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her-satanic-wiles · 5 months

Text

Masterlist ⛧ Hellish Delights Masterlist

Words: 8k.

Warnings: Copia’s a piece of shit, rape, non-con elements but more dubcon, mentions of rape, use of the word rape, violent sex, rough sex, dubcon, cnc, filmed having sex (unknowingly), filmed having sex (knowingly), piv, vaginal sex, rough vaginal sex, blood kink, pain kink, rape fantasy, masturbation, semi-public sex, semi-public masturbation, dirty talk, Copia is a creepy old man, rape recreation, spit as lube, fear kink, fear play?, degradation, misogyny, references to free use, reference to bondage, somnophilia, dacrophilia, vaginal fingering, rough fingering, exhibitionism, caught masturbating (close call), groping, coercion; slut shaming, nipple play, fingering, hair pulling, breeding kink, victim blaming, naked woman clothed man, under-negotiated to non-negotiated kinks, possessive, marking kink, use of safeword (sort of), praise, objectification, poor mental health, detailed trauma, aftercare

Author's note: Hey, all! I promise I will get on Divine Desires soon, but this just kept itching away at my brain, and whoooo Nelly, was it difficult to ignore. But here we are now! Please heed the trigger warnings!

The Ghouls aren't demons in my fic. They're humans who work in the Ministry, but they're a different class of profession, somewhere between personal assistants and body guards, depending on the importance of Papa's task.

This is a work of fiction based in the extreme horror category and should be treated as such. I do not condone the actions the characters make, nor am I actively encouraging others to participate in such actions in everyday life. It also does not reflect the personalities of the performers who play these characters.

The purpose of this fic is to shock, scare, entertain, and make readers entirely uncomfortable. If you are not in a headspace where you can safely read and enjoy this story, or even if the trigger warnings make you uncomfortable, I highly recommend and encourage you not to read this. Your mental health is more important than a work of fiction.

If you are struggling to come to terms with past trauma, please talk to someone and seek professional help.

You deserve to feel safe, loved, and cared for. Thank you.

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this is dark fiction, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my rating. Thank you.

Phantom didn’t need to be unmasked for Papa Copia to know something was wrong. The ghoul barely made out two words before Copia stood and grabbed his candles. The frantic explanation was given as Copia whipped around his room, trying to find the correct materials. On such short notice, certain members of the clergy wouldn’t be available to help. So Copia would just have to make do with what he had. Or rather who he had. Phantom had told him the situation at hand, but none of Phantom’s words were able to prepare him for what he was going to see.

He could hear your moans - no, screams- echoing down the corridor from the other end - the loud pleasure in your voice bouncing off the walls and ringing in his ears atop the sounds of the ten or so pairs of feet clambering down the hall to reach you quickly.

“Will you cum on his cock?” It was Swiss’ voice that sounded above all else, dual-toned and demonic. He was well and truly lost to the possession now. “Will you cum on the cock that rapes you?” Rape. Satan only knew how long you’d been subjected to demonic torture. Yes, your voice was oozing with pleasure, but he could still hear the pain sneaking through it. He could taste your fear on his tongue. You’d consented in the end, as it sounded, but how much of that was genuine want versus the deluded, terrified mind clouded in order to protect its host from life-altering trauma.

“Yes!” You screamed looking back up into his eyes. “I’m gonna c-cum! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna-!”

Copia swung the door open right as your orgasm hit, your mind clouding over and drool dripping from your mouth as you came all over Swiss’ cock. His eyes locked with yours and he had the unfortunate pleasure of watching the light fade, and your body go limp, bouncing with the rough force of Swiss’ hips as he continued to use you for his own gratification.

“You’re just in time, child.” The demon said, thrusts growing erratic. “Witness the gift of the Olde One.”

“He doesn’t advocate for such torment - especially on those undeserving.” Copia remarked as his clergymen took their positions in the room. The demon knew it was outmatched, and thus continued his assault on your body.

“Perhaps. But he advocates for rewards for his finest soldiers.”

“Ah, Asmodeus.”

“In the flesh, child.”

“Not for much longer.”

As the clergy began their chant, and the exorcism truly began, the demon Asmodeus made his final thrusts before releasing his spend into your unconscious body. Two of the Ministry’s ghouls, gargoyles more like, came forth to apprehend Swiss’ body and pull him away from you. Your hips fell onto the floor, ricocheting off the wood. Both Copia’s and Swiss’ eyes were trained on your severely abused core, the white flowing from you and dripping onto the ground, turning the faintest shade of pink as it mixed with the blood Swiss’ cock had forced out of you as he broke you. Copia could feel Asmodeus’ ferocity, his power surging at the sight of you, battered and bruised on the ground, leaking his cum. Given the surge of power coming from him, Asmodeus’ lust had mixed with Swiss’, both of them now fighting to bury themselves deep inside you again and have you once more to quench their lustful thirst.

Copia felt guilt wash over his body as it merged with an ocean of arousal. At the sight of Swiss’ cum spilling from you, his cock began to stir awake, wanting nothing more than to just get on his knees and take you as Asmodeus did. But he was your Papa, he could never bring himself to betray you, like that. If he was buried deep inside you, it would be with you as a willing participant, screaming beneath him, sure, but because he was taking you to paradise.

He shook himself out of the gross thoughts he was experiencing, and joined in to chant with his brethren. When he looked at Asmodeus finally, the demon shot Copia a knowing look before he was banished back to Hell, and Swiss’ unconscious body flopped exhaustedly to the floor. That look he received, told him that the demon saw right through him down to his very tainted soul. And though he knew the clergymen couldn’t read his mind like Asmodeus could, he still feared that someone could tell what he was thinking.

“Phantom,” Copia began, his voice shaky and weak until he cleared his throat, “we must take them all to the infirmary. Please go down and get as much help as you need. Wheelchairs should suffice.”

“Yes, Papa!”

Phantom, eager to save his closest friends turned on his heels and began his journey to the infirmary. Copia looked around the room, his eyes lingering as subtly as they could on each of the clergy’s lower regions, hoping he could find solidarity in such a fucked up situation. He couldn’t - which only added to his guilt.

He waited until everyone was settled on their chairs before he spoke again, giving specific instructions to each of the nurses who had come to assist with the tragedy, then addressing the clergy. “We must keep Swiss and the Sister separated,” he told everyone, “she has been through enough tonight without seeing his face again so soon.”

“What punishment for him, Papa?” a cardinal asked.

Copia sighed. “He was possessed - he would never do this in his right mind. I am… hesitant to sentence him. I’ll leave that up to the Sister’s good graces when she is strong enough to make those decisions. In the meantime, keep them separated.”

Copia followed you all the way down to the infirmary and stayed with you as you were getting immediate treatment. The bruises on your jaw were beginning to show, and your body was incredibly battered and red from the attack. But even so, even as he watched them mend you and put your broken pieces back together, his mind kept showing him your face - the expression twisted on it as you came around Swiss’ cock. The way you sounded still ringing in his ears - the sight of his seed dripping out of you.

He politely excused himself after making sure that you’d be okay and trotted back to his office, slamming the door shut behind him. By now, his erection was full of blood and aching to the touch against the confines of his jeans. His hands fumbled against his robes in desperation, throwing the garment over his head and onto the floor and leaning against the doorway as he pushed his jeans down far enough to expose himself. The cool, crisp autumn air making his balls tighten and his nipples erect beneath his shirt. His hand, still hidden beneath his leather glove, received a healthy glob of spit before he wrapped it around the head and began to stroke, spreading his saliva around and lubricating the slide.

He groaned at the sensation, his back fully pressed against the wood of his door. The slide was impeccable, but nothing compared to how you’d feel. Swiss wasn’t a small man by any capacity, and so Copia swallowed some guilt forming as he let his mind wander. Did he ruin your cunt? The amount of time he was inside you was so great, did he form a space just for him? Or were you still as tight as Copia wanted you to be? He imagined you’d still be nice and tight for him, though, he couldn’t help the way his cock twitched at the thought of him invading a space carved out by another man.

Copia always made it abundantly clear he wasn’t like other men, and sometimes that was to his detriment. For you, especially, he wanted you to feel safe around him, loved by him. He didn’t want you to be uncomfortable in any capacity because he prided himself on being one of the “good guys”, that he’d never betray you in the same way the other men did. He worshipped women, he’d never be misogynistic to one. He was a stand-up, tolerant man. Yet there he was, walking slowly towards his desk and positioning himself against it, rubbing his erection so hard and fast, his arm was beginning to ache in discomfort with the image of you being roughly taken by one of his hardest-working ghouls. And he couldn’t help imagine what it would feel like to have been in Swiss’ - no, Azmodeus’ position - how tightly you’d cling onto him as he used you for his own pleasure; how your delicious cries would travel all the way down to his erection and have you weeping below him. He wondered how deliciously you’d sound begging for him to stop, pleading with him to show you mercy as he took what he wanted and gave not a single fuck for your wants, desires, or even personal pleasure.

His eyes shut tight as he savoured the sensations he experienced when he swung the door open, the painful pleasure painted on your face as you came for Lucifer knows how many times. How you passed out and your body went limp from exhaustion, yet bounced at the violence of Swiss’ thrusts. How his mouth went dry when he saw your red and swollen pussy eject Swiss’ seed, and pool amongst your blood on the floor. And with that final sight, his own orgasm reached him - his cum spurted across his desk and gathered on the wood, sending flashbacks to Swiss’ cum gathering the same way beneath you. He grunted animalistically, mouth hanging open as his body tingled from the force of his orgasm, toes curling in his boots and hand slowly coming to a halt, yet still wrapped tightly around his cock.

This was when the guilt was beginning to set in. Though you may have consented towards the end - you weren’t in your right mind. Copia had no idea just how long you’d been the subject of Azmodeus’ torment - or rather, torture - and thus knew that whatever happened to you earlier was not done with your willingness and permission. Yet there he was, eyes fixated on his cum as though it had tumbled from your delectable core, with disgust filling him from bottom to top as he realised just how gross he’d been. If you found out about this - you’d never trust him again. The Satanic Church didn’t welcome things like this in the same way Catholocism did. Granted they pretended they didn’t, but no actions were taken against the perpetrators of such crimes. And he was Papa. He was supposed to keep you safe. He’d failed you then, and as he wiped his spend from the mahogany, he realised he’d failed you now.

Life passed without incident until a few days later, when it had been brought to his attention by one of the guitar techs that Swiss kept disappearing from his duties and no one knew where he went for hours at a time. Copia knew. He didn’t want to believe it, but he had his suspicions. Immediately, he went into his office and switched on the computer, clicking away at menus and windows until he found what he was looking for: the security camera footage. He clicked on the first video in date chronological order and sat there, studying each frame. At first, nothing happened: it was just Swiss sitting at the foot of your bed, and by the looks of his shoulders - he was sobbing. He saw you two engaging in conversation - how your eyes widened in apparent fear as you registered who was there with you. He couldn’t help the stirrings of excitement at the sight of you visibly recoiling from Swiss’ presence, and then later from his comforting touch. Then, it all happened so fast.

One moment you were having a conversation, you nodded at him and then Copia watched as Swiss climbed on top of you. He was like an animal - a desperate, hungry animal that needed to be sated immediately or he’d die of whatever ailment was afflicting him. Swiss pawed at your bedsheets and hospital gown as he exposed your heavily bruised body to the elements, and spreading your legs wide enough to fit himself in between them. Swiss immediately pushed into you, and you winced as though you felt the same searing pain you felt the first time he did. But after a few uncomfortable thrusts, the pleasure returned once more, and your hands, now finally responding, flew to his shoulders and grasped on, digging your nails into his skin.

Copia’s cock was standing to attention at the sight of Swiss taking you again, and you accepting him willingly. And this time, he knew it was willing - your head nod was enough for him to know that you wanted Swiss inside you again - you wanted to feel that fucking cock take you for a second time. Copia was all but foaming at the mouth, fumbling with his robes once again and freeing his achingly hard cock. He barely even had the wherewithal to spit on it, so desperate to time his hands with Swiss’ hips, he was more than willing to start rubbing himself dry. Any pain he felt could be retribution for his perverted actions.

He cursed - partly at the feel of his cock being abused by his own hand, but also in frustration at the stupid, shitty fucking cameras they put everywhere had no fucking sound! Sweet Satan, he’d give his left nut to hear what Swiss was saying to you, and he’d give his right one to hear your response. He couldn’t even see Swiss’ lips to lip read anything, so instead he let his mind to the work.

He imagined Swiss telling you how much of a whore you were for him, letting him fuck you in an infirmary where anyone could walk in. He imagined Swiss reminding you of what he did to you the day before, and how he would do it again and again if he could. Lucifer knows Copia would. Copia would keep you bound and gagged and spread wide open for him to use as and when he saw fit. Copia would take your tight little cunt for hours at a time, and offer you no reprieve until he had his fill. What if Swiss was telling you that he wanted to do that very thing to you? Would Swiss let Copia have a turn on you? Would Swiss watch? Before Copia had chance to cum, Swiss had already done so, and was climbing off you. Copia loosened the grip on his dick but still continued to watch as Swiss walked away.

The next video was dated to the very next day, and began with Swiss entering your room while you were asleep. His hand reached up your legs and dipped below the comforter. That fucking scrap of fabric was obstructing his view, but Copia understood exactly what was going on, especially when your hips started bucking in response. He was fondling your body as he played with your clit, biting his lip and molesting you as you slept. Your body clearly wanted it, though, given how willingly your legs parted and your hips chased the pleasure. When your eyes fluttered open, so achingly innocent Copia wanted to bite you, again there was a flash of fear behind your eyes before you became soothed at Swiss’ face. He was smiling, a devilish grin that would no doubt make even Copia quake in his boots, but you, still sporting bandages and unable to make full expressions, were staring at him, daring him to take it further. You didn’t say anything, you couldn’t, but instead you pointed up at the camera, and for a brief moment, Copia felt his heart fall out of his ass as both you and Swiss were looking directly at him. Neither of you knew Copia was there, of course. At that time, no one was. But it didn’t stop Copia from feeling like he’d just been caught by you both with his cock in his hand and said hand rubbing it vigorously, like a horny teenager who’d peered into the girl’s locker rooms.

Swiss took the comforter and pulled it off your body, folding it haphazardly over the foot of the bed and exposing your pretty, little cunt to the room. Given the camera was positioned to your right and in the corner of the room, he couldn’t see everything he wanted to see, but he got a glimpse of your labia parting as Swiss’ fat fingers spread them to access your cunt. His fingers entered you, and wasted no time stretching you open for him. Copia watched your body jiggle helplessly beneath the wrath of his hands, and how little Swiss cared for your hands grappling onto him and holding on for dear life. Copia’s hand once again matched Swiss’ tempo, and found himself coming to the edge far quicker than he wanted, but he just couldn’t stop himself.

Ashamedly, Copia came before he could even finish the second video. Your face was contorted in absolute agony as Swiss pushed into you and fucked you hard without giving you a moment’s rest to recover and get used to his size. Copia’s cum landed on his screen, splattering all over your pixelated face as a fucked up cum tribute. Copia wondered how your face would look covered in his cum in real life, and that almost got his cock standing on edge again. The guilt settled in soon after, but not as much as it did the first time he came to you. This time because your consent was all over these encounters. You let Swiss fuck you now, legs spread for him willingly and screams no doubt wanton for his cock. You let him maneuver your body in ways benefiting the security camera. You nodded, and cursed, and screamed out your consent as Swiss played with you. His only guilt now was that you didn’t know he was watching you.

Yet, he downloaded each and every single one of those videos (there were seven in total, one of each day of your time in the infirmary), and each one a varying degree of fucked up with you in a varying state of healed. In one of those videos, Swiss had just decided to stick his dick inside you as you slept, and you had no idea he was even there until he’d been gone thirty minutes and you felt his cum oozing out of you. Copia watched you use Swiss’ cum as lube and masturbate for hours, cumming four times just with your fingers and glistening with both his release and your own. If he wasn’t such an old man, he’d have joined you in your multiple orgasms. Alas, though his cock was very much interested, his body would have no more of it today.

