Don't be mean, we all have our strengths and weaknesses," you gently reprimanded. "So he's not the smartest guy ever, but he's brave as hell, isn't he?"

"Has to be, being a Gryffindor and all."

"I doubt we would've done half this shit at 16."

"Totally right, we had other worries - like our first pregnancy scare."

"Felix!"

"What, doll face? Huh? C'mon, what's the quote? I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"

"Oh, you absolute cheesy fuck!"

His laugh could've echoed across the field, the two of you laid out on an oversized blanket; crushing the long grass surrounding his home, Saltburn. 'Home' always felt so mundane when describing the freaking castle his family inhabited; after all, his father, Sir James, was literally knighted - making the Cattons feel larger than life. You'd known the family for over a decade now, meeting Venetia on your first day of school when a rude boy smacked your lunch tray right out of your hands, being inducted to their family almost straight away.

As it turned out, your mother and father were friendly with Sir James and his wife, Elspeth Catton, and after only a month in your new town, you were invited to Saltburn for a family meal.

It became a monthly occurrence.

And when you started dating Felix when you were both 15, it was like life was simply alining with the stars. Destiny being fulfilled. Fate smiling on you both.

Your parents tried to play off the relationship, but after you turned 16, they realized how serious you two seemed about each other. And when you both decided to attend Oxford together (rejecting your father's alma mater, the University of Edinburgh), your mother made constant jibes about your wedding. At first, it was just a few, little, sometimes funny, but mostly harmless comments here and there, and then it escalated to full-on conversations between your mothers.

Like they had flowers and color scheme picked out, deciding on hosting at Saltburn, even debating wedding dress ideas! Your mother wanted something lacy, Elspeth wanted something form fitting and "sexy" - being where their opinions clashed and the conversation elevated to near arguments.

Anyways, laying on the blanket in the field, alone, became a regular occurrence for you and Felix once you realized the absolute HOLD the Harry Potter series had on you both. Where the brother and sister had matching HP star tattoos on their hands, that had convinced you to get a set of three stars - your only tattoo, nestled behind your left ear. Venetia technically got you into the series, letting you borrow the first book, and then gifting you each book once published; but it was more like a "tradition" to read them with Felix.

See, when you were younger, you had a stutter that made you wildly insecure, but reading out loud helped you work through it. Was it a perfect system? Of course not, but your boyfriend was adamant that it'd help - and eventually, it did. So much so, you received top marks in each of your public speaking or debate classes, something the Catton's still praised you over.

Felix liked listening, and the times you got a little tongue-tied and frustrated, he would take over to let you a small reprieve. Today was no different, laid in the field, the grass tickling your bare feet and calves as the sun soaked into your bare skin. Either of you only wore a pair of sunglasses, Felix sat up on his elbow to support your body laid against his; his fingers dancing light patterns over whatever body part he could reach. Currently, it was your hip.

He laid quick kisses where he could, whispered sweet nothings in your ear, used his teeth to nibble your flesh. Anything to make you trip over your words, like the little shit he was.

You felt your breathing shift when Felix's lips and tongue ghosted up your neck, sweeping stray strands of hair from your shoulder before his fingertips were ghosting over your collarbone and down your chest to tweak your nipple. The cold of his bracelets and watch on your sticky skin felt like a drastic contrast to the warmth of the day.

"You're infuriating, I'm trying to read," you scolded, swatting his hand away; but smirking in amusement that assured him you weren't truly annoyed.

"Roll over, sweetheart, I needa rest my arm," he muttered in your ear, licking the shell - making you squirm with a small giggle.

"Can you behave? For once?"

"How can I? When you look like this? I mean, Goddamn, I really got the prettiest girl, don't I?" He smirked, watching you lift off his chest to roll onto your stomach; perched on your elbows. "Now, that's a sight, might be my favorite," he grinned, bringing his hand down to smack one of your arse cheeks - palming the flesh tightly, giving a jiggle for his amusement.

"Felix!" You squealed, fully anticipating this treatment; trying to hide your full-teeth grin.

"C'mon, love, let's get a bit naughty," he teased. "Oliver doesn't get here for another two days, we're not gonna be alone much longer."

You scoffed lightly, "You're the one who had to befriend The Clinger."

"Oi, c'mon now, tellin' me t'be nice about Harry? Don't call him that, love, he's just a lonely chap. Needs a friend."

You hummed, readjusting the book under you. "He's a bit creepy, Fi," you admit. "I mean, he stares - like a lot. And remember I told you, I saw him looking through your dorm window that one night?"

He sighed, "He was just drunk, love, we've been over this."

"You're so quick to excuse him," you noted, offering him a bewildered look as he readjusted to lean over your back. His head nuzzled between your shoulder blades, letting a hand pet down the slope of your spine; forcing a small tremor through your muscles.

