Thank you to everyone who has enjoyed my work so far! Here is an entire collection of all of my writing. If the work is a multi-part story, it will say so. This will be updated as I write, any time it is viewed it should be accurate but if I've missed anything, please let me know. If there is an 'R' beside the title, that means it had been requested. Attached below is a list of my request guidelines! Requests are always open unless my bio says otherwise! Thanks!
*Request Guidelines* -- PLEASE VIEW BEFORE REQUESTING!
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***I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVING ANY OF MY STORIES REPOSTED OR TRANSLATED ON ANY SITES***
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i have just a few requests of Neville Longbottom x AFAB she/her reader. Any or all of the 3 can be done if you’d like <3
the first is just a simple one of Neville and the reader being oblivious of their feelings towards one another, leading to frustration and eventually an outburst of one confessing their feelings towards the other.
the second is of reader being jealous of neville and luna, and neville takes her on a rather gorgeous date to reassure her and make his love for her known.
🔞 the last request is 18+, reader & neville do it in a greenhouse iykwim!
Hi! Thank you so much for your request + thank you for being so patient with me.
I sort of combined your first and your last request because I loved them both so much, I wanted to combine them. I hope this is what you were looking for. Enjoy reading + thanks for being here!
Neville Longbottom x Fem!Reader Insert (no gender-specific details, though it is mentioned that the reader has hair)
+ SUMMARY - *Requested - based on this* After months of constant tension between Neville and you, it all comes to a loud, frustrating head in his favorite place—the Hogwarts greenhouse.
+ WARNINGS - SMUT! Dry-humping, public sexual content (sort of), kissing, dirty talk, talking Nev through it (slightly), slightly dom!reader (sort of), slightly sub!Nev, fem!reader, hickies (m!receiving) (very brief mention), language, not fully proof-read (lmk if I missed anything!)
+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -
Phonograph - Vlad Holiday
---
Neville Longbottom was an enigma. Somewhere— between his dark, wild curls and sprawling legs—you knew he had it in him to make simple conversation with you. But, for whatever reason, he was reserved, if not completely silent. Especially when serious topics popped up.
It wasn’t like he didn’t do that with everyone, because he most certainly did. Nev was an extremely shy guy, but you would have hoped that after years of friendship, he’d do a little better.
Sure, he chatted with you about the things you both loved—herbology, butterbeer, etc., but when you started to talk about other things, he was down for the count. He didn’t want to talk about your love life, your friends’ love lives, and he absolutely did not want to talk about whether or not he had his eye on anyone. You’d asked him that question about a dozen times this year alone, and every time he’d managed to stumble his way through a half-hearted explanation. He was focused on school.
You never expected an answer when you did ask; you just harbored a little hope each time. So, when you asked him this time over dinner at the Three Broomsticks, you were surprised when he actually paused to think.
You continued to eat and kept your eyes away from him so as not to scare him off. Any quick moves, he might not answer your question. Having a conversation with him was occasionally reminiscent of backing a frail dog into a corner.
Finally, he spoke. “It wouldn’t really matter if I did, you know?”
“What do you mean? Of course it would matter,” you responded, chewing at your meal.
“It wouldn’t—it’s not like she’d ever like me back, so what’s the point of telling?” He shrugged.
“Neville! That’s ridiculous. No one gets anywhere by assuming things. You don’t know she doesn’t reciprocate, so why not give it a shot?”
“Because the likelihood she’d ever say yes is extremely low, plus it’d be mortifying if I asked. So, why try?” He returned casually to his food like he hadn’t just said one of the most depressing things you’d heard all year.
So, from that point on, you decided to build Neville’s confidence up as much as needed to get him to talk to this girl. He refused to tell you who it was, just that she was in the same year as the two of you. He just wouldn’t say, and straight up ignored you when you tried to guess. He wouldn’t even give you a hint.
That sort of put a damper on things, because you weren’t sure how to help him interact with her if you didn’t know what she liked. In the end, though, you decided that was probably for the best, because you’d just be changing him to match her taste, instead of teaching him how to be more confident in himself.
Nev was perfect, as is; any girl would be lucky to have him. He just had a hard time putting himself out there, but you saw him just as he was. You just had to figure out how to make him see that as well.
So, over the week following the conversation you’d had at dinner, you’d developed a few…pop quizzes for him. It wasn’t the smartest idea, but it was all you had. Plus, mama birds teach their babies to fly by pushing them out of the nest, right? You just needed to push Nev out of the nest.
By day three of the carefully planned questions and scenarios you threw at him at random, you were about on Nev’s last nerve.
So, when you hopped in front of him on the way to lunch, he promptly said, “No,” and kept walking. You scoffed at his behavior. This was for his own good! You turned and jogged after him.
“Er, no, what, Nev?” You played dumb. He all but rolled his eyes before glancing down at you.
“Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing?” he asked, frowning as he continued on with his quick pace. You struggled to keep up.
“What do you mean?”
“The questions, the discussions we’ve been having! If I were a girl, how would I want to be approached? Should What is your favorite color?’ be the first question you ask a girl you’re interested in?” He glared at you. Your eyes fell to the ground, a small blush appearing on your cheeks at being caught.
“No matter how useless you think I am with girls—I don’t need help!”
“Well, I don’t think you’re useless, I was just trying to—”
“No more!” he interrupted. “That girl I like is… she’s not going to say yes, so just stop trying.”
His voice trailed off, following his face into a kind of depressive corner. He sighed heavily, stopping in the center of the hallway and rubbing his hand along the back of his neck.
Various students circled the two of you like a stone in a river. Every few moments, a shoulder bumped yours or his, and slightly edged you closer.
“I’m not trying to…I don’t want to hurt your feelings—” you started, barely able to meet his eyes.
“I know you’re not, it’s just…” he sighed frustratedly, glancing off in the distance, somewhere over your head as he tried to find the words. “I’ve come to terms with her not liking me back. So, bringing it up over and over again, it—”
“Hurts,” you finished. He nodded.
“I’m… I'm sorry, Nev. That was never my intention. I just want you to be happy.” You still struggled with eye contact, just as bad as he always did.
“I am happy. I’m very grateful for the relationship I do have with her, and I’m not willing to sacrifice that for something more.”
That caught your attention. You finally found the courage to look straight at him, and, this time, Neville was looking directly into your eyes. He wasn’t skipping out on eye contact, or shying away, or trying to leave. He was just staring—at you, and no one else.
Your lips parted, but no words came out. Only a shuddering exhale that he picked up on. His eyes flickered downward to your mouth for a split second, then back up. You felt as though you couldn’t breathe.
“Nev, what—?” Your mouth finally formed around the words enough to speak them. Though in an instant, Neville was backing up and heading the opposite way.
Stunned, you could not move for a few moments. Your legs would not heed your brain’s urge to run after him, to demand who he was talking about. He had plenty of female friends—Ginny, Hermione, Luna... So, why did his faltering make you think he was talking about you?
Was it selfish to think that? That he could possibly have feelings for you that surpassed the platonic ones?
Was it selfish to want him to? Neville was your best friend. He was the closest you’d ever let anyone be. You cared about him; you wanted him to be happy, even if it was at the hands of another woman. Nev was everything.
You hadn’t ever considered the possibility of him reciprocating. Because he wouldn’t—couldn’t.
That was the final word you came to. He didn’t reciprocate feelings because he couldn’t. That was it. You weren’t going to dwell on it any longer and give yourself false hope. That would just make it hurt all the more in the end.
So, you’d intended to ignore it for the rest of the day. You’d intended to act completely normal, and not bring up the conversation or girls or try to match him up with anyone.
But you didn’t get the chance to make good on your intentions. You didn’t see Neville the rest of the day.
He was absent from the remainder of your morning classes, nowhere to be found at lunch, and gone from afternoon classes. He wasn’t at dinner, either.
And if all of that wasn’t entirely unlike him, he didn’t show up for your Hogsmeade visit.
Every Friday since the two of you were fourteen, you’d walk down to Hogsmeade and splurge with the bit of allowance you’d been sent from your family, or his grandmother. It was never very much, but after you’d pooled it together, you were always able to obtain a good amount of sweets. Enough, at least, for the two of you to share.
Neville hadn’t missed a Friday visit to Hogsmeade. Ever.
His absence now moved you past generalized concern to absolute panic. Had your matchmaking shenanigans finally pushed him past his limit? Had you hurt him one time too many?
You couldn’t let yourself dwell on the possibility of you having ruined your friendship, so you didn’t. You took a shower, slipped into bed, and tried not to think about Neville or the lack of sweets in the jar on your desk. It was maddening.
Common sense and basic maturity told you to get up and apologize to him, but you couldn’t help but feel like that’d just make matters worse. You just wanted him to be here, and for everything to be normal. But it wasn’t, and it sucked, and you couldn’t convince yourself to do anything about it.
So you went to sleep and dreamt of Neville the entire night.
When you woke, it was a dreary Saturday. One that usually would be comforting thanks to its easy sky and cool breeze, but it wasn’t. It was instead threatening, like some sort of impending doom lingering overhead.
Thought that may have just been the whole Neville situation turning a perfectly decent day into shit, like some kind of spoiled tea.
Nev wasn’t at breakfast. He wasn’t at lunch. He wasn’t in the library or the owlery. No one had seen him head down to Hogsmeade. He was nowhere. It was fucking agonizing.
You didn’t know what to do other than dwell on it until the pale gray light of the day had started to fade. The thought of checking the greenhouse—Neville’s favorite place on earth—didn’t even cross your mind until night was looming at the edge of the sky. You could have smacked yourself for being so stupid.
All of this moping and wondering where he might be, and you hadn’t even had the wherewithal to check the one place he most certainly was. And you called yourself his friend. Idiot.
There was the concern that Nev just didn’t want to talk to you right now. Why else would he be avoiding you? But all desire to grant him his peace faded away when the day’s light now only lingered at the tip of the mountains. You couldn’t handle a third day away from him. It felt like being without food or water. His friendship was as important to you as sustenance.
Determinedly—and ignoring all common sense telling you to just leave him the hell alone—you pulled a jacket over your shoulders and slipped out of your dorm.
If he didn’t want to talk or to see you, that was fine. You just wanted to hear it from him. For all you knew, he could be waiting for you to find him, and wondering why you hadn’t already. He could be thinking you were ignoring him. The thought made you nervous.
You never wanted him to think you were capable of doing that. He was your best friend, and you’d never leave him when he needed you. You just hoped he wasn’t doing that exact thing to you. Then again, he was probably just looking for some peace. You were probably just overanalyzing it.
Merlin, you thought too much.
You pushed through a set of doors that led out into one of the many breezeways around the castle. The greenhouses sat on the northern side of the castle, hidden in the shadow of the looming stone walls. The flora and fauna within never wilted, though. It didn’t matter how much sun they got; they were always thriving.
You knew it was partially due to the great care the staff and students took in tending to the plants, as well as the immaculate gift that was magic. But you couldn’t help but imagine that it was Neville, in all of his herbological prodigy, solely keeping them alive.
The thought made you smile fondly.
A light evening breeze curled around the collar of your jacket. Whispers of chills scattered down your arms at the sudden change in temperature. Surely, Hogwarts wasn’t expected to get this cool so soon. It was barely even the edge of autumn, and yet, the wind had a bite to it more associated with October.
You crossed your arms over your chest and started down the stone path that held the greenhouses at its end. If Neville wasn’t here, you’d genuinely start considering reporting him as missing to the Headmaster.
That thought didn’t go far, though, as you rounded the last cornered wall of the castle. At the bottom of the slight hill sat the biggest greenhouse, inside of which a small, warm candle was flickering lazily. The glass was frosted, but you could see the blurred edges of someone moving inside. It didn’t take much for you to tell it was Nev. You could recognize him anywhere, in any form. Subconsciously, a small smile spread across your lips.
You knew it was him. His smudged silhouette worked idly. It appeared as though he were repotting a plant.
The wind whistled gently, whispering along your jacket again. You moved toward the greenhouse, craving its warmth, before the chill bumps came back.
The glass door was warm to the touch. It regulated your body temperature almost instantly, even just from the caress of your fingertips.
The door whined slightly as you pulled it open. The damp heat from the interior slid beneath your clothes, sending a rough shudder across your entire body.
At the sound, Nev turned and faced you. A familiar smile spread across his face.