A day didn’t go by where he’d load up one of the security camera videos and jerk off in his office. By the end of the two weeks you’d been out of the infirmary, and when you’d recovered enough to return to your duties, he’d replayed each of the videos several times. It was like he was addicted, choosing only those videos. When he’d decided to quit them, for fear that his actions and attitudes would change towards you, he’d become unbearably miserable and frustrated with everyone and everything. Everyone noticed the difference, and even gave him a wide berth, just in case he snapped or shouted, something he never used to do. It got to the point where those videos became a necessity, and he hated himself for it. He would continue to hate himself twice a day or a week further before the inevitable happened.

All that time spent with his hand on his cock in his office meant that one day, a knock would come mid-stroke, and he’d be forced to conduct a meeting with a raging boner. It happened, and as he scrambled to close the video and cover his modesty, you walked through the door. Satan, he wanted to pounce on you. Despite all you’d been through the previous month, your demeanour had barely changed. In order to appear respectful to your superiors, you still crept through the door with wide, innocent eyes, body closing in on itself in shyness and submission. Before, he thought this was endearing - telling of your sweet personality. Now, it made him want to rip your clothes off you, bury himself inside you, and take you until you were screaming his name, and shaking beneath him. His cock twitched when you made eye contact with him, and spoke in a soft voice, “You wanted to see me, Papa?”

He did? Fuck - he did! How could he forget he sent one of his ghouls to find you this morning? He needed to know what to do about Swiss - although, the CCTV footage of your infirmary room told him all he needed to know. You didn’t know that he knew, and so he had to at least keep up appearances. “Yes, tesoro.” He gestured to the sofa in front of his desk. “Please, sit.” You sat so prettily on his sofa, making sure your habit was draped in such a way that preserved any modesty you may have had. It all seemed like a viscous facade now. He knew who you truly were when you were naked and vulnerable. “How is your recovery?”

There was still a faint bruise on your jaw from the assault, but otherwise it looked like you were almost completely healed. You confirmed as much in your response, finalising it with a sincere, “thank you.” Those two syllables felt like punches to his gut. ‘Thank you, Papa, for caring about me, and worrying about me. I appreciate you.’ Meanwhile, he used one of the most traumatic experiences of your life as his masturbation material and betrayed your trust twice daily.

“Are you starting therapy now?”

You nodded. “I’ve only had two sessions so far, but she’s already helping me work through things.”

Copia nodded. “That is excellent news, tesoro. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Thank you, Papa. And, I wanted to say thank you for saving me back then. I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to tell you, but I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t have come when you did.”

He swallowed, the guilt eating him alive as his mind showed him your face as it came around Swiss’ cock - the first time he’d seen it. His posture changed, allowing his right hand to naturally rest on his thigh, before travelling true north and beginning to rub over his clothed bulge as subtly as he could manage. “Please, do not thank me. I only have your safety and wellbeing at heart.” Fucking liar. “Anyone would have done the same.”

“Even still, thank you.”

“It is actually why I wanted to see you today. I wanted you to be strong enough to have this conversation with me. Swiss committed a vile sin, even one Sathanas cannot support. As you know, He is all for depravity but only when all are happy with said depravity. He needs to be punished - let the punishment fit the crime. I wanted you to decide the punishment, as you were the victim in all of this. How do you think we should punish him, tesoro? No limits, what you say goes.”

As expected, the look on your face was made up of stunned silence. Your eyes widened in fear. You didn’t want Swiss to be punished. You’d already forgiven him. The look on your face had his hand applying pressure to his cock. Fuck, you had no right looking this sinful. “I don’t want him to be punished, Papa.” You said quietly.

“But, tesoro… he-”

“I know. But he didn’t, did he? He was possessed. And you sent the demon back to Hell, right? I think that’s punishment enough. Let our Dark Lord punish the demon for his crimes and have him suffer for eternity in the pits of Hell.”

“Well, no punishment will be given to Swiss, if that’s what you ask. I must say, this is highly irregular. A testament to your kindness, I suppose. How do you feel about Swiss?” He was skirting dangerous territory now, but he couldn’t help himself. He wondered if he could use your trust in himself against you, and have you admit to sleeping with Swiss. Copia didn’t know what he’d do if he heard those words fall from your mouth, but he poked and prodded nonetheless. “Would you be comfortable being around him again?”

“I believe so, yes.”

Copia raised his brows in fake surprise. “You truly are incredible, tesoro. After everything? I’m in awe of you. I’m surprised to hear that. Perhaps we can start with - eh - supervised socialising until you’re used to seeing him again.”

You nodded in response, eyes to the ground and refusing to make eye contact. You were shifty. You were withholding the truth. You were obvious about it.

“Tesoro?” He asked, allowing his voice to be just a fraction sterner than usual. “Is something wrong?”

“No, Papa.”

“Then why aren’t you looking at me?” There was silence for a moment. “You’ve already seen him, haven’t you?”

You nodded.

Copia deliberately sighed. “Well, you are a grown adult, tesoro. I cannot stop you from seeing anyone you do not wish to. But you should know I disapprove. He could still have been dangerous to you. I couldn’t bear it if he hurt you again.” There was silence again. “What are you not telling me, Sister?”

“I- Please don’t be disappointed in me, Papa.”

“I could never be disappointed in you. Please, tell your Papa what’s troubling you.”

The flood gates opened. You were desperate to share the information with someone. Clearly, you’d not been doing so with your therapist. You confessed to everything, how Swiss came to you when you first woke up, how he’d fucked you every day since. Not that you used such explicit words. He’d taken advantage of your nervousness and lack of eye contact, and had gotten more and more brazen with the movement of his hand over his cock, openly masturbating now beneath his desk. He didn’t expect you to look up - he didn’t think you would. But as you were talking, you glanced at him every now and again, so quickly he missed every one. Until your talking had slowed and a soft, “Papa?” Fell from your lips. Your eyes were now fixated on his hand, a hint of betrayal glistening in them. Copia didn’t stop now - he couldn’t. The look on your face had travelled straight to his cock, and now he was going to take this opportunity to take you. “You already knew that I’d seen Swiss, didn’t you?”

“Sì.”

You swallowed. “H-how?” By this point you’d stood from the sofa.

“I think you know.”

“You saw…?”

“Every one.”

You turned your back to him, hand over your mouth and tears of humiliation threatening to spill. The second you saw the camera, you should have refused Swiss. But the thrill was too much and you couldn’t say no. You also couldn’t lie and say you felt completely and utterly betrayed by your Papa - because while you were, and had every right to be, you also felt heat pooling between your legs at the thought of Copia watching every single time Swiss was inside you.

You didn’t hear Copia stand or approach you. You only knew he was there when you felt him press up against you, hands snaking round your waist and pulling you towards him. Any piece of you that he could get his hands on, he did so: gripping your thighs, stomach, breasts. His chin rested on your shoulder, lips mere centimetres from your ear as he spoke. “Perhaps there are other ways to work through your thoughts, hm? Do you want that? You know, for all I saw, I didn’t hear much of anything. That first night in the infirmary, what did he say to you, tesoro? What did he say that made you part your legs so willingly, so soon?”

“H-he…” You felt Copia remove your veil, pulling it to the floor and exposing your hair.

“Go on?” He urged as his hands began to unbutton your habit. They were moving sinfully slow, almost painfully so. It was as if he were dragging this out on purpose just to spite you, or drive you insane. Perhaps both were true.

“He told me that he was sorry.” Copia had dipped his hands beneath the shoulders of your outfit and dragged it down your body to pool at your feet, his lips immediately attaching themselves to your near-naked shoulder. If it wasn’t for that infernal bra strap, he’d have you completely bare for him. “He told me that he felt bad for what he did.”

“And that’s all you need, Sister? An apology has you spreading your legs for any man who offers one?”

“No! He-” You bit your lip, now feeling his hands unclasp your bra, one hook at a time. “He told me that he felt guilty for finding it so hot. But that he…” Your bra fell to the floor and you swallowed.

“Keep going.”

“He couldn’t stop touching himself to the thought of it.”

Copia groaned behind you, his teeth grazing your delicate skin. His gloved hands moved up to your nipples and began to pull and play with them, rolling them through his index finger and thumb. His hard cock rubbed gently against your clothed ass, showing you just how desperate he’d become.

“He’s a talker, isn’t he?”

You nodded.

“Tell me, tesoro. What else did that filthy mouth of his tell you? What got you so riled up for you to let him fuck you in your hospital bed?”

One of his hands released your nipple and gently traced the curves of your stomach all the way down to your panties. His fingers dipped beneath the waistband, and immediately went in search of your clit. He needed no map to find it, it as as if he already knew your body and how it worked - perhaps it was all the videos he watched of his ghoul doing the exact same thing to you. He worked your clit in gentle circles to begin with, fully content on just teasing you until he got the information he wanted out of you. You released a soft moan in response, reaching your left arm behind you to grip onto his greying hair. Your right hand clutched at his wrist, and held on tightly as he continued his assault - an assault you welcomed with open arms.

“Papa!” You whispered. “I can’t.”

He tutted. “She’s getting bashful on me now, no? Seems a bit late for false modesty when I watched your cunt get spread on a camera. You can and you will. What did he say to you?”

Though his voice never raised, it did become more stern. It didn’t feel as though he’d take no for an answer. Just like Asmodeus, he would use you with or without your willingness being present. Unlike with Asmodeus, you knew Copia would stop if you really asked him to. He could be an asshole sometimes, but he wasn’t a monster. You didn’t want to tell him no. That night unlocked something in you that at first you’d only thought about doing again with Swiss, but now with Papa willing to give you what you wanted, it turned out you wanted this again, over and over until you were some kind of brainless toy.

Copia pinched your clit between his fingers when you were taking too long. “I won’t ask again, Sorella.”

“Fuck!” You screamed. It was painful, of course it was, but your scream was oozing with pleasure, just like it was when Copia had walked in on Asmodeus taking you. “He loved how wet I got! He - fuck, Papa! - He loved me c-creaming on his cock. He loved hearing me cry out for him, and begging for him to-”

“To what?” Copia’s finger now rubbed in circles, faster and with a lot more pressure. “Say it!”

You were talking much faster than before, the words spilling from your mouth before you could even process them. “He want to hear me beg him to fuck me over and over. Wanted to turn me into his toy. Get me pregnant. Papa, please!”

He bit your ear softly. “Did you enjoy it, tesoro? That night with the demon? Did you love it?”

“Mmmmm fuck! Not at first! He - shit - hurt me. But then it - it felt good towards the end.”

“How many times did you cum?”

“I d-don’t remember. Maybe twice?”

Copia groaned again. “Puttana.”

Your hips were bucking wildly, chasing a high that Copia was right on the precipise of giving you. You were so close. You needed it. “I’m gonna cum! Papa! Papa!”

“Cum all over your Papa’s fingers like a common fucking whore, that’s it!”

The dam broke and the floodwaters emerged, your orgasm hitting you like a ten-tonne truck and tensing your body from head to toe. Those very toes were now curling into the rug, your fingers tightening in his hair causing him to let out his own screams. You had no idea what your body was doing, and the fact that you were yelling throughout the entirety of your orgasm, howling like a banshee as tears fell from your eyes at the intensity of it all.

“On your back on the floor.” Copia instructed.

You did as you were told, lying your bare back against the plush of the rug. Copia’s face crumpled at the sight, though. He wanted you on the wood. So, he nudged you with his shoe to get your attention, shook his head and pointed to where he wanted you. You obliged, and spread your legs as soon as the cold shock had dissipated from your body.

“You get off on this, don’t you?” He said, removing his robes and reaching for his zipper. “On being used and manhandled against your will.”

You nodded.

“Is that why you let Swiss use you every fucking day, eh? Are you trying to relive it?”

You hesitated for a moment too long, and Copia took that as confirmation. He chuckled darkly, unzipping his jeans and removing his cock from its confines, finally letting it breathe after you almost catching him at the beginning. “Do you know what, tesoro?” He began to position himself above you, lining up with your sopping heat and rubbing himself against your clit. Your fingernails dug into the floor at the oversensitivity that had now begun to set in, your heart racing with anticipation. He pulled your hips closer to him, having you partly resting on his thighs, immaturely laughing a little at the sound your body made as it was dragged against the floor. “I got off on it too.”

He delighted in the way your eyes lit up with so many emotions, before finally allowing your face to contort with the pleasure of him pushing his cock inside you. There was lust in your eye, of course, remembering how you made eye contact with Papa as you reached your second orgasm that night. You remembered the last thoughts that raced around your head before you blacked out. Now that you’re thinking about it, you remembered seeing a primal look in Copia’s eyes underneath his concern, and the thought made you tighten around Copia’s cock that had begun slamming into you, after deeming you ready enough.

“Swiss was feral for you afterwards,” he told you, eyes fixated on your cunt as it squeezed him, “we had to restrain him with multiple gargoyles because he was going to go back in for a second turn.”

“Fuck, Papa!”

“And now I see why - cazzo!” A string of Italian fell from his lips that you couldn’t quite understand. But it didn’t matter, the thought of Swiss fighting against the Ministry’s protectors in order to get inside you a second time had set your body alight - the primal need to satiate his hunger now ingrained in your mind for the rest of time. You allowed loud moans to fall from your lips as the angle Copia fucked you at had his cock hitting your g-spot each time. “His - his cum… and your blood - fuck! - I wanted to taste it then see how my cum would look mingling with both of you. If I wasn’t surrounded by the clergy, I might have had my fill there and then too.”

You bit your lip and gripped onto his strong arms, those arms and hands grasping onto your hips for leverage as he roughly fucked into you, getting deeper and deeper to now have his tip hit your cervix and his shaft rub constantly against that sweet spot. You were losing your mind, mewling out for Papa as he took you on his office floor. “You sh-should have anyway!” You mumbled through your moans.

Copia’s eyebrows raised. “Yeah? You wanted me to fuck you in the ritual room with the clergy watching? Fucking Jezebel. You always seemed so sweet, Sister. Who knew you were so filthy? Is that why you agreed to the ritual in the first place, tesoro? You like it when people watch?”

“Yes!”

At this revelation, Copia began to thrust harder. This wasn’t usually a turn on for him - in fact, he’d never really thought much about it before - but the idea that you would get off on it had him harder than he ever had been in his life. He wondered how far it would go - if you imagined the other members of the clergy joining in in some capacity. How many of them could you have taken before it became too much? How many before you woke up? What about when you were awake? How would you react knowing that all the clergy members were touching themselves in a circle around you as Copia railed you for a ritual? Would you willingly open your mouth for them? Would you let them cum on you? Had you done this before? Was this a revelation that was new to you after Asmodeus? Copia’s mind was racing with questions and possibilities.

His mind snapped out of its musings to watch you beneath him, taking his cock to the hilt and loving every second of it. It felt so good, your mouth was hanging open and drool was slipping from the corners. Your eyes rolled back, eyebrows furrowed and sweat glistening over your body. You were so wet, creaming on Copia’s dick and he watched the strings of your juices pull and snap with his movements. With every passing second, every thrust, he understood why Swiss couldn’t get enough of you, why Asmodeus fought tooth and claw to get inside you again. Copia would be inside you every single day if you let him. He wanted to watch you bounce off his cock every day, watch your body jiggle at the force of his thrusts, how your tits jerked while his cock ravaged your insides. The way your ass ricocheted off the ground each time he moved had him damn near feral for you. You resorted him down to his animalistic instincts, his primal urges. He just wanted to bite you as he fucked you, mark you, claim you, show the world that you were his.

He wondered how Swiss would react to finding marks on you that didn’t belong to him. He imagined Swiss getting angry - he shouldn’t but he did. Fucking you within an inch of your life, bruising your body in multiple ways while he was deep inside you, reminding you that you belonged to him. Sathanas, he wished he could strip you bare and uncover Swiss’ artwork on you, and add more of his own. It was fucked up but he needed it and so, without much thought, he lifted your leg, bent himself over you and bit wherever he could reach, painfully biting and sucking hickeys onto your body. You screamed with the onslaught, your own fingernails and hands digging into his flesh and leaving marks of your own. But, after the third bite, you let go with one hand and began to furiously rub at your clit, relishing the pain and fucking yourself to a second orgasm, and shaking with the force of it. You tightened impossibly around Copia’s cock, forcing him to rest while you finished yourself off. But Copia wasn’t done with you. Not even the slightest bit. “On your stomach, tesoro.”

