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pizzaapeteer · 5 months

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FU in my head part 2

Part 1 here Pairing Mattheo Riddle x fem reader

Summary Unable to forget Mattheo's longing gaze after potions, your mind lingers on the meaning behind it. When he approaches you later that night, you're left unaware of his intentions and how this would play them out.

Warnings Oral (male receiving), female orgasm, semi-public sex, facefucking, swearing, slight degrading, sadistic thoughts, hair pulling, dom/sub dynamics.

Word count 2400

a/n: I was inspired by this lovely fic written by @mrsriddlenott

And big thank you to @finalgirllx for the amazing edit of Mattheo 💜

Darkness lurks near, flames flickering in the wind, their shadows illuminating on the old stone walls. The disappearance of time was visible with the passing of chattering students on their way to dinner. Making your way across the courtyard, your skin pricked with a frantic charge, your frustration growing in need of a release.

The combination of your brimming timetable and interactions with friends had left you without a moment to yourself. Despite your aching core, you sigh in relief that you hadn't seen Mattheo since potions. You weren't sure your body could handle witnessing the attractive boy again. Just the recollection of Mattheo's amused smirk had your cheeks tinting.

Troubling thoughts formed within that perhaps you had imagined it all. Worry pulled in your chest, fear that your fantasies were becoming more visual. Overwhelmed, you quicken your pace hoping to retreat to your dorm, but Mattheo's figure emerging halts you. You jump to conceal yourself behind a nearby pillar, impatiently waiting for him to depart. Unable to resist, you peak from behind the pillar, stalking his every move fervidly. Your eyes are drawn to him as he strides confidently down the corridor. Mentally groaning, you bite your lip. How can someone walking be so enticing? Curiously you watch, pulling back hastily as Mattheo's eyes narrow in your direction.

You hold your breath in anticipation, hoping he hadn't noticed you. The air thickens at the sound of approaching footsteps. Mattheo's tall form surfaces in front of you, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he studies your expression. The scent of cigarettes and mint intoxicates your senses. You stare meekly, frozen in place, your core clenching at his intense gaze. A dark chuckle leaves his lips, his voice low, as if speaking to himself, "Finding you was quite the challenge." Your heart quickens to an unrelenting pace, a surge of heat swells in your chest. You scrunch your brows, scanning his face for an explanation. Instinctively, you step back into the warmth of the light, his body closing the space between one another. The intimacy of your bodies allowed you to admire the sharpness of his features. Glints of intrigue flash in his mahogany eyes, his lips twitching into a mischievous grin. It left you swallowing as your lips parted, your cheeks heating, head screaming. "Why were you looking for me? Did I leave something in potions?" You ramble, unable to fathom him talking, even acknowledging your presence out of class. He doesn't answer your question, meandering his gaze between your eyes and lips. His tongue glides across his bottom lip, sliding in as he bites it. "You know, Theo's always telling me, it's the quiet ones... who are the dirtiest. Is that true?", glamour soaks his voice.

Your eyes widen in alarm, jaw dropping, breath caught in your throat. Your neck prickles, a shiver running up it. Your core palpitates at his words, clear embarrassment and arousal paints your face. You'd never been so red before, the scarlet colour apparent to him as he smirks. He crowed at your reaction, watching you struggle to speak. "God, look at you, a flustered little thing." He rests a hand against the stone, flicking your ear with his finger tauntingly.

Cocking an eyebrow, his eyes intensify, longing for an answer to his previous question. When you couldn't give one, except a small, unexpected whimper. An amused grunt withdrew from his lips, smirking he responds, "So it's true, you're fucking filthy, aren't you?". Mattheo revels in your desperation, his cock twitches as he watches you struggle to conceal your arousal. Feeling flustered as being called out, your eyes fall, avoiding his gaze. A cold hand grips your chin, jerking your head to look up to him. Towering over you, he leans his body down to meet your gaze, his eyes revealing the hunger inwardly. Your mind attempts to regard what was happening. Were you having another daydream?

In a rapid movement, Mattheo's lips embrace yours hungrily. The unforeseen action startles you before your hands instinctively clasp, reaching for him. Raising your hands, your fingers snake through his curls, pulling him closer. You had only kissed one other before, and it couldn't compare to the experience of kissing Mattheo.

Mattheo's lips captured yours in a ravenous fire of passion, his hand veering down from your chin, shoving through your hair. His hand clamps the back of your neck, a sharp tug pulling your head against the hard brick. The harsh force sends sharp pains up your scalp, your mouth falling open in an ache. Mattheo, unphased by your pain, uses the clearly intended action to delve further. His tongue manoeuvres forth, colliding with yours, capturing your breath. Your head spins, your lips struggling to keep up with his expertise.

Relief consumes you, as oxygen replenishes your lungs, your heart palpitating. The moment is stolen by Mattheo's lips ravaging your neck. His hand still clasps you, his fingers squeezing your neck. His lips soft and warm attack your skin, small nips pinching at your nape. Your skin burns, body reacting as whimpers and moans leave your lips. Your eyes shut tightly as your fantasy is recreated. Unable to think clearly, your mind is blurred with desire and desperation.

His hands roam downwards, the trace of his fingertips felt through your clothes, your legs convulsing in pleasure. Your skin pricks between his grasp, his hands halting their travels on your hips. A yelp leaves your lips as your hips slamming roughly into his noticeably protruding dick. A cocky smug highlighted on his face at the marks displayed on your neck. You used this moment to rest, your eyes never leaving his. Their usual shade of brown revealed a now darkened tint, consuming a predator's stare. He thrives off the power imbalance between him and you. Your obvious craving for him fuelling his ego and his mind races with possibilities of what to do next. "Get down on your knees," he commands.

You stare at him aghast, "What?!" you hiss flustered but surprised by your own harsh tone. Blood rushes to your cheeks, taken aback by his vulgar demand.

He quirks a taunting grin, tilting his head as he clicks his tongue "Oh come on sweetheart, I know how desperate you are to please me?" His hands drift to your face, caressing it, making you feel small. His words sent a rush of adrenaline down your core, your mind drifting into a state of glazed bliss at the idea of his cock between your lips. His grins widen as studies you, watching the wheels in your head turning, contemplating.

Yet, the anxiety of being caught in a compromising position halts you as you scour the empty hallway behind him. A hint of irritation picks at his face at the slow lack of your response. He rolls his eyes before clutching your wrist harshly and pulling you into a near crevice, covering the both of you from any prying eyes. Now hidden, the clear desire of his request shone in your eyes, your cunt throbbing. The clang of his belt draws your eyes down as he undoes it, your heart pounding in your chest. In a swift motion, he tugs his pants down to his feet, following next with his briefs.

The sight of his protruding cock leaning against his abdominals makes your insides squirm. He wraps a hand around his shaft, releasing a sharp breath as he gives it a quick pump. You bite your lip as you ogle at the size of it; the tip swollen red, glistening with pre-cum. He places a firm hand on your shoulder, guiding you down in your dazed state. Your knees burn on the cold pavement, the outlines of the cobblestones moulding into your skin. "Come on now, don't be shy, open up slut," he directs with a sadistic smile on his face. He taps the tip of his cock against your mouth, dragging it over your bottom lip. Your jaw drops as he guides the edge of his cock into your awaiting mouth.

His hand slides through your hair, taking a fistful to tilt your head back slightly. Eagerness reeks off you as you lean forward, wrapping your lips around the tip of his cock. You were nervous, trying to channel your anxiety into adrenaline. Your mind is still in a state of awe at the reality of what was happening. Only earlier were you daydreaming about this. You wanted to leave a lasting impression; prove to him you were a good girl, ready to be obedient for him.

You wrap your lips around his cock, the sounds of his grunts flowing directly to your core. Your legs squeeze together, easing your ache only slightly. You allowed your jaw to relax, as you continued to let him fill you up. His cock was the biggest you had ever taken, making you blink back tears. Mattheo groans as your warm mouth devours his cock. He stares down at you, admiring the pretty sight. He would never get enough of seeing desperate girls with their mouths full of him. He loved seeing tears brim at your eyes, smirking as he watched you struggle to take his size.

His hold on your hair tightens, his hips shifting forward slightly. You get the idea pretty quickly and move, placing your hands on his thighs for stability. "Such a good girl. Aren't you taking me so well? " He praises in a sadistic tone. You moan around his cock; the sound being silenced as he hastens his movements. Resting his free hand flat against the brick behind you, his hips settle into an unceasing rhythm.

Mattheo's cock thrusts vigorously, scratching the back of your throat, making your core pulsing restlessly as it clenches around nothing. The intensity of his strenuous thrusts, have your eyes fluttering closed. Drool trickles down the side of your mouth as you gag, choking around his dick. "Look at me, I want to see those cock drunk eyes," he mutters, pulling on your locks jerking your head, jolting your eyes open. Gazing up, your eyes meet his lust blown orbs, a satisfied smirk coating his face.

Maintaining eye contact, your body trembles at the feel of your approaching orgasm. Never having to withstand an orgasm so long before, your body submerges in pleasure, knocking the breath out of you. Your nails dig into Mattheo's thighs, your orgasm courses through you, your legs tremble, pressing together, to repress the movement. Unable to remain quiet, a whimper escapes you, vibrating around Mattheo's cock.

Worry sets on you as a deep groan falls from his lips, your tremors edging him on. Praying your orgasm went undetected, you sigh contently at the sight of him caught in his own pleasure, for him to notice. "Fuck you like that, don't you? Like your mouth getting used like a little slut," he mutters, his hold on your head tightening. His thrusts become sloppier, his own climax hitting. You watch enticingly as his brows scrunch, flushes of pink, warm his face, small pants leaving his mouth. A stream of incoherent words spills from his lips as he shoots spurts of cum down your throat. Unable to swallow quick enough, the excess spills, leaking, down the sides of your mouth. Swallowing, you revel at the feeling of your jaw loosening as he removes his cock from your mouth. Mattheo regains his breath, readjusting his pants, tucking himself back in.

He peers down at you, still on your knees. As you catch your breath, he reaches out, swiping his thumb to collect the excess of cum dripping down your chin. He nudges your lips open, insisting for you to lick it off. His eyes watch zealously, as you submit to his request, your lips clasping around his thumb, your tongue swiping, gathering the salty fluid. He withdraws his thumb with a satisfying pop.

