crying constantly @cryinghotmess - Tumblr Blog

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radiolightning

In case anyone is having a bad night:

Here is the fudgiest brownie in a mug recipe I’ve found

Here are some fun sites

Here is a master post of Adventure Time episodes and comics

Here is a master post of movies including Disney and Studio Ghibli

Here is a master post of other master posts to TV shows and movies

*tucks you in with fuzzy blanket* *pats your head*

You’ll be okay, friend <3

meanwolfs-remade-deactivated201

i will reblog this everytime it shows up because any of my followers could have a bad night right now

becausewhatiam-iswhatimnot

All these links, besides the first, are broken. So here’s some more.

Here’s an emergency compliment

Here you can play 2048

Here’s a playlist of Bob ross

Here’s a website to watch movie’s and shows for free

Here’s a website to watch documentaries for free

Here you can to nothing for two minutes

Here you can break something. It’s good for anger

Here’s a button to press to make everything okay

Here’s a site to cut something up (TRIGGER WARNING)

Here’s a site that makes you a website depending on a song you choose

Here’s a gay comic. It’s adorable

Here you can spend Bill Gate’s money

Here you can draw your own island

Here you can learn about patterns website’s use

Here you can get your life stats

Here you can listen to the Tucker Zone (Headphones needed)

Here you can see how fast you’re moving

Here you can see the progress of time

Here you can see the future of the universe

becausewhatiam-iswhatimnot

Want some more?

Here’s the butterfly project

Here’s a snickerdoodle mug cake

Here’s a link to some free audiobooks

Here’s something to read when you feel like a burden

Here’s a secret

Here’s my playlist of some sea shanties

Here’s another secret

Here’s a link to some cool websites

Here’s a blog that gives you recipes for when you’re low on spoons

Here’s some Brony Headcanon’s

becausewhatiam-iswhatimnot

Some more? I’ve got plenty

Here’s 100,000 stars

Here you can control the weather (TW FLASHING IMAGES)

Here you can weave silk

Here you can make a castle of your own

Here you can make a kaleidoscope drawing

Here you can explore recursion

Here you can play a jelly block game

becausewhatiam-iswhatimnot

I’m back with some more!

Here you can draw with pasta

Here you can draw logo’s from memory

Here you can play this is sand, here you draw cool sand designs

Here you can play The Organ Trail

Here’s a customizable white noise website

Here you can simulate gravity

Here you can create your own guardian of the galaxy

Here you can make your own galaxy

Here’s a website you can get some support at.

becausewhatiam-iswhatimnot

to find later

addiewho

Here you can split circles into smaller and smaller pieces (I found this really satisfying)

Here you can have images of people point to where your pointer is

Here you can paint someone’s nails

Here you can grow a garden across your screen (Audio included)

Here you can try out all kinds of mind illusions (Trigger Warning: Flashing Lights)

Here you can see how many miles you have scrolled

Here you can watch a website load forever, although you might be getting enough of this on Tumblr mobile

Here’s a rickroll

Here you can remind yourself that you’re awesome.

Here you can throw trash into a dustbin only for it to bounce right back out (Audio included)

Here you can make sand dunes using sand (Audio included)

And here you can generate more cool websites like these

boy-in-the-stars

pinning thissss

fiddlepickdouglas

And yet more!!!

Here you can listen to a gentle rainstorm

Here you can make snowflakes

Here is a Line Rider feature film with relaxing music

Here is the entire script to the Princess Bride (many don’t need it but it’s fun to read anyway)

Here is an abbreviated script for the entirety of Book 1 of A:TLA that I made out of anger at the film that definitely doesn’t exist

Here is a playlist of the top 10 most relaxing songs ranked according to science

Here’s a site where you can make a dude beatbox with fun animations

tuashenanigans-deactivated20230

I LOVE THIS

*reblogs and pins*

#remember

jennieloversclub

⋆˚꩜｡pjo fic rec⋆˚꩜｡

Include: Percy,Luke,Clarisse,Leo,Jason,Silena,Grover,Annabeth

#percy jackson x reader #to read

marvelwitchergilmore

Pains and Promises

Summary: Fred Weasley x slytherin!reader -> A rivalry that has been going on for four years suddenly begins to change when you help Fred's little sister.

Disclaimer: Mentions of periods and womanhood. Rivals to friends to lovers, little bit of pining, Arthur loving muggles, jealousy, 'she's not you' trope, oblivious idiots.

It had all started when the youngest Weasley started school.

You were in your fourth year at the time, along with Fred and George – the Twin set of Weasley’s that caused more trouble for McGonnagall since the Marauders. And, even if you hadn’t been in their opposing House, you had a strong feeling your relationship with them would have been the same.

Pure annoyance turned to loathing.

Mostly the loathing was left for the eldest of the two. Fred Weasley. He’d been the bane of your existence since First year. He was disruptive, rude, loud and just plain annoying.

Though you couldn’t say the same for their youngest and only sister, Ginny.

“Stop!” You shouted to the three girls running through the hallways when they should have been inside their study groups at the library.

The three girls stopped and turned around quickly as you approached. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to run through the hallways-”

#hp x reader #golden trio era x reader #fred weasley x reader

aetherraeys

evil twin !

regulus black x twinpotter!reader ⊹ 10.2k

(part ii)

cw ⟢ eventual poly!bartylus!!, slytherin!reader, fluff, friends to lovers

summary: the potter twins, a marvelous duo split by the sorting hat. just like your brother you presence was addictive, drawing in the attentions of a particularly brooding black brother.

a/n: THIS IS THE FIRST OF HOPEFULLY MANY PARTS HEHEHE I HOPE YOU ENJOY MWAH!!! not proofread x

Dumbledore was convinced that both Euphemia and Fleamont Potter had carried out a divide and conquer tactic apon your arrival in the castle.

Individually, you and James were a force to be reckoned with—both incredibly charismatic, intelligent and hard-headed, with a knack for mischief. So together, Dumbledore’s head only spun at the thought of the havoc the pair of you would cause.

Luckily, on the fateful day of your arrival, you were placed in Slytherin and your beloved twin brother was placed in Gryffindor—separated for the first time ever. The moment still vivid in your mind, the second the sorting hat was on you, the way you flinched when it hummed, pondering—voice ringing loud in your ears as it announced—Slytherin.

James had frozen at the Gryffindor table, half out of his seat, hand still twitching against the bench where he’d been saving your spot—watching as your lip trembled, walking glossy-eyed to the Slytherin table.

That first night, the castle felt too big, dungeon walls suffocating, too many corridors between you and your brother.

Of course it was hard, for the both of you.

James had always been protective over you—infuriatingly so. Always reinforcing the fact that he needs to take care of his little sister. Like those three minutes made any difference at all.

It had been a slow shift—painful, even. You and James had always been a unit, bound by childhood games, matching jumpers, and the unspoken certainty that wherever one of you went, the other wasn’t far behind. But Hogwarts had changed that. The Sorting Hat had done more than divide you; it had distilled you. Pulled apart the blended pieces of your personalities and exposed them for what they truly were.

It gave you both room to grow.

Individually. Distinctively.

Earning names for yourselves outside of ‘the Potter twins’.

You’d both carved your names into the stone walls of Hogwarts in your own distinct ways—loud and clear, unmistakable.

James Potter was sunlight. A walking, talking explosion of brightness. He lit up corridors with that crooked grin and wind-mussed hair, bounding through the castle like he owned every inch of it. Gryffindor Quidditch captain, chaotic and loud and brilliant in all the ways that made people want to follow him into a duel or disaster.

He was the kind of boy who laughed with his whole chest, who spoke like everything he said mattered, arms slung around friends like they were lifelines. Always in motion. Always burning. A golden retriever in human form, all reckless energy and genuine joy.

And then there was you.

Cool where James was burning. Still water to his wildfire. But no less dangerous.

No less alluring.

They called you the evil twin—never to your face, and never with confidence. Not seriously. Not really. But the name clung to you like smoke. It suited you in the way all the best lies do: close enough to truth to be dangerous.

There was a calm to you, deliberate and composed, but it was the kind of calm that made people lean in too close, not noticing that they were slipping under the surface until it was far too late. You moved with the kind of grace that made people watch without realising they were watching, your smile soft, voice smoother still, and eyes always gleaming with something slightly wild.

They whispered about you long after you left a room.

Head Girl before your quill ever touched the application parchment. A perfect record—at least on paper.

Your charm was quieter than James’, more calculated, more disarming. Beautiful, brilliant, and just a little terrifying. You made people nervous, even when you were smiling. Especially when you were smiling.

There was a glint in your eyes that made hearts skip and stomachs drop, that whispered of games and secrets and consequences. A wicked sort of glimmer, like you knew every thought in their head and were already deciding what to do with it. Like the sea right before a storm.

Yin and yang, Dumbledore had once said, half in jest. Opposing forces in perfect balance.

You enter the Great Hall like a secret unfurling—quiet and unannounced, not so much walking as gliding between tables, untouched by the noise that fills the air.

Steps silent across the stone floor, a slip of motion through the chaos of breakfast—chatter and cutlery and laughter clanging off the walls. You pass the Gryffindor table without so much as a murmur trailing behind you, and still, not one person notices.

Not until your hand touches James’ shoulder.

He jerks so violently he nearly knocks his goblet over, a string of startled swears tumbling from his mouth as his fork clatters against the plate. Pumpkin mash splatters. Someone at the table yelped. Sirius choked on his toast, and Remus actually gasped as if someone’s just hexed him.

Every head turned.

And James was clutching his chest like you’d stabbed him.

“Bloody—! Merlin’s sake, you can’t just—!”

You tilt your head at him, ever so slightly, a small smirk twitching at the corners of your lips—eyes glinting with amusement. “Jamie,” you say in a sing-song lilt, sweet and syrupy, “You wouldn’t happen to still have the History of Magic textbook you borrowed from me, would you?”

A hush falls over the table—just long enough to make you notice.

“Er. About that,” he says, eyes darting like he’s working out whether to lie or apologise. “I might still have it. Might. Can’t say what condition it’s in, though.”

Your smile fades instantly, its replacing expressing shockly serious.

“James,” you say flatly, eyes narrowing. “Did you ruin my book?”

He winces. “Define ruin—”

“James.”

“It wasn’t on purpose!” he insists quickly, shoulders raising like you’re about to hex him in the middle of the Great Hall. “There was this—uh—Sirius spilled ink on the table and then Remus knocked it over and there was just a lot going on.”

You stayed silent, blinking at him, unimpressed.

“I’ll get you a new copy,” he says, guilt creeping into his voice. “Later today. You’ll have to stop by the common room, though.”

You sigh like it physically pains you. “Fine. I’ll try to come by around seven.”

He grins, pleased with himself. “Sorry, Poppet*.*”

You roll your eyes, but the edge of your mouth twitches. Straightening, with a roll of your shoulders as you draw your hand away from him, letting it fall to your side. And when you glace up again, the stares hadn’t stopped.

Like they’d forgotten to look away, the silence hung in the air for barely a second, scanning the table momentarily—before offering a small smile—slow, sweet, almost smug.

The kind of smile that ruins people.

“M’kay, see you later, Jamie,” you murmur, then turn and slip back into motion.

Eyes follow you as you go—every turn of your heel, every soft shift of fabric, every second you exist within their line of sight. James barely registers it at first—too busy spearing his toast again, already halfway back into conversation. But then he pauses.

His eyes flick to Sirius. Then to Remus. Then to Marlene.

All three of them are still staring across the hall. Still tracking your path back to your table.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” James groans loudly, glaring. “Stop gawking at my sister.”

Marlene blinks, caught. “She’s terrifying,” she mutters, almost to herself.

“In a really…good way,” Remus adds, dazed.

Sirius only grins.

James lets out a strangled sound and buries his face in his hands.

The portrait swings open without hesitation, at exactly seven o’clock sharp, you’d been there enough times that even the Fat Lady doesn’t bother asking questions anymore.

James is already waiting on one of the overstuffed armchairs by the fire, textbook in hand. You barely slowed as you approached. He tossed it up with a practiced flick of the wrist, and you caught it one-handed.

“New copy,” he says proudly. “Didn’t even steal it. Aren’t you proud?”

You hum in approval, flipping it open to scan the pages. “No ink stains. No food crumbs. No smell of dungbombs.” You close it with a satisfied snap. “Miracles do happen.”

Before he can retort, you’ve already turned toward the couch, where Lily is perched cross-legged with a steaming mug of something floral and her usual tower of parchment. She smiles when she sees you, shifting over to make space without being asked.

Tucking the textbook under your arm as you lower yourself beside her.

James raises a suspicious brow, but you and Lily are already whispering to each other, heads tilted close and expressions conspiratorial. It’s nothing terribly sinister—something to do with Hogsmeade, and getting Slughorn to move a test back a week—but it’s enough to draw curious glances from the far side of the room.

You feel them. The eyes.

But you don’t look. Don’t need to.

Sirius was pretending not to stare. Which is laughable, really, because his entire body was angled toward you, elbow propped on the back of the couch, fingers tangled in his hair in that careless way he probably thinks is charming.

And Remus was worse. He’s trying to read, bless him, book in his lap and everything—but his eyes haven’t moved from you since you sat down. He shifts like he’s uncomfortable, chewing the inside of his cheek. You think you catch the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his neck.

You say nothing. Keep your voice low as you murmur something into Lily’s ear that makes her snort softly behind her hand.

After ten minutes of easy conversation, you rise without ceremony, slipping the textbook fully under your arm and smoothing your skirt.

“Well,” you say lightly, brushing a hand over your robes. “This was fun.”

Lily smirks. “We’ll finalise tomorrow?”

“Perfect” You glance to James. “Thanks for the book, Jamie.”

“No problem, Pop.”

You turn, finally acknowledging the two boys across the room with a glint of something wicked in your eye.

“Goodnight, boys,” you said sweetly—voice soft as silk, almost melodic. The slightest edge of a smile curves your lips as you roll your eyes, and then you’re already walking toward the exit, the hem of your robes trailing behind you like smoke.

You don’t look back.

But if you had, you would’ve seen Sirius run a hand through his hair and lean back with a low whistle.

“Merlin,” he mutters. “I’d swear she’s half siren if it weren’t for you, Prongs”

James, who’s still watching the portrait door swing shut, scoffs. “Oh, come off it.”

“What?” Sirius grins, unashamed. “It’s not my fault your sister is—” he gestures vaguely toward the door, “—whatever that is.”

Remus doesn’t say a word. His book is still open in his lap—he’s not reading it.

“I’m just saying,” Sirius continues, “if she weren’t your sister…”

“But she is my sister.” James rebutted, slouching back in his seat—swiftly ending the conversation.

The corridor curved with quiet shadows, lit only by the flicker of distant torches. Your footsteps echoed faintly against the flagstone, a soft rhythm in the stillness of the dungeons. It was late, you’d spent more time in the Gryffindor common room than you’d realised—most of the castle already asleep, save for the odd prefect or wandering ghost.

You turned a corner near the potions classroom and nearly walked straight into Regulus Black.

He stopped short, posture already impeccable, as if even in surprise he couldn't be caught off guard. There was a brief flicker of something in his eyes—recognition, hesitation—and then he stepped slightly aside, giving you room without a word.

“Burning the midnight oil, Black?” you asked, voice soft with the sort of casual familiarity that made his name sound like something you owned.

He glanced at you, dark eyes catching in the torchlight. “Prefect rounds. Took longer than expected.”

You fell into step beside him as naturally as breathing, and he adjusted his pace to match yours without needing to be asked.

“What was it this time?” you mused. “More Gryffindors smuggling sweets from the kitchens?”

“Fourth-years,” he said with a small exhale—amusement undercutting his otherwise smooth tone. “Said they were practicing for a future in espionage.”

“Ambitious,” you said, a smile tugging at your mouth. “Almost enough to make me proud.”

Regulus didn’t respond, but you felt the brief flick of his eyes on your profile, like he was trying not to look too long. Like he was trying not to seem too interested.

You didn’t comment, but you noticed.

By the time you reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, barely mumbling the password before the metal hinges whined, door opening slowly. Inside, the green-glass lamps glowed low, casting dreamy reflections against the water-like ceiling. The fire in the hearth crackled lazily, golden against the dark velvet furniture.