Your eyes widened a little, a small inch of panic setting in. “What?”

“Stomach. Now.”

“Copia…”

The use of his name hit him like a punch to the gut. “What’s wrong?” He said, his voice dripping with concern, not an ounce of lust in his eyes anymore. He noticed. He was taking it seriously.

“Please not my stomach.” He wasn’t there for the first half of your torment - he didn’t see what Asmodeus did to you. You wanted to explain why, but you couldn’t find the words. But Copia seemed to understand immediately.

He nodded, “Of course, tesoro. D-do you want to stop?” He asked the question almost like an afterthought, but it came to him nonetheless.

“No. Please.”

“Please what?”

“I-”

“We can go as dark or as soft as you like, amore. Please what? Tell me how you want me to fuck you.”

“Take what you need. Use me, Papa. Please.” You said, your voice tapering off to a desperate whimper.

Copia groaned, a visceral, gutteral sound. “Spawn of Satan, begging me to use her like a fucking toy, eh? As you wish, tesoro. Take my fucking cock. It’s what you were made for, right?” He dropped your hips dramatically, kind of showing you now that he had no interest in making you feel good now. It was all about him from this point onwards, and you were going to know about it. He positioned himself above you, completely trapping you beneath him now, and began to slam into you so hard, your body moved across the floor each time. Grunts and groans were ripped from your throat involuntarily, spilling your truth into his ears whether you liked it or not - the helpless feeling had you wrapping around him like a vice, and refusing to loosen the grip.

“Gonna fuck this cunt every day.” He continued, muttering mostly to himself. “Might keep you in my chambers, spread out and ready for me to use at any point.” You tightened. “Or better yet, keep you naked and tied to my desk so I can use this hole when I’m stressed. You want that, hm?”

“Yes, Papa!”

“Tell me.”

“I want t-to be your toy! I want you to use me every day. I want your cock inside me every day. Please, Papa!”

“Such a good slut for me. Swiss trained this cunt well, didn’t he?”

“Yes! Made me ready to please my Papa whenever he wants me. Trained me to take all of Papa’s cum and not spill a drop.”

“Filthy whore. Take my fucking cum. T-take it all. Merda! Cum- cumming!”

Copia’s groan filled the room much louder than any of your moans ever did, drowning out the sound of his hips slapping against your wetness over and over again. His thrusts became more and more erratic until he eventually stilled inside you, completely emptying his balls and filling you to the brim. He felt so good inside you, like you were made to take him. He stayed inside you for a little while before pulling out and removing himself from your body, and that was when you felt it.

All of the helplessness from before returned the moment Copia stopped touching you, and you realised just how vulnerable you’d allowed yourself to be with someone other than Swiss. Tears began to fall, and wracked sobs took over your body as you lay naked on his floor, an ache beginning to form in your core as you tucked your body in on itself. Copia, who was putting himself back together, immediately dropped his robe and dropped back to his knees, enveloping you in a tight hug and pulling you close to him, allowing you to hide your face in his chest. “I got you, schricchio.” He said, bringing back the pet name that you loved. The ultimate comfort nickname. “You’re safe. I got you.” He rocked you back and forth, shushing you gently and rubbing your skin. “I got you.” He let you cry. You obviously needed to.

With Swiss, it all felt different because he was just as tormented as you were. His body was assaulted too, and despite his body being in the dominant role, he had no control and no way to stop it. The guilt ate him alive when he wasn’t inside you - when you weren’t begging him for it. But Copia? Copia was your boss - the head of your church - a man who you’d spent the better part of a decade trusting and loving. You’d never let him see you like this before, never let him catch you being weak and powerless. You saw that despite the nature of your coming together, you could still trust him. He still cared deeply about you and your emotional needs. When you almost told him to stop, he would have, and in fact, he almost did.

“I’m sorry for being too rough with you.” He told you. “I’m sorry for starting this.”

“No.” You said through tears. “I liked it.”

“No, schricchio. I took advantage. I’m sorry.”

He let go of you just for a brief second to grab his robe, and wrap you up in it, trying to warm you up as soon as he heard your teeth chattering. It was the adrenaline wearing off, he knew that, but still he wanted to do everything he could to comfort you after that. “Thank you.” You whispered through tears.

“I want you to listen to me, okay? No one is ever going to do any of that to you again without your consent first. I should have protected you better the first time, ___. I’ll do better in the future.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t yours, either. And I’m here if you want anything. A talk, a distraction, a friend.”

You sniffed. “Were you serious about locking me up in your chambers and having your wicked way with me?”

He chuckled. “Why are you interested?”

“I might be.”

“We’ll see. For now, lie on my sofa. I’ll get you cleaned up soon, but for now get some rest, schricchio.”

He helped you off the floor and led you to the plush couch you sat on before. He sat on the floor while you got comfortable and held your hand as you began to drift off to sleep. All the while, his thumbs rubbed against your skin, and every now and then, you felt a gentle kiss on the back of your hand. You were safe with him. You always would be.

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cherryslyce · 1 year

Text

Second Son (XIII) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: Sixth year comes to a close. Y/N and Harry sport new badges of trauma. Fleur and Bill get married.

Part XII / Part XIV / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: chapter wc: 6.3k. Enjoy. I really miss Regulus *cry*

Time bears no meaning to one unseeing and unfeeling, one who endlessly sinks into a void. You’ve read the papers and the theories: an observer outside of a black hole would think that time has frozen, while those falling into the black hole would appear to be frozen to those watching.

Perhaps, you were falling through a black hole.

You don’t know how long you’ve been laying in the medical wing, eyes puffy, pillow damp with tears, but you can only pity whoever it was that sat with you the entire time. The first memory you could recall of waking up in the medical wing seemed so distant, but you knew it had likely only been a few days since then.

Nothing seemed to register in your mind throughout those days, not that you cared all that much. You would simply peel your eyes open, silently shed tears, ignore whoever was whispering in your ear, ignore Madam Pomfrey’s fussing, go back to sleep, and repeat.

Every time you awoke, you desperately hoped that the events that kept replaying in your head had been nothing but a terrible, prolonged nightmare. But the emptiness in your pocket weighed on your chest and hollowed out your heart.

Every time you opened your eyes to see the familiar beige, arched ceilings and bright latticed windows, you wanted to sink through the bed and fall into an abyss that matched the chasm in your chest .

Regulus’ voice kept ringing in your ears, making your head ache with sharp stabs behind your eyes, ‘I’ll find you again, my love.’ You wanted to laugh. His last words to you were futile promises, yet you still wanted nothing more than to believe them.

You were positive that you would drive yourself into madness.

You decide to start listening to the voice that would always emit from beside you, half expecting it to be a figment of your imagination. Even so, you hoped that it could provide solace, if not a distraction from your mental spiral.

The more you listened, the more your senses began to clear – and you realized you couldn’t spend forever wallowing in your misery. Surprisingly, it was not just one person that visited you. From what you could discern, it was three different people that would seemingly take turns talking to you.

“Mother and I are concerned for you, amico mio. Draco hasn’t been back since that night, same with Professor Snape. The term is going to end soon, and Aurors have been hassling Potter for answers. They’re leaving you alone for now because you’ve been unresponsive, but the press and Ministry are waiting for your eyewitness account. If you don’t get better soon…They want to send you to St.Mungo’s for monitoring, but mother volunteered to house you instead. I have to go, but I’ll be back tomorrow. Rest well, Y/N.”

Blaise.

It seemed that Dumbledore was dead then. There was no other reason why the Ministry would be so eager to question you. Two people died that night, three if you counted whatever part of yourself was missing now – but only Dumbledore would be memorialized.

You felt your heart race at the thought, but you tried to ground yourself by remembering Blaise’s words. At least you knew that the Contessa was willing to take you in. The thought sent a warm buzz down your navel. You wouldn’t be alone.

“It was Professor Snape. It all happened so fast. After he shot the spell and Dumbledore … Draco was going to stay with you, but then they shot off the dark mark into the sky. And Snape, he-he … he’s the Half-Blood Prince. He killed him. Dumbledore trusted him, and he killed him. I don’t know where the locket is either. To think of what it took – what it cost us, and I lost the bloody thing.”

Harry.

Even in your state, you could feel Harry’s turmoil – his rage. But you couldn’t bring yourself to reflect the same sentiments, things were always more convoluted than they seemed, especially for your lot. You did feel remorseful about the locket though, realizing the damn thing was still looped around your neck (even if it were a sham).

You don’t know what exactly happened that night in the astronomy tower after you blacked out, just that Snape finished the job and escaped with the rest of the death eaters, but you assumed that Harry was secretly wounded by the professor’s betrayal.

No matter how vehemently he denies it, you could tell Harry did care for Snape in his own weird, unconventional way. You shared a similar sentiment, feeling a tinge of understanding toward the disillusioned man. That was why you held onto hope that Snape was truly not a traitor, but only time would tell.

You were taken aback to hear that Draco tried to stay with you, but perhaps your strange encounters with each other and your initiative to try and help him – even while he aimed his wand at you – made him feel indebted.

“The wrackspurts are beginning to leave, they were hovering around you for a long time. You will be okay, he waits as he always has. You must not give up.”

Luna.

Luna was a comforting presence. She never bombarded you or urged you to recover quicker, and oftentimes you could feel her gently playing with your hand. You always looked forward to hearing her the most. Her reassurances sparked hope in you, especially since you believed that she was clairvoyant.

Things did get better, eventually.

You awoke on the second to last day of term with aching joints and stiff muscles. The world seemed to gleam with a new vibrance under the July sky, and it helped that Blaise nearly tipped out of his seat when you abruptly sat up on the bed.

“Is that any way to greet me, B? How uncouth.” Your scratchy voice did little to deter the boy who merely threw his arm over your shoulder.

After a few moments of silent greetings, you pull back and pat the boy gently on the shoulder, wanting room to stretch your arms.

Blaise moves over to sit at the foot of your bed, hands digging into his robes, “Glad to have you back. You gave me quite the fright, you know?” The boy shoots a pointed look at you, “I thought you were dead when I found you that night.”

“So it was you?” Your words are more to yourself than anything, but the Italian nods firmly.

“Mio dio, here we are.” The boy fishes something out of his pocket, and extends his palm towards you, “Thought you would want this.”

Your heart stutters in your chest as you reach over.

Regulus’ frame.

“Thank you.” The lump in your throat makes it difficult to say much more, but the gratitude that bleeds into your words has Blaise tilting his head. Of course, your friend didn’t quite grasp how important the tattered pieces of wood were to you, but you were touched nonetheless.

Thank Merlin for his scavenging tendencies.

“Prego. Now, are you feeling well enough to get up? You should start packing soon.”

“Nevermind, just kill me now.” Blaise, the traitor, laughs at your misery much to your chagrin.

The last two days at Hogwarts are filled with suppressed grief and reassuring smiles, with many approaching you to make sure you didn’t sustain any permanent damage from the encounter with Bellatrix (you were quite sure Neville even promised retribution).

You’re decidedly silent about the main events of being manhandled by Greyback, tired from the tirade of questions and also unsure if the prospect would have your friends flying off their handles.

As the Hogwarts Express came to a halt at King’s Cross, you dismissed yourself from the Trio’s compartment and levitated your items with you to locate Blaise. The slytherin was adamant that you say your farewells to him, already dissatisfied with your decision to stay elsewhere for the summer.

Peering into one of the compartments, you catch Blaise’s eye and wave slowly. The boy stands and slides the door open for you, grinning at your unimpressed frown, “You made it!”

“Yes, I didn’t want you to brood the entire summer. Merlin knows I barely agreed to have tea with you and the Contessa anyway.” Your indignant response elicits a few snickers from behind Blaise, and the Italian spins around with an expression of mock offense.

“Traitors, all of you.”

You peer over Blaise’s shoulder and meet the curious stares of some of the other slytherins in your year, though Draco was notably absent.

Pansy appraises you quickly before grinning, “Well met, L/N. Blaise said you were much better than your other friends.”

You let out a dry laugh, but nod in greeting. Scanning the opposite bench, an exasperated set of eyes cuts through you. The boy inclines his head, causing you to do the same. You were already familiar with Theodore Nott, having quite literally clashed with him over the top position in your Runes class (which somehow led to you both studying together in silence?).

“Y/N, any summer plans?” You lean against the doorframe and wave at Daphne, ignoring Blaise’s huff.

“Hi Daphne, and just a few things here and there. Mainly just looking forward to spending time with my dogs.” Which was not totally a lie, both Remus and Sirius were part time dogs of sorts.

Blaise crosses his arms and shakes his head, “Yes, a summer with some pets over one with me.”

Continuing to ignore the boy next to you, you crack your knuckles and smile apologetically, “It’s nice to see you all. But apologies, I must get going, one of my dogs gets a bit restless.” You wave to the group and quickly pat Blaise on the back before quickly ducking out of the train.

As you walk through the platform, you barely flinch when Harry sidles up to you with his own luggage.

“Harry, come to Grimmauld Place after it’s all done.” The boy shifts his head to look at you, eyebrow raised to indicate that he would have done so even without the reminder. Rolling your eyes, you adjust the collar of your shirt before quickly pulling out the locket long enough for the boy to see.

Harry’s mouth sets into a firm line and he nods, “Alright. It shouldn’t take more than a few days.” His firm tone indicated that he expected an explanation from you, but you could see that he was refraining from being too direct, having already expressed guilt for what happened to Regulus.

Harry and Hermione informed you that they would be taking certain measures to protect their respective families, and you winced at the implications – more so feeling commiseration for Hermione than Harry, knowing that the girl’s parents actually valued her.

As Sirius and Remus come into view – Sirius in his Grim form, Harry rushes away and lunges into Remus’ awaiting arms. Sirius trots over to you in greeting and you have to restrain yourself from petting him, knowing it would be awkward to face the man after he transforms back.

Crouching down, you smile at the dog-man and barely duck fast enough to miss his attempt at licking you. It would appear that he was forgoing formalities and was jumping straight into licking and pawing at you and Harry – you admit, that it made his disguise all the more convincing.

“Okay, enough you old menace!” You bat at him, causing him to huff at you, still rounding around you to nudge at your leg.

Harry reluctantly leaves as he spots his Uncle Vernon, reaching down to squeeze your wrist in comfort one last time. As soon as you double-check your items and greet Remus, you all are off in a hurry to get to Grimmauld Place, not feeling comfortable being out in the open for a prolonged period of time.

The journey back is spent in silence as you pointedly ignore Sirius’ looks of concern and Remus’ more subtle glances.

The first few days back at the gloomy house are interesting to say the least. Both of the adults were almost diffident towards you, clearly unsure of how to breach the subject of their concerns without immediately spiraling into an interrogation.

You try and wait it out the first few days, and soon Harry is joining you with a pleased smile, regaling you with how Dudley had made amends with him before the Dursleys all packed up and left. Despite Harry’s arrival, Sirius and Remus continued to edge around you both much to Harry’s confusion.

The awkward atmosphere gives you and Harry time to convene in your room, both sitting around the decoy locket. As you peer down onto your bed at the glimmering piece of jewelry, you feel your lips twist in forbearance.

Harry scoops it up and examines it in the light before sighing, “Yeah. This isn’t the real thing, I would be able to feel it if it were.” Narrowing his eyes further, he tugs at the locket’s sides and pulls.

The locket abruptly pops open and you and Harry share a look that pretty much conveyed the ‘shit that actually worked’ thought that flew through both of your heads.

You’d think there would be more security measures even with a sham.

Placing it back down onto the bed, you tilt your head at the slip of paper that revealed itself inside. Harry slowly picks it up and unfurls it, frowning at the contents,

“To the Dark Lord,

I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.

R.A.B”

“Regulus,” Your gasp is followed by a devastating realization that has you shuddering. Harry looks up at you with a worried frown, patting your knee before handing the paper to you. As you gently cup the paper in your hands, you reread the message several times.

“He died to try and stop him.” Harry’s words are not a question, but rather a declaration of crushing recognition. He looks over to your hunched figure and cups his hand around yours, nodding firmly, “Keep it.”