Well, at least he wasn’t disappointed to see you. “Hey, Nev.”
“Hello,” he responded, glancing back at the tools in his hands. “What are you doing out so late?”
“Looking for you, of course.” You stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind you. Nev returned to his work, but you did not miss the way his eyes flickered back over to you every few moments. You wanted to ask what he was working on, what he was doing out so late, what his plans for the rest of the weekend were. Anything that wasn’t what you were dying to ask.
It didn’t exactly play out the way you wanted it to, though. Stupidly, your mouth opened, and words spilled out faster than you could stop them. “Where have you been?”
His hands stopped. His back was to you, and you could no longer see if his eyes were glancing your way or not.
You swallowed thickly, unsure if you’d angered him or not.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed, unable to look you in the eye. “I’ve just been—”
“You don’t have to apologize,” you interrupted, arms still crossed tightly. You inched closer to him. “I just missed you, that was all.”
“I…,” he exhaled shakily. He set his tools down gently against one of the wooden counters lining the greenhouse. One at a time, he eased the work gloves off his hands and set them down as well. The tension and silence made you nervous. You couldn’t tell if he was mad or not.
You should have just made empty conversation. You should have waited longer to bring up the last few days. You were stupid.
“I’m sorry I brought it back up,” you sighed, glancing down at your shoes. “I just wanted to help. I didn’t intend to hurt you. And I never want to push you away. You’re my best friend, Nev. I don’t like it when you’re not around. The last two days have been…”
“I know,” he said, still not turning around. “I–I didn’t mean to disappear like that. I just…I needed a little bit of time to deal with it. I know you were just trying to help, but it kept it in my head nonstop.”
“The girl thing?”
He nodded. “I couldn’t think about it anymore. I was spinning in circles. I just needed a minute, plus I was embarrassed I’d shouted at you like that.”
“Nev,” you laughed easily. “That was not shouting. You were setting a boundary, and that’s perfectly alright.”
“It’s the closest I’d ever come to shouting at you, and it was virtually no better,” he retorted.
“Well, I’m alright. I’m not going to break—”
“I never said you were,” he interrupted, finally turning to face you. The dim light did not disguise the glance down his dark eyes took. “I… It’s just–you—”
Suddenly, with his eyes on yours, it was as if he could not speak. Facing the wall had given him some form of confidence that facing you had drained. He could hardly look at you. His lips parted and then closed about a dozen times before he sighed frustratedly.
“I’m sorry, I just—” he cut himself off. A hand came up to massage his forehead. He was so annoyed with himself. You could see it in the hard set of his jaw. It was the same expression he gave when he’d misremembered a fact and answered a question incorrectly in class, only this one was paired with a reddened flush on his cheeks.
“It’s okay,” you responded. “What is it?” You stepped even closer and eased a hand onto his forearm.
He jerked away as if you’d burned him. Your fingers stuttered in mid-air. “Nev, I—”
“I’m sorry!” he cut you off, turning back toward the table. His fingers rose and slid into his dark curls. The knuckles curved around each strand, pulling frustratedly. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s this…this fucking crush!”
You almost let a gasp slip out. Nev rarely cursed. Whoever this girl was had him all the way messed up. And, even though you’d come to apologize for continually bringing her up, you still desperately wanted to know who she was.
In the middle of lying around in complete boredom without him for the last two days, you’d reevaluated every interaction you could recall between him and the girls in your friend group.
There was maybe one time with Luna that had stood out, but other than that, you didn’t really come to any kind of conclusion. At least, not one that made any sense.
He and Hermione got along well, but you could tell she got a bit exhausted with his shyness from time to time. Their levels of intelligence matched closely, but it didn’t fit.
Ginny seemed a bit too much for him. She was strong, and confident, and athletic, and…everything he wasn’t. Of course, you’d considered that maybe the whole ‘opposites attract’ thing had some truth to it. But, in the end, you’d decided that he and Ginny rarely interacted, and in the times they did, not much was said.
And then, there was the thing with Luna. She had a deep, whimsical love for all creatures. That included some of the amazing plants that Nev was very comfortable working with. And so, they’d pick each other’s brains and compare experiences with some plant that tasted exactly like pink sugar, but would render you paralyzed for twelve hours.
And that was it. That was all that came to mind. Nothing else was likely. Nobody else was likely.
“Alright, Nev,” you started, hands out gently as if you were trying to comfort a wild animal. “I understand why that’s frustrating. That’s why I wanted to help. That’s why I pushed so hard. It’s just… If you’d just tell me who she is, I can help you through this.”
Suddenly, his hands fell away from his hair, and he turned back around. His eyes were shockingly wide, his dark irises glinting in the candlelight like a deep obsidian. When his lips parted, you assumed he was going to tell you off again; to demand that you never mention any girls to him ever again. But, he didn’t. Instead, a roaring laugh fell from his mouth. Despite its small interior, the sound somehow echoed in the greenhouse. It invoked a different set of chills. Different from the ones you’d felt outside.
That one laugh was somehow louder than any words he’d spoken in the last three years. Nev had always been quiet and shy. He spoke lowly. He kept his eyes down, and his body rendered small. And yet, his eyes were locked on yours, and his laugh was deafening.
“You are one of the smartest girls in class,” he scoffed. “I thought you’d have figured it out by now.”
He was almost mocking. It made your chest clench uncomfortably. Neville had never talked to you like this, like you were something silly and small. It was maddening.
“I’ve asked you to tell me ten thousand times,” you pushed. Anger rose into your cheeks. “Don’t comment on my intelligence because I haven’t found the time to guess who your stupid crush is.” It was mean. You were being mean. You winced.
There was a moment of silence. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it the way that I did. I just–I can’t possibly see how you haven’t felt it yet.”
Your lips parted, then hesitated. His eyes flickered back to the ground. That moment of confidence that had bloomed in him enough for his outburst seemed to have melted like ice in the heat of the greenhouse. “Felt what?”
He did not look at you, but he didn’t hesitate. He spoke openly, freely, and with a surprisingly steady voice. He was no longer frustrated. It was more like he was defeated. “All of it. The looks, the anxiety, the accidental touches, the tension…”
“Maybe I don’t pay as much attention to you as you think,” you joked lightly. He chuckled once, but he did not smile.
“Yeah, I guess not,” he all but whispered.
Another long beat of silence.
The small smile pulled from your joke melted from your lips. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t laughing. There was no anger, no sadness; it was that same look of defeat.
“Nev,” you breathed. “Can you please just tell me what’s going on? I want to help.”
“I just don’t see how you didn’t feel all of it.”
You sighed. “I’m sorry. I just haven’t. You know me, I can get scatterbrained. Sometimes, I don’t notice these kinds of things. If you’d just tell me who she is, I can help you—”
“It just doesn’t make sense, considering all of it was for you,” he interrupted. His eyes finally came back up to yours. Once again, they glittered endlessly, reflecting the candle’s flame. This time, though, they seemed unwavering. They did not glance around nervously or flicker back down to his feet. They just stared at you.
“What?” was all you could force out. It was hardly even a word. It lingered somewhere between an exhale and a choke, and in the middle of all of it was the smallest squeak of your voice.
“I never thought there was any chance that you didn’t feel all of it. How could something be so empty on one side, but absolutely suffocating on the other?” His shoulders rose and fell rapidly. His breaths angled his entire body backward, as if your presence was forcing him against the wall. “I’ve always wanted you, and you don’t—” he laughed once more— “you don’t pay that much attention to me.”
You were at a loss for words. Nothing would come forward. You only stared. If it was even possible, his blush became even darker.
Once his words were out, his eyes fell back to the floor.
“No,” you all but gasped out. He looked back up at you, half-expecting you to have hurt yourself with the urgency with which you’d just spoken. “Please don’t, ah, don’t look away.”
His eyebrows furrowed gently, trying to decipher your meaning.
“I hate it when you look away,” you whispered. “I want to see your eyes.”
His lips parted once more, and some of the tension knitted into his face released. He was utterly taken aback. “Do you—?”
“Don’t speak,” you interrupted. “I think talking about it will only confuse us.”
“So, what should we do?” he asked. He seemed at a loss, which was interesting considering he’d just claimed that your intelligence should have aided you more sufficiently than it did.
“Don’t speak,” you repeated. Before you could trivialize it or chicken out, you closed the gap between the two of you. In the dark, wet heat of the greenhouse, you pressed your lips inexpertly to Neville’s.
His hands, which had been clamped awkwardly behind his back, appeared at either side of your cheeks in less than a second. He acted before any context could be granted. Even if he didn’t think it was a good idea to rush into anything or to do something that could destroy your friendship, his body acted on its own.
Nothing about him could ever deny you. All logic bled from his bones when your lips touched his. He gasped against your mouth as if he’d resurfaced from deep waters.
From what you knew of him, Neville had never kissed anyone except for once during a game of Spin the Bottle. And yet, his mouth moved in a way that was entirely intoxicating. Perhaps it was just because it was he who kissed you, but you couldn’t help but feel like he had something figured out about kissing that no one else did.
His body leaned into you as if trying to combine you into him. His tall, thick frame pushed you back against the wooden counter. Your ass pressed against its edge, separating your lips with a gasp that slipped between the two of you.
“Sorry,” he panted, his lips caressing against yours. He gave you enough space to breathe, to speak, if you needed to, but he could not bring himself to not touch you. His nose brushed yours, his mouth caressed yours, his heavy breaths fanned across your cheeks.
“It’s okay,” you giggled breathlessly. “I want it, the… the counter against my back.”
“You—” He glanced down briefly, trying to understand. Your tongue poked out from your panting mouth and gently traced a section of his bottom lip.
A shaky whimper fell away from him. Subconsciously, almost like a knee-jerk reaction, his hips pressed against your front. Through his trousers, you could feel his core pushed against you. He was completely hardened and bigger than you’d ever experienced before. This could be told even without seeing it.
You gasped softly as he rolled his hips into your thigh. His face fell pathetically down to your shoulder, his lips and nose fitting smoothly into the crook of your neck.
“Can’t,” he sighed against your flesh.
“What? What is it?” you asked. Your hand slipped around his back, the tips of your fingers slipping beneath the curve of his belt and hanging on tight.
“I want to make you feel good,” he panted. His lips brushed against your neck, his tongue darting out gently. He sighed shakily at your taste. “But, I can’t…I won’t last. Your scent’s going to do me in.” A small, embarrassed laugh slipped from him.
“It’s alright, Nev,” you giggled a bit. “I want it. I want you to make yourself feel good.”
“What do you want me to do? I’ll do anything.” He finally pulled back and looked you in the eye once more.
“What do you want? I want you to come undone on me. Please.”
Your hands smoothed up his chest, then around the bare skin of his neck. His eyes curved upward. He shuddered. “D-Don’t talk like that.”
“Like what?” you whispered, smirking easily. “Dirty?”
He nodded pathetically, his hips once again grinding against you.
Your hands stopped their wandering at his jawline. One slipped to the back of his head and clutched their fingers within his curls, just as he’d done earlier. Your fingernails scratched gently over his scalp. He moaned aloud.
Your other hand stopped against his neck, your thumb lying simply across the length of his throat. Every breath, every sound reverberated against your skin. It plucked some kind of string within you, feeling him in this way. So completely vulnerable, with him giving it so willingly. You could have done anything to him at this moment.
Smirking, you leaned forward and slid the tip of your tongue up the length of his neck. His eyes rolled backward once more, and his legs all but gave out beneath him. He caught himself against the counter, pinning you effectively against it.
His knees remained weakened as he let you devour him. He didn’t stop you or protest or change anything. He just felt you against him, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. His hips slid along the edge of your thigh, never once halting. It was as if he couldn’t control it.
“I don’t think we need to decide what to do,” you whispered against his ear, tongue curving up the outside of it. “I think you want to come in your jeans right here, just like this.”
His breath shook, your hair fluttering against the force. Your hands held him steady, one continuing to control the location of his head, the other helping guide his hips against you.
“Do you want that?” you cooed. He nodded immediately, wrapping a single arm around your waist. He clung so tightly to you that the friction of his clothing against his cock was beginning to burn. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
It was the most delicious sensation he’d ever felt. It was addictive heat against him, and your lips, your words, they were sinful. He doubted he’d even make it far enough to get his pants off. He just hoped you were still willing to stick around after he came in a couple of minutes. He was pathetic.