Traces of lust are still clear in his eyes as he trails them over your chest. He studies how your chest rises, your hardened nipples pressing against your school shirt, the evidence of no bra worn. The sign of your immodesty takes him by surprise. How had he not noticed earlier in class? Your face flushed a crimson red, tear stains left down your face. He had never seen something so beautiful. God, your desperation to please him left his arousal at an all-time high. It was almost unprecedented, seeing you so wrecked by just sucking his dick before, unaware of your own climax.

As you stand, he notices your weak knees, his eyes narrowing in on your thighs, as a drip of cum runs down. "Did you fucking cum?" He asks, his voice sounding almost reprimanding, had it not been for the curve of his mouth lifting into a taunting smirk.

Shame washes over you at his confrontation, all traces of your confidence diminishing instantly. "Fuck, I didn't know you were this pathetic," a deep chuckle leaves his throat, his face wearing a sadistic grin. "Well, that's not true. I already knew that."

Your face pulls, frowning at his words. Your mind turns like a clock, ruminating on his words. You scan his face as you connect the dots, your expression changing into shock. "You're a legilimens?!" you splutter out. Your mind ponders endeavouring to recall any knowledge you learnt about legilimens. The art which involved delving into the layers of one's mind to extract their thoughts. Only known to be performed by an extremely powerful wizard or witch. You stare at him awaiting his answer, astonishment resting on your face.

He leans back against the wall, allowing some space between you two. He lights a cigarette. "Knew you'd figure it out, smart girl." It made sense to you; Mattheo was son to a powerful wizard, one known for infiltrating the minds of his victims. He eyes you intriguingly, waiting eagerly for your reaction.

At his acknowledgement, heat blazes your cheeks, the realisation sinking in. "You read my mind!" anger courses through you.

His eyes glimmer with amusement at your outburst, a cloud of smoke exhaling from his lips. He shrugs his shoulders, speaking nonchalantly. "Your thoughts were too obscene not to keep infiltrating." Not giving you time to interject, he adds more to the fire. "Plus, you should thank me."

You cough on your spit "thank you?!" "You're welcome." He grins at your response. You give him as threatening of a glare as you can muster. "You're insufferable, you literally still read my mind without permission." You mutter. Mattheo raises a brow, "Sweetheart, you were the one having erotic thoughts about me in class," he tuts. "I did you a favour." "Besides," he gives an arrogant laugh, "Thought you wanted to be obedient. Huh? Maybe it's time to punish you for being so ill-behaved. See how good of a girl you can be." He gives you a mischievous grin, knowing he got the last word in.

#mattheo riddle #mattheoriddle #mattheo riddle fic #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x fem reader smut #Mattheo riddle x fem reader #slytherin boys #harry potter fandom #harry potter

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beingsuneone · 6 months

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The One

SYNOPSIS: it would’ve been fun. If he would’ve been the one.

FANDOM: Harry Potter

PAIRING(S): Mattheo Riddle x Fem!Reader

RATING: G

CHARACTERS MENTIONED: Goyle, Crabbe, Draco, Theo, Pansy, Enzo, Blaise, Tom, Voldemort

GENRE/AU: Angst, Unhappy ending, Arranged Marriage Au!, reader is married to Goyle (not by choice),

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

WARNINGS: Angst

A/N: *cough* the 1 by Taylor Swift was my inspo. *cough* header and dividers made by me. I would also like to make a part two to this. Note: Voldemort/Toms son Tom Jr who looks exactly like him! (Pre-Voldemort)!AU hope this helps.

DEDICATIONS: the people who voted for him in the poll :)

CREDITS: N/A

The silver band on your finger glistens in the bright lights of the wedding hall, looking anything but enticing; instead of a symbol of love and comfort, it was like a shackle that tied you to a man you didn’t love forever.

Your eyes scan the crowd for the millionth time this evening, trying to seek out a pair of familiar brown eyes— your heart drops for the millionth time this evening, and you realize all over again that no matter how many times your eyes search for his, it will not make him appear.

He won’t come, you know that now as your new husband leans over to ‘kiss the bride’.

You try to wipe the disappointment off of your face, let go of his messy brown curls and smooth words, his rough hands and intoxicating scent.

Mattheo Riddle wasn’t yours to think about anymore; the man in front of you was.

Why your father thought a marriage alliance with Gregory Goyle would help your family, you’ll never know.

Worse, Goyle was, at one point, at least a decent friend of yours; You, Mattheo, Draco, Theo, Enzo, Blaise, Tom, Goyle, and Crabbe, used to strut around Hogwarts like you owned the place— let’s be honest, you damn near did. You and your protective group of Slytherins.

You allow your lips to touch Goyle’s for only a moment before you pull back and smile cordially; the two of you walk arm-in-arm down the aisle until you reach the doors at the end.

The moment you’re through, you push him away.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” He says sadly. “If I could have said no, I would have.”

You shake your head, not even listening. “He didn’t even come, Goyle. I thought he’d at least try.”

Goyle sighs. “It wasn’t up to any of us. Not even Mattheo.”

Your eyes sting so you force your face to go deadpan and stare at Goyle. “I will always love you as a friend, Goyle, but I will never love you as anything more.” You say, retreating towards your dressing room.

He says nothing in return. He doesn’t need to. The feeling is mutual.

You enter your dressing room and release a strained breath, resting your head against the door after you close it.

Taking a deep breath, you allow yourself to daydream; to think what this day would be like if Mattheo was the one wearing a suit, the one saying his vows and sliding a ring onto your finger. You let yourself imagine all of the things you would’ve shared with him in this alternate reality, all the joy you might’ve felt. The future you might’ve been able to look forward to.

A tear slips silently down your cheek as your throat closes, suffocating you in the feelings you wish you were feeling.

Someone clears their throat and your eyes fly open, as your whole body snaps stick straight.

It’s your father, sitting eery and alone in a dark room. “You had to grow up one day, Y/n,” he says as his cold gaze sweeps over you. “Stop running around with that Riddle kid and risking your future.”

You shake your head. “The only real future I had was with him, Father.” You tug on the skirt on your wedding dress, and then your hair. “All this— this glamour and camaraderie is you, father, you playing puppeteer with real live people. I don’t know what status you think you’ll get from Goyle, of all people.”

Your father just sneers and pulls up his sleeve— an elaborate tattoo meant to symbolize his allegiance to Voldemort. The dark mark. He says, “You know exactly who that boy’s father is, and exactly where that puts me in relation.” He pauses. “This is what the Dark Lord wanted, Y/n.”

“…what?” Your mouth hangs open, and you wonder why the dark lord would want to torment you personally. “Why would he… I don’t understand.”

Your father just brushes past you and twists the door open. “If the Dark Lord doesn’t tell, you do not ask.”

……

“You’re going to marry him, right?” Pansy asks, smiling at you in the way that friends do when you have a crush on someone.

You shrug, playing it cool but despite your heart going a thousand miles a minute; excitement courses through your veins at the thought of Mattheo. “I think we’d have to become an actual thing first, Pansy.” You laugh.

She winks at you playfully. “I don’t think that’ll take too long, Y/n, He is whipped for you.”

You shake your head. “He is not.” Your heart still flutters.

“He is.” A new voice cuts in, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You turn to face Mattheo, who is now leaning in the doorframe.

What an entrance.

Pansy looks between the two of you and smirks mischievously. “I‘ll leave you two alone and go bug Blaise.” She slips past Mattheo.

You can’t meet his eyes as you grin stupidly at the floor, and the shirt in your hand.

“You talk about me often?” He says, settling on the floor next to you; he breaks you out of your stupor by gently tugging the shirt out of your hands.

You finally look at him. “No, only when Pansy brings you up. Which is always.” You bite your lip as you smile. “I don’t mind it though, you’re one of my favourite subjects.”

“That’s good,” he agrees, toying with a lock of your hair. “I think the guys are sick of hearing about you.”

“Of course they are,” you banter, “They already know everything about me.”

Mattheo leans in closer. “I don’t think they know everything.” His head dips down until his lips are just millimeters from yours. “They wouldn’t know what your lips feel like, would they?”

He bridges the gap and the two of you spent what is probably several minutes just kissing, and when he pulls away you’re breathless.

“No, I don’t think they know that.” Your voice comes out high-pitched, still trying to catch your breath both mentally and physically.

“I hope they never find out.” He says quietly.

You nod absent-mindedly. “Me too.”

….

You sigh deeply and set down the box in your new living room. Trying to put a positive spin on it, you think about how it won’t be terrible living with a friend instead of your parents, who were never there when they needed to be and always there when you needed them to leave.

Emotionally and physically.

You and Goyle are throwing a housewarming party, per his mothers request; so, technically this box really shouldn’t be in this room right now. It needs to be prepped for the party.

Goyle walks into the room. “Malfoy wants to know if he should invite Mattheo.”

You shrug. “Tell him to invite him, I don’t think he’ll show up either way.” Getting over Mattheo has not been easy, and when you think about him, his absence still sends several intense stabs through your heart.

You can still feel the ravines where the cracks in your heart formed. If he did show up, it would either put you on the path to healing or destroy you all over again and possibly forever.

You were fully prepared for the latter if it meant seeing him one last time.

But he won’t show, just like he wasn’t there when you really needed him just a few months ago, when some other man’s ring was being slipped onto your finger and you were near powerless to stop it.

Goyle stares at you for minutes, as if you’re fragile and need to be handled gently. “It is short notice.”

You pick the box back up and walk past him, just to stop at the foot of the stairs. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.” Then, you go upstairs and place the box in the guest bedroom. You have all this space in your new house and absolutely nothing to do with it.

Rooms filled with expectations and soured dreams.

….

Parties should be fun; this cake, considering it’s your favourite flavour, should taste good. You’re surrounded by the faces of your closest friends, all your family— though you aren’t fond of many of them— and all of Goyle’s family. Yet, all you feel is unfulfilled aching for Mattheo.

You feel so pathetic, always thinking about Mattheo, always relating everyone moment to your first love.

But you had wanted him to be your last. Your only. Your everything.

Draco is here, and he’s the one who asked about inviting Mattheo, so you’re pretty sure he’s not coming and you know you absolutely shouldn’t ask.