Dorcas sat half-curled on the rug, absently flipping through a magazine; Evan was draped across a couch like he owned it, cards floating above his face; Pandora leaned near him, humming as she threaded a strand of starlight-colored ribbon through her hair. It was a tableau of sleepy elegance.

Without hesitation, you crossed the room and lowered yourself to the center rug near the fire. Your hand stretched toward the flames without thought. A spark rose up, obedient and curious, dancing into your open palm.

Twirling it between your fingers like silk, the heat never burning you, the flame curling comfortably around your touch. Pandora’s fingers stilled in her braid, watching.

Wandless magic.

Dorcas tilted her head, eyes bright. “You really have to teach me how to do that one day.”

You didn’t look away from the fire. “Of course,” you said lightly. “But there’s a bit of a learning curve.”

“Like what kind of curve?” Evan asked, not looking up. “Burn-your-dormitory-down levels?”

“More like third-degree-if-you’re-clumsy,” you replied with a grin.

“I could do it,” a voice said behind you, full of loud confidence.

Barty stepped forward from where he’d been balanced on the arm of the sofa, his hair tousled, shirt rumpled, and a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to make an entrance.

You turned your head slightly, one brow raised. “Could you now?”

“First try,” he goaded, brows arched in light challenge. “Swear on my father's boring haircut.”

Regulus snorted, not even looking up from his book. “You’ll burn yourself stupid.”

“I’ll be fine,” Barty said, already striding forward. “How hard can it be?”

He reached toward the fire, trying to mimic the smooth gesture you’d used, fingers tense with focus and impatience.

A small spark leapt up—and immediately sputtered, flaring far too quickly. The flame caught his skin with a sharp sizzle before he could react, and he yelped, flinging his hand back with a curse.

“Bloody hell!”

The room erupted with laughter.

Pandora’s hand clamped over her mouth as if to shove the laugh back in, both Evan and Dorcas threw their heads back in sync, barking out a laugh—sound mixing with yours, loud and delighted, as Barty glared at the fire like it had personally betrayed him.

“Under control, was it?” you teased.

He cradled his palm like it was a war wound. “Minor setback. I didn’t even flinch.”

“You flinched so hard you almost somersaulted.”

“Semantics,” Barty grumbled.

“Let me see,” you said, standing and stepping closer.

He hesitated only a beat before holding out his hand, palm-up. A faint red welt bloomed across his skin, angry and hot. Your fingers brushed against his as you took it, and you felt the brief hitch in his breath. You didn’t comment.

A whisper of magic curled from your palm, cool and quiet, threading over the burn like mist. The redness faded almost instantly, leaving only smooth skin and the faintest echo of heat.

Barty stared down at your work like it was a trick he couldn’t quite understand.

From the couch, Evan leaned forward, smirking. “You just wanted an excuse to hold her hand.”

“Shove off,” Barty muttered, pulling his hand back quickly, though not too quickly.

You shook your head, half-exasperated half-amused, and turned toward the hall. “I’m going to wash up.”

As you stepped away from the firelight, you caught movement in the corner of your eye. Regulus was still in his usual spot—half reclined in the reading chair by the window, a book open but forgotten on his lap.

His gaze was fixed on you, unreadable and unblinking.

You held it for just a moment, a soft smirk just barely twitching at the corners of your lips, before disappearing down the hall.

Unsurpisingly, both you and Regulus had more in common than you’d care to admit.

Both the less outlandish sibling, the ‘quieter’ ones—not necessarily in sound, but in presence. While James and Sirius blazed like bonfires, reckless and radiant, you and Regulus were something else entirely.

Subtle, magnetic.

You didn’t need to shout to be heard. You’d both entered a room and the air seemed to still slightly, as if waiting to see what you’d do.

Both of you understood what it meant to watch. To study a room before deciding what piece you wanted to play in it. You weren’t loud, nor silent just quietly unnerving. Regal, even.

There was a stillness about Regulus, an almost surgical precision to his movements and his clipped tone, like everything he did was measured twice before execution. He was painfully composed, almost uptight, his dry wit tucked behind an unimpressed brow and unimpeachable posture.

And where you differed—you were made of wild starlight and strange tides, chaos in your blood even if it rarely cracked your veneer, eventhough you rarely indulged. And where Regulus pulled inward, you leaned out. You loved a little disorder, havoc—a challenge; your eyes shining when something didn’t go to plan, smirking like you were always in on a secret.

There was a certain wickedness in your stillness—one that made Regulus look twice. Then three times. Then constantly.

Each thing he learned about you surprised him more than the last.

So he decided, quietly and with a calm sort of resolve, that he’d had enough of watching you from afar. He wanted a closer look.

The first time was in the library.

You were tucked into the corner of a row, arms full of books, hair falling across your face as you read the spine of a heavy tome. You didn’t notice him at first—or maybe that’s just what he told himself, though he should’ve known better. Regulus moved with the silence of a shadow, but when he was only inches away and just about to speak, your voice floated out, lightly entertained:

“Planning to sneak up on me, Black?”

He blinked, lips parting in the barest hint of surprise. “I wasn’t—”

Without sparing him a glance you handed him the book at the top, and he took it instinctively—letting his fingers linger on yours just that bit longer than necessary. And you held in a quirk of your brows, the squint of your eyes—making a mental note.

Because Regulus was nothing if not purposeful.

He didn’t say anything else at first, only helped, taking the weight from you and beginning to shelve them wordlessly. There was a moment—just before he reached for the last one—where his fingers paused. The cover was worn, clearly read many times.

Icarus.

A Muggle myth. One of his favourites, though no one knew that.

His hand hovered just a little too long, thumb brushing over the faded title.

“What did you think of the ending?” you asked suddenly, your tone soft but cutting through the quiet like a quill to parchment.

He almost stammered, nearly asking how did you know? But caught himself, clearing his throat before replying. “Tragic. I liked it.”

You tilted your head, teeth sinking into your bottom lip—scanning his face—something glinting behind your eyes that he couldn’t quiet put his finger on.

The way the corners of your lips threatening to curve into a smile, had him struggling to swallow, voice honeyed in his ears—“Of course you did.”

And you were gone, just like that, leaving him standing—ears hot, brain playing your voice, your smile on loop.

Regulus prided himself in his ability to read a person, and yet with you—every interaction left him more confused, more intrigued, more captivated. There was some sort of riddle about you, something flickering in the depths of your eyes that made him want to unravel it—you.

The next time he saw you, you’d agreed to meet after his Quidditch practice to finish a joint assignment for Potions. Waiting just outside the changing rooms, arms crossed loosely over your chest, leaning against the cool stone wall with your bag slung over one shoulder.

The first person out wasn’t Regulus, but Barty—lips splitting into a wide smirk like he’d been expecting to see you there.

“Well, well,” he drawled, striding over with no shame, his hair a windswept mess and his jersey clinging to his frame. Immediately he closed in on you, arm slinging lazily over your shoulders, a light scent of cigarettes and oak filling your nose.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, pretty?”

Groaning, your nose crinkling at the contact, you didn’t push him off though—”You’re sweaty, Junior,”

He only leaned in closer, grin laced with mischief, letting his breath fan over your jaw. “You love it.”

“I love showers, actually. You should try one.”

Tongue darting out to wet his lips, his eyes flickered across you face, the corners of your lips fighting to stay down—eyes glimmering with that twinge of defiance that had him only smirk even wider—“Only if you come with.”

Your brow cocked up slightly, narrowing your eyes as your plucked his arm off of you, placing gently back by his side—palms still wrapped around his wrist. He watched your movement eagerly, the smirk that was already etched onto his lips, adopting a positively wolfish quality when you leaned up into him—lips almost brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered.

“You wouldn’t last five minutes, Junior,”

Pulling away just as quickly as you came in, leaning back against the wall leisurely, rolling your eyes at the way Barty scanned your figure—adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

Then the door opened again, still not Regulus.

“Evan,” you called sweetly, “come collect your lost dog before he starts shedding on me.”

“C’mon, Crouch” Evan replied with a snort, catching him by the collar and dragging him off. “Leave her alone before you melt her into the floor.”

Barty turned just before they were out of sight, voice loud despite the distance—playful, “Miss you already, Treasure!”

For a few more minutes you waited, the corridor quiet now except for the flickering of enchanted sconces and the distant echo of voices. When Regulus finally emerged, his tie half-undone and hair damp around the edges, cheeks still reddened from the bite of the air—adjusting his uniform.

“Did you wait long?”

He’d already began the walk out, following after him, you hummed a small no—slipping through the hallways in the East Wing to find an empty classroom. It wasn’t hard task at all, settling in with the low scrap of the stool against the stone floor and opening your textbooks.

As he flicked through the pages of the book, your gaze dropped instinctively to his hands—his knuckles bruised and bloodied, red blooming like petals across pale skin.

Without hesitation, you scooted forward in your seat and took his hand in yours.

“We could’ve stopped by Pomfrey,” you said, brows knitting slightly as you examined the scrapes.

He didn’t pull away. Just kept his gaze fixed on your hand, the way you held his delicately, and your fingers, the way they moved so gently across his skin.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered. “I’ll heal.”

A frown had etched itself onto your lips as you continued to inspect his hand, if you weren’t so engrossed in your assessment, you would have noticed the faint flush of his ears, or how his eyes flickered back and forth between your face and your hand.

Your motions were slow and attentive, pressing your palm along the bumps of his knuckles—the heat of your skin ghosting over his—the simmer of magic was so soft he almost didn’t notice it.

There was a flicker of discomfort in his eyes as the wounds healed, but he didn’t flinch away.

And as your palm crossed over the edge of his hand, the final gash closed before his eyes, the skin was almost perfectly anew, as if nothing had happened—the only indication being a fading pink hue.

You continued to trace over the now-faint marks, fingertips ghosting along the healed bone, the tenderness of your touch leaving him slightly breathless.

“Better,” you whispered, half to yourself.

Regulus just stared at his hand when you let go, still feeling the echo of your touch, the whisps of your warmth. “Thank you,” he said finally, voice quieter than usual, lips still parted—stretching and rolling his fingers, watching the bones move comfortably under the skin, free of the light burning sensation.

When he looked up, you were already watching him—head tilted, expression cool—neutral.

Sighing out a breath his lips were moving before he could stop them, “I—how?”

A quiet hum escaped your lips, hands crossing over your lap as you leaned into the wood of your chair, “Well, James and I were really clumsy—more James than me, obviously,”

Recollecting, your lips curled into a smile, shrugging slightly as you continued, “Our mum got tired of us walking around bruised and battered when she was busy, so she taught me how to heal without a wand,”

The ghost of a smile almost twitched at the corners of his lips. Almost.

A short silence veiled the room as you fell into a working rhythm, mindlessly highlighting and note taking before the clattering of Regulus’ quill against the table broke your concentration. Eyes immediately shifting up to him—his lips pursed into a tightline but the words were already out. Blurted abruptly, cracking the silence just as his quill did.

“Teach me,”

Your brows raised into a suprised arch, confusion flickering across your face for brief moment, lips parting to respond. When he shrunk into himself slightly, shocked by his own outburst, muttering a small, “…please?” under his breath.

The response fell heavy on your tongue, lips stretching into an amused smirk and huffed chuckle bubbled low in your chest.

The wood of the chair scrapped and screeched loud against the stone as you stood, wordlessly making your way around the table. His eyes tracked your movements, just barely becoming frantic in their flickering when you sat beside him—knees brushing, so close.

Regulus breath caught when your gazes met, heat prickling at the base of his neck, hands curling into half-fists on the table, and you kept your eyes on him. Even as you leaned over closing his books, making space on the desk—warmth of your body vaguely gracing him.

He couldn’t bring himself to look away, tear his gaze from yours—as much as it made his stomach flip from its quiet intensity—the confidence that swam in your eyes. It sucked him in, making his adam’s apple bob in his throat.

All-consuming.

At the sound of a single galleon, lazily spinning on the table, you broke your stare—letting your sights fall onto the coin as it clattered to a halt. “Have you done wandless magic before?”

He sucked in a deep breath, allowing his lungs to fill completely—using that time to regulate his heart that threatened to beat out of his chest—before pushing all the air back out, forcibly rubbing his palms into the fabric of his robes.

“Once—accidentally,”

With a nod, you hummed at his words, waiting for him to continue, eyes back on him—boring into the side of his head. “I—uh, got the lights to turn on when i couldn’t find my wand,”

His eyes shift between you and the coin as you picked it up, rolling it between your fingers as your spoke, “Okay, lets start with something simple, shall we?” The way you watched him made his mouth painfully dry, he couldn’t even trust his voice to answer, silently nodding at you words.

“Try move the coin.”

When he whipped his head towards to, lips parted in slight disbelief, protests creeping up his throat—Regulus clamped his mouth shut at the smile on your face, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners swimming with mischief as you leaned in. Placing the coin back onto the table with a soft clink, instinctively he held his breath, short-circuiting at the sudden proximity—so close he could smell you, a light vanilla scent with a twinge of maple and freshly burnt fire-wood.

You made him so nervous, he found himself a bit pathetic.

And the honeyed cadance of your voice did nothing but make his heart race faster than it already was, “Just breathe, Regulus. Focus on the coin and where you want it to move—relax,”

Easier said than done.

Gods, even the way you said his name—he almost lost the rest of your sentence, letting it echo in his mind over and over again.

When you reclined, leaning back into your chair, he felt the urge to mourn the loss of warmth—rolling his shoulders back, focusing his gaze. Or at least, he tried to.

The coin sat quietly on the table, unmoved, unbothered by the sheer force of his will alone. His jaw tensed, brows pinched together, fingers twitching slightly as if the movement alone might spark the magic into life.

Nothing.

With a breath that was equal parts frustration and surrender, Regulus leaned back and exhaled sharply.

“Can you—” he muttered, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, —can you not watch me?”

You blinked, caught off guard. Then a quiet chuckle slipped from your lips as you raised your hands in surrender, the teasing edge of your smile tugging at the corners. “Alright, alright,” you murmured, “Sorry.” Voice light and easy, but your eyes still sparkled with that same mischief that made his stomach clench. “Didn’t realise I was that distracting.”

“You are,” he muttered under his breath, almost too quiet for you to hear.

Still, you didn’t comment on it. Instead, leaning in again—slowly, gently—and placed your hand on his shoulder, the heat of you palm instantly radiating through his robes, hairs raising down his spine. His eyes flicked to the contact, then to your face again. You were closer than before.

“You’re thinking too hard,” you murmured, your thumb brushing once over the fabric of his robes. “And you’re not breathing.”

“I am breathing,” he argued weakly.

“Barely.”

You didn’t move your hand as you spoke again, your voice quieter now, velvet-soft and steady. “Close your eyes. Envision it. Just you and the coin. No pressure.” Regulus hesitated for a beat, then followed your instruction, lids fluttering shut.

A few moments pass before your voice reaches his ears again, “Can you see it?” and he nodded slowly, jaw tightening in focus.

“Alright,” you continued, tone low almost hypnotic now, “imagine it moving. Just a bit. Like there’s an invisible string tugging it toward you.”

He sucked in another deep breath, picturing it. The cool glint of the galleon. The subtle shine under the tinted light of the classroom. The gentle tug, like a current.

And then—scrape.

The softest sound of metal shifting against wood reached both your ears. His eyes shot open. It had moved—just barely a few centimeters, but undeniably there. His breath caught, disbelief flashing across his face.

When he turned to you, a bright beam had already split across your face, the sort of proud, delighted smile that hit him harder than the adrenaline from the magic—your hand finally slipped from his shoulder, leaving a coldness in its wake—fingers grazing the fabric of his robes. “You did it!” you said, eyes bright. “See? Easy.”

He let out a stunned breath, caught between awe and the bloom of success, heartbeat still rapid beneath his ribs. The warmth of accomplishment mingling with the quiet thrum of your presence, you. He was still processing when you reset the coin with a smooth sweep of your hand.

“Again,” you urged, nudging it into place. “Try further this time.”

He nodded, more focused now—confident. When he closed his eyes again, he could still hear the echo of your voice in his head. Could still imagine your hand on his shoulder, steading—warm.

And this time, it slid farther—too far.

The coin zipped forward, clattered off the edge, and hit the floor with a metallic clink that echoed around the empty classroom. You let out a short burst of laughter, delighted, as his head dropped, a sheepish huff escaping him. But the tension had melted from his shoulders, replaced with slow blossoming of something lighter. Pride.

