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fatesundress · 1 year

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⭑ patience, please, and thank you. tom riddle x reader

summary. you and tom have always sought to best one another in school. it doesn’t help that upon graduating, you work for opposing shops.

tags. rivals to … rivals with benefits? lovers? there’s no real animosity just #flirting so i don’t know, SMUTT minors begone, fluff that may be ooc to some but Not Me, reader literally learns archaic latin for this man, poor boy x rich girl trope if you squint, pureblood reader (and mentions of pureblood marriage politics), explicitly f!reader this time sorry!, fem anatomy, fingering, piv, tldr tom riddle would be turned on by the culminated tension of an eight-year-long academic rivalry.

note. i was 5k words into something else (that is probably better) before this came to me and would not go away so. here it is. don't know where all the smut is coming from. head empty

word count. 6.4k

The bell to Borgin and Burkes knells low and hollow in your ear as you enter, and there he is. Prim waistcoat and perfect hair, tucking books away with a wave of his wand. Far too pretty a thing for a dusty place like this, you think, and you smile with your head held high, pretending to take in the inventory as if that's ever been your reason for coming here.

“You mightn't consider leaving at all," Tom says, regarding you briefly before returning to his books, “if you're going to return this often."

“Oh, Riddle, but then what would you do without my company? Talk to the bones?"

“A tempting offer when considering my alternative.”

He leans against the counter to watch you as you make your way down the aisle, fingers jolting as they brush the shelves of dark paraphernalia, preemptively casting a locking jinx on a particularly nasty skeletal hand that grabbed you once last year.

“Is there anything you're looking for?"

“Nothing in particular,” you hum as you peruse, “Curiosities of your friendly competitors.”

“Friendly,” he repeats, like he’s tasting a strange flavour.

You smile with just enough polished barb that you hope it bothers him. “Most cordial. And I am nothing if not the dutiful volunteer for the task."

It is an objective truth that you are good at many things. Tom is good at all of them and perhaps one more: being pushed significantly and never showing symptoms of breaking. You'd like to be the one to change that.

“I presume you intend to leave with something?" There's a challenge in his voice, clear as day, as he stands straighter, but — not bothered. Not bothered, just intrigued. His hands fold behind his back and his chin comes up, daring you to say a single snarky thing that isn't true — that you're here to taunt him. Not to buy a thing, and not to enjoy his company.

It was such a boring day before this. If he only knew, he might have a tad more sympathy.

“Breathe, Riddle — if you can through all the dust in here — I've plenty of money to spare; there’s no need to fret about me leaving empty-handed." You select a book at random to prove your point, waltzing closer to hand Tom four sickles from your coin purse.

You're pleasantly surprised to see him actually smile, the corners of his mouth stretching with only the slightest degree of mirth. He reaches out and takes the coins, setting both upon the counter before turning up his nose at the book in your hands. “It must be an enthralling read to capture your attention."

You smooth the cover over with manicured hands and shrug at the indecipherable title. “Well, I’m remiss not to have a clue. I believe it's in Latin."

He runs his hand along the book, thumbing the pages with a raised brow. “It’s a history text. Ancient Roman institutes of magic.” His gaze returns to you. “Will that be all?”

You roll your eyes. He would know a dead language — it's such a remarkably Riddle thing to do — probably just for the sake of knowing it.

“Yes, if that's satisfactory enough that I may be permitted to walk the premises without causing offence."

“Of course. Though I do expect a review of it soon," he adds, “to know whether my time hasn't been entirely wasted."

“A review?" You laugh. “And I suppose you ask that of all your customers? Mind the matter of it being in a language I don't know; it would take me a few months for a crude translation at best."

“Only my best customers," he says with a small shrug, as if that isn't a completely arbitrary standard he's just pulled out of nowhere. “In that case, you've the better part of a year to read it," he adds, and the smile on his face is less thin, less restrained, more cocky.

You raise a brow, scanning over the words on the first page as if hoping something will stick out. It's all gibberish. “I'm being timed now, am I? I don't recall accepting the task."

"Do you not?"

You scoff. "Of course I do."

“Or perhaps I could translate for you?" he suggests, “It's really no bother for me."

You should be offended — he's eternally eager to see you fail — but your stomach flips at the premise of a challenge you haven't felt since you were in school together, and most importantly, you never fail. “Give me a date, Riddle.”

“I think by Christmas would be fair. Does that give you enough time, or shall I set it a bit later?"

“Christmas," you agree, shaking his hand with all professionalism you can muster (this is, after all, a very professional exchange), turning away, and smiling to yourself as the shop bell tolls again.

It’s only weeks before Christmas when it occurs to you that this isn’t even for anything. There’s no prize should you win, no one else is aware of it, it’s a great waste of time when what began as a passable weekend hobby has now drowned you in English-Latin dictionaries and histories of Ancient Rome. The shop surpasses last year’s sales and you’re dozing off into your mother’s pastry dish during the family celebration. Even your father telling a rather pitiful tale of his Polyjuiced visit to Borgin and Burkes can’t keep your attention when he drones on about how easily he fooled Mr Borgin into remembering the details of some spat twenty years ago. Your brain is in a half-scattered language. It tugs you to what might be the most depressing December 25th of your life if you’re forced to give Tom the gift of your failure.

So you double-down. Your social life is nonexistent. You’re three quarters through the textbook and dreaming about duelling Tom under the Arch of Constantine, and he wins, and he wins, and he wins each time. It only propels you more. You’re downing Invigoration Draughts like a drunkard with a cradle of firewhisky.

And you do it.

You finish the damn book, you think you might have actually fucking learned Latin with how deep the words have rooted in your skull, and you win.

You win, in your prettiest dinner dress, snow clinging to your hair, wrapped in a brand new coat as the shop bell tolls and you step inside.

You’re grateful you don’t say as much (which you were planning on doing — planning on slamming the door shut behind you and carolling your bloody success) because it’s Mr Burke at the counter this Christmas evening, not Tom.

“...Miss?” He regards you with perplexity behind the counter.

You blink, recollecting yourself and stepping forward to shake his hand. “Mr Burke. My family wished to extend their best wishes for the new year.”

“Quite a gesture," comes a familiar voice from behind you as Tom steps out from the staircase, dressed in a dark suit and overcoat, like he’s just been out. He’s smiling. He looks disgustingly well.

You glance between the two men, and Burke bows curtly as if made aware of something he’d previously been warned of. “To yours as well, miss.” And then he’s off to assist the only other customer, an elderly woman in fur-lined green with so many glittering pins in her hair she resembles a Christmas tree.

“Riddle,” you say, facing him, unable to hide the triumphant grin that digs into your cheeks. You hand him the book, and atop it, your three pages of articulate, edited review.

“You made it. You read it," he acknowledges, though you doubt he’s surprised, and then nods to the stairs. “Come.”

You follow him up the narrow spiral into a short corridor, taking one look back at the old woman, now clasping a shrieking bauble you gladly turn away from. The door Tom opens is unlocked, presumably where he’d just come from, and — you feel a bit overwhelmed if you’re correct, but you have no idea what else it could be — presumably his flat.

When you enter, the door shuts behind you with an empty click of the latch. The room before you is rather sparse, a kitchenette in one corner, a cramped study in the other, with books upon books and scrolls stacked high on shelves along the dark walls. There's only the barest of seating, two armchairs beneath a dim desk lamp, a small table beside the fireplace, and… a bed, of all things, separated only by a thin divider and the courtesy of enough distance not to immediately draw the eye. You, of course, can't quite help it, gaze lingering on the tidy sheets and back to him.

It isn’t a thought you do well to dwell on. Too many directions for your imagination to roam.

“Well then," you say, hanging your coat at the door and trying not to display any overt anticipation as the parchment rustles in his hand, “Shall I just sit and await your evaluation?"

He raises a brow. “I was going to ask if you’d like tea. Do sit, though.”

Oh. Yes, right, you’re rushing things. Hospitality. Decorum. Consideration. You suppose Tom Riddle would extend those things for the sake of posterity if nothing else. “Something black, if you have any, please.”

The water comes to a boil quickly under the steady heat of his magic, and you’re sinking into a shockingly comfortable armchair taking in every shape and blemish of the room while you’re in it. You don’t have to guess that he doesn’t have many guests.

“Darjeeling,” Tom says as he offers you a steaming cup, “if that’s satisfactory.”

You resist a scowl at his mocking tone, placing the tea on a glass coaster and glancing purposefully at your work (your magnum opus, really) once more. “Perfectly.”

Tom notes your look with a smile, settling into the seat opposite yours.

You take a sip of tea and lean back. “Do go on.”

“Eager,” he mutters, but begins.

He skims over the opening line before flipping the book open as if to be sure you haven’t made it all up, and then you think you probably could have made it all up if you wanted. Read one of the hundreds of magical histories of Rome that certainly existed — probably in your own shop, at that — and gathered much the same conclusion. But you did not. Tom must know you did not.

The silence is thick as he reads, waned only by the crackle of the fireplace and the occasional turn of a page. His brows furrow the way you always remember catching in school, like he's concentrating on a particularly hard puzzle, and you have to busy yourself with a nearly empty cup of tea to pretend not to notice the way his beauty is something almost delicate. Framed by firelight and the indigo gloss of the night shining in through the window, you imagine his hair mussed, his long eyelashes speckled with snow, his cheeks pink from the cold. You wonder about him in a nicer suit than this. You could buy him one, if you liked.

And then, at last, he looks up over the parchment, expression carefully measured. “I'm impressed.”

You put your cup down and you can’t help it. You're smiling. You're proud. His approval is like bottling the tail of a rainbow (which you’ve been told is possible), and it's a feeling that’s been absent from you for so long, it's never come from him — Merlin, you've always wanted it to come from him, haven’t you?

“You’re impressed?” you ask, as you love nothing more than to push. “Is that all?”

He loves nothing more than to keep his face impassive, but there’s a twitch there. Something you’re aware you can only spot because of how much attention you pay him.

“I enjoyed your perspective on the Romans’ utilisation of firedrakes. It was well-thought.”

“Well-thought?”

“Quite good, yes.”

“Good," you say, grinning in the bulk of your triumph, “I suppose that means I win."

Win. You’re not winning anything but the implication that Tom is somehow losing. Still he does not break, and you think at seventeen he would have. At nearly twenty his smile just grows. “Have you ever done anything less?”

Is he pushing too? That could be fun.

“Oh, first year tribulations. Nothing since — you wouldn’t remember.”

“Hm, I do recall an unfortunate lesson with a matagot in Beasts, and that must have been, what—” He tilts his head as though to ponder it— “fourth year?”

You narrow your eyes. “Paid an ever-close watch on me, did you, Riddle?”

“As close as anyone else.”

“And by that you mean to say—?”

“Only that it’s a most fascinating custom, the matter of pureblood marriage. It was hard to avoid your name in a common room full of your particular politics.”

“Ah,” you hum, summoning the teapot from the kitchenette to pour another cup, “so my potential marital affairs are what drew your attention. And here I was thinking it was because I was the only person who could ever best you.”

He stops your tea mid-motion, and you still as he sends both the pot and the cup to the table beside you. “Can it not have begun as one and have become the other?”

“Well, your curiosity knows no end; I should be flattered by such multifaceted interest.”

“So you won’t mind my inquiring.”

“Whatever you wish, Riddle.”

“Upon the current status of your betrothal.”

You blink, and then laugh. “There is no betrothal. At present.”

“At present. Is it subject to change?”

“There’s always talk,” you offer, and it offers impressively little.

“Elaborate...”

“I don’t know that you’re in any position to be making demands,” you gibe, “considering I paid four sickles to prove you wrong and I haven’t anything to show for it but my pride.”

He smiles. “Not enough to sate your desire to make me grovel, it seems.”

“You? Grovel?” You gasp, fingers circling your knee idly. “What a fascinating concept… Wait now, I’m trying to paint the picture.”

“Is that not what you came for?” he asks, and it’s odd to see him amused by the idea. You push and push and he just continues to take. “To prove me wrong? To puncture my pride?”

You shrug innocently, even though you’d just said as much. “I’m here to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

He laughs, a warm, quiet laugh — more of a breath than anything — but true if you can read him at all, and that’s a bit alarming. “Of course. Near nine months of exhaustive translation all to bid me a nice holiday. It sounds almost like grovelling, doesn’t it? Wait, now, I’m trying to paint the picture.”

You bite back your smile. Damn him. He’s never been funny before. That’s a problematic development.

“Fine.” Your legs are already crossed and now you’re crossing your arms too, and you look very reserved compared to his relaxed stature. “A match would, of course, need to be of good title.”

“Of course,” Tom says, without even an attempt at masking his amusement.

“And he would need to be rich.”

“Naturally.”

“It would help to be from one of the Sacred Houses.”

“I should not expect anything less.”

“And I suppose age is a factor,” you go on. You push, and push, and push. Tom is impervious. He takes.

“What age would do well?”

“Near enough to my own. For health, of course.”

“For health,” he agrees delightedly.

What the hell are you talking about?

“It would be preferable that he be handsome.”

“And of his character?”

“Most agreeable.”

“Docile?”

“Hm, docile, yes.”

“It is a long list.”

“I’ve been told I’m a difficult woman to sate. Far too prideful, apparently.”

Your fingers are drawing figure-eights on your thigh now, and Tom’s eyes flash briefly to the motion. You stop as though caught, and you aren’t sure why.

“A defamatory accusation,” he says quietly.

You wonder if his voice has always had that tinge to it: the gravel underlining his polish like the crack of the fire, and — that must be why it’s so warm in here, too. It has been that way since you arrived, hasn’t it? Such polarising temperatures between your walk in the snow to this, you must have only just adjusted… an hour after arriving. It’s completely logical.

“So there are talks,” you repeat, if only because you’ve blanked on all else.

“Well,” he says, eyes boring into yours in a way that makes you feel transparent, “I wish you all the best. If it at all helps, you can now add a moderate understanding of Latin to your list of virtues.”

You drape an arm across your chair to match his easy posture. (And how is it he manages to look regal and informal at the same time?) “My list of virtues? Elaborate.”

He shakes his head with a small smile and you point an accusatory finger at him. “Ah, ah, Riddle — I won, remember? And I indulged your inquiring regardless.”

His eyes narrow. “You do want me to grovel.”

“It’s Christmas.”

“I don’t believe that’s the purpose of the day.”

“And that matters to you?”

He leans forward, looking over you as if your supposed virtues will reveal themselves upon scrutiny. It’s a bit offensive, really. You’d hope he could find more than enough with one glance.

He settles, after a long moment where you feel almost bare, on, “Your pride is agonising.”

It’s — not exactly what you were hoping for. Not quite grovelling, by any definition, but then, what did you expect from him?

“Excuse me?”

“Your stockings are ripped at the calf.”

“Riddle—”

“Your lipstick may have stained my teacup. It is a shade I’m rather fond of, but I do not wish to see a trace of it left behind.”

“Quite good,” you say through gritted teeth.

“And I should not be agonised — incautious and unfettered at a sliver of skin or the gesture of your mouth —” You realise with horror that he’s speaking through something constrained too — “and yet I am.”

It’s — is that a confession? Have you broken him? Have you won again? Your stomach flips and it doesn’t feel at all like winning. He certainly doesn’t look like a man who’s lost. In fact, he’s watching you intently, and at your lack of response, the constraint forming a taut line on his lips seems to slip back into something deliberate. Curious.

You recover to the best of your ability. “It is a short list.”

“Shall I go on?” he asks, and it’s an answer, too: no, you have most definitely not broken him. He looks a bit like he’s found a neat pathway to breaking you instead.

“I’d hate to debase you further.”

He leans in, and he might be about to stand, and that might be an irreversible thing to do. “Are you sure? I can’t imagine you’ve painted the picture yet.”

Oh, you’ve painted the picture. You’ve painted a gallery.

“I find the image regrettable half-done. No point finishing it now.”

You do not.

“And besides,” you add, “I know my virtues.”

He smiles, and he’s half orange in the firelight and half blue in the night, green somewhere in the middle, and he should be condemned for being this beautiful. “Elaborate.”

You shouldn’t. “I’m intelligent.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m a quick learner.”

“So I’ve seen,” he agrees, still leaning in.

“I’m good at my job.”

And then he stands.

It is an irreversible thing. Your heart lurches like it knows he’s going to do something that cannot be undone. Your heart lurches because it is a thing you’ve anticipated, quietly, on late nights in scrolls of Latin so you might be able to pretend to mistranslate them — you know, in your first tongue and any other, that you do not want it to be undone.

“Anything else?” he asks. You aren’t sure if you’re resentful of the proximity of his seat to yours or grateful for it, because it takes no time at all for him to be standing before you.

“I’m well-mannered,” you say, and it comes out quieter than you mean for it to. “Lettered in etiquette.”

“Etiquette," he repeats slowly, in a voice dripping with sarcasm, and you don't quite know how he manages an intonation like that, but there it is, dripping with so much contempt you’re surprised he doesn’t fall over.

It wouldn’t be terrible if he did. He’d land right on top of you and put this little game to rest.

Instead he reaches a hand to your cheek — your hair — and brushes it like it’s an absolutely standard thing to do. He pulls away just the same. As if his hand is familiar with the shape of your face because it’s been there before. You'd definitely remember if it had.

“Of course,” you breathe, “patience and pleases and thank yous.”

“In all your manners, you might provide an example.”

Fine. If he’s going to be difficult. “I’d say I’m displaying great patience right now.”

“Hm.” His hands find yours where they sit on either arm of your chair, and his figure is blocking all light now. It shines on his shoulders, casts him like an aura. “That’s one.”

You look at his lips, and don’t bother to look away. You incline forward as much as you can when you’re caged in like this, until his breath is on yours and you can smell his cologne.

“Please,” you say, and for the challenge in it you don’t feel too humbled.

He is most obliging.

His lips just barely brush yours at first, and you did say you were patient — so you wait. The feather-light touch of them stills before it deepens, his hands pressing down on yours. Your open mouth. His tongue. You're kissing him, breathlessly and frantically and completely, and it is all you want.

Tom pulls back and you instinctively push forward. You will your eyes to open and he’s still right there — he hasn’t gone anywhere (what a deranged concern that is) — lips an inch from yours, and he’s smiling.

“That’s two.”

Oh. Oh, he’s an aberration in human variance. There’s something incredibly wrong with him.

There isn’t a way of turning gratitude into a challenge, you think. It doesn’t ask for anything. It appreciates. In this case it would more closely resemble worship. Thank you for your kiss, Riddle, I’d be nothing without it.

So you search to find a way around it that still gets you what you want.

“I’ll need a bit more than a lousy kiss if you want to see me grovel, Riddle." Your voice is a bit rough. You don’t know that your confidence lands the way it typically does.

But you came here to — what was it — puncture his pride? Push him until he breaks? You’ve already made it halfway, and you are, after all, very good at it.

And you suppose he wants to earn the third, because he scowls and then he’s kissing you again and this time his hands are on your face, and perhaps they are somehow familiar with the shape because they fit around you in some inexplicably whole way, like they were made for it. With your hands free, you’re carding your fingers through his hair, hoping for that vision of him you imagined earlier, with thick, messy waves and flushed cheeks.

Tom brings a hand to your waist and tugs you in, and you’re partly pulled from the chair by his insistence and overwhelmingly pushing to get out of it yourself, lips never leaving his as you stumble past the meagre divider to his bed.

The backs of your thighs hit the footboard and your knees buckle, gasping away from Tom’s mouth as you reach for the bedpost. His breath is heavy as his hand curves to the small of your back to keep you steady, your dress bunched in his fist, and there’s a heat in him pressed against you, like a match being held to kindling. And in the flash of fire when it finally strikes, everything in his eyes is clear, singularly focused, and he's pushing you to your back, splayed across his tidy sheets as he kisses you with bruising ferocity.

There's an urgency now to his movements that wasn't there before, and it's a stark contrast to his usual calculated demeanour, but that feels like winning. That feels like breaking Tom Riddle, whittling years of practised constraint to… this. That draws the third: makes you nice and grateful like he asked, because no part of you wants his careful fortitude here. You want to ruin him.

He appears to want the very same from you, which wrecks the whole thing.

Your legs move to wrap around him and he stops you, one hand pinning you by the hip and then down, past where you think he’ll go, as he finds the hem of your dress and lifts it from your calf to your knee. He draws circles over the thinly-clothed skin and you can do nothing but lie there, panting a little, staring at him with less patience than you’d proclaimed to have. And then his fingers move upwards, and they’re drawing figure-eights, and you understand that if this isn’t a taunt, nothing is. He copies your earlier motions. He does not kiss you. His fingers trail higher and higher and they’re soft like the shadows framing his face.

Finally he finds the waistband of your stockings and begins to tug them down your hips, stopping when he reaches that sliver of skin revealed by a tear in the fabric, taking your leg and hiking it up so he can look closely. He smiles, finger sliding down the tear in such a precise, meticulous fashion you can’t help but think he’s doing it on purpose. The moment does not linger when he pulls away, shuffling your stockings down the rest of the way so your legs are unclad before him, your heels already kicked off somewhere across the floor.

He watches your sharp exhale when he ducks down to kiss the skin of your thigh. A shiver runs through you at his softness, another when you see his face, see his eyes go dark with want of you.

His constraint is back, and it’s fucking detrimental. The only silver lining you can find in it, and you hope to be correct (haven’t you been so far?), is that maybe that means Tom Riddle can be broken in litany. Maybe he amends his ruination now but you can carve it out of him again later.

“Come here,” you say, your voice ragged.

Tom frowns, one hand pursuing a dangerous path up the inside of your thigh. “And here I was under the impression you wanted me to grovel.”

“Oh,” you huff, “is that what this is? Not some feeble attempt at winning after I —”

You grip his hair as his fingers curl under the lace of your underwear, as he smiles at the dampness there, the way your argument dissipates beneath his touch. “Winning?” he derides, breathy to match your tone in a way that feels cruel rather than considerate. You nod even as your breathing accelerates and he lifts the skirt of your dress to rest over your thighs, his eyes darting between your legs and your own heavy gaze as if he can't decide which is more intriguing. And then he slides a finger across your heat and you think he’s made his choice. "Is that what you think I want?"

You blink, feeling a bit lost. "What else is there?"

“Will you thank me after this?”

Right. That. You swallow, head falling back on his pillow. “Doubtful.”

“Hm,” he mumbles, some kind of consideration that can only be answered by the movement of his fingers against you, slow as they seek to learn you.

You arrest the moan that rises in your throat, teeth clenching together as Tom climbs over you once more, his body keeping you in place to watch the sustained details of your expression as one of his fingers dips inside you. You hiss, and his gaze burns into you, his mouth parted with a degree of awe and you think perhaps this is the picture he painted — you, under him, eyebrows pinched together as your hands scramble for purchase on his chest, fighting to remain intact.

But then his thumb brushes up against your clit and you let out a sound — half a moan, half a mewl. Tom doesn't give you a second to recover as his lips come down on yours again, hard, desperate, like he's trying to inhale you. And you let him, you take the little bit of ruin he surrenders in the great expanse of yours.