Instead, you stare at Draco as you eat the tasteless cake, wishing he’d somehow understand what you wanted to know.

Doesn’t help that he’s across the room.

“Y/n, come upstairs for a minute.” Pansy says, dragging you away from the party and into your bedroom. Or what will be your bedroom, anyways.

When the door has shut and she’s locked it, she turns back to you. “You can’t spend the whole party pining over the possibility of Mattheo showing up, Y/n; I know how much he means to you but you have to accept that you’re married and it’s over. You’re only going to hurt yourself more if you keep obsessing over this.”

You reel back, though you’re thankful for how bluntly Pansy says it. “I know, Pansy, I know. I just— I don’t know if can ever get over him. I mean…” You trail off trying to find your words. “Goyle was probably the last person out of our group that I would’ve chosen if I couldn’t have Mattheo. Truly, I think I could live if it was Enzo, or Theo, or even Draco, but not Goyle.”

She sighs. “But it’s not them, and it is Goyle.”

“So, what now?” You huff. “I’m just supposed to… I don’t know, keep his house and have his kids?”

Pansy’s eyes soften but she doesn’t respond; its a rhetorical question and there really isn’t any proper answer for it.

Then, there is a knock at the door. Pansy unlocks and opens the door, just enough for her to see who it is.

When she does, she says nothing. You watch her slip out the door before you even see who is behind it.

And then he steps in.

Mattheo Riddle.

“Hello, Y/n.” He says, so plainly as though he hasn’t just affected you in more ways than you could ever possibly count.

You look away. “You actually came.”

He clears his throat. “I did.”

You can almost picture him a few years back, standing in your dorm room door, smiling at you in that teasing way that made you knees weak.

Except he’s not smiling, and there is absolutely nothing blissful about this moment.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” Mattheo shuts the door behind him. “If it changes anything at all.”

…..

“There’s something I want to tell you, y/n.” Mattheo says one day, cryptically. “I’m just not sure if I should yet.”

You brush his hair out of his face. “Whatever it is, you can tell me, whenever you’re ready.”

He shakes his head, but he’s not disagreeing. “I’m worried you’ll see me differently.”

“There is nothing in the world that could make me see you differently, Mattheo.”

He seems sated by your words, and pulls you into a hug, resting his chin on top of your head. The two of you stay like that for a long while before he finally says, “I’ll tell you, but not today.”

You nod silently and focus on the feel of his arms around you, not wanting to take a single moment with him for granted.

…..

“What is it, Mattheo?” You say exhaustedly while you sit down on the mattress. “What could you say that would change anything?”

He takes a deep breath and sits beside you. “I know why this is happening, why Voldemort singled you out.”

You look up at him. “Mattheo…” trailing off, you stare at his sleeve in horror, dreading what you think he’s going to say. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

He furrows his eyebrows, following your gaze; when he realizes, his eyebrows shoot up again. “No! No, That’s not why I know.”

You visibly deflate with relief. He instinctively curls his arm around you but then quickly pulls it away. “Okay,”

He chuckles dryly. “My reason is actually much worse.” Mattheo pauses, blowing out a breath. “I’m his son.”

After a moment's hesitation, you shoot up from your spot, your eyes blown wide with disbelief. “Mattheo, you cannot be serious.”

He stands up, and sits you back down, trying to keep you calm. “It’s not like I want to advertise that my father is the most notorious dark wizard in history.” He reaches out and pushes a strand of hair out of your face, like you used to do to him so many times. “But he didn’t want you with me, Y/n, all of this is happening to you because of me.”

He sinks down to his knees in front of you and takes your hands in his.

“So,” You start. “I was personally targeted by the dark lord because you couldn’t bother to mention what’s probably a very important detail.”

His fingers tighten around yours. “I was so scared that you wouldn’t love me anymore if I told you, and then, by the time you were engaged, it was too late.”

You push his hands away. “Mattheo, I would have loved you no matter what you told me.” The hurt in your voice makes him back away from you and you can see the pain swirling in his eyes too.

“I told you. You know. Now, we can fix this.”

“No, Mattheo,” You stand up and push him towards the door. “It’s too late. You’re too late.”

He shakes his head rapidly. “No. No, it’s not.” Mattheo tries to stop you from opening the door but ultimately you push him over the threshold. “Please, Love, We can make it work— we could run away, do anything— please.”

You can’t look at him as you speak, while tears flow freely down your cheeks. “We were something, don’t you think so?”

His face falls, and you can see his heart shatter— you can feel your heart mirror his.

Perhaps, though, the most painful part is when he replies; “Yeah, we were.”

All content belongs to @beingsuneone , do not repost, copy or post on other platforms without my permission.

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juju-or-anya · 8 days

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It's hard not to find irony in the criticisms directed towards Eloise Bridgerton and the elevation of Penelope Featherington as a more genuine and hardworking figure in contrast with Eloise's supposed privileged circumstances and her discourse on feminism. Indeed, some voices have pointed out Eloise's feminism as something white and privileged, and while this is not without merit, it's akin to rediscovering what others have already noticed, akin to Christopher Columbus "discovering" America.

Understanding the context in which "Bridgerton" unfolds is essential. The series is set in Regency England, between 1813 and 1825. This historical period is marked by a highly stratified and conservative society, where women, especially those of the upper class, were relegated to traditional roles and lacked basic legal rights. In this context, any discussion of feminism must consider the unique limitations and challenges of the time.

It is true that Eloise Bridgerton, being part of a respected family in English nobility, embodies many of the characteristics associated with the white and privileged feminism of the time. However, this should not diminish the value of her role in advancing feminist ideas in her historical context. It is thanks to women like Eloise, who challenged social expectations and dared to question the status quo, that doors were opened for future, more inclusive feminist movements.

On the other hand, when analyzing Penelope Featherington's role in contrast with Eloise Bridgerton's, intriguing nuances worthy of a more detailed critical exploration are revealed. Although both come from upper-class families, Penelope's experiences differ significantly from Eloise's. In the society depicted in "Bridgerton," Penelope is portrayed as a more marginal figure, overshadowed by the prominence and glamour of the Bridgerton family. She is often seen in the background, struggling to find her place in a world where her social status does not put her at the center of attention.

Throughout the series, Penelope exhibits a distressing lack of empathy and solidarity towards other women. Instead of fostering unity and support among her peers, her writings are propelled by feelings of envy, resentment, and desires for revenge. Striking examples of this include her actions to publicly reveal Marina Thompson's pregnancy, intending to undermine her relationship with Colin Bridgerton, or defaming individuals such as Daphne, Edwina, and Kate Sharma, often with no apparent reason other than personal gain.

Penelope's behavior as Lady Whistledown sheds light on her complex nature and motivations. While it may represent an attempt to find her voice in a world dominated by more powerful figures, it also reveals a tendency towards manipulation and selfishness. Ultimately, her role as the mysterious chronicler is more than just a quest for identity; it is a reflection of the moral and ethical complexities underlying the society of "Bridgerton."

In summary, asserting that Penelope is more feminist and hardworking than Eloise due to her role as Lady Whistledown is, at best, simplistic and, at worst, deeply misleading. Both women, while privileged in their own right, have chosen different paths in life and have faced their own challenges. However, the narrative of Penelope as a morally superior and more genuinely hardworking figure should be questioned in light of her actions and motivations, which often reveal a lack of integrity and empathy towards her peers.

It's important to note that when Theo confronts Eloise, questioning her understanding of the real world and her privileged position, Eloise doesn't reject this criticism but uses it as a catalyst to seek greater understanding. Recognizing the validity of Theo's observation, Eloise actively seeks to broaden her horizons. She engages in conversations with Theo and John, seeking to break free from the bubble of privilege in which she has lived so far.

On the other hand, Penelope takes a different stance towards her own privileged position. Instead of acknowledging her situation and seeking to understand the realities of those less privileged, Penelope vehemently denies any suggestion that she also benefits from the system. Rather than accepting her position of privilege, she portrays herself as a victim, despite her actions suggesting otherwise. Ultimately, this divergence in attitudes between Eloise and Penelope highlights the complexity of individual perceptions of privilege and personal responsibility in an unequal world.

PS: The comment: "Penelope saved Eloise by writing that she hung out with radicals, she doesn't know what it's like to be grateful" is shit. Whose fucking fault is it that the Queen is on a crusade with torches and pitchforks, looking for blood and a rolling head? From Penelope because she doesn't know when to keep her hand still and stop writing, if it weren't for Penelope, the queen wouldn't think that Eloise is Lady Whistledown, Penelope wasn't looking to help Eloise, she was looking to save her skin.

#anti penelope featherington #penelope featherington #eloise bridgerton #the bridgertons #bridgerton #theo sharpe #I swear I'm going to cry if I read again that Penelope is an icon of feminism and women's empowerment #Eloise does not deserve all the hate they are giving her #I do want Eloise and Theo to be together forever.#Because they love each other and would be very happy together #marina thompson #madame delacroix

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jomiddlemarch · 3 months

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they two play out the game

“Be honest—”

“What do you want me to say, Hermione? That I fell in love with you at school, when you loathed me, when you loathed me because I made you feel that way because I couldn’t bear your pity or worse, being beneath your notice, a shrug of your shoulders, an eyeroll? That the Amortentia I brewed in Potions smelled like ink and rose geranium soap and the bloody catnip you must have grown for your Kneazle in the greenhouses because you never would have nicked it from Sprout? That I envied Weasley for his family loving him and welcoming you, when my father wanted you dead and my mother refused to remember your name?”

Draco paused, lifted a hand from where he’d been gripping the railing and loosened his tie. It was dark blue, because they were no longer children, defined by Houses. He wore his robes open, like an Oxford don, and she could see the suit he wore was Savile Row, not Wizard-tailored. His brogues were polished to a shine short of a House-elf’s efforts.

“Should I tell you I’ve dreamt of you for years, in that periwinkle petal dress and on my ballroom floor, screaming for mercy, and in bookshops, in teashops, in the pub, laughing, smiling at Potter and Longbottom, making a face when you take a sip of your bitter? In the Wizengamot, at my trial, like a Fury. At all the other trials, demolishing their smug assurance, making them cower, making them see? Do you want me to explain how I told Astoria we would marry but I’d never be able to love her and she told me she already knew it, that she understood everything and that if I didn’t mind too much, she supposed we’d do well enough together? You want to hear how when my son was born, I wanted to Owl you, before anyone else, even though you’d have been baffled to receive any message from me, would have probably thought it was a prank from George Weasley, an overture to return to the Weasley bosom after you and Ron ended it ostensibly amicably, except that you’d left England and hadn’t been back in six years for more than a fortnight?”