He bent down to retrieve it, fingers brushing the cool metal before placing it back on the table. You were already settling beside him again, the warmth of your presence sparking something just under his skin. “This is the next step,” you said, tapping the surface of the table.

Regulus was still watching you.

Then you extended your hand, with a single finger, you hovered just above the coin—twirling it in a slow, controlled motion—and like it had a will of its own, the coin lifted.

Spinning, following the gentle twirl of your finger. A slow spiral, then faster, gathering speed until it hovered in the air, dancing in place.

He was entranced, gaze stuck on the coin even as it settled down, coming to a graceful halt—landing perfectly in the center of the table. He’d known magic, of course he did—but it felt different, raw and effortless. The same way the flame had danced between your fingers in the common room the other night—mindlessly intuitive, captivating. The coin spun like it wanted to please you. Everything did, it seemed.

He was still staring at the coin, hesitating—doubt creeping in through the back of his mind, like an unwanted invasive parasite—it barely flickered across his face. An almost imperceivable break in his expression, but you saw it.

Taking the coin again, you reached for his hand—laying your palm flat under his, eyes flickering to his face for permission before continuing. When he didn’t pull away, you placed the coin in the center of his hand, the warmth of your skin on his made the sharp bite of the metal feel that bit colder against his hand.

It lifted and spun confidently against his skin, puppeteered by the twist of your finger.

“Feel that?” Voice just above a whisper.

And he could feel it, a steady thrumming faintly circling in his palm, the buzzing with your magic. Swallowing before he spoke, a small “Yeah,” passing into the air between you.

“Now,” you spoke quietly, catching his other hand and bringing it to hover above the coin. “Picture that same feeling at your fingertips. Like it’s moving from your hand into the air—let it flow through you.”

He concentrated. You stayed close. Hand still gently cradling his from below, a silent encouragement, he started mimicking the slow twirling motion in the space above the coin.

For a few long moment—nothing.

Then, it happened. The coin jerked, slightly. Then again, shakily dragging to a stand. A tremble, stuttering before a spin. Jerky at first, but then it righted itself—smoothly gaining speed, falling into step with the command of his finger.

And your laughter, it rung through the room—soft, radiant—spilling from your chest with that same pride from before. He was too stunned to say anything. Blinking down at the coin with wide eyes, then looking to you, breathless, like he wasn’t quite sure it had actually happened. A smile—an actual, full smile—slowly curved onto his lips.

Rare and quiet, it lingered like a secret only the two of you shared.

The low buzz still resonating in his palm, the echo of your magic mingled with his own. The feeling of your hands—warm, steady, coaxing power out of him with nothing more than your voice and a bit of stubborn charm.

And even as the coin fell suddenly into his hand, all he could do was look at you.

Relish in the way your eyes shone with a glimmer of excitement, how your hands curved around his, jogging them slightly in enthusiastic joy of his accomplishment.

The coin was stagnant in his palm, Regulus flipped your hands, surrendering the cold metal into yours—and yet his hands lingering in your hold. He knew he probably should have moved his hands, the second he resigned the coin back into your possession; that was his cue. But he felt stuck, frozen under your sights.

Bewitched.

Even as your lips moved before him, the words almost fell deaf on his ears—taking a few seconds to let them echo in his mind, how did it feel? He responded with a sighing breath, as if relinquishing all remaining tension in his body, “…Good,” nodding his head as his continued, “really good actually,”

His small confession has your lips stretching even further along your face, and acknowledging hum rumbling in your throat as your touch slowly slipped away from his. Quietly tucking the coin into your bag before you started to pack up.

Just when you closed your notebook Regulus’ voice glided across the air, just above a faint murmur—if the room had any other sounds than the quiet rustling of papers, you wouldn’t have heard it.

“You’re a really good teacher,”

A small huff of laugh passed through your nose, tucking your notebook under your arm as you stood and offered a small, warm smile. “It’s easy,” you said lightly, “when you have a good student.”

Regulus shook his head faintly, a huff of something like disbelief leaving his lips—but the curve of pride hadn’t quite left his mouth.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence through the halls, your steps in sync. His hands tucked in his pockets, your bag slung over your shoulder. The dungeons were dim, washed in the dull blue of lantern light, shadows stretching along the stone. He kept glancing sideways at you, like there was something still lingering on his tongue he hadn’t quite worked up the courage to say.

Just as you reached the bottom of the girls’ dorm staircase, your hand curling loosely around the bannister, Regulus spoke.

“Wait—” His voice was low, tentative. Pausing, you turned slightly. “Hm?”

He stood a few steps back, one hand curled around the strap of his satchel, the other still shoved in his pocket. “Would you…” he paused, gaze dipping before finding yours again, more certain now. “Will you show me more?”

There was a beat of silence.

You tilted your head, watching him closely, fingers curled loosely around the railing. Blinking once, twice, reading the sincerity in his face, the open want—not desperation, harmless interest. He could see the cogs turning in your head just for a moment, before you murmured with a shrug, “Yeah.”

Descending the stairs again, you fell into step beside him as he led the way up the other staircase. The boys’ dorm was quiet when you reached it, the door creaking softly open under his hand. The warm scent of parchment, cologne, and something distinctly him met you in the space.

You paused at the threshold.

It wasn’t unfamiliar—you’d lounged across Barty’s bed enough times, lazily flipping through books while he tore the room apart looking for a missing assignment. You’d perched at Evan’s desk, rifled through his scribbled notes, borrowed a quill Barty’s nightstand. But never while Regulus was there. You’d never stepped into his space, not when he was in it.

He didn’t seem to notice your stillness. He moved through the room with ease, like you weren’t watching—dropping his books in a stack by the desk, slipping his robe off one shoulder, then tugging his jumper over his head. His shirt was rumpled beneath, sleeves already rolled up, collar slightly askew. You caught yourself staring.

He looked over his shoulder.

“You coming in?” he asked, voice a little lower now, pitched in that way it sometimes got when it was just you.

Without a word, you stepped in, toeing the door shut behind you and dropping your bag just beside the frame. You mimicked his motions easily, slipping off your jumper and draping it over the back of a nearby chair, fingers brushing absently along the edge of his desk as you walked further in.

It was a clean room. Structured, but not stiff. His bed was neat, the desk organised, quills and books perfectly aligned. But there were touches—human ones. A framed photo of the Quidditch pitch mid-game, a green ribbon pinned to the wall—a burnished Slytherin scarf neatly folded at the end of his bed, and a single piece of parchment stuck to the wall above his workspace.

With a soft exhale, you flopped onto his bed, letting your arms stretch out as you gazed up at the canopy. The hangings were dark, almost velvet black, and they made the whole space feel smaller, quieter. Private.

Regulus glanced over, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. He returned to his desk, potion book in hand, eyebrows arched in mild disbelief.

“You make yourself comfortable wherever you go, don’t you?” he said dryly, a smirk threatening at the corners of his lips.

You didn’t reply—just smirked smugly, twisting your head into the sheets below, stretching your limbs out, still gazing up at the dark, heavy curtains draped above the bed. The movement made your shirt shift, riding up slightly—just a touch above your waistband, exposing a sliver of skin, soft and warm under the low lamplight—the stretch of your abdomen and the small indent of your navel.

He was staring.

He didn’t realise how long until you sat up, balancing your weight on one arm, eyes still wandering lazily over the ceiling.

“You’d think your parents taught you it’s rude to stare,” you said lightly. “But you and your brother are just the same.”

Regulus cleared his throat, heat blooming high on his cheekbones, but he said nothing.

Your attention drifted to the stack of books on his desk—and the singular piece of parchment, handwritten in a precise script, pinned above it.

“What’s that?” you asked, nodding toward it.

He followed your gaze. “A line from a poem.”

You hummed, intrigued. “What’s it say?”

He crossed the room, settling a book on his night stand before he sat on the bed beside you.

You didn’t meet his gaze right away—still reclined, your hair spilling over the edge of the bed like ink, one hand absentmindedly twirling the galleon between your fingers.

Stretching out onto his stomach, bringing his chin on his forearm to look at you properly. He watched you for a moment. The way the gold shimmered in your grip, the way your mouth twitched with unspoken thought. You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t mention it.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft—gentle and low as he recited the line, something breathy and melodic in French. His accent was quiet but careful.

The coin fell still in your lap as you turned your head toward him.

“It sounds pretty,” you murmured. Your eyes traced his face, steady and curious. “What does it mean?” His gaze didn’t leave yours, sucking in a breath through his nose, the mattress beside you dipped as he promped himself up onto his elbows, words slow and hypnotising in your ears.

“Let night come on bells end the day, the days go by me still I stay”

You blinked at him, for a long moment, just letting the words rest heavy in the air between you, and his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat when you spoke, voice barely above a whisper, more breath than words—as if anything louder would crack the air as it stilled around you.

“It sounds extra pretty in your voice.”

Regulus swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. You were too close. Not close enough. The lamp behind you casted golden shadows across your face and your lips were slightly parted, just barely.

Before he could stop himself, the words were already tumbling out.

“I think you’re pretty.”

You didn’t say anything, just kept your eyes on him—blinks slowly as you took in each feature.

And then he was leaning in. Slowly, but not hesitantly—fingertips skimming along your jaw, guiding your face toward his with reverence more than boldness. He tilted your face toward him like he’d done it a thousand times before.

The ghost of a smile tugged at your lips, and as he got closer, you hummed, tone somewhere between amusement and a quiet gentleness, “Such high praise,” Gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips one last time before his mouth was on yours.

Regulus’ lips brushed yours with a delicate sort of caution, like he was afraid to startle the moment. His hand stayed warm at your jaw, thumb ghosting along the edge of your cheekbone, grounding himself in the quiet thrill of the contact.

When you kissed him back, slowly, deliberately, and it was like you lit a fuse under his skin. He moved closer, shoulders angling toward you, the hand on your jaw trailing down—fingers curling gently around your neck, not possessive, but fervored.

There was nothing rushed about it. Only the press of mouths and the occasional, breathless hitch of air as your noses brushed and he tilted his head, deepening the kiss slightly—still cautious, still a little hesitant.

But then then he heard it—just barely there, a small breath of contentment through your nose as your fingers slid up the front of his shirt, curling into the fabric.

That did it.

His lips moved with more intent now, more certainty, like he’d been holding back and couldn’t anymore. He tasted like peppermint and something you couldn’t quite place, and every time he pulled away even a fraction, he came right back—drawn to you like the pull of gravity.

Somewhere in the flurry of warmth and movement, the air around you shifted.

The curtains.

The ones above his bed rustled faintly, and then, slowly, they began to close—not all the way, but just enough to wrap the two of you in the hush of privacy. The dark velvet swept inward in a lazy draw, like someone had tugged gently at invisible strings. The air around you seemed to slow, thick with suspended magic and the soft scent of something like cedar and parchment.

Pulling back from the kiss, just barely, your lips brushing his as a breath of laughter escaped you. The kind of soft, genuine giggle that bloomed right in your chest and spilled out in surprise. Your forehead dropped back lightly against the pillow as you whispered, voice honeyed with delight, “Did you just—?”

He didn’t say anything at first. But there was the faintest flush at the tips of his ears, even as the corners of his lips twitched in a sheepish smile. You cupped his jaw gently, brushing your thumb along the edge of his cheek as you teased with a squint of your eye, voice low and fond, “Already showing off.”

He just huffed a laugh, dipping his head slightly—forehead pressing to yours, breaths mingling in the narrow space between you. His hand found your waist again, sliding over your hip to pull you closer, until your bodies were all but tangled together in the middle of his bed.

Then he paused.

Looked at you.

Really looked at you—eyes searching your face, the softness of your features in the low dorm light, the flush on your cheeks, the swollen curve of your lips, still flushed lightly from his kiss. His thumb brushed your waist absently, reverently, like he was trying to memorise the moment through touch alone.

You blinked up at him, slightly breathless, lips curving into that small smile—that quiet, knowing one—that had his pulse quickening.

“How long have you been waiting to do that?” Voice just above a whisper.

A beat.

His answer was just as quiet.

“…Too long.”

You didn’t say anything, you didn’t have to.

Because then his lips were on yours again, more insistent this time—hungry but still careful, still delicate. Like he was trying to learn the shape of your mouth with his own. His hand slid to the small of your back, curling to bring you even closer, your chest brushing his with every inhale.

Dinner came and went. Neither of you moved.

Body sprawled across the bed, head in Regulus’ lap, legs stretched out and one arm flopped over your middle lazily. His hand drifted idly through your hair, almost absentminded in its rhythm, as he spoke—quiet and thoughtful, voice lilting into stories you never expected him to share.

He told you about how he hated summer, because his skin burned too easily—how the Black family manor always smelled like dust and old magic. How he and Barty used to sneak wine from the cellar and sit on the roof, trying to name constellations. How his favourite book growing up wasn’t even magical—it was a Muggle text he smuggled in and read by candlelight.

You blinked up at him with a soft smile, utterly content, not interrupting—just listening.

For a man you’d once believed was of few words, he sure had a lot to say.

Not that you weren’t complaining.

There was something soft about him now—looser. Less controlled. Like the tightly wound strings he kept knotted around himself had started to loosen just enough to let you in, like he’d been waiting for the the chance to bare himself. And Merlin, he was affectionate. Not in the loud, boisterous way others might’ve been. But with soft hands and stolen glances. A touch at your hip, the gentle brush of knuckles down your arm. Aching for contact in any form, so careful about how he was gave and received it, like it could be torn away at any given moement—still so foreign, even in his own mind.

Your thumb traced slow circles into his knee as you murmured, “Can you read the line again? From the poem?”

Regulus looked down at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He nodded, brushing a piece of hair from your forehead before turning toward the parchment pinned above his desk. He recited it again in that soft voice—low and smooth, almost like a lullaby.

You closed your eyes, humming in contentment.

When he finished, you whispered, “Lemme show you something.”

And before he could ask, your hand curled into a fist. You held it up between you both. His brows furrowed slightly, watching with interest.

Then, you slowly unfurled your fingers—and from the centre of your palm, a small bluebell flower sprouted, delicate and glowing faintly with the magic that coaxed it into being.

“This,” you whispered, eyes flickering with warmth and voice like a secret, “is what I think of when I hear your voice.”

For a long moment, Regulus didn’t speak.

Just stared.

The shock in his eyes wasn’t loud. It was quiet and still, like everything else about him. But it was there. Etched into the way he looked at you—not just at the flower, but at your face. Your expression, the tenderness written across it with no ulterior motive, no mischief behind your eyes. No teasing lilt in your tone.

Just you.

And he didn’t know what to do with it.

His fingers reached out gently, brushing the fragile petals like they might dissolve under his touch. And when he looked back at you, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“You really are something,” he said, with a kind of awe that made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t prepared for.

Covering the sudden flutter of your chest with a scoff and biteless roll of your eyes. You didn’t give him the chance to say anything more, before you sat up abruptly, hair whipping slightly at your speed—movements fluid and unbothered as the mattress dipped under the concentrated weight of your knees.

Regulus frozen against the headboard, wide-eyed when your leg swung over his middle—settling on his lap in a straddle that was far too flippant. His hands hovered awkwardly at first, unsure where to settle—eventually, they found your hips, fingers curling there hesitantly.

The small smirk on lips only widened—at his obvious flush, relishing in the way the blush crept up his neck and spread across his cheeks.

“Relax,” you teased, brushing your fingers through his dark curls, tucking and retucking the strands behind his ear like you were sculpting something. And then, you nestled the bluebell flower in the space you’d created—right behind his ear.

“There,” you said with a proud grin, leaning back slightly to admire your work. Your hands slid down his neck, wrists resting lazily on his shoulders as you laced your fingers behind him, just barely hovering over his surely goosebump ridden skin. Tilting you head, you let your gaze rake over him like you were evaluating an art piece.

“I think blue might be your colour, Reg.”

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, and you subtly shifted in his lap—closer, pressing into him with purpose. Regulus huffed a small scoff, finally finding a bit of his footing again, though his voice was still slightly strained. “Must you always be this brazen?”

You shrugged innocently. “It’s fun having people on edge.”

He hummed lowly, eyes flickering with something darker now—his grip tightening slightly on your hips. “Really?”

You leaned forward with a smirk, lips brushing his as you replied in a hushed, mocking whisper, “Reaaaally.”