Even if you could quiet your noises you stand to think Tom would feel them, taste them, bite down on them like he does your lower lip, a second finger coiling into you. Your hand smacks at his wrist, clutching his arm with such intensity you can feel every sinew of his movement as he works away at you. Your legs are trembling, pressing around his waist an act of simultaneous resistance and desperation as you push upwards for friction and conquest.

You find both. Undeniable hunger — how he groans softly against your open mouth, how the imprint against your thigh is hard under his trousers, how he wants you.

His ministrations only intensify when your hand searches for the buckle of his belt, gripping your jaw like he needs to watch you fall apart before you can find parity in your desperation. It isn’t an impossible wish; your mind is hazy at the push and pull of his fingers, curving where his thumb draws ceaselessly on the other side, and you think, as much as you’re able right now, that he could succeed. But you force your eyes open to the space where your hand is wedged between your bodies, yanking hastily at his belt and sighing into his shoulder as it unfastens.

His trousers are unbuttoned, unzipped, and you’re arching into him with laboured pants even when your hand slips past them to find skin you've never travelled before.

Tom’s motions stagger when your fingers brush experimentally over his length, and you suddenly understand his ardent focus. You can’t help but stare at the way his jaw ticks, a hiss parting through gritted teeth, and the fact that you’re doing this to him is almost enough to push you over the edge. You grip him in one hand, and his fingers move again like some act of defiance, tightening his hold on your jaw. And then you’re pumping slowly, carefully, the only way you think to with the intention of pleasing him. Of weakening him.

He turns your head so you’re gasping into the pillow, neck exposed for him to press his mouth to. His teeth and tongue are on you and your hand slips from him for a moment as you shudder. Fuck him. This isn’t enough. You won't lose like this.

You tug at his waistcoat now, snapping open the buttons until the last few are clinging on by cheap threads. You’ll buy him that suit, you think. One that you can shrug off as fervently as you like without worrying about tearing the seams.

Your removal of his shirt is not aided by the swelling fire inside you, how the attention of his fingers has remained steady through your squirming and it feels like it’s culminating to something fatal. Your fingers grow shakier but don't stop their pursuit until every button is undone and you can soothe their trembling by pressing your palms against the warm expanse of his chest.

And then they’re back in his trousers, pushing them down his thighs as he continues to chip away at you. You bite back moans and blink through your dizziness.

Tom stops, and it might be more devastating than if he hadn’t. Your body is taut, a fine, thrumming wire spared a moment before snapping.

“More,” is all you say, tracing the shape of him through his briefs.

“More?” he asks. There’s a small mercy in the rasp within in his voice, the uncertainty despite himself. “I suppose that means I win.”

“Win?”

His gall almost, almost pulls you back to reality. But he’s — he’s pulling his trousers further down and your body, like some separate entity to your mind, is flush against him when he’s finally free of all obstructions.

“Mhm,” he hums, and almost-reality dwindles away into fucking nothing — disappears before your eyes when he brings his finger to his tongue and tastes you.

You tear him back to your mouth with a sound that so desperate your humility shouldn’t be able to take it but that's all gone now. His lips are wet and swollen and you’re adjusting yourself so his hips are lined with yours, and your head rolls back when he positions himself against your core and stays there.

“I win,” you breathe. “Everything else is just—”

He moves, hands on your waist as he presses ever-so-slightly inside you. You clutch wildly at his arms, your eyes wrenching shut.

“Look at me,” he says softly. His thumb caresses your cheek as if any act of his acts of tenderness are at all actually tender and not depraved requests for your resignation.

You shake your head. “It’s ju-just—”

He sinks further, unhurried, and you feel like crying, your body clenching around him as the pressure deepens.

“Just what?” he asks, peppering kisses along your jaw.

“Just… um, just…”

“Hm?”

“I win... s’just… cheating…”

You feel him smiling against your neck, and then he detaches his lips to observe you, nodding with false sympathy. “You win.”

And he shifts himself forward so he’s pushed to the hilt.

It’s a lie. It’s a lie as Tom holds you against him, carving kisses into your skin that burn, as you shudder a moan into the thick, hot air, as he begins to move rhythmically inside you, your fingers digging crescent moons into his spine and dragging.

You don't win.

If you are steel honed over years, it’s this moment that you melt, and you think if you were to be fused again it would be in a different shape.

And you mean that. You honestly feel liquified when he splits you slow like this, rolling his hips as you cling to him for strength like he isn’t the thing shattering you.

You rock to meet him, you bury your nails in his back, you rest your moans with your teeth in his shoulder — whatever you can think to make this fair. Make true to your word. You are going to break, it's true, but you are going to break Tom Riddle too.

“Fingers,” you mutter, far too much of a demand for the way it almost stumbles into a sob, but Tom makes a strained sound in the back of his throat as if it gratifies him that you want it enough to ask.

“Thank me,” he answers on a harsh exhale.

You bite at his collar, shaking your head, but your legs are starting to shake and you wouldn’t ask if it was something you wanted — you mask it as an order because you need it. Because you imagine what he’s doing now combined with his thumb on your clit and it’s enough to make your abdomen clench just thinking about it.

Instead one of your hands forsakes the sweet curve of his muscles every time he thrusts into you so that it can snake between your own legs, and you mimic his earlier ministrations just long enough to drive a moan from your lips before Tom’s eyes dart from your lips, the rise and fall of your chest, to the hand missing from his back.

He grabs it with a scowl, pinning one wrist and then the other above your head.

“Stubborn,” he hisses, and he buries himself inside you like it's something personal, persistent in his strokes when his fingers finally rub over you how you wanted.

And you know you’ve done it when his head falls on your shoulder and you feel yourself tighten around him. His grip on your wrists is punishing. His mouth on your shoulder is stringent. He’s hard and full inside you and his fingers slide against you in delicate, torturous contrast. You know because it all stutters a bit when you pull him into a kiss, when you know you’re about to plummet into oblivion and he’s gripping you through it like you might steady him — like you aren’t the thing shattering him.

When you do, it’s something visceral. You think you might be spinning, or floating — screaming, maybe — spilling ill-mannered expletives in strings with his name because your hands are still trapped under his and your body can do nothing else. What you know, undoubtedly, is that you’re coming down from it for a long time, in a haze when you manage to breathe the words into his ear. “Thank you.”

Tom breaks. It’s the most beautiful you think he’s ever looked; eyebrows cinched and pink mouth parted, hair mussed like you wanted, neck tense as he stills inside you and you feel every part of him let go.

Your legs are too weak to cling to him through it, and you just pant under him, blinking languidly and in awe.

You stay like that for a long time.

He leans in when he finally pulls out of you, kissing you like one form of contact must be replaced with another. It's the same with his hands. He sinks into the space beside you and releases your wrists just to cup your face instead.

Yours come up instantly and shamelessly to his hair, craving nothing more than to curl your fingers through the dark mess of it. You trace the sharp shape of his cheeks, too, like his did to yours, like you need to memorize the lines of his expression and the heat of his skin before the world outside seeps in and it all goes cold.

But you pull away and you can't imagine it will.

There’s something in his eyes that feels new. Longing like he’s shed all pretence of acting like nine years of treading the lines of this rivalry has ever been anything but a pathetic display, like he knows you've shed it too. It makes you catch your breath to think this is what it feels like to be desired by Tom Riddle; that you desire him all the same; all this time.

“You know,” you say, and your voice sticks dry to your mouth, “I still win.”

He shakes his head. He smiles. You want terribly to kiss him again.

“I’ll just have to find something else to best you in, won’t I?”

You pretend like you’re considering it and not just staring at him.

“I think by Christmas would be fair.”

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle smut #tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #voldemort x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle oneshot #harry potter fanfiction #wizarding world

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jamilelucato · 8 months

Text

possibility - fred weasley

pairing: fred weasley x slytherin!reader

(it can be read as a one-shot) (part 02 here!)

summary: Amidst the boredom, an unexpected connection sparks between (Y/N) and the charismatic mischief-maker, Fred Weasley.

note: They are in their last year at Hogwarts, so, for purposes, they are 18; besides, the whole canon of the book (it would've been Order of the Phoenix) is mostly nonexistent here.

the reader: can be interpreted as someone with ADHD; she loves literature and she has no friends.

words: 7580

Enjoy!

The lesson trudged on, dripping with tedium.

In truth, (y/n) quite liked Professor Flitwick. She had, in fact, eagerly accepted his invitation to become his assistant whenever the First Years graced his class. Being an assistant delighted her to no end. Yet, being a student, well, that was a different cauldron of bubbling potion altogether.

Today, Flitwick's lecture on Spellcasting and its perils was dragging on and on. As a sixth-year student, the curriculum seemed more intent on delving into existing knowledge than offering exciting novelties. While these topics might hold allure for a future Auror or the like, they were a one-way ticket to Boredomville for her.

Ever since (y/n) had decided upon her career path – a decision that seemed to have been brewed in the deepest recesses of her being – most of her classes had metamorphosed into a soporific ordeal. Hogwarts wasn't particularly renowned for its prowess in teaching language and literature, but that was precisely where her ambitions lay. A writer, a wordsmith, perhaps even an editor or a high school pedagogue. Anything that would let her commune with the magic of words, not the sort that burst from wands.

Now, she wasn't a woeful spell caster by any means. Professor Flitwick wouldn't have sought her assistance if she weren't a smart witch. But, her heart preferred the dance of ink on parchment over the intricacies of wand-waving, often rendering her classroom hours relatively inconsequential.

Seeking refuge from this stifling monotony, (y/n) allowed her gaze to wander. And in this sea of faces, her eyes collided with Fred Weasley – the school's most notorious ginger-haired mischief-maker. He was already watching her, a mask of effortless nonchalance draped over his face. He raised his brows at her, noticing she was staring back, and he did not look away. And so, they locked eyes, neither relinquishing the connection. It was not a duel of gazes; it was more like a shared secret, a silent agreement over how tedious the class was.

A minute passed in this silent communion until Fred graced her with a faint smile. The spell was broken, and her attention returned to her empty parchment. A quiet sigh fluttered like a long-forgotten page being turned, but it vanished into the air, unheard by all but her.

With pen in hand, she felt an almost magical compulsion to transcribe Flitwick's words onto her parchment. His voice, though droning before, now seemed less boring.

“To its nature, we shall survive it, but the opponent targetted... not so much,” the professor intoned, the words finally finding their mark within her consciousness. Cruel nature, indeed. “Well,” she mused, her back moulding into her chair as her quill danced across the parchment, “Every spell I remember does possess a hint of danger.”

At long last, her notes held substance, and her enthusiasm, while subdued, had been rekindled. Her gaze again drifted sideways to where Fred Weasley was, only to find he had shifted his focus – to his twin, George.

They sat side by side, mirror images of naughtiness. (y/n) sometimes forgot that they were identical twins because she was so used to having them around that they started to look apart. George's height had a mere smidgen of variance, while Fred's nose was a tad more prominent. Freckles played a symphony across their faces, arranging themselves differently – Fred’s were more concentrated around his forehead. Yet, at that moment, as (y/n) blinked through her confusion, she wondered if she'd mixed up their features. Had she glimpsed George's grin instead?

But then, as if choreographed by fate, Fred resumed his original posture and caught her looking. His lips curled into an unmistakable smirk. “It's certainly Fred, then,” she thought, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, unwanted. She redirected her attention back to the good Professor Flitwick and his lesson, and weirdly enough, after all that gazing, she had regained her focus and was more ready to be a satisfactory student.

Amidst her studies, (y/n) was ensconced within the library's embrace.

This day bestowed upon the library an uncommon hush, a tranquillity that seemed to defy the norm. The librarian always managed to get the kids quiet, but she couldn't stop them from coming all at once when frenzied by the looming spectre of approaching exams.

However, an anomaly unfolded on that Friday afternoon, bestowing upon (y/n) the most unexpected gift – the library, in all its boundless expanse, was hers to claim. A rarity that, peculiarly, she found herself not enjoying. Amidst the solitude, her focus waned like a candle in a draft, flickering and unstable. Concentration eluded her, much like the fleeting caress of a dream upon waking. Reading, that intimate act of solitary exploration, seemed to have metamorphosed into a daunting endeavour. It was one thing to lose oneself in tales of princesses or the adventures of chiselled, sun-kissed heroes, but an entirely different ordeal to grapple with the intricate world of potion brewing.

For (y/n), the allure of fantasy books or any literary work was nothing short of enchanting, capable of whisking her away on wings of imagination. These volumes, she devoured with unbridled speed. Yet, a profound disinterest surged within her when it came to the theoretical tomes packed with knowledge mirroring the lectures she endured. If she were to be entirely frank, she might even admit a smidgen of disdain for these volumes.

So she would never take them to the dorms with her — she would much rather read them in the library, filled with other students. The presence of others functioned as a gentle but firm tether, binding her to the task at hand – reading, absorbing, and taking notes. The collective energy of focused minds bolstered her resolve.

Alas, a rather desolate air hung over the library's expanse on this day.

Thrice (y/n) had shifted her position, seeking companionship in proximity, only for her hopes to be dashed within thirty minutes. A sigh, tinged with resignation, escaped her lips, and in that crestfallen moment, a shock of crimson manifested in her field of vision. A pair of vibrant red-headed twins strode in. Nestled at the tables near the corridor's entrance, she watched them meander, their steps unhurried, eyes wandering. “Searching," her inner voice concluded. Certainly, the twins held a more potent allure than the secrets of cauldron cleaning or its ilk, a fact her current book seemed intent on imparting.

Though (y/n) watched from her vantage point, removed yet intrigued, the twins' presence would've caught anyone's attention had there been any other student around. As their gaze swept the expanse, (y/n)'s musings dipped into the realm of speculation, imagining the myriad thoughts dancing behind those crimson veils.

In a place where solitude was typically her archenemy, she now sat pondering the enigma of the Weasley twins, the allure of their presence momentarily overshadowing the dusty tomes that lay before her.

Fred and George stood at a distance, too far for (y/n) to gain a comprehensive view. Instead, they ambulated the space with a purpose that eluded onlookers – a relentless quest for something unbeknownst to her. As they wandered, their forms flickered in and out of her view, now one visible, then none, then both, and once more only one boy.

Fixated on the one nearer her, she strained her vision to discern. Could it be Fred? A question played a merry dance in her mind, teasing but refusing to commit to a definitive answer. His profile was turned towards the shelves, a curtain of red hair obscuring details. Besides, distinguishing the twins remained a daunting task without a survey of their noses.

Abruptly, a voice infiltrated her thoughts, causing her to startle in her seat, “You know we saw you, right?”

She swivelled around, only to be met by the missing twin positioned just behind her. Leaning over her chair's backrest, he inclined his head inquisitively, a solitary auburn eyebrow arching with playful curiosity. Witnessing her wide-eyed astonishment, the Weasley released a soft, subdued chuckle, a mischievous symphony woven into the sound. “If you want my brother's number, you can just ask,” he added.

So the one talking to her was Fred. She quickly glanced at his nose bridge, trying to see the intricated details left by a Quidditch match gone wrong, yet his voice functioned as the telltale sign. He audacity to issue such a provocative remark to a girl with whom they held only the most tenuous of connections – that could only be Fred's doing. Moreover, his tone carried a specific timbre distinct from George's. It was, for lack of a better word, smoother to her auditory senses. Not that George's voice was anything less than agreeable, but his was a quieter, more reserved resonance. She mused that her lack of familiarity with George's vocal cadence stemmed from his status as the quieter half of the duo, while Fred's unending stream of chatter had made his vocal imprint indelible in her ears.

A manufactured laugh escaped her lips, a tinkling facade, "Haha, Weasley. I don't want no one's number."

Fred inclined his head, a bemused glint in his eyes as if coaxing her to reveal more.

Nestled more comfortably in her chair, she raised her chin a fraction, a silent assertion that she was unreservedly facing the boy. This small shift seemed to foster a sense of openness between them.

"Studying is boring, so you guys looked like a distraction," she declared with a nonchalant shrug.

His voice dripped with theatrical incredulity, “We? A distraction?” Fred's lips curled into a playful smile, his head tilting as he leaned slightly away. He stood tall, towering over most, a fact he seemingly embraced with ease. Though his height wasn't sufficient to overshadow Ron (a surprise, really), it cast a considerable shadow over (y/n), particularly in her seated state. The disparity in stature unfolded in a tableau that her neck found almost physically taxing to endure.

With the book held closer to her chest, (y/n) drew a deep breath, her response tinged with a touch of exasperation, “Honestly, anything is a preferable pursuit than deciphering 'how to brew... a potion.'” Her fingers clutched the book, the page title a weighty secret she held close, refusing to vocalise it aloud.

An unexpected shift occurred as Fred commandeered the neighbouring chair, situating it with a proximity that nudged their personal space. “And weirdly enough," he said. Lowering himself into the seat, he offered a sly grin, his gaze steady upon her, “You always get good grades at Snape's classes.” A movement almost imperceptible – a twitch of the head, a hint of satisfaction – played upon his features.

(y/n) registered the proximity with an awareness that tickled her senses. The book, her veiled treasure, lay nestled in her grasp, poised for closure to deter prying eyes.

She shrugged, expecting him to forget what she held close, “I'm Slytherin, after all.”

“Ah,” Fred snapped his tongue in the roof of his mouth, a sound almost as if he had drunk something and was now satisfied.

Shifting her gaze quickly at George, she hoped he would come to her rescue and take his twin away.

“Not so fast,” Fred interjected, his large hand sweeping down to rest atop the book's cover. “What secrets are you hiding there?”

Her gaze flitted from his eyes to his hand, a growing wariness churning within her. Her fingers tensed around the book, futilely attempting to shield its contents. But deftly, the book was relinquished from her hold and into his.

His melodious voice breathed life into the words etched on the page, “Let's unravel this mystery... 'How to Brew a Love Potion,'” he read aloud, his playful and teasing tone. Amusement twinkled in his eyes as they danced up to meet hers. “Wow, (y/n), I'd never take you for one who needed a love potion.”

To match his wit, (y/n) maintained her playful gaze, a smirk curving her lips as her retort unfurled, “Oh, I don't know, Fred. Perhaps that's my secret to acing Snape's classes.”

Not even the weight of dark humour could ruffle Fred Weasley's composure. His smirk swelled, infused with a brew of mischief that danced in his eyes. “If that's the case, you're terrible at it. I distinctly recall a certain incident involving Snape's homework, and if memory serves, it nearly rendered you floundering.”

She averted her gaze, her attention shifting to the captured book still cradled within his hands, the prospect of regaining it receding into the distance.

“Thanks for the recall, top-tier student,” she quipped, a playful glint in her eyes. “Now, are you willing to tell me your secrets? What are you doing here, in the library?”

Fred's laughter danced like a secret melody, an intimate note that lingered in the air, his eyes shimmering with a clandestine glimmer. “What's life without a little mystery?” he joked, his voice a velvety caress.

She mirrored his stance, a symmetrical lean that brought them closer, the gap between their faces now an invitation. Their proximity wove a delicate tapestry between their banter and a realm of deeper connection. “Is that so?” she inquired, her words drawn out in a languid purr, the air heavy with a mingling of intrigue and allure.

He matched her pace without the need to ask. The dance of their words had woven a tapestry of amusement, their shared enjoyment eclipsing the pursuit of concrete answers. After all, Fred barely had learned a secret. He was smart enough to know (y/n)'s book had been opened on a random page.

“If I tell you why I'm here,” he mused; his gaze, which had been steadfastly locked onto her eyes, dared trace a path to her lips, “what will you give me in return?”

(y/n) thought herself very wicked when her answer came quickly, “A love potion?” she playfully suggested.

His smile faltered, his breathing taking on a deeper rhythm, a transformation she couldn't help but notice.

“I don't need that,” he purred, voice dipping lower, “however, you...”

An eye-roll framed her response, though she didn't retreat from his proximity.

“Weasley...” her voice began, her tone laden with a mix of exasperation and uncertainty, an attempt to convey a sentiment she was grappling to articulate.

“Fred,” he interjected, the word a soft murmur, his eyes holding hers earnestly. Noticing her bemusement, he continued with a gentle lilt, “Call me Fred.”

She processed his words, pondering the significance of calling him by his name instead of his surname – a departure from the collective label that often accompanied the Weasley clan around Hogwarts.

A nervous throat clearing preceded her tentative utterance, “Fred." She tested the name as if savouring the syllables as if she did not know it before.

Flirting was an uncharted territory for (y/n), a realm she now tiptoed into, fueled by trepidation and exhilaration.

“Lucian Flewchief's book.”

The words hung suspended, (y/n)'s brow furrowing as she sought to decipher their meaning. Was that Fred’s way of flirting back? Suggesting a book? (y/n) was puzzled. That was a new way of flirting she never knew of, but she hoped the book was some young adult fae fantasy.

Fred's perception of her confusion prompted him to lean back slightly, dissipating the cosy bubble they'd woven. He clarified, “That's our objective here – locating Lucian Flewchief's book."

Her understanding unfurled with an "oh" of realisation, the pieces clicking into place.

“We're also the reason behind the library's current solitude,” he continued, an impish glint in his eyes. “George and I orchestrated a bit of a distraction to ensure we could slip away without drawing any undue attention, Godric forbid, with a book in tow!”

So that explained why she was the only one lingering at the library. Though it made sense, it stirred a tinge of melancholy within her.

Curiosity nudged her to question further, her tone now coloured with intrigue. “Who is this guy? Flewchief? And why the necessity for secrecy around his book?” Her queries were genuine and earnest, though sadness crept into her voice as their playful exchange segued into a more sober dialogue.

Fred swayed his head before replying, “He's a master at pranks.”

An eyebrow arched in response, (y/n)'s curiosity unabated. While she may not have been an expert in the art of pranking, one would expect to have heard of such a renowned figure, right?

Observing her perplexity, Fred inhaled deeply before disclosing, his voice lowered almost to a whisper, “He's a muggle author.”

Recognition flashed across (y/n)'s face, though she remained silent. Yet, subtle shifts in her posture – a subtle sag of her shoulders, a slight tightening of her lips – betrayed a sentiment that did not escape Fred's notice. He understood the Slytherin disposition all too well; prejudices were not uncommon.

She unravelled a piece of herself with an unexpected candour, her words confounding Fred's expectations. Instead of disparaging comments or dismissing glances, she offered something else entirely.

“I want to be a writer for muggles,” she confessed, her voice tinged with vulnerability. “I like to write fantasy, you know. But that's not a genre for wizards; our reality often rivals the most fantastical of fiction. So, my focus turns toward the muggle readers.”

Though caught off guard by the revelation, Fred remained silent, feeling a surge of admiration for her. He hadn't anticipated such a response.

“I can help you find Flewchief's book,” she offered, swiftly transitioning past the exposure of her own secret, determined not to let her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I know this library well, particularly the section reserved for muggle authors. I presume you and George have little familiarity with the place.”

A crooked smile curled upon his lips in response. “Indeed,” he admitted with a chuckle, “you could even say 'no familiarity'; it's quite fitting.”