Not bothering to retort that you were planning on doing so even if you had to wrangle it from him, you simply nod and carefully fold the note up and place it back inside the locket. As you carefully click the pendant shut and move the necklace back over your head, Harry turns towards the empty space near your door, “Kreacher!”

A loud pop emits throughout the room and you slowly turn to face the house elf, “Yes, Master Harry called for Kreacher?”

Harry swallows harshly, “Did Regulus ever talk about a locket that belonged to Voldemort?”

Kreacher flinches back and alternates between sneering at Harry and frowning at you, “Kreacher doesn’t know anything about a locket.”

You rise up from the bed and slowly walk towards the cowering house elf, squatting down to appear less intimidating, “Kreacher. Regulus, he…he wanted–wants us to destroy it. Please.” You hoped that Kreacher didn’t register your slip up, not wanting to explain that his favorite master was blown to bits by an insane witch.

Seeming to weigh his options, Kreacher darts his eyes around the floor before meeting your gaze, “Kreacher will find it.” Not a moment later, the elf pops away and you’re left with your thoughts and achy knees.

As you stretch back up, Harry shoots you a grateful look before sighing, “We should talk to Sirius about the locket at the very least. Maybe he’ll let us look around and we can figure out what else Regulus knew.”

You don’t have a chance to answer as Kreacher pops back into the room, hands clasped tightly around the real locket, extending his hand away from his face to keep the artifact as far away from him as possible.

“Thank you, Kreacher.” The elf merely grunts at Harry’s words and practically shoves the locket into his hands when the boy gets close enough to reach it.

You nod and smile at the elf, feeling a twinge of guilt when he pops away without another word. It seemed that Kreacher had an idea of what happened to Regulus, and he was definitely not happy with you and Harry by any stretch of the imagination.

Harry fiddles with the item before huffing, “Hello again, Tom.”

Rubbing your forehead tiredly, you leave your friend to his musings and opt to find Sirius, deciding to rip the bandaid off sooner than later.

Surprisingly, the man barely bats an eye at your bizarre request, “Sure, go ahead. I don’t think you’ll find much more than old books though.”

Nodding with wide eyes, you try to rein in your gobsmacked expression, “Uh–yeah, thanks,” and with one last boost of confidence, you decide to pat the man’s shoulder, “And really, thanks for the concern. Harry and I are fine though, so you guys don’t have to keep walking around eggshells when we’re in the same room.”

Not giving time for the man to respond, you practically fly up the stairs and towards Regulus’ bedroom. Hit with a sense of deja vu, you only pause to take everything in once you crack open the bedroom door.

So many memories.

But he’s not here anymore.

Ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest, you slowly shuffle into the dark room and shut the door behind you. Spinning around on the spot, you take in every detail around you, determined to commit it to memory – for what reason, you didn’t really know. You wander around in circles for a while, slowly working up the courage to actually look around for something useful.

It felt wrong to go through his possessions without his knowledge or expressed permission.

Crouching down next to the dusty bed, you trace your finger around the design of the bedding.

The design scheme of Regulus’ room was far more subdued in comparison to the rest of the house’s gaudy antiques and brassy accents, and you couldn’t help but wonder how he would have decorated a house of his own.

Brushing away the thought, you pause your movements when your finger hits a protrusion under the mattress. Furrowing your eyebrows, you slowly lift up the quilt bedding.

Please be spider-free. If a spider lunges at me, I will actually die.

Your prayers are, thankfully, taken into account. As you peer at the object, you realize that it was a worn leather journal shoved haphazardly between the two mattresses – how neat. You wrestle the book out with far more effort than it should have taken, and breathlessly sit down on the floor.

Flipping the object in your hands, you run your finger along the creased cover.

Just as you lay the book in your lap to flip it open, you’re distracted by the sound of the door creaking open. Harry slowly slinks inside the room and shoots you a quick smile, “Sirius is being weird. Like strange. Something about therapy and teenagers?” You merely raise your eyebrow as Harry moves to sit beside you, the boy’s eyes immediately falling to your lap, “What’s that?”

“No clue. What about the locket? Figured out how we’re going to destroy it?”

Harry rolls his eyes before fishing out the necklace and dangling it from his hand like it wasn’t a precious heirloom (even if it were tainted by a sadistic, egomaniac’s soul shard).

“No clue,” Harry intones, laughing at your narrowed eyes. You roll your eyes before shoving him lightly, deciding to tuck the journal away by your side before getting up to wander around the room again.

Your search around Regulus’ room continues for the next few days, but ends up fruitless.

July passed quickly, taking the sunny days away with it. The journal that you found was shrunken and bouncing around in your pocket, remaining untouched. You couldn’t explain it, but it didn’t feel right to read it just yet.

Was Luna’s clairvoyance rubbing off on you?

The thought had you smiling softly, causing Remus to share a look with Sirius that you barely caught.

“You doing okay there, pup?” Sirius asked, reaching over to pat your arm.

“Never better, old man. Also, pup?” Your question hangs in the air and Remus merely shakes his head before craning back down to read his book. Sirius smiles brightly at you, “Yep.”

“Never a dull moment around here. Forget my Runes study, maybe I should become a mind healer and have you as my case study.” You tease, much to Harry and Remus’ amusement.

You wouldn’t ever admit it aloud, but you had sorely missed the comfort of summers with Sirius.

Actually, you wanted to rescind that statement.

“You absolute troll of a man!” Your words echo throughout the house as Sirius’ laughter draws the attention of the other two men.

Remus shoots Sirius an exasperated look, while Harry spins around in his seat to try and see what was happening. You emerge into the room, heaving from anger, hand clasped tightly around a soggy potions book.

“I am going to wreak havoc upon your bloodline, Black! Beg now or wrath shall hath no mercy for your foolishness.” Your wild gesticulation and fury has Remus raising an eyebrow towards Sirius who simply shoots his friend an innocent smile.

The absolute oaf then turns and sticks his tongue out at you.

“Do it! I dare you! You wouldn’t–”

You throw the wet tome at his head.

“Remmy! Look what’s become of my beautiful face!” Sirius whines and bangs his elbows on the table, drawing the attention of one stressed out Mrs.Weasley. The woman shoots a withering look at the man before returning to fuss over a particularly wild table arrangement.

Remus simply shakes his head and resumes surveying the venue, studiously ignoring the man next to him (who was now sporting a large bump on his head that he refused to heal in order to show everyone the result of your “demonic mood swings”).

You smile tauntingly at the older man before standing up to walk around. It was insane to you how drastically different you were feeling now in comparison to at the beginning of your summer break. The aching in your heart never fully ceased, but you were back up on your feet and even allowing yourself to indulge in Sirius’ antics.

The world truly was coming to an end, wasn’t it?

Guiltily, you found yourself remedying your heart ache by sneaking into Regulus’ bedroom at night. It inexplicably brought you closure to see what was left of the teen’s bedroom.

August emerged from the corners of the sky with temperamental winds and blue, misty dawns. Bill and Fleur had decided to commence the month with a rather extravagant wedding, having sent out your personal invites weeks before. The venue was at the Burrow, but was simply breathtaking: the ivory tent was propped up by poles that were encircled with plethoras of cream flowers, and the dainty chairs lined with gold were eye-catching without being tawdry.

Gold.

You wince as you reach into your jacket, feeling the scraps of Regulus’ gold frame brush against your fingertips.

It seemed you weren’t the only one plagued with grief and foreboding though. Many were expecting for Voldemort to make his next move any day now, which was one of the many reasons as to why Bill and Fleur decided to rush their union.

The political climate was tense as well, wracked with uncertainties after the death of Dumbledore. Ex-Auror, now instated Minister of Magic, Scrimegeour was trying his best, but he was rough around the edges and had the charisma of an angry goblin.

Still, you were one of the many who preferred him over Fudge.

In light of all this, you made a greater effort to get to know Contessa Zabini, knowing that your channels for information were more restricted than ever, and who better to turn to than an all-powerful, neutral femme fatale?

Corresponding with Blaise and Luna kept you sane throughout the summer since you refrained from trauma dumping on Harry (á la therapy, knowing the boy was literally the embodiment of “what are you talking about? I’m perfectly fine”).

“Hey, pup.” You spin around to see Sirius approaching you with his hands in his pockets, mouth curled up amiably.

Suspiciously raising a brow, you cross your arms, “If you pull something on me right now, Bill is going to be left wondering why there’s an empty chair at our table. Spoiler alert, your chair, not mine.”

The man chuckles at your playful (kind of) threat, and simply hands you a folded paper, “Thought you’d want it. Still not sorry about your book though.”

Shaking your head, you gently grasp the slip and raise your eyes in uncertainty when you realize it was a folded photo. Sirius gestures for you to unfold it, eyes gleaming brightly with a shine you could hardly decipher.

As you bring the photo up towards your eyes, you gape as you realize what you were looking at.

“Sirius, what?--” Why was he giving you a photo of Regulus? What did he know?

“I don’t know what’s up with you and Prongslet and your fascination with Regulus, but I’m not completely oblivious.” He jabs, smiling widely at your disbelief.

Debatable, really.

You sigh and hug the photo to your chest, “I promise, I’ll tell you everything when this all blows over. Thank you though.”

The man shrugs and gives you a brief side hug, “I’ll take your word for it.”

As soon as you see his mischievous smile disappear behind the milling Weasley family, you decide to study the photo again.

Regulus looked a bit younger than he had in his portrait, hair a tad shorter and eyes sparkling with a youthful glow. Clearly, Regulus hadn’t been marked when this photo was taken, but he still looked like a dutiful, proper pureblood heir.

He looked perfect.

You were going to rip Bellatrix to shreds.

Yes. You would have the banshee screeching at your feet, begging for the release of death.

Sorry Neville, she’s mine to kill.

“Heya-”

“Y/N!”

You quickly fold up the photo and tuck it into your pocket, shooting your head up to meet the eyes of the twins. Smiling at their antics, you tip an invisible hat to them, “Messrs Twins, how are you today? Excited to see Bill in his suit?”

George offers you his arm as he gestures outside of the tent, “Doing just dandy, Y/N!”

“Yes, Bill was able to weasel his way out of mother’s claws,” Seeing your confused expression, Fred continues, “She wanted him to wear father’s wedding robes.”

Snickering at the idea, you allow George to continue dragging you, “How frightful. You both might not be as lucky though. Merlin knows Charlie’s muscles would suffocate in those robes, you two on the other hand…”

“Ouch!”

“My poor heart!”

Your banter continues until the twins manage to parade you through the Burrow’s living room, dropping you off with mock bows, “It’s been our pleasure!”

As soon as they’re off and running to Merlin knows where, you turn around to meet the unimpressed face of Minister Scrimgeour. Harry, Hermione, and Ron emerge from the kitchen and meet your questioning eyes, looking just as puzzled by his appearance.

“To what do we owe the pleasure, Minister?” Harry asks, ever the diplomat.

You smile wearily, shifting closer to your friends, “Yes, don’t suppose you’re here for the treacle tarts?”

The scraggy man shakes his firmly, mouth deepening in its frown, “Unfortunately not. I think we both know the answer to your question though, Mr.Potter.”

Clenching your jaw, you make way to sit on the couch, gesturing for the Minister to sit across the coffee table. Your friends quickly follow your movements, fidgeting quietly as the man limps over and settles down with a huff.

He wastes no time and sets down a folded cloth on the table, leaning on his knees to meet your awaiting gazes. Before any of you have time to question him, he reaches deep into his coat and whips out a folded piece of paper.

The yellowed parchment floats to the side and unfolds itself as Scrimegeour shoots you all an assured look before reading off of it, “Herein is set forth the last will and testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore-” Holy shit, “-First, Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my deluminator…”

You zone out, only vaguely aware of how Scrimgeour reaches down to unwrap the cloth. Harry shifts uncomfortably beside you and you’re quick to pick up on his grief. He was still in the process of accepting the headmaster’s death.

Frankly, you were amazed you were left in the will.

Hermione receives a children’s book (not cryptic at all).

Harry receives the snitch he caught in your first year, which was quite unexpected seeing as your friend was pretty much carrying the weight of the Wizarding World on his back. It seemed that he thought the same as he reluctantly reached over to accept it, rolling the golden ball around his palm.

A snitch, really? Couldn’t he have left a detailed instruction manual on how to slay Voldemort? Not like your lot isn’t elbow-deep in resuscitating Wizarding Britain or anything.

Your attention is drawn away from Harry’s despondent face when a paper is being shoved towards you.

What was this, the second time today?

Masking your bemusement, you reach over and take it from the man’s hand, quickly glancing at your friends.

‘There is a wonderful municipality in Moskenesøya, Norway called Reine. Anders Fiske owes me a meal of which I pass to you. You may find great enlightenment on your troubles with him. He has knowledge of magic which your young companion utilized.’

Slowly looking up at the other occupants of the room, you don’t let your surprise show.

“Well?” Ron asks impatiently, clearly intrigued that Dumbledore left you an actual written message.

“A meal. He left me a meal ticket.”

Minister Scrimgeour leaves shortly after, mumbling something about endless paperwork and efforts to suppress the growing dark forces. You were quick to part from your friends, falling into thought about how you were going to heed your former headmaster’s words.

As you mill around the tent, eyes glued to the purple carpet under your feet, you’re pleasantly surprised when you accidentally bump into a familiar face.

“Luna!”

The girl spins around and looks at you dazedly, mouth tugging into a wide grin, “Y/N! The heliopaths burn brightly around you. Have you gotten the clue, then?”

Gazing fondly at the younger girl, you wrap an arm around her and guide her near a vacant table, “I’m not even surprised. Did you see this coming?”

“There were whispers that Dumbledore would aid you. Our paths are now converging…” Luna trails off, but you understand the gist of her words. It would appear that she was going to help you in some way, and you were quite pleased with the turn of events.

Soon, dusk blanketed over the fields and the inky skies loomed over the tent, giving life to the vibrant lights and the guests who were resplendent in their formal attires.

Sheer curtains fell around the tent in waves of dusty purple, slightly veiling the patrolling Aurors from sight. Sirius had to be put under multiple glamours much to his ire, but he conceded after being told it was either that or partying as a dog the whole night.

The man was currently nestling a glass of firewhiskey to his chest by your side, occasionally glancing at Luna who was spinning in circles on your other side. Remus had decided to help patrol, and you rolled your eyes at his wallflower tendencies, picking up the unspoken “babysitting Sirius” duties in his stead.

Bill and Fleur were dancing around at the center of the tent, surrounded by their immediate families and you were entranced by the dozens of pink butterflies that encircled the couple.

How were they doing that?

Well, they did make for quite the attractive pair, and you were just grateful for the lack of drama throughout the evening. Though, you would be making a grand escape at the first hint of drunken stupors and incoherent babbling.

Turning to the entrance of the tent, you smile softly as you see Harry make his way inside, slowly approaching an older man who was peering at the clapping guests with poorly concealed anxiety.

Before you can further goggle at the boy’s movements, a sheen of yellow hues suddenly bombards your eyes and casts a shadow over your figure. Looking up, you’re struck at the sight of a familiar dazed expression.

“Hello, Xenophilius Lovegood,” The man sticks out his hand for you to take, and you see Luna sway happily towards the man, “A pleasure, Mr.Lovegood. I’ve always enjoyed meeting my friends’ families. I’m Y/N.”

“My Luna speaks very highly of you, and if you or Mr.Potter ever need anything, feel free to come to us. We live just over the hill, you see.” The man muses pleasantly, wrapping an arm around his daughter as she nods in agreement.

You speak to the man for a few more minutes before he dismisses himself to find Harry, explaining that he would very much enjoy talking about The Quibbler with the boy.

At the man’s departure, you begin to try and drag Sirius onto the dance floor, but he simply complains that the music wasn’t really his style and chugs his drink.

There did seem to be a lack of electric guitar riffs in the air.

Rings of gasps and shuffles draw your attention away from your two companions, and you look towards the center of the tent to see an illumination of blue floating in place of the once dancing couple.

A patronus.

Immediately, Shacklebolt’s resounding voice echoes around the venue, “The Ministry has fallen. The Minister of Magic is dead…they are coming…” Scrimgeour was dead? You just saw the bloody man!