"He's got no one else."

"Doesn't mean he needs you, my sweet boy. Honestly, you stretch yourself too thin. Maybe if you focused less on these so-called friends and more on your studies...?"

"I appreciate the worry, babygirl," he mused, laying three kisses to your shoulders, "but it's all right, got you quizzing me nightly. Swear, you know my coursework better than I do. And besides, you're the one who says there's no such thing as too many friends."

"Hm," you let your eyes roll slightly, "I was obviously high when I said that and probably didn't mean bloody Oliver."

"Speaking of," he grinned, reaching for the rucksack he brought with you; now hosting your clothes, but also carrying the Altoid tin he used to store pre-rolled joints.

"Are you even listening to the story anymore, baby?"

"Of course I am, toots, I can multi-task." You hummed in response, waiting for him to finish lighting up before continuing onto a new paragraph; feeling him shift on your back. But you faltered when smoke blew against your cheek, Felix's lips descending a moment later to noisily smooch your skin. "You're so fucking pretty," he mumbled.

"I think you have ADHD."

"We knew that."

"Maybe you need something for that."

"Because I'm not listening to Harry Potter?"

"I knew it!" You laughed, shivering again when his free hand drew up your spine to nestle in your hair; handing you the joint with the other. "Fi, you're still distracting me," you moaned slightly, leaning your head back into his touch - contradicting your own words.

"You're doin' great, love," he grinned, licking the skin behind your ear, at your tattoo. "Keep goin', c'mon, I wanna hear what happens next."

"You're gonna reread this chapter when I go to bed, aren't you?"

Felix paused, "Maybe."

You grunted, dropping your head to the book before lifting it again and taking an inhale from the joint. Felix grinned at you in mischief, rolling over onto his back; hand behind his head as he stared up at you. You shook your head at him, handing the joint over before shuffling so you were laid on his chest with the book spread open in one hand.

"Love?" He mumbled.

"Hmm?" You glanced at him.

"Maybe... Uh, yeah, maybe start the chapter over? I'm a bit lost," he snickered, coughing when you tisked at him and offered a slightly annoyed look. "C'mon, baby, you can't tell me you were totally focused, either! You love me touching you, I can see it on your face."

To prove his point, the arm he had wrapped around you drifted to, once more, take a handful of your ample bottom - causing you to gasp slightly.

But you pouted, "I kinda want to finish this chapter, baby."

"And I'm distracting you?"

"Obviously."

Felix laughed, "Spot on Professor Snape, baby."

"If I read like Snape the rest of the chapter, will you pay attention to me?"

"You know what? I don't know, that voice is kinda a turn on... Everything you do is a turn on, doll."

"You'd think the consistent fucking we do would rein in your hormones."

"Nah," he tutted, squeezing his hand, "not when I got a girl like you, gettin' me all riled up. I mean, Half-Blood Prince, who? Got me full blooded, right here." You chuckled when he glanced at his cock, folding the book closed and deflating onto his chest and accepting the joint again. "Oh, c'mon, don't stop, 's just gettin' good!"

"You were calling Harry stupid literally 5 minutes ago."

"Come off it, when isn't he?"

"When he's fighting Voldemort?"

"Hm," he considered, tucking his hand into your hair to massage your scalp; gently pulling through your hair. "You might have a point."

"And now Dumbledore's - "

"Hey, hey, no spoilers!"

"It's not a spoiler if you were listening to me!"

"I'm always listening," he whined, you blowing smoke across his abdomen; watching his abs contract from the slight tickle; his cock bobbing from the movement and making you flush with heat not from the sun. "You're just so much more interesting, hmm?" He mumbled.

"Hey, hey. Flattery gets you everywhere with me," you teased, loving the easiness of his smile. "C'mon, pretty boy, your turn."

He took the joint from you, watching you try to pull back - but tightening his arm. "Stay here, love havin' you close," he mumbled, placing the joint to his mouth and reaching for the book again. Not wanting his arm to retract from your form, you reached up to take the joint from him; listening as he went back to the beginning of the chapter while your leg hiked up his hips.

Every other puff, you fed Felix the joint until there was nothing left; wee small roach being stubbed out in the dirt, leaving you two relaxed, high, and laid over one another as he continued to lazily read. But his hand still traced invisible patterns over your skin, the warmth of the sun making you sweat, but the way your boyfriend touched you made you shiver.

He knew you loved it, yet didn't so much as stutter on a single word when his smirk would grow feeling your reactions to his touches.