While (y/n) couldn't quite fathom how any student or individual could navigate life without venturing into the depths of a library, she empathized with their unfamiliarity. The muggle literature section was cloaked in segregation as if Hogwarts itself was disconcerted by such volumes.

Rising from her seat, she gathered her assortment of potion books. Truth be told, she harboured no illusions about accomplishing any meaningful research that afternoon. She left only one book behind – the one currently cradled in Fred's grasp.

“Are you coming or…?" Her voice hung in the air, a hint of playful theatricality accompanying her question.

Promptly, Fred sprang from his chair, the solitary book still in his possession. With (y/n) as his guide, they embarked on a journey through the library's labyrinthine aisles. Initially, they returned her stack of books to Madam Irma Pince, whose sole acknowledgement was a fleeting glance, her eyes flitting over the pile as it landed on her counter. Her gaze flickered momentarily as if recognition finally settled in at the sight of the redheaded companion beside (y/n).

“A Weasley," Madam Irma Pince declared, her observation stating the obvious. Fred, however, found himself grappling with an appropriate response. Ultimately, he opted for a shrug, his head tilting in acquiescence.

“I’m Fred,” he offered, his voice laced with a touch of formality. “But, you are absolutely correct, I am a Weasley."

It was abundantly clear that the librarian was well aware of which Weasley he was.

“Don’t tear my books apart,” she cautioned, her voice edged with warning. “And don’t you dare burn this place down.”

Fred's lips pressed into a tight line, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly. He responded with a curt, “Noted."

(y/n) glanced up at Fred and then to the side, studying his expression. His tone left her somewhat perplexed – she couldn't discern if he was indulging in sarcastic provocation or if he held genuine offence at Madam Irma Pince's admonitions. She reflected that the torrent of criticisms from every adult figure must have been tiring. Yet, the twins hadn't acquired their notoriety by chance; their reputation as school pranksters was well-earned.

The three exchanged furtive glances before Madam Irma Pince averted her gaze to her counter. Her intentions, on the other side, remained veiled to (y/n). Fred possessed the capability to peek, but (y/n) held doubts about him exercising that prerogative.

Clearing her throat, (y/n) eased away from the librarian, and Fred followed suit.

“Take me to George,” she requested. Detecting Fred's immediate confusion, she elaborated, “So both of you can scour the shelves for the books. I can assist, but I'm not quite tall enough to reach all of the shelves.”

“Again," Fred inclined his head toward her, and at that moment, a subtle shift occurred, the playful dance of flirtation vanishing as swiftly as it had emerged, “Thank you for the assistance”. His expression was appreciative, genuine, a quiet acknowledgement of her assistance.

With a soft smile, she replied, “Don't mention it," her voice bearing a hushed quality, her gaze evading direct eye contact. “You’ll just own me one.”

He chuckled, “Uh, the unspoken possibilities.”

Indeed, Fred. Indeed.

It was a rather cold day.

But it was Saturday and Hogsmeade trip day, so (y/n) put on her thickest coat and decided to face the snow.

Her fellow housemates buzzed with excitement, eagerly anticipating the visit. Yet, for (y/n), this outing held a more sombre purpose – a pilgrimage to Honeydukes. While her friends were pursuing quills and ingredients, (y/n) sought only solace in candy. These past few days had been trying, and the kitchen house elves had quietly declared her persona non grata, etching “no longer welcomed" onto their secret walls. So she’d have to buy her own sweets from now on.

“Feeling hot today?” a voice chimed from behind (y/n).

She clutched herself, attempting to stave off the relentless cold. Hogsmeade always exuded a chill, but it seemed that nature was intent on pushing the mercury even lower today. Not even her trusty coat could entirely repel the biting wind.

The voice was familiar; she recognised it as belonging to Fred Weasley.

“Where’s your other half?” she asked, noticing George wasn’t around.

“At the school,” Fred replied, bridging the distance with a few long strides. Given the frigid weather, (y/n) moved slowly, rivalling the old ladies of Diagon Alley. “He's caught the flu.”

A chuckle escaped (y/n), though her amusement was laced with empathy. “After today, I might end up just as sick.”

Fred mirrored her laughter, his eyes gleaming with a twinkle. Then, shifting his gaze towards their right, his expression became more earnest. “Come on, let’s get you something warm. Tea?”

True to his suggestion, Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop loomed just a few steps away.

(y/n) scanned her surroundings, from Fred to the inviting facade of the shop, and for a fleeting moment, the idea appealed to her. But then, a mental alarm sounded – this place was renowned for romantic trysts, a haven for couples from their year. For a time, (y/n) had considered herself above such traditions. But as her sixteenth birthday came and went, and she remained unattached, she longed for the experience of a boy inviting her to tea. Now, at eighteen, it seemed more a fanciful dream than a tangible possibility.

So Fred was definitely not suggesting it as a date.

“I actually have to head to Honeydukes,” she replied, her features arranged in a grimace, and she gestured with her body towards the store at the far end of the bustling Hogsmeade street. “That's the only reason I'm still here.”

Fred bit his lip in thought. “How about we grab a tea to go, then?” he proposed, his determination unwavering. He peered down at her, shivering in the cold, taking in her petite frame. “In less than fifteen minutes, you'll be on your way back to Hogwarts.”

The notion of sipping on something piping hot was increasingly appealing.

“Promise?” she asked, her tone a touch childlike.

Fred extended his pinky finger, encased in a slightly faded red glove – likely a Weasley hand-me-down. Not that (y/n) considered herself entitled or wealthy, but it was common knowledge that the Weasleys weren't the richest in monetary terms. Yet, they were undeniably wealthy in children.

Her own pinky fingers remained nestled deep within her pockets, safe from the cold. Fred glanced down and chuckled.

“Come on.”

She sighed, “Fine, Weasley. But you're footing the bill,” and when she noticed he was about to playfully protest, she added, “You were the one who insisted, after all.”

They walked together, resembling a pair of penguins navigating the icy terrain. (y/n)’s hands, nestled within her coat pockets, were shielded from the biting cold, yet their elbows still grazed one another now and then as they strolled leisurely.

Fred gallantly held the door open, allowing her to enter the cosy shop, and she expressed her gratitude in a soft murmur. While he proceeded to the counter to place their order (when queried, (y/n) simply requested, “Any tea will do, as long as it's the hottest available"), she contemplated the peculiar friendship that had taken root between them.

She'd never been an opponent of Fred, or the Weasleys, or anyone within Gryffindor, as one might have assumed. However, their closeness was a relatively recent development. When confronted with one of the twins' pranks, (y/n) was often the first to laugh, captivated by the sheer audacity of their exploits. She believed magic should be harnessed for amusement, not as a weapon; consequently, she found their approach to their magical talents endearing.

Because of her laughter, Fred and George had never targeted her with their pranks. Their mischief was generally directed at Malfoy and his ilk. Occasionally, she'd return to her common room and find something amiss, but she understood it was their way of rebelling against the entirety of Slytherin and its values rather than a personal affront.

By her fifth year, (y/n) considered Fred and George her acquaintances. They exchanged nods in the classrooms and other shared spaces. Being in the same year, she had grown accustomed to their voices and learned to differentiate between them.

Moreover, the Weasley twins had a certain charisma that she couldn't deny. She had met Fred’s older brothers before, so their good looks were no surprise. She realised this charm extended to Fred as he approached with two cups of steaming tea.

His freckles had always been a distinctive feature she admired. Yet now, she also noticed the appeal of his height, his shoulders broad and strong, typical of a Beater. His hair appeared soft and straight, inviting her fingers to run through its fiery strands, although she knew better than to entertain such notions.

Strangely, it was his nose that intrigued her the most. It was the distinguishing feature that allowed her to differentiate between Fred and George. She found it more masculine and captivating than the rest of his features. Not to mention his chest, which had once tantalisingly revealed his abs through a sweaty Quidditch shirt during a match. The sport certainly worked wonders on bodies.

“Thank you,” she said before taking a sip. She freed her hands from her pockets only with the prospect of holding something scolding hot.

Fred observed her closely as she tasted the tea, noticing how her eyes momentarily closed in bliss and how her body seemed to uncoil, the tension in her shoulders dissipating.

“All right, off to Honeydukes I go," she declared, pivoting towards the Tea Shop's exit.

Fred followed her, hastening to hold the door open once more. A subtle blush dusted her cheeks, and she was relieved that the shop was still relatively empty. A couple occupied a dimly lit corner but seemed too concentrated on each other to notice Fred Weasley being nice to a Slytherin girl. So that’s saying a lot about how entertained that random teenage couple was.

As they stepped back into the brisk Hogsmeade air, (y/n) noticed that Fred was still at her side. She didn't voice any complaint, though. Ever since the day he had sought her help at the library, she had resigned herself to the idea that she might never get the opportunity to converse with Fred alone again. George was always around, and if not him, then someone else. And even though, if she tried, (y/n) could engage in conversation with the other twin or with a Gryffindor student, she would rather not.

In fact, it was rare to find someone she would like to engage in conversation with.

Fred was a… welcoming surprise.

“Uh," Fred's voice cut through the silence, which had settled between them as they enjoyed their tea, “can we make a quick stop here?"

They were passing by Zonko's Joke Shop, renowned for its extensive collection of prankster essentials. Of course, the shop would undoubtedly be on Fred's daily checklist. However, his request to pause at the store intrigued (y/n), given that she had never envisioned walking with him that day. Sure, he had treated her to tea, but that hardly counted as an expense, and she had mentioned her eagerness to return to Hogwarts promptly.

“It won't take long, I promise," he assured her, taking note of her delayed response. “Just add five more minutes to your wait. I'll escort you back, no worries."

(y/n) hesitated for a moment. “You really don't have to do that," she replied, taken aback by his gentlemanly offer.

“As if I'd let you make the journey alone."

She gazed at him in the wake of his response. “I'm a witch," she pointed out the obvious. “It's not like I can't handle a few dangers."

Fred cocked his head, a teasing remark on the tip of his tongue. “Can you defend yourself against the cold?"

She didn't respond; her answer would have been a resounding ‘no.'

“That's what I thought," he declared, a knowing smile dancing on his lips.

She arched an eyebrow, her free hand resting on her hip, her other still cradling her tea. “And what can you do to protect me from the cold?" she challenged Fred.

His smile grew, and he knew he had the perfect response. “Keep you from slipping on the icy ground."

Annoyed by his accuracy, she sighed loudly as they entered the joke shop.

The shop was bubbling with people: it was a living organism. (y/n) struggled to recall the last time she had set foot in this place. She had certainly visited the joke shop before, back in her third year when students were first allowed to venture into the village. Like her peers, she had eagerly explored every store without exception. However, as time passed, most of the shops had become familiar and somewhat ordinary to her. She only made the trip to Hogsmeade with a purpose now. Coming just for butterbeer seemed pointless, especially when she lacked the company of friends to sit with and share laughter.

So, following Fred Weasley as he browsed around the shop put her in a silent trance of observation and gaping. He moved confidently, searching for items and locating them quickly, with the same precision she'd demonstrated when she'd guided him through the library the other day. (y/n) followed at his heels, like a child following its guardian. In less than three minutes, they were already in line to pay.

“How do you know where everything is?" she asked, enjoying the moment of calm the checkout line offered. “I don't think gathering all that took you more than five minutes."

And it was indeed quite a haul. Fred's two hands cradled dozens of boxes and items like precious cargo in his lap. The teacup he had been carrying was now held securely by (y/n), ensuring that her hands were occupied with warm objects to fend off the cold.

Fred responded with a casual shrug to her question. “How do you know where all the books are in the library?" he countered.

“I don't know," she replied, her response unfiltered. “I guess I've just memorised it over time."

“Me too," he said, his eyes fixed on the shop as if watching his beloved. “Not to give reason to my fame at Hogwarts, but of course, my favourite shop has to be Zonko’s."

The line at the checkout stretched long, leaving (y/n) and Fred standing in contemplative silence, pondering the curious connection that seemed to be budding between them. Amid it all, (y/n)'s thoughts swelled like a bubbling potion. Were they friends now? Could she consider adding him to her list of friends for Christmas shopping? These questions lingered, but she found herself without a clear answer. It felt odd to directly ask such a thing; friends didn’t ask if they were friends. They either were or weren’t, organically becoming over time.

But despite the comfort she felt around Fred, she couldn't quite label it friendship. The issue, she concluded, was her own. She had a deficit of friends and now understood why: she wasn't wired for it. Friendship wasn't part of her programming. Fred, on the other hand, was a different breed. Friendship was his natural state, woven into his very essence. He exuded a friendly aura, even if many Slytherins would vehemently disagree.

She didn't need to wonder whether he considered her a friend. He most likely did. He never targeted her with pranks; he exchanged glances with her in class often and was currently offering to escort her back to school. Fred saw her as a friend.

But did she want that?

“What are you thinking?” he inquired, pulling her out of her contemplative reverie.

“Nothing.”

“That’s a lie,” he said, relaxing his shoulders. “I can see the smoke coming out of your ears like a cauldron.”

She had no clever reply, so she was content with wrinkling her forehead and lying. “I’m thinking about how quickly I will be able to get all the candy I want. Definitely not as quick as you, here.”

He frowned, puzzled. “Why?”

“I love candy and definitely know where everything is at the shop,” she explained, tilting her head unconsciously as she spoke. She explained, unconsciously tilting her head while talking. “But I have to gather enough to last until our next trip to Hogsmeade, and I'm not certain I can calculate that. I love chocolate, so one would assume I'd need to buy a lot to make it last. However, if I get too much, I'll eat more than I should. And trust me, I will eat everything I buy," she concluded with a hint of warning in her tone, as if she were issuing a threat rather than sharing a piece of information.

Fred swallowed hard, trying to wrap his head around her unique thought process. “Are you stockpiling sweets?"

She nodded, feeling a twinge of embarrassment.

“Well, if you do end up eating it all, I'll show you where to get more, you know, from the kitchen with the house elves," he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up as if he were secretly pleased with himself for sharing this tidbit.

“Oh, Weasley," she shook her head, dramatically feigning pitifulness. “I already know the secret passage to the kitchen. That's precisely why I have to stockpile chocolate in the first place. I've been painted as a criminal there for how many sweets I've pilfered."

He couldn't help but chuckle, though he kept it discreet.

“I can't believe it," Fred said with mock disbelief, then paused as if pondering again. “Well, actually, I can."

With the two cups of tea-to-go in her hands, she raised her shoulders in a half-shrug while raising her hands in tandem.

“So yeah," she concluded, “I have to stock up until the Professors allow us to come here again."

Staring at him, (y/n) couldn't help but think that Fred was on the verge of saying something. However, something must have caused him to change his mind, and he remained uncharacteristically silent. A few seconds later, he was called to the cashier to settle the bill for his items. (y/n) patiently waited behind him, casually sipping her tea.

When Fred returned to her side, the numerous small boxes he'd been clutching had been consolidated into just two cardboard bags, which he effortlessly carried in one hand. The two of them exited the joke shop, savouring the last remnants of their teas. By the time they reached Honeydukes, the cups had already been discreetly disposed of in the nearest bin.

“Have fun," he wished her warmly, courteously holding the door of the candy shop open for her to enter. (y/n) returned his friendly sentiment with a smile—precisely the sort of well-wishing one would expect before embarking on a shopping spree in a candy store.

Fred lingered in a quiet corner of the shop, surreptitiously observing as she gleefully navigated the aisles, carefully selecting her candies and placing them into a plastic basket a diligent store employee offered. She appeared far more animated here than he had ever seen her before—back in the library, she had come across as somewhat bored, and the same was true in their shared classes. While she undeniably held the status of a top student with excellent grades, Fred couldn't help but wonder why she seemed to lack the enthusiasm and focus he might have expected from someone of her academic calibre.

However, gathering her desired assortment of sweets took considerably longer than the five minutes Fred had initially anticipated. When he finally met up with her at the cashier, the man behind the counter handed over not one, not two, but three full bags of assorted candies and confections.

Fred couldn't help but jest, “Wow, someone's clearly outdone me."

“Mine's supposed to last longer," she retorted with a wry smile, determined to maintain her composure.

Fred's grin only broadened. "Will it, though?"

There was no malice behind his teasing; his natural inclination was to engage in playful banter, a habit he would have indulged with George, Ginny, or anyone else. If anything, he found himself enjoying the camaraderie that was forming between them, appreciating the quick-witted exchanges that characterised their interactions. And (y/n)'s response was predictable by now—a blend of half-anger and half-challenge that had come to define her expressions.

They left the candy store, their playful back-and-forth continuing as they walked, with Fred progressively leaning in closer with each exchange.

Fred's next question unintentionally left (y/n) feeling mortified as they approached the Three Broomsticks.

“Are you sure you don’t want a good, old butterbeer?” he asked. “It’s alright if you do. I won’t linger at your friends’ table; I’ll just drop you there and find Oliver Wood or someone else.” He said, using Oliver as an example, for he was the one name he remembered to have seen around the village.

It was weird, now that Fred had come to think of it, how he did not recall seeing one person from Hogwarts around Hogsmeade, even though he knew it was a crowded day there.

She had no friends to meet there or anywhere else. She cleared her throat, avoiding eye contact, “I don't have friends in there."

The proximity to the inn allowed them a clear view through the frosty windows, revealing the familiar faces of fellow students enjoying butterbeer.

“Why? Haven't they come to Hogsmeade?" Fred asked in surprise, momentarily distracted by the scene inside. “I swear that's Carmen Highland if my eyes aren't deceiving me," he remarked, gazing at the occupants within.

Lost in the sight of her former friends, Fred hadn't noticed that (y/n) was gradually distancing herself from him. She knew Carmen and recognised the other kids at her table — Andrea, Miniu, and Shenny. But they weren't friends anymore.

At least, not anymore.

“It is Carmen,” she reassured him, in case Fred would start considering he was indeed blind. “We’re just not friends, though.”

Fred finally snapped out of gazing through the cold glass window and returned his gaze to her.

“I distinctly remember all of you being quite lively at dinners and walking around classes," he said, furrowing his brows. “Unless Carmen has look-alikes I'm unaware of, I'm certain it's her. I've seen her during my Quidditch practices, competing for the pitch."

A smile tinged with embarrassment danced on (y/n)'s lips. She smiled not because she was pleased with the memories but because she was trying to conceal her inner gloom. “I used to walk with Carmen, and Miniu, and Andrea and Shenny. But that was way before.”

“No, I…”

“It was, Freddie,” she interrupted before he made her remember another memory. It was only because of her use of his nickname that he understood she wasn’t alright. “We were friends in the first year. Us and a bunch of other kids, so tight together because we were Slytherin, and we had to stick together because then we’d be victims of bullying from other houses.” Fred opened his mouth, but she continued, “Don’t deny it.”

Fred sighed and nodded.

“In our second year, the group started to shrink, and it ended up being just me and that table," she explained, her gaze distant, as if the memories were playing out before her eyes. "But I began to feel like I was there because I forced myself to be. I was being pushy. So when I stopped going, they didn't chase after me. That's when it became clear to me what our relationship was."

“What was it?" Fred inquired, genuinely perplexed, prompting (y/n) to wonder if he had ever experienced the abrupt end of a friendship.

“They weren't my friends," (y/n) stated matter-of-factly. “We didn't have a falling out or anything. I still greet them, and occasionally, we help each other with homework in the common room. But that's about it."

Fred pursed his lips thoughtfully, pondering the right words to respond with.

“Alright," he finally conceded. “I won't pry further," he said, his expression more serious now. “I can't quite fathom how a friendship could simply unravel like that, but it's clear it's not a cheerful matter. However, that doesn't mean you can't be with your other friends."

She rolled her eyes with exasperation and turned away from Fred and the entrance of the Three Broomsticks, her boots crunching softly in the freshly fallen snow.

“I don't have friends," she sighed, her breath visible in the crisp, wintry air. She could hear his footsteps, somehow always close behind.

Fred waited until he was walking right alongside her before he replied; his tone was soft and comforting. “You have me," he said, then hastily cleared his throat. “I mean, you have us. Me and George. I still owe you one from our library escapade."

“Consider it settled," she responded, her voice edged with a hint of exhaustion and her gaze averted. “You gave me a cup of tea, after all."

“That was just courtesy," Fred explained, his lips curving into a friendly smile, thinking their usual playful banter had resumed.

But (y/n) was weary, and it showed in her demeanour.

“Well, you're accompanying me back to the school," she tried again, her tone tinged with finality. “So consider that debt paid."

“Nah," he waved his free hand dismissively. “That's just me being a proper gentleman."

She rolled her eyes once more, a flicker of irritation crossing her features. “Fred..."

“We're friends, alright," he insisted, his tone gentle yet resolute, raising his voice slightly. “You have a friend... in me."

Without warning, (y/n) halted in her tracks, pivoting to face him fully, her expression a mixture of astonishment, incredulity, and a hint of amusement.

“Did you just quote a Muggle movie at me?" she asked, her voice showing disbelief.

“I’m sorry?”

“‘You have a friend in me’,” she repeated his words, this time adding a melody to her tone. “Did you quote the Toy Story song?”

“A toy story? Where is it?” he was genuinely confused, which led (y/n) to drop the subject since it was evident he had no idea what she was talking about.

“Never mind," she sighed, resuming her pace. “It's from a Muggle movie."

“And you've seen it?" Fred's stride matched hers again, his curiosity piqued.

“Unfortunately," she replied, her lips twisting in mild distaste. “I didn't quite enjoy it."

“Oh, why not?" Fred inquired with interest.

“It was... about friendship," she said, taking a moment to complete her sentence.

“I see," Fred mused, nodding thoughtfully as they walked towards the school, the snow beneath their feet offering a soft, comforting crunch with every step. “Perhaps I should watch it.”

“Yeah, why not,” she replied, not really wanting to participate in the conversation.

Fred knew when to shut up when he should, so they remained silent until the school entrance was visible.

“Uh, thank you,” (y/n) told him as they stopped in the middle of Hogwarts’ entrance corridor. It was a relatively empty hallway.

“See you around,” he nodded, and she bit her lip, turning her heels towards her House. “Friend,” Fred added a second later, only to see her turn her gaze over her shoulder.

“Bye, Weasley,” she said with a heavy breath out of resignation.

#fred weasley #fred and george #harry potter #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x slytherin reader #fred weasley smut #fred weasley fanfic

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natalievoncatte · 7 months

Text

Something, some instinct, told Lena that she wasn’t alone. She wanted to blame it on the whisky, but it was better to check. She grabbed the gun from its hiding place beneath a pillow, where she kept it in case of an intruder.

She wasn’t sure why she did that now; she was, in theory, safe from her greatest enemy. After all, Lena had murdered him in cold blood. She’d killed her own brother for a monstrous lie, and while there was little to mourn -the man he was died years ago by his own hand- it hurt. It hurt so much that the pain squeezed out of every pore, until she awoke in the depths of the night thinking the hot stains on her cheeks might have been from crying blood.