“They are coming…”

The tense silence has you stepping forward and drawing your wand, sharing a look with an alarmed Sirius who was slowly edging in front of you.

“They are coming…”

As the patronus dissipates, the panic that had been stewing erupts into cacophonous shouts and echoing distortions of apparition. Many guests flee just as the first cluster of black smoke swoops through the tent.

Death eaters.

Grabbing Sirius’ wrist, you quickly try to shout over the chaos, “Stay safe! You and Remus better not die!”

The man nods firmly, but gets pulled away into the moving crowd as people begin to make a break for it just as the first spells start flying around. Twirling your wand into your palm, you turn and grab Luna’s hand, pulling her behind you as you duck through the mayhem.

You see rays of green soar across the tent as flames begin to engulf the flowers and curtains. Blocking a killing curse from flying straight into your face, you quickly shoot out a Confringo and a binding spell back to back, effectively binding your attacker as he tries to duck.

Spinning around frantically, ignoring the blood rushing through your ears and the thrumming of your heart beat in your fingertips, you see Hermione apparate with Ron and Harry. Sighing in relief at the trio’s escape, you quickly continue to push through the pandemonium.

As Remus turns his back, you see a death eater try and shoot a killing curse at him causing you to nearly fly forward on the spot.

“Expulso!” The lamps by the death eater’s head explodes in a spray of glass, causing him to hunch over long enough for Sirius to fire off an array of hexes that had you raising your eyebrows.

Good to know that even Azkaban couldn’t erode his dueling skills.

Satisfied with your cathartic release, you apparate away with Luna to the first place that pops into your head.

As you touch down on damp cobblestone, you quickly spin around to assess Luna for injuries. The girl merely smiles at you reassuringly before gazing around at your surroundings. Luckily, it seemed that this section of Diagon Alley was safe from death eaters for now, but with the fall of the Ministry, it would only be a matter of hours before chaos would erupt.

You cringe at the thought, knowing that many of the shops were still recovering from the previous year when Ollivander’s was ransacked and when Fortescue was killed by death eaters.

Slowly creeping out from the dark alley you were both in, you assess the environment quickly. There were a few wizards still walking about, but for the most part, it was quiet and safe.

Waving for Luna to follow, you both begin to stroll down the stone path, no real destination in mind.

“Bedda Matri! What are you doing?” You whip around with your wand pointed towards the voice, only lowering it once you see an annoyingly familiar face, “And what are you wearing?”

“Nice to see you too, B. We were at a wedding for your information. I would have taken you as my plus one, but then I remembered how insufferable you are.”

Your shoulders slacken in relief and you quickly trail over to your smirking friend.

The boy goes to retaliate, but is interrupted by a dulcet voice, “Mio figlio, aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Pausing at the honeyed voice, you slowly crane your head to the shadows to meet a pair of amused eyes.

Blaise seems to flounder a bit before quickly composing himself, “Mama, this is Y/N L/N, my good friend,” he then turns towards your flustered gape and coughs lightly, “Y/N, this is my mother.”

You collect yourself and straighten up your posture, inclining your head towards the imposing woman, “Contessa Zabini.”

“How fortunate.” She drawls, slowly approaching your stiff figure, “We finally meet young Y/N, though the night is not kind. Come, let’s have tea together, we have much to discuss.”

Perhaps you should have tested your luck with the death eaters.

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molly-ghuleh · 9 months

Note

Hi pretty, i want "i think i deserve a kiss" for the prompts with Cardinal Copia, pretty please ? i love you, you're amazing!!!

Kiss Prompts: "I think I deserve a kiss"

Cardinal Copia x reader

SFW! Contains: assistant trope, overworked trope, sickeningly sweet fluff, pining, suggestive if you squint, the titties and beer mug

Thank you for requesting my lovely!!! <3

Kiss prompts

The Cardinal's office is bathed in soft light from his various mismatched lamps. The Sun had set hours ago, but there was an important deadline that had caught up with the two of you. You, as the Cardinal's Clergy assistant, dutifully sit at your little desk in the corner of his office as Copia hunches over his own in the center of the room.

"What time is it?" You ask softly. You're sure it must be past midnight by now. This damned budget report from Papa's most recent tour is due on Sister Imperator's desk by the morning, and that woman wakes up unfathomably early.

Copia pulls up his cassock sleeve to glance at his watch. "It is, eh, twenty-three past midnight," he says. His voice is gravelly with the lack of sleep.

The two of you had been awake since six that morning with the sole intention of compiling every expense report under the Ministry's roof. Receipts, invoices, and account statements litter Copia's desk. He dictates each total to you and you type away on your laptop, entering the data into a mile-long spreadsheet that makes your computer run hotter than the fires of Hell.

Judging by the way Copia runs his fingers through his hair, there's still a ways to go--you'd learned to read his body language during your tenure as his assistant. You sigh and stand from your chair. Your back pops in a concerning manner, but you're far past caring. "Time for another pot of coffee?" You offer. Even if he says no, you'll make one for yourself if only to stretch your legs.

"You are far too good to me," Copia utters softly, looking up at you. His hair falls over his forehead from how often he'd ruffled it in frustration. His biretta had long since been discarded. The top few buttons of his cassock are undone, making him look delightfully unkempt.

You want to run your fingers through his hair.

"Maybe I just like coffee," you tease back, lips quirking with the sarcasm. Being tired makes you sassy. It's something that the Cardinal has said he likes about you. It makes working late more fun, he'd said, and that phrase had fuelled your hopeless little crush for months.

He simply huffs a laugh through his nose and you exit his office, mugs in hand, your slippers (which you kept under your desk for nights like these) scuffing along the tile of the dark corridor. The kitchens are a short walk from the Clergy's office wing. You're surprised there isn't a groove carved into the floor tracing your path from Copia's office to the coffee pot with how much caffeine the two of you manage to consume.

Despite late nights like these, the work is rewarding. You're on good terms with most of the Upper Clergy (you never know where you stand with Sister on any given day), you have special privileges to the Clergy break room, and you get to spend your days with Cardinal Copia, pining after him like some lovesick teenager.

At least you have your hand.

You rinse out the used mugs while the new pot of coffee brews. You prepare yours how you like, and make his with the attention to detail of a coffee shop barista who subsists on tips alone. Copia likes it lukewarm and sickeningly sweet. He would prefer a latte of course, but you don't have the time nor the energy to make one, so he'll have to settle for half-coffee-half-creamer and an unholy amount of sugar. Still, you smile, because you know exactly what he'll say when you place the mug in front of him, and you know exactly which witty retort you'll think in your head.

You make your way back to his office, bumping the heavy wooden door open with your hip while you hold one mug in each hand. His favorite is a plain white ceramic mug with the words 'rat dad' in bold black letters--a gift you'd given him after a year of working as his assistant. Your mug is a hand-me-down from him, his second-favorite, which says 'titties and beer' and which you're pretty sure Terzo had given him as a joke.

"Here," you say softly as you place his mug in an open space on his desk.

Copia sighs in relief and looks up at you. "I don't deserve you, tesoro," he says. He immediately takes a sip of the coffee and hums.

And your witty retort: "Yes, well, I think I deserve a kiss," you think as you turn to move towards your own desk.

The sound of Copia sputtering and coughing behind you makes you jump. Your tongue tingles with the sensation of recent words. They practically echo in the relative silence of his office, and immediately you realize your mistake. Your heart plummets.

You get sassy when you're tired, but you also tend to say what you're thinking.

"You, eh, you-- what?" Copia stutters. You can barely bring yourself to look at him out of sheer embarrassment.

"N-nothing!" You respond, too quickly and too high-pitched. He'd heard you, and you know he heard you, and he knows that you know.

You sit in your desk chair and pretend nothing happened. The monitor of your laptop does nothing to hide your deep blush or the line between your brows.

Copia's office is silent for a few moments, until his chair squeaks in the familiar sound of him standing. You brace yourself to be reprimanded, to be told that it is wholly inappropriate to say such things in front of your boss, or to be fired completely. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Instead, you see the deep red of Copia's cassock at the edge of your little desk, and he clears his throat. You swallow dryly and meet his gaze, absolutely mortified. A bead of nervous sweat rolls down the back of your neck. Stupid, stupid--

"I- I think you may be right, tesoro," Copia says, his voice shaking slightly. His lips quirk up at the corners which makes his mustache twitch. "We have, eh... danced around it for too long, yes?"

Oh, sweet Lucifer take me now.

Copia braces his hands on your desk and leans forward, bringing his face inches away from your own. You can feel his warm breath ghost over your lips. "I think you are long overdue for a kiss, dolce. Many, in fact."

Before you can say anything, he places his lips so sweetly against yours. His mustache tickles your top lip and his nose bumps against yours, but it doesn't matter. You're kissing him, and it's real, and it feels good. Where your heart had sunk before, it practically leaps out of your chest, hammering against your sternum. You lean into the kiss.

Copia pulls away far too soon and you chase his lips, but your cursed desk gets in the way. Instead you stare at him dumbly. Are you drooling? You might be drooling.

"The budget report, tesoro," Copia gently reminds you. Right. The budget report. "But, I plan to kiss you again and again once it is done, si? You, eh... deserve it."

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blueraineshadows · 10 months

Text

Yes, Professor - Part Two

Professor Sebastian Sallow x F!MC

NSFW 🌶 🔥 🔞 Part One

The burn of the whiskey felt good as it went down. Sebastian leaned back in his office chair, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, but his thoughts were elsewhere. So much for doing his marking this evening, the pile of parchments forgotten on his desk. All he could think about was that kiss down in the Ministry Restricted Section.

He had not planned for it, he had merely wanted to relive old times, and show MC something he knew she would appreciate. Her thirst for knowledge was one of the things that had drawn him to her in the first place, that and a very lovely backside.

It would seem that whenever she was close, he was unable to control himself. The desire to kiss her had been so strong, and when she had moaned into his mouth...gods. He would have happily taken her up against that bookshelf. He closed his eyes, the memory of it consuming him.

She had called him 'Sir' at his request.

The sound of it coming from her lips like that made him burn in ways he didn't know existed. It had nearly killed him to stop after that.

He would have to be extra careful around her, especially in class. Now, when she looked at him across the room, there was something darker, playful, in her gaze. And he had not missed the emphasis she now put on the word 'Sir' when she addressed him. It was a concern that the other students might notice, but he indulged a moment in the fantasy of bending her over his desk, his fingers tightening around his whiskey glass as he imagined it.

Yes, he would have to be very careful indeed. This was going to be a very long term.

....*....

She could respect Sebastian's need for professionalism, he was a Ministry professor and very good at his job, she did not want to be a reason for jeopardising that.

But, did he have to look so good doing it?

He had been utterly respectful towards her, towards all his students, including simpering Bella, who was slowly beginning to grate on MC's nerves. The urge to hit her with a quick Flipendo was very strong some days, especially when she loitered around Professor Sallow's desk at the end of the lesson.

Of course, MC would have rather liked to do something similar herself, or perhaps enjoy another secret moment somewhere dark and forbidden. Those were always rather interesting with someone like Sebastian.

Twice now, Professor Sallow had found her in the library, and they talked about the classwork and beyond, delving a little deeper into some of his theories. His mind was so vast, so knowledgeable, it was a delight to pick through his thoughts and debate them.

On the second evening, she found herself in the Restricted Section again, and this time there was no pretense about why they were in there. As soon as he locked the gate, he had pulled her into a quiet corner, his mouth finding hers in a devastating kiss.

"This is all rather naughty, Professor," she gasped. His mouth was hot on her neck, his fingers unfastening a few buttons to expose her collar bone, he sucked at the skin hungrily. She whimpered at the tight bite of it, and then he was pressing soft kisses over the blooming bruise he had left behind. "I thought you wanted to stick to the rules."

"Fuck the rules," he groaned. His hand cupped her breast, moulding her in his palm, his breath hot on her throat. "Do you realise how hard it is to teach with you looking at me across the room?"

"Am I too tempting for you...Sir?"

His gaze burned into hers. He pinned her more tightly against the wall, his hand rucking up the fabric of her skirt. Her legs trembled, and she couldn't break her eyes away from his intense stare. His knee pushed between her thighs and he rolled his hips, grinding against her. She could feel how much he wanted her, and her body throbbed in response.

"Touch me," she whispered.

His fingers slid lazily up her bare thigh. She whimpered. His mouth hovered over hers. "Say it," he said.

"I want you to touch me, Sir."

He closed his eyes. "MC..."

Her mind spun, breaths coming hard and fast as his hand slid higher, and then it was in her underwear, those beautiful, long fingers caressing her in ways that made her head fall back against the wall, shudders of pleasure washing over her. Her own hands were grasping at him as she became completely lost in every swirl of those fingers, and then he was sliding them deep inside her, touching her where no other had been before.

A cry left her mouth, her hips grinding against his hand. "Oh, gods, Sebastian..."

"Come for me, MC, please," he said. His words were a low murmur in her ear, she felt them through her whole body. He wasn't her professor in this moment, he was her Sebastian, and he was making her come undone with fingers and words. "Give it to me," he whispered. "I want to hear your pretty mouth moaning for me, come on baby."

His fingers moved even more quickly, driving her hard and fast until she thought she wouldn't be able to bear it a moment longer. It was overwhelming, and her fingers bit into him harshly as her breath was stolen from her lungs, her hips flexed and her back arched. A low, filthy moan came from somewhere deep in her soul as she gave him what he had asked for, what he had coaxed from her. His name spilled from her lips, a whispered promise of her devotion as she lost herself in the feel of her pleasure.

As she trembled in his arms, her face flushed and her eyes dazed, he smiled and kissed her softly. "That's my good girl," he murmured. His lips brushed against hers as he spoke. "You're so beautiful."

"I think this might be my favourite lesson of yours," she smiled.

He chuckled. "I'm glad to hear it. Although, I hate to say it, we should head back."

"One more kiss," she pleaded. He smiled and obliged her, kissing her slow and deep until she was once again starved of her breath.

....*....

At the end of one particular lesson, a rather intriguing offering on the secrets buried in Northern America, MC was packing up her things when the Professor asked to speak with her after class.

Bella's face fell into a disappointed pout. She eyed MC. "Aren't you the lucky one?"

"That remains to be seen," she said. "Maybe I am in trouble."

Bella gave her a disbelieving smirk. "Unlikely," she muttered. "See you next time."

MC gave her a curious frown as Bella left, throwing a longing look towards the front of the class. The girl was obviously smitten. Perhaps she ought to warn Sebastian, but then, that might make her look jealous.

Wasn't she? Oh, she absolutely was.

She approached his desk and he smiled up at her. "Did you enjoy today's class?" He asked.

She nodded. "Of course, Sir," she replied. "I didn't get to America in my travels, but it is definitely one on the list for next time."

"Next time?" He asked. His smile slipped a little. "Are you planning on setting off on new adventures so soon?"

"I will finish my classes, obviously, but yes. I would love to do more travelling. It is one thing to read of something in a book, but to see it with your own eyes is rather special," she said.

They exchanged a look, both of their eyes lit with a longing, but she wasn't sure if it was for the same thing. "You, erm, you wanted to speak with me, Sir?" She prompted.

"Ah, yes," he said. He fluffed his hair with one hand. "I wondered how you had got on with that book I gave you about Ancient Magic. Have you read it at all?"

"Oh, yes, it's rather interesting," she said. "The chapters arguing for the myth element were particularly entertaining. It is a shame the author is no longer in the land of the living. I would happily perform a demonstration that Ancient Magic does, in fact, exist."

They both laughed at that. "It really is a sight to behold," he said. "I am honoured to have witnessed you at work."

"We had some good times, didn't we?" She said, softly. "I know there were hard times too, but the good really stands out against them, don't you think?'

"You were one of the best parts of my time at school towards the end," he said. "I was glad that you came to us when you did."

She felt her cheeks warm. She cleared her throat. "Are you still in touch with Ominis?"

"Yes, of course," he said. "I mentioned that you were in my class and he was pleased to hear you are well." He paused, head tilted. "You are well, aren't you? Happy, I mean? If its not too bold of me to ask."