He took a step nearer and Hermione resisted the urge to fold her arms across her chest or draw her robes closer in some nonverbal attempt at protection. He’d grown taller after the War ended and she hadn’t, not a whit, probably stunted by the stress and starvation of the Horcrux hunt, but he was still a few steps below her on the stairs, so he continued to look up at her, a supplicant. He was still giving her that power, that dominance over him which she hadn’t believed when he’d offered it earlier in words alone.

“Shall I tell you how I followed your career, the papers you wrote, the conferences you attended, collecting clippings like a lovesick groupie with his favorite Quidditch team? How I heard your voice when I taught Scorpius his first spells? How I told him the brightest witch I’d ever known was Sorted into Gryffindor and he was confused because his mother had been a Ravenclaw? How my wife fell in love with my best friend and I didn’t care, or rather, I was happy for her because Theo loved her back and it was nothing for me to look away and let them have the time they could? How I thought if you knew, you’d perhaps admire me for once, for not being selfish, for making some sacrifice, except that you’d be wrong, it wasn’t a sacrifice at all, not when I cared about them both in one way and not at all in another? You want to hear how I thought I’d seen you—at the train station and in the City, in the Prophet, your hair braided, that streak of white like a halo, like a queen’s ivory filet, your eyes, sweet Nimue, your eyes, Hermione—”

“I’m not a saint,” she put in.

He climbed another stair and now he looked directly at her. She could rest her hands on his shoulders if she wanted. She could raise a hand and stroke his cheek, graze the steel temple of his spectacles, the silver hair at above his ears.

“I know. And I know why you don’t wear a glamour or charm your hair the color it was when we were young. You want me to tell you how my wife died and I wanted you to comfort me? To come to her funeral and hold my hand, to wear the veil for her and to let me fold it back over your head to face the truth? How I wanted you in my bed, fresh from your bath, in a nightdress you’d let me ruck up to your waist, naked beneath me, your skin like silk, arching up into my hands, gasping, laughing when I accidentally tickled your waist. Crying out when you felt my mouth on your breasts, suckling, when you felt my cock hard between your thighs, when I begged you? When I told you to spread your legs, love, when I praised you for being so good, my beautiful, darling, delicious witch I wanted to fuck all night, that there was no one else, there never had been, there never would be, only you, my darling with your dark eyes and your brilliant mind and your magic, your heart, your cunt—You want me to say that I love you, that I’ve loved you to the best of my ability for the best part of my life and that I don’t want you to go, not now, not ever, but I know that’s not up to me?”

There was a slight flush in his cheeks, a gleam in his grey eyes that might be tears, but his voice was steady, restrained, and there was space between them yet that she knew he would not breach. She used the effort required to cast tandem wandless in a duel to the death, more than she’d used when she was eighteen and expected to save the world.

“If it’s the truth—” she said.

“It’s the truth,” he answered. “There’s more, I suppose, but it’s much the same.”

“Then it’s what I asked for,” she said. She closed her eyes for a moment, part of her sure he would not be there when she looked again, a dream, a vision she’d conjured, Nimue and Merlin both, trapped within her desires while the world lived and grew around her. She opened her eyes and there he was, waiting. There was a shadow in his gaze, the expectation of rejection, abandonment. He was not a man accustomed to hope. She’d asked, though, and he’d answered.

“I’ve learned, as I’ve grown older, that I can’t hope for the best. Settle for what I’m given. I must take what I want, with both hands,” she said and reached over, up a little, to cup his face with her palms, her fingers touching the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck. He was very still, almost rigid, and she felt a frisson of fear, of being deceived, denied.

“With both hands,” she repeated a little hesitantly. “Unless, you don’t, after all—Scorpius will not, and you have to put him first, of course—”

“I do,” Draco, beginning to smile. “And I was told not to come home without you, though Scorpius is willing to take my word for your arrival. He’s not waiting there for us.”

“No?” Hermione said, feeling terribly warm, terribly, wonderfully desired. Needed. Accepted.

“No, I shall have you all to myself,” he said. He finally put his arms around her, very carefully as they were still on a staircase and perhaps he was a little unsteady now. “D’you suppose, before we go, I might kiss you?”

“Here? Where anyone might see?” Hermione asked, though the hallway had been deserted for the past hour and the charm on the wall sconces needed to be recast. Though she had let herself look at his mouth, the curve of his lips. Let herself admit her own appetite had gone beyond any curious hunger, to craving, the sweet she had been forbidden for so long.

“Yes. Be honest, would that bother you?” he said.

“Do you think I will say it would? Do you expect me to tell you no when I’ve just said you’re what I want? All that I want?” she said, echoing him. Making him grin, a hint of the smirk she first remembered seeing on his face as a young boy, now subsumed into such tenderness she felt nearly overwhelmed.

“Is it the truth?” he said.

“Yes,” she said and then she didn’t say anything else because they were beyond needing any other word than “Home—” the Side-along as easy as a breath, as waking from a dream into the day.

They named their first daughter Verity, explaining it was a family name.

#dramione #post-hogwarts #Hermione x Draco #hermione POV #romance #scorpius malfoy #the beauty of fanfic #just justing to the big climatic scene #the burn of a slow burn #prior draco/astoria #astoria/theo #prior ron/hermione #draco really monologues for all he's worth #gets a little blue

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lostdrarryfics · 6 months

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THE BIG FIND 2023: Day 1

The Big Find is a 10-day long Drarry fic-finding marathon to celebrate the blog’s anniversary. Below is the Day 1 compilation of lost fics, both old and new, that we’ve been unable to find. Our aim is to get as much attention to these lost fics as possible, to help people finally find their missing fics! Anyone can participate by reblogging, reading through each list, providing additional fic details, and informing us the title, author, or link of a fic, and their respective number in the comment section. Happy finding!

1.1 It’s a fic where after Draco is sentenced to live in muggle world and Draco first works in a cofee shop and then in a pharmaceutical company formed by a witch. then on a full moon day he suddenly turns into a werewolf and then with bill helps him adjust, and then he becomes potions professor meanwhile Harry adopts teddy and becomes defence professor and Harry magic goes haywire

1.2 it has Draco, Hermione, Ron, and Harry but the main scene is basically just Draco and Harry in the Room of Requirement. Premise is that Harry had been using magic to glamour himself to cover up the signs or the Dursley’s abuse FOREVER so no one has actually seen what he looks like. Somehow I think Ron and Hermione convince Harry to let someone in so he decides to show Draco who he’s dating what he actually looks like and Draco is so shocked/aghast Harry thinks he’s disgusted and one of them (though i don’t remember who) runs away back to the dorm and Harry is deeply upset. I believe it’s relatively short (2-10k?) and i feel like it’s 2-3 chapters or parts but could be wrong. It’s probably AO3 but slight possibility it was FFN (HIGHLY unlikely tho). If it is AO3 then unfortunately it’s not tagged for any of the things i listed.

1.3 Harry and Draco were out with Teddy, and they ran into Neville who questioned Harry about Draco and their relationship. I believe it was winter. There’s another scene that I can remember and I don’t know if I’m conflating two different fics but there’s a scene where Harry and Draco are shopping in muggle London and they’re looking at weird shirts and they run into Vernon who makes some homophobic slurs.

FOUND! 1.4 I’m looking for a fic that was on ao3. Draco is some sort of an artist, not sure if professionally or simply something he pursues as a hobby for his healing. Writer or painter maybe. He has a mentor who tells him to go a retreat by the seaside in a little hotel which he does and he runs into Harry by accident. Harry is overall happy and open to him, but Draco has a lot of anger towards him I think. They start a dom/sub relationship, Draco being the dom, taking pleasure out of humiliating Harry. Towards the end there’s a scene where he makes Harry suck off a stranger in a bars bathroom or maybe the stranger sucks Harry off while Draco watches. But I think this is a where Harry has enough because ultimately he only wants Draco. It’s a happy end if I remember well.

1.5 i read this fic on ao3 it was unfinished and a muggle au. harry works at an office (I think) where he is the boss and he meets Draco at a bar. Jily is still dead so Halloween is hard for him. He also dated Cedric I think and Cedric died. Draco helps bartend with Theo, and Draco is dressed like a cat cause of Halloween. Draco then gets assaulted and harry punches the guy. after that they hangout in Harry’s car.

1.6 Draco and Harry had a one night stand (I think?) and Draco gets pregnant, he doesn’t tell Harry and then leaves the baby with him once it’s born, Harry didn’t know that he is the father but keeps the baby. Said baby gets sick and the treatment involves the father so he publishes about it in the Prophet and ask the baby’s dad to please show up. Draco does and had some test done, they start the treatment and Harry asks him to stay.

FOUND! 1.7 been looking for this fic for a long time. i think draco is some sort of healer in the fic and harry always come to him injured and he helps patch him up also they’re close friends and by the end of the fic they go to ginny’s quidditch match and the gang helps them realise they have feeling for each other?

1.8 I believe it was on AO3 but I could be wrong, I think it was a number of fics in a series but it could have been chapters but I’m fairly sure it was complete. It was set post-war, Harry had become an Auror and was apparating home from an alley while buzzed. There was a line about how the whores don’t hit on him anymore because he never takes them home? He hears a weird noise and his magic automatically sobers him up. The noise is Draco, who got kicked out by parents and got roofied. Harry rescues him, I think Draco passes out? and then Harry is annoyed because his buzz is gone and he has to deal with this. The second fic (or chapter) opens from Draco’s POV. He’s looking around the bedroom he’s in and he figures out it’s the old Black house because of the furniture and that Harry must have rescued him but taken him home instead of the hospital. He decides to seduce Harry and he’s able to conjure like a mirror and brush? and there’s a line about how this is the only spell he’s able to do wordlessly/wandlessly? I think the POV then switches to Harry and there’s a line about how Draco has managed to get like a single ray of light from the curtains to fall on him perfectly. Harry is aware he’s being seduced but he’s into it. Then I think the next chapter has Harry confronting the Malfoy parents about how they’re going to get married and they’re not going to hyphenate names, Draco is going to take his last name. The final fic is maybe from Lucius pov (or narcissa?) Draco threw Harry a really big birthday party and reveals he’s pregnant which causes Lucius to faint? And there’s a line about how the baby has brought both Harry and Lucius to their knees.