The one person she had truly trusted, respected, revered-

(desired)

-was a lie, an illusion. At least Lex had, at one point, been real.

Lena scouted her apartment. It didn’t occur her to check the balcony until she was about to go to bed. She was on the thirty-sixth floor. No one could get up here.

Kara was outside.

She hasn’t landed; she was hanging in the air with her cape lazily swirling against her legs as she hung in the nighttime breeze. She was far enough away that Lena couldn’t get a read on her.

“What do you want?”

She drifted closer, in that unnerving way she had.

“Hi.”

Lena sighed, and waved a dismissive hand.

“Go away, Supergirl. I’m not in the mood for another speech.”

Lena turned back inside, but stopped when she felt the soft gust of wind. Kara was a few feet away from the balcony now, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

She hated how things had changed when Kara told her. She no longer saw Supergirl, just Kara in a costume. It was impossible not to see her, and yet for three long years she’d done just that. Blinded herself. Refused to see the bitter truth. All she’d ever wanted was a real friend

(lover)

who respected and admired

(and loved and cherished)

her and with whom she could share those feelings, and she’d really thought Kara was it. She was the best friend

(the one)

that Andrea and Jack could never have been. She believed that so deeply.

(she doesn’t want me the way I want her)

“I’m not here to give you a speech.”

Lena looked up sharply.

“Then what? Here to stop me? Foil my evil plans? I’m a villain now, remember.”

Kara’s face turned hard. “Don’t lie to me.”

Lena barked out a bitter laugh, feeling that need rise inside her, that anger. She had lost everything. The love of her mother, the protection of her brother. No matter how wealthy she was, she could never have those back. There was no price for what Lena wanted.

“How dare you say those words to me,” Lena hissed. “You’re the biggest liar I’ve ever met. Everything you’ve ever said to me is a lie.’

“That’s not true.”

“You told me you’d always protect me. Who’ll protect me from you?”

Kara looked away, shuddering as she breathed, or silently sobbing. Lena smiled a thin smile, glad to twist the knife.

(stop it stop it stop it stop hurting her)

“Something happened to me tonight.”

“I don’t care.”

“A fifth-dimensional being came to me and offered to let me change the past. I could change whatever I wanted.”

“I don’t see any changes,” said Lena.

Kara shook her head. “His gifts were all poison. Every time I tried to fix what happened, it turned out wrong. I tried and tried and tried until I realized what was happening.”

“Which is?”

“I was supposed to learn that I can’t just push past my mistakes. I have to own them and accept the consequences. There’s no magic wand that can fix us.”

“There is no us, Kara. We weren’t meant to be.”

“How can you say that?”

Kara drifted closer, sank down so they were face to face with the balcony railing between them.

“How can you say that?”

“It’s obvious. Whatever this was, it wasn’t meant to be. We’re just too different.”

Kara shook her head.

“When I think of all the things that had to happen in order for me to be here right now, it boggles my mind,” said Kara. “Two species from two different galaxies evolved so close together. Just the chances of that happening are incredibly small, and…

“And then my people had to find this world, and Kal-El’s parents had to choose it for their son. This world, this world specifically, and then I had to get stuck in the phantom zone on my way here. All of those things and a billion others all had to happen in perfect, crystalline order just for me to walk into that office and see you.”

Lena has gone still, listening. Kara looked at her so intently, so reverently, that Lena felt something strain inside her, stretch against itself to the point of breaking. It took all her many years of carefully honed composure to keep herself still.

“Every moment I had with you was a gift. Every single one. There are times when… there are times when I think that if I could somehow have saved Krypton, I don’t know if I could, because it would mean losing you. I don’t know if that’s a choice I could make and I don’t know what that means.”

“That’s lovely,” Lena said, trying and brutally failing to keep her voice from cracking, “but it doesn’t change anything.”

Kara let out a soft, choked sound.

“I know that. I know I ruined everything and I can’t fix it. I just needed to say this because it needed to be said. I’m not here to ask you to forgive me. I’m here to ask you to forgive yourself.”

“Oh, please.”

“I can’t stop you.”

Lena blinked. “What?”

“I can’t stop you. I can’t fight you. I know that now. It doesn’t matter what you do, I won’t ever hurt you again. I don’t want to confront what that means.”

“That’s rich, considering that the last time we had one of these chats, your sister pointed an orbital fusion canon at my head.”

“If she’d fired that thing,” said Kara, “there would be no more satellite, and no more DEO. I would shatter the foundations and pull down the walls. I would rain destruction on whoever hurt you. I’ve seen what happens to me when something happens to you. I never want to see it again.”

Lena leaned on the railing. “Go away.”

“What you have planned, you need to stop. I can’t stop you, and if I can’t, no one can. Please, Lena. I’m begging you, don’t do this. Don’t become someone you’ll hate just to hurt me. I’m not worth it.”

“Not everything is about you, Supergirl.”

“Please. Don’t take away everyone’s choice. I know what that’s like.”

“Oh?”

Kara nodded, and in the moonlight, her tears sparkled on her skin. “On Krypton, we were assigned to guilds as children. We had arranged marriages. Everything about our lives was planned from birth. Here, people have so much choice. Yes, they make mistakes, but people choose life and art and love. You can’t take that away over me.”

“It’s too late,” Lena said, her voice cracking, finally. “I’m doing it and if you won’t stand in my way, it’ll be done.”

Kara took a deep breath.

“Okay. I guess I should go.”

Lena rocked back.

“What? No. I’m going through with the plan.”

“I know. I won’t fight you.”

Kara turned, about to rocket off into the sky.

“You can’t just leave!” Lena screamed, her voice ragged from liquor and tears.

Kara stopped.

“You’re supposed to fight me. You’re supposed to yell at me and tell me the truth, that you knew I was a monster all along, that you were just staying close to me to watch me, to get to Lex. You’re supposed to fight me! You’re supposed to fight me!”

“No.”

Lena let out an incoherent scream and balled her hands into fists, meaning to slam them on the balcony, but they struck the implacable flesh of Kara’s chest. Powerful arms gathered around Lena, sheltering her from the nighttime chill and the voiceless judgment of distant stars.

“I won’t ever hurt you again,” Kara murmured. “I promise. If you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you for what I’ve done.”

“Why?” Lena whimpered. “Why won’t you just fight back?”

“Because you’re just like me. We’ve both lost so much. We both don’t want to see anyone else die.”

Lena should have shoved her away, demanded to be set free, screamed, protested, shoved. Instead her arms wound around Kara, drawn as if by gravity, and Kara’s gentle fingers began to stroke through her hair, her warm breath on the crown of Lena’s head.

“Come back to our life, Lena. To our friends. Come home.”

“I killed my big brother.”

“I know. I failed you both. I’m Supergirl. I’m supposed to find another way, a perfect solution.”

“I had to. He’d never have let you live if he knew how I f…”

Lena caught herself as the last moment.

It was Kara who sobbed now, her entire body shuddering. So much power with so much tenderness, her vast crushing strength kept at bay as she held Lena like one of the most precious of treasures.

“In one of the timelines that Mxy showed me, you… you told me how you felt as you were dying. I saw you die so many times, I can’t do it again.”

Lena tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry.

“I didn’t get to tell you before you died. I was scared. I never thought you’d want me like I want you.”

Lena went stock still, feeling Kara’s shuddering breath against her as she held her own. She couldn’t look up, afraid that if she did, this would be a cruel nightmare and she’d jolt awake in an empty bed and a penthouse full of bitter memories.

“Kara,” Lena began, finally. “Kara, what are you saying? What do you mean?”

“It’s so hard to say,” Kara sighed, and then, almost to herself, “even if I don’t have much left to lose.”

“Say it.”

“I love you.”

Lena’s heart soared, and a harsh sob exploded out of her. She’d dreamed of those words, longed for them, needed to hear them. So many times, Lena had almost let herself believe it.

“I want this to be real,” said Lena. “I just don’t know if I can forgive you, Kara. It hurt so much.”

“Can we try?” said Kara. “Can we give it a chance? Can you give me a chance?”

Lena finally looked up, and when she saw those tear-stained blue eyes filled in equal measure with terror and hope, she knew.

“Yes,” she said, simply.

Lena looked behind her, and was suddenly full of revulsion and regret. She hated this place.

“Can you take me back to your loft?”

Kara lifted her easily into a bridal carry and into the sky.

#supercorp #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara x lena #karlena #supergirl fanfic #ficlet #they’re soulmates but idiots about it #idiots in love #5x13 #It’s a Super Life #fix it #fix fic #self indulgence #angsty fluff

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wingedhallows · 2 months

Text

we'll be family; sirius black

pairing: sirius black x reader | 1.6k words plot: sirius is finally back and your godson is as well. You're determined to finally be a family, no one will come between, you're determined. prompt: "we'll be family" authors note:I hope you like it, there might be another part :)

navigation | part two

“The food is incredible, Molly.” you smiled at the red haired woman. A couple of humms agreeing with you as you continued to devour the bowl of food. “I’m glad, hun.”

Your hand was entangled with his, shoulder to shoulder.

Sirius had broken out of Azkaban a few months ago, you’d been inseparable ever since. Albus had let you finally and officially meet your godson, not that you haven’t seen him before.

The old wizard had forbidden you to take him, he had deemed you unfit to take care of an infant when Lily and James were killed and Sirius was sent to Azkaban. You complied all those years ago, not that you didn’t go down without a fight.

“Harry, love, we’ll get all of your things tomorrow morning, alright?” you spoke, his head snapping to you. He gave you a small smile and nodded. “I’ll come with you, no worries.” Your hand found his and his smile widened a tad. “Alright.” Harry had run away in a fit of anger, with good reason, you thought.

That old hag had it coming. You slightly waved your hand and the jug of water hovered over the table towards you. You were one of few wizards who were able to do magic without a wand. Making you a great asset to the Order.

Sirius tensed up, you knew well that the wrongful accusations still hurt him and how annoyed he was that he was practically bound to the house he most hated.

“Alright, all kids out!” Alastor spoke as he made his way into the kitchen. “We’ll start the meeting!” he continued. Molly ushered the children out before Harry turned to you. Sirius's hand had found its way across your back and held your waist while the other gently stroked your shoulder.

Oh, how you had missed this, missed him.

“I want to stay, Y/N.” Harry whispered as he held onto your hand. Sirius didn’t intervene, he had made his point an hour ago. “Go on now, Harry.” Molly pushed him gently and you rose to your feet. “I’d like Harry to stay.” You said.

Severus who just arrived scoffed at you, lips in a snarl as he opened his mouth. You held on to Harry and ushered him to take a seat just like yourself.

“He’s got you under such a tight grip, just like all those years ago.” You rolled your eyes at him and propped your head onto your hand in boredom. “Like calls to like, I guess.”

He paused and the hand your husband had around your back tensed, your eyebrows shut up in anger. “Black’s been a lovesick fool without an opinion even in his school days, it was only a matter of time for you as well, Y/N.”

Your face converted into the cold mask you knew too well, the fork in your hand clutched tightly as you, without a thought, apparated just across the table. Sirius had gone through a lot during your school days, his parents were absolute monsters and your love kept him above water all those years. To badmouth your connection, the shared pain and sorrow was unheard for.

Without as much as a huff you pointed the fork to Severus’ neck, his eyes wide.

“I might be all smiley, happy even because after twelve years of a sentence he didn’t deserve, I finally have my husband back you better don’t forget that I’m a Slytherin as well, dear Snivellus.” You leaned down, eyes boring into his. “I’ll end you just like the little worm you are, if you dare insult my husband once more.” “Any more comments to add?” he gulped and avoided your eyes. “That’s what I thought.”

Without another word you apparated right back into your chair, the slight squeak from the old chair the only sound in the room. “What was that?” Kingsley spoke. You didn’t think too much of it. Your friends have known since school, even Albus and Minerva knew. It was no secret that wandless magic was your expertise.

“You’ve mastered wandless magic?” Kingsley spoke again, your eyes found Harry’s, who tried to hide a laugh. Your outburst towards his most hated teacher filling him with joy. “I had a lot of time.” You huffed, the filled cup found its way to your painted lips.

Your hands found their way to your lover. His lips connected with your neck as your fingers played with the back of his neck. “You’re breathtaking when you’re angry.” He whispered in your ear before pressing a light kiss onto your cheek. “Oh, how I love you, Sirius.” you smiled into the kiss.

The meeting had gone by quickly after you all agreed to let Harry join the next meeting. Albus claimed that he had to think about it thoroughly, since it wasn’t a light choice to make. Sirius and You stood with your opinion, there was no time to waste, you thought.

“Here they are.” you smiled before grabbing a pile of dusted old books. They were in fact photo albums. “I haven’t seen those in years.” Sirius spoke behind you, his hands tucked into his trousers. “I want Harry to have them.” you gave him a kiss and made your way out of your bedroom. Sirius had given you a nod and settled on the bed without another word.

You knocked on the room the kids slept in. Harry, Hermoine and Ron had agreed to share a bedroom. There was a slight rumble before you opened the door with a squeak. You tried to suppress a laugh, of course they were still awake.

A snort escaped you as you flicked on the light. “Stop pretending to be asleep, you lot aren’t good at it.” Harry rose first and gave you an uncomfortable laugh. Hermoine and Ron joined him shortly after. “Sorry, we were supposed to-”Oh, please. You’re old enough to sleep when you feel like it.” You waved him off, the three visibly relaxed.

“I came because.. I wanted to give you these.” You held out your hands. Your godson got up from his bed and joined you on the floor. His friends joined you as well. “What are these?” He asked. You gave him a smile and opened the first one. “These are our years at Hogwarts.”

The first page was graced with a group photo of Lily, James, Remus, Peter, Sirius and You. You all held onto your graduation caps, wide smiles on your faces. “This was right after graduation, but there are pictures of all seven years.”

A small smile formed on your face as you watched how James had tried to stretch his arms over all of you, how Lily leaned into James’ side with a wide smile. Remus had his arms around Sirius and You, your hand on Sirius chest as he pressed a kiss onto your head.

Harry stared at you with wide eyes. “I was determined to document our time together.” you paused and flipped to another page. “This was after your mother had finally agreed to go out with your father, we were all so happy that James’ yapping would stop now. He was insufferable, really.”

In the picture was James as he held Lily in his arms, smiling wide. Remus, Sirius and You stood next to them shaking your heads. Sirius had his hand in yours and your other arm was propped up on Remus' shoulder who had sat down onto a tiny wall.

Harry chuckled and you flipped to another page. “This was when your parents asked us to be your godparents.” you looked at the picture. How the shock spread onto your faces before you smothered baby Harry in a kiss. Sirius stroked Harry’s cheek and settled a kiss on your cheek. You’ll never forget the warmth that spread through you as they asked you, how much love warmed the place that night.

“Take your time looking through them.” You paused and raised your hands to Harry’s cheeks. Oddly enough it felt like all those years ago, when you used to hold little Harry in your hands. “I know Sirius and Me are not your parents and…we’ll never be but, I’ll try my best to be anything close to the mother Lily never got the chance to be.” A tear made its way down Harry’s cheek and you quickly wiped it. “I love you, Harry. We’ll be a family now.”

You gave Hermoine and Ron a stroke to their cheeks as well and left them alone. Before you were out the door you spoke once again. “You can ask me anything about them whenever you want, I’ll gladly answer your questions.There are so many great stories about them.” he nodded and got to his feet.

Within seconds he had his arms around you, his face buried in your neck. You held him, stroked his back in a comforting manner. “Thank you, Y/N. I love you too.” He raised his head and you wiped the tears once again.

“Your parents would be more than proud of you, Harry. Such a lovely young man you’ve become.” you planted a kiss on his forehead and left the kids alone.

Sirius was still awake, a book clasped in his hand as he looked at you through his reading glasses. “Are you cryin’?” he said, book long forgotten as he sat on the edge of the bed. You nodded and embraced him in a tight hug, your head rested on his chest. “I showed him some pictures of all of us.” He planted a kiss on your temple. “Oh.” was all he said.

“I miss them.” you whispered, a tear rolling down your cheek. “Me too.” he answered.

#harrypotter #hp fanfic #marauders era #marauders imagine #the marauders #sirius black #sirius black x reader #harry potter fanfic #sirius black angst #sirius black one shot #sirius orion black #sirius black fanfic #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black imagine #sirius black fluff #the marauders era #marauders #remus lupin

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caffeinewitchcraft · 1 year

Text

Cinderella Doesn’t Believe in Fairytales (pt. 8)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3). (Part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7)

Cinderella wakes to birdsong.

It brings her to tears. She tangles her fingers in the soft bedcovers, pulling them up and over her face. Her tears blur the gentle light seeping through the fabric so that she feels like she might still be dreaming. Her body is pleasantly sore from dancing, but not hurting like it does after a day of chores. Her hair smells of the gentle oils Helga patiently brushed into it rather than fireplace soot. The gnawing loneliness that’s accompanied her for so many years is wonderfully quiet, soothed by the long evening spent in the arms of her friend.

The Prince.

Cinderella huffs a laugh, disbelieving, and pulls the sheets away from her face. Her room is pleasantly cool, the air brisk though the windows aren’t open. She breathes in deeply. Her friend is the Prince. Her impossible, magic-wielding friend who saved her life and listened to her worries and always made her laugh is the prince.

And he’s a hell of a dancer too.

Even the memory of their dances thrills her. Cinderella jumps out of bed , unable to bear the sudden surge of energy coursing through her, and braces for the shock of cold stone against her bare feet. It never comes. Instead, the floor hums with the sort of warmth she’s begun to associate with magic. Cinderella laughs and sways to the window, humming portions of the previous night’s songs under her breath.

The people! The music! The colors! Her memory is a kaleidoscope of everything beautiful she’s ever seen in her entire life. At the center of it all is her friend and his gentle smile, his hand outstretched for hers.

Cinderella eases the window open. She’d been too nervous to take a proper look outside yesterday, but today is a different story. For all the elation she feels, there’s also something settled inside of her. A sort of contentment that sits at the bottom of her stomach where it won’t be easily swayed. So she opens the window without worrying if she’s allowed to do so and takes in a lungful of fresh morning air.

“The late Queen’s gardens,” Helga says from the doorway. Cinderella turns to find Helga with a breakfast tray balanced on one hand and a letter held in the other. Helga’s eyes sparkle. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

They are. Cinderella was listening to the birds and not looking at the garden, but she knows it’s true. The greenery is lush and well-maintained, the flowers blooming big and beautiful along a carefully swept path. She can hear water from beyond a row of hedges. A fountain?

“Everything is beautiful,” Cinderella says. The Prince’s green eyes against the night sky comes to mind and Cinderella’s heart flips. She clears her throat. “The grounds. The castle. It’s all very beautiful.”

Helga hums and closes the door with her foot. “Would you like to sit by the window then?”

“Yes,” Cinderella says. The idea of eating the croissant and eggs Helga brought while listening to the birds and watching the flowers gently sway in the breeze is so wonderful that Cinderella doesn’t see the problem right away. She frowns and looks around the bedroom. Besides the bed and the vanity, there’s not much more furniture in the room. “I can help you with some chairs…?”

Helga laughs and waves the hand holding the letter. “Don’t be silly, dear. It will only take a moment.”

Cinderella has to bite her tongue to keep from yelping when Helga lets go of the tray suddenly. It doesn’t fall. Instead the food hangs in the air as if set on an invisible table. Helga whips out her wand and flicks it at the stone near the window.

A chair and a small garden table rise from the floor, melting in reverse. The table is set with a series of dainty forks and a crystal glass. After a moment’s thought, Helga waves her wand again and a bottle of orange juice appears.

“Wow,” Cinderella says.

Helga is frowning. “Yes, well, it will do. Somehow, I always conjure garden furniture even when I had the loveliest tea table in mind…” She busies herself setting up the breakfast tray. “Come now, sit, sit, sit. Before everything gets cold.”

Cinderella doesn’t move. She’s never noticed it before because of the low lighting at night, but Helga’s magic looks a little like her friend’s magic. There aren’t as many colors and it’s very faint, but when the sunlight catches it just right, the air shines. As she watches, the shine sinks into the floor until the chair and table look as mundane as can be. Cinderella is fascinated. “How does that work?”

“How does what work?” Helga asks absently. She holds the orange juice up to the light, squinting at it. “I swear I meant to conjure peach juice…”

“The conjuring magic,” Cinderella says. She waves her hand to the table and chair. “That looked different than the floating magic you do.”

That gets Helga’s attention. Her gaze snaps from the orange juice to Cinderella. “Looked?”

“The magic came up from the stone,” Cinderella explains. She waves her hands in a vague approximation of it. “Then, when you finished, it went back.”

Helga doesn’t answer right away. She stares at Cinderella very hard, her gaze piercing, as if trying to see if Cinderella is being serious or not. She chews her cheek and finally says, “You’ve seen a lot of magic?”

Deny it. It’s not a voice, not really. It’s an ancient instinct and Cinderella works very hard to make sure that none of it shows on her face. Carefully, Cinderella shrugs. “No. But my friend uses a lot around me. Sometimes I can guess where it is.”

Slowly Helga’s shoulders relax. “…from exposure makes sense,” she murmurs under her breath. Then, louder, “You shouldn’t look at magic, dear. It can hurt your eyes.”

It doesn’t hurt. Cinderella smiles. “I’ll try not to.”

Satisfied, Helga says, “To answer your question, it looked different because that wasn’t a spell. I don’t have magic, remember?” She twirls her wand. “I use this to direct what my Lord lends me. What I did just then was—well. This castle is very old, yes? It’s got magic of its own that I can ask for help from time to time.”

“The castle did this?” Cinderella asks. She studies the table and chair with renewed interest. They look solid and well-made and the food seems edible. She thinks about the way the magic rose from the ground. “I wonder…”

“Pardon?”

But Cinderella is already extending her hand. The single chair next to the window looks lonely. It would be so wonderful if there was another chair for Helga to sit and have breakfast with her… “If you would?” she asks the castle.

Where the magic curled and bent to Helga’s will, it explodes under Cinderella’s. Another chair springs into existence faster than Cinderella expected. The table extends another foot with a pop! and a second bottle of orange juice appears next to a second glass.

“Oh my,” Cinderella says. She flexes her hand. The magic twines around her fingers before slipping back into the stone floor. She grins. “How wonderful!”

Helga blinks very quickly. “Yes…yes, wonderful.” She studies Cinderella, almost speaks, and then seems to reconsider. Finally, she says, “I take it the second chair is an invitation?”

“Yes,” Cinderella says. Perhaps she should have asked Helga before she acted, but she didn’t feel as if she needed to. Like Helga said, the castle was right there to help. “I would enjoy the company.”

They settle at the little table, Helga pouring juice and serving the breakfast pastries she brought. Cinderella’s feet are warm from the magic sitting so close to the surface of the stone and her heart is warm when, unthinking, Helga spreads jam over a croissant for Cinderella.