"I...well, yes, I'm alright," she said. Something in her heart twisted sharply, and she refused to call it loneliness. As she stared at him, she felt a longing so strong it almost stole her breath. She would always have the desire to kiss him, her body had proven that fact three times now, but this was different. She wanted him to hold her, to feel the solid strength of him against her, for his lips to whisper into her ear that everything would be alright, that he...oh gods...that he...loved her?

Is that what she wanted?

She swallowed hard against the thought, eyes suddenly burning with emotional tears. Her breath shook as she drew it in.

"I'm fine, of course," she said, quickly. She skipped her gaze away from that face, that wonderful face, and took a step back from the desk. "I er...I will return the book to you next class, Sir," she said. "Thank you for your time, Professor. Good day to you."

Once again she had to fight the urge to take one last lingering look at him. If she did, she feared she might not be able to leave the room.

....*....

Class was due to start in about a quarter hour and Sebastian ran his hands through his hair. Tiredness tugged at his eyes. He hadn't slept well the last few nights, his mind stuck on the way MC had looked at him when he had asked if she was happy. He half regretted the question, because the deep well of sadness and longing that opened up in her eyes had floored him.

Her hasty exit, eyes glittering with tears, had cut right through him. He had wanted to run around his desk and grab hold of her, he had wanted to hold her and tell her that everything would be alright. But, what right did he have to do such a thing? She did not belong to him, no matter how much he ached for her.

Also, the inappropriateness of it would land him in trouble, at the risk of his job if they were caught. He grit his teeth. Merlin, he hated bloody rules.

He shuffled his notes on his desk and tried to focus, he had a class to teach. A class that she would be in. MC was his biggest distraction.

The door opened and he looked up to see one of the younger students slip into the room. He almost sighed. This student, Bella, was becoming rather a pain in his side. He was never rude, but she was always there, smiling up at him. She had dared to lay her hand on his arm last time. It was this very behaviour that the rules were in place to stop. It was not appropriate.

Her smile was a pretty one, no doubt, and she gave it to him as she moved towards his desk. Her blouse was a little undone at her throat, her cheeks flushed. "Good morning, Professor Sallow," she said. "Isn't it a lovely day. I am looking forward to your class."

He gave her a tight smile and leant his elbows on his desk. She came right around the desk to stand beside him, her brow creasing. "Are you alright, Professor?"

"I'm fine, thank you," he said. "Why don't you find your seat? Class will be starting soon."

He rubbed his face with his hand. And then he felt the gentle press of her hand on his shoulder. He tensed. He felt the warmth of her breath as she spoke, her face leaning dangerously close to him. "Are you sure you're alright? You look a little pale," she said. Her voice had dropped a little lower. Fuck, was she trying to seduce him? "Is there anything I can do for you, Professor?"

His blood turned to ice. He was about to stand when the door swung open again and MC walked through the door. She paused in her step, one hand still on the door as she stared at the scene before her. Sebastian watched as a flood of colour stained her cheeks and her mouth tightened.

No, no, no! He stood, brushing Bella's hand from his shoulder. Bella turned to see MC standing there and the little bitch smirked, a smug little look that made his stomach turn over. Had she done this on purpose? Did she know?!

MC turned her face from them and made her way to a seat, not her usual one, but one near the back of the class. Other students began to arrive and Sebastian pushed a hand through his hair, his chest tight. Somehow, he had to get through the next 90 minutes without losing his gobstones.

....*....

The notes on her page were nonsense and most of the class had passed in a blur. Her eyes kept glossing over with stinging tears and she refused to meet anyone's gaze. She kept her head down and somehow got through it, the sound of the professor's voice sending conflicting shivers of pain and want over her skin.

How could she have been such a fool? All the times Bella had hung back to wait for him, the way she stared at him, her snarky comment when it had been MC asked to stay behind last time. How long had it been going on? Before he had taken her into the Restricted Section? She shivered. She would have let him take her that night, she had wanted him to.

She could not get the image out of her head, how close Bella had been to him, leaning over him like that, speaking intimately. Jealousy made her want to empty her stomach and she pressed her fist to her mouth. She had been a fool.

And to think she had imagined he could love her.

As soon as he dismissed the class, she grabbed her things and hurried for the door. She couldn't bear to look back and see Bella hanging around to wait for him. She couldn't bear the thought of accidently making eye contact with him. Holding on to her dignity as best as she could, she hurried to the nearest female bathroom, locked herself inside a stall and finally let the tears come.

....*....

MC tipped the wine bottle to refill her glass and a tiny drip plopped out. She grimaced and stared down the bottle neck. Great. That had been her last bottle. She put it down with a bang and slumped back in her chair. Well, today had not been great.

Her class work was sat on her little table, an assignment was waiting to be written, but she just couldn't face it. She wasn't even sure she wanted to return to the classes, and it hurt, not just because of him, but because she had genuinely enjoyed every moment of them.

She stared around her little rented room, a loft space in a London town house had been all she could afford, but it was a place to stay until she went off travelling again. She had few possessions, she liked to travel light, and she didn't really need much. It occurred to her that she had never really had a proper home.

Apart from Hogwarts, of course. That had felt like home. But, Sebastian had been a big part of that.

She put her head in her hands. Oh, Merlin. It hurt, and now she was beginning to understand why. Only love could hurt like this. She bloody loved that idiot. Maybe she always had. She was in love with Sebastian Sallow.

But he didn't love her.

A knock on her door made her still. She looked up towards the plain wooden door with a frown. It was late, and nobody ever knocked on her door, not really. She was a loner, through and through.

She grabbed her wand and moved towards the door, poised, alert. If someone was expecting a vulnerable woman in here then they were going to be mistaken. She may be a fool in love, but she was not afraid of a fight.

"Who is it?" She asked, coldly.

"It's me." Her eyes widened in shock at those two words and the voice that spoke them. "It's Sebastian."

How was he here? He had found her. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She stared at the door handle debating the sanity of opening the door. She should tell him to get lost. But her traitorous heart had her reaching for the handle, unlocking the door and swinging it open to reveal the man on the other side.

He met her gaze, brown eyes wary, expression soft. He looked so damned handsome in his dark overcoat, the collar turned up, his hair dishevelled and his hands in his pockets.

"I had to see you," he said.

"What do you want?" She asked. She folded her arms, wand still clenched in her fingers.

"You," he said. "I want you."

Her mouth fell open. She stared at him. "What?"

"What you saw...what you thought you saw, it was nothing. Bella has been trying her luck for weeks, and I get the feeling she was doing it on purpose because she suspects that I feel something for you, and she would be right," he said. He took a steadying breath. "I love you, MC. And I'm hoping and praying to whichever god cares to listen that you will let me come in."

MC stood there staring at him. His words going in and her wine addled brain trying to sort them into something that made sense. He loved her?!

"Please," he said. "May I come in?"

To be continued... Part Three

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow #mc x sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fanfiction #blueraineshadows #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow smut #professor sallow #professor Sebastian Sallow

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dantesunbreaker · 5 months

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hey! i love your writing so much :) it’s so week thought out and really true to each character without being stereotypical, i love it. this may be an odd request, but i was wondering if you could head canons for the Papa’s based on Slut! by Taylor Swift? You don’t gotta listen to the song, i just really love the “if they call me a slut, you know it might be worth it for once” theme n like being slutshamed but really is just two people in love. either party can be the “slut” :)

"Slut!" Headcanons

I’m not sure if I responded with how you were expecting anon, but I hope you enjoy them! Also I wrote most of these after working from 6am to 2pm, and then going back to work 11:45pm to 9am the same night with only maybe two hours of sleep in between. So I apologize for any mistakes!

Primo

Of all the Emeritus brothers, Primo would have the least reaction to having a partner with behavior that is perceived as slutty

In all his years, Primo has seen and experienced it all. Why waste time by holding back what the body and mind wants to express?

Encourages you to wear however revealing of outfit as you desire, because Primo would never think to feel jealous of someone else seeing your beauty

Always enjoys your affection, feeling humbled and flattered that you are so openly forward about your attraction and love for him

Doesn’t care for the term slutshaming, because in his eyes there should be no shame in any of that sort of behavior

Primo also does not believe there is no shame when it comes to you, because he knows that the cause is from the love that you feel for each other

Secondo

Of all the Papas, Secondo seems the most well equipped and or has the most experience being with a partner that society would view as being slutty

Being a party animal, he meets a lot of people that would be similarly viewed, and he has been with more than a few

More than happy to let you dress and act however you wish, as long as it is always him you are going home with at the end of the night

If you ever ask if an outfit is too revealing, Secondo will tell you so, but will insist you wear it. Let them see, if only to make them jealous of what they cannot have

Also won’t admit it, but Secondo loves the attention you give him. It keeps him feeling young whenever he is with you

Sometimes if Secondo gets too drunk, he is the one that will act like a slut, especially if you are in a nightclub

There are never any doubts about your love and affection for each other

Terzo

It should go without needing to be said, Terzo is the slut in this scenario

The way that Terzo interacts with Omega on the stage is just a glimpse of how he interacts with you

Is not afraid to throw himself all over you in public, even in situations where he probably should not. Why should he ever hold back his feelings for you?

When you are out in public, Terzo will often make a show of throwing himself at you whenever the opportunity strikes. He loves it when all eyes are on you both

Happily wears the title of slut as if it were a badge of honor, always reminding you that it is all just for you. He is all yours

To everyone in the Ministry, you are both a set of happy love drunk fools

Sometimes however, Omega does have to reign Terzo in a bit to keep him from taking things a bit too far in public. They don’t need Sister Imperator on their case again

Copia

This poor man is so easily flustered, you will have him permanently trying to hide his bright red cheeks beneath his Papal paints

Getting him to admit that he loves seeing you in tight revealing outfits sometimes takes a bit of work, but it is so worth it to see the way he drools over you

Zero issues with other people seeing you in such outfits either, because he would never disrespect you in such a way or treat you as if you were his property. Plus, despite his awkward shyness, Copia is very secure in knowing that at the end of the day it is only him that gets to see you out of such outfits

It is such a foreign concept for Copia for someone to so openly show their attraction and affection for him that sometimes he will get a bit overwhelmed at times. So there may be times you have to dial it back a bit as to not break the old man

But to the same end, Copia is just as eager to similarly display and share his love for you so openly

Actually it is thanks to you that Copia feels the confidence to wear such skin tight lace up trousers, or even how he acts when up on stage

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mycenalucentipes · 10 months

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You Won't Understand || Draco Malfoy x GN!Reader

Summary: Where, you stumble upon Draco mid breakdown in a secluded part of the library. Draco hisses for you to go away, believing that you’ll never understand his problems. You scoff, saying, “try me”, thus starts a newfound companion.

Word count: ~2.5k

Warnings: Swearing, angst, some comfort towards the end?

a/n: Hi, I just wanted to write a fic in where, the reader also struggles with not being good enough, and finally, maybe, someone will understand what they’re going through. I might’ve self projected all of my worries and trauma from my high school days lol. There's a longer explanation for that at the end if anyone wants to read xD

But anyways, please enjoy

A deep sigh escaped your lips as you made your way to the library. It was lunchtime, and you were supposed to be in the Great Hall with your friends. However, earlier that day, you received a Howler from your mother.

“Y/N L/N. YOU HAVE BEEN SLACKING OFF IN YOUR STUDIES AGAIN HAVEN’T YOU!? YOU ONLY RECEIVED AN EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS ON YOUR LAST EXAM. HOW COULD YOU!? DON’T EXPECT TO COME HOME WITH THOSE GRADES. IF YOU RECEIVE ANYTHING LESS THAN AN OUTSTANDING ON THE REST OF YOUR EXAMS, DON’T EVEN BOTHER COMING HOME.”

Thankfully you were in the privacy of your dorm room when you received this. Everyone had already left for the day. Your mother, a proud Ravenclaw, was deeply ashamed that you were sorted into the Slytherin house instead of hers. So to compensate, she relentlessly tortured you to always achieve the highest marks possible. After graduating Hogwarts, she attended the University of Oxford and ended up working for a different prestigious university as a researcher in neurology.

Your father on the other hand was not a wizard. He was a muggle that your mother had fallen in love with while she attended regular university. He was also a neurologist, a man of science. He despised the magic part of you. It was a rude awakening when you got your letter from Hogwarts and your mother had to explain everything about her world. She fought him hard and long to send you to Hogwarts, so you couldn’t completely despise her. However, since they both wanted the best of their worlds for you, their expectations were too high in the sky for a mere sixteen-year old. Your father wanted you to attend the most prestigious university for med school while your mother just wanted you to be the top of your class. She figured you could become a healer at St. Mungo's or gain a high position in the Ministry of Magi. (She might be trying to live vicariously through you, as she gave up any jobs involving magic.)

As a result, you weren’t sure what you wanted anymore. For now, since you and your father weren’t exactly on speaking terms, your mother was the only one who even seemed to care. Thus, you focused all of your attention on your studies within the past month. Often skipping meals or falling asleep during them. Your friends began noticing the toll it took on you–your face grew paler and more tired, your hands shook, and dark circles formed under your eyes from countless all-nighters. Needless to say, you were incredibly freaked out for your next exam.

If you didn’t receive an Outstanding, you would not have anywhere to go for the summer. Maybe you could spend it with the Weasleys? You managed to befriend Ginny, Fred, and George. Ron was a little harder to get him to come around, just because you were a Slytherin.

On your way to the library, you nearly ran head first into Ginny. Oh, how coincidental. Before you even had a chance to apologise, she started rambling.

“Oh hey, Y/n! I was just looking for you, I haven’t seen you at any meals today,” She said with worry evident on her face, “Are you alright? Please, come back to lunch with me. I miss you, Y/n. We're all worried about you.” You cast her a guilt-ridden look.

“I’m just heading to the library. I need to perfect my knowledge for the next exam,” You sighed defeatedly with a small chuckle.

“But, Y/n–” Ginny began, concern lacing her voice. This time, you wore an apologetic expression.

“I’m sorry Ginny, I just can’t. I–uhm, can I ask a favour from you though?” Avoiding eye contact out of shame, you looked away, unable to hold her gaze any longer.

“Of course Y/n, anything.” Ginny reached out and rubbed your arm in an attempt to comfort you.

You let out a heavy sigh. “Could I possibly stay at your place over the summer?” You hung your head down, eyes filled with unshed tears. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet Ginny’s gaze. “My mother owled me to say: If you don’t get O’s on the rest of your exams, don’t even think about coming home, child!” Ginny gasped softly, eyes widening at the words that stammered out of your mouth.

“Oh, Y/n, of course you can stay with us. I'm sure you'll be alright, but you're always welcome to stay with us,” She replied, her voice brimming with sympathy. You gave a short nod of thanks, unable to speak or your tears would escape your eyes. “I suppose I’ll see you later then? Please, come to dinner at least.” You once again nodded, giving her a small smile. She smiled back as well, then turned and left you once again.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. The exhaustion and tiredness from it all was creeping in, eating away at you slowly.

You were so tired. When would it get better? When would it end?

As you entered the library, your eyes scanned the endless rows of books, searching for a quiet place to study. That’s when you noticed a figure hunch in a cushioned chair by a window, their shoulders shaking and trembling.

It was Draco Malfoy. A boy that you weren’t really on any terms with. Occasional waves from you and small nods from him were the extent of your communication.

Forgetting about your own woes for a moment, you cautiously approached him, uncertain if he would react kindly to your presence. Once you were about five feet away from him, his head snapped up. Then you saw his face. Tears pooled out of his eyes every few seconds, his lips trembled, then his brows narrowed.

“What are you doing here?” Draco spat out, his voice a little hoarse.

You hesitated for a moment, taking in the situation you just landed yourself in. Despite the venomous sounding tone, you could detect that he really hadn’t meant it that way. Ignoring his question, you stepped closer, concern etched on your own features.

“Are you alright?” You asked softly, your voice filled with genuine worry, “I–Is there anything I can do?”

Draco averted his gaze, trying to hide the pain and tears in his eyes. “It’s nothing. Just go away, please. You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered, his voice laced with frustration. You narrowed your eyes at this.