That was all the prompting he needed.

His mouth met yours with vigor, kissing you like he couldn’t help it. Like he’d been waiting to. Desperate, yet controlled. His hands squeezing at the flesh of your waist as he pulled you closer, chest pressing flush to his, heat blooming between you, smiling into the kiss.

Pulled back slightly, lips still grazing his, and whispered against his mouth, “You must like brazen then.”

And that made him grin.

Actually grin. Wide and rare and perfect.

His hands gripped your waist more firmly as he kissed you again, feverish now, all slow control forgotten in favour of something more frantic and yearning. The kind of kiss that stole the air from your lungs and made time slip sideways.

So engrossed in each other, you didn’t hear the door creak open.

Didn’t notice the soft shuffle of footsteps.

But the moment the familiar sound of Barty’s voice filled the room, everything stopped.

“I brought teacakes,” he called out lazily from the other side of the dorm, “because you missed supper. I figured you were sulking or something—”

You and Regulus froze mid-kiss.

Legs still straddled across his lap. His hands halfway up your back. The flower still behind his ear.

Regulus’ eyes flew open. Your hand slapped over your mouth to muffle a curse.

“I left extra lemon ones, since—wait.”

Barty’s voice was closer now. Suspicious—”…Why are your curtains closed?”

Regulus was already looking at you, panicked. You swatted his arm sharply when he didn’t say anything, eyes wide and insistent. “Was Potter here?” Barty asked, a little louder this time.

“She—uh—” Regulus stammered. “She was here. Earlier.”

Stammered.

You physically winced.

He never stammered. And now Barty definitely knew something was off. There was the unmistakable sound of someone standing up. Then footsteps. Getting closer.

Barty’s voice was cool and skeptical. “So…she was here earlier…”

He paused just outside the curtain.

“…and just left her bag behind?”

Your eyes widened in horror. Your bag. You could envision where you’d left it—sitting in plain view.

A pained expression split across your face as Regulus turned to you with a look that screamed, what do we do??

But there was no time.

Because the curtain was already being drawn back.

Regulus didn't move. Neither did you.

Time seemed to stall between one breath and the next, and there was Barty—standing there with a half-eaten lemon teacake in one hand, his brows slowly climbing higher and higher as he took in the sight before him.

You, still straddling Regulus.

Regulus, pink-faced and looking about two seconds from imploding.

And the flower, still tucked delicately behind his ear.

A beat of silence.

He gasped—actually, audibly gasped, clutching his chest as if you'd physically wounded him. “Treasure,” he breathed, eyes wide and betrayed, “I cannot believe you traded me in for Black.”

You groaned. “Junior.”

“No—don’t you Junior me,” he said, stepping back like your words had scorched him, pressing a hand against the curtains pillar for support.

You slid off Regulus’ lap in a single, painful motion, trying to maintain any shred of dignity, which was difficult with your hair mussed and your shirt slightly rumpled from where Regulus had been clutching at the back of it.

Regulus didn’t even try to salvage anything. He just stared at the ceiling like he was mentally calculating how fast he could die and be buried—red down to the collar of his shirt.

“I thought we had something, Treasure,” Barty continued with a theatrical sniff, flopping onto his bed. “A shared love of mild chaos, midnight escapades, and morally ambiguous hexes.”

You just rolled your eyes. “Oh, please.”

He stared at the ceiling, hand still on his chest. “I’m heartbroken.”

“You’re eating a teacake.”

“I’m grieving, let me be.”

And then, his voice softened a little, still dramatic but now with an edge of sincerity. “I mean… obviously everyone’s had a crush on you, but I didn’t think he’d be the one to do something about it.”

You blinked, head whipping to Regulus, eyes narrowing. “You’re not denying it.”

He just shrugged lightly, like he didn’t see the point.

Barty’s laughter was smug as hell. “See?” he said, sitting up.

Regulus groaned softly beside you. “Is this going to end soon?”

Barty glanced between you both, a wicked little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So tell me,” he said, casually now, propping himself up on one elbow, “is this a new study method? Because I must’ve missed this chapter in Advanced Charms.”

“Jun—”

“No, no—really, I’m curious,” he said, waving his teacake for emphasis. “Do you rate each other’s technique? Is snogging now a core requirement for N.E.W.T. preparation?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying very hard not to laugh. It didn’t help that Regulus looked like he was actively contemplating vanishing spells, dropping his head into his hands.

Then he softened again, leaning his chin into his palm as he watched the two of you. “For what it’s worth, Reg… you look good like this. Like an actual person instead of a walking anxiety spell.”

“I hate you,” he muttered, hands slipping from his face to reveal a withering look.

Barty beamed. “That’s more like it.”

With a smug little wave, Barty finally stood, sauntering backwards toward the door with his usual flair.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do—which, to be fair, is a very short list. Night, lovebirds.”

#marauders era x reader #hp x reader #regulus black x reader

jennieloversclub

HARRY POTTER FIC REC

Include: Harry , Ron , Fred , George , Oliver , Neville and Cedric

#hp x reader #golden trio era x reader #marauders era x reader #to read

yasministration

fic recommendation m.lists

i realised that i can't keep adding fics onto one giant recs m.list, so here are my different fic rec m.lists, posted periodically :))

-> the big one

-> harry potter fic recs [jan-mar '25]

-> marauders fic recs [apr-jun '25]

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#hp x reader #golden trio era x reader #marauders era x reader #to read

aetherraeys

bloodmoon pt2

(part 1)

remus lupid x vampire!reader ⊹ 11.9k

cw ⟢ swearing, harrassment, men being vile, blood, detailed description of pain, friends to lovers, slowish burn, biting, suggestive at the end

a/n: not proofread x SORRY THIS ACTUALLY TOOK DAYS IVE BEEN TRYING TO MAKE IT LESS THAT 12WC!! i hope you enjoy ,,, slightly obsessed with vampire!reader now.

#hp x reader #remus lupin x reader #marauders era x reader

fandomlit

reunited (sirius black x reader)

summary after a year free from azkaban, sirius is dying to leave number twelve grimmauld place. but after a year of also craving to see you, one of his wishes is met.

warnings mentions of loneliness and depression

a/n if you couldn't tell i'm on a harry potter kick rn (requests please!!!)

gif cred belongs to @peaceseller

sirius was losing his mind sitting around headquarters. with little to do other than to stare at his family's old possessions and vanquish bitter creatures (and kreatcher), he was beginning to harbor a feeling similar to his time in azkaban--not nearly as hopeless, but just as desperately bored.

he heard the door open from the armchair he had been lounging in and a voice gasp, "professor l/n!" before the screeches of his mother filled the hall. he jumped to his feet--not due to the screams, he was truly becoming used to that--but at the sound of your name.

someone managed to close the curtains around his mother's portrait as he practically ran down the stairs. the last time he had glimpsed you had been too brief, not even being able to show you that he was there in his disguised animagus form. when dumbledore told him he had recruited you, sirius was less than surprised, but desperate for the day you would finally drop by headquarters. when after fourteen long years, he would get to speak to you. and, as he reached the last step, you were finally here.

"old bat never liked me," you were chuckling, shaking your head at harry, ron, and hermione as you faced the drawn curtains. "screamed very similar to that in person, as well." ron spoke something to you just as your gaze landed on sirius, who was still clutching the banister with his mouth slightly agape.

you were just as beautiful as the day he last saw you. your face was more mature than he had last seen and you were an inch or two taller, but you still had that bright glint in your eyes, like you were always on the verge of a joke, and a confidence in your stance that no one he had ever met managed to compare to.

he was muttering your name before he even realized it. he was acutely aware of the trio flipping their gazes between the two of you.

you smiled fondly at him. "sirius black, you finally grew out your hair!"

he couldn't help the grin that spread across his face as he opened his arms, walking toward you quicker than he would have cared for you to acknowledge. luckily, you met him halfway and let his arms squeeze you tightly to him. he let out an unconscious laugh.

"holy merlin, i never thought i'd ever touch you again," he confessed before realizing how odd it sounded. but you only responded with a laugh of your own.

"me neither," you confessed, drawing black slightly to see his grinning face. "but lord am i glad you're not the murderer the world was tricked to think." his smile dimmed in the slightest, but even those difficult thoughts couldn't weigh his heart down. you were actually here. "how's the old house treating you?"

he raised his eyebrows at you. "really? just going to keep bringing up the worst things of my day-to-day?"

you let out a laugh that he couldn't help but grin at. "i'm sorry, i am." you smiled fondly again as you two drew completely apart, but sirius kept your hand clamped in his and you squeezed it to show you didn't mind it. you shook your head at him. "godric, you look good! for a convict and blood traitor, you look like a dream, sirius!"

he let out a loud laugh this time, glimpsing the trio all trading glances behind you two. "you should see yourself! hogwarts has been kind to you, my dear." you let out a surprised sound at the old nickname. "you haven't changed an ounce, y/n. you're the same woman i dreamed of on my worst nights."

he took pride in the pink that crept up your neck. "you're a slightly aged version of the man i couldn't keep out of my dreams," you admitted. sirius smiled. "no matter what they said about you sirius.. my mind could never let you go."

he pressed your locked hands to his heart, soft gaze holding yours in what he hoped didn't look at all like the desperation he felt. "now it never has to." you pulled him into a wordless hug before he slipped his arm around your shoulders and lead you toward the kitchen.

sirius knew that later, away from the eyes of the curious teenagers of the house, you two would share a heavy hearted moment. one where he wouldn't be able to deny himself the exhaustion of his hardships in your presence, which has always been able to get past his tough, playful facade. but for now, the way you smiled and joked and radiated in his presence gripped his heart in a way that wasn't at all like he had felt in years.

#sirius black x reader #marauders era x reader #hp x reader

yasministration

eyes wide shut - jonathan byers

summary: Nancy is deeply offended when she finds out her own sister is dating Jonathan Byers and hasn't told her, but after a little investigation, she finds out nothing was ever hidden from her. In fact, you and Jonathan were so open about your relationship that maybe she was just blind the whole time. wc: 1.4k+ cw: nancy and jonathan never dated thanks, i villainise nancy once more i'm sorry

Nancy never considered herself to be particularly close with any of her siblings, but she never thought she had a bad relationship with them. Now, she can’t help but rethink what she knows. She always thought that you'd come tell her about your relationships like she's somewhat done in the past. But as she stands across the street from her own house, she watches through your lit up window as Jonathan Byers pulls his shirt back onto his naked torso, your hands resting on his chest. Jonathan doesn’t try swatting your hands away, even when his shirt can’t slide all the way down his body — instead, his hands come up to cup your face, and he leans forward to kiss you.

Your sister gulps thickly as she shamelessly stares, feeling an ugly emotion build up inside her. Why wouldn’t you tell her about having a boyfriend? It’s not like she’s never met this man before - that you’re keeping him secret from everyone in your circle. This is Jonathan. There was a point in time where she saw this man everyday. Sure, they’re not exactly friends, but Nancy would have expected you to tell her that you’re seeing him. That he’s in your bedroom every night between your sheets with his shirt off, your hands on his bare skin. You don’t even have to tell her all these details, but at least a little ‘Jonathan and I are seeing each other.’

Jonathan now fishes your hands out from under his shirt, tugging you closer to him so he can kiss you deeper, but it doesn’t last long before you’re pulling away from him. Nancy sees your lips move, face only inches away from Jonathan, and your boyfriend steps away from you, leaning down to grab his backpack and slinging it over one shoulder. He struggles to get his bag over his second arm, especially when you cling onto his side, draping yourself over his body. Jonathan hums, hands securing themselves on the dip of your waist when he’s finally comfortably settled, accepting the kisses you press all over his face. One of his hands leaves your waist to cradle the back of your head, guiding your lips back to his.

Nancy feels utterly betrayed. She feels stupid like this, just standing on her side of the road spying on her sister. She rushes across the street when Jonathan separates from you. She doesn’t want to bump into him while he makes his way out of your window. She scrambles through her purse for a moment, looking for her keys before giving up and trying the door handle to see if she even needs them.

Luckily, the door is open. Nancy sighs as she pushes it open, wiping her feet on the doormat before entering the house. She doesn’t think she can speak to anyone, so she heads straight towards the stairs, but she violently stops in her tracks when Jonathan comes skipping down them. He offers her a “Hey, Nancy” as he passes her, but all she can do is stay frozen as he passes her. She catches sight of some glitter on his cheeks as he zooms by, and she instantly knows which lip gloss of yours it’s from.

Maybe she’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe in a week you’ll come to her and let her know that there’s something going on between you and the Byers boy - that everything is very new and you hope things go well with him.

But that week goes by and you act the same as normal. You offer to drive Mike to Will’s when it’s late at night, and Nancy knows what you will be up to. She wonders if Mike and Will know. She wonders if the whole lot knows — Hopper who is often with the Byers, Steve and Robin who are often strung in weird experiments with you, Dustin who is somehow always with you and your friends. Everyone but her. So Nancy brings it upon herself to ask around about it, and who better to ask than your very best friend?

Robin shifts awkwardly on your doorstep, clearing her throat at the sight of a very still Nancy in the doorway. “Can I come in?” Robin asks, eyes glancing towards the stairs, which she needs to get to in order to retreat to your bedroom. In the meantime though, Nancy holds her hostage.

“Can I ask you something?”

Robin’s eyes widen in that very obvious sign of panic of hers, and she squeaks out a high-pitched “Sure!” Nancy steps out of the doorway, letting Robin step into the house. Robin momentarily deliberates running up the stairs past Nancy, but instead, she follows your sister to the kitchen, awkwardly standing in the sport nearest to the door in case she needs an escape.

“Why is my sister hiding her relationship from me?” Nancy asks in a confrontational tone, expecting Robin’s nerves to make her spill out the truth. But instead, Robin’s eyebrows furrow in a state of confusion, posture straightening in her own sense of surprise. “Hiding?” Robin echoes, watching as Nancy’s eyebrows raise and she nods her head meanly, scoffing out “Yeah, hiding.”

“Nancy, she’s not hiding anything - everyone knows about her and Jonathan.”

“How does everyone know but me!?” Nancy questions, feeling deeply offended at the smirk that makes its way onto Robin’s face. “Maybe you’re the only one not paying attention. They haven’t explicitly told anyone, Nancy. They didn’t need to.”

Nancy almost flinches back at the honesty in Robin’s voice. What on earth is she on about? She doesn’t realise that for the past three months you and Jonathan have been the most disgustingly adorable couple to be around. On the Byers’s couch during long nights, Jonathan’s arm around you whilst you nuzzle your face into his neck. Or when the entire crew is huddled together after making potentially life saving discoveries, and Jonathan drags you out of the room by the hand, stealing you away from everyone else.

Max and El have accidentally interrupted your kissing in the front seat of Jonathan’s car when retrieving Will's backpack. Dustin has walked in on your kissing in your own kitchen when you thought no one was home and he wanted a snack. Will has seen way more than he wanted to in the middle of the night when fetching water from the kitchen and interrupting a ‘movie night’ of yours. Steve and Robin took the brunt of it though, forced to constantly be exposed to whatever PDA you had to offer whenever you and Jonathan seemed to be in the same room.

But you’re not always this disgusting.

Everyone found out long before your relationship even happened from slight changes in behaviour around each other. Shy glances towards each other, volunteering to do things together, or even the quality of your voices when speaking to each other in comparison to everyone else. Then came the subtle hand-holding, the comforting hand on each other’s arms, the growing comfort in each other’s company. Obviously, this developed into the displays of affection your friends and family hate seeing, but in your defence most of the time you’re somewhere private! Semi-private. Whatever.

And still, Nancy hasn’t noticed anything.

Even when Jonathan has parked his car down the street, waiting for you. Even when Mike has caught you halfway out the door, insisting you to take him with you to Will’s otherwise he’ll tell your parents. Even when you both have a hushed argument downstairs, you telling him that you were leaving because there’s already too many people in this house and him replying that he’ll know what you’re doing either way so it won’t change anything. Nancy doesn’t know how she didn’t notice when you’ve apparently been been dragging your feet down the street with Mike happily trailing behind you. All she could’ve done to find you out was look outside her window. But she never did. She never saw how you’d get in Jonathan’s car, giving him guilty eyes as Mike climbed into the backseat.

Jonathan would always give you an extra long kiss just to spite your younger brother, grinning when Mike would make a disgusted noise and heat would rush to your cheeks.