“Oh,” Helga says when she notices. She’d been staring into space as she prepared Cinderella’s breakfast and, now, jolts back to herself. There’s a light flush on her cheeks when she says, “Excuse me, my mind was elsewhere. Do you like strawberry jam? I can go to the kitchens for fresh pastries—”

“It’s perfect,” Cinderella assures. She remembers her mother’s hands around a crystal jar of jam, a whisper of just a little before dinner. She takes a bite of her croissant and feels a thrill at the sweetness of the jam. Just like she remembers. “Delicious.”

“An invitation came for you at dawn,” Helga says after a few moments of silent eating. Her eyes sparkle as she draws the envelope out from her skirts and holds it so the sunlight reflects off the golden seal. “I wonder who it could be from?”

The second invitation. The Prince told her it was coming, but Cinderella’s heart flips when she sees it anyway. She takes the envelope from Helga as if it were made of butterfly wings and opens it carefully. The faint smell of oranges drifts from the card inside.

The Baron’s Daughter is hereby cordially invited to the Castle on this day for a continuation of festivities…

Then, at the bottom, her friend has written I’ll pick you up in his own handwriting.

Cinderella strokes the letters of her friend’s writing. Each one is elegantly shaped and perfectly placed. She can imagine him as a boy sitting politely during his lessons, quill clutched tightly in hand, and brow furrowed as he practiced each letter.

“What was he like?” Cinderella asks.

“Pardon?”

“I want to know how the Prince was as a boy,” Cinderella says. When the silence stretches, she looks up from her invitation to see unease on Helga’s face. “Helga?”

“That’s…difficult for me to say,” Helga says.

“Were you not with him as a child? I assumed from the way you spoke…”

“No, I was,” Helga says. She tucks her hands under the table and looks out the window. The sunlight falls across the older woman’s face, highlighting the way the wrinkles at the corners of her mouth deepen when she frowns. “The Prince now and the Prince then are two very separate people. I don’t want to scare you away with stories of a person who no longer exists.”

Cinderella waits for Helga to say more. When the silence again goes on for too long, she prompts, “What do you think would scare me away?”

Again, Helga hesitates. There seems to be a war going on behind her pale eyes. Cinderella thinks that she must be twisting her apron under the table.

“He wasn’t kind,” Helga says at last. She busies herself wiping a stray smear of butter from the table. “Anything more, you’d need to ask him.”

Helga means to end the conversation there. Cinderella could let it end – should let it end – but the words echo. He wasn’t kind.

Cinderella’s first thought is good. She’s glad that her friend wasn’t kind. Cinderella has lived her entire life being kind and she’s seen what rewards are at the end of that road. Good that her friend knew better than to let others extract kindness from him like blood, good he didn’t sleep next to an empty hearth praying for the ones who put him there to return kindness with affection, good that he protected himself in a way Cinderella never could.

Cinderella’s second thought is why? Why did Helga sound apologetic? Did she think Cinderella would think less of him?

“When I was a little girl,” Cinderella finds herself saying, “I spent many hours in the garden.” She looks out the window and sees a different garden than the former Queen’s. She sees roses and sprigs of lavender as far as the eye can see. Her mother’s garden. “My mother had quite the green thumb. The things she could grow! I was so young then and didn’t have much reference, but it seemed as if every flower bloomed bigger and every bush grew fuller under her touch.”

“That’s quite the gift,” Helga says.

Cinderella hums. She loved her mother best in the garden. When her mother waited for her father by the window, she seemed colder and more distant. In the garden, her mother smiled. “It was. If we lived anywhere else, we would have had butterflies all year round. But being where the estate is, we only had a few weeks in spring and a little in fall when the butterflies would pass through the garden on their way to the Capital.”

“I didn’t realize you come from so far west,” Helga says.

Cinderella nods. “Near the mountains.” She finds her gaze being pulled toward the west as she talks. How far away is her home? At least a week’s ride by carriage. “I always waited for the butterflies to visit. One day, when I was very young, I woke up to see they’d come during the night. I raced outside to see them up close. There weren’t many of them yet, just a few, and I had the good luck to spot one resting on the ground.” Cinderella’s lip curls. “Only it wasn’t resting any longer. It had the misfortune to land on an anthill. The ants were hungry, I suppose. They were tearing the butterfly apart piece by piece.”

Even now she remembers the sick horror that filled her at the sight. The vicious hold the ants had on the blue wings, pinning the poor thing to the ground. The way the butterfly’s antennae waved in panic. The smell of the ants as they poured from their mound to feast.

“How awful,” Helga says. She’s watching Cinderella carefully, her hands still in her lap. “What happened then?”

“Nature,” Cinderella says. She feels as if her mouth is not her own when she says, “There’s nothing awful about nature. The ants needed food after the harsh winter and the butterfly was unlucky. It wasn’t the ants’ fault that they killed the butterfly. It was simply nature.” Cinderella breathes in through her nose and stiffens like a woman freed from a trance. “That’s what my mother said when she caught me killing the ants.”

A sense memory: her shiny black shoes coming down on the damp, red dirt as she collapsed the ant hill. The flecks of mud that splattered her ankles when she crushed their exoskeletons under her heel. Her mother’s hand hot on her shoulder. The percussive force of her mother’s shout ringing in her ears.

“She told me that I needed to try and understand the ants,” Cinderella continues. Her feet aren’t cold and muddy now. They’re warm from the magic coating them, tucked neatly under her chair. “She understood I was upset about the butterfly, but being upset was no excuse for the violence I responded with. I shouldn’t have punished the ants for what was in their nature to do.”

“A wise woman.”

Cinderella smiles with closed lips. The sun is well and truly risen now and its harsh rays feel hot against Cinderella’s cheek and collarbones. “A kind woman.”

“Ah,” Helga says, understanding.

Cinderella wonders what it is Helga’s understood. “Hm?”

Helga weighs each word carefully. “If I may offer my two cents, my lady?” When Cinderella nods, she says, “Your mother was right that it was in the ants’ nature to kill.”

Why is she disappointed in Helga’s response? Cinderella sips her juice to hide her frown. “That’s true.”

“However,” Helga says, “nature does not protect one from another’s nature. Yes, it was in the ants’ nature to eat the butterfly. But perhaps it is in your nature to kill ants for tormenting butterflies.”

Cinderella sets down her juice and gives Helga her full attention.

“Considering that,” Helga says lightly, “was it so wrong to kill them for hurting something that meant so much to you?”

Oh. Cinderella swallows, desperately willing away the ache in her throat. Her lip trembles. Helga is looking at her with such deep understanding that Cinderella feels shaken to her core.

All these years and she understands now why her mother’s words bothered her so much. Her mother always seemed to think Cinderella should behave as if nothing affected her, not her mother’s absence, not her father absence, and not the violence of the ants against the butterfly. Helga is saying the opposite. Of course, Cinderella acted that way. Of course! Like the ants, Cinderella also had a nature. Cinderella, like the ants, also had a right to act the way she did.

A knot she didn’t know existed unravels in her chest. Cinderella doesn’t need to sit quietly when an injustice is being done to her or others. She doesn’t need to make excuses for the aggressor or understand their motives. She can act. She can defend. She can protect herself.

(It was never about the ants at all.)

Cinderella clears her throat. “Yes.” Thank you. She can’t bring herself to say the words. “I’d like to wear the blue dress tonight.”

“We had to rush getting ready last night,” Helga says. She reaches across the table to place her hand on top of Cinderella’s. It’s cooler than the sunlight but warms Cinderella all the same. “Why don’t we take out time getting ready, hm?”

“I’d like that,” Cinderella says.

--------

Thanks for reading!

If you’d like to read more parts of Cinderella a week earlier, please consider checking out my Patreon (X)! On top of posting all my stories a week earlier there, I also post Patreon Exclusives.

#long post #my writing #Cinderella fan fiction #cinderella retelling

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lost-in-lamentation · 4 months

Text

💋⭐️🌃 - first kiss, stars, midnight.

solomon × gen!reader. fluff/comfort.

warnings: reader has a nightmare; brief descriptions of nightmare.

content: solomon takes you out for a soothing night under the stars. nightbringer setting in cocytus hall.

back to the 500 follower event: here.

the darkness around you continously pulled you under, tendrils of shadows wrapping around your limbs and tying you down. you thrashed in its hold, trying to call out for anything, anyone, but you couldn't produce a sound. to no avail, you kept wrestling against its grip, until finally, a light and a voice broke through and brought you back to reality.

"MC? are you awake now?"

with a gasp, you jolted upright, chest heaving as you attempted to catch your breath. sitting on the edge of your bed was none other than the silver haired sorcerer, who looked at you with much concern in his gaze. "solomon," you breathed in relief.

"what's frightened my dear apprentice this time? you look quite shaken." you remained silent for a time, fighting to regain the ability to speak without wavering. at the same time, solomon raised a hand to your face, knuckles brushing gently across your cheek as he moved in closer. "another nightmare?"

you sighed quietly, nodding while leaning further into his touch. "they happen more often now."

"well, that's no good." solomon gave you a sigh of his own in return, pulling his hand away from your cheek so he could press his fingers underneath your jawline. carefully, he moved his hand around, searching for where he could feel your heartbeat under the pads of his fingers. "you're still panicked, aren't you..." the question came out more like an observation, but you nodded your head in response anyway.

"solomon?" your eyes flickered to the sorcerer, who still had worry scrawled across his face. "can we go outside?"

at your question, solomon slowly relaxed, pulling his hand away to let it rest at his side. "okay. but we're bringing the blankets."

"can't we just use magic to keep us warm?"

"i'd much rather share a blanket than pull out my wand."

you groaned half-heartedly at the remark, but solomon would never fail to notice the smile that graced your features every so subtly. with one last reassuring pat on your head, solomon gathered the fleece throws from your bed into his arms as he stood. "now let's go."

the roof of cocytus hall remained sturdy underneath yours and solomon's weight. the occasional whine from the tiles made you worry, but solomon was quick to wave your concern away. once you made it to a more flat area of the roof, solomon threw one of the blankets out, spreading it neatly before taking a seat. he stretched a hand out to you, waiting until you took it to pull you down next to him.

you landed with a dull thud, shooting solomon a frown as he took another blanket and wrapped it around both your shoulders. your disdained expression didn't last long against his warmth. little by little, you began to melt into his side, your breaths slowing down as you relaxed into solomon.

ever so carefully, solomon slipped his arm out from between you, opting instead to slide it around your waist to tug you closer. your eyes fluttered to a close, your exhaustion making itself known. you would have fallen asleep there, but when you felt gentle lips brush against the crown of your head, you couldn't stop yourself from flinching awake.

you shifted your position so you could turn your face towards the sorcerer. his silver hair had a gentle glow from the cascading moonlight, blue eyes reflecting the night sky as he blinked at you slowly. the cold breeze that blew past you only served to make the blush on your face even more obvious.

the stars glittered behind solomon, but you were more focused on the ones that you could find in his gaze. you drew your face closer to his, stopping just when you could feel his breath fan gently across your jawline.

"pretty..." you murmured, no longer sure if you were talking about the sky or the person in front of you.

solomon only chuckled at the remark, bringing a hand up to brush some stray hairs away from your face. "the moon is quite beautiful, isn't it?"

"i could die happy," you whispered in reply.

two heartbeats passed, ending with solomon's lips finding yours. you could feel it in the way he moved that he was hesitant; he was never sure if you would choose him in the end. but you've brought your arms up around his neck, pulling him closer, and solomon has never felt so relieved. even when you broke away, he chased after you, a part of him fearing that he had somehow started dreaming himself.

you refused his own denial, sweeping away his insecurities as solomon tried to find courage to stand on. and when he found it, he took another leap, lips slotting over yours once more as he found home in your touch.

you didn't know how long had passed, but when you heard an alarm ringing from solomon's d.d.d., you couldn't help but chuckle at the sorcerer's mortified expression. "an alarm? what time is it?"

solomon's cheeks flushed a dark red, highlighting the way his hair reflected against the moonlight. "it's my alarm... for when i lose track of time during my experiments and need a reminder of when it's past midnight," he admitted sheepishly, hiding his face in the crook of your neck when he noticed your amusement.

"well, at least we'll have a set date for our anniversaries." you laughed when solomon buried himself deeper into you, combing a hand through his hair while he whined incoherently into your skin.

you quickly tightened the blanket around your shoulders, drawing him closer to you. and with the stars as your witness, you found comfort in the so called shady sorcerer that you now, and always, considered home.

a/n: posting from mobile is so unfriendly

reblogs are really appreciated (´ω｀) ♡

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #obey me solomon #solomon #obey me solomon x reader #solomon x you #solomon x mc #solomon x reader #obey me fluff

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fierymiasma · 10 months

Text

𖦹 Five Times....// Sebastian x f!MC 𖦹

Summary: Five times Sebastian Sallow Was Jealous and One Time He Didn't Have to Be

Requested by Anon

Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

Words: 2.7k

|| Masterlist || AO3 || Upcoming ||

1. First Date

"Is it true, Poppy?" Sebastian shook the poor girl by the shoulders so hard that her head was bobbing back and forth like a ragdoll. "Are you certain you saw her on a date? Could you possibly have mistaken her for someone else?"

Ever since his crush best friend saved Hogwarts, she had been constantly surrounded by male attention. It hadn't bothered Sebastian (it did). After all, he knew that what the two of them had was more than any silly hero worship could compare to. The hero of Hogwarts and Sebastian were inseparable. They were friends, dueling companions…they were…

…Well frankly Sebastian didn't quite know what they were.

Until now.

"Why do you want to know so much Sallow?" A feminine Scottish voice interrupted the conversation from behind Sebastian's shoulder.

Sebastian swore. Imelda fucking Reyes. Just what he needed. He had been in the middle of interrogating naïve Poppy Sweeting regarding their mutual friend's whereabouts. This wasn't the time for Imelda and her egotistic mind games. "This doesn't concern you, Reyes. I was speaking to Sweeting." He turned towards the short girl. "Poppy, as one of her dear friends, her best friend, you need to tell me where she is. All of Hogwarts depends on it."

Before Poppy could even respond, Imelda stepped in between them. With a flick of her wrist, she cast the tongue-tying jinx, silencing Poppy.

Poppy squeaked, fingers flying to her lips in surprise. Sebastian's eyes widened in shock. The only thing anyone could hear coming from Poppy's mouth was a string of unintelligible garble.

Imelda patted Poppy on the shoulder. "I think Poppy is having some trouble remembering the date's name." Poppy's eyebrows furrowed in contempt at Imelda as she tried to unsuccessful untie her tongue. "If only there was something to help jog the poor girl's memory."

Imelda made a hand gesture with her fingers like a Gringotts goblin rubbing two sickles together.

Sebastian's mouth dropped. It was just like Imelda to butt into a personal crisis and profit off the situation. This was not the time for extortion. Not when the savior's very first kiss was on the line. A part of him wanted to wring Reyes neck. But another, smaller, more Slytherin part of Sebastian applauded Reyes' clever thinking. Digging a couple of sickles from the recesses of his pockets, he chucked them into Reyes clawed hands.

"Are we settled, Imelda?" Sebastian sneered. "Can you leave me and Sweetings alone?"

"Hm…." Imelda looked down at the paltry sum in her hands. "Maybe her handsome date took her to the library…or was it the Quidditch field? Actually, I believe the pair went on a picnic next to the Lake. It is, after all, very romantic when the sun sets. A perfect view for snogging, if you ask me."

Sebastian called Imelda many foul, frankly unforgivable, names number his breath. "I'll do your History of Magic essay as well."

Imelda waved her wand over Poppy's face, undoing the spell.

Poppy coughed, sticking out her tongue at Imelda. "She's at the teashop in Hogsmeade with Benjamin Carrow. He's a Gryffindor 7th year." Poppy's cheeks blushed a bit. "Super tall. Very nice to look at."

Well, he did not need to know that last bit of information. Sebastian's neck muscles tightened. Benjamin Carrow. Sebastian was well aware of the reputation of that particular Gryffindor. He was even more aware of the effect that rake had on the female population of Hogwarts. Handsome. Chivalrous (supposedly). And of course, in Sebastian's book, up to absolutely no good.

He muttered a quick thanks to Poppy under his breath, before he spun away in a huff, stomping away with more force than necessary.

With the angry Slytherin out of the picture, Imelda flipped two sickles into Poppy's open hands. Poppy frowned at the coins in her hand, her stomach twisting into knots. "Should we tell Sebastian that he has nothing to worry about? I feel awfully bad watching him so stressed out over nothing."

Imelda happily tallied up the remaining sum of coins in her hand before pocketing them. "And ruin his fun? Never."

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Sebastian ran to Hogsmeade so fast that one could almost accuse him of apparating. His lungs were about to explode. One of his ribs might have broken in the process of running up to Hogsmeade. He steadied his hands on his thighs, trying to take deep breaths to replenish his supply of oxygen. Slamming open the door of the teashop, he scanned the cozy space for any signs of his friend.

His stomach dropped. Left corner booth in the back, hidden behind the wall of flutterby bushes. A classic play. It was the best place for unwed, young couples to neck in public without getting caught.

Well, he certainly wasn't going to let her be a victim any time soon.

He smoothed his hair into place. It was drenched from his sweat. No doubt, he looked like a mess, having practically bent time and space to get here.

With the confidence that only Sebastian Sallow could exude, he walked up to the couple's booth, ready to put a stop to this nonsense.

"Benjamin? It's funny running into you at a place like this! It's been a while since you were at Crossed Wands." Sebastian's tone was cheerful but his mouth was flat.

"Sebastian?" the savior of Hogwarts asked before her date could even say anything.

"I need to speak with you." Sebestian dropped all pretenses of pretending to give a shit about her date.

"You need to speak with me." She repeated flatly.

This operation was not going as well as he had hoped. "It's unfortunately urgent."

A painted eyebrow arched with skepticism. "You have an urgent message that cannot wait until this is over." It was rather apparent that she did not believe him.

Sebastian couldn't help himself anymore. Gently wrapping his hand around hers, he pulled her out of her chair. Well in for a knut, in for a sickle. "Yes, terribly sorry…" he address her date, "…rather unfortunate timing, but we must be on our way. No rest for the hero of Hogwarts after all."

She did not put up any resistance against him, her hand tightened in his as she allowed the other man to help her out of her seat. As Sebastian led her out of the teashop into the bustling streets of Hogsmeade, the savior of Hogwarts wondered what on earth was so important that Sebastian had to interrupt her very first date.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Sebastian was still holding her hand as he steered her to a more secluded alleyway to have a private conversation. His hands were warm against hers. Despite them being such close friends, they didn't really touch much. Oh of course, she yearned for any excuses to brush against Sebastian. Bumping into him in the hallway, pressing her back against his in an exciting duel.

But holding hands? In public? Why by both Muggle and Wizarding standards, it was quite the controversy. Still she tried to cherish the feeling of his skin against hers even for this brief moment in time.

All too soon, they both arrived at the secluded nook right behind the backdoor of the Three Broomsticks. Sebastian reluctantly let go of her hand. Her heart was pounding in her throat as she let herself be whisked away from her date. This was it. After a whole year of waiting, months of yearning, and weeks of pining after the handsome Slytherin. Sebastian was going to finally confess his feelings towards her.

Poppy, Imelda and Natt had all reassured her, time and time again, that Sebastian was head over heels in love with her. In fact, it was Imelda who suggested going on a date to "remind Sallow of the other eligible bachelors". She resisted at first. It felt wrong to even imagine being with anyone other than Sebastian Sallow, but as their 6th year of Hogwarts dragged on, and as the leaves started falling from the trees, it got harder and harder to say no to all the date proposals.

Biting at her bottom lip, she looked at the boy before her, hoping that Sebastian would finally confess his feelings towards her.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

As Sebastian led her outside the romantic teashop, he couldn't help but notice how gorgeous she was. Well, Sebastian had always thought that the savior of Hogwarts was extremely attractive, even when she was covered in troll boogeys, but….with her hair done up, the small amounts of make up on her face, and a fetching dress that hugged her curves….

In the rare moments that Sebastian would pick up one of Anne's romance books, he would always roll his eyes and scoff at the writers who moaned at the difficulties of describing a Veela's beauty.

Now, he was starting to understand how they must have felt.

"Sebastian Sallow. Whatever you tell me has better be important."

She folded her arms in front of her chest, clearly not amused by his antics. Her finger drummed from forearm nervously, no doubt hoping to go back inside with Benjamin fucking Carrow.

"Sebastian Sallow," she repeated again, but this time there was a dangerous tone in her voice. "What was it, that was so important that you needed to interrupt?"

Her face was flushed a pretty pink, reminding Sebastian of the love potions Professor Sharp showed off in class last week. She looked even more beautiful when she looked murderously pissed at Sebastian. It was perhaps not an appropriate time to tell her how attractive she looked when she was angry.

"You can't date him." Sebastian fumbled.

"Who says I'm even on a date?" She shot back haughtily.

Sebastian clenched his jaw. "The Hogsmeade teashop. Teatime for two. Corner booth to the left. Classic play. Gryffindors use it all the time."

Okay, so maybe it was a date.

"Plus you're wearing a new dress I've never seen you in and wearing make up." His hands balled into fists. "You never wear make up like that." His voice was a hint accusatory.

She touched her lips subconsciously. Make up was still very new to her. It was her first date in well…her whole life, and she wanted to do something special. The hero of Hogwarts who was well versed in ancient magic and defeating trolls…was a novice in the romance department. She was so nervous that her make up gave her face a ghoulish appearance. But her date hadn't even commented or noticed. Her stomach flipped. She didn't know that Sebastian was the type of boy to even notice changes to her appearances.

Seeing what looked like to him a cold mask of disdain on her face, he knew he had to say something less she suddenly lose interest in the conversation and go back inside with that prat.

"You need to turn him down." He stressed.

"And why is that?"

A thousand arguments raced through Sebastian's brain. "He's a prick. I know his type, only dates whoever the most popular girl is. The second he loses interest in you, he'll move onto the next."

For some reason, Sebastian's words stung. With all the boys asking her out in her 6th year, she had hoped that it was because they found her personality charming, or witty, or frankly they found her appearance flattering. She was always a bit fearful that the boys were attempting to court her out for the bragging rights of getting a kiss from "the hero of Hogwarts." She crossed her arms in front of her. "Well maybe he's changed."

Sebastian snorted. "He hasn't."

She frowned. "Well, you don't know that. I like Ben. He's different. He's not like the other boys."

Sebastian rolled his eyes in exasperation. How many times had he heard that same expression come from Anne?

"He's a bloke, for Merlin's sake. They're all assholes."

She raised an eyebrow, looking at him pointedly.

"Except me." Sebastian corrected. "I'm awful for entirely different reasons."

She sniffed. "You just don't like him because you're jealous that he gets more attention from other girls than you do." she mumbled under her breath bitterly.

The boy blinked owlishly. Something felt off about her statement but he wasn't quite sure why. His best friend had never hinted that she was ever upset at the female attention Sebastian received. In fact, ever since she had come to Hogwarts, Sebastian had never paid any mind to them. Why would she be so bothered by it?

Why did it even matter when she was the only one that Sebastian truly gave a damn about?