“P-Please,” he gasped. You tugged the loose collar of his flannel shirt to the side. Your lips locked around his freckled flesh, sucking a dark bruise around the brunt of his collarbone.
At this, his other arm wrapped around your waist as well. Now, he held onto nothing but you, humping against you like a dog in rut.
You dropped your hand from his head and mirrored the other’s position against his belt. Your fingers curled around the leather, gaining a solid grip of control on his body’s ministrations. The way your lips wrapped around his chest did not halt as you helped him roll his hips along your thigh.
With a stunted breath, you tensed your leg and raised it higher. The sensation only increased for Nev, whose movements only quickened. His head fell backward, lolling loosely on his shoulders.
“That’s it. Ride it out this time,” you said. “Next time, I’ll suck you off.”
The prospect of there even being a next time was what pushed him over the edge. He came in his pants, harder than he’d done in his entire life. His desperately pumping fist, or humping pillows while his dormmates were asleep, had never given him even half of the feeling you’d just granted him. And you’d hardly even touched him.
When he had completely finished, his body fell forward, slumping exhaustedly against you. His head fell back to your shoulder, the ends of his curls damp with sweat against your skin. Lingering moans pushed through his panting breaths every so often as aftershocks hit.
“‘M sorry,” he mumbled, pressing a shy kiss to your jaw. “I should have told you sooner.”
You leaned backward, catching his eyes. He stared up at you, awaiting your words, whatever they may be. You could have told him to shed every article of clothing from his body, and kiss every inch of you from head to toe, and he would have. He didn’t care who saw.
As he was well aware, you turned off every inkling of sense in his body.
“That’s what I’ve been saying from the beginning,” you chuckled smugly, ignoring the small eyeroll he gave you.
“Feel good to say you told me so?” he laughed against your shoulder. You couldn’t lie, it absolutely did.
“What can I say?” you shrugged. “I tend to know what’s best.”
“And what do you think is best right now?” he asked. One of his hands rose slowly, knuckles brushing idly along the hem of your pants. You concealed the catch of your breath, not wanting to grant him the satisfaction.
“I think it’s best if you take me back to your dorm and ask your dormmates to busy themselves elsewhere,” you smirked.
“And if they don’t?” he asked. You brushed a single curl back from his forehead, tracing a small bead of sweat down the curve of his face.
“They’re all big boys, I’m sure a few screams of your name won’t be unfamiliar to them.”
“Uh, it definitely would be,” he chuckled softly. “I might not even be any good. This’d be my first time.”
“I know what’s best, remember? Don’t make me say I told you so again, baby.” You pressed your lips to his once more before turning toward the door to leave. There was no need to check and see if he was coming; you already knew he was right at your heels, already chasing that high once again.
---
WHAT FEELS LIKE FOREVER // t. nott (Multi-Part) Pt. 4
RATING: R / 1.1K WORDS
Theodore Nott x Reader Insert (no gender-specific details)
+ SUMMARY - Mattheo and Enzo help you drag Theo back to his room after his drunken fight. Tension ensues.
+ WARNINGS - Language, tension, eventual smut
+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -
Dandelion Wine - Gregory Alan Isakov
- - -
When Mattheo and Enzo had pulled Theo into his hotel room, you worried he might strangle the two of them. You’d never seen him so angry—sober or not.
"Grab his arm—no, damn it!" Enzo muttered as Theo’s swollen fist swung around, looking for another target.
They laid him down on his bed and each hissed directions at the other. Mattheo pulled Theo’s shoes off as Enzo loosened his tie and pulled his jacket off. Theo sat there—stripped down to his dress shirt, trousers, and socks—sulking.
With a deep breath, you dropped to your knees against the bed and looked up at Theo. You found his shredded hands and cupped them safely within yours, cringing at the wet redness that coated his flesh.
The drunk man before you watched closely with parted lips as you held onto his hands like they were a lifeline. Your fingers touched the damaged flesh gently, careful not to provoke any pain. Your lips came down and ghosted across his cracked knuckles.
Theo’s blood was metallic against your teeth. It tainted your tongue with red. He watched so closely and so quietly, you were worried he might have fallen asleep.
Eventually, you pulled away but kept your eyes trained on your love's hands and the wounds that decorated them. Once you moved, Theo seemed to come back to life. The hand that had not yet been let go of reached down and angled your chin up. Your eyes met.
His thumb slid softly over your bottom lip, gathering his blood that stained, seeping into the cracks. You watched him through admiring eyes, waiting for every small touch that he gave you.
"So sweet…," he whispered.
"Go to sleep, Theo," you smiled slightly, slowly pulling his hand away. You adjusted his position, resting his head comfortably on the pillow he hadn't brought to your room and tucking his feet beneath the sheets.
"Will you stay with me?" Theo gripped your shirt sleeve just as you pulled away. His fingers tightened in the material, reminding you once more of a young child.
You glanced around the room, noticing a shut door and the absence of a certain drummer and a guitarist. You hadn’t noticed Enzo or Mattheo slip out.
You hesitated, dragging your eyes back to Theo. He was drunk, so anything he said didn't matter. Or, perhaps he did mean them and just would never think to say them while he was sober.
"Theo, I…," you started, but quickly shut yourself up when you saw the look Theo was giving you. You couldn't say no.
"Yes, I’ll stay with you," you whispered to him, pressing one last kiss to his knuckles which already seemed to be bruising. "Let’s clean you up first, though."
You disappeared into the bathroom. After a moment, you located an embroidered cloth and ran it under the tap, making sure the water wasn't too warm or too cold. You wondered if Theo would continue to try and talk to you in his inebriated mindset, sharing secrets you were never meant to know. You felt bad for almost wanting him to do that.
You shut the tap off and brought it in to Theo, kneeling back down beside him. You cradled his hands again, gently running the damp cloth over his knuckles.
The drunk man winced slightly, clenching his eyes shut at the pain. You glanced up every once and a while, gauging his facial expressions in order to know where not to touch.
"'m sorry, Theo—trying not to press too hard," you whispered soothingly, attempting to comfort the man.
Theo sighed and closed his eyes, letting you work in peace. You watched the cloth slide over his damaged flesh, seeing it soak up the blood. You couldn't possibly imagine why on earth the man had come after Theo and why he'd assumed he'd been messing around with his girl. Unless he had been.
Your hands halted, threatening to drop the cloth. The only thing that kept you from moving was the thought that Theo would never hear your confession; even if you told him. His ears and eyes would remain shut to your love forever until the day he died, and you would continue to love him until then.
"Why’d you stop?" Theo asked, barely getting the words out. His eyelids looked so impossibly heavy and his breathing was becoming steadier and steadier.
"Sorry," you whispered, quickly finishing your work. Once you stood to dispose of the cloth, Theo had completely fallen asleep. Nothing short of heaven itself could wake him now. You smiled softly at this.
You reminded yourself to thank Mattheo and Enzo in the morning as you began undressing.
Your white dress shirt, trousers, and jacket were laid nonchalantly across the chair in the corner and you found yourself beneath Theo’s sheets.
Your eyes found him, watching his chest rise and fall with each sleepy breath. You hesitantly raised the hand that wasn't tucked under your cheek and traced it down his face.
You brushed a piece of hair behind his ear, gently gracing your skin with his. His cheek was soft and just as you expected; reminiscent of that of a younger boy just like everything else about Theo. It saddened you to think that these small things that reminded you of him, could just be a reminder of how violently his childhood had been ripped from him. Overbearing, controlling parents. Having to leave home to play his music. You let out a shuddering breath.
Theo took in a deep breath and shifted a bit closer to your touch, feeling the warmth of your body radiating through the sheets. Your hand came back down by your side, allowing him to bury himself as deeply within you as he needed to.
You wanted to wrap your arms around him, sleeping so close to you, but you kept yourself from doing so. It took everything in your power not to wake him up and whisper sweet nothings into his ear, making him believe that you loved him whether or not he wanted to.
This account is still active! I have a lot going on in my personal life, but I still come back to this whenever I can! If you have requested something or plan to request something, it will be written. It may take me a while, but it will definitely be done. Thanks for understanding! 🖤🖤🖤
Mattheo Riddle x Fem!Reader *Potter Family* Insert
+ SUMMARY - You are the older sister of James Potter. When a mysterious man returns from the future to protect you from a Death Eater who’s also from the future, with a completely unexpected story, your life gets flipped upside down. *Set in Marauders era*
+ WARNINGS - SMUT! PIV (no protection), sensuality, kissing, coming inside, very slight breast play, riding, love confession, soft!dom!Mattheo (if you squint), mentions of pregnancy, reader becomes pregnant (small part of the story), major character death, mentions of violence (not graphic), mentions of blood (not graphic), way too long of a story, language, not fully proofread (lmk if I missed anything!)
+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -
Die On This Hill - SIENNA SPIRO
Love In The Dark - Adele
Sidelines - Phoebe Bridgers
- - -
NOTE: ***This is STRONGLY based on The Terminator (1984) (including basic plot + a couple quotes that were rearranged slightly—I put a tiny asterisk beside the quotes I used), however it is not necessary that you watch it before reading this. Most everything was altered in someway to reflect the HP universe, but it still follows the main plot of the 1984 film. It also changes the HP plot a lot. You are a Potter in this story + some other HP canon-divergent things (you’ll see). This is very exploratory—let me know what you think!***
- - -
After seven years of homework deadlines and wishing lunch would come sooner, you were shocked to find that you missed Hogwarts. You missed your perfected schedule and you missed your friends. You missed traveling to Hogsmeade on the weekends and when every other word on the street wasn't "war.” You missed innocence and simplicity, and—just as the adults had always said growing up—you wished emphatically that you hadn't wished your time away.
You felt stupid now for having craved graduation back in school. You somehow felt that your constant wish to grow up and be an adult had rushed your precious childhood. In wanting openness and freedom, had you lost the one thing that was infinitely more important—a part of yourself?
Even if that was too much thought for a Sunday morning, you couldn't help but let the thoughts swim through your mind. Call it a guilty pleasure—one that crept its way up your spine one too many times a week. Especially when your roommate was out with her stupid boyfriend, leaving you completely alone.
Even in the middle of a normal, perfectly content day, you could sometimes feel that niggling fear that—despite living through it—you'd somehow missed your entire youth. You sipped your tea.
It didn't matter anyway. Even if you had completely wasted it, you were still going to wake up tomorrow morning and weigh down your little leather seat behind your little wooden desk at the Ministry. And, if all went well, that wasn't going to change anytime soon—misspent youth or not.
That job was better than it sounded and had done a lot of good for you. Not only had it allowed you a relatively smooth transition from school to the real world a year ago, but it had also brought you Mary Macdonald—your wonderfully sweet, but slightly judgmental roommate. And, as much as you couldn't stand her boyfriend, you loved her.
You had only moved in with her a few months ago, but already you felt almost as at home with her as you did in Hogwarts. She had attended, as well, but you'd never quite run in the same crowd as her. Until now. At least partially, you were now part of her crowd.
You pushed away from your desk and leaned backward against your chair until it creaked. Your back popped noisily. A satisfying groan fell from your lips. You thought about hitting one of the apothecaries on your way home to search for some joint tonic. You could definitely use it.
If you remembered correctly, Mary wouldn't be home until later. So, in being totally alone, you decided to window shop in town, instead of lazing about the whole evening.
"Caroline, I'll be off for the evening!” you shouted toward the front of the room where all of the individual offices conjoin. A tinkling bell of a voice called back a farewell. You slipped your bag over your shoulder and made your way to the Floo Network facilities.
With a final glance at your watch, you stepped into one of the fireplaces and closed your eyes, waiting for that familiar whooshing sensation to send you home.
Then, in an instant, your feet were on solid cobblestone outside of your flat complex. You shuffled your boots along the ground in an effort to fling the excess Floo powder off.
To the left lay your flat, and to the right, down an identical street, lay a couple of small, hidden stores that carried most of your basic needs. You turned on your heels and headed to the second store set into the concrete—Roland's Apothecary. (For all of your Potion needs!).
You pulled the door open, the little bell overhead chiming to announce your arrival. A short, graying man appeared from behind the counter. He adjusted the glasses on his nose and smiled widely when he recognized you.
"Well, hello, my dear!” He set some random items on the counter before turning his full attention to you. "What'll it be today? The sleeping tonic again?”