“I’m her sister though. She should tell me.” Nancy finally says, voice unstable.

“Nancy, when have you ever told her anything about your life?” Robin genuinely asks, shrugging her shoulders in question. Nancy freezes, and Robin takes the chance to slowly step out of the room, running up the stairs when she’s far enough to do so.

Oh dear, she cannot wait to tell you about the conversation she’s just had. You’re about to be so mad at Nancy.

#jonathan byers x reader #stranger things x reader

yasministration

easy on the eyes - emily prentiss

summary: who would've thought spencer reid's old college friend was a beautiful woman rather than another nerd? definitely not emily, because she almost has a heart attack at the sight of you, and is eager to get your number. wc: 1.1k+ not proofread oopsies

The bar is loud from a mix of chatter, music, clinking of glasses, and people playing darts and billiards in the corner of the bar. Everything that Spencer would usually avoid is surrounding him, and it’s reduced him to a non-verbal lump squeezed between two of his teammates. His teammates have attempted to cheer him up, and he’s grateful for that, but he just wishes that the next time they celebrate a successful case, it’ll be in a different setting. Maybe in someone’s quiet home, or even in a pub with a quarter of the number of people here.

Derek wraps his arm around Spencer’s shoulders, shaking him steadily and asking “Come on pretty boy, what can I do to cheer you up?” Spencer shrugs, swirling the colourful drink Emily had bought him. “I’m fine, just… quiet.” Derek knows better than to insist, so he nods and returns to the conversation with the rest of the group.

But then suddenly, as though the universe knew Spencer needed something more than just his teammates to bring his mood up, someone loudly calls “Spencer!? Oh my god.”

It’s not just Spencer who looks in your direction, but the entire table does, faces morphing into a mix of different expressions when they see a beautiful girl pushing her way through the bar to reach the table. Derek freezes at the sight of you, arm falling from Spencer’s shoulders. Emily laughs to herself against the rim of her glass, keeping a composed face to disguise her shock at the sight of such beauty. Spencer breathes out your name, a wide smile reaching his features when you dodge a man who was about to put a hand on your waist, eyebrows furrowing as you put on a face of disgust.

Your expression quickly melts away when you reach the table, and Spencer nearly climbs over JJ as he stumbles out of the booth to meet you. “Spencer Reid, I never thought I’d see your face again.” You say, bringing your arms up to give Spencer a hug. Across the table, Penelope chokes on her drink when Spencer pulls you close, his arms wrapping around your torso.

When you break away from the hug, you bring a cold hand up to Spencer’s cheek, taking a good look at him. “Wow, look at you.”

“What’s wrong with me?” Spencer asks, a smile on his face. “You’re a whole man now.” Spencer rolls his eyes playfully, turning to his table and saying “Uh, these are my teammates.” You wave your hand casually, introducing yourself, and Spencer adds “We met when I was doing my doctorate in chemistry.”

“And I was doing my undergrad at the time, like any normal 18 year old.” Spencer huffs at your jab, but gestures for you to take a seat anyway. You shake your head, saying “I’m here for a friend’s birthday, so I do have to rush off, but we should definitely catch up, okay? Let me give you my number.”

Spencer grins, pulling his phone out of his pocket and muttering “I do have to warn you though, I’m not very good at this texting thing. Might want to give me a call.”

You hum to yourself, rolling your shoulders back inquisitively. “Spencer Reid, you might be the only man I ever call.”

Derek and JJ’s jaws go slack at the subtle flirting techniques you’re using on the clueless man, watching as you type your phone number into his contacts before pressing the phone back into his hands. They all watch when you leave, mesmerised by the situation and more so by your behaviour.

“Spencer Reid, you better ask her out before you miss your chance.” Derek states, bringing his beer up to his lips. Spencer crinkles his noise — not in disgust, but at the mere idea of dating you. He sits next to JJ, eyebrows still furrowed as he says “She doesn’t partake in romantic or sexual relationships with men.”

Emily suddenly straightens, and the movement attracts the eyes of her friends, who quietly giggle between them. “See something you like, Prentiss?” JJ teases, and Emily swallows thickly, feeling her cheeks go hot. Of course she saw something she likes, she thinks. After all, you are a beautiful woman, and everyone enjoys looking at things that are easy on the eyes. “Didn’t you all like the sight of her?” Emily counters, but she immediately knows that she had offered the wrong answer at the look her coworkers give her. They’re a little too unimpressed, but luckily for her, the alcohol running in her veins allows her to roll her shoulders back confidently rather than shrinking in on herself. “Look - and what about it? I’m allowed to think a woman’s attractive, aren’t I?”

“You probably have a shot, if you wanted to take it.” Spencer says, shrugging his shoulders lightly. Emily freezes, staring at Spencer for a long moment before trailing her eyes to find you in the crowd. She swallows thickly, gaze glued to the way you laugh at something one of your friends says.

“Give me your phone.” Emily commands, extending an arm out towards Spencer, who reluctantly obeys. She searches for your contact in his phone, opening it in messages. She opens Spencer’s pictures, searching for the photo she took with Spencer at Rossi’s dinner just last week. She attaches the message ‘What do you think of my friend Emily?’ before sending the message. Spencer laughs loudly when he takes his phone back, seeing what she’s done.

Neither of them expect a response from you yet, so they put the phone aside for the rest of the night. Eventually, Emily stands, making her way to the restroom. She stands in front of the mirror, so focused on reapplying her lipstick that she almost misses your reflection behind her. A quiet giggle has her gaze snapping upwards to spot the culprit. She smiles softly at the sight of you, confidently leaning back on the wall. Emily spins around to meet you face-to-face, capping her lipstick.

“Emily, isn’t it?” You ask, and she nods, at a loss for words. “I think you should give me your number instead of communicating through Spencer.” She breathes out a laugh, ducking her head down to stare at the floor. She watches your feet as you take a step forward, bringing a hand up to push her chin up. She licks her lips at the realisation that you’re so close to her, and she fumbles as she pulls her phone out of her purse. She hands it over to you, staring at your nimble fingers as you type away, and she smiles at the sight of your name with a little smiley face written into her contacts.

“I’ll see you around Emily.”

#criminal minds x reader #emily prentiss x reader

yasministration

the set up? - spencer reid

summary: sure, you're mostly interacting with SSA Hotchner to give him information on their latest suspect, but that doesn't mean he can't entertain himself a little. especially not when it's at the hands of spencer reid. wc: 1k+

The entire team stares with blatant mesmerisation as you lean forward on your elbows in the interrogation room, eyes wide with passion as you tell SSA Hotchner all the details he could possibly need to know about their latest suspect. As per usual, his arms are crossed over his chest, a focused frown on his face as he attempts to keep up with the information you tell him — no, the gossip.

“Someone call Penelope.” Spencer murmurs, ignoring the confused glanced shot by his teammates. “She’ll remember all this like the back of her hand.” Derek wordlessly leaves, abandoning Spencer, Emily and Rossi to stare at you through the one sided mirror.

“Okay, wait! Let me give you some context. Nobody really felt any way about her - there wasn’t like, a general consensus. But my friends and I liked her for years — and not just liked her by the way, like we were close friends with her — and you know what she does?” You wait for Aaron to give you any sign that he’s listening, and it’s only when he drags the chair out from in front of the table and sits down that you continue, huffing in annoyance as you recall the instances, fully immersing yourself in the memories. “This girl blocked us on all our socials the night we graduated.”

Penelope walks into the room just in time to hear your last sentence, gasping excitedly. She comes close to the glass, where you wait for Hotch’s reaction, but he only stares blankly at you. “Look, Mr. Hotchner, I don’t think you understand how traitorous that was. We were such close friends for four years, and without explanation - blocked! It’s not like we could even text her to ask if anything was wrong. But you know what, if she’d rather block me than try to have a conversation to maintain our four year friendship, it’s a good riddance. I swear on my life-”

“-I don’t recommend you do that.”

“On. My. Life. I treated her with nothing but kindness and respect.”

You scoff, pushing yourself back to sit up straight in your chair. Spencer smiles to himself, watching as you shuffle your chair back from under the table so you can cross on leg over the other. He only moves his gaze back to Hotch when the supervisory agent called your name. “The pattern of events suggests that if anyone is in danger now, it’s you and the rest of your friend group.”

Clearing your throat, your roll your shoulders back, looking surprisingly unaffected. “You don’t even know if she’s done it,” You begin, blinking unimpressed. “But it would make sense if she did.”

Hotch brings a hand up to his forehead, smoothing his fingers over his forehead. “I’m not following.” He mumbles, letting his hand fall back to the table. You smile, as though having achieved something, uncrossing your legs to scoot the chair closer to the agent again.

“You’ve come to me asking if I know anything about her. I know more than just 'about her', I know about the victims. Bethany? Ben? Both people in her rotation of friend groups who she’s had private arguments with. If the evidence shows that my friends and I are in trouble because she’s a suspect, I’ll have you know exactly who she’s going after.” Hotchner reaches into his blazer to pull out a notebook and pen, flipping it open before looking expectantly at you.

“Three weeks before graduation, she and Alexandra had decided to go on a little trip abroad because the rest of our group wanted to stay in the area, get a villa on the beach for a week. Before we know it, she comes to me complaining about Alex because she’s trying to go hiking and rock climbing, but all she wants to do is chill and enjoy her holiday.”

Hotch hums curiously, jotting down names, before asking “What’s Alexandra’s last name?”

“More important, Alexandra is the single person she didn’t block on her socials. It’s so fake friend of her.” You click your tongue, glancing towards the one-way mirror and taking in your appearance. You fluff up your hair and admire your lip gloss, causing Spencer’s breath to hitch on the other side of the mirror where you’re unknowingly staring straight at him. “Jon, by the way. Last name Jon.”

Just as Hotch stands, reaching for the doorknob, your eyebrows furrow in deep thought. “She’s not done.” Spencer comments as Hotch begins opening the door.

“I don’t think it’s her though.” You finally say, causing the man to freeze. He spins around slowly, unsure if he’s insanely annoyed with you or immensely amused by you. You lean back on the chair, sighing deeply. “Yeah, she’s really too much of a pussy to kill people, if I'm being honest with you.” Derek coughs in surprise behind the mirror, looking beside him to spot the wide grins on Penelope and Emily’s faces.

“It’ll be her boyfriend who does the killing if she’s behind things.”

Hotch slowly walks back to you, slumping down in the uncomfortable metal chair. “Nobody mentioned she had a boyfriend.” You hum proudly, smiling to yourself, tapping your nails onto the table.

“Well, she didn’t tell just anyone about her boyfriend. Or rather, she didn’t tell anyone at all. Apart from someone in this room.” You break your nonchalant composure with a wild gesture of your arms, voice jumping up an octave as you yell ”That’s what makes her blocking me so weird!”

“Name?”

“Jonah Steel, black hair, about my height, cross tattoo on his bicep. Uneducated.”

From across the glass, Spencer’s eyebrows shoot upwards, chuckling as Hotch points out “You seem to care a fair bit about that.” Spencer flushes when you reply with “I like myself educated men. I like the same for my friends." You huff, rolling your eyes and adding pettily "Ex-friends.”

“Well, you’d love Dr. Reid.”

“Is he the handsome one with the boyband hair?”

Hotch’s pen stops moving across his notepad, glancing up at your completely serious expression. For the first time tonight, he grins widely, making way to slide his notepad into his pocket. But he halts, clicking his pen and flicking over to an empty page. He jots something down quickly, rips the page off, and places it onto the table, patting it down twice.

“Yeah, give him a call.”

#criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader

yasministration

One of us - platonic!marauders x reader

summary: when the marauders find out you're an animagus, you're forced into the beginning of a friendship with them. wc: 1.2k+

With a piece of toast halfway through your mouth, actively listening to Evan’s story, the last thing you’d been expecting on a Monday morning was for Dumbledore to stand up for an announcement. “Will the following students please report to Professor McGonagall’s office.” The old wizard cleared his throat and Evan rolled his eyes, mockingly starting to list off the names of the marauders. “Sirius Black,” You and Evan burst into a fit of giggles at the accuracy of his prediction, listening closely for the other students’ names. “James Potter, Peter Pettigrew and,” Dumbledore paused, squinting his eyes at the slip of paper he was staring at as Evan mumbled ‘Remus Lupin’.

“Uh, Y/N L/N.” You felt all the blood drain away from your face and Evan’s jaw dropped from where he sat in front of you. You felt everyone’s eyes turn towards you and furrowed your eyes in confusion. Evan widened his eyes at you, nodding his head towards the entrance of the Great Hall. You gestured at him with your hands, expressing how you had no idea what you'd done, and grabbed the rest of your toast, sticking it between your teeth as you gathered your bag, slinging it over your shoulder.

Turning around, you were surprised to find the three other students lingering in the doorway, waiting for you. You bit through your toast, catching the piece of bread in your hand as you sped up your footsteps, catching up to them. The gears in your head churned as you thought about every single rule you broke in your last seven years at Hogwarts. But why on earth would you be called to see the head of gryffindor house when you weren’t even a gryffindor? You gasped, stopping in your tracks. The three boys in front of you spun around to look at you, a panicked look on your face. “Oh, looks like someone knows what they’re in trouble for.” Sirius teased in a sing song voice, a smirk making its way on his face.

“Oh, can you tell us please! Because, we’re probably in trouble for the same thing, and we always get in trouble so it could be anything! And you, you never get in trouble.” You grimaced at Pettigrew’s little rant, debating whether you should tell them. You shook your head quickly, swallowing the lump in your throat, saying with an embarrassing squeak “I can’t tell you.” Because being an unregistered animagus was not only breaking school rules, but breaking the law. And the only reason you would be called to Professor McGonagall’s office was because she too, was an animagus, and she’d be the only Professor who would know how to deal with situations like these. You looked at the three boys in front of you, rushing past them. But if that was the case, why on earth would they be called into her office too?

You huffed, making the final turn to Professor McGonagall’s office. You put your fist up, ready to knock, but held yourself back. “Hey,” You turned your head to look at the boy speaking to you, a gentle smile on his face. “Don’t worry. If you were in real bad trouble, you wouldn’t be called in with other people.” James nodded towards his two friends, mumbling “Speaking from experience here.” You scoffed in amusement, unable to help the small smile on your face, finally knocking on the wooden door. The “Come in!” was instant. You gulped, smile instantly dropping.

The three of you entered the room in a single file line, sitting down on the four chairs lined up in front of the deputy headmistress’ desk. Professor McGonagall didn’t look up at you until you were all settled, slamming a stack of papers down on the wooden surface of her desk. “Well,” She started with her familiar croak, adjusting her glasses on her nose. “This isn’t how I thought I’d start my week, but what’s life without surprises?” You laughed nervously at her words, but you could tell from her monotonous voice and serious facial expression that you were out of order.

“Recently, a few members of staff have heard students talking about how animals from the forbidden forest are getting comfortable and wandering on school grounds.” You sucked in a sharp breath, straightening your posture as you peeked at the three boys from the corner of your eye. They were glancing right back at you. “More specifically, mentions of a stag, the grim, and a white tiger.” Professor McGonagall looked straight up at you. “Ms. L/N the dog and stag may get away with it, and no one has even noticed the rat, but a white tiger? Students are claiming they’ve made the scientific discovery of the century because white tigers are apparently inhabitants of Scotland now. Scotland!!”

You felt heat rush to your face as she said those words, reaching up to take her glasses off and folding them in front of her. You smiled nervously, rearranging the the tie around your neck as you said “Frankly, Professor McGonagall, I’m not quite sure I know what you’re talking about.” A noise of disagreement came from Sirius, who was wincing at your challenging tone. Professor McGonagall reached for her wand, and you barely had time to react before she was mumbling “Revelio” under her breath. You felt your bones shift, the familiar warm feeling of your animagus form overtaking your body. You squealed, or rather roared, your thick, furry paws sending you leaping into the air as you quickly forced yourself to take shape of your human form again.

You stood awkwardly next to the chair you’d be sat on, patting your hands down on your hair to tame it and straightening out your shirt. Sounds of amazement came from the three marauders at your animagus state, watching as you calmly sat down, clearing your throat. “Alright then.” You muttered, tossing your hair over your shoulder. “You need to sign these registration forms.” The four of you made sounds of exclamation, standing up in unison. “That’s what I thought.” Professor McGonagall continued, a satisfied smile on tugging at her lips, “Now you four be careful. If I call you up here again, know that these forms will be waiting for you.”