His chest felt tight. "Please, take my word for it." Sebastian looked her in the eyes. "Fellows like him…they're only after one thing, and the second they get it from you, they'll drop you like a sack of Dragon Dung." Sebastian's voice was quiet. "I just don't want to see my friend hurt."

She huffed, looking away from Sebastian and breaking eye contact. "He's a Gryffindor. They're more chivalrous than you give them credit for."

Slytherins were far better dates, and she knew it. Sebastian couldn't help but mumble under his breath. "Doubt it. He's a Gryffindor. They're all assholes."

She glared at him. "Garreth, Leander, and Natty are all Gryffindors."

Sebastian grimaced. "And it's truly Natsai's greatest flaw."

She scoffed. She can't believe she just let him waltz in there and kidnap her away from her date, only for Sebastian to basically just throw a tantrum. She was becoming like Ominis, too lenient on Sebastian's shenanigans. "Why do you even care?"

Sebastian looked at her incredulously. Did she not listen to a word of what he said? It's like she was purposely playing deaf.

"You're one of my best friends besides Ominis. I don't want to see you get involved with someone bound to hurt you."

Her body stiffened. ' A friend just like Ominis'. A friend. That's all they were to each other wasn't it? Merlin, how could she be so stupid. "And that’s why you came all this way to interrupt my date? Because I'm one of your friends?" She hissed the last two words through gritted teeth.

Sebastian ducked his head. He took a shaky breath in. "Yes. Ever since you came into my life, everything has changed. I care for you, deeply. You are one of my best friends, and I wouldn't be here without you."

She shoulders dropped. This wasn't what she wanted to hear. "I got to go Sebastian. It's rude for a lady to keep a man waiting."

Sebastian stood there in the damp alleyway, feeling exceedingly vulnerable, wondering what exactly he said wrong.

Before she could fully leave him, he turned towards her retreating form. He grasped her hand, holding her in place. Her wrist felt so warm in his hold. If he pressed his thumb down more firmly, he could feel her pulse point beat steadily against his.

She stilled.

"You can't date him." His words came out rushed and forced. "You're the most powerful witch in our generation. The prettiest one on top of it and the funniest one here. You deserve better."

She scoffed, wrenching her hand away from his loose grip. She was sick of pretty words from a pretty boy. It felt rather cold and lonely now. "What do you know what I deserve?

Sebastian's voice was thick with emotion. "I know you deserve someone who isn't intimated by how powerful you are. Someone who will always support your silly little errands. Someone who you can trust to have at your back in a duel. A gentleman who will always be loyal to you."

Someone….someone like me. He thought privately.

He didn't dare say the last part out loud.

Her eyes searched his face, perhaps looking from more from him. After a beat of silence, her shoulders fell. There was a stony, unreadable expression on her face.

"Thank you for sharing your thoughts, Sebastian." Her voice quiet and her lips pressed together tightly. "I'll be sure to remember your advice." Whipping her nicely done hair behind her, she walked back into the teashop, no doubt returning to a rather nice date with that sleazy Gryffindor.

Sebastian stood in the alleyway by himself, alone. He couldn't help but feel as though she wanted something more from him, but he couldn't tell what.

Part 2

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hphl #harry potter #sebastian sallow fic #harry potter hogwarts game #jealous!sebastian #imelda reyes #poppy sweeting #fierymiasmawork

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writing-in-the-impala · 4 months

Text

Secret Smokes (Part 7)

Pairing: Teacher! Remus Lupin x Reader

Series Summary: When the reader bumps into the new DADA professor on the bridge in Hogwarts she begins to build a friendship with him all thanks to their shared feeling of not belonging and love for muggle cigarettes. Their friendship blooms while they both fight internal battles deciding what is wrong and what is right leading to a lot of fluff, angst, flirting and a rollercoaster of emotions.

Warnings: Swearing, Drinking, teacher-student relationship, Slowburn, angst, jealousy, fluff

Word Count: 2681

A/N: Where's the update? You promised it on Sunday? Well, happy Tuesday I've been busy.

| SERIES MASTER LIST (All chapters) |

Previous Chapter, Part 7, Next Chapter

On Monday morning you received an OWL from Lupin once again. "Please remember about your tutoring lesson this evening and about your DADA classes this week. R.Lupin." You looked up from the note and saw Lupin was already looking at you while having a discussion with Hagrid who was sitting beside him, Lupin's eyes were fixed on you even when he spoke, you gave him a gentle smile and he smiled back still not looking away.

You attended Lupin's class as you were instructed to, he was quite active in the lesson waving his arms around like he used to. It seemed like he had regained some of the charismatic energy that defined him as a teacher. After your classes that day you went to his classroom for your tutoring and he wasn't in the room you called out "Professor?" And you could hear him upstairs in the office you stood on the bottom of the stairs and heard him shout back. "Y/N, I'm making tea would you like anything?"

"Uh no I'm okay thank you." You replied stunned by his pleasant behaviour. Not that Lupin wasn't usually this well-mannered, he was with literally everyone that's why his recent actions towards you hurt so much.

"Very well." He said coming down the stairs with his own mug, now wearing a sweater rather than his blazer like in your lesson earlier in the day, the spoon inside the mug was stirring by itself with wand-less magic. "Now I wanted to begin work on your Patronus Charm however due to your absence for the last two weeks today we're going to have to catch up on the lessons you missed." He said opening the theory book.

"That's so not fair." You stated in a huff.

"I promise I'll make this quick, and at the end we can duel to see if you remember everything I taught you." He said in a gentle tone sipping on his tea.

"So I can beat you and show you how I don't need your theory?" You asked and he laughed gently.

"If you can knock my wand out of my hand you can choose what we study on Wednesday. Now let's begin how familiar are you with werewolves." He now sat on a desk in front of you that had his book open while you sat on the table in front with yours closed. He was towering over you but you didn't feel intimidated.

"Very much, I hear they're really lovely, they wear warm sweaters but they get angsty around the full moon." You replied and he had a small smile forming on the edge of his lips.

"They don't get angsty around full moons." He stated trying not to laugh.

"They do." You said in an all-knowing voice.

"They don't."

"Well you've obviously never met one."

"Werewolves don't get angsty around the full moon." He said using air quotes around the word angsty.

"So it's just a you thing?" You asked and he just broke out laughing and put his face in his palms. What you didn't know is nothing warmed Lupin's heart more than someone being able to laugh at his condition, he always felt like people either feared him or feared the subject like it was some secret that could never be talked about with anyone except the marauders, you made him feel normal, but you also confused him more than anyone he's ever met.

He realised at the three broomsticks that he's gotten too close to you, not only that but you were developing feelings for him and he knew he had to do something to stop it, you were just a girl yes you may be 18 but not only are you his student but he's a werewolf and that means that anyone who would ever be in a relationship with him would be cursed with a life of suffering. So he did the only thing he knew he could do, push you away but he kept an eye on you and the more he missed you the more it hurt him to watch you be so okay to the point you didn't show up to his lessons or the bridge anymore. He had his own updated version of the old marauders map which he checked every evening to see if you would go to the bridge at first you did but after a few days you didn't even try and he didn't blame you it was exactly what he knew was right. But his loneliness grew, and he left Hogwarts over the weekend to visit Sirius he nearly told him about you but he was too conflicted this was an issue he had to deal with alone, his method of cutting you out was working the only thing left to figure out is getting you to pass DADA without coming to lessons.

His plan failed when on Sunday evening during his turn to patrol the corridors he heard you and Sebastian taking. Him diminishing your love for muggle books hurt Remus but hearing Sebastian calling you darling made even the wolf inside him jealous so he acted on instinct separating the two of you. Sebastian's words reminded Remus of his own pet name for you and it brought him back to the moment when he had you all hot and bothered, the moment he forgot all responsibilities for a second and allowed himself to feel a glimpse of what it would be like if he was normal man and he wasn't your teacher. Remus longed for that moment, it was all he thought about since. The feeling of your breath on his, your lips so close that he could lean in and kiss you, have you as he's wanted for so long. You weren't just beautiful but you were smart and so strong-willed, he knew your future was a bright one and he was never going to ruin it for you.

But what could he do? How can he push you away when you are so drawn to him, he was aware that you had a crush on him, obviously he wouldn't behave how he did at the three broomsticks if he wasn't sure of it but there had to be rules established soon if you were going to spend any more time together, he knew he should never share smokes on the bridge with you again and never call you dear but there was something inside him that hurt whenever he thought about that never happening again. Remus was a good guy he wasn't going to ruin your last year in Hogwarts by being selfish and longing for extra time to get to know you. You needed to be with people your own age like Sebastian...

"Professor?" Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Are you okay you've gone silent for a minute?"

"I'm still trying to process you calling me angsty." He said with a soft smile pained by the truth of what he was thinking about.

"Wait you're a werewolf?" You asked with a fake gasp and he just shook his head at you in amusement. He proceeded to skim over the facts teaching you the basics over the next hour before closing the book and announcing. "It's time to see how your duelling skills are." Lupin motioned for you to stand and moved all the desks to the side of the room for a swish of his hands. "Now it's okay if you need a bit of time to warm up and practice I know we haven't done this in a few weeks." He began.

"I'm good let's go straight away." You interrupted and like that, the duel began. You began strong as his guard was down and then he began hitting back you continued and then you pulled a special spell you learnt in the duelling club as soon as you began to say the word Lupin disarmed you and quickly came and put his hand over your mouth. "You're about to use dark magic Y/N." He stated harshly before letting you go. "Now tell me exactly where you've learnt all this." He said sternly as you bent down to grab your wand, you could tell fun Lupin was gone and your teacher was talking to you.

"While studying I'm sorry I didn't know it was a-"

"Don't lie to me." He repeated, with the voice of disappointment, while looking down on you.

"The duelling club." You said without thinking of what will happen next.

"What duelling club." He was angry, very angry.

"The crossed wands or whatever it's a secret duelling club started by some Slytherin students to see who's the best at duelling in the school." You blurted out.

"Is this Sebastian's doing?"

"He's part of it yes but I've learnt so much, it's helped."

"Yes but also you've learnt dark magic, you're entering a realm of evil, real evil and you think this is just fun and games? You didn't even know did you?" You shook your head in reply to him. "I am reporting this to Dumbledor immediately." He was almost shouting but his voice wasn't any louder than a whisper.

"No don't they're my friends." You protested.

"Y/N you can't be using that kind of magic, not you. Please. You don't understand what this can cause, how evil it is. You are getting involved in dangerous things and they need to be stopped before more innocent students get involved."

"Please don't shut it down I'll be seen as a snitch, it's the first time I've made friends with people outside Gryffindor, let them have this until the end of the year."

"It's dangerous."

"Please moony as a friend." You said using the nickname you used before to try and get his sympathy, he shared his secret you shared yours would he keep yours? You didn't know this was the same nickname his friends used for him. These five words made him calm down and realise how much he values your happiness over what is right or wrong.

"Can you promise me you'll check spells you learnt there with me first before you use them?" He asked gently.

"Always."

"Very well, I'll pretended I didn't hear a word." He said walking over to his desk and picking up his blazer there to search for something in his pocket. He took out a pack of cigarettes and put on his blazer. "Now if you'll excuse me I have a urgent matter, you're welcome to join if you want to steal one." He said showing you the box and opening the classroom door to let you out. You followed him as you walked together in silence it felt like you needed to say something. The air was too thick.

"Can we go to the lake?"

"There won't be light bugs tonight." He said softly.

"I know I just want to go and sit down by the water."

"Let's go." He said changing the route. You walked outside up to the lake sitting down on the water's edge, Lupin lay his blazer down on the floor as a makeshift blanket. You could see the moonlight reflect on the water and everything felt peaceful and quiet for a moment. You saw the spark of Lupin's cigarette, you looked over at him and noticed he was using a lighter instead of magic. You grabbed a cigarette from his pack that was lying on the jacket in the small space between the two of you. You put it in your mouth and Lupin leaned slightly closer to you lighting it for you with his lighter one hand covering the side from the wind and the other on the lighter right next to your lips. No words were spoken. They didn't need to be you both understood everything perfectly at this moment. After a moment you finally said something.... "Lupin, can we please remain friends."

"We need clear boundaries." He said simply as if he had thought through his answer a million times.

"Yes, okay, I just don't want to spend another week ignoring each other, you really hurt me Lupin." You said being completely honest.

You could hear him swallow as if he's just realised that you were also hurt in the process of him trying to protect you... "I'm really sorry, I was trying to make sure we don't cross a line. I didn't think it would hurt you I thought it was the right thing to do Y/N." He spoke quietly almost a whisper.

"Don't do that again." You said feeling like crying, two weeks of emotions all about to release in this moment. "I felt like I lost someone I was truly connected with, a real friend."

"I know I felt the same, but Y/N we need to set rules we can't get so close to each other."

"Don't call me dear then."

"Okay dear." He said with a little smirk and you playfully pushed him away "shut up Lupin."

"On the same note when it's just us, and we're being just friends maybe just call me Remus. Lupin feels too formal, it makes me remember I'm your teacher."

"Remus. I like that. Now Remus you won't ignore me tomorrow after this conversation?"

"No Y/N, I will not. I acted impulsively, for that I am very sorry and for how I made you feel."

"I didn't like you for a moment when you were ignoring me but you're truly kind and good under all that angst."

"I'm not angsty." He said laughing again. You lay down on the grass and jacket instead of sitting up and watched as Remus sat up watching the water. You felt at peace maybe you will never fulfil your desire to kiss him and feel his lips on yours. Maybe you'll never know what it feels like to have his hands explore your body but at least you knew you could keep him as part of your everyday again and that he did maybe feel slightly attracted to you below all the proper behaviour and all the teacher like nonsense.

"Can I tell you something I've never told anyone?" He asked.

"Are you about to tell me you're angsty?" You replied sitting up to match his position, he smiled in response but didn't laugh this time.

"No, I, I really wish to see a full moon. To see what it looks like reflecting in the water, what the world looks like in its light." You could hear his voice breaking as he tried to keep a straight face. You didn't know what to do, your first reaction was just to hold him. So you hugged him and he hugged you back tightly. Neither of you thought about what was right or wrong you just hugged for a long time making sure he was okay. If you weren't sure already this vulnerability and honestly showed you how he felt about you, he did in fact trust you maybe more than anyone he's ever met before you.

After moments of silence, you both let go of each other and stayed there watching the water reflect the moonlight. Remus checked his watch and at that moment realised how late it's gotten. "Are you hungry?" He asked and you nodded. "Follow me, dinner is over but I can get some food from the kitchen sent to my office." He explained and you both returned to the castle.

As soon as you walked into the classroom it felt like he was back to Professor R.J. Lupin, he opened his office door and let you walk in first. You took in the room as you've never been up here usually speaking to him at his desk in the classroom. His desk here was covered in papers and books, a small plate acted as a ashtray for him laying on top of a pile of books. He immediately began to clean the desk picking up books and putting them back on the shelf he didn't use magic it's almost like he forgot he could. "Please sit down. I'm sorry for the mess I've been very busy recently." He explained you sat down in a nice leather chair behind the desk, it smelled like him, you felt like you almost melted into this chair as soon as you sat down on it. He performed wandless magic to pull up a small wooden chair to the desk and to sit opposite you. "Any preference in what food you'd like?" He asked and you shook your head. "Very well. Would you like any tea?" He asked standing back up and walking over to a kettle that was already brewing on the side. "Milk and two sugars please." You confirmed.

"I have a terrible habit of putting too much sugar in my tea, it started when I was around your age, I would put heaps of sugar in my tea because my condition made me so tired and I thought it would help give me energy. It did not. But it did help develop my sweet tooth." He said as he walked over with the teas at this moment the food magically appeared on the table, it was a platter of different nibbles from cheese to grapes and crackers. The two of you dug in while a vinyl record played in the background and your tea cooled to a drinking temperature. At first, you were so hungry that not many words were said but it didn't take long for the two of you to start talking and discussing different things you talked about, the main topic was muggle world vs wizarding world. You learned a lot about Remus's mother and his childhood in the muggle world. You must've sat and talked for at least two hours as by the time the food was only crumbs and your cups were completely empty you had a blanket wrapped around you for warmth and your eyes were struggling to stay open. When Remus realised the time was past midnight he kept apologising for keeping you awake and you kept telling him it was okay. Professor Lupin felt guilty for keeping you awake on a school night, and Remus felt sad you were about to leave. He walked you to your dorm so you wouldn't get in trouble in case a teacher saw you in the corridors, you thanked him for all the food and tea and then you said goodnight.

NEXT CHAPTER | More stuff I wrote

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#remus lupin x reader #student x teacher #teacher! Remus Lupin #professor lupin x reader #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #remus lupin #the maruaders #harry potter #remus love you #secret smokes

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lancermylove · 10 months

Text

Adopted by the Demon Bros (Scenarios)

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland, Obey Me

Pairing: All dorms with gn!Reader. Featuring the demon brothers.

Warning: None

Requested by: @animealways

Prompt: obey me x twisted wonderland Headcanon for all the characters finding out yuu is adopted by the demon brothers (adeuce and grimm face realizing they have been getting the literall devil child in trouble day in and out/everyone els who had a overblote being like "oh shit i attacked a literall demon kid" 😂)

A/N: The HCs ended up turning into this chaotic mess. 😂

———————————————

Ruggie couldn't stop laughing. Adopted by demons? Sure, you were. Just like he was the King of Sunset Savana. Leona ignored your statement while Jack brushed it off as a joke.

"I'm being serious! Look!" You shuffled through your phone's gallery to find your birthday celebration video. "See!"

The three men silently watched the video, and Ruggie was the first to speak. "They're just wearing costumes. You ain't fooling anyone."

You gripped your phone in frustration before yelling, "Fine." Which brother to summon? Calling Lucifer or Satan was out of the question; calling Asmo would be risky as he would find the Savanaclaw members attractive and possibly charm them; calling Levi or Belphie would result in chaos, so that felt Mammon or Beel.

You closed your eyes and began chanting a spell. Jack and Ruggie didn't react, but Leona's ears perked up as his muscles tensed. "Heed my call and come forth Mammon!"

The second brother appeared out of thin air. Jack started to growl, Ruggie's ears lowered as he backed away, and Leona maintained his composure but kept his guard up. When he saw the men, Mammon immediately pulled you into a protective hug. "Who are they? Are they tryin' to hurt ya, (y/n)?"

"Nope! Mammon, I want you to meet my friends. The princely prick is Leona, the clueless but sweet musclehead is Jack, and the ever-hungry hyena is Ruggie," you giggled. "So guys do you believe me now? I am adopted by the seven demons~ also known as the Seven Rulers of Devildom."

From that day on, Leona never picked on you but didn't let you get away with calling him a prick. Ruggie never played around with you nor tricked you into doing anything, and Jack was cautious around you.

Lilia and Malleus chuckled and thought you were trying to tease Sebek with your statement. Silver stood beside his father in silence as he tried to study your expressions. He was the only one who didn't think you were joking.

"Human! Do you believe I, Sebek, would fall for your tricks?"

His tone was firm and loud, as usual, but you also felt a sense of mockery. Yes, what you said would have been hard to believe if you were in a world filled with only humans, but in front of you were two and a half faes. Out of them, one could turn into a dragon.

"I am telling the truth! I am adopted by demons," you frowned.

"Demons don't exist," he said while rolling his eyes.

"Sebek, you are part fae. Lilia and Malleus are faes. Malleus has dragon horns...and Silver is a human adopted by Lilia, a fae," your frown grew deeper. "So why is it so hard to believe my family members are demons."

"You are lying, and I will not allow you to speak a lie in front of the future king of Briar Valley!"

You were at your limits, and without saying a word, you took out the wand Solomon gifted you and wildly waved your arm with the tip pointing to the ground. In a few seconds, a large circle with an intricate pattern appeared on the floor. Much to the Diasomnia members' shock, the magic formation glowed red, and suffocating dark energy poured into the room.

Lilia and Malleus quickly used their magic to suppress the formation and stop the entity you were attempting to summon. Sebek was speechless, and Silver was stunned yet amazed. Before any of them could say a word, your phone rang.

"Hey, Lucifer!" You emphasized his name more and chuckled, "Everything is okay. I wanted to introduce you to my friends because they didn't believe me when I said demons exist. Okay, I will take care, and yes, I am eating properly...and focusing on my studies. Love you too! Bye."

You slid your phone into your jacket pocket and looked at the four students. Their faces were pallid, and they only stared at you with wide eyes. Feeling like you got the last laugh, you playfully smiled and poked them for the final time. "Why do all of you guys look like you saw a ghost?"

"You are...what?" Idia asked.

"Adopted by a family of demons. Seven demons, to be exact," you smiled.

He blankly stared, but before the silence could get uncomfortable, Idia said, "So lemme guess. The oldest brother comes off as cold, cruel, and arrogant but is caring and misunderstood. Not that he cares. The second brother is the family joker, comes off as rude, but is the kindest one - always lookin' out for his brothers. The third brother is a shut-in otaku who is also a gamer and thinks badly about himself...but all he wants is someone to understand and love him."

Ortho didn't think his brother could talk so much in one go, but Idia continued, "The fourth brother has anger issues and pretends he doesn't care about his brothers. In reality, he does. He also likes reading and cats. The fifth brother is obsessed with his appearance, but his beauty is unparalleled. He's easy to get along with but is very clingy. The sixth brother is a musclehead and has a bottomless appetite. He cares about his family more than anything and will protect them at any cost. The seventh brother sleeps all the time and is spoiled by everyone. He sometimes has a short temper and is intelligent. Then you woke up from your dream and realized it was only a game."

"Running a lie detector scan. Scan completed," Ortho said. "Onii-chan, (y/n) is speaking the truth. They are adopted by demons."

"What's next, Ortho? Her family members' names are Lucifer, Mammon, Levithan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, and Belphegor," Idia sarcastically said.

"Yes," you said in absolute shock.

"What?" Idia questioned.

"Upload (y/n)'s family report from NRC's database. Onii-chan, you are right! Those are the names of the demons," he laughed.

You and Idia stared at each other without moving for hours. Neither one of you could process what just happened. Meanwhile, Ortho read the details of the demon brother's out loud.

"Why are all of you being so mean?" You huffed and crossed your arms.

"Maybe because you said your family is made up of demons?" Ace laughed. "Demons...actually demons? You couldn't think up of anything better?"

"It's okay if you don't want to introduce them to us," Trey sighed.

Deuce felt guilty for laughing at you earlier and apologized, "Sorry. Didn't mean to laugh earlier, but what you said was funny..."

"(Y/n). You look like you are about to cry," Cater chuckled, "and Riddle, why do you look scared?"

"S-Scared? Of what? Demons don't exist...," the house warden said under his breath.

"I was going to ask Asmo or Mammon to come over, but I changed my mind. You guys deserve to meet Lucifer or Satan."

"Lucifer and Satan? Like the literal devils?" Ace laughed harder. "What imaginary world do you live in?"

"Okay, that's it!" You closed your eyes, chanted a few words, and called for Satan. "Come forth and answer my call, Satan!"