“Oh, I wouldn’t? Why, because I’m not a pureblood? Because I 'don’t have any expectations placed onto me'? Hmm?” You retorted back, unsure why you spat back such a defensive response. He looked slightly taken aback at your words.

“Yes, precisely. Wow, you're so smart,” his voice dripping with sarcasm, he rolled his eyes, then slumped back in the chair.

You folded your arms. “Try me, then. I won’t tell anyone, I swear it," you challenged him, not budging.

He narrowed his eyes at you once again, unsure if he should open up. After a moment of internal struggle, he sighed with defeat. “If you really must know, There’s just–just so many expectations weighing on me. If I’m not good enough, it will be a disaster for my parents and me. I don’t want to risk anything, and the pressure is so... suffocating. I feel like I’m losing my mind,” he reluctantly started, but soon couldn’t stop, he didn’t know why he was sharing all of this with some random classmate.

“I’m not good enough for him. I don’t even feel that I’m good enough for my parents. My father always says: Malfoys do this, Malfoys don’t do that. Then my mother is already trying to arrange a marriage for me. I wish everyone’s expectations of me would just disappear.”

“But how would you ever understand that type of pressure?” He sighed in frustration as you just nodded along. muttered quietly, but you still heard him.

You didn't know who 'he' was, but you sure as fuck knew about pressure from parents.

“Sorry to interrupt your little pity party, Malfoy,” you sighed, meeting his glare with a calm gaze. “But let me tell you, I do understand the feelings of pressure and not being good enough for someone. I’m going to get kicked out of my home by my mother if I don’t get Outstandings on every single last assignment. She's dead serious about that. My father and I aren’t on speaking terms because he thinks being magical is stupid. He wants me to attend muggle medicine university. My mother shames me everyday for being in Slytherin and not her perfect little Ravenclaw house. They both expect me to do what they want without giving me a choice. If I’m not their perfect little daughter, I’ll just get shunned and kicked out. Disowned. I'm just their disappointment,” you rambled out, “but I suppose this little talk shouldn’t be about me. Sorry, didn't mean to spin it like that. Just forget it.”

Maybe your family's reputation wasn't as important as the Malfoys, but nonetheless, you were sure you would become disowned by them. They had set unrealistic expectations out of you. Your mental health was rapidly declining, if it hadn’t already hit rock bottom, your feelings were valid and you won’t let anyone tell you otherwise. However, your parents didn’t seem to care about your feelings.

"I definitely know how it feels. Like someone is drowning or suffocating you. There's no breaks. And it's all ridiculous because we are just teenagers. So what the fuck, life?" You angrily whisper out.

Draco stared at you, momentarily speechless. “I… I had no idea,” he murmured out, “it seems you are capable of understanding this more than I thought.” You mirrored the speechlessness, unsure if you should be insulted or relieved by his admission. He looked away from you, staring out the window for a brief moment.

“It’s alright, Draco. No one really notices anyways,” you laugh awkwardly, trying to brush your feelings away again. Even though you pushed for Draco to share his feelings, you felt like a burden doing the same thing.

You went to approach him, stepping into the rays of sunlight that beamed in from the windows. It wasn’t until now that Draco took in your full appearance. He never paid you much mind, as you weren’t a pureblood or in his friend group, but friends with the Weasleys. You truly were a beauty. You had godly features that rivalled any of the most attractive students. Your hair cascaded softly around your face, accentuating your facial features. It was also then, he realised just how malnourished and exhausted you were looking. The sunken eyes, pale face, bloodshot eyes and slightly trembling form. He was sure a gust of wind would knock you over.

“You look like shit, L/n.” Draco said flatly, instantly realising the bluntness of his comment. Your eyes widened at his comment.

“I–I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.” He apologised? Who was this imposter and what did he do with Draco Malfoy?

“Gee, thanks. It’s nothing I can’t handle though.” You rolled your eyes, a small laugh escaped your lips. Attempting to brush his concern off and divert the attention away from yourself, you shot back, “Have you seen yourself though? I could say the same.” Draco just shook his head with amusement on his face.

“Yeah, yeah. But, it’s clearly not ‘nothing’. A gust of wind could knock you over,” he retorted back, though his gaze softened. You scoffed at him. He couldn’t explain why he suddenly cared, why he wanted to reach out to you. Maybe it was because you made him feel calmer? The gentle aura you carried around when others were there was relaxing and a good change of pace. Maybe it was the fact that you also shared the same feelings of struggle as him. Not being accepted or feeling good enough for everyone. You tried to help him (in your own challenging way), now he wanted to help you, at least just a little.

You hummed a little, shying away a little for the first time. “Well, perhaps we could both use a break from trying to meet everyone’s expectations. Maybe we can help each other out,” you suggest, “though I don’t know how to help out with the whole pureblood traditions thing, I’ll be around for you if you need some support. Or just a friend to hangout with or vent to.” Draco nodded along with your plan, not feeling too opposed to this.

“And I can help you with your studies,” he offered with a soft tone. You nodded as well, giving a genuine smile this time.

+==+==+

Over the next few weeks, you and Draco spent more and more time together. Sometimes it would be hardcore study sessions. Where it felt like the questions he quizzed you on were never ending. Other times, it would be ranting about everything and nothing. It helped both of you get some weight off your chests. A couple times, you took trips to Hogsmeade to chat over a butterbeer or three.

You could say it was a friendship. You weren’t sure how he felt, but you could feel yourself falling for the Slytherin boy. Though you knew it might not end well, with him being a ‘pureblood’ and all. Such bullshit that is. You often told him that was your opinion on the pureblood traditions, he would just chuckle, sadness laced in it occasionally.

“Y/n, how do you feel about your grades?” Draco asked casually as you both walked down an empty hallway. Your face paled and your body froze in your steps. The feeling always haunted you, no matter how much you talked it over, it would still haunt you. Draco came to a halt and turned towards you, voice laced with genuine worry, “Y/n?” He could see the inner turmoil your brain shoved you into, and it pained him more than it should have to see you like this.

You tried to shake yourself out of anxiety’s grip. “I’m not too sure to be honest. I’m waiting on three exams and two homework grades still…,” you trailed off, drowning in your worries again.

“Hey, hey, you’ll be ok, alright?” He said with a much softer tone while placing his hands on your arms. Over the weeks, you both became immaculate at reading each other’s signs of worry or anxiety, knowing exactly what to do.

“You don’t know that, Draco,” you sighed, “although, maybe staying with the Weasleys would be better for my mental health anyways.” At this thought, you felt a little more relieved, but no matter how much you tried not to care, these feelings would forever haunt you.

“A–anyways, how about you? How’s your whole… family thing?” You asked, deflecting any more concern that came your way.

“It’s uh… still not great. Mother called off any preset engagements, however she still wants me to at least try going on the dates.” He grumbled. It was a little progress. You encouraged him to express his feelings with his mother, maybe it would change her mind. You knew it was a long shot to be able to change the traditions of hundreds of years, but why not try now?

“Oh! Well, I suppose that’s… a little good then?” You tilted your head a little, becoming lost in thoughts again. You wondered if her mind would ever change enough to let you potentially date Draco. No, you haven’t confessed anything to Draco, but your feelings weren’t dying.

Draco scrunched his nose and gave a slight nod. “Yes, I suppose so. Maybe, someday, she’ll let me date whoever I want, without worrying about blood status…” Your eyes widened, a blush spreading across your cheeks and to your ears.

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” You stammered out. You didn’t want to get your hopes up, but you could’ve sworn that was implying he wanted to date you. Little did you know, you were correct. Maybe someday it would work out, but for now, both of you were content with your ever growing friendship. Though, can you really call this a friendship? You were sure it dug deeper than just that.

looong a/n: So, I might’ve self projected all of my worries and trauma from my highschool days. I went to a public hs, but good god, the standards were high. Anything less than an A was a failure. I had friends crying over 94%’s… I had a couple friends that would get locked out of their houses for the day if they brought home C’s. I, myself, never felt smart enough either. My friends always scored higher than me.

I maintained a solid 3.8 GPA, but it just wasn’t as high as my friends’ with their 3.9’s and 4.0’s :’). So I spent my whole grade school career, never feeling smart enough. I cried myself to sleep most nights from the stress of it all. My parents would get onto me and had really high expectations for me as well. It took my dad forever to realise I'm going to sometimes get C's because some subjects just don't click and I crumble under pressure. No matter how hard I study, I cannot always get A's. That should be okay, but my parents....hhhhh. It’s taken me a little bit of time to start undoing the feeling that if I don't get A’s, I’m a failure.

Though, I’m finally realising that grades aren’t everything in life, and it’s ok. I’ll still aim for the top, but I’m not sacrificing my mental health for it again. (I still have a 3.8GPA at uni, but now I’m studying smarter ;) and uni has been slightly easier than high school, wtf.) I’m not trying to sound stuck up or snobby, I promise and I apologise. That was just the school mindset I was raised in. In which, I’m trying to undo some of those more painful mindsets.

I’m trying to learn that my efforts are enough. I’m putting my best work in while not sacrificing my sanity this time. I’m enough, you’re enough, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

Thanks for reading if you did!

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #nicosnwrites #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x slytherin!reader #draco malfoy x gn! reader #your mental health matters so don't let anyone tell you otherwise #malfoy x reader

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celestemagnoliathewriter · 4 months

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Catholic Worldbuilding and the Wizarding World - Headcanons and More

If you've read All That Remains, my Regulus-Black centric work, you'll know I've incorporated Catholicism into my fics since then. The inspiration to incorporate Catholicism came from both @artemisia-black's Lacrimosa and Fiat justitia and her world building in D&D and Pietas, and @green-and-grey-kenaz's And he Drank.

Some caveats before I go on:

These are just headcanons of mine and things I've put into my fics. They work with the world but you don't need to accept them as canon or canon-compliant. Nor am I asking you to do so. I'm just excited to have this list put together of what I've done and the research that went into it.

There are other religions and faiths in the wizarding world. As Britain became more multicultural and diverse, it meant the purebloods and wizarding population did too.

This list is specifically for certain old-school Catholic families, particularly ones like the Blacks.

Catholic HCs and world building in my works:

Old-world pureblood families were Catholic. As the Roman Empire spread, witches and wizards from other areas hopped into Britain and converted Muggles and purebloods alike from paganism to Christianity. Wizarding world Jesus was a wizard; the Resurrection can still hold up as a miracle because no magic can reverse death.

When Hogwarts was founded in about 1000 AD, a chapel was installed inside the school. In my Regulus Black-centric work, I have the chapel and its tabernacle being a personal gift from Pope John XV to Salazar Slytherin in honor of the new school being built.

Magical Catholic Mass isn’t terribly different from Muggle Catholic Mass. The key difference is that since purebloods/wizarding society tends to be more old-school than Muggles, purebloods never bothered to implement the vernacular changes of Vatican II. They still celebrate Mass in Latin.

The Pope is always aware of magical Catholics, not unlike the Prime Minister knowing about wizards. There are wizarding bishops and cardinals buried in the catacombs in the Vatican.

Magical Catholics have their own dioceses; they’re bigger, geographically speaking, because there’s a much smaller wizarding population than the general population.

Pureblood Squibs are sent to monasteries or convents.

I’ve created several locations like St. Mungo’s to accommodate various parts of wizarding society. St. Mungo was a real Britonnic saint, so all these saints below are also Anglo-Saxon/British and I’ve incorporated them into my worldbuilding, particularly in my current longfic, Supernova. Again, these are all my creations - not actual canon.

There is a privately-funded pureblood hospital called St. Teilo’s. It’s where purebloods go to avoid being treated by Muggleborn Healers or associating with Muggleborns in general. St. Teilo’s bio page.

I created a day school for pureblood girls called St. Leoba’s. In the context of my fic, Supernova, it’s where a lot of pureblood girls go to school before they go to Hogwarts, whose parents aren’t keen to educate them themselves. St. Leoba’s bio page.

There is a long-term care home called St. Hugh’s Home for Hopeless Cases. It’s a poorly funded Ministry facility for wizards with long-term illnesses and inmates from Azkaban who have been Kissed. St. Hugh of Lincoln’s bio page.

Purebloods worship at St. Aelred’s Cathedral. St. Aelred of Rievaulx was a real monastic whose abbey is now in ruins in Northumbria. I weave that into my stories by having Muggles see the abbey in ruins, but purebloods can see a proper cathedral and that’s where they have Mass. St. Aelred’s bio page.

St. Aelred also has an extensive graveyard, complete with private mausoleums for individual families. The Blacks have one of the grandest mausoleums.

The stained glass windows and art in St. Aelred’s move like photographs and portraits. The crucifix appears to be ‘living’ with blood shining on Christ’s wounds. Purebloods think it’s neat.

The Statute of Secrecy and the creation of the Church of England were tied together. The CoE was founded in the early 1500s. The Statute of Secrecy went into effect in the late 1600s. The rise in persecution against witches and wizards, particularly from Muggles associating Catholic practices with witchcraft in general, was one of the reasons why the Statute went into effect. As a result, this is one of the other reasons why purebloods are so resentful towards Muggles and Muggleborns, as most of them are Anglicans.

Most pureblood families aren’t necessarily devout. Cultural Christianity/Catholicism is fairly common, but even when it’s cultural, it’s still very much a way for purebloods to wield power, influence, and control.

Like many Catholics, old-school purebloods really like their relics and/or more ‘gory’ mementos. You may be aware that Catholics venerate (not worship, not adore, more like honoring) relics of dead saints, such as fragments of bone, skin, blood, etc. Given the Black family’s cool collection of blood and other unusual items, it makes sense to me that pureblood Catholics are fully on board with collecting pieces of dead bodies and having their own reliquaries at home.

The splitting of one’s soul is an act of violence against the sacred. I wrote a meta on Horcruxes and Soul-Splitting; I imagine that the most zealous purebloods would find horcruxes to be outright offensive, not because of the murders involved, but because of the disintegration of the soul. I would also like to highlight this meta written by @artemisia-black and @ashesandhackles, the Importance of the Soul.

#hp meta #hp headcanons #catholicism #catholic #catholicism in my fics #the black family #st teilo #st aelred #st leoba #st hugh of lincoln

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anamelessfool · 3 months

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Valentine's Day 1985

I wanted to feature some platonic/family Valentine's Day drabbles, since that's how I personally like the holiday. Primo and 8-year old Copia from my AU. I'm dedicating this one to @ghuleh-recs because they have have done so much for the community and inspired me to just go big.

I have three planned! Let's keep the love going! Ficlet/Drabble Below the cut!

It was nearly afternoon and Copia could not find Primo anywhere. Copia had been waiting for him back in their shared cell, art supplies in hand. Primo always woke earlier than everyone else, off to do some chore or other. On the other side of the cell was Primo’s bed, neatly made. Primo didn't collect much— just a few of Copia’s paper sculptures on his nightstand, a framed photo of his mother. His watch was there too, which meant he was out on a run. So that could be it. On bad days he would be out running for hours. Copia unfolded his carefully cut art project, scrutinizing the shapes and folds of the little dolls linking arms. He had hidden his craft supplies in a shoebox under his bed, doing his best to work in secret lest his brother discover his surprise.

“Down in the kitchen, maybe,” Copia said to his three rats in the nearby cage. It was cold and so they continued to nap in their pile of felt and fur. Copia got to his feet, tucking the card in his book and shoving the whole thing under his arm. After his little doorknob-tapping ritual (once for his rats, twice for bravery, three times for luck) he was out and en route to the dining hall.

“Came in from his jog,” recalled Sister Agatha as Copia found her in the dining hall. She gestured over to the spotless kitchen. “Then noticed the range needed cleaning.”

“And he was here?”

“Oh, about two hours too long,” chuckled Agatha. “Then he fixed that knocking going on in the fridge. Then back out the door. And that was that.” She shuffled over to a tinfoil-covered plate and pulled out a little something for the boy. A heart-shaped cookie, decorated with pink crystals of sugar. “Don't forget this on your way out, Mr. Holmes.”

“Thank you.” Copia inserted the cookie into his mouth, did a little hop and scurried out. Nothing else to fix, so Primo moved on to his most common little problem. Copia now knew exactly where Primo was.