You all made noises of agreement, speeding towards the door. You slammed the door open, taking a deep breath when you finally escaped Professor McGonagall’s wrath. You sighed, looking to where Remus Lupin leaned against the wall waiting for his friends. His eyebrows shot up in surprise at your dishevelled state. “Moons, you’ll never guess!” Sirius brushed past you, ranting on to his friend about your transformation. “Oh my goodness, be quiet!” You snapped, spinning on the balls of your feet to face him. Remus laughed, watching as James slung an arm over your shoulders, saying how you had to transform for them again, whilst Peter went on about how soft your white fur looked.

“You know what this means don’t you?” The tall boy called out, looking at how your shoulders became stiff and you tried prying your hair out from under James’s arm. You raised your eyebrows in question, prompting Remus to go on.

“It means you’re one of us now.”

#marauders era x reader #hp x reader

yasministration

snobby slytherin princess - sirius black

summary: there's something about a snobby slytherin princess that sirius black cannot resist. so when you get into an argument with rabastan lestrange and let it slip that sirius black would have a better chance at marrying you, the boy springs into action. wc: 0.8k cw: public argument, pureblood stuff

Behind the perfect poise and manners all of the sacred 28 had been taught lay a beast of impatience and sass, every pureblood child being pushed to their limits. The marauders hadn’t been expecting to watch a showdown between two pureblooded slytherins on their way to the great hall for lunch, the silence between them a tell-tale of how double potions had gone. But their boredom had been noticed by some higher power, and by some miracle, they ended up two mere meters from you as you strode away from the great hall, a very obviously panicked Lestrange following behind you.

He was calling after you, breaking into a run to catch up with your pace as he pleaded “Don't be so stubborn! Can we please just talk!?” All air was sucked out of the hallway as you came to an abrupt halt, right next to the three boys and Lily, spinning around to face Rabastan.

“You want to talk? Okay, talk!”

Rabastan spluttered, at a loss for words. You scoffed, “Or do you just want me to talk so you can figure out what you did wrong and apologise for it?” Sirius made an impressed sound, but Rabastan was so busy trying to climb out of the grave he dug himself that he didn’t even notice. But it was hopeless; he had crossed the line and had veered into the dangerous terrain of your honest opinions.

“Rabastan, I am not marrying you. Go cry to daddy about it. He’ll have another wife lined up for you by tomorrow night.”

If the marauders weren’t already frozen with shock, they would be now. They had matching expressions on their faces, jaws slack, eyes wide. Sirius, as much as he loved listening to pureblood drama, had no idea about your engagement. Or, your arrangement, should he say.

“But I don’t want another wife, I want you.” It was a desperate attempt, but Rabastan trusted his acting skills. Rabastan’s father would kill him if he knew his son’s behaviour drove the perfect suitor away. Luckily for you, you saw right through him.

You doubled over, a loud laugh escape you, eyes still filled with rage. “No, you don’t! Oh my god! I’d have chosen your brother if I knew how disgusting you were!” Rabastan stumbled back from the force of your words, as though you had struck him. His brother? He didn’t know you or your parents had been given options. He thought his parents had decided to guide you towards the better Lestrange brother — him. He didn’t know that his parents wanted you to marry either one of them.

Shit, he really messed up.

Rabastan stepped closer to you, eyes pleading. He didn’t care how much more he humiliated himself in front of his rivals, he just had to avoid humiliating himself in front of his father. “Just give me one chance, just one.” Your eyes followed the movement of his hand, reaching out to hold yours. Laughing uncomfortably, you reached down with your free hand to remove Rabastan’s hold from you.

“You already had one chance. What, did you think this engagement was actually secured?”

Tilting your head to the side, you held Rabastan’s eye contact, as though challenging him to say another word to you. When he said nothing, you nodded, adding as the final straw “Even Black stands a better chance at this point.”

Rabastan laughed coldly, his innocent front now forgotten as he said “Yeah, Regulus two years younger stands a better chance. Sure.” You smiled sweetly at Rabastan, shaking your head. “No, Rab. Not Regulus.”

You heard Rabastan’s breath hitch in an embarrassing gasp as you spun around on your heels and continued down the hall — but not without catching Sirius Black’s eye first. He was fixing his posture, rolling his shoulders back and clearing his throat. He felt his cheeks go hot at your comment, head turning to follow your disappearing figure.

“Shit, there’s just something I love about a snobby slytherin princess.” His friends’ heads shot towards him, Lily’s face shocked whereas Remus and James both held amused smirks. But just as he stepped aside to follow you down the hallway, two more women made their presences known.

Rabastan turned to face Narcissa and Pandora, throwing his head back as he said “I messed up so bad.” The two women didn’t spare him another glance as they strutted past him. “Yes, you did Lestrange.” Narcissa called out, quickly followed by Pandora’s comment of “And daddy won’t get you a new wife with that attitude!”

“Cissy, you think I can bag her?” Yelled Sirius to his cousin, who very briefly turned her attention to him, shrugging her shoulders. “You know she does quite like a rebel.”

And then, “Not a disrespectful scumbag, Rabastan.”

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#sirius black x reader #hp x reader #marauders era x reader

yasministration

Love at first sight - Sirius Black

summary: lily's sister who goes to beauxbatons throws the party of the summer which sparks likely friendships, and an even likelier romance. wc: 2.3k

Lily came into the Great Hall the same way she always did: a determined look on her face, chin lifted up confidently, carrying overflowing papers in her arms, but something was different. Those paper she carried? They weren’t filled with head girl applications or polished assignments, no, they were party invitations.

She sat at her usual seat, and as per usual, the marauders ruffled through her papers. “Party invitations?” Whispered Sirius excitedly, as though it was something secret. Lily puffed her chest out “Y/n’s throwing a party, and encouraged me to extend the invitations to some Hogwarts students.” James cleared his throat to stop himself from choking on his tea. “I’m sorry? Your parents are letting you throw a party? The same two people who didn’t let you come over to Marlene’s tea party?” Lily grinned widely. “Well, y/n only comes home during the summers. I’m there every winter and spring break , so she kind of has a way with our parents. All she had to say was ‘this is our last summer before we graduate’ and she had them.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Marlene cut in, her face lighting up, “If this is y/n’s party, does this mean it’s going to be filled with sexy french kids?” Lily nodded happily, sharing a look with the other marauders. It was going to be the party of the year.

You and Lily were the epitome of opposites. You’d engrossed yourself in getting to know all the kids in the neighborhood and quickly because friends with your french neighbour, while Lily only befriended one — Severus. By force of being around the young boy, you’d learned his language, his language which quickly became your own. Whilst you and Lily had your own friends, no one was closer to you both than each other. You were twins, not only blood brothers but best friends. Due to your linguistic talent, you’d not only received a letter from Hogwarts on your eleventh birthday, but from Beauxbatons too. Petunia, ever so jealous of your relationship and your magic, had duped your parents into sending you away.

Petunia had ran off crying, locked in her room alone until she formed the plan of the century to break your relationship with your twin apart. “Well, they’re always together. Isn’t it better for them to learn how to live apart from each other?” And your parents had fallen for her trick. Now, you only saw each other during the summers, and your relationship was stronger than ever. But things would soon change.

The only thing Lily heard of for the rest of the day was this party. Who was she inviting? How many people would be there? “Sirius, it’s not my party. I don’t know the details. All I’ve been told is that I have these invitations to give out to people.” Sirius stared at the front of the boldly decorated invitation on the top of the pile which read in a glittery font ‘No invite, no entry!’ He ran a rough estimate in his mind and decided there had to be at least seventy invitations in the stack of papers. “Can I help give them out?”

Lily and Sirius had proudly made up a list of who to invite, or not to invite, the rest of the marauders eventually gathering around to put in their own two cents. When the invitations had been given out, Lily returned to her dorm whilst the marauders all sat in front of the black lake, soaking up the limited sun rays whilst staring at their own invitations. “This is some high end decor.” Commented Remus, turning his invitation in his hands. The fonts had been carefully chosen, and a textured disco ball sat in the centre of the page. “Yeah, according to Lily, y/n loooves to party.” Marlene added, laying on her back. “I’m excited to meet her,” started James “She sounds fun, and we barely ever hear about her from Lily.”

Sirius hummed, gears turning in his brain. “Lily said they’re nothing alike.” He recalls. It was true. You and Lily weren’t only opposites in terms of personality, but looks too. Despite being twins, you had taken all of your father’s genes while Lily took after your mother. No one ever believed you when you said you were twins, let alone siblings.

The party was nearly an entire month later. The marauders found themselves outside an ordinary muggle house, glancing at each other nervously. Had they arrived too early? Marlene glanced down at her invitation, ensuring that they were there right on time. A knock on the door and they were waiting. The door slammed open and they were met with you, a bright smile on your face and a tray in the other with an array of pink and blue jell-o shots. You weren’t the only thing that welcomed them, but the loud roar of noise from inside the house blasted them too. Remus cocked an eyebrow, thinking ‘That’s one mean silencing charm.’ “Grab a drink you guys!” You called, holding the door open with your foot as you moved to the side for them to come in. You introduced yourself over the noise, clueless to the mesmerised eyes following you.

Sirius let himself be dragged into the house by Remus, though his eyes followed you as you escaped into the backyard. Lily had been right, you weren’t nothing alike. You wore fishnets under your small denim shorts, your top exposing more than just midriff. He gulped, trying not to be caught staring at your breasts when you turned around, instead moving his gaze to the endless jewellery you wore.

Sirius heard himself gasp — apparently the french like to be early. The party in the backyard was lit, he finally noticed, with groups of people already playing beer pong, dancing to the music, and even exchanging light conversation. Lily ran to join them, trying to properly introduce you to her friends, but you were running back to the door as the bell rung once more. Apparently everyone arrived at once, because a crowd of people suddenly flooded the living room. A mix of elegant french and fast english chatter filled the air, and Sirius saw Marlene’s jaw drop, already picking the girl she was going to spend the rest of the night flirting with. Just as Lily was about to catch you, you jumped onto the coffee table, pointing your wand to your neck with an amplification charm.

“Okay, listen up everyone!” You called out, and from within the crowd, Sirius caught your eye, his muscular arms thrown over two of his friends' shoulders. You hadn’t properly noticed him when he walked in, but now? You shook the thought out of your head. “We have about 200 wizards in this house. A house that you can tell is in a muggle neighbourhood! Now, my silencing charm may be great, but it doesn’t hide magical activity! So if we can keep the magic down to a minimum and get the party up to a maximum that would be great! Where’s my music!?” And suddenly the music roared to life. Sirius shoved to the front of the crowd, offering you a hand to help you down from the coffee table. You felt your stomach jump at his offer, the light reflecting off his silver jewellery. Instead of taking Sirius’s hand, you wrapped your arms around his neck, swinging your legs off the table. Sirius snaked his arms around your waist without missing a beat, spinning you around so you let out a joyous laugh. “And who might you be?” You asked, running your hands down his chest before letting them hang by your sides.

Sirius curtseyed, miming saluting you with a hat whilst very poshly saying “Sirius Black, at your service.” You giggled, putting both your hands on his bicep. “Hey, you met Sirius!” Lily cut in, bumping you with her hip. You met her eyes, and they glinted with mischief. She most definitely knew how attracted you were to Sirius in that moment. “Come meet the others!” She didn’t give you time to respond, instead tugging you away from the curly haired boy. You waved at him, yelling “I’ll see you later!” and then “Shut up” to Lily when you turned around. You didn’t have to look at her to know she was smiling like the cheshire cat.

James was the first to bring you into a hug, his hands respectfully patting your back. You turned to look at Lily, nodding in approval. Your introductions with Remus and Marlene were quick, witty comments given by each of them before Marlene so boldly asked “Hey, is that cute brunette over there into girls?” You laughed, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Sweetheart, you’re going to have to be more specific, but for you? Anyone would be into girls.” Simple to say, Marlene turned bright red, and not because of the warmth the alcohol had given her.

When Sirius returned to the group, you were already gone, dancing with your friends. He threw his arms around James’s shoulders, resting his head on his best friends’s shoulder. “James, we’re going to be brothers in law!” The boy barked out a laugh, pushing Sirius away to look at him properly. “I’m in love with her James.” Remus laughed, slapping a hand on Sirius’s back. “Well what are you going to do about it buddy?” He asked, sharing an amused glance with James. “I’m going to convince her to come to Hogwarts. Wait! First, I’m going to make her fall in love with me!” Sirius frowned at his two friends’ loud laughs, muttering something like “I’ll show you.” But he didn’t have the chance to come find you in the crowd, because two pairs of hands were placed upon his shoulders, and you appeared, saying “Come dance with me.”

Sirius almost passed out at your offer, blindly following you onto the dance floor and missing the surprised look Remus and James shot each other. Apparently, you wouldn't need much convincing to fall for Sirius. Sirius took your hand, spinning you around, and you looked away from him as though it would hide the bite of your lip. Sirius’s jeans were just tight enough around the crotch, and low waisted enough that every time he raised his arms too high, a sliver of his abdomen would show as his top would ride up. You spun around in Sirius’s arms, pressing your back against his chest. His hands trailed down to your hips, tugging them closer to his own. You giggled, moving your body alongside the music. Sirius groaned, whispering the lyrics in your ear, his hot breath hitting your sweaty skin.

The next time Sirius groaned, it wasn’t out of enjoyment, it was because someone had called out your name. “Viens avec nous? Just une cigarette!” (Come with us? Just one cigarette!) You had laughed at your friend’s words, shaking your head. “Non, il est trop beau, je ne veux pas le quitter!” (No, he’s so gorgeous, I don’t want to leave him!) Sirius hummed as you turned around in his arms, putting both your hands on his chest. “Come outside with me! Somewhere we can talk!” You grinned, sliding both your hands down in his, and letting him drag you outside.

You let Sirius guide you to a less crowded side of your garden, where you could people watch without being disturbed. You pushed Sirius against the wall of your backyard, watching as his eyebrows flew upwards in surprise. “So, Mr. Black, what would you like to discuss?” Sirius felt his heart surge, its pace quickening by the second, and he was sure you could feel it under your fingertips too. “Go out with me.” He heard himself blurt, and his eyes went wide at his own question. You laughed, looking around. “Aren’t we out right now?” The silence he left you with made you giggle, leaning your head forward on his chest. “I’m just joking.” Sirius shoulders slumped down in relief, hands loosely gripping your hips.

“I don’t want this to just be a little party flirt. I want to really get to know you. You… you seem cool.” You pressed yourself onto your tip toes, leaning forward to softly kiss Sirius. He sighed as you pulled away, chasing the kiss softly, but you refused to reconnect your lips. “I’d really like that.” Sirius smiled widely, pulling you flat against his body. “And hey, who knows, maybe you can show me around Hogwarts?” Sirius nodded, replying with “Yeah of- wait, what?” You straightened your back, cocking your head to the side. “Yeah, I’m moving to Hogwarts next year. Mum and dad finally had enough of me being so far away.” You interrupted yourself with your own laugh, pushing yourself off of him and looking around. “That’s what this is! My goodbye slash welcome party. Didn’t Lily tell you?” Sirius shook his head, stepping closer to you. “Well since I’ll be seeing more of you, can I properly kiss you now?”

Nodding at Sirius, you let him tug you closer to him, bringing you into a passionate kiss. You gasped at the force of his kiss, letting Sirius slide his tongue into your mouth. Moaning softly, you brought your hands up to cup Sirius’s face, pushing your body even deeper into his. “Oh my!” You pulled away from Sirius harshly, stumbling away from him. “I mean, I knew you guys had something going on, but I didn’t know it was going on.” You felt your face flush at Lily’s words, and heard Sirius cry out from behind you “Why didn’t you tell us she’s joining next year!?” James, from next to Lily, turned to face her, surprise overtaking his features. “I wanted to see how you guys got along before telling anyone!”

Remus approached the four of you, tipsily mumbling “Marlene has a roster of like three girls right now, and I just overheard some guy saying he wants to jump in the lake. I didn’t know there was a lake.” Remus stood silently, finally taking in the scene in front of him.

“I’m sorry, did I miss something?”