Ace and Deuce nearly screamed when a man with horns and a spikey tail appeared beside them, looking confused. He ignored them and looked at you. "(Y/n), why did you summon me? Did something happen? And...who are these men?"

"Satan! These men are being mean to me, and I want you to put curses on them...well, except Riddle...he wasn't mean. Curse Cater, so he can't use his phone all day. Curse Deuce so he can't pick fights with anyone. Curse Trey, so he can't brush his teeth for a few days. Curse Ace, so everyone laughs at him whenever they see him," You g gritted your teeth.

"W-Wait, I need to upload photos daily! I can't disappoint my followers," Cater exclaimed while holding his hands up in defense. "I am sorry for not believing you! By the way, Satan, can I take a picture with you? I need a viral photo."

Satan raised an eyebrow but ignored his request and turned his attention to you. "You call those curses? How about I turn all of them into chihuahuas?"

"Then I would have to take care of them," you vigorously shook your head.

"When they try to talk, they start singing, but their singing sounds like listening to a soundtrack backward?"

"Oh...I like that idea! How about getting Cerberus to chase them around?"

"I can't control Cerberus...only a CERTAIN someone can," Satan frowned. "Making them invisible?"

"They have grades to maintain and will be expelled if they fail. How about bringing them to Devildom? They can see what hell looks like."

As you and Satan threw ideas back and forth, the members of Heartslaybul stood in a corner, huddled up. Your words were enough to make them believe you were being raised by demons - they all made a mental note to never mess with you... ever again.

"No, I am being absolutely serious. Rook, you believe me, right?" Your eyes darted toward the hunter, hoping at least he would back you up.

"I dislike such senseless humor. Kindly stop," Vil politely requested as he glared daggers at you.

"Why would I joke about my family? They really are demons!"

Epel shifted uncomfortably and mumbled, "It ain't nice to call yer family...your family by such a mean name."

"Mean? Epel, just like you are a human. They are demons. That's their race," you pouted. "I am not trying to be mean."

Vil took a few deep breaths to calm himself. He folded his arms across his chest and looked you straight in the eyes, "Very well. Then why not call one of your family members here? I am certain that if they are demons, you can summon them here."

"Oh, then I should call Asmo. He will get along with everyone in Pomefoire."

You closed your eyes and muttered a chant to open a portal for Asmo. You stood with your arms open, expecting the fifth brother to run out of the portal and hug you; instead, you saw Levi step out of the portal and instantly freeze. Seeing unknown people staring at him, the third brother frantically looked for a hiding place. He ran behind you and bent down. "Too many...people..."

"Levi? What are you doing here? I called Asmo."

"I...wanted to see y-you," he shakily whispered.

The members of Pomefiore stared at Levi's tail, not believing what they were seeing. Epel's grandmother always taught him that demons were terrible - creatures of the dark that could hurt and kill, but Levi looked nothing like what she had described. Rook, on the other hand, was fascinated. If he asked you to visit your homeland, would you take him?

"(Y/n). I apologize for my behavior earlier. I did think you were lying, yet you proved me incorrect," he smiled. "Levi, welcome to Pomefiore. My name is Vil Schoenheit, and I am the house warden. Would you like to join us for lunch? We won't bite. I promise."

"Demon?" Azul pondered while pushing his glasses up with the tip of his finger. "Ah, I see."

Jade nodded, "My apologies. Rather unfortunate that we cannot select our family members."

"Cheer up, shrimpy," Floyd added. "You've us."

"What? I'm very confused. Oh, wait. That's not what I meant," you laughed. "I don't mean my family members are demonic. I mean, my family members are actual demons."

"Actual...demons?" The house warden chuckled. "(Y/n). Did Ace accidentally hit your head with a spell drive disc again?"

"I'm being serious! Fine, let me prove it to you. Since you three enjoy tormenting people, its time someone tormented you," a devilish smirk tugged on your lips. "Come forth, Beel! Come forth, Belphie!"

"(Y/n)? Is everything okay?" Beel asked, concerned.

Azul jumped at the sight of their horns while the twins stared in shock and amusement. You quickly took out your phone to secretly record their reaction. "Hi, Beel! Everything is a-okay! Belphie. Beel. Meet Jade and Floyd. They're twins, just like you two. And this is Azul."

Belphie nodded, still half asleep, but Beel was too distracted to reply. The smell of freshly cooked food tickled his nose and drew him towards the Mostro Lounge kitchen.

"By the way, Azul, won't you treat my family to your famous Mostro Lounge menu?"

He noticed a hint of teasing in your voice but didn't think much of it. "Ah, where are my manners? Jade. Floyd. Kindly treat our guests to any food or drink they like."

You smirked, "Payback time."

Since that day, Azul banned you from summoning Beel inside Octavinelle. All the profits he made for the week were devoured by the sixth brother within an hour. Also, the students of Octavinelle thought twice before giving you a hard time.

Jamil shook his head at Kalim's excitement - how could he easily believe your words? He understood you trying to prank Kalim, but did you honestly think he would believe you? Demons don't exist. Wait, did you mean your family was demonic, like evil in nature? That made more sense.

"I wish I could call all of them here, but that would get too chaotic. Let me call the prettiest and easiest one to get along with!" You recited his change and called his name, "Asmodeus, come forth."

Jamil's eyes widened as a gasp escaped his lips, "Wait, why did your chant sound like a real-"

"Sweetie!" Asmo appeared behind you and threw his arms around you. "I missed you so much. Why did you choose to go to a school so far away? I worry about you so much that my skin is feeling the stress. Come back home with me!"

"Sorry, Asmo. I miss you too, but I can't drop out after coming this far. Wait for me a little longer."

"Alright. If that makes you happy, I will wait," he smiled and looked around.

Kalim beamed at him while Jamil stood with his back against the nearest wall, looking like he just saw a ghost. Asmo chuckled, "Sweetie, won't you introduce me to your cute friends?"

"Asmo, this is Kalim, and," you looked at the vice house warden and bit the inside of your lip to suppress your laugh. "That's...Jamil."

"Why do you look frightened? Am I terrifying?" Asmo sulked. "But I am the most beautiful demon alive..."

"You are pretty," Kalim beamed.

"Don't worry about Jamil. He probably has a secret fear of demons," you teased. "He will come around eventually."

———————————————

➣ Twisted Wonderland [1][2] ➣ Obey Me Masterlist: [1][2] ➣ Main Masterlist

➣ Buy me a Ko-fi? ➣ Commission: Open || Requests: Closed

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 6 months

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Here's a two-parter idea for hc (idk this time if it's a full or a Mini, I'll let you choose ;) )

1. How do the M6 hold babies? Who's a natural and who has the stiff "toddler who's meeting their baby sibling for the first time" hold? Who likes them & vice versa? Who's the person you hand a baby to & then immediately have to take it back bc something about their aura immediately made the baby freak out?

2. Similar vein; like the wands in Harry Potter, we all know kids pick and choose who they like & nobody has a choice in the matter. Which of the M6 do kids like? Who's a natural child repellent? Who do the kids always undyingly attach themselves to even though by all means that person seems like the last parson the children would fall in love with?

Feel free to include the courtiers or any other side characters too if you like, I think that'd be funny

The Arcana HCs: M6 with Kids

~ @themushroomgoesyeet this started out as a mini-hc and then I got so carried away I turned them into a full series. XD thanks friend! ^.^ - brainrot ~

Julian

Loves kids!! so young! so small! so full of life and energy!

Kids tend to be initially cautious when approaching him (he's so tall, and edgy-looking, and kind of loud)

But as soon as he notices them he's folding up his gangly legs so he can crouch at their level and make eye contact and ask them about their day and introduce himself to their toys

And oh my, the stories he comes up with - it's not uncommon for you to lose him in the marketplace and come back about thirty minutes later to find him seated on a crate, about fifteen children of varying ages sitting in front of him, hanging onto his every word with stars in their eyes as he props up a toddler with one hand and wildly gestures with the other

Depending on how enthusiastic his audience gets and how much time he has to work with, he may or may not teach them the basics of improv and catch them up in acting out his story

It's impossible to pull him away once he's appointed different kids to their roles and gotten them started on his fantastical adventure

Remembers all their names and faces and preferences and goes out of his way to wave hello to them if he ever spots them while he's out and about

Asra:

Kids love the look and smell and feel of them but they rarely approach them because of how generally detached they seem

He's quite fond of kids himself, and they will straight up worship him if he puts effort into connecting with them, but most of the time he's too lost in his own wanderings to get around to it

Has strong feelings about their well being though, and will drop everything if they see one in need of assistance and not receiving it

Always accidentally ends up in a teacher's role (it's his infinite patience), he's just bad at knowing what might or might not be a good idea to teach them

How to knit? Wonderful! Now they have a new, soothing, productive hobby and skill set

How to pick a lock? No!! Now they're going to apply their scary levels of creativity and tininess to getting access into spaces they really shouldn't be in!

Known to randomly distract them during scary public things (you found them putting on an impromptu magic show in an alleyway for all the kids in the street right after a nasty cart crash)

Has an easier time with kids than with babies. Babies can't talk, if something's wrong they just cry while you try to troubleshoot

Nadia

She regards them with distance and respect and they do the same for her

It's much easier to care for them with improved infrastructure and accessible education than it is to learn what kinds of bodily fluids are normal on a child and what kinds aren't

(spoiler alert - snot is normal. snot is expected. snot will be everywhere. snot can never be fully cleaned up.)

Kids pick up on this, and are generally more likely to admire the very pretty lady from a distance than they are to walk up and start talking to her

Every now and then, though, some precocious child will start following the trail of her perfume, which will lead them to her skirt, which they will bury their snot-covered face in because it's soft and smells nice

And every time, without fail, Nadia will pause what she's doing and bend down to politely introduce herself and ask for their name without a single though to the mess on her clothes

She actually does better with babies than with kids, because it's easier for her to hold and physically protect a baby than it is to try to have a conversation with a child and quickly discover just how different Toddler Logic is from Adult Logic

Muriel

Small children congregate around him in droves and he has no idea why

They are small, they are fragile, they are living creatures who do not deserve to be hurt or abandoned, why are they crowding around his feet instead of holding onto their parents???

From a child's point of view, it's quite logical

Man is tall. Man is quiet. Man stands still. Man has gentle aura. Man provides shade. Man is clearly a tree (for chilling next to, and attempting to climb on, and occasionally bringing flowers to)

If Muriel can muster enough courage to break his initial "freeze" response, he'll find a corner to sit in so he can be extra stable and not run the risk of accidentally crushing someone

You found him like this once at a party, sitting still as a stone, with two kids chatting with each other on his lap, one scaling the sheer cliffside of his back, one perched on his shoulder sticking flowers in his hair, and two more playing with his hands (which are easily the size of their faces)

He gave you the same look you'd expect from someone stuck with a cat sleeping on their lap

Will listen to and remember any story he gets told and mention it later in conversation

Portia

Loves kids!!! x2

Unfortunately, she tends to scare the shy ones off at first with her intensity, which does make her cry herself to sleep sometimes

She has both the physical energy and the delightful imagination that perfectly suits her to joining into any game the kids around her come up with and making it one of the most exciting experiences of their tiny lives

She's also brilliantly prepared to comfort a child through any burden their small souls carry

Runny nose? She's got a handkerchief. Skinned knee? She's got band-aids. Dehydrated? She's got a water bottle. Hurt feelings? she gives the best (seriously, the best) comforting hugs

Nobody can mediate squabbles like she can (she brokered a trade deal with Firent, she can easily handle playground territory fights)

Over the years she's become the confidant of many tiny ones and you've caught her more than once mending a torn skirt or fixing a broken toy for a kid who didn't want to have to confess to their parents and face the consequences on their own

Does she fill you in on all the little one's gossip and drama? Of course. Does she take it just as seriously as her job? Absolutely

Lucio

He likes kids more than he thinks he does. Unfortunately, they're not usually fond of him at first

When he looks at kids he just sees tiny people who aren't quite big enough yet to go to real parties or do anything interesting with him

That said, he also likes to help people. In the past it was partially to show off, but he genuinely enjoys making someone else's day brighter and knowing he was the reason for it

Plus, kids are considerably easier to impress than grown ups are

Children, on the other hand, are more likely to see a very loud blonde man with a scary metal arm and walk in the other direction

Lucio does not like it when anyone, child or otherwise, takes one look at him and walks away

He must convince them otherwise

Usually resorts to sweets (he's got his own weakness for cookies, even if he still has no idea how to make them)

You've watched him win the admiration of about thirty tiny people in fifteen seconds flat when he loudly proclaimed that he'd be buying any treat any children wanted from the baker's stall

To say that he was still talking about the stars in their eyes when they looked at him three weeks later is an understatement

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

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lovemyromance · 5 days

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And while we're at it, can we talk about people saying "Azriel's darkness" this and "Azriel's healing journey" that 🤨

What does that even mean?

Man has emotional and physical scars from his traumatic childhood and that has obviously left him with some self esteem issues and insecurity.

That's just the standard for most characters in SJM's universe. They all have some kind of trauma.

How is he going to "heal" from that? Through... training...? Something he's been doing as a warrior for 500 years now?

Through training someone else....? Something which he has already done in ACOSF with Nesta and the priestesses and look at that, he's still as broody as ever.

The fact is, all the bat boys felt undeserving of their love interests.

Rhys was afraid he would never have a love like Feyre, never have a family that wouldn't constantly be hunted down.

And yet, Rhys healed through Feyre's love for him.

Cassian felt like he was a low born bastard, not deserving of someone who would wed a prince or duke like Nesta.

And yet, Cassian also healed through Nesta's love for him.

Azriel, again, feels so undeserving of love after his past trauma and his unrequited pining for Mor for 500 years. He doesn't even think about having children, or a future with Elain because he feels so insecure about himself.

Wouldn't it also make sense that his doubts, all his insecurities would also be healed through Elain's love for him? A love that she would choose over even a mating bond.

And before anyone says "Oh we're expecting Elain to be used as some pretty thing to heal him"... no? That's not what is being said.

Elain also has a choice here. She has made it very obvious she does not want her cauldron-given mate. She wants Azriel. Nobody is "expecting her to heal him" like it's so simple as waving a magic wand and poof! Healed.

But just as Feyre & Nesta chose their partners and helped them envision a more hopeful future, Elain will have the same effect on Azriel.

She's not here to "fix him". Whatever that means.

It has been foreshadowed countless times how Elain will surprise us when it comes to her true nature and personality.

She was more than capable of understanding Nesta, standing by her regardless of how many times Nesta bit back. She is stronger than she looks. She's not some pretty stupid thing that will see Azriel and run away screaming. She has a different kind of strength and I'm exhausted of trying to defend that ability to see the good in everything even when the world has gone to shit.

Something tells me she will see the blood on Azriel's hands, help lighten the burden on his shoulders, and find him beautiful anyways.

because that's romance PEOPLE 🫶🏼

#elriel #azriel #elain archeron #elain x azriel #acotar #pro elain #elain

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george-weasleys-girl · 6 months

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smut request/ idea:

fred weasley with a really bratty, playful and smiley reader and then he's like being rlly cute with her but in a hot way idk? like she's teasing him and running around and stuff and he's playing along but then he's like okay enough and it gets kinda rough and then she goes all quiet and thennnn HE teases her? and then he's rlly caring after stuff

I hope you get the idea idekkkk? lmao

Naughty

I've not written anything quite like this before. I hope it's at least, ok-ish. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

Warnings: smut, teasing, oral(male receiving), intercourse, orgasm control

18+only

Fred Weasley x fem!reader

~•~

"Oh dear, I'm such a clutz," Y/N giggled and bent over to pick up the dish soap she'd "accidentally" knocked onto the floor. Fred smirked, his eyes locked on her deliciously adorable ass sticking up in air.

She'd been teasing him ever since he got home from work. Skipping around the house in that flouncy, lavender mini dress that she knew drove him crazy, and acting like a fucking burlesque dancer, giving him a little peek and then taking it away. She turned and gave him a big, innocent grin and then bounced past him, pointedly staying just out of arms reach. Fred chuckled at her antics. He could've easily leaned forward and grabbed her. But he was enjoying the show. And he was curious to see how far she'd push him.

"Come 'ere, baby," Fred patted his lap. "Cuddle with me for a minute."

"But I need to finish the dishes," she whined.

"Just use your wand, love."

"No," she stomped her foot. "You know how I love doing the dishes the muggle way."

Fred arched an eyebrow but said nothing. He knew as well as she did, how much she hated doing the dishes without magic.

"Baby girl, come here."

"I'm almost done. Just two more minutes," she flashed him a mischievous grin. "You can wait that long, can't you?"

The corners of Fred's mouth quirked up. "I'm counting." He looked down at his watch.

Less than two minutes later, Y/N pulled the plug from the sink and dried her hands. She turned and meandered toward him, swinging her hips in a way that sent a wave of desire down his spine. He smiled up at her, patting his lap again. But at the last second, she jumped out of his reach again with a giggle and ran down the hall.

That's it.

Fred chased after her, catching up in only a few steps, wrapping his arm around her wrist and pulling her into the bedroom, pushing her onto the bed. His eyes blazed down at her, and Y/N gulped hard. "When I tell you to do something," he growled, jerking her legs open and shoving her panties to the side before slamming three fingers deep into her wet cunt. "You fucking do it. Do you understand me?"

"Y-yes, sir," Y/N gasped, eyes wide, as he finger-fucked her.

"Good," he replied and pulled his fingers out, licking them clean. "It's a shame you had to act like a little brat today. I was looking forward to feeling your tight, little pussy pulse around me." He shrugged. "Oh well, I guess you'll just have to sit there and watch me get myself off. Fred unzipped his pants and pulled his dick out, stroking it slowly.

"P-please, sir, I'm sorry. I'll be a good girl." She begged.

Fred smirked, watching her desperate cunt twitch with every stroke of his cock. "Too late, baby," he groaned, picking up the pace. "I'd love to make you fill this good, but... "

"I'm so sorry," she continued pleading. "I won't do it again, sir."

"You said that the last time."

Y/N stuck her bottom lip out. "I mean it this time."

He tilted his head, thinking. "Ok, baby girl," he said finally. "Suck my cock good enough and I might change my mind."

Without hesitation, she got on her hands and knees and crawled toward him. Fred looked down at her and smiled affectionately, his thumb caressing her cheek. "Open wide," he said and pushed his hips forward, sliding his cock past her lips until it hit the back of her throat making her gag a little. She repositioned herself and begins to bob up and down on his cock. Sometimes deep throating his entire length and other times focusing on the sensitive head.

"Fuck baby girl," he groans, fingers curling into her hair. "That feels incredible."

Y/N's pussy ached at the praise, but she didn't dare to touch herself, putting all her focus on sucking him dry. It doesn't take long before Fred's groans and grunts deepen and his balls to contract. She moved faster, knowing that any second now her mouth would be flooded with his cum. She felt his cock twitch. Almost there. Then, with a loud groan, he pushed her off. "Sir?" Y/N looked up at him, confusion clear on her face.

"I want to cum in your cunt," he said, climbing onto the bed behind her and slamming his full length into her with one savage thrust. Y/N moaned, her needy pussy clenching hard around him as he pounded into her. "Don't you dare cum until I tell you," he growled her ear, hammering even deeper.

She shook her head, barely to form words. "Yes... " she gasped, and then he changed angles, hitting her g-spot dead on, taking her breath away as she clawed at the bedsheets willing herself not to cum.

"Oh fuck," Fred groaned. He was close, and by the way she was pulsing around him, he knew she was too. "Almost there, baby. You're doing so good." It only took a few more thrusts, and he felt his orgasm surging up through his cock. "Now, baby," he groaned. "Cum NOW!" He exploded inside her, and she screamed his name as she came, her whole body shaking uncontrollably.

They both collapsed, and Fred pulled her onto his chest, even as they still worked to catch their breath. "You ok, love?" He asked.

"Mhmm," she smiled up at him. "Felt wonderful."

He kissed her forehead. "You were very naughty today. If it happens again, I might not be so lenient."

"Yes, my love," she snuggled closer to him, a small grin on her face, knowing damn good and well that he would be.

And so did he.

~•~

@milivanili99 @fancy-pantaloons @turvi @zvummyummy @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @georgie-weasley @nighttimemoonlover @jsjcue @wzrd-wheezes @fredweasleyyyyy @hufflepuffie @alexistonks @anvaaryn @samshifts @asuperconfusedgirl @superduckmilkshake @mysticsheepsoul @gemofthenight @1lellykins @junerprsh @sierraluvz @wolfkill16 @smallsweetvanillabean @costheticbabe @charmedfandomgal @hanne-montana @rhunew @greenapplegrass @lizzytrees @spididerman @Havenater1920 @jelloangela @whotfskai @netflix-addict @lunacurlclaw

#fred weasley #fred weasley smut #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x fem!reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n #hp fandom #hp universe

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annaloveshjp · 1 year

Text

towel secret•♡

Harry Potter x fem!reader

Goblet of Fire

Warnings: none! just fluff <3

word count: 1.3k

a/n: this is kinda short, but I wanted to write a cute little scenario. and I’ll probably be writing more fluff :)

—————

“Harry, it’ll be fine, we can figure it out.” You comforted Harry, rubbing his shoulder.

“We’ve been at it for hours, Y/N. There’s nothing!” He fussed, tossing the sixth book he’d read in the past hour to the side.

“We still have,” said Hermione, checking her watch. “Three hours until we have to go back to the common room. And still, we can bring some books back with us if madam pince allows us.”

“How about I just don’t show up,” said Harry, giving up. “What are they gonna do? Send me to azkaban?”

“Probably,” Ron said, “binding magical contract, remember?”

“Thanks, Ron,” said Harry, sarcastically.

Hermione picked up another book, “this is ridiculous! I mean, who would want to grow their nose hairs into ringlets?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Fred suddenly appeared from behind a bookshelf with George at his side.

“Sounds fascinating,” said George. “Anyway, McGonagall wants you two,” he pointed at Hermione and Y/N, “in her office.”

The two girls looked at each other, “did we do something?” Hermione asked anxiously.

“Why would we know?” Said Fred, “now hurry up before she gets snappy. And good luck, Harry.”

“Thanks,” said Harry.

Y/N stood up, “we’ll see you in the common room, Harry,” she gave her best friend a side hug.

“Okay,” he said. “bye,”

Hermione and Y/N walked to McGonagall’s office, wondering why she needed them.

“Oh, there you are,” Professor McGonagall said when Y/N and Hermione entered her office.

She walked around to her desk and sat down. “Excuse me, Professor?” Hermione said, “why did you bring us here?”

“Yes, I knew you’d be wondering… well, there’s no easy way to put this, girls. You are all here for the second task.”

“All—?” Y/N started, but then looked around and saw Cho Chang, along with Gabrielle Delacour (Fleur Delacour’s sister) standing in the office as well.

“As some of you may know,” Professor McGonagall looked at Y/N and Hermione, “each champion has had a treasure taken away from them. They do not know what the treasure is, but—“

“Are- are we the treasure?!” Said Cho, shocked.