Between the joint and sleeping tonics, you figured you were halfway keeping ol' Roland in business. The sleeping tunic was, unfortunately, at the fault of Mary and the many times her boyfriend spent the night. You loved her, but…jeez.
"Just the joint tonic today, Roland,” you responded sweetly, laying the appropriate amount of money on the counter. A wrinkled smile formed on his face as he prepared everything for you and gave you your change. Within minutes, after some idle chatting about the current political climate, you had your tonic and were out the door. Although, a small, undulating image caught the corner of your eye.
As you passed back through the door, you glanced at the newspaper stand, on which you could have sworn you saw your name emblazoned on the front page. But, stupidly, you ignored it and continued toward your flat, citing exhaustion as the reason for your obvious misread. In hindsight, you should have just gone back and checked.
Once in the door, you set your things down and change into something a bit more comfortable. You took the appropriate amount of the joint tonic and sighed as the powerful concoction already started to take effect.
You figured you'd be able to grab some dinner and shop a little before Mary even got back, so you swung right back out the door.
You flashed back through the Floo Network and ended up in the major part of downtown where most of the pubs and shops were. In all honesty, you could desperately use a few new blouses. The Ministry was bound to sack you if you kept showing up in the same raggedy things.
So, you headed toward one of your favorite clothing stores that managed to be stylish just as well as affordable. No sooner had the bell above the door jangled than you heard your name—first and last, as if they knew you. You jumped in your skin and glanced about, trying to find the source of the voice. Only, nobody in the store seemed to be looking for you—staring wide-eyed and expectant, waiting for your response. In fact, you would have thought the store was completely deserted until you realized everyone was actually gathered around the cashier's counter.
"Hello?” you called gently. The red-haired cashier who usually haunted the shop on weekends glanced up and gave you a brief nod. Her usually bright expression was nowhere to be found.
"What's going on?” you asked, easing up to the counter. A few other women were joined together, seemingly focused on something. Then, you heard your name again. You gasped lightly and followed the sound of the voice, only to find it was coming from the green, windowsill radio shoved beside the price book.
“...and, in a shocking revelation, police have discovered that those women not only shared the same name, but were murdered in the same order that their names appear in the Owl Post registry…”
You leaned in to listen better, only to hear the radio say your name yet again. Your lips parted in shock.
"Can you turn that up?” you gasped. The red-haired cashier nodded grimly and rotated the dusty volume knob.
"...Aurors are advising any individuals with that name—even if it is spelled or pronounced differently—to please remain vigilant, as Aurors are unsure if there is a connection, yet…”
A disturbing feeling settled its way into your stomach. Threads of unease spidered their way through your mind, and suddenly, comfortable familiarity started to feel like you didn't really know anyone… You took a shuddering inhale.
"Hey, isn't that your name? Or…did I misremember?” the red-haired cashier asked. Your feet were moving backward before you were even aware. Your breaths were only able to come out in short, rapid pants.
"Are you alright, sweetheart?” an older woman standing with the others asked. It was likely meant to be comforting, but it came off uneasily. You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms.
"Um, I have to go…” Your voice sounded far away as you took off out of the store, trying not to run. The night air was suddenly chilling instead of soothing. The browsing crowd was suddenly dozens of potential predators. You felt silly, but you couldn't help but feel the cold hand of fear grip your stomach.
You took off down the street, shoving your hands in your jacket pocket. You tried to say it was because you were just cold, but it was a subconscious effort to appear smaller.
The streets beneath your feet hardly served as enough of a distraction from the panic in your chest. Maybe you should stop and get some food, take your mind off things until all the pent-up adrenaline died off.
As you decided to head toward Mary's favorite pub, your shoulder caught a passing man. You gasped and mumbled a quick apology with a polite glance backwards, however you were shocked to find the man had stopped in his tracks to stare straight at you. His dark brows were hardened but his lips were slightly parted as if he were about to speak.
In a gasp of paranoia, you rushed off the street and into the nearest door. A beat that resembled Muggle music pounded from within the dim building. A woman with an immense amount of facial piercings knocked on the glass that separated her counter from the public.
"Three Galleons to enter, girl!” She chewed at her gum lazily, as if she were bored with your presence.
"I'm sorry—I was just wondering if there are any Floo Network connections in there?” you stuttered, glancing anxiously behind you at the door.
"There's one at the very back, but it's still three Galleons to get in,” she responded, crossing her arms.
“Right…,” you trailed off, reaching into your bag to rummage around for some coins. When you finally produced the right amount, you set it on the counter and bolted off into the club, headed right to the back. Music pounded overhead and bodies swayed all around you, forcing your course off until you were partially unaware of where the hell you even were.
Between the flashing lights and the booming music, you might have never found the damned flue if a spark of green flame hadn't appeared southward. Your head snapped toward the great display of light. Someone must have just used it.
You gasped and headed back toward the location of the light. The flue itself was mostly blocked by all of the dancing club-goers, but you could just see its stone body as well as a few smoldering emerald embers.
With a breath of relief, you pushed your way toward its gaping mouth. You were already envisioning your destination—the Ministry. The first thing you were doing was grabbing the nearest Auror and explaining the danger you were sure you were in.
Just as your foot crossed the glittery threshold, a gigantic hand grabbed your arm. You couldn't withhold the scream that echoed from your lips. You turned to find a large bald wizard who wore a t-shirt that was intentionally too small to show off his muscles.
"Didn't mean to startle you, but this flue is closed for the night,” he shouted over the music.
"What—? What do you mean?” you responded desperately.
"Can't have any drunk witches or wizards clogging up the Network, so this fire closes at nine.” He released your arm but only after pulling you from the fireplace. You threaded your fingers together worriedly.
“I need to get to an Auror, then. I think somebody's after me. Can I at least send a message?” you asked.
“You can try, but I don't know how well the receiver will be able to hear you,” he responded finally, gesturing to the loud environment all around. You nodded.
“Thank you,” you breathed. He handed you a small bit of Floo powder. You tossed it into the fireplace and waited for the small green flame to erupt. The fireplace in your and Mary's flat wasn't big enough to actually travel through, but it was able to send and receive messages.
When the flame blossomed properly, you spoke loudly and enunciated so she'd be able to hear you over the club's noise. Then again, if her boyfriend was there it was likely she wouldn't get this message until morning. You sighed exasperatedly and pleaded with Merlin that that was not the case.
"Mary! Listen, I think I'm in danger. I know that sounds crazy, but if you're home, I need you to come get me. It's downtown near that pub you like. It's some kind of club.” You asked the large bouncer for the name of the club before repeating it to the flames. "Please hurry, Mary!”
"Listen, if you think you're in trouble, I can try and flag down a patrolling Auror,” the bouncer said. You hadn't noticed in your frenzied panic, but he had very kind eyes.
"You'd do that?” you asked stupidly.
“Sure, as long as you guard the flue for me,” he said. "Besides, it's probably not smart for you to be alone. You can wait right here until your friend gets here, and I find an Auror.”
"Thank you, I really appreciate that.”
He nodded and took off through the hot, pulsating crowd. And suddenly you felt very targeted in a room full of people. Somehow it felt like there was a spotlight on you. You drummed your fingers nervously on the hearth, feeling small bits of debris scrape beneath your fingertips. Your breath shuddered as it came out.
And, suddenly, before you were even able to comprehend the proper fear you were feeling, a long, ashen wand was pointed directly at your abdomen. Your eyes trailed upward and caught the owner of the wand who, surprisingly, was not the young man you'd run into outside the club. This was a man in a dark, flowing set of robes that were crusted with some deep substance at the hem. You swallowed thickly as everything seemed to fade to slow-motion.
The top half of his face was covered with an ornate, metal mask that resembled a skull, but his jaw and mouth were exposed. And, devastatingly, it looked as though his lips were forming the first of the Killing curse.
In your final moments, you found that you were more disappointed than scared. Surely, there was more laid out for you than a desk job and an early death.
Perhaps not. You closed your eyes.
But death never came. You heard a shouting voice, and the Killing curse, and the following crack of thunder, but you never felt anything.
Your eyes snapped open in time to see a flash of dark curls and tanned skin and green lightning. Then, an arm like an iron bar snapped across your abdomen.
“Get down!” the dark curls spoke. He shoved you back against the hearth. The force of the push swept you off your feet. You stumbled and very nearly missed cracking your head open on the ground. A grunt on impact left your lips. Another bolt of green lightning blossomed over you, but this mystery man shielded you against the lip of the flue. The murderous spell missed and crashed into the top of the hearth, sending some crumbles of stone and Floo powder down atop your heads. You yelped at the attack and covered your face.
Then, the man's arm disappeared from your stomach. You opened your eyes to see him springing to his feet, wand aimed and ready.
“Avada Kedavra!” he shouted effortlessly, as if he'd done it tens of thousands of times. Your lips parted in shock because he couldn't be much older than you from what you could tell. You didn't think you'd ever heard it spoken aloud.
His spell shot from the tip of his wand, and, while the masked man was dodging it, the mystery man shoved you to the back of the flue. He then reached his arm around the lip of the hearth and sank his fist into the Floo powder. He wrapped an arm around your waist, and dropped the powder, quickly muttering a location you couldn't make out.
Within seconds, you were soaring through the Network. Your face was pressed into his clothed shoulder and his arm was wrapped tightly around your waist. No matter what, you could tell he was not going to let go of you, but you didn't know why.
Hell, you didn't even know this guy, but in the moment, picking him seemed preferable to the masked man who clearly wanted you dead.
Why, though? Your name? It didn't make any sense. Your family wasn't anything important. Sure, you'd grown up comfortably with you and your brother perfectly content, but why kill you? You had virtually nothing to do with your family's finances. If that was even the reason he'd wanted you dead. Was it something to do with the Ministry? Why not just kill you there? It was all too much. Your fingers clutched tighter into the man's jacket.
Finally, the whooshing stopped. Your feet hit solid ground and you shoved yourself away from the stranger. He flinched slightly but never made a move for his wand. You, however, did.
In an instant, it was raised and pointed directly at him. His hands went up in gentle surrender. Those same dark brows were arched inquisitively as he waited for you to make a move. Your eyes scanned his face, trying to find any familiarity in it but coming up empty.
His eyes were just as dark as his brows but reflected the moon so efficiently they appeared almost silver. His lips were full and complemented by a strong, brown jawline. There was a white scar sliced across the bridge of his nose. And, he was dressed…oddly. He wore a dingy pair of sweatpants with a striped shirt. Over top of it all, he wore an olive trench coat that was too big for him. He looked like some kind of vagabond. You had half a mind to ask him what the hell he was wearing, but there were more pressing matters. Namely, who he was and what the fuck was going on.
"Who are you?” you demanded. A glance around told you he had brought you to some forest, but the trees were too thick and identical for you to tell a location. Hopefully, he hadn't pulled you out of England. Traumatizing event or not, you still had work in the morning.
"My name is Mattheo Riddle, I'm here to protect you from the Death Eater.” He spoke slowly and as if everything made perfect sense.
“What? What the hell is a Death Eater?”
He started to shift forward, but you enunciated your hold on your wand to ensure that he wouldn't try anything.
"They're the followers of Lord Voldemort,” he said. “The man in the mask was one. He was trying to kill you.”
"Yeah, I got that much,” you huffed. “But, why? I'm nobody.”
"Maybe now, but you will be somebody. May I put my arms down? I'll explain everything to you.” He arched an eyebrow at you. After a few seconds of your indecision, he decided to test the waters and slowly started sliding his hands to the ground. When you didn't protest, he dropped them the rest of the way. He offered a seat on the log to his left.
"Yeah, I'm alright,” you scoffed.
"Please? I'll let you hold my wand,” he pressed. He pulled it from his coat pocket and held it out in offering.
"Expelliarmus!” you spoke immediately. His wand soared from his outstretched palm to your free hand. He raised an eyebrow again, as if to ask if you would join him now.
You turned and chucked his wand as far as you could into the deep, black trees.
“Hey—! Really?” he sighed.
"You can have it back when you're done explaining what the hell is going on.” Keeping your wand directly pointed at him, you inched closer but did not sit next to him.
"You sure you don't want to sit—?”
"Just tell me what's going on,” you interrupted.
"Okay,” he started. "Your brother is currently involved with an organization known as the Order of the Phoenix. They are battling against Lord Voldemort. Are you aware of all of this?”