At the end of the chapter, he glanced down at you and let his lips follow; tightening his arm to bring you in closer, leaving repeated kisses on your forehead. You squirmed closer, giggling and bringing your hand up to hook around the back of his neck, directing him to your lips as he rolled over so you were on your back and he was hovering over you. "You're distracting me, now, li'l minx," he teased.

"Oh, how unfair, what ever shall you do?"

He chuckled, pecking your lips twice more, then asking, "Another chapter or...?"

"Yes, one more chapter," you laughed, "but then we're gonna have to head back up, your mum wanted my help with something."

"Oh, she's got you some new dresses she wants you to try," he relaid.

"I thought she stopped doin' that?"

"She loves spoiling you," Felix eased. "And Venetia stopped letting Mum dress her, so, you know... Here, you read this one."

You agreed, letting him readjust so he was sat up again, keeping you between his spread legs so he could peer down at the book from over your shoulder. Was it distracting, feeling his fully blooded cock at your back? Absolutely. Was it mildly erotic for you to ignore it and continue reading - as if his warmth wasn't making you wet? Also, yes.

"Fi," you whispered when his lips danced across your shoulder. "Distracting me, again," you half-scolded.

"You're doin' great, love," he chuckled.

But he didn't stop, it was like he was turning himself on (more) by his soft, gentle touches; and being spurred onward when he noted the way your chest heaved when your breath changed.

"Keep goin'," he whispered in your ear, dragging his hands up to cup either bare breast and swipe his thumbs around your nipples to stiffen them into peaks.

"Felix - "

"Don't stop," he encouraged, "'s real endearing the way you're tryna fight this."

"You try to get between me and Potter one more time, we're going on a sex strike."

There was a pause as you looked up at him, both sharing growing grins before bursting into echoing laughter that Venetia heard from one of the loungers close to the house. She grinned to herself, turning the page of her own Half-Blood Prince book.

requesting rules and masterlist

Saltburn masterlist

#felix catton #felix catton imagine #felix catton fluff #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x reader #felix catton x fem! reader #felix catton x you #fix it felix #saltburn #saltburn 2023 #saltburn movie #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn felix #saltburn felix catton #saltburn imagine #jacob elordi

[pleasantangelpaper]

What if I started writing silly marauders fanfiction…..okay bye

#marauders #remus lupin is my male wife #I actually don’t like James Potter that much #sue me #Sirius and Remus should have ended up together idc idc #I also love Tonks tho #harry potter #remus lupin x reader #siruius black x reader #wolfstar #remus x sirius #james potter

[lucyrose191]

12 YEARS LATER|S.O BLACK

Author’s note; will definitely be a part 2 to this.

Pairing; Young/POA!Sirius Black x Fem!wife!reader

Summary; 12 years after having your life ripped to pieces your godson walks into your home after returning home from Hogwarts and he’s invited someone else to come as well.

Warnings; Angst? Fluff.

HP/Marauders Master List

You had tried keeping him out in the beginning, your heart would not be able to bear the pain that a playboy could cause. You had told him so, there would be no chance of you two ever happening, never thinking his womanising personality would change, especially not for someone like you.

But if Sirius Black was anything he was unrelenting, he was determined and genuine in his advances and soon you found your heart fluttering with each sparkling smile and cheeky wink he sent your way.

Each touch would send a spark of electricity shooting through your veins and each lingering stare would burn into your skin, each a reminder of him even when you were apart.

You were sixteen when the pair of you became official, a third of your way through your sixth year of Hogwarts and the pair of you were wrapped up in coats and scarfs, adorned with a heating charm to protect you both from the cool February air at the top of the Astronomy tower.

Who knew Sirius Orion Black could be a romantic?

In that moment as he held you under the night sky, holding your hand as he raised them both into the sky, directing you to where his namesake lay, how could you have said anything but yes to him.

You had spent the best years of your life with him, moving in together at seventeen, engaged at eighteen, married at nineteen, godparents at twenty and well, twenty one had left you and your godson alone.

All Hallows’ Eve of 1981 is a day you never want to remember but it’s a day that remains as a permanent scar on your brain.

Your closest friends had lost their lives, their son had lost their parents, Remus had disappeared without a trace, Peter was dead and your Sirius had been taken to Azkaban.

You didn’t have time to grieve, you had a child to raise and offer him the best life you could and you did.

You watched him adjust to walking by himself, learn how to confess his wants and needs with more than just childish babbles and each day you’d witness as he showed more and more qualities of his parents.

Not only did he share most of his features with James Potter but he also shared his father’s cheeky personality and charisma.

However, the times where you saw Lily in him shined bright; when he’d offer to share any treat with you or when he’d climb into your bed to protect you from the monsters (you knew it was for his own comfort but it still melted your heart).

Now, that little boy was a young man and whilst it was becoming common for him to give you near heart attacks, you couldn’t be more proud of how intelligent and brave he was.