“Yes, miss Chang,” McGonagall sighed.

“But the clue—”

“Yes, miss Y/L/N.” Said Professor McGonagall, “The clue implies that the treasure would be at the bottom of the black lake. But please, do not worry, for we have ensured that no student will be in any danger.”

“You see, we will be putting a few special charms on you all. You will be unconscious, and will only awake when you have reached the surface.”

“That doesn’t make me feel much better,” Y/N mumbled to Hermione.

“Now, this won’t hurt, but prepare yourselves.” Said McGonagall. The last thing Y/N saw was the wave of her wand before everything went black.

“Oh, shit!”

Y/N had suddenly burst to the surface of the black lake. She looked over and saw Gabrielle struggling to swim, she helped her over to the dock and got up herself.

“Y/N!” Hermione shrieked, throwing a towel around Y/N’s shivering figure.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine- where’s Harry? What happened?” Y/N said, her teeth chattering.

“He’s not back yet,” Hermione said nervously, “I don’t know how—“

“Guys!” Ron appeared beside Hermione, “so basically, I fell asleep last night, but when I woke up, Harry told me that Dobby had given him this plant that helped him breathe underwater! And—”

“Woah woah woah, Dobby gave it to him?” Y/N asked anxiously.

“Yeah! But he’s fine, we probably would’ve known if he died down there, right—?”

“Ron!” Hermione scolded, “don’t say tha-“

Suddenly, a figure shot out from the water and almost landed on top of Y/N.

“Harry!” Y/N yelled. She took the towel around herself and wrapped it around Harry as he coughed.

“Y/N—” Harry gasped, pulling her into the tightest hug he’d ever given anyone.

Y/N hugged him equally as tight. “Are you okay? What happened down there?” She asked him over his shoulder.

“The grindylows,” he panted, pulling back to look at her, “or merpeople- I forgot. But they saw I cheated, they attacked me.”

Y/N looked at his neck and saw a bad tentacle-like burn, “oh my—“

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” he told her, bringing her back into another hug. “You scared me so bad, I thought—”

“Harry, I’m okay, don’t worry,” she reassured him. “You’d think this would make us warmer, but I don’t think we have any more body heat to share,” Y/N joked.

“Harry! Thank goodness you’re alright,” said Hermione, handing Y/N a warm towel.

Y/N sighed in content, “ooooh that’s nice, thank you.”

Harry suddenly looked around at everyone near, they all seemed to have lost interest in him. He then grabbed another towel and tossed it over his and Y/N’s heads.

“Harry, what are you doing?” She asked him. They could no longer see anyone else, only the black lake to the side.

“I didn’t want everyone watching,” he said quickly.

“Watching what—?” She tried to ask, but was cut off by Harry gently grabbing her face and smashing his lips onto hers.

She was confused for only a moment before she leaned in and kissed him back. She felt a million butterflies erupt inside her stomach, it was like a dream come true.

Y/N had liked Harry since third year: During the night of Halloween when everyone gathered in the Great Hall, she was anxious and Harry comforted her, even though he was the one in supposed danger.

The previous cold she was feeling was definitely gone now, her cheeks warmed up as she melted into the kiss.

After a minute, they pulled away for air. “Was that okay?” Harry asked, smiling nervously.

“I-“ she couldn’t find words. “it was amazing,”

He smiled wider before taking the towel off of them. “What was that about?” Asked Hermione.

“I wanted to tell Y/N something,” Harry shrugged. Y/N chuckled and stood up with Harry.

“Your attention, please!” Boomed Dumbledore. “The winner is Mr Diggory!”

Cheers and applause filled Y/N’s ears, she clapped along, supporting her friend.

“However, seeing as Mr Potter would’ve finished first had it not been for his determination to save not only Miss Y/L/N, but the others as well,”

Y/N smiled and patted Harry on the shoulder.

“We have agreed to award him second place!”

More cheers and congratulations erupted from the crowd and Harry's friends.

“Well done!” Seamus Finnegan said.

“Second place! Yes!” Ron thumped Harry on the back.

“For outstanding moral fiber!” Dumbledore finished, winking at Harry.

“Moral fiber, eh?” Y/N joked to Harry as they were curled up on the common room sofa that night.

“Shush it,” he muffled against her hair, tightening his grip around her.

Y/N hesitated, then said, “so uhm, about you know, that—”

“Yeah, right,” he sighed, “I’m sorry if it was too soon, I’ve just liked you for so long and I didn’t want to wait any longer. I understand if you don’t want-”

“No no, I liked it.” She said, “And I’ve liked you for a while too, I just didn’t know if you wanted to label it or anything yet, or if we should just see what happens. You know?”

He thought for a moment, “maybe for now we could just keep it on the low. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I get it,” said Y/N.

He kissed the top of her head and sighed in content.

“Is it too soon to say I love you?” He asked.

“No,” she smiled, “I think three years is long enough. I love you,”

•

#harry james potter #harry james potter x reader #harry potter fluff #harry james potter fluff #harry potter x reader

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romanoffsbish · 1 year

Text

If You Want to Be My Lova

Yelena Belova x PlusSize!FemReader

Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

A/N: Though I identify R as plus size, I didn’t give her much description to leave it open to a broader range of readers who struggle with loving their bodies. (Pssst, you’re beautiful—I just know it’s true 🥺) | 3,912 Words

Warnings: Steve’s a fat shaming asshole, Body Image Insecurity. Alluded to/never specified eating disorder.

A/N 2.0: I personally detest Steve, but to be clear I don’t genuinely think he’d be like this, I just needed an antagonist.

Request

Steve watched from across the counter as you wandered into the kitchen, your water in one hand and your phone in the other as you perused the kitchen in search of breakfast. He'd seen the exact moment your eyes lit up when you saw the pink boxes on the counter.

An unnecessary wave of glee ran through him as he prepared to open his mouth and speak, "Are you sure you want to eat that Y/N? If you're serious about losing weight why not look into eating some rolled oats with berries?"

He was being vindictive, you'd grown used to it after you worked your magic and got Natasha to finally ask out Wanda, he's been visibly bitter over the situation ever since. The talking point of your weight was easy enough for him to cling to, he was in peak fitness, and it would only come off as a concerned friend trying to help you reach a "better" state of wellness.

What he failed to consider was Wanda was on her way into the kitchen as well, and she was able to see the exact moment your spirit broke. The light in your eyes faded fast, and the donut in your hand was gently set back into the box, she saw the way your lip wobbled, and your eyes filled with not only tears, but dread too.

——

It enraged her honestly, you were the sweetest person around these parts, and deserved to be treated with nothing less than love and respect.

Steve saw it too, the way you bit your lip and closed your eye's tight to try and reel your feelings in. Crying over it changes nothing...

He went to lift his mug of coffee to his lips as if he was accomplishing something amazing, his smile smug as ever when you turned away, but it fell fast when the steaming contents of his mug were sloshing over the edge of the glass in a way that could only be explained with magic.

He hissed as the drink scalded him through his thick cotton shirt, his chest on fire now, and in a dramatic manner he removed the stained shirt to reveal his toned abs, and ripped arms.

"Wanda, what the fuck was that for?" He called her out immediately, and so she entered the kitchen with a victorious smile, and red tinged fingertips. "Whatever do you mean Rogers?"

"I know what you did."

"Yeah, and I too know what you did," she glares menacingly in his direction while also setting a reassuring hand onto your shoulder, "I'd say the punishment fits the crime."

Steve glared right back, and you finally turned to see what must've occurred to cause this rift, you felt guilt gnawing at your gut, it wasn't a fair feeling, but yet you could feel it festering.

Wanda's fingers continued to spark in shades of a dangerous crimson as the burned man wasn't appearing to be backing down, and you didn't want to involve her any further. It felt sorta unfair for her to fight your battles for you. On account of her being your girlfriends future sister in law, and also because this entire moment was beyond mortifying for you.

To have your insecurities viciously thrown in your face in a public space like this, well it was rather juvenile, and so it made you feel like you were that same kid crying under the bleachers all those years ago when kids were being cruel.

The people pleaser in you won out alongside the embarrassed little one who still resided in your heart, so you took in a shaky breath before trying to calm the witch, "It's okay Wands."

You'd gently settled a hand over hers that still held tightly to your shoulder for comfort, the witch looked back at you, the sad smile you offered didn't calm her though, it only fueled her on. "It's not, especially not when he himself is only a byproduct of a steroidal experiment."

Steve's stance faltered ever so slightly, his ego now efficiently bruised. His mouth spluttered embarrassingly for a moment before he left the kitchen altogether in a grumbling huff.

"Tata Captain Hot Head," she flipped the man off, then turned back to you as you giggled.

"Hey dorogoy," you looked at her inquisitively, and she offered you one of the warmest smiles you'd ever seen, "Can you do me a favor?"

"Of course, whatever you need Wands," she beamed, "I'm glad to hear you say that, can you get two plates for us? I'll take a maple bar, and you can pick that sprinkled one back up while I make us a fruit salad and some hot cocoa."

Wanda watched closely, there was a hesitation in your demeanor, as if you were now scared. You however nodded meekly, then began to shuffle around the space to do as she asked.

"Ooh, did I see donut holes too?"

"Yup," you confirmed, and then you watched from your place at the counter as six tiny balls of dough and sugar danced through the air until they landed evenly between your plates.

The two of you spoke about your weekly movie night tonight while picking at the food before you, you smiled when the witch said you got to pick, you settled on Hocus Pocus, and Wanda smiled when she saw your plate was empty.

Then Wanda watched your face fall as she described in detail how she'd prepared a couple of snack trays for the both of your girlfriends with the ravenous appetites. This was a normal conversation, but now that Steve threw you into this self deprecating headspace she could see you debating if you wanted to go anymore.

The pressure to eat another meal today was already crippling your soul, it felt wrong to even consider nourishing yourself after the way Steve haphazardly regarded your body. Seeing how fit he was didn't help either, it only made you feel like you truly didn't deserve to eat.

"Well, I have some errands to run Wands, but I'll see you tonight," you collected both of your plates, and left her behind with a side hug as you departed, but your thoughts were so loud all the witch was left to do was frown as she made her way to the gym to try and fix this.

—

Natasha slammed Yelena into the mat for what was like the tenth time in an hour, "Cyka."

"Just admit that I'm better, and we'll be done."

"Never, I am just distracted," Yelena groaned, "Something in my gut is deeply unpleasant."

"Yeah, you simply can't stomach losing," Nat laughed as she once again dodged her sisters fist with grace, but then she was groaning when Yelena's fist hit her in the gut, she was too distracted by the sight of her fast approaching angered lover to have stopped the attack.

"Ha! I win!" Yelena screeched, only to be met with a shove that knocked her on her ass, and to wind up on the receiving end of Natasha's incredulous expression, "One hit isn't a win!"

"Listen here cyka," Yelena angrily muttered while stepping up to her sister, "Listening," Natasha smirked and Yelena reared back.

"Enough! Both of you!" Wanda caught Yelena's fist with red wisps, "Save your anger for Steve."

The sisters looked to her within an instant, both wearing different degrees of confusion.

"What did he do now?" Natasha groaned, she was growing really tired of his petty antics.

"He made Y/N self conscious, she's not okay."

Yelena's entire body tensed, Wanda could feel her fighting against her magic, and as if the God's heard her prayer Steve entered the gym.

"Let me go," she lowly growled, and Wanda did so without a single concern for the man, she was actually thrilled for what was to come.

Steve was unknowingly preparing for a beating coming down here, he'd come here to fight away the thoughts of inadequacy Wanda placed in his mind with the punching bag, but instead he was on his knees clutching his manly hood.

"What the actual fuck?" he seethed, but when he met the fiery gaze of one Yelena Belova he knew not to even test the waters any further.

"YA vypotroshu tebya, kak rybu," she rasped through gritted teeth, her hand fisted in the mans hair, as she punched him square in the nose, then as she went to further beat him she felt Natasha's hands on her shoulder's pulling her back, "Idi k yeye sestre, ty yey nuzhen, my s nim spravimsya." Yelena looked to her with a scowl, but after a moment of reassuring eye contact she conceded, "Zastav' yego zaplatit'."

(I will gut you like a fish / Go to her sister, she needs you, we'll handle him. / Make him pay)

"You know Rogers, Y/N only ever gave me the confidence to ask Wanda out, it was always going to be her, and never going to be you," she pulled Wanda in by her waist for a bruising kiss to ensure he understood her honest words.

He pouted like a petulant child, Yelena's firm hold was replaced with Wanda's impenetrable magic, so he was forced to watch them kissing.

Natasha lowered her body until she was level with the pitiful man, she patted his cheek twice patronizingly then she spoke only to ruin him, "Because sure Rogers, you might have the fawned over physique, but that's really only superficial, at the end of the day you're nothing worth experiencing," she beamed as his eyes filled shallowly with tears, "Y/N is a light in this dark world Steve, and for you to treat her like she's less than because you feel you lost me because of her is so strange. It's also not true."

"Everyone knows you have the personality of a brick wall, and it's just not that appealing. At least Sam and Bucky are interesting enough," Wanda taunted the scowling man, "There's a reason you could only ever score a date with the niece of your almost lover," she gripped him by his chin, and stared coldly into his eyes, "You're a pathetic excuse for a man Steve."

"That's all there is to it," Nat concluded, then with a precise swing of her fist he was out cold.

Wanda knelt beside him, and Natasha watched as red wisps jolted through his temple, "Sweet nightmares, I hope you wake up devastated."

"God, I love you so much," Natasha groans as she pulls her lover in for a deep kiss, "Y/N's family Nat, and nobody fucks with my family."

"That she is, I just hope Yelena can fix this," Natasha frowns slightly, and Wanda meets her concerned expression with an equivalent sigh, "If anyone can, it's her." Wanda softly grabs her lovers hand, "But we can also do our part."

—

Yelena raced through the entire compound in search of you, in her frazzled state she had neglected the obvious solution of just asking Friday, but after stumbling onto the vacant floor of the compound she knew she found you.

Soft sobs came from the room that used to be yours before you moved into Yelena's room. Back when you were Tony's assistant who he deemed worthy of a room, and not yet her everything, because that's exactly what you are.

"Y/N?" She called out softly as to not scare you, "Moye solnyshko," she whispered the words as she entered your old room, her heart stuttered when she saw the broken glass of your mirror, and it nearly shattered when she saw some of your things had been brought down here.

"Y/N, detka, what's going on?" She reached out for you, but you pulled your hands away, she frowned upon seeing the cuts that littered your skin and the air of despondency in your glossy orbs, it had made her imagine Steve's body dangling over a tub of carnivorous crocodiles.

It's now on her to do list...

"Lena, you should just go," you whispered brokenly, voice cracking as well as both of your hearts as you verbalized the words you didn't mean, "I'll never be what you deserve, so go."

"So that's just it? I don't get a say in this?"

"You're so beautiful Yelena, you deserve a partner that matches or excels you, which would honestly be impossible, you're perfect."

"You do excel me Y/N," she whimpers, and this time when she goes to reach you she does so by straddling your body, and making sure you can see just how true her words are. "I've never had anything to call my own Y/N, but now I have you, and I wouldn't trade that for anything."

"But what if there's someone better along the way Yelena? It's easier if we break this off now, I couldn't cope if you left me in the future."

"Never," she promised, her lips deposited a peck to your tear stained lips, "There is nothing better for me than you detka, I've never been happier," she smiled warmly as she stared into your cloudy eyes, hers just as glossy as yours, "That's all because of you. Moya solnyshko—my sunshine; oh how you brighten my life."

Yelena watched the storms behind your eyes begin to settle, your once tense body melted into the mattress, and she took the moment as the perfect time to kiss you, to pour out just how much you meant to her into the gesture.

"Look at me Y/N," she remained soft as she sat you up, and pulled you into her lap without a moment of hesitation, her tone however held a seriousness to it, "You deserve to feel safe in your body, to be able to love yourself despite any societal norms that are like ugly lies."

"I try to love me Lena, b-but when people that look like Steve say what they do I can't help but worry that I'm not meant for your love, maybe I'm holding you back, or you're settling here."

"First of all, you are meant for me only," she held you far more tightly, a possessiveness falling over her at the thought of you being with someone else. "You move me forward detka, my life has only looked up with you at my side. Life is a box of chocolates with you."

A sweet giggle left you as Yelena paraphrased last week's movie to make her point.

"I'm not settling Y/N, if anything it's you who's settling," you instantly shook your head with a pout, and she smiled at you sadly, "I've done a lot of things wrong in this short lifetime Y/N."

"You didn't have a choice Lena," you growled, and she chuckled lightly, "I know, but I finally do, and you're the only thing I've done right."

A brief moment of silence fell over you both, Yelena's grip on you was firm, and loving, her lips pressed to your forehead, and when you quietly sniffled she figured you needed more.

"Fuck that dipshit in spandex," she grinned when you giggled softly, and her looming fears melted away when you rested your head over her heart, "He'll never know what it's like to be loved truly, because he doesn't understand that people don't care for that manufactured body of his when it's paired with a heart of stone."

"You though. You're not only beautiful to look at," she leaned back, giving you the once over for emphasis, but she truly did get distracted as she took you in, with her lip caught in between her teeth and a smile in her eyes she couldn't fake, "You've also got a heart of gold detka."

It was easy to believe when she looked at you like that, but you still had your reservations, and Yelena could see right through to that.

"I love you, for every last part of you," she readjusted you so that she could cup your cheek while her other hand held your hip, "Whatever you see as a flaw, I see it as you, and therefore it's perfect, because there's nothing flawed about you, you're a beauty worthy of marveling at, you're the perfect they say does not exist; this body of yours is my paradise."

Tears began to stream down your face, and in the past Yelena would freak out, worried that she said something wrong to upset you, but she's come to learn that tears can be joyful. That much she learned when she burst into them the first time you said you loved her, the sweet words dripped from your lips like honey.

"I-I love you Yelena," you blurted in a graceless blubbering manner, "I-I'm sorry for trying to leave you, I was just scared, but I promise you that I don't ever want to lose you, like ever."

"You never will," she purrs, her hand gently gripped you by the plush skin of your hips, "Because I'll never give you up for anything," she murmured against your lips before she slammed hers into yours passionately.

Her lips began to travel down your jaw, your breath hitched when she sucked lightly over the skin. "Lena, we have to go to movie night," you stuttered breathlessly. She groaned, "Do we have to? We can skip it tonight, on account of me wanting to love you until you believe it."

"I do," you whispered, "I believe you," with a genuine tone you brought a smile to her face.

"Then let's go moya lyubov'," Yelena lifted you up into her arms causing you to squeal at her show of strength, "I can walk just fine baby."

"I just didn't want to let you go just yet," she confessed while gently lowering you, and in return for her being so sweet you softly kissed her lips, "We'll be cuddling soon enough."

The two of you rode the elevator to your floor so you could drop off your things, and change into more comfortable clothes, but not until Yelena doctored up your injured hands, with a soft kiss to follow every bandaid she placed.

"Your boo-boos have been handled," she said with a bit of a pout, "I'll be back shortly," and with a soft kiss to your lips that lingered for a moment longer than need be she was gone.

Yelena left to shower off her day in the gym, and you unpacked your things before slipping into a pair of black sweats, with a worn down band t-shirt, and as you always did when feeling somewhat down, you slipped right into your girlfriends oversized army green hoodie.

You knew she bought it for you, but she wore it until it smelled enough like her to calm you... It's become your live in article for her missions.

Yelena's always been so incredibly sweet, you honestly can't believe you tried to end things. Her love has always fixed your problems, she never saw you as anything other than worthy of love, and affection; she was your soulmate.

"Well don't you look cuddly," she noted as she walked up from behind and grabbed your hand, "Can't wait to hold you close, it's cold"

"Cold?" She met your confusion with a sly smirk, then pulled you along wordlessly.

Once she pressed the button for the roof you understood her, excitement overran your body at the idea of a spooky movie under the light of the moon and the surrounding stars. That is until the doors opened to reveal a battered Steve with an ice pack on his bruised cheek, making you tense up, causing Yelena to look away from you and over at the unwelcome.

Before anyone could even mutter a word you got to bare witness to the brick house of a man wordlessly hobbling away after your much smaller girlfriend stepped towards him, and the smug smile that overtook your lovers face was rather priceless, "Lena, baby, you can't solve everything with brutal violence."

"Why not?" She pouted, and it was so innocent in appearance you'd never believe she was a highly skilled assassin in her younger days.

"Words can work too..."

"Yeah, he used words, we used our fists."

"We?"

"Yes, I broke his nose, and hopefully made him unable to reproduce. Wanda and Natasha did the rest to him, remind me to thank them."

"Goodness me, you three keep me on my toes."

Yelena grinned, then kissed you for the rest of the elevator ride. The ding signaled her to stop, and she stepped aside to let you exit first.

"Ta-da," Natasha cheered with jazz hands to draw your attention to the identical hanging day beds settled besides one another, with a table between with popcorn and candy atop.

Then you looked up to see the projector screen was adorned in purple and orange lights with smiling pumpkins after every few bulbs, the beds were littered with fluffy blankets, and there were outdoor heaters nearby for the anticipated maximum comfort level possible.

"I did nothing to help, but I promise I love you, witchy was just too nit-picky, I was safer on the sidelines," she said quietly while pulling you into her for a tight embrace, "I love you too."

"You'll be safer on the couch too if you keep it up," Wanda lightly threatened before taking you from her genuinely terrified lover, "I've prepped lots of food, make a plate honey."

"Where will she pick from if this weird plate is mine?" Yelena asked while holding an entire charcuterie board to her chest, her face never more genuinely serious than right now, and you stifled a laugh at the adorable sight, "Don't worry baby, feel free to enjoy your dinner."

Wanda looked to you scoldingly, worried you were using this as a get out of dinner card, but then you lifted your phone up to show her that it was okay, and you were fine. While Natasha and Yelena scavenged around with snacks, you and Wanda will share a pizza—like normal.

"What will you eat?" Yelena frowned, but you waved her off, "There's popcorn and candy."

Yelena held her plate out anyways, and you smiled while picking off a single cracker and a slice of cheese to top it off., "Thanks love."

"I will not be doing that," Natasha shared with her girlfriend who settled onto the bed beside her with an eye roll, "Oh, I was well aware."

—

When the expected ding of the elevator interrupted the undergoing movie night you smirked over at the witch who had left their outside daybed to collect the pizza, and with a soft kiss to your girlfriends parted lips, and with a careful transferring of a pillow in your place you joined Wanda on the porch swing.

"Every time," you remarked playfully, "Without fail," Wanda added while waving her pizza around for emphasis, "They're total chumps."

"But we love them anyways," you softly added, and Wanda snuggled into your side with a warm smile, "That we do," she whispered, then she hugged onto your arm tight, silently letting you know that she loved you too, and in turn you laid your head over hers on your shoulder as the both of you continued to watch the film.

"I'm sorry Emily; I had to wait 300 years for a virgin to light a candle."

"It was probably Steve..." Wanda nudged your side, and you cackled softly, "Knock it off."

——

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