FOUND! 1.9 harry tells draco that he wants to wait until theyre eight years into their relationship to get married so that hed have spent more time loving him than hating him before they tie the knot

1.10 auror fic where Draco and Harry have to work together to arrest some child abuser and learn about each other’s past. I don’t remember if they were in relationships or it was drarry but the focus was the work in the auror force and their building relationship.

1.11 major plot point is ginny and Molly Weasley being behind some sort of plot and eventually are imprisoned. I know Ron is an ass for much of the fic, hermione helps solve a case or problem with Harry and involves draco. Not a lot much else I recall fic is not The Haunting of Harry Potter by Alexandria_ofCiro

1.12 was either 1 or 2 chapters, it was on ffnet. Set in the eighth year. The plot is somewhat similar to the show/manga “boys over flowers”. Also Draco was being bullied due to receiving a howler (I think, sorry it’s been a long time since I’ve read it) Neville has an unrequited crush on Draco and they are friends.

1.13 takes place in the eighth year but some of it also takes place after the war but before the eighth year. Draco receives an inheritance from a high ranking Veela who died which made him a Veela. Most of what I remember takes place before he goes back to hogwarts and is basically him learning how to be a Veela and stuff

FOUND! 1.14 Draco cursing his family name (Malfoy) because he wants to feel pain each time someone says it to it. So i think the fic starts with Draco working as a cafe barista in the human world and harry walks into the shop and calls him Malfoy, so the curse is kinda unlocked and Draco gets sick so he has to stay under surveillance in Harry’s house

#the big find 2023 #drarry #drarry fic #drarry fic search #drarry squad

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greenerteacups · 1 month

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Hello, it’s so good to have you back. I earnestly hope your healing journey is easy and straightforward.

I’m seeing you answer questions about Tonks, and I wanted to share how intrigued I am with the way you used Tonks’ Animagus ability to navigate and represent her estranged relationship with the Black family. Given the “mass of black hair” she sports in the Ministry and the “pixie cut shock of electric pink” at Grimmauld Place, we intuit that Tonks clearly plays around with her face to heighten and decrease her resemblance to her aunts on a situational basis. I presume she thought that resembling Bellatrix would be a tactical advantage for her Ministry interview.

In that vein, I’m curious to know what you think Draco would do with his appearance if he had Tonks’ same abilities. If Draco had the Animagus ability that Tonks does, would he also play with his face and how it resembles that of his father? I think he doesn’t mind being a resemblance of his father at Hogwarts, because none of his friends had any relationship with Lucius. But given that during Narcissa’s episodes she perceives Draco as his father, I wonder if you think Draco would change his face to avoid triggering another episode.

In general, I’m very intrigued by the idea of shape shifting and what it represents. I think in terms of his relationships with Theo and Pansy, Draco would sometimes (metaphorically) shift into the image of an ideal Slytherin, playing up his pedigree and knowledge of pureblood tradition.

This is a really cool question, and I took a hot minute to think about it. For one thing, metamorphmagus!Draco would be even more ridiculously vain than he is at present; it seems useful for all sorts of things like haircuts and spots (even fit aristocratic fifteen-year-olds get them, tragically). I don't think Draco would deliberately try to play up the resemblance to his father — in most cases. For one thing, he's very much attached to his mother, and he wears that resemblance proudly; he identifies as a Black as well as a Malfoy, if to a lesser extent, and those echoes are part of his heritage. That said, Narcissa (who's the best and only real authority on the subject) thinks Draco looks a lot like Lucius anyway, and everyone already associates him heavily with his father, so playing up the resemblance wouldn't do much for him. Playing it down, on the other hand, is an intriguing idea... except he'd probably be making himself resemble the Black side of the family more, and we're all familiar with the fates of the two most recent sons of Black.

That being said, there are places it would probably be useful. Tonks definitely played up the family resemblance to lean on Bellatrix's reputation. (Also, Tonks's normal aesthetic is very Manic Pixie Dream Witch, and it would not go over well with the wizard Tories.) It also would have changed major plot points related to the Polyjuice Potion in Book 3 (although to what extent, I'm not sure; we're never really told what a fully realized metamorphmagus's abilities could do, e.g. if Tonks could alter whole body parts, height/weight/build, or even internal organs; is she doing a glamour, or is she actually changing parts of her body, and if the latter, can she heal her own injuries; as always, the first rule of every magic system in Harry Potter is Don't Think About The Magic System).

To wit: if the current version of Draco could change what he looked like, I don't think he would, and that's quite telling in and of itself.

#greenteacup asks #by current i mean start of fifth year to be clear #there's a header on my outline document that's just called 'Lucius Stuff' and that's nowhere near covered yet #anyway! thank you for the comment and the question! blessings as always <3 #lionheart spoilers

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ratatattouille · 5 months

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what i really adore about everything now is how it actual respects teenage girls (and teenagers) as people. they aren't sexualized. anorexia, which affects primarily girls, isn't sexualized or trivialized. we see how horrible, ugly, terrifying, nuanced, and psychologically damaging it is--without being too graphic or torture porn. it's a real, serious illness that isn't a fad or phase, and i also like how mia's body dysmorphia and issues with gender don't make her nonbinary, because the show is explicit that this is a common experience for teenage girls in a world that sexualizes and demonizes their bodies, alienating them from their bodies, which is something that usually gets left out in conversations on gender. i related a lot to mia, even though i've never been anorexic, but i struggled a LOT with body dysmorphia as a teenager, and it's so . . . bro i get so emotional just thinking about how RESPECTFULLY how GRACIOUSLY and TENDERLY they talked about it and displayed it. it's so rare and it's so GODDAMN REFRESHING.

I also love how they explored how gay boys and boys in general are expected to be hypersexual with will and theo, and how scary a culture of pornography and enforced hypersexuality is on minors. how traumatic it can be. so many teen shows are exploitative of teenage sexuality, more interested in parading them than actually depicting teenage struggles. a lot of internet culture and porn culture in Hollywood is actually grooming, and it's so sad to me how many people don't realize how prevalent it is in a lot of shows aimed at teens (you know, MINORS).

i also love how they handled the abortion topic. too many shows keep trying to fear-monger girls when it comes to abortion, but many girls and women do not have regrets or nightmares or complications, and I'm glad they showed that perspective.

I ALSO LOVE how lesbian romance doesn't take a back seat and it is allowed to be developed and nuanced and takes precedence. bisexuality isn't seen as this deviant, confused state. and being gay isn't depicted as this glamourous, effortless thing, but neither is it miserable. it's all just normal.

this show is one of the few non-condescending, non-childish, non-adultified, non-exploitative, sincere, genuine shows on teenage humanity, especially the humanity of teenage girls.

AND POC CHARACTERS WEREN'T TOKENS. THEY WERE THE MC'S. IT WAS SO SO SO REFRESHING OMIGOD.

and stephen fry was just . . . i loved him. his character, his dialogue, his delivery, so so so good.

what a gem.

#also #i love carli #but i will forever be a mia x alison shipper.#everything now #second best teen show of the decade #derry girls is first for me #but god i love this show

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sailtomarina · 6 months

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You’ll be mine

Draco x Hermione | Kinktober Day 29: Knotting cw: omegaverse, explicit sex

It started with a hint.

The barest wisp of a honeyed fragrance called to him like a hummingbird to nectar.

He wanted to bury his face in the cloying sweetness. Draco had never smelled anything so mouthwatering since his Alpha designation. He’d never dreamt he’d one day stumble across a pull so strong he’d lose all sense of self, stumbling along like a virgin to sacrifice.

Imagine his surprise when he found himself face to face with Hermione Granger.

It took him a beat longer to realize he was in her office.

In his haze, Draco had managed to ascend four levels and through several doorways to make his way here, now, and at a complete loss of what to do next.

“Earth to Malfoy.”

He blinked, sound rushing back and everything coming into sharp focus. Her grounding gaze, dark with tiny flecks of gold, bore into him, her brow wrinkled in possible concern. He couldn’t help but trace her figure with his eyes, the clenched jaw, the way her white blouse gaped open and left her delicate neck exposed, her pert breasts tantalizing him in the plunging neckline.

She cleared her throat and he brought his eyes back up, unabashed at his perusal—he didn’t think there was anything wrong with appreciating her blatant display of femininity.

“What do you want?” she continued to ask. Rather than folding her arms underneath her breasts like he expected, she instead shifted back to lean against her desk, keeping her posture loose.

“I can smell you.”

She didn’t look offended in the least at his proclamation. She just tilted her head, still considering him. He couldn’t stop staring at the expanse of skin at the curve where her neck met her shoulder. It was where her mating gland should be, if not disguised by glamours. A trickle of sweat worked its way down into the collar of her shirt, and he was hit with another powerful wave of pure, unadulterated Granger.

Honey.

Spice.

A sip of his favorite fire whiskey, aged to smooth perfection.

“Good.”

Her reply was not what Draco expected.

“You do realize if I can smell you, then so can every other Alpha in this building?”

“You’re the only one I want.” With that shocking revelation, she proceeded to carefully roll up her sleeves, exposing the swollen glands of her wrists and enveloping him wholly in the essence of her Omega.

He stumbled forward in desperation, helpless to her allure and the idea that she wanted him. She didn’t even move when he caged her in, hands crashing down on the surface of the desk and pushing between her knees.

“Tell me to stop, Granger, please tell me to stop.” He buried his face in her curls, still holding back from outright touching her.

Every fiber of his being screamed at him to grab on and take her atop her desk, their past history be damned. Truth be told, doing so would fulfill a long held fantasy he’d carried for years—before their designations, before her marriage and almost immediate divorce, before his failed engagement, before he walked in every morning to see her at the lifts looking just as vibrant, just as passionate as she ever had. More so.

“I don’t want you to stop. I want this.” There was no hesitation or doubt in her voice.

“But, why?”

Idiot, idiot! Why are you questioning this?