"Yes,” you lied. You hardly spoke with your brother much anymore. Between your job and his new wife, it was difficult to find time to chat. Of course, you knew of Voldemort, he was a monster. A couple of your coworkers were just voicing their concerns that the ultimate power move for him and his followers would be to attack the Ministry. Still, you didn't see what that had to do with you or when he'd started calling his followers Death Eaters. Perhaps, you just hadn't heard the update yet. As much as a Ministry employee should keep up with those things, you could never find it in yourself to stomach reading the news.
But this information about James and his wife, it was the first you were hearing of it. You'd heard about the Order, but had no idea they'd become involved. You fought a bubble of anger that threatened to rise into your chest. Surely, they wouldn't involve themselves in something that could risk their lives and not tell anyone. Or, maybe, that was exactly why they'd said nothing.
"In the year 1998, his nephew, Harry James Potter, will destroy Lord Voldemort, once and for all,” he said slowly, letting you keep up with every word. “Harry is your son.”
You started to speak, but almost instantly lost your breath. It pushed out of your mouth like a half-gasp, half-whimper. You'd been kidnapped by a fucking lunatic. Your free hand combed through your hair. A humorless laugh shoved its way out of your chest.
"Okay, how do you know all of this? I suppose you're from the future?” you chuckled knowingly, well-aware that this had to be a ridiculous prank and there was no way this guy was going to double-down.
"Yes, I am.” Oh.
You chuckled once. "Oh, okay…” You turned and bolted off in the opposite direction. Which is what you should have done the moment you arrived in these woods.
"Hey! Wait!” he shouted. You could hear the old leaves rustling beneath his feet as he scrambled after you. A shriek left you at the sound of his pursuit. He called your name somewhere behind you. How in the hell did he know your name? How in the hell did he know about James? This must be a joke orchestrated by James, himself. It had to be.
Suddenly, a heavy weight slammed into your back, forcing you to the ground. You grunted, feeling various bits of sticks and foliage bounce their way into your mouth. The man gripped your shoulders and flipped you over. He straddled you, pinning your arms to the earth above you.
"Let go of me, you creep!” you screamed. "Help! Please help!”
He pulled both of your wrists into one of his grips and slapped his free palm across your mouth. You struggled against him, unable to find any purchase against the damp leaves. With no further ideas, you did the one thing you could think of and poked your tongue out to lick his hand. He exclaimed in disgust and adjusted his hand on your face to avoid your wet tongue. In doing so, though, he managed to place the edge of his hand right against your top lip. You moved quickly and chomped your teeth down on his hand.
You clamped down until you tasted red, hot blood on your tongue. Surprisingly, he managed not to yelp but his face still contorted in pain. Finally, he pinched your cheek roughly until your jaws released him. “Don't do that again, please. I'm not crazy and I do feel pain, by the way.” *
He signed and partially slumped over you, panting from his sprint after you. "Now, look!”
He reached beneath his faded shirt and pulled on a golden chain. It slid over the collar until a heavy charm fell into the air. It dangled back and forth, and, in the dark, it took you a moment to decipher what it was. But when your eyes finally focused, you saw it. Glistening in the moonlight, was a Time Turner. You recognized it from the registry in the Ministry. Only a few people were licensed and trusted to carry one. So, either he was trustworthy or he'd stolen it.
"166,440 turns on this damned thing to get me back to you.”
“Ministry-mandated Time Turners are capped at five years,” you argued.
"This one has been altered.”
"Okay, by who?”
"Albus Dumbledore.”
"The Headmaster?”
"Yes—or... he was. He died.”
"Oh, my God... I don't think I should be hearing this. Won’t knowing the future disrupt the future?”
"Yes, but that is what we want to happen. In fact, it's necessary for our survival.” The complete seriousness on his face gave you pause.
“Did you really turn it that many times?” was somehow the only follow-up question you could think to ask.
"Uh, no. He altered it to be able to reach farther back in time, but he also transferred its unit of time to years, instead of hours. But it sounded better, I think.” A stupid grin spread onto his face.
He finally got off of you and pulled you to your feet.
"Sorry," he murmured, tugging a small twig off your shoulder. You shook your head.
“So, are you friends with Harry, or...?” you asked, half-mocking, half-inquisitive.
"No, I would not say Potter and I are friends. But, we are working toward the same goal and we respect each other.” It felt strange asking about your son whom you'd never met.
"Is he a good kid?” you asked.
"I guess,” he chuckled, seemingly amused at your curiosity.
"What, you think I'm not going to ask some questions after everything you just told me?” you asked, crossing your arms. He arched that damn eyebrow again.
"I just think it's interesting that after everything I told you, your one question is if your son is a good kid or not.” You rolled your eyes and suppressed a smile.
"Alright, then tell me more about what the hell led up to a Death Eater being sent back in time to kill me. Why not just kill...Harry?” It was weird talking about your unborn son.
"He did," he said. This time, your brows arched. "Potter came back to life. I'm telling you, he's like the Wizarding World's Messiah.”
"Oh,” you breathed. "No pressure.”
"There is no pressure—you created him naturally. There's nothing about him that didn't come from you.” His dark eyes followed the curve of your face. You looked to the ground.
“But, in the days following Voldemort's death, his followers didn't react like we thought they would. In fact, they didn't react at all. They slunk back to wherever they all came from and didn't say a word. We thought it was them accepting defeat in some kind of shock, but they had planned for this.”
Somewhere along the way of the conversation, Mattheo had begun walking and, mindlessly, you had started following, desperate for his story. Along the way, you had ended up in some sort of stone overpass that was dry and shielded you from any rain.
Mattheo took a seat and you followed. Your legs shot in front of you, just as his did. Suddenly, you were beside the strange lunatic and waiting to hear his words.
"We didn't know it at the time, but a few months before he died, Voldemort gathered all of his closest followers and told them to destroy all the Time Turners except for one, even the ones that were owned by someone. Only, they killed the owners as well.” You stifled a wince. "The theory was that he didn't want anyone going back in time except himself, in case they tried to involve themselves in his past somehow. But, it's possible he also saved one just in case he lost. Which he did, and one of his followers decided to solve their issue once and for all. He was going to murder that bastard, Harry Potter, before he even existed. He was going to kill his mother so he could never be conceived.”
Dread filled your stomach. You had an innumerable amount of questions. But, you kept coming back to one. "Why didn't Voldemort kill me himself, when he had the opportunity? Why didn't he just come back?”
“I wondered that too,” he murmured. “But, the only thing I could think of was that he didn't see Harry as enough of a threat, until it was too late and Harry had already severely weakened him.”
"I guess that was stupid, then,” you chuckled awkwardly. In all honesty, your attempts to sound lighthearted and nonchalant were the only things keeping you from breaking down. All of this insane information—that you haven’t even been able to confirm is true—had just about taken its toll on you. But something in you was insisting that he was telling the truth.
You’d been chased, threatened, and almost murdered today, and you didn’t know how much more you could take.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know this is a lot.”
“No, it's okay, I’m just, it’s just…a lot,” you breathed, agreeing. He nodded, as if he could possibly understand what you were going through.
“You said that they destroyed all but one of the Time Turners,” you started. “So, how is it that you’re here?”
“Er, one of our other…peers? Um, she had one. Dumbledore was the one who enhanced it, but it belonged to her.”
“How did it survive the Death Eaters? I thought you said they destroyed them and killed the owners.”
“I don’t believe hers was registered.” He hid a smirk.
“Oh, so you’re saying I shouldn’t go looking for it when things get back to normal?” you smiled. You wanted to laugh, to forget about all of this excitement, but the way Mattheo’s smile fell told you what you didn’t want to know.
He said your name as softly as he could, rough but trying to be comforting. Things wouldn’t be going back to normal. Even if you were still trying to convince yourself this guy was telling the truth, it was clear. Your life would be forever changed.
“Mattheo, I—oh shit!” you exclaimed, eyes widened. He jumped a bit, glancing around for any impending predators, but when he didn’t find any, he looked back to you for an explanation. But he found you staring at his arm.
You’d just now noticed. His olive jacket was split down the right arm and beneath, deep crimson covered his skin. “You’re hurt.”
He looked down and stared at his bleeding arm like he was unfamiliar with the notion that he wasn’t invincible. “It’s…”
He trailed off, watching you immediately set to digging through your jacket pocket. You couldn’t remember when you shoved your wand away, but you were surprised at yourself that you had.
You gently peeled his shredded sleeve upward to his elbow, glancing up to see if you were hurting him. You were shocked to find that he was already watching you. His dark eyes were centered directly on your face, waiting as you prepared to help heal him.
“Vulnera Sanentur,” you said quietly, letting the energy running through your wand ease its way through to his arm. You found it difficult to pull your eyes away from him, but, finally you did.
The gash on his arm sealed itself shut with no issue. When it was finished, you sighed. “Um, I don’t have anything for the blood or I’d wipe it off.”
“That’s alright.” He cleared his throat. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”
"You want me to sleep after all of this?” you scoffed. “Plus, how do I know you won't attack me?”
"Well, firstly, you threw my wand somewhere back that way.”
"You don't need a wand to attack me,” you pushed.
"I saved your life once, and just made it clear that you are very important to me and my cause. Why would I hurt you?”
He made several good points and, though you didn't want to admit it, you were dead-tired. After the events of the evening, you found your eyes drooping despite how hard you were fighting them. If all that he said was true, he would risk anything to keep you alive. That was a comforting thought. You let out a breath, defeated and exhausted.
"Fine,” you sighed, tilting your head back against the side of the drain wall. Before you were even able to register what the stone beneath your skin felt like, you were out.
***
You woke with a start. With residual adrenaline and cold blood icing its way through your veins. The early morning light was seeping through the overpass, highlighting the toes of your dirty shoes.
Something slid over your cheek, gently tucking your hair behind your ear. Between the stone around you and the frozen outside air, you were struggling to remember where the hell you were.
When the something that caressed your face went to make its second round, your head jumped up. An olive jacket slid off your shoulders and down the length of your arm. You swallowed thickly. Why on earth did that jacket ring such a bell? And why were you outside?
You began to lean forward away from the object you were lying against, but gasped lightly when it helped ease you up.
You glanced downward to find a brown hand at your bicep, guiding your body up into a sitting position. The hand pushed you back against the stone wall behind you where his other arm waited. As much as you wanted an explanation for who this stranger was, you couldn’t deny that you felt perfectly safe between his arm and jacket. This stranger who’d saved you from fate.
Your memory was beginning to return.
“Did you sleep all right?” he murmured gently. You hadn’t turned completely around but recognized his voice at your ear. His soft breath caressed the crook of your neck.
“Define ‘all right?’” You groaned, wishing you had packed the rest of your joint tonic in your bag. Which—
You looked down. Fuck. You must have lost your bag in the skirmish at the club. You sighed and tilted your head back until it bounced against the wall. A groan left you at the slight pain. You could feel his arm still behind you, subconsciously protecting you.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I must have lost my bag at the club,” you replied, your eyes sliding shut. “That had all my money, my identification…”
“It’s okay, we’ll figure it out,” he nodded, so sure of himself.
“Figure out what? What’s the plan?” you scoffed, leaning your head back up and finally catching his eyes. “Just run forever?”
“We’re going to get you out of England for starters,” he said. So you were still in the country. “I can’t let you die, no matter what. For the sake of all our futures, especially your son’s.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know who the father is?” * You chuckled a bit. “Give me a couple of hints? Is he tall, dark, and handsome?”
“Harry never said much about him,” Mattheo shook his head. “All he said was that he’d died before the war—” *
“Wait,” you interrupted him. “Uh, on second thought, I don’t want to know. Might give away too much, you know? I could be too focused on looking for the wrong guy.”
He stopped speaking and nodded. You had an overwhelming desire to know more about Harry, as well. But, in the same vein, you were concerned knowing him before you even knew him would fuck with fate. People weren’t supposed to know the future, that was the whole point.
After a few heavy moments of silence, Mattheo sighed and got to his feet. He stuck his hand out expectantly.
In some ways, even though he was just offering to help you to your feet, you felt as if this was the final decision on whether you would trust him or not. If you stayed seated, you could linger here and chalk all of last night up to crazy coincidence and escaped mental facility patients. If you took his hand, that meant you would follow him. That you believed him.
You took his hand. He pulled you to your feet, your entangled fists pressing between your chests.