#sirius black x reader #marauders era x reader #hp x reader

yasministration

crossover episode - marauders, criminal minds

summary: after a long case, you're happy to find your husband and two best friends have taken a short trip to come pick you up from work. but your coworkers are more than shocked to discover you're not only married, but have a child too. wc: 1.4k+ this fic came to me in a dream. you can read it as a marauders fan or as a criminal minds fan, or both

The parking lot was cold this late at night, despite the coat you wore over your outfit. The conversation between your coworkers was almost non-existent, having spent the past four days together on a case, and the last three hours on a jet, talking until there was nothing to converse about anymore, instead all lulling into a dreamless sleep.

You readjusted the duffel bag hanging onto your shoulder, scanning the entrance to the parking lot, where you silently stood with your coworkers. Aaron’s expression was nearly identical to his usual one, but his eyes were weighed downwards, as though they would shut at any moment. You didn’t bother taking a look at anyone else, already predicting what they each looked like.

Then, as you fished for your car keys in your pocket, you heard a call of “Oi, Potter!” Your head snapped towards the sound of your last name, a smile immediately making its way onto your face at the sight of three familiar figures. You heard Emily echo the name, testing it on her tongue. She, and all your coworkers, only knew you by your maiden name. Which was, to say the least, not Potter.

As though your body had taken control, your legs carried you towards the three men: James sat in the front seat of the car, door open, but his back faced the steering will, his eyes glancing towards something in the back seat ever so often whilst Remus and Sirius stood outside the car, huddled around your husband. As you got closer, you broke out into an excited run, watching as your husband slipped out of the car, arms opening wide just in time to catch you, who had thrown yourself into him.

From the parking’s entrance, Emily glanced back towards the rest of the team, mouth agape with shock. Derek, still staring at you, put a hand on Emily’s shoulder, silently pointing towards you. She gasped at the sight of you shared a passionate kiss with James before slipping out of his arms and greeting your two friends with quick hugs.

“Is, where’s-?” But your question was cut off by a quiet “’s that mama?” Your eyes went wide, features softening as you dropped your bag on the floor, moving to open the car’s back door. “Hi Harry.” You said to your son softly, leaning forward to press a kiss onto his forehead. Harry extended his arms towards you, repeatedly calling out different variations of ‘mama’.

You unbuckled the seatbelt of his car seat, pulling him out of the car and into your arms. “I missed you.” You whispered to him, brushing his hair out of his face.

Now, Spencer was definitely surprised seeing you kiss a man across the parking lot, but watching as you pulled out an entire toddler into your arms? One who immediately began animatedly telling you a story about his day, wildly gesturing with his arms? Well, that was an entirely different story.

“Is that?” He spluttered, eyes glued to you. “She has an entire child?” Continued Emily, head bobbing forward in shock. Rossi shrugged from behind them, lighting up his car from where he stood, pushing past them. “I don’t now why you’re surprised. She’s a very motherly person.”

“She’s, she’s like 20!” Argued Derek, placing a hand on his bald head in shock. Hotch chuckled at the statement, also making his way to his own car, leaving your three closest friends staring at you in disbelief.

“He’s got to be at least three years old.” Said Emily, crossing her arms over her chest. "That would make sense," Began Spencer, "She joined the team only two years ago." The three of them watched silently as James shut the car door, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder, a hand placed over the one you had on your son’s back.

“It’s really late, you guys. You didn’t have to come.”

“We wanted to. Got bored sitting around doing nothing.” Explained Remus with a shrug of his shoulders.

“And Harry couldn’t sleep. He missed his mum.” You furrowed your eyebrows, pouting softly. You hated being away from Harry, away from James too. You glanced down to look at Harry, still in your arms, his head now resting on your shoulder as he slept, having spent the last of his energy telling you about how he chose his own outfit this morning.

“He felt better knowing that we were coming to pick you up. And you know how he immediately sleeps when we drive around for a bit.” You took a step forward, prying yourself out of James’s arms so you could around, pressing your lips against his in a soft kiss.

“And we got takeout on the way!” Added Sirius, causing your eyes to light up. “Of course, we got you your favourite.” You threw your head back with a groan, mumbling “I love you guys so much.”

“Not more than me, right?” James asked, and you giggled, kissing him softly once more. “No, not more than you.”

"I think your friends are a little surprised.” Remus added suddenly, and you slowly turned towards the parking lot entrance, surprised to see Spencer, Derek and Emily still stood there. For a moment, you forgot that they didn’t know the fine details of your private life.

You smiled, balancing Harry on one arm so you could wave at them with the other. It was comedic, the way they all raised a hand unanimously in a wave. “I don’t believe it.” Emily whispered under her breath. “I have to tell Penelope.”

“She’s really not gonna like this.”

“Or she’ll take one look at the kid and forget she never knew about this.”

They nodded in agreement, watching as you nodded your head over for them to come meet your friends. “Don’t be mad.” Was the first thing you said when they were close enough, but you were smiling. “That’s my husband James, and that’s Remus and Sirius.”

They greeted each other with little words, causing your teammates to blink slowly. Emily was the one to ask, her brain short-circuiting “You guys are British?”

“Not by choice.” Derek chuckled at Sirius’s comment, but his eyes were glued to Harry still. “Oh, this is Harry. He’s asleep, but…”

“He’s yours.” You glanced up at Spencer, nodding “He’s mine.”

“Wow, Rossi really was right.” You laughed, confused expression prompting her to continue. “Said we shouldn’t be surprised because you’re so motherly.” James seemed to like those words, his hand on your waist silently claiming you as his. The mother of his child.

“No, I really am offended, you know?” Derek said, placing his hands on his hips. “I thought we were your closest friends.”

“You guys are my closest friends.” Derek raised his eyebrows, pointedly glancing at Sirius and Remus, who were both very much away of the fact that you were a mother.

“They’re my family, Derek. You guys are my closest friends.” Emily huffed, not knowing what to do with her hands. “I really want to give you a hug but I don’t want to wake the baby up.”

“Em, he’s hardly a baby anymore.” But still, James slid his hands around Harry’s waist, lifting him from your arms to take him from you, giving your shoulders a rest. Instantly, Emily launched herself into you, whispering to you “I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks, Em.” When you separated from the hug, Spencer and Derek were immediately lining up for their own hugs, Spencer mumbling under his breath “This one’s for Penelope.”

It was silent for a long moment, your eyes trailing away from your mini audience so you could take a glance at Harry, so effortlessly being carried by James, who swayed from side to side in an attempt to keep him asleep. “Um, I think we’re gonna go.” Your coworkers nodded, standing still whilst staring at you, Harry and James. “It was nice meeting you guys.” James said opening the door to the backseat and placing Harry back into the carseat.

You handed Remus your car keys, and he and Sirius began making their way over to your vehicle so you could drive home with your husband. They said their goodbyes, and just as you were about to climb into the middle seat to sit next to Harry, Emily grasped your hand, tugging you back to tell you “Very attractive husband, by the way.” You laughed, and she winked, closing the car door behind you.

“Did you just call her husband hot?” Derek asked as you drove away.

“He is hot.”

“Emily.” Spencer scolded, a smile on his face nonetheless.

“What? I’m a lesbian. If anything, he should be the worried one.”

“This is a new low, hitting on a married woman with a child.”

Emily rolled her eyes, dialling Penelope’s number to tell her the news. Of course, the technical analyst did not pick up. She was fast asleep, and you were driving away into the distance with the family no one new you had.

Apart from Rossi, apparently.

#criminal minds x reader #hp x reader #marauders era x reader #james potter x reader

yasministration

the phoenix - remus lupin

summary: whispers of a secret agent floated around grimmauld place for days on end. the phoenix. an agent so important they had been named after the order itself. or was that actually the case? wc: 3k+

Whispers of a secret agent floated around the manor for days on end. Meetings for the Order of the Phoenix started and ended the same way: the kitchen door slamming shut and then finally easing open as new problems were brought to the surface and shooed away.

The kids in the house began noticing the tension lingering in the shoulders of the order members. This time, it wasn’t directly to do with the stirring war. No, it had to do with you.

They had never met you. Neither did most of the members of the Order of the Phoenix. You were just a name, an undercover name, shared in forbidden whispers around the house and nowhere else. The Phoenix, they called you, so when the Weasley kids and Harry heard talk of you, they knew you had to be important. Questions followed mentions of that name in dark rooms, dead silent apart from the concerned whispers that lingered in the shadows.

Do you think The Phoenix is still alive?

When did Dumbledore say the cut off date was?

Will the mission succeed, you think?

They didn’t know what any of it meant, but it was easy to make assumptions. Hermione Granger had made most of them. She insisted you were an agent gone undercover, and they wouldn’t know anything about you or your mission until you were back. If you were back. She swore that Dumbledore’s ‘cut off date’ was when the members of the order could stop assuming you’d be back — to think of you as dead.

Of course, Hermione Granger’s winning streak was strong. The date circled in red on the calendar in the kitchen had allowed them to guess when this cut off date was. For a while, they didn’t know if it was confirmation bias; they had created their own meaning from fragments of sentences heard and now interpreted everything around them to support that belief. But what did they interpret?

Was it the way they were convinced that with each day that passed, the energy between order members decreased, falling into a tunnel of hopelessness? Was it that before every meeting, the kitchen door slammed shut just a little bit louder?

No one told them anything.

People they knew in passing came and went; aurors who worked for the ministry ignored them wholeheartedly, Professors who continued to teach them avoided eye-contact, family members told them to mind their own business. When Harry asked his godfather for the finest sliver of information, a hand clasped on his shoulder, and the topic of conversation was changed.

But Harry didn’t need anyone to tell him who you were because he saw you.

In the dead of night, a hand clutching your side as you winced, mumbling a wandless spell to clean your hands from the blood that had swept through the fabric of your clothes. The alleyway around you was dark, not a single lamp lighting the path around you, but a dark door was visible in front of you, your fingers tracing the letters carved into the dark wood. You straightened your back, inhaling deeply before pulling the hood of your coat over your head, casting a dark shadow over your face. Pushing the door open, Harry got a good look at the writing on its oak wood, spelling out the words ‘Borgin and Burkes’

Harry squinted, following you into the shop, where a man greeted you by the counter. “I’m looking for this relic.” You told the owner, pulling out a crumpled image from the pocket of your coat. Your voice was innocent and kind — a ploy to make the man give you what you wanted. None of the ruggedness from the life you’d faced came through. It was your secret weapon; to make people think you know nothing will let you discover more than they could ever imagine.

The man walked out from behind the counter, making his way over to a display of jewellery in the shop. There was a glass barrier over the display, protecting the intricate pieces from any customers with slippery fingers. A hum of approval left your lips, informing Harry that you had found what you were looking for. The owner watched closely as you placed a hand over the glass, exactly above the relic you had sought. He seemed happy with your satisfaction, leaning back on the counter with a smile that made Harry uneasy.

This couldn’t be safe for you.

“How much?” You asked. “It’s not for sale.” Scoffing, you tugged the hood around your head, ensuring he couldn’t see your face. “Come on, let me see your face. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t hide it.” Harry’s gut twisted, watching the owner with a grimace. The broad man leaned in closer to you, bringing his voice down to a whisper despite the shop being completely empty. “I’ll sell this piece for you, but it comes with a price.” Harry’s eyes trailed down to where the man gripped his belt buckle, a silent offer hovering on his lips.

All the alarms were ringing in Harry’s head; You had to get out of here.

But suddenly, the glass disappeared beneath your fingers, and your hand instantly closed around the locket. A noise resembling a roar escaped the man’s throat, and he made a move to lunge at you, but with a loud pop, you apparated away from the scene, taking Harry with you.

Gasping loudly, Harry woke up, sitting up straight in his bed.

Looking around the dark room, he gripped the bedsheets underneath him, trying to ground himself as he panted for air. Ron sat on the edge of his bed, a concerned expression on his face. “Are you alright? You were talking in your sleep. Saying something about safety. Saying you had to get out.”

Without anyone telling him, he knew you were The Phoenix. This entire time Harry had imagined The Phoenix would be a man, muscular yet lean, scars on their face and a dark aura, showing the consequences of their missions. But his dream had proved him wrong.

Harry knew The Phoenix would come. And so he told no one of his vision.

As the moon dipped below the earth’s curve and dawn announced the new day, Grimmauld Place became a Manor of chaos. The kids had known that the Order of the Phoenix was larger than the number of people who consistently came to meetings, but they hadn’t expected this many witches and wizards. As every new person apparated into the house, Harry believed less and less that they would all fit into the kitchen. Alas, the door eventually shut once more for the most important meeting of the year.

August 3rd 1995 — the cut off date.

Harry wondered what could possibly be discussed in this meeting. Either you were alive, or you weren’t, and a meeting wouldn’t tell them that. It would only be your presence that would alert them of such thing. He briefly wondered if you would show up – if you had made it the past few days.

Alive.

Similarly to every other night spent in this house, Harry, the Weasleys and Hermione sat on the staircase in silence, as though attempting to hear the discussion within the kitchen. The muffling charm never allowed them to.

As the night seeped deeper into the house’s tragic emptiness, hours ticking into the next day’s early morning, the kids began mumbling tiredly, saying incomprehensible words formed by the sonants of ‘bed’ and ‘sleep’. But it was only then – as Ginny and Hermione began standing up – that things got interesting. Heads unanimously snapped upwards as the handle of the front door rattled.

Everyone went silent, all complaints forgotten as the hinges creaked open and a figure slipped through the gap in the doorway, dressed in all black, clothes as dark as the night bleeding into the house around them. You turned around, slipping the hood of your coat off your head, eyes lifting up to make direct contact with Harry across the room. His breath hitched in his throat.

It was you. The Phoenix was here.

Slipping your coat off your figure, you hung it up in the entryway, exposing more of you. The sleeves of your black top were long, cutting off around your wrists, but the one on your left arm had been ripped at your shoulder, and the black fabric was tightly wrapped around your forearm, an injury undeniably concealed underneath it.

However, that wasn’t important. Because on your arm was a beautiful tattoo of a phoenix, abstract art designed around it as the creature occasionally flapped its wings against your bicep. Harry almost felt a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He had been right this entire time.

A loud slam of a door opening broke everyone out of their daze. Remus Lupin rushed out of the kitchen’s now open door, following your scent until he stood right in front of you. His arms were limp at his side, and he stared with his mouth agape until he finally whispered your name. It was so quiet that the unfamiliar syllables weren’t picked up by the children in the room, but it attracted someone else from the kitchen. At the sight of you, Sirius grinned widely, but your eyes were sunken, serious, and it was only then that the two men remembered you had been undercover for the better part of three months.

Pushing past the two men, the slight frown on Remus’s face was barely caught by the teenagers in the room as you made yourself known to the rest of the order. Everyone in the kitchen held their breath, drinking in your appearance for the first time in months. For some, it was the first time ever. The Phoenix, someone murmured, but was promptly ignored as you spoke for the first time.

“I don’t want to get blood all over the kitchen, so we can either wait until I’m done cleaning myself up or we move this meeting elsewhere.” Clearly, you had already made up your mind, because you didn’t give anyone the opportunity to respond. Instead, you walked out of the kitchen’s open door to the nearest bathroom. You were familiar with this house, Harry noted, despite it only being the Order’s meeting spot since the beginning of summer, long after you had gone undercover.

Remus followed you to the bathroom, the door kept open as he made his presence known to you. All it took for the kids to see past it was to turn their heads towards the room. “Can I help?” You nodded, continuing to unravel the fabric of your shirt from your arm. Remus carefully took your arm in his hands, looking closely at the deep cut you had sustained. He kneeled down, opening the drawer underneath the sink to fetch the first aid kit.

“How are you feeling?” You seemed taken aback by the question, spluttering slightly. “I’m… fine, I think. In pain. And everything hasn’t really hit me yet. But I’m fine. There's a lot I need to tell the Order.”

“Still in fight or flight mode?” Remus joked, and you nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. When your arm was secured underneath a layer of gauze, you tugged your shirt upwards, exposing the gash on your side, above your ribs. Silently, Remus worked to clean your wound, applying a layer of disinfectant and healing cream over the wound before covering it up. His fingertips were gentle against your skin, nimble whilst working against you.

Remus disappeared from the bathroom for a few minutes, and through the crack in the open door, you spotted curious eyes staring at you. What the hell were teenagers doing in this house?