“Because I’m sick and tired of waiting for you to get off your proper arse and approach me.”

“You’ve been…waiting?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Nothing she was saying made any sense.

“Why do you think we always see each other at the lifts every morning?”

“We just happen to start at the same time—”

“Don’t be daft.”

His mouth clicked shut at her reprimand.

“Didn’t you think it was odd how often our friends have been throwing us all together?”

He did think it was odd. First Pansy and Neville. Then Harry and Theo. Even Luna and Blaise. Their two circles were overlapping more and more, and he’d found himself awkwardly single alongside her at more pubs than he could remember. They always ended up sitting next to one another as the others paired off.

“I didn’t notice…”

She snorted as he trailed off trying to remember every instance they’d seen each other over the years.

“I came to the realization that if I just waited for you, we were never going to happen. We’d dance circles around each other until the end of time, until I found some boring politician or you gave in to an approved marriage.” She listed out the possibilities in as matter-of-fact of a voice as Mother discussed her daily schedule at breakfast. “So no, I won’t tell you to stop. I will tell you to get over yourself and shag and knot me right here so I’m forced to cancel all my meetings for the day, then fill me so full that I’ll need a plug to keep every drop of you inside of me until you shag me again. Tonight. In my flat.”

His mouth dropped open at her demands, his cock drawing painfully tight against the front of his trousers.

“Well?” she said tartly, raising a brow.

He remained silent, still warring with himself over the very idea of his fantasies becoming reality. She wanted him to take her here, now, even going so far as to plan for a repeat session later tonight. She wanted him to knot her, which meant he’d be stuck in her for hours unable to move.

She wanted him to knot her.

“Granger?” His voice came out lower than he’d intended, rough with the possibilities of what she had implied.

“Yes, Malfoy?” She remained falsely sweet, her smile curling at the tips like some kind of succubus. Her skin had flushed a flattering pink shade, perspiration covering her with a delightful shimmer.

“If I knot you, I’m going to want to bite you. You know that, right?”

“Ob-viously.” She sounded like his bloody godfather.

“You’ll be mine.” His voice shook in excitement. Granger in his bed, her curls strewn across the bed, her heavenly scent clinging to his sheets and his skin.

Get a grip. Don’t muck this up.

Draco slid one hand in the crook of her knee to pull her wide enough to ground himself into her, letting her feel how hard she’d made him, how the idea of taking her and keeping her, was everything he wanted.

“You do realize,” she grabbed onto his neck down to her, lips brushing against his own mating gland, “that you’ll also be mine.”

She shifted and bit down onto his lower lip hard enough to break the skin and taint their kiss with a faint copper taste, her legs winding up and around his hips.

All reservations faded into a rush of senses as they fell into one another, playing out every one of her demands. They knocked over every item on her desk and sent neat piles of paper flying into disarray. She held him tight to her as he swelled and locked them together, murmuring praise and petting his hair.

Fuck if he didn’t love every bit of it.

Her scent surrounded him. Every thought pushing to the forefront of his mind was of her beneath him, on top of him, surrounding him. Her embrace was comforting in a way he had rarely experienced, romantic or otherwise. It felt right, like coming home after wandering for far too long.

He laid on her for a little over twenty minutes before she thumped him on the back and jolted him out of his stupor.

“Huh?”

“Your weight is lovely and all, but since we’re going to be stuck together for quite a while yet, I think it best we move somewhere a bit less air restrictive.”

“Oh, shite, sorry!” He was crushing her like it was his first time.

Nevermind the fact that this was his first time knotting, well, anyone.

He propped himself up on his elbows to look around the room, looking for an appropriate spot. Hermione helped push him back to standing, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and nodding her head towards her chair.

Lifting and carrying her to the other side while he was still inside of her was every bit as awkward as it seemed, despite the knot actually helping keep her in place.

“We’ll want to enlarge it for us to both fit,” she suggested, before reaching her hand out to summon her wand and doing just that.

“Wow, your chair is really comfortable,” he said with surprise. He hadn’t expected much from the mesh and plastic contraption when he’d first looked at it. It certainly wasn’t anything like the sturdy armchairs he had grown up using.

He shifted around to test the cushioning, pressing into the springy back support. The bottom was soft and didn’t stick to his naked skin like leather would have.

Granger leaned forward, her naked breasts pushing flat against his chest and her lips tickling his ear. “It has wheels, too.”

Tensing his legs, he pressed his feet against the ground and pushed.

The chair went flying backwards into her bookshelf, knocking photo frames and other knick knacks down onto their heads. One particularly well-aimed frame smacked him on the face as he looked up before landing between their bodies face up to reveal Potter and Weasley’s faces grinning up at him.

“Oh, gross.”

Hermione’s charming laughter bounced around the room, her warmth around him vibrating the knot. It was an odd sensation he thought he could get easily addicted to.

She picked up the picture frame to reset it back on the shelf. “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts now, Malfoy.”

“That would be rather gauche of me, don’t you think? Especially given that I’m still inside of you and plan to be so repeatedly.” He pumped his hips up in emphasis, and grinned at her gasp.

In retaliation, she leaned over and dragged her teeth over his neck gland. The resulting throb straight to his cock was instantaneous. He couldn’t help but yelp from the sensation, his hands squeezing her hips hard enough to leave bruises.

She giggled with a smile straight out of a villainess' playbook. “If you think I’m going to just warm your cock like some passive participant, you don’t know me at all.”

He huffed in acknowledgement, even as he fought his own chuckle.

“To be honest, nothing you’ve done today has been anywhere near the realm of my expectation.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

She was hugging him again, their torsos flush against one another and her fingers combing through his hair. He couldn’t help but run his hands down her sides and over her plush curves, kneading the muscles of her cheeks and causing her to sigh in pleasure.

She was ridiculously warm, but not so hot as to indicate a full-on heat. She must be close, though, given the strength of her pheromones and the tackiness of her skin.

“When do you go into full heat?” he asked, keeping up his massage and letting his eyes roam her office.

“Any day now, but I expect as soon as tonight now that you’re here.” Her hands had begun a massage of their own, kneading his scalp and neck. It was heavenly. “I want you to bite me near the end.”

Draco pulled back to look at her, ignoring the delightful way she shifted around him as he did so.

“It doesn’t have to be this soon, you know. I can see you through this heat and give us both more time to think about it.”

She looked affronted at the mere suggestion. “I meant what I said, Malfoy. I want us to claim each other.” She nipped once more at his gland and he twitched hard inside of her, making them both groan.

“You keep doing that and we won’t be leaving your office anytime soon,” he threatened.

She pouted even as his eyes twinkled at the prospects of taking her on every available surface of her work space. He wanted their scents on everything, and to laugh at her stuffy coworkers sitting unaware on top of where they’d shagged each other silly. But that could wait for another day, when she wasn’t on the cusp of her heat.

She squeezed her inner muscles and grinned at the glare he sent her. Minx.

And, soon enough, his minx.

2097 WC

10/29 “knotting” prompt from @hpkinktober

Cross-posted on Tumblr and AO3

I’ve never actually written an omegaverse piece, despite enjoying reading fics of it very much. I underestimated how much I’d struggle trying to make a more empowered Omega and an Alpha both possessive but also willing to hand over the reins to a woman he’s long admired. I hope I did okay. I had to stop before I was truly satisfied because otherwise I’d never get this posted on time.

#harry potter fanfiction #dramione #dhr fanfiction #draco malfoy x hermione granger #hermione granger #draco malfoy #hp kinktober 2023 #omegaverse

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use-your-telescope · 4 months

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E, your chapter titles for WEMTBB scare me. they look like you're going to break my heart.

We're No Saviors if We Can't Save Our Brothers

Who's Gonna Watch You Die?

🔫explain

You picked two absolute angst-loaded chapters, my friend - while this story does have a happy ending, it certainly hits some intense points before it gets there!

(ETA: there’s a chapter in this mix that I am waiting to see who gets the reference to… it is a song we’ve discussed with @sarahscribbles before… *cue evil laughter*)

We’re No Saviors if We Can’t Save Our Brothers takes place after a terrorist attack on the United Nations. Here’s a snippet:

Just like the night of the massacre, all she could do was watch. Watch as her city, her home, her life, everything she knew disintegrated to ash before her, scattered in the wind as billowing smoke colored the sky blacker than the darkest night.

In her grief, she didn’t realize she had been discovered until a soldier threw her Pépère’s dead body at her feet.

The soldier snarled at her, spewing curses and vitriol that Theo could barely hear over the crashing of buildings collapsing in the fires and the screams of all the innocent people who met an unjust fate.

He snatched Theo by the throat, fingers digging into tender flesh as he cut off her air supply. She fought, despite the voice in her head telling her it was pointless; she would never win, she could never change what happened. No matter how hard she tried, her story was always destined to end in failure.

Laughter - bitter, angry, leering laughter, echoed through her ears, mixing with cries that started off as distant, but as Theo’s lungs burned and her vision grayed out, it grew louder and louder, until—

“—up!”

Theo bolted upright, gasping for air between sputtering coughs and choked out sobs.

Who’s Gonna Watch You Die takes place after the mysterious event alluded to in Chapter 1, but it’s still before Chapter 1. Enjoy an angsty snippet:

The time Loki sat on the roof, palms digging into his eyes as he failed to stem the flow of hot, stinging tears, seemed at once a minute and a lifetime. And yet, he would have been content to stay there, pretending his existence was not a waking nightmare, except the faint sound of rubber sneakers scraping along concrete warned him that someone saw fit to disturb him.

Swallowing the lump clawing at his throat, Loki wiped his eyes one final time before turning to face whoever approached. In different circumstances he might have considered casting a glamour, but whoever sought him out undoubtedly would understand if he was less than composed.

Maximoff, with bloodshot, swollen eyes and a crimson-tipped nose, stood before him. At some point, she swapped her battle attire for a threadbare sweatshirt and pajama pants, though nothing about the way she carried herself indicated she’d partaken in any rest or relaxation since their worlds were flipped upon their heads. If anything, she seemed to take the recent revelations even worse than Loki had.

“Loki…” She attempted a watery smile, but it did not hold; she sniffed, wiping her eyes on the sleeves of her sweater.

Loki’s stomach lurched - it was difficult to tell the reason for her appearance, and the inability to address him without additional tears seemed ominous.