You truly saw his maturity earlier in the year when you’d had to sit him down and tell him the news of Sirius Black, that his godfather had escaped the prison he was put into for the betrayal of James and Lily Potter.

He had been hurt, you had seen that but he had handled it with grace and was more concerned about how you felt than the possible danger he was in, because you were the most important person in his life.

It was now the end of June, you had allowed Harry to make his own way home from Platform nine and three quarters upon his own request, believing he was now old enough to have that extra freedom.

It left you at home to make his favourite meal for when he gets home alone with his favourite snacks, movie and blankets set up in the living room for a movie night after dinner.

It was around five in the evening when you heard the front door being thrown open followed by the dumping of his bags and trunk being dumped on the floor.

Then heavy footsteps pounded through the hallway, shortly followed by your vision being clouded by a mess of jet black hair as Harry launched himself into your arms.

"Merlin, Harry! You’re going to break one of my ribs if you keep growing," you exclaimed, wrapping your arms around him, he was growing far too quickly for your liking.

"I had the best year ever, Y/N!" He told you as he pulled out of your arms. "I think I passed all of my tests except divination but that’s a load of rubbish anyways, Hogsmeade was so much fun and Professor Lupin was actually a good teacher- oh, he told me to tell you he misses you by the way and that he’s sorry for leaving."

You smiled tightly, Harry had told you in his first letter about ‘Professor Lupin’ and whilst you were glad he had a good teacher, it was hard to ignore the pain that came with his name, he had left you and Harry alone in a time where you should’ve been able to rely on each other, you weren’t ready to see him or speak to him again.

"I’m glad you had a good year, Harry," you replied sincerely, turning back to watch the food as he continued speaking.

"Oh, and I met Sirius Black! He’s innocent so don’t worry about it, he’s actually amazing!"

You whipped your head around as the colour drained from your face. "You what?"

Harry couldn’t keep the smile from his face as he nodded "you’ll never believe it, I didn’t believe it in the beginning either but Sirius wasn’t mum and dad’s secret keeper, it was Peter Pettigrew that was secretly working for Voldemort and after my parents were murdered Sirius went to confront him but Pettigrew framed him, chopped off his finger and turned into a rat; can you believe he’s an Animagus!?"

He didn’t seem to realise how you weren’t matching his enthusiasm or how pale you’d gotten.

"Did you know Sirius could turn into a dog?"

"Harry…" you ignored his question. "You’ve seen Sirius? You’ve spoken to him?"

"Yeah!" He replied enthusiastically, not paying attention to the tone of your voice. "I wanted to talk to you about that actually, can he come and stay with us? I assumed it would be okay because the two of you are married and I thought we could be a proper family then."

You couldn’t even process what he was saying, it was as though you had completely disassociated, how could you even fathom seeing Sirius again?

The man you had loved and married all of those years ago, you hadn’t seen him in twelve years, you were two completely different people right now. He had been through unfathomable hell, hell that you couldn’t even begun to imagine and you had changed beyond belief, for Harry to believe you could just start over and pretend nothing happened was ridiculous.

And if Sirius believed that too then he was completely mad if not plain stupid.

A scratching at the door drew both your’s and Harry’s attention and the way his eyes lit up made you feel sick to your stomach. "Harry," you spoke faintly, "what is that?"

Harry titled his head at you curiously, "Well I told him where we lived so he could come and visit me, he was glad you hadn’t moved and well he wanted to see you as well."

You slowly shook your head, feeling completely overwhelmed at everything that had just been shot at you in such a small amount of time. "No no no no no, he can’t be here," you muttered frantically.

"What do you mean?" Your godson asked dumbly.

"I mean that he can’t just show up here out of the blue with absolutely no warning, we can’t just pretend that the past twelve years haven’t happened, Harry. It doesn’t work like that. We’ve both changed and we aren’t going to go back to being husband and wife. I’m happy you have your godfather back, Harry, I truly am but you need to give me some warning for this."

Harry slumped in his seat at the kitchen table. "What, so I tell him to leave? We have so much to catch up on."

The disappointed look on his face made your heart break, you had always struggled saying no to him and had probably spoilt him more than you should have but knowing that the man you had loved more than anything was on the opposite side of the door filled you with a sense of dread.

But how could you take this away from him?

You couldn’t, it was as simple as that.

You’d face your husband for the first time in over a decade if that made Harry happy because that’s all you had lived for the past twelve years, making your godson happy.

"Go and open the door," you regretfully nodded your head towards the front door, joy built up in Harry’s face as he jumped up and rushed for the front door whilst you simply stood alone in the kitchen waiting for your past to come and hit you in the face.

What were you even going to say to him?

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