You tucked his jacket over your arm and held it out to him.
“Thanks,” he said, lifting it around his head and slipping it on. You pointedly ignored the way the cut-off sleeves of his t-shirt highlighted every curve of his golden muscles.
The ground was suddenly extremely interesting.
“We need to get moving,” he said, glancing warily around the forest. Now that the sun was shining past each tree, you could make out a clearer image of your environment.
“Where will we go?” you asked.
“For now, we’ll get as far as we can before stopping for the night,” he responded. “If that Death Eater is half as smart as he thinks he is, he’ll have employed a Snatcher to hunt you down by now.”
A shudder passed through your body. “What’s a Snatcher?” The word made you physically recoil.
“Oh, shit,” he mumbled. “I guess you don’t have them yet. Snatchers come later. They’re actually employed by the Ministry.”
“What?” you scoffed, scalded by the thought.
“They’re just bounty hunters, nothing special, really,” he explained. “But they’re a hell of some good trackers. There may not be Snatchers yet, but their predecessors are all around if you know where to look.”
The thought of anyone tracking you down made you feel sick. Mattheo being here made you feel a bit more comfortable, but you still weren’t completely sure who he was. It was hard to convince yourself to trust someone you’d known for years, let alone for a single day.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Are you certified to Apparate?” you asked nervously, chewing at your bottom lip.
“Never quite got around to it,” he smirked, cocking his head to the side amusedly. He turned to his left and whispered a sharp Summoning charm.
His wand that you'd tossed blindly last night flew into his hand. You wanted to thank him for leaving it there while you slept. Whether or not it was his intention, he'd set you at a lot of ease. Before you were able to say anything, he grabbed your hand and you were off.
As uncomfortable as using the Floo Network was to you, Apparition was twice that. That was why you rarely did it. You got your certification when you graduated just to have it, then you pretty much never did it again. This was likely the first time you’d done it since graduation a year ago.
You made a point to ask how old Mattheo actually was because it was obvious he’d been somewhat trained in the act, but his lack of licensure made you wonder if he wasn't old enough to learn, or was old enough and had taught himself illegally.
Either way, it didn’t seem like Mattheo Riddle was a typical rule-follower.
When you landed on solid ground again, the two of you stumbled for a moment as you’d stopped on a bit of a hill.
There was a grassy slide that made its way a few feet down into a little town. Nothing looked particularly familiar, and you couldn’t find a nameplate. You had no idea where he’d taken you.
“Where are we?” you asked over the light breeze slipping through your hair and clothes. He clenched his jaw and looked toward you with a grim expression. If you didn't know any better, you'd have guessed that this place meant something to him. He seemed lost in thought.
"Mattheo?” His eyes flickered as if he'd come back into his body.
"This town is nothing special, but in nineteen years, it'll be razed to the ground.” He looked back at the grass. The breeze lifted a dark curl off his forehead. Though it was a minute change, it altered so much. In an instant, he was years younger. Fractured innocence echoed in his eyes, much like the silver from the moonlight last night. "It was the first time I'd seen a Muggle murdered.”
"That's awful," you whispered, hand hesitating in open space, trying to decide if you should comfort him. What would laying a hand on his shoulder even accomplish? What would doing it for anyone do? It was hard to make sense of any human traits. But, you were sure that any comfort was better than nothing. You decided better of it but you figured it was the thought that counted. You dropped your hand.
His eyes caught the motion and he turned back to you with an expression like he'd forgotten you were even there. Like you were intruding in a dream, or a nightmare.
"This is the farthest away I could properly envision,” he explained. "This puts enough distance between the Death Eater and us to buy some time.”
"Time for what?”
“Time for me to study up on our next destination,” he forced a smile. It didn't reach his eyes, though.
Apparition was always a difficult journey, but it was especially so if you had no idea where the hell you were going. When you’d first learned, the professor had made the class envision the Great Hall as their first assignment. You had done relatively well but had only barely avoided throwing up. Even now, it made your stomach churn.
But one of the final assignments was choosing a location in Scotland you'd never been to before. You had two days to study the details of the place, before having to expertly Apparate with no complications. That was the final assignment before licensure. You had passed basically, but it was nothing special. You were honestly surprised you hadn't ended up in some random lake.
So, if Mattheo were to just study up on your next destination, without ever having been there, while being so confident in his abilities… You couldn't help but believe in him.
"We'll get you some food,” he said, starting down the grassy hill. You followed wordlessly. “I'll get some local information and some maps. It'll be even easier if they have a library or some archives. I'll study up on one of the farthest edges of the maps I can, and see if I'm able to pinpoint a cheap hotel so we can rest.”
"Okay, that sounds—” Your voice was cut off as your heels slipped in the mud. A soft yelp left you as you began to slide down. But, before your ass could smack the damp earth, Mattheo's arm snatched the curve of your waist. He righted your footing with a half-concealed gasp. As frightened as you were, it seemed as though he was twice as such. You were fearing for your life and had been for the last day, but the care with which Mattheo ensured that you were kept safe only furthered your belief in his story of the future. In fact, you were pretty sure someone would have to convince you it wasn't true now.
"Careful," he breathed, eyes widened in concern.
Wouldn't that be the day? Mattheo is sent back from the future to keep you safe from Death Eaters and bounty hunters, but you end up killing yourself slipping down a hill.
"Sorry,” you whispered, unable to make your voice any louder. Though he'd already stabilized you, his arm still rested around your waist, and his other hand was locked around your arm. Your faces were so close, you could feel his breath mixing with the breeze and fanning over your face. His eyes scanned your face just as they always did, so slowly it bordered on intimate. You swallowed.
"Just...be more careful," he murmured, finally releasing his hold on you. He turned back to the hill and continued his walk down.
After the rest of a silent trek into the small valley, you finally realized that it was a Muggle town. There was no magic and no discretion, and, hopefully, no threat. Mattheo must have figured this would be a good place to hide for exactly that reason. Despite this being nineteen years before his time, he seemed to know exactly what to do. Even more so than you did, and this was your time.
He led you into a quiet, shadowed pub where the locals couldn't help but stare. He sat you down in a dark corner with his jacket. Despite the crackling fire in the corner, the chill was threatening to cut to your core.
When you didn't immediately slip then garment on, Mattheo paused in his journey to the counter and turned back to you. He came forward and slipped the oversized thing around your shoulders.
"I'm not that cold," you lied. He smirked just the slightest bit, before leaning in and whispering close to your cheek.
"Liar.”
You shivered, though his jacket was blocking out most of the cold now. "Now, stay.”
He backed away and approached the counter where a squat woman held it down. Whilst glancing back at you every few minutes, you watched as he ordered you a meal. You didn't know how he was paying, but you figured you didn't want to know.
When he returned, he had a small sandwich with chips on a tray. He also had some water and tea for both of you.
"What are you going to eat?” you asked. He smiled as if you'd just asked the dumbest question on earth. After setting the tray down, he returned to the counter for a second and grabbed something you couldn't quite see.
When he came back over, he held a large, folded map in his left fist. "Good news," he said, waving the paper before you. "This is the biggest map they offer. It goes all the way to Ireland.”
Even though you knew you had to get away, the thought of being so far from home made you nervous. At least at home you had some ideas on where to hide. In a country you'd never been to before… You didn't want to think about it.
"Is that our destination?” you asked. He glanced up from the map.
"I'm not sure yet, I have to make a plan—Eat,” his eyes flickered down to your plate, urging you on. You took in a shuddering inhale. Though your stomach was roiling after the excitement and adrenaline of the last 24 hours, you couldn't deny that you were fucking starving. You contained the voracious push to stuff your face and took a small bite of the sandwich with trembling hands.
The two of you lingered around the pub, holding your little table until it started to darken outside the small, cottage windows. Though he was mostly focused on his maps, he did permit you to go to the bathroom on your own (surprisingly). You chatted idly about the future in a relatively vague way, with you asking broad questions and stopping him when he started to include too much detail. You were frightened that you would learn something you didn't want to know. Besides those few discrepancies, you were disappointed to report that he did not allow you to do anything else. For your safety, of course, but still… After being almost murdered, you didn't think it would be possible to ever feel bored again.
When the clock at the desk chimed seven times, Mattheo declared he was comfortable enough to Apparate to your new location—which, he'd decided, was going to be just over the border of Ireland, near Belfast. It was a good idea to get even further out of the country, but you still couldn't break that feeling from earlier. And, while you were waiting with him in the pub, the feeling had only intensified. You couldn't help but think that Mattheo's commitment would be all for nothing; you could feel Death's fingers caressing your cheek, just as it had when Mattheo first saved you.
"When will we be leaving?” you asked, fingers drumming anxiously against the lacquered table.
"As soon as I pay for our meal," he replied, smiling cockily—though that was what most of his smiles looked like. He slid out of the booth and made his way back to the counter, which was now being manned by a tall bald man. He pulled coins from his pants pocket, though you had no idea where he’d gotten Muggle money from.
When the clock's hands read 7:15, the bell over the door jangled. Curiously, your head turned toward the entrance. This pub couldn't be the most popular place in town, as there had only been a handful of customers in the whole day. Then again, the town wasn't that big to begin with.
Mattheo was busy at the counter. Your eyes found the new customer, but your stomach sank the moment you made eye contact with them.
It was the Death Eater. That mask was recognizable through all. It would haunt your dreams for the rest of your life.
As you were standing to get Mattheo's attention, he was turning to head back to the table. His eyes caught the Death Eater as you had. Panic coursed through your veins. His face fell for only a moment, before his eyebrows furrowed in focus.
You didn't know now he was going to get over to you fast enough without using magic. Surely, the Death Eater wouldn't risk the Wizarding World by using magic in a Muggle town. For all they knew, he was just some weirdo wearing a mask. His hand raised to point his wand. Shit, maybe you were wrong.
Despite it all, Mattheo didn't care. In an instant, he Disapparated. The restaurant employee blinked in immediate disbelief. The Death Eater hesitated. And in those few milliseconds, you feared that he'd left without you, pegging you not worth the risk. But you shouldn't have trusted that fear, because he appeared to your direct left and grabbed you.
The Death Eater growled out an inaudible spell just as Mattheo wrapped you in a tight embrace and sent you both into the ether.
Wind flashed around, whistling noisily in your ears. The frigid air stung the tears pooling at the corners of your eyes. Though this was an even longer journey than the one to the town, you found that your stomach didn't feel as sick this time. Maybe all you needed to push you to practice Apparition was the threat of death.
When you landed again, for the third time, it was in a calf-deep hole of water. You gasped aloud at the sudden freezing temperature and struggled not to tumble forward and submerge the rest of your body.
Mattheo landed secondly, some technicality of Apparition delaying his arrival. He went through the same motions as you, gasping and stumbling, but he recovered much quicker. In a second, he was glancing around and shouting your name.
You were only a few feet from him, but the dark and swampiness of the ground made it hard to see very well.
“Here!” you called, pushing through the mist.
He blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to adjust to the darkness all around. Once he was able to see a bit better, he reached out and wrapped his hand around your arm.
“Where are we?” you groaned, mud flecking up your thighs with each awkward step.
“I don’t know,” he responded grimly. “There’s a possibility I could have fucked this up, but, there should be a small town at the base of a valley nearby. If we’re lucky, there’ll be a hotel.”
You nodded and, leaning on each other, you both waded through the miniature marsh before crawling up the messy embankment. Your clothes and shoes were ruined, and Mattheo wasn’t in much better shape, though his clothes were already in poor condition.
There was a rolling hill just ahead of the marsh that seemed to cut off at the edge of the world, making way to nothing but vast sky, but when you reached the peak you found the truth. Which was, again, that Mattheo was completely right and still to be trusted. There was a small town—even smaller than the one before. In fact, you wouldn’t even call it a “town,” it was more like a couple of buildings dotted along a thin road. Still, you couldn’t complain, because one of those buildings displayed a sign that read ‘Vacancy’ in neon letters.
“Thank Merlin,” you gasped, pointing to the tiny hotel. Mattheo followed your finger to the sign. A breathless laugh left him with a relieved smile. It was shocking to see that he’d doubted himself, but it was clear that this had only strengthened his confidence in his ability to Apparate so expertly. Which, you couldn’t deny it, he was talented. It had taken you several days of studying a new location to be able to pass your final project; he had done the same in a couple of hours.