When Remus returned, he held clean clothes in his hands. He shut the door behind him, placing the clothes onto the counter. “Can I help?” He asked again, this time in a whisper, his fingers grazing the hemline of your shirt. You nodded, wincing slightly as you raised your arms above your head so that Remus could pull the top off your torso. The material was sticky with blood in certain areas, and he abandoned it in the sink as he dabbed at any dried blood on your skin with a wet cloth. His eyes followed the new scars decorating your body, some fresh and tender, others pale with age.

Remus dried his hands before reaching for the clean jumper. One of his. He held the hole for your head open, guiding your arms through the appropriate sleeves. “Sorry, I only had-” Remus held up his sleeping trousers in his hand, and you smiled softly, moving to unbutton your trousers. You steadied yourself against the counter as Remus knelt on the floor in front of you, dragging your trousers down your legs.

It was odd, being so comfortable with him so quickly. Almost as though you hadn’t gone three months without seeing him. Almost as though you never had that argument before you left.

‘I just want you to be safe’

‘I’ll be safe, Remus!’

‘You’re going on an undercover mission! Dumbledore is giving us a cut off date for when to stop expecting you to come back home!’

‘Well shit Remus! If we all stayed so safe all the damn time, we’d have no one to fight this war! Do you want them to win!? Did you survive the first one just to give up now!?’

‘I don’t want them to win, I just don’t want you to have to be the one to go.’

‘Well, I am going. And I’ll come back, because that’s the only way this entire mission is going to accomplish anything.’

This was the first time you were speaking to him since, limbs aching with bruises and scars that hadn’t been there when you left. It was silent between you as Remus stood back up, his dark pyjamas tightly knotted so they could hold around your waist. You cleared your throat, looking down at the white tiles of the bathroom floor.

A call of your name had you glancing up, eyes going wide. “I’m really happy you’re back.”

“Say that again.”

“What?”

“My name. Please.”

And so he did. Whispered it to you softly, a hand coming up to rest on the side of your neck, feeling the steady beat of your pulse. Repeated it once when he noticed the way your head bowed down. “It’s been so long since anyone has called me that.” You told him, eyes watering. Remus stepped closer to you, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you into a gentle hug. He caressed your back, promising you “It’s really good to have you back, y/n.”

You returned to the kitchen, walking past the kids once more, still the Phoenix, but now much more human too. Your skin was littered with bruises, scars that told stories of your journey. You were still young, so young, but much too mature for your age.

When the kitchen emptied, much later, the kids had all gone to bed. All but Harry, who stared at the doorway, waiting for you to come out. You didn’t, but the rest of the order did, filing out all together. He couldn’t tell if the morale was raised, or if the situation had only gotten worse. But it didn't matter, because you were alive, and that surely meant something good had been accomplished.

Eventually, Sirius left the kitchen too, extending an arm out towards Harry, who instantly followed his godfather. “We’ve got to give her and Moony some time alone.”

“Why?” Harry asked as Sirius led him into the living room, glancing back towards the kitchen. Well, Remus needed to apologise.

“I’m sorry for what I said to you before you left.” He told you, arms crossed as he leaned back on the counter, eyes trained on you. You looked up from your mug of tea, furrowing your eyebrows. “It was selfish of me,” He continued. “I haven’t cared for someone like you in a long time, and the last time I did, it caused me a lot of grief. And I didn’t want to have to grieve over you.”

You stood up slowly, walking over to Remus whilst shaking your head. “You don’t have to apologise, Remus. If anything, you motivated me. There were days that really weren’t easy, but I knew I couldn’t leave you alone. I had to come back to you, no matter what.”

Remus blinked away rapidly approaching tears, extending an arm to curl his hands at the back of your elbows, tugging you closer to him. “You know, the order of the phoenix isn’t the same without the phoenix.” You scoffed, resting your head onto Remus’s chest. “Still don’t know who gave me that stupid nickname.”

“Oh, it was Sirius.” You giggled immediately at the older man’s admission, your youth reflecting on your face with your smile. “Remus?” He hummed, lips spread into a soft smile. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for months.”

“Oh. What’s stopping you?”

“Well I don’t really tend to make the first move. So…”

“Are you asking me to kiss you?”

“Uh huh.”

Remus grinned, thinking back to all the conversations he had heard the Weasleys and Harry have about you. The terrifying Phoenix — undercover agent so important they were named after the order itself. He could barely believe that you were the same person they had been discussing, now wearing an oversized jumper and much too large pyjama pants.

“Right, that’s fine, I suppose.” Remus rolled his eyes playfully, bringing a hand up to his chest to grab your hand when you jokingly smacked him, touch as light as a feather. Remus grinned, leaning down to press his lips to yours, one steady hand on your hip. You sighed into the kiss, taking a step forward so your chest was pressed against his. When you broke the kiss, lips still touching, Remus finally spoke.

“Dumbledore won’t like this one.”

“Oh please, what’s he going to do? Give us a detention?”

#hp x reader #remus lupin x reader #golden trio era x reader #marauders era x reader

yasministration

He gets turned on at a bad time

Characters are: Harry, Ron, Oliver, Cedric, James, Percy and Seamus. The wattpad world hasn't seen the seamus one and it's probably the best one. Tell me if you want other characters, or one with the girls

Harry: You hadn't realised that you had done anything wrong. Everyone was sat having dinner in the Great Hall when you made eye contact with Harry. You winked at him, and turned back to face your friends.

You smirked, remembering how things got a little bit heated in an empty classroom before your last class. You bit your lip and shook the thought out of your head. You risked another glance at Harry's seat only to find him rushing out of it and speed-walking out of the Hall. Your eyes widened and you stood up to follow your boyfriend, worry bubbling in your chest.

"Harry!" You called out, breaking into a run when you spotted him. He abruptly stopped in his tracks, turning around to face you. He visibly sighed in relief. "Are you-" You cut yourself off when you saw an evident tent in your boyfriend's trousers.

He tugged at his trousers uncomfortably, taking one of your hands and dragging you down the hallways. "I sure hope Ron didn't cause that." You joked. "Ha ha, very funny. Somehow, it was actually you who caused this, and now since you're here, might as well fix it, don't you think?"

You gulped and nodded quickly, gasping when Harry pushed you into the nearest broom closet and ordered "On your knees, princess."

Ron: Staying at the Burrow with Ron and his family at the end of the summers became a normal thing. You all were going into your sixth year now and you and Ron had been together for just over a year. You both had done some stuff but never actually gone all the way and done the deed. Of course, with your horny excuse of a boyfriend, you assumed that it wouldn't be long until you did.

The lot of you had just finished dinner. Bill and Fleur had joined you and were currently helping helping Mrs. Weasley tidy up the tables from the garden. You walked into the Burrow, grinning when you saw Ron sprawled out on one of the armchairs with his eyes closed.

You pranced over to him, plopping down on his laps. He opened his eyes, lazily smiling at you. You wiggled a little bit to make yourself comfortable but were stopped by one of his strong arms. "Baby, no." You furrowed your eyebrows, turning to look a his face properly and give him a confused glance but he put his hands on your hips, stopping you from doing so.

"Ron wh-" You gasped, unable to finish your sentence when you felt what was most definitely a growing hard-on in between your thighs.

Right at that moment, the twins, Bill and Fleur joined the two of you in the living room. Ron was only becoming harder under you and you adjusted yourself once more, making him suck in a sharp breath. Ginny stepped out of the kitchen with Hermione by her side, both of them heading back outside. "You coming (Y/N)?"

"I-" "No!" Ron interrupted. That earned him weird looks from his family members. "He's just jealous that I've been spending much time with you guys is all." You lied swiftly. You felt Ron stiffly nodding his head from behind you. You could only imagine how red his face was.

You looked down at your hands, a blush creeping onto your own cheeks. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Bill smirking. You scratched the back of your neck nervously, hoping to change the topic of conversation but alas.

You heard loud wolf-whistle coming from George as Fred let out a yell. "Boner! Ronniekins has a boner!" You felt all the blood rushing to your head as Ron dug his face in between your shoulder blades. Bill finally broke, letting out a loud laugh that he failed miserably at hiding. "In my defense-" You squeaked as Harry came into view and Fleur tried hiding a smile "I-I didn't mean to?"

Oliver: You stood in the Gryffindor changing rooms with your arms crossed on your chest. You leaned on the wall with a small smile on your face as you listened to Oliver give his team a motivational speech.

Usually you'd also be needed on the pitch, but because of a shoulder injury, your healer told you not to play Quidditch for the school year. It was unfortunate, it really was, especially since it was your last year at Hogwarts and you wanted to win the Cup for your House team.

As Oliver brought his speech down to a close, you pushed yourself off the wall and walked over to him. His team cheered, excitedly rushing out of the room to get ready for the game with a little warm-up.

You grinned, pulling Oliver closer to you by the belt hoops in his pants and placing a soft kiss on his lips. Before he could deepen the kiss, you pulled away, peppering his neck with light kisses as you spoke. "You're going to play well today Oli?" He nodded, his eyes fluttering close.

"I always play good." He whispered. You hummed against his neck, telling him "Well I'll tell you what; if you win the game by a lot, you might get a little surprise after the match."

His eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened. He visibly swallowed and you took one of his hands in yours and slipped it under your pants for him to feel your lace underwear. He slowly brought his hand back to his side and he rearranged his red Quidditch robes around him as he walked out of the changing rooms.

"I'll see you on the stands?" He asked, stopping in the doorway. "'Course you will." You chuckled, smirking when you heard him mutter to himself "Now's not the time Oliver."

Cedric: "Oh come on Ced, what's the worst that could happen? Whoever she is, I'm sure she likes you back." You spoke, taking a left. You saw him shake his head out of the corner of your eye and groaned. You halted in your step, turning towards your best friend.

"Cedric Diggory, you look at me in the eyes." Reluctantly, he did as you told him to, "You could get any girl, guy or non-binary person in this castle! For fuck's sake you could probably get Professor Dumbledore if you wanted to, so go get the girl you're crushing on! Lord knows it's about time you've moved on from Cho!"

A small smile formed on his face, "Well what about you?" he asked. "What about me?" You repeated his previous words. "Could I get you if I wanted to?" Your entire face flushed red but you nodded nonetheless. "Oh yeah you could totally get me if you wanted to."

Cedric's head shot up in shock and he grinned widely. "Really?" You mumbled a bunch of incoherent words and took bigger steps to the prefects' meeting room. He grabbed your arm, tugging you back and pressing his soft lips to yours roughly.

One of his hands cupped your cheeks and you sighed in the kiss, your small hands gripping his Hufflepuff robes. He pulled away and you bashfully smiled up at him. "We can't be late to a prefects' meeting Ced, come on."

His hands gripped your waist from behind and he pulled you in closer to him. He pecked your forehead, saying, "We're early, there's still 20 minutes before the meeting." "What do you suggest we do, then?" You asked, looking him up and down with a cheeky grin.

Cedric's eyes widened as he zoned out for a moment, and you saw the blood rush to his ears as he shifted uncomfortably on his two feet. "Fuck you (Y/N)." He muttered, turning around and heading in the direction of the men's bathrooms. You laughed loudly, shouting after him "Don't be late!"

James (marauders era): James smiled at you lazily from where he laid on the bed. One hand went behind him as he blindly searched for his glasses on his bedside table. "I've got the best parents in the world." He whispered when he found them, placing them on his face. You laughed, sitting up and stretching your back slightly.

"I mean I'm not going to complain that I get to sleep in the same bed as you." You managed to say mid-yawn. "Nor that I can peacefully get a morning kiss from you." James beamed, his muscled arms opening wide to expose his bare chest as he welcomed you in his arms.

You snuggled in his warm hold, placing a small kiss on his chest. "For a chaser on the (H/H) team, your aim is terrible." He joked and puckered his lips slightly. You leaned up, giving him a proper kiss. "Mhm, yes please." He muttered against your lips, pulling you closer to him by the hips.

Your crotch accidentally grinded against his as he deepened the kiss and he gasped, though he didn't pull away. He bucked his hips into yours for some more friction and you let out a quiet moan into his mouth. You could feel him smirk into the kiss as one of his hands made its way past your hips and down your lower back.

You broke away from James's kiss when you felt his hard-on poking the inside of the thigh. You moved your lips to his neck, pressing little kisses all over it, occasionally sucking, but not hard enough to leave any marks. His eyes fluttered shut and his grips tightened on your hip and backside.

"James, (Y/N)! Sirius is here, get out of bed!" Euphemia yelled from down the stairs. James let out an almost inaudible gasp and you shot up, your eyes immediately going to the door. "No, no, no!" James whined quietly, reaching out to you.

In mere seconds, the door to the room burst open and Sirius Black stood with a wide smirk on his face. It only widened when his eyes scanned the situation. Swollen lips, messy hair, panicked faces, and more importantly, James's hard bulge fighting against the thin fabric of his boxers.

"I'll let you guys finish," he said, slowly leaving the room, "EUPHEMIA!" he then shouted, his fast footsteps heard through the closed wooden door.

Percy: "Perce, hey Perce." you whispered, running a hand through his red hair to try waking him up. He moaned, turning to his other side. You giggled, leaning over to press short kisses on the side of his face. "Baby, wake up." "Noo" he whined, dragging the word out.

"We're needed down in the Great Hall, c'mon." "But I don't wanna." He continued, still half asleep. Sleepy Percy was the cutest Percy. "My love, there's been a Sirius Black situation. They're saying he attacked your brother." At that, he shot up.

"What? Which one? Is he okay? Did anyone check if he's okay?" He rushed in, his eyes taking in all the details in your face to make sure nothing too bad happened. "Don't worry about it my love, I checked up on him already, but they need us in the Great Hall, Head student duties."

He took your face in his hands, kissing you passionately. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." He hugged you tightly, and you could hear him taking deep breaths. You moved one of your hands to gently rub his thigh, but you misplaced it, instead accidentally putting his right over his crotch.

He lifted his head off your shoulder, giving you a look of shock and you pulled your hand away, a blush blooming on your face. "Perce I'm-" "It's fine!" he squeaked, also turning red. You took a glimpse down at the problem you caused, your eyes widening when you noticed how hard you actually made him. Damn teenage hormones.

"I think I just-wait outside." He nodded frantically and you got up, leaving outside to let him deal with his, uh, problem.

Seamus: Seamus had a bad habit of not being able to stay away from you for more than a half hour when you didn't have classes and was always immediately on the search for you after those minutes passed. It was rare that you both had free periods at the same time and Seamus would be sure to use those to his advantage.

That's how you both ended up in his dormitory, you on top of him, peppering kisses all over his neck, and occasionally sucking on the soft skin. Seamus used his strength to flip the both of you, breathing heavily. "Already having trouble breathing?" You teased, "We haven't even gotten to the good part." And you knew that he'd make you pay for that. He grinded his very prominent hard-on into your fully clothed heat, making you let out a moan.

He smirked, leaning down to capture your lips in a rough, passionate kiss. Your hand trailed down to open his fly and unzip his zipper. You took your time undoing his button and pulling his trousers down, even as he rushed to remove yours. The tent in his white boxers was evident and just before you went to pull them down, you went back up to take his shirt off. Seamus growled, hurriedly unclasping your bra, having taken your button-up shirt off long before.

"Seamus mate!?" Came from the dormitory door, accompanied by loud knocking. "Professor McGonagall is seriously going to get mad if we're late again!" "Fuck." Seamus muttered, dropping his head in the crook of your neck, his hips bucking into your teasing hand. "Is (Y/N) in with you as well?" Dean continued, "I really don't want to go in there right now mate, come on, we're all going to be incredibly late!"

"Seamus?" You asked him, when he didn't respond or move. "Darling." He breathed out. "Yeah, give us a second and we'll be out mate!" He got off the bed, leaning down to help you clasp your bra and put the rest of your clothes on before putting on his own, struggling to button his pants. He groaned at the discomfort and tugged at his trousers to try and give himself space to breathe.

He give you one last kiss before running a hand through his hair and picking up both your bags, holding yours out of reach so you wouldn't try to take it from him and carry it yourself. You took his hand in yours, tugging him back for a moment as he went to open the door. "I'll make it up to you, I promise." You whispered to him, giving him a look of reassurance and he let out a noise that resembled a whine, tugging at his trousers once more.

#hp x reader #golden trio era x reader #marauders era x reader #hp smut

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