“Is she–”

“Still alive, I think.” Maximoff sniffed, tugging one sleeve over her fist and using it to wipe her nose. “A nurse came out to let us know Cho’s going to give an update in a few minutes. We weren’t sure if you wanted to be there, but we at least thought you should know…”

Letting out a trembling breath, Loki closed his eyes and nodded. Despite the nagging thought that there was no reason to hear the update, that Theo always planned on leaving so it didn’t matter what happened to her and Loki shouldn’t bother - he rose to his feet anyways, silently gesturing for Maximoff to lead them inside.

Neither sorcerer spoke as they returned to the waiting room.

Perhaps it was foolish to torture himself with these updates; perhaps it was all for nought, and she was already gone. But desperation was a powerful motivator, and if nothing else he ought to know if his efforts were futile.

#tag game #wemtbb #when everything’s made to be broken

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lenoraslament · 2 months

Text

Lenora’s Love: A Tom Riddle Fanfiction

Chapter 18: Cozy

Tom and Lenora get closer

When she walked downstairs, he was already changed into dry clothes. His hair was wet and he stood near a fireplace in a common room with some of the others.

"Ah Lenora," Lestrange sneered "I was worried you drowned".

"Funny Rudolphus, I don't worry about you at all" she plopped down on the chaise where she had sat the other night at the party.

A chill surrounded her, the rainwater seemed to have permeated her skin. Or maybe it was the loss of Tom's arms around her she mused.

Someone had ordered tea, her cup clinked as she shivered. The new book she glamoured sat beside her, after she drank her tea quickly she turned to the room.

"Would somebody mind terribly to accio me a blanket? I left my wand upstairs".

"Not your house elf" Lestrange grumbled.

Tom held up his wand and a blanket rushed through the room whipping Lestranges leg, he let out a yelp.

"Manners" Tom warned.

"Thank you" she flicked her eyes over to him, "my lord".

People flowed in and out of the common room , some visiting the kitchen, some sitting in the dining room, or hiding away in their own private bedrooms.

All except Tom and Lenora. The rain kept them trapped in the house, thunder rumbled and lightning crackled. The steady pelts hit the window. Nothing but desire kept them in that room together. Both reading, their eyes swimming away for a moment to stare at the other.

In a lull of the constant crowd of people moving in and out, Tom stood. This time her eyes followed his until he stood in front of the chaise lounge.

Nora couldn't help but move her legs in and pull back the blanket. He sat, her legs slid onto his lap and he covered them both.

"Great Love Stories of the 17th Century?" He said aloud. Before she said anything to correct him he waved his wand and the glamour was dropped,"I didn't believe that for one second".

Her eyes dropped and she blushed, "I wouldn't want anyone to feel threatened".

Nuances and Intricacies of Dark Magic

Tom nodded approvingly.

"Learn anything?"

She smirked, "yes how to Imperio you, so I can control you".

His hand moved under the blanket and touched her ankle. He stroked her leg softly and squeezed right above her knee,"There are other ways to get me to do what you want".

Nora nearly dropped her book.

"Read me something," he smiled at her nervous reaction.

He stroked her leg softly as she read a chapter on complexities of the Crucio charm. His fingers traveled to her ankle, pulling one foot out of the blanket to inspect it. The scar on the top of foot was light, the smallest spiderweb of ebony.

"I want to make my own" Lenora said.

Tom raised his brow, "hmm?".

"My own curse" she held up the book.

"I figure if I can make my own, no one can counter it".

"You amaze me".

It was the nicest thing he had ever said to her. She smiled shyly over her book.

"Thank you Tom"

"Well don't you two look cozy" she heard Theo's voice and Tom quickly put the glamour spell back, she pulled her feet off his lap.

"Don't stop on my account" Theo grinned.

"What do you want Nott" Tom's voice sounded more on edge than usual.

"Dinner" Theo grumbled and walked out.

Read More Here:

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disenchantedif · 10 months

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may i ask for more information about the magical society and human society?? im confused by it, sorry. mainly in how the magical community is so tight-knit and huddles its people into magical spaces (like you said theres only one magical college in this area?). like id like to hear more about that, especially since i assume through chekov's gun that humans/hiding from them is going to be important later? i apologize if i am nearing spoilers. i ask because it's part of why i decided to play a banshee, because they look so human, that i assume having more human-passing characters would be advantagous to the team haha

(i guess i could just be confused in the sense that i am misreading, in which case i apologize. i hope i am not missing the mark totally in what ive processed about this world's lore and relationship with humans)

id also like to hear about why the characters are designed like they are in the sense of "why not more monstrous, why are they so human-looking naturally?" at first I assumed it was because of glamors but then i realized then that Vik would have no horns and Theo no wings and so on with glamors activated. and im asking out of genuine curiosity, not judgement or entitlement; i love character design so im curious why you decided on this relatively high percentage of humanness over a lower (really monster them up basically) or even higher (like Harry Potter and the like where everyone's human, even nonhumans really) percentage. because it seems like theyd still need glamors to interact with humans outside of their secret-society to cover up several traits, but also they wouldn't need much. in most stories i read or urban fantasy, it's either Harry Potter No Glamors Needed We All Pass As Humans™️ or its something where characters have a really monstrous true design that looks very little like their human-glamor-disguise form. what you decided is neither of those things, so im really curious what made you decide that because i dont see it often! (/tone indicactor: i swear to god i dont mean for this to sound critical, im just curious and i think i worded this well enough to convey that im only feeling curiosity but i SUPER apologize if my tone implies judgement)

admittingly, i am more of a monster-fucker than most so i am more used to Katee Robert's The Dragon Bride, if not a full-on dragon love-interest, than i am a dragon like Viktor haha but, again, i do like your designs! im just curious on why that percentage of humanness, basically, in addition to my aforementioned question about this magical society's relationship with humans. your desired percentage reminds me a lot of X-Men's typical idea of mutants (like more Wolverines and Cyclopses over Beasts and Nightcrawlers, if that makes sense) which is oddly nostalgic for me, it makes me miss the X-Men cartoons i used to watch hahaha

So, when it comes to the different supernaturals, you have to understand that there are far more humans in the world. That means a lot of intermixing and typically a lot more human genes as a result.

As I’ve said before, there are totally cambion that are literally half demon (typically they have horns and their eyes are fully black, etc.) and draca with more dragon blood (Vik’s mom is fully human so he and his siblings don’t have wings and the more prominent draca traits aside from horns and slitted pupils).

Sirens are probably the most “supernatural” looking, because of the eyes that glow in the dark, the gills, the claws, the sharp teeth. That’s also because siren pods are more secluded groups that really only interacts with other pods.

As for the magical society’s relationship with humans, the obviously supernatural looking individuals do require glamour as humans at large are not aware of the supernatural.

For example; if an assault or murder were to happen on college grounds, supernatural police officers would be contacted over human police officers due to pre-existing placements on police forces across the world.

The Council, which is the supernatural governing body in each country, has their own officers within the police force that use magic to ensure the continued safety of other supernaturals (though keep in mind the police can still be just as corrupt as the institutions they serve, magical or not).

They use things like mind manipulation and the like to ensure they can detain supernaturals safely to reduce human casualties while maintaining the secrecy of their world.

However, human standards and morals have long since infiltrated the supernatural community. It’s why nephilim are so trusted despite the majority of the old families being corrupt politicians. It’s an interesting relationship to be certain.

#answered asks #lore #species info

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dominimoonbeam · 8 months

Text

Bite to Bruise - 19

This work is mine and I do not give consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted without my permission. I am sharing chapters as I work on this story but it is copyrighted material that I plan to rework and publish when completed.

story tags: modern-fantasy mashup, werewolves, witches, monsters, romance, learning to trust, hurt/comfort, blood, violence, explicit sex, explicit language

The earlier parts can be found under the tag or over on patreon. <3

BITE TO BRUISE - CHAPTER 19.

Ever stared down at her.

The girl on the ground under him looked like Piper. Her face was the same shape with features more adolescent than grown, speckled in freckles under the wild mess of her brown hair. Yellow eyes stared up at him, seeing him but not quite recognizing.

She had smelled like fenrir, but it wasn’t right and it certainly wasn’t his niece. Now she smelled like blood and power. Witch.

She cried in shallow gasps, like she was barely holding back a scream.

He wished she would let it out. Better that than this.

“Bellamy,” Ever said. He wouldn’t use her true name out there. He wouldn’t risk anyone overhearing it.

Her expression shuddered surprise and then dawning understanding.

“Bellamy,” he said again, gently. Where was the blood coming from? He couldn’t see any injuries, but he also couldn’t see the bandages and wounds that should be on her arm. Another glamour, this one to make her look like Piper. Could she make herself look like anyone? There were stories about that sort of magic, fairytales really, and never good ones.

She exhaled and he watched her let the illusion go. Her eyes rolled shut and her whole body sagged on the grass like it had been a physical burden to uphold. Her black hair fell limply around her face, her body shrinking and her clothes changing. Blood smeared the side of her neck around an oval wound, red soaking into the collar of her top. Bits of glass clung to her, her leggings ripped, and her leg scratched up. Almost as quickly as one glamour dropped, the illusion of Bellamy slid into place. The clothes stayed the same, tears and stains too, but the body wearing them changed and her skin smoothed over—not even a welt left behind.

“Bell… Leave the wounds. I need to see them.”

She cringed, tears still rolling off her eyes, but her lips pressed into something close to a snarl, her hand coming up to grab at the side of her neck. “He bit me…” she whispered what he already knew. “He knows,” she added with dawning horror.

Ever shook his head, gently stroking her now blond hair out of her face. “He’s dead.”

Her eyes lost focus as exhaustion dragged her down but she reached up to push her palm against his chest, her fingers twisting in his shirt like she was trying to ground herself in him. “They don’t die…”

He leaned down, so that she would see him again and hopefully hear him before she passed out. “No one will find him, and he will never find you again.”

She stared up at him, either trying to hear him or trying to believe him.

Ever waited those long seconds with her until her strength finally failed, her hand releasing his shirt and falling.

She hadn’t changed the glamour of Bellamy to let him see where she was hurt, but he’d memorized what he could. He pulled his shirt off and pressed it against the side of her neck, soaking up the blood there. The flow was slowing. It would stop, and he’d clean it and bandage it when they got home.