As soon as Copia stepped out into the cold he heard the familiar thwack echo across the stone walls of the Ministry building. Primo was by the garden shed, adding to the already precariously tall woodpile one axe blow at a time.

Primo was an easygoing sort of person, an unflappable pillar of good natured-ness, but Copia had known his adoptive father-brother for so long that he could tell exactly what was on his mind. This sudden onset of busy-ness, the relentless puttering only meant one thing:

It was not going well with him and a paramour.

Primo noticed him and buried the axe head into the stump with an effortless toss. There was a haze of heated persperation wafting from his rough friar’s habit. He smiled, but his eyes felt far away. “Ah, sorry, you wanted to show me something, I forgot. Copia, where's your coat?”

Copia swallowed. “Um er…are you and…Brother Vincenzo…”

“Ah, Vinny?” Primo curbed a grimace. “I needed to be by myself for a while.”

Copia burned with embarrassment. “Sorry I um…I…”

“Too many differences,” said Primo plainly. “We're on good terms, though. Don't worry.” He settled in on the cement bench nearby, a thin unsteady smile on his face. “Didn't care too much for this holiday anyway. What you got there, mausi?”

Copia dropped the book in his lap, and Primo touched the title with his fingers, reading aloud slowly. “Paper…paper cutouts.”

“Yes, like this!” Copia pulled out the bundle of folded papers, expanding it wide in front of him with a grin. “Tah-dah!”

“Oh, wow!”

“It's for you. Em…Happy Valentine's Day. Sorry.”

“What you sorry about?”

Copia looked down at the frozen dirt, his face burning. He wanted so badly for Primo to be well. Primo did everything in his power to build a wall of normalcy around him, and as Copia grew he felt its presence more and more. It tugged at his heart knowing that he could do little to help. For a moment he doubted if he did his doorknob ritual before leaving for the day— he wouldn't feel this way if he did. He must have forgot. More embarrassment. More springs winding.

Primo gave a good-natured scoff. “It happens.” He reached out with a roughened hand and investigated the little chain of paper dolls. “Fine work here, mausi. Thank you. Happy Valentine's Day, Copia.”

“I wanted to teach you,” Copia replied, his voice growing strong as Primo’s praise bolstered his spirit.

“I'd love to learn,” Primo said, and he rose, creaking, to his feet. “And we need to get you inside. Bring a coat next time.” He gestured at Copia once more, and the boy held his hand. The semi-frozen ground crunched underfoot as they crossed the lawn. “Lunch first?”

Copia nodded. “Sister Agatha made cookies.”

“Paper cutouts,” Primo mused. They got to the door, and he let Copia in but not without a teasing ruffle of his hair. “So…is this why I kept seeing all those little pieces of white paper all over the carpets, huh?” Primo smirk. “Nihil stole a box of xerox paper for you?”

“He…said he'd put it back,” Copia muttered shyly.

My Fic List | "Scenes from the Void" Eldritch Horror AU

#i like how i can write whatever th f i want #young primo #young copia #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus iv #ghost band headcanons #domestic fluff

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allthecanadianpolitics · 6 months

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Masking is now required for staff in long term care homes across Ontario amid a recent rise in COVID-19 outbreaks, cases and resident hospitalizations, the provincial government says. A Nov. 2 memo from the Ministry of Long-Term Care to LTC licensees says the requirement is based on advice from Dr. Kieran Moore, chief medical officer of health. Homes were expected to implement the requirement no later than Nov. 7, it says. The masking requirement also applies to students, support workers and volunteers when they are in resident areas indoors. The ministry further strongly recommends that visitors and caregivers wear a mask in resident areas indoors except when they are with residents in their rooms or when eating with residents in communal spaces. "Recent trends have shown a moderate to high level of community transmission of COVID-19 and an increase in COVID-19 outbreaks in LTCHs, with an increased risk of hospitalization amongst residents," Kelly McAslan, assistant deputy minister, long-term care operations division, said in the memo. McAslan adds that the virus is projected to possibly peak in the next few weeks — around the same time that the flu and respiratory syncytial virus (RSV) are expected to increase.

Tagging @politicsofcanada

#cdnpoli #canadian politics #canada #ontario #public health #healthcare #covid 19 #flu season #covid 19 pandemic

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sunflower-cathedral · 2 months

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Lets Talk About The Perception Of Ren This Season.

Going to try say this as politely as possible, this season it just feels like some people are Infantilizing and really boiling down the relationships he holds with certain hermits to something that it's not + turning Ren into a one dimensional person and character.

I wanted to try address a couple things in this post regarding that; How the fanbase has been reacting to how hermits are treating him on camera mainly (Long Post, so it's under Keep Reading <3).

Regarding how the neighbourhood of ministries have been treating Ren;

They are all very close friends. and have been for up to 10 or so years. Please, for the love of everything holy watch old series like Foolcraft, Hermitcraft UHCs, the Renskall Podcast, older seasons of Hermitcraft etc. Hell, even watch my favourite VOD; Sea Of Thieves. You quickly learn the dynamic they have, and the fact they all go off on playful banter (and also re: British Humour/Love that Cleo and False have mentioned off-handedly in streams and videos before being typically brash and sarcastic. Also not to mention how Martyn is British; I'll get to that later though.) There's a really specific dynamic where Iskall, False and Stress are close friends with him and care about him deeply; and Ren has openly talked about how much the Hermits have helped him out during IRL struggles. The roles and performance they put on for the camera is not going to always reflect how they treat each other off camera, let alone show how much they all deeply care for one another. Cleo has outright mentioned how much they care about Ren on stream too even. A lot of hermits have mentioned how much they appreciate Ren, and have complimented him + said affirmations on stream.

Regarding hermits ribbing him/not playing along;

If something happened that was uncomfortable for Ren or Too Much, it would've been mentioned after and not included in anyone's POVs. Ren's whole kinda thing is being a Theatre Kid, his whole thing is being dramatic and taking up roles for the sake of creating fun storylines and contents for the other hermits to either play along with or turn into something else. If a hermit took it a way Ren wasn't happy with He Would Bring It Up To The Hermits Because They Are Adults And Communicate Amongst Each Other. Like I mentioned above, the banter is very much more part of british humour and culture/attitude, as well as their general dynamic going on.

I've even seen concerns of it being bullying, which is far from the case. I think a lot of us longer term viewers have a better grasp of how much they all care about each other and how deep the friendship goes.

The other concern I have is how like, the joke of him being a 'Wet Pathetic Dog' is kind of going a bit overboard to the point where it's the only defining factor people are mentioning about him? and that like, so much so it genuinely feels more like the fanbase is infantilizing him or making him out to be this damsel in distress who needs to be rescued. He's a grown adult man, who can more than easily speak up for himself and advocate for himself. Minimizing him down to this pathetic useless character who can't do anything is just rude and misses the point of the characters he tends to play when doing storylines. He tries his hardest to organize server events and include all the hermits in things, which is both great for content and a great show of how much the hermits are willing to go along with his ideas and either see where it plays out or evolve it further. Mind you there's always MULTIPLE if not ALL the hermits being willing to play along in these events!! from the mining event this season to the king Ren arc last season all the way to log fellas in season 4.

#this is generally meant to be pretty light hearted in the sense of not something to be taken too intensely #its just kinda heartbreaking seeing people who haven't really been exposed to the dynamic between this group say its bullying or that -#- they dont care about ren or dont appreciate him or what he does #I hope any of this makes sense i'm sleep deprived and also falling asleep and still recovering from a nasty chest infection so godspeed me #rambling #im not brave enough to maintag this soooo #i wanted to add more but my brain is static so take this

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thechamberofcanon · 1 month

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How We Bloom

[[I want this to be the start of something longer...but this is my first toe-dip attempt at fanfic bravery...]]

Hannah Longbottom stands in front of the massive mahogany doors of the Hogwarts infirmary as Headmistress McGonagall sets the wing’s iron ring of ancient keys into her palm. Her former teacher meets Hannah’s eyes and gives a crisp nod and says, “I leave it in your care.”

Their hands press together for a moment, and McGonagall’s face warms into an expression more lovely than a smile as she gazes at Hannah. “And I am very grateful.”

There is a snap. McGonagall whips her head to Neville and his camera. “You’ve taken two rolls of film. That’s quite enough.”

“Oh, but--just one more, Minerva, hold on, I need to wind the dialy-thing--wait--the flash just went off, bugger…”

McGonagall squints at him; she lets out a loud exhale as she turns on her heel and strides away down the hall. Over her shoulder, she calls back, “I will see you both at the Minister’s luncheon.”

Hannah had attended the luncheon in the past as Neville’s guest, but now, this is hers, too. She is an integral part of the Ministry’s new approach to British wizarding education. She is trusted to do all of this.

She trusts herself.

She looks at Neville who is tapping at the camera with a slightly baffled expression on his face before shrugging and tucking it back in his leather rucksack. His eyes find her, and he smiles, so effervescent that it fills her belly with a happy fizz. When he smiles like that, he’s so handsome that it’s hard to look at him, the dazzling bright light of him, and process that he’s real (and hers). He is so different from the boy she met over two decades before. He grew into his body; he grew into everything.

Neville didn’t like the term “late bloomer,” however. He had first told her when they were twenty, eating another dinner together in the post-midnight gloom of the Leaky Cauldron after one of his long auror shifts, in the shadowed heart of one of Hannah’s turns as the night manager. (Oh, but why did she start staffing those late night stretches herself, was it really to spare her employees? Why did they start after Neville volunteered for the 16:00-24:00, hmm?) She couldn’t remember how the conversation started, but it eventually meandered to that phrase, late bloomer, and Neville said that every plant blooms in its own time. It’s the folks around it, whinging about how its timeline is wrong.

“And it’s not,” he had said, finishing the last of his sandwich and picking up his soup spoon again. “We’re just impatient. We’re being so unfair, imposing what we want to happen versus just--letting it be in its own time.” He pressed forward against the bar. “A mimbus only blooms after a minimum of ten years, and that’s only when it feels the need. Which could be fifty years later, or it could be never, you don’t know. That’s what makes it so special, when its time arrives. The time it chooses.”

Hannah tried to fight the grin spreading on her face. “Or he.”

Neville blushed. “I wasn’t speaking metaphorically.”

She bit her lips together to smother that smile.

“It’s not a metaphor! C’mon, I wasn’t talking about me! I was talking about plants.”

“Wait, you’re not a plant?” she said, finally succumbing to the giggles. “Oh, no, you’re just obsessed with plants, huge difference.”

He began laughing, too, picking up his napkin and covering his crimson face for a moment before tossing it at Hannah. “Maybe I was talking about you! Yeah? It could be about you, too!”

She caught it and tossed it back. “You’re a nut. All of that running after bad guys made you goofy tonight.”

He grabbed it in mid-air, growing serious in the time it took to lay it back in his lap. “I feel like…it’s important to say that I also hate the idea of a ‘late bloomer’ because it kinda makes us forget that, like…that blossoming isn't a singular, solitary thing. That quote-unquote 'late' blossom wasn’t alone, yeah, say, that gardenia or rose you’re holding, it came from a bush or a tree with loads of other blossoms which are different and in different places and--just--different. It’s not just one way you get to bloom.”

Hannah realized she had been holding her breath. “Ar-are you talking about me? Because I--I dunno. Exactly…what…”

Neville hesitated as he held her eyes in his gaze. “Well. If you think you see yourself in that…wouldn’t it make sense? Think about your journey, just here at the Leaky, yeah? You started here as a server, right, for a while during that year you came home. That and help Tom as a hostess. You thought you were going to be doing that forever, and here you are, after less than two years full-time, and you’re now the owner, you're bloody managing the place. Think of how many flowers those are, how much you’ve done...” His face had started to lose its flush, but it erupted again in crimson splotches on either cheek. He seemed to stammer silently before he added, “I’m so grateful we’ve gotten--closer, so I’ve been able to see some of them, and I’m jus’ so excited to wait and see how you bloom—blossom, uh, flower-um--sorry,” he said, closing his eyes. “‘Flowering’ sounds rude and maybe a little pervy, blast—“

He huffed out a breath; his face was now nearly maroon. “See, this is why I hate the metaphor! It’s--it’s--clunky, you probably h--”

“I loved it.” Her cheeks were so warm, her skin was uncomfortable with the burn of heat. Hannah couldn’t bear to look up at him; she investigated the nicks in the bar with her thumbnail. “I want to think…I have more seasons in me, still.”

Neville’s smile was loose with awe. “See, you just changed the metaphor’s meaning, that’s--it’s beautiful, Han. You’re...” He stared at her, slightly unfocused as his gaze fluttered down from her eyes--once, twice. Where was he looking— The little nudge of the tip of his tongue became visible as darted it out to moisten his lips as he took in a deep, sharp suck of an exhale. His hands tightened on the bar as if to prepare for bracing himself into a stand--no, to start a lean far over the bar to meet her.

She held her breath again as he incrementally closed the distance between them.

She wondered if this is how it felt to be a rose bud right before the moment it opened to the world.

Then his face rippled in a wave of panic as he darted his eyes from her face down to the large bowl that sat directly between them on the bar counter, where his tie was currently drooping into the potato soup, and he froze, looking dazed and horrified, staring at the tie in disbelief.

He thunked into his seat, quietly cursing as he frantically tried to clean the thick coat of soup from his tie with his napkin. She stood, lingering in a horrible, skin-prickling silence until a drunk couple tumbled into the pub, slurring a loud request for nightcaps before heading up to their room.

Hannah was so relieved they had come in, she gave them their drinks for free.

This was the third time she was certain Neville was about to kiss her, and the third time it had imploded. The first happened a year ago on the roof of the Leaky over countless shots of Vampire Vodka where they had talked about--well, their bodies, how much their bodies had changed over the past few years to become, ug, fit and handling the strange-sour taste that lingered in their mouths with every kiss they received from admirers who would have been blind--at best--to them before. The way he had been staring at her…

Then six months before, in the midst of a giggle fit that left them both gasping (over what? Was it about…maybe mandrakes, their teenage phase and the acne! How was that not hilarious!), he had tucked back her hair--but the crash of Hagrid and Mundungus and a few of their unsavory friends entering the pub making them spring back like anxious coils, and then--yes, then, Hagrid mentioned Tom, wanted to drink to her great-grandfather Tom, boomed about how lovely Tom’s funeral had been the week before...and…well. That ended that.

Third time, it was in the dawn hours following one of the Grimmauld Place bashes that Seamus and Ron continually cajoled into existence, this particular excuse being a birthday to-do for the Patil twins in early March, two months before. Hannah, booze headache splitting open her temples, rolling over in a giant bed--Neville’s bed, he had put her in his bed--to take in the solid and expectant expanse of him drinking her in, and the long stretch of time staring at each other in the dappled light of the sunrise, of shifting closer to each other, looking, shifting, looking, shifting--

And startling back at the clumsy noise of the Gryffindor roommates and a few unknown others in the corridor, moaning about the hot water going out again. Bringing Neville back to a reality where he didn't reach for her but instead dutifully sat up and went to solve the problem.

Now tonight, with the soup--

At what point, does it move from bad timing to out of time? Third time is a charm, the saying goes. What’s a fourth spoiled chance?

Just over, she reckoned.

She went to bed that night, both convinced things would never happen with Neville…but as her brain ordered her to kill off that dream (he’s not interested, it’s over), it just couldn’t make quiet that voice in her that was starting to whisper, a bit louder every time: I have more than one season in me. I am just beginning to bloom.

And in a sigh under that: Why can’t I bloom with him tending to my garden, too?

It didn’t start with him, how she got here with the keys to the castle in her hand, but the path changed when it went from hers alone to theirs. Starting that night with the whispering in her head; exploding into reality the night his lips finally met hers. See, she figures that if third time's a charm and fourth time's a failure, then the fifth is a leap of faith. Into faith, into his arms. They make their journey one step at a time, together.

He slips his hand in with hers, fingers lacing, his forefinger and thumb meeting in a circle, pulsing a little squeeze before rubbing his thumb up and down hers a few times. She nods a few times, presses a kiss against the hard frame of his cheekbone, and looks from him to--ahead.

Hannah and Neville walk inside.

#submission #mimisays8 #fanfic #Neville/Hannah

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