The two of you made your way down the street and to the front window of the hotel. Behind a sheet of glass sat an older man browsing through a newspaper. Mattheo knocked on the glass.
The man glanced up as if you were inconveniencing him. “Can I help you?” His voice was incredibly nasally and incredibly bored.
“A room…for two,” you said, not waiting on Mattheo. If you weren’t able to get a shower and lie in a bed in the next thirty minutes, you were going to scream.
“Will that be two beds or one?” the man droned, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Mattheo did not miss the way his wrinkled eyes flickered down briefly over your body.
“Whatever’s available the fastest,” he said, nonchalantly pushing you behind him. His jaw clenched tightly.
The man sneered and reached behind him. A wall of keys arranged on hooks in a corkboard glistened beneath the neon and flickering fluorescents. He snatched one up and passed it through the small window. Mattheo handed him a few coins—again, you had no idea where he’d gotten these. You noted that they were Galleons this time, instead of the Muggle money he used at the pub. You chalked it up to him having some kind of spell placed on his pockets, one that made them endless but inconspicuous.
Mattheo grabbed the key quickly and slipped his hand into yours. He tugged you along, down the breezeway connecting the two main sections of the hotel. Exhaustion was settling in your bones.
He stopped at room 14. The key stuck in the lock for a moment, but nothing that a little jiggling and a whispered “Alohomora,” didn’t fix. As rundown as this place was, you’d still expect them to have some kind of preventative locking measures on their doors. Anyone could find their way into these rooms.
Once inside, he shut the door and bolted every lock it had. You sighed heavily, tugging your shoes off instantly. Without saying another word, you disappeared into the tiny add-on bathroom and peeled your disgusting clothes off your body.
The water pressure was insubstantial, at best, but at least it was warm. Using the little complimentary soaps and shampoos, you washed off all of the dirt and adrenaline of the past day and a half. Despite the setting and situation, you think it was the most satisfying shower you’d had in a long time.
You towel-dried your body before slipping on one of the robes that were provided. Surprisingly, this place was not stingy with the commodities. They weren’t great quality, but still.
“You can go,” you whispered after slipping out of the bathroom. Mattheo was sitting in the chair in the corner, seemingly lost in thought. He glanced up at your arrival, eyes flickering downward once. However, it didn’t feel so exploitative as when the man at the front desk had done it. This felt more like he was ensuring you weren’t wounded in a way.
He nodded but didn’t speak. And, after a few moments, he was out of the shower as well. He stepped out with a towel secured over his shoulders, his bare abdomen dripping with steam and droplets of water. He’d put his pants back on. You gulped, eyes fluttering away and busying themselves on the small list of local restaurants taped to the wall.
“I guess they don’t have any house elves here?” he joked lightly, holding onto his pile of remaining dirty clothes.
“Probably not,” you responded, smiling slightly. You didn’t want to think about putting those clothes back on, all you wanted was to appreciate feeling clean as long as you could.
He tossed the clothes and towel into a pile on the chair in the corner, before collapsing onto the bed. The old, rusted springs squeaked beneath his weight. You had been lingering by the window but not quite looking past the curtains since he’d gone into the shower.
There was only one bed, and you’d been trying to ignore that fact since the moment you set foot in the room. You’d been promised a bed this evening, but sharing it with Mattheo would be awkward at best.
When you turned back around, his eyes were already on you. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his arms braced against his knees. Your lips parted slightly, waiting for him to speak.
“I was eleven years old when I first met Harry Potter,” he said softly. “Everyone was obsessed with the notion of this boy who’d defeated the Dark Lord once already. They were certain he’d do it again if Voldemort ever came back. And they had been right, but something I think everyone failed to see was that he wasn’t a god. They described him as this great protector, invincible and powerful. I think I felt so plainly about him because I could see that he was just a boy, like I was. He was so clearly nothing special, and everyone refused to see that.”
Your heart pounded in your ears. Any information you learned about your unborn son was borderline panic-inducing.
“In second year, he pulled me aside and spoke to me. This was the first time we’d ever had a proper conversation. He gave me this picture.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded Polaroid. Its corners were slightly bent and some debris was stained across the back, but overall it seemed to be in pretty good shape.
You stepped forward and examined the picture in his hand.
It was you. A soft gasp escaped your lips.
He handed it to you. You’d never seen the picture before. It looked to be recently taken with your hair so similar to how you currently wore it, and your face looking nearly identical to how it did now. Though, your clothes were unfamiliar. You couldn’t fathom how it was that this image existed.
“Why would he give you a photo of me?” you asked, fingers tracing the edge of the picture. Mattheo held his hand out and you handed it back to him. He stared at it for a few moments more. A single finger rose to the surface and eased over your face.
“He didn’t tell me,” he shrugged. “He just told me to keep it. Only after a while did I find out it was his mother.”
You were in disbelief. Did Harry somehow know that Mattheo would be the one to come back and protect you? You didn’t understand.
“Did he know you’d be the one to come back?”
“I don’t think he did in second year,” he said. “But, when the discussion started that someone needed to go back and protect you, he was quick to deny everyone’s offers.” His hands fidgeted with the image, staring off blankly as he relived the moment in his mind.
“He pulled me aside just like he had when we were twelve and asked me to come back. He told me there’d be no chance for me to return, that I’d live the rest of my life in your time if I’d succeeded. I’d be nearing my forties once I’d finally returned to 1998. There was nothing in it for me. In fact, it’d uproot my entire life. But, by the time he’d asked me, I’d had your picture for seven years and…I’d already fallen in love with you.”
He finally looked up to you where you stood, frozen as you listened. Your lips were shuddering as they pressed against your fingers. The words that were coming out of his mouth seemed to be taking twice as long as usual to register. Nothing of what he was saying made sense. He didn’t know you. He’d never even met you.
“I kept feeling like I should have been angry that he almost groomed me into this fate, that he’d somehow known I’d be the one to come back for you,” he sighed. “But I wasn’t. All I felt was completion. That I’d be the one to protect you, to meet you. I used to sit with that picture, inexplicably given to me, and wonder what you were thinking. You were young, like you are now.* And, I couldn’t pass up on keeping you safe. I couldn’t let them hurt you.”
You collapsed into the chair behind you, unable to keep on your feet any longer. Every ounce of information that you were taking in was a gallon of something you weren’t supposed to know. The future wasn’t meant to be known, you knew this. So, why did it mean so much that he was here and telling you this?
“I came across time for you*,” he said, voice soft but confident. “Harry wanted to save our world, but I wanted to save you.”
Your lips trembled. Tears that you hadn’t realized were pooling slipped down your cheeks.
Suddenly, he sighed and clenched his jaw. He seemed angry. He stood and pushed a hand through his damp hair. He approached his pile of laundry and angrily began separating his clothes from his towel.
Worried, you stood and crossed over to him. He was scowling at the clothing, seemingly wanting to pick it apart thread by thread.
“Mattheo?” you whispered.
“I shouldn’t have said that, it—that was…,” he trailed off, huffing through his nose. His eyes clenched and his face angled away from yours, as if unable to maintain eye contact.
Before you could convince yourself not to touch him as you had in the Muggle town, you reached forward and hesitantly placed a hand on his cheek. Its scars and new stubble echoed like webs over your fingers.
With a shuddering breath, you tilted his face back toward yours. Once he realized that you weren’t averse to seeing him, his eyes eased open. Their reflected silver gleamed beneath the blue light let in by the window.
He didn’t speak, but neither did you. Your tears still found their way down your face at a leisurely pace, only slowing to cut the curve of your cheek.
His hand raised slowly, as if he were afraid you would disintegrate like your image on his photo. His hand gently cupped your cheek, his fingers no more than a whisper, as he wiped a tear away with his calloused thumb.
Impetuously, you pressed your lips to his. He did not immediately react, only froze at the touch of your skin.
Concerned that you’d crossed a line, you pulled away, mourning the loss of your lips on his. His eyes searched yours for some unknown answer, one you certainly did not have. You did not know why you’d kissed him, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to regret it.
His lips parted and you assumed it was to tell you that he didn’t want you, but all of your doubts washed away when he returned the favor. Only, his mouth moved this time, hungry and wanting.
His other hand mirrored his left’s position on your face, tugging you closer. He puffed out a breath through his nose, pushing you back against the wall behind you. His body entrapped you, pressing against you until you worried you were going to meld into the wall.
Your fingers clutched desperately at his naked shoulders, searching for some kind of control or purchase, but finding none. He led the way through this moment, only stopping to look at you for consent. When you breathlessly nodded your head, he eased you backward onto the bed.
The room was a symphony of gasping breaths and the squeaking springs as he crawled his body over yours.
His lips separated from yours to press to your neck. Small marks were nipped into the flesh there, igniting fiery desire within your stomach. Your fingers entangled in his damp curls. His nose traced up the length of your jawline, stopping where it coalesced with your chin.
In a breath, he grasped onto your shoulders and rolled the two of you over. You now hovered over him with your legs straddling his waist. His fingers wrapped around your hips, his thumbs edging their way beneath the split of your robe.
You sighed aloud, your eyes sliding shut at the feeling of his fingers on your skin. When you didn’t protest, his hands eased the tie on your robe apart, letting the thin material slide apart.
The cool air cascaded down your skin, your body reacting instantly. His hands traced a line up your abdomen, before easing over the swell of your breasts. He cupped them gently, massaging the soft flesh. You exhaled jaggedly, pressing your mouth back to his.
His tongue slid across the expanse of your bottom lip, tracing familiarity along your mouth. Though he was entirely new to you, his body felt safe, as if you’d touched it for years.
At some point, between exchanged kisses and comfortable touching, the remainder of your clothes had been abandoned somewhere on the dirty floor.
He’d coaxed you open with a circling thumb and an open mouth at your neck. Though the stretch was more than you’d felt before, it didn’t take long for him to sink completely into you. Your lips fell open in a soundless moan, the cold air touching the tip of your tongue. His hips rolled into you, caressing an especially sensitive place within your core. His mouth covered yours, breathing heat into you.
“I love you,” he whispered, his lips unable to completely pull away from yours as if you were oxygen. Your breath hitched against his mouth at the words as they punctuated the coming of your finish.
Your hips jerked as waves of pleasure coursed down your body. The cold air and threat of death were forgotten in the wake of Mattheo’s body touching yours. You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel anything other than desire for this man.
Soon after, he finished as well. His spend filled you from the deepest point inside. You bit down on the curve of his shoulder as he groaned against your skin, working himself to his end.
Once he’d come down, he collapsed back with you still atop him. You rested sleepily against his chest, feeling the way his body rose with each breath. His heart beat steadily against your ear.
Wincing slightly, you removed him from within you and slid down to his side. He wrapped his arm around you, fingers lightly trailing up and down your bicep. He pressed a slow kiss to the top of your head.
In the silence that ensued, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was regretting his decision. If, perhaps, you weren’t worth it all as he’d imagined you’d be. He’d given up part of his life for you—his friends, his future. And you were just…you. There was nothing special about you, and everything that became special was thanks to your son.
You were only important and worthy of saving because of the child you hadn’t even had yet, and Mattheo had come back in time to protect you and that child.
“Mattheo?” you whispered, lips pressed against his naked chest.
“Yeah?” he responded softly. His fingers against your skin halted for a moment. He seemed to be bracing for something.
“Was I—was it all worth it?” you breathed, tears threatening to well up in your eyes. Maybe it was selfish to worry about how good in bed you were when the fate of the world was at hand, but you were only human after all.
He pulled away and looked down at you. “Again and again,” he said. His fingers slid strands of hair behind your ear. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, still cupping your jaw.
***
When you woke, you were sure the two of you lingered in bed for much too long. That Death Eater was still out there looking for you, yet neither of you could find it in you to slip out from beneath the covers.
His scent was enveloped in your hair and skin, as was yours in his. His fingers traced down your back, drawing figures and portraits and names.
Nobody wanted to say what was on their minds. That Harry, your son, may have known something that no one else had been privy to.
When you finally did rise and dress, it was nearly dark again, and Mattheo warned you about what you might find out there. Between the picturesque hills and little creeks, there would be plenty of fear and pain.
It was clear that this Death Eater would do anything to destroy you. Mattheo would do anything to protect you. You were caught between a rock and a hard place, each determined to swallow you whole.