A sharp howl sounded off behind him, telling him that the problem was settled and waiting for him.

Ever scooped up Bellamy carefully and started back toward the road.

Sunny shifted from wolf to man, standing beside the pavement over what was left of a shade. He spat blood into the grass. It wasn’t his own and it was nothing compared to the mess on his skin. Theo growled at the dead shades, probably because he remembered a time when fighting shades had seemed like an endless battle.

Ever hoped not to lead him back into those times, but he couldn’t control what the shades did and there were only so many options when it came to his response.

Sunny looked over his shoulder at him, his expression softening at the sight of the witch in his arms. He pulled his phone from his pocket and made a call. Oakley answered and in a quick exchange of words, Sunny had told the other man to get in his car and drive out to them.

“Tell him to bring kerosine,” Ever added. “And some plastic bags.” He settled his witch down in the soft grass beside the road, a patch clean of bloodshed and glass. What a fucking mess.

Sunny finished his call, eyes always on Ever. Leigh kept glancing between him and the fallen shades, while Theo knew to keep his eye on the not-always dead things. “So, I can guess what the kerosine is for,” Sunny said. “But why the plastic?”

Ever stepped over one piece of gore to reach the bulk of the shade who had called him—the one who had been crusted in Tate’s blood—the one who had had his hands and his teeth on Bellamy. He poked the side of the shade’s chest with his boot, rolling him thoughtfully on the pavement.

“That one’s not dead,” Theo told him what he could already feel. “I think the other three are though… We’ll know for certain if we wait.”

“We’ll wait,” Ever agreed. “We’ll burn whatever stays down, along with their car and that field.” He pointed at the orchard where he’d come from—where he’d found his witch.

“Burn the orchard?” Leigh asked, quiet even in their thoughts.

Ever growled lowly. “It belongs to the biters.”

“But not to Blackwell…” Theo pointed out. His head lifted and swung to the side, whisps of shadow trailing him with slivers of silver in all that darkness, outlining scars and underlining age. He looked at the witch, nostrils flaring before his gaze cut to the orchard. The old wolf huffed. “Burn it,” he agreed, but sounded less than happy about it.

“And the plastic bags?” Sunny pressed, one hand to his hip.

The shade under Ever’s boot twitched, his heart reforming from the growing matter inside his open chest. This one was too old to die.

“Do you think you can use him to barter with Blackwell?” Theo asked, but something in his tone suggested he already knew Ever wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t do that without this shade telling his master about their witch.

“I don’t want to barter.”

Sunny grinned, blood making his lips bright red and, for a strange second, Ever thought his baby brother would have made a great shade—if he weren’t wolf to his core. “We’re taking prisoners?” he asked excitedly.

Ever shook his head, watching the way that corpse put itself back together. It was making everything out of nothing, unstoppable. He wondered exactly how little it needed to regenerate. He had heard stories of shades being rendered to ash and still coming back. “We’re starting a garden.”

They moved the wreck of the car off the road and put the three dead shades in the grass nearby while they waited.

When Oakley got there, Ever moved Bellamy to the backseat of the car while the others pulled the supplies from the trunk. He splashed a trail of kerosine from the wreck, through the grass, into the orchard, following the path she’d crawled in her attempt to get away. He’d have to ask her later how she managed to crash the car, not that he doubted it had been all her doing.

When Ever came back to the road, the shade’s face had mostly reformed and his lungs were working in his chest again. One bright eye stared up at Ever, lips wide to drag gasps that reminded painfully of the way his witch had been sucking at life when he reached her.

Ever crouched over the shade. “Can you hear me?” he asked evenly. He wasn’t sure how their revivals worked. Was his mind repaired or just the bulk of that upper torso? He hadn’t regrown the lower half of himself yet. How long would that take? He could find out if he wanted to make a study of this…

The shade gulped, twitching in a way that suggested he tried to nod but realized his spine wasn’t all there. “Yes,” he ground out.

“What’s your name?” Ever asked. It seemed right to know and he’d like to have it for his next conversation with Florian Blackwell.

The shade cast his one eye around, making out all he could of the scene—the shadows of fenrir and the fire light shining against his sclera. He seemed to be deciding whether or not his name was a secret to keep. “Soren.”

“You fucked up, Soren,” Ever said, not raising his voice but studying the points of those teeth that had dared to break the skin of his witch.

Soren’s eye flicked to the side, toward the burning trees. Understanding dawned, and he grinned madly when he remembered what had brought him ruin. His gaze snapped up to Ever again. “What are you up to?” he marveled, voice rasping and the inner workings of his throat jumping. “Do you understand who she is?”

Ever tensed. He knew the others were listening too now. Sunny had known, yes, but the others had only ever known that they had a witch in their woods—a witch who had saved them once and was being spared.

Soren’s throat undulated. “You do.” Another twitch like he wanted to nod. “We can make a deal then. For that witch, you may be able to keep your woods. To give the duchess leverage like that… She could crush him…” His voice came in faster and faster rasps, like the possibilities were mounting before his eyes and making him salivate.

It was hunger.

It was greed.

Bellamy was something they wanted to own. Blackwell would want her because Baron wanted her. Fucking shades…

Ever thrust his arm down, right into the mess of that rebuilding cavity, and grabbed that new heart. The shade’s mouth dropped open in surprise, his one eye bulging up at Ever. Confusion gave way to shock. “No…” the shade rasped and Ever felt the man’s panic battering his palm. “Wolves and witches don’t coexist… You can’t…”

Ever closed his fist and pulled. He rose to his feet but didn’t let go, eventually the shell of the shade fell back onto the pavement, a little more hollow than before.

Theo, Leigh, Oakley, and Sunny watched him.

He pitched the heart into the fire and Sunny grabbed the plastic bags. They collected the husk of the shade and bagged him, tossing him into the trunk.

Theo and Leigh started on the run home and Oakley got into the front seat of the car and started the engine.

Ever stood by the backdoor, hesitating to close it. He’d intended to send Oakley back with the car, but then he laid his eyes on Bellamy in the backseat. His shirt was still pressed to her neck. If it weren’t for that and the red blooms soaking through the gauze on her arm, she would look like a beautiful, careless creature asleep in the back of that car. Her clothes were tattered and dirty, and bits of glass still flecked her hair, but the scratches and welts were unseen.

It felt impossible for him to close the door and leave separately from her.

But it felt unnatural to ride when he could run.

Sunny squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll ride back with Oakley.”

He said it like it was his idea and not an offer. Sunny loved to run and after a night like this, he’d probably be bouncing off the walls if he didn’t.

Ever shook his head, still watching her. “Run ahead and tell Sky what happened.”

Sunny nodded but didn’t move, still holding onto Ever’s shoulder. The blaze was loud and rolling heat through the night air around them. “She looked like Piper,” Sunny said quietly. He had been right there with Ever, ahead of the others, when they reached the scene. But he hadn’t known that Sunny saw that. “Why would she do that?” he whispered the question but Ever thought he knew the answer. Or, at least, enough of it.

She had done it to save Piper.

Ever’s heart constricted. No, it was to save him. To save all of them from what could have happened tonight.

He carefully moved Bellamy when he slid into the backseat, collecting her in his lap. Sunny nodded like he’d been given an answer and closed the door.

Even with the head start, he’d be back to the valley ahead of the others and the car.

Oakley drove, fists squeezing the steering wheel and gaze fixed ahead, like looking at the rearview mirror would be an offense. Ever wasn’t sure if he thought it was dangerous to look directly at the witch, or directly at him right now. Both seemed true to some degree.

She turned her face into Ever’s chest, breath puffing against his skin in a rhythm that soothed him in ways he’d never imagined. He absently stroked her hair, beginning the process of plucking out pebbles of glass.

Oakley was taking tight breaths.

“You can put the windows down,” Ever said, realizing it was the scent of her blood that was making the other fenrir anxious.

He remembered how overwhelming it had smelled when he found her wounded at the cabin. When had he gotten used to it? While he was cleaning her up, probably.

Oakley coughed gratitude and hit the button to drop the windows. Cold night air rolled through the cab. Bellamy didn’t seem to notice but Ever wrapped his arms around her anyway. It wasn’t a long drive at that speed. They hadn’t gotten far past his territory.

Still, he sighed gut-deep relief when they crossed that invisible line back into pack lands.

“Why did they take her?” Oakley asked. He was about the same age as Sunny and the youngest of all of Theo’s kids. His older sister and her family lived in the valley but the rest had passed away or moved elsewhere.

“They didn’t mean to,” Ever sighed. “They thought they got Piper and that we’d trade the land to get her back.” We would have, he thought. If they hadn’t been able to find another way, a way to get Piper back safely, they would have given anything. Of course, that wouldn’t have been the end of it. They would have gone to war and been forced to do it on their own land.

Oakley glanced in the rearview, at the back of the woman in Ever’s arms, and then quickly away again. “She doesn’t look like Pip…”

Ever rolled some of her blond hair around his fingers, thinking about how dark it had looked when she dropped the glamour. “Not anymore, no.”

“Witches…” Oakley exhaled, with awe rather than suspicion.

When they got to the valley, there was a gathering of the pack waiting in front of his house.

Sky had his big arms crossed and his chin down. Theo was talking and Sunny was baring teeth.

Great.

Ever got out of the car with Bellamy still in his arms.

They all went quiet and, again, he couldn’t be sure if it was because of him or her. They stared and they tried not to stare, but they all moved aside when he approached and no one tried to say anything when he walked up the porch steps.

Sunny got the door and Ever went inside.

They waited.

He carried her to the back of the house and settled her on his bed. He’d really hoped to lay her there under better circumstances, but he couldn’t imagine putting her anywhere else just then.

He closed the door gently and then marched back through the empty house and out front. No one had tried to follow him in, and they were just as silent and flustered as they had been seconds ago. He closed the front door and came to stand at the first step of the deck.

Sky wasn’t looking at him, and that chafed. Was he blaming him? Did he have the right to? Maybe… Maybe Ever had handled the situation with Blackwell wrong.

“She can’t stay here,” Theo said, breaking the silence.

#Bite to Bruise #werewolf romance #monster romance #werewolf x witch #modern fantasy world #own world #own story #original work #<3 #dominimoonbeam #clover down

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