“What’s the plan from here?” you asked. He slid an arm around your now clothed body and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
“For now, we’ll play it by ear. We just have to keep you safe until…” he trailed off. You nodded.
Then he took your hand and you slipped out of the hotel room into the evening air. The breeze swirled through your hair, providing it with just enough air for it to lift upward.
A sound like a deep inhale caught your attention. You turned to your left and yelped when you realized the Death Eater was feet from you. Mattheo’s eyes followed yours, his hackles raising and hand tightening in yours.
“You know, I’ve become very familiar with your scent over the last few days,” he said, pointing a dirty finger at you. Mattheo eased you behind him. “But, I was surprised to find yours. You smell like my time, like destruction and blood.”
“Just leave us alone,” Mattheo spat. “You all lost, it’s not fixable from here.”
“Oh, I think it is,” he smirked. “All I need is her head. I bring that pretty thing back to our time and I’ll be hailed a saint, and we’ll have never lost.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t want to give her life up for your promotion,” Mattheo responded. The Death Eater smirked, yellowed teeth glistening in the fading light. The silver embellishments in his mask winked beneath the neon sign, giving the whole apparatus a nightmarish, red glow.
Your wand slipped from where you shoved it beneath your sleeve. The handle caught in your hand, thrumming with energy.
“If you let us go now, I won’t kill you,” Mattheo lied, grasping at your hand that he still held. You knew he would never let this monster live, but needed a bargaining chip. “You can walk away and live a normal life, you won’t be a slave to Voldemort anymore.”
“Don't say his name, boy,” he growled. “You’re not worthy of the syllables on your tongue.”
“Alright, I think we’re done here,” Mattheo said. “Walk away now if you want to live.”
“Fuck you,” the man snarled, curling his fingers tighter around his wand. Mattheo’s eyes caught the movement, bracing to send you and him into the air. He needed to have a new place to go, but he hadn’t been able to study up anywhere he wasn’t already familiar with. The two of you had spent your time together, wasting the hours, but neither of you had expected to be stopped immediately. You thought you’d at least have another day until the Death Eater caught your scent.
The world suddenly took in a breath, as the three of you waited for someone to strike first. Energy filled the air, crackling and taut as the confrontation edged toward its climax.
When the man flicked his wand upward, you lashed out with a sharp “Stupefy!” The adrenaline that had boiled beneath the surface of your skin had made you jumpy like a new foal. You couldn’t contain it. Mattheo turned and tackled you as the man was forced backward and into the cracked road.
He sent both of you swirling through the air and across the sky. You weren’t sure where his destination was but you were certain that anywhere was better than that hotel.
But the Death Eater recovered quickly and shot out after you, you could feel his Disapparition trail tailing yours. Somehow, he had locked himself onto both of you and was following you. You tried to kick him off but the process of traveling had almost melded him to your legs.
You screamed in frustration but the sound echoed back in a swirl of altered sound.
The trail to where Mattheo had intended to go was completely disrupted, and before you were able to grab your bearings, you were falling from the sky, head over heels. You yelped and tried to find your wand, but the force of your continued fall was too much.
You didn’t know where you were or where Mattheo was, or even the Death Eater, but you knew you were too high to hit the ground unscathed.
“Arresto Momentum!” you shrieked to the roaring wind. And, as if you’d landed in a spider web, your descent stopped instantly, just inches from the ground. Then, you dropped. You grunted on impact, thick mud kicking up across your body.
Mattheo crashed just seconds after you did, the wet ground coating his body as well. You groaned in disgust, trying to pull yourself up from the ground. The sticky mud was almost viscous, trying its hardest to pin you to the ground. It felt as though you were caught in a Muggle insect trap.
Mattheo called your name, trying to wade through the thick mud that reached his ankles. You clawed after him, searching the sky for the Death Eater.
“Now…!”
You yelped at the shout. Mattheo reached you and pulled you against his body. The Death Eater was standing close with mud coating his clothing as well. His mask had been lost to the ground somewhere, but enough dirt had caked itself onto his face that it was still nearly impossible to identify him.
He shot the Killing curse instantly, not allowing any more time for speaking. Mattheo shoved you down and fell atop you, avoiding the flash of green light by an inch.
Hovering over your body, Mattheo shot it right back to the Death Eater, who dodged it by diving behind a nearby boulder. All around you, you were now realizing, were immense rocky formations cut into the grassy hills. Mattheo tugged you away from the mud and forced you behind one of them as quickly as he could.
“Can’t we just Disapparate?” you asked breathlessly.
“No,” he sighed, peeking around the edge of the boulder. “When we cast off from the hotel, I fired the Anti-Disapparition jinx at him, but he Disapparated from the ground and shielded the jinx. In the middle of all the heat, it must have been sucked into our trail. I can’t Disapparate.”
The revelation shocked you to your core. For the meantime, you were stuck here, facing off against the man.
Distantly, you heard him fire a spell toward you. It cracked against the boulder you hid behind, sending some debris flying through the air. You both shielded your faces, but a small bit of shrapnel cut across your cheek.
Mattheo peered around the barrier before firing another spell back. When he pulled back around, you quickly replaced him and shot a spell in the same direction. The Death Eater hadn’t recovered yet and was still hiding, though your spell hit its mark well and a large chunk of damage was wrought upon the rocks.
“Can he still Disapparate?” you asked breathlessly.
“I don’t know. Let’s hope not,” he responded grimly, tucking his wand against his chest.
Moments went by, but the man did not fire a counter-spell. You were beginning to wonder if one of your spells had hit him, or perhaps one of the crumbles of stone had knocked him out.
“How do we counter-jinx the—?” You’d spoken too soon. An echoing crack cut across the night sky. The Death Eater appeared behind you. Before you were able to react, he pointed his wand at Mattheo and shouted, “Crucio!”
Mattheo yelped, doubling over in pain. The man shouted the same curse. He dropped to the ground and convulsed against the radiating pain.
“No!” you shrieked, falling beside him. His eyes were clenched shut, his teeth pressed together so hard you thought they’d crack. He groaned aloud.
“Please!” you cried. Your hands tried to ease Mattheo flat, so he didn’t crack his head on the rocky earth, but the pain was too much.
“Crucio!” The man snarled again.
“No!” Mattheo’s back arched. His eyes opened for a split second in white-hot agony, his hands gripping aimlessly at the ground, at your shirt.
Your eyes darted frantically, trying to locate your wand that had been swallowed up by the ground somewhere. “Please stop!”
Your wandless magic was shaky at best. You were surprised you’d even been able to stop the two of you from hitting the ground earlier. But, you couldn’t let him suffer.
You threw a Stunning spell at the Death Eater. Without your wand, it wasn’t as strong, but he still fell back on his ass into the mud.
The Cruciatus curse’s hold on Mattheo dropped, but his body still twitched in aftershocks of pain. You placed your hands on his face, begging for him to focus. His eyes rolled lazily, his mind in and out of consciousness. “Please, Mattheo, wake up…we have to go.”
The Death Eater began to get back up. “Petrificus Totalus!” you shouted. Though, without your wand, it hardly seemed to affect him at all. You cried out, clutching at Mattheo’s clothes.
You tried the Stunning spell again, though he deflected it this time. The man stalked toward you, his dirty face glistening with anger. You tugged at Mattheo, trying to pull him away, but, without your wand and without him being fully conscious, it was useless.
“I am going to make you wish you were dead for months, before I finally kill you,” he growled, snarling with his yellowed teeth.
“Please,” you cried, tears soaking your cheeks and hair. You clutched at Mattheo’s clothes, begging him to wake. You didn’t know the counter-jinx to Anti-Disapparition, you couldn’t find your wand, and Mattheo was completely out of it. You didn’t know what the fuck you were supposed to do.
“Avada Kedavra! Crucio! Stupefy!” you shouted any spell that came to mind, though in your panicked state and lack of a wand, you were unable to focus enough to produce anything. The Death Eater smirked.
“It’s over, Potter,” he snarled. “You’re mine, and he’s fucking dead. That brat of yours will never be born, and I’ll never know defeat again, you fucking cunt.”
Mattheo’s hand unsteadily rose to your torso. His fingers gripped at your muddy shirt, weakly tugging at the fabric. The Death Eater’s wand rose, murder waiting to be seen.
“I’m going to enjoy every second of your agony,” he whispered.
Mattheo whispered your name through jagged, cracked lips. You looked down at him in your final moments, wondering what time could have remained between the two of you had this not been your situation.
“My…,” his voice crackled off. You leaned over his body, from where his head rested in your lap.
“What is it?” you whispered.
“My wand,” he groaned, before falling out of consciousness again. You gasped lightly, eyes flickering upward but head remaining down. His wand was settled beneath his left arm, half-submerged in the mud. You figured his had been lost to the elements as well when he'd been tortured.
Moving as quickly as you could, you grabbed the muddy wand and raised it to the Death Eater. The Killing curse poured from your lips easier than you ever could have imagined it would.
Your sudden movements forced the words out of his mouth quicker than they were already coming. Your spell hit its mark, enveloping his body in a flash of green light that tossed him limply a couple of yards away.
The curse that had ripped from your throat had not hit him before his curse was spoken to the air. As if in slow motion, his trail of green death curved its way toward you, reaching you for you like a hand ready to strangle.
That green was all you could see. It completely blocked out the moon and the evening light, Mattheo’s curls and his limp body. It was blinding and circular like the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.
Though, again, just like when he’d first saved you, the light did not reach you. Death did not claim you. Instead, the last thing you saw was Mattheo’s curls blocking your view of the curse.
You could not find the voice to protest his actions. The curse hit him with a force like a knife, cutting across his body and severing his soul in half. A gasp like he’d surfaced water echoed like a gong.
You cried out, letting his body fall back into your arms. Your hand cradled his face, watching as his last movements were marked by his love for you. His eyes flickered down your face.
“I love—” And he was gone. Quiet, like the ebbing of the tide. Only a hushed exhale, and that was the end of it.
“No, no, no,” you panicked, hands gripping his jacket and shaking at his face. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. He was supposed to live, to reunite with his time only older. You panted, tears streaming. Your lungs fought with the force of your breath, bordering on hyperventilation. You wheezed with every other exhale.
You pulled him against you, crying over his dull body. His warmth still circulated to every extremity, but you knew that that would not last. Your fingers curled into his, desperate to feel that calloused skin one last time.
You lay with him for hours, until the night sky transitioned to day. The air was frigid and your breath was visible as it spanned across his body.
Both of your bodies grew colder, only yours capping off at a certain point as blood still beat through your veins. Mattheo was still and the world waited.
You thought that if you stayed here forever, you might be lucky enough to die and freeze to him, your bodies ever intertwined until some unlucky bastard found you. But, you couldn’t do that.
You couldn’t invalidate his entire mission, his entire reason for coming back. You had to live. For the fate of the world, for the fate of your son.
When you’d finally managed to pull yourself up, you’d taken the time to walk back to the small town with the hotel. You hadn’t been sure how far you’d gotten when you’d Disapparated and fallen from the sky, but you eventually found that it was about five miles.
Despite the cold and the grief circling in your chest, you made it the entire way. The man at the counter had been shocked to see you again, especially in your current state. From a glimpse in the reflective window, you could see that you were unnaturally blue, covered in mud and dried blood.
“Do you need help, miss?” he gasped.
“Just loan me a shovel, will you?”
He looked shocked and confused by your request, but nonetheless disappeared inside the small admin building for a few moments, before returning with a shovel. It was old and partially rusted, but it would work.
You’d spend the rest of the day digging a proper grave for Mattheo. You’d eased his body into the hole in the earth and covered his glassy eyes one last time. For a moment—if not for the wet earth and frigid temperature—you could almost pretend he was sleeping.
You settled one hand over his stomach—the one that you had held for hours—and pulled the other one from his jacket pocket. Rigor mortis had set in, rendering his arm stiff. After a gentle pull, you freed his arm and found his hand clutched around a small item.
When you slipped your fingers beneath his frozen palm, you discovered the old picture of you folded messily. In his last moments, he’d had the wherewithal to touch your face once more.
You gasped and pressed your dirty hand to your mouth. You sobbed until the food or lack thereof within your stomach pulled out of your body and splattered onto the earth.
Your face pressed to the ground. Dirt spread across your tongue. You didn’t bother to spit it out.
***
*8 months later*
The car you’d bought three months into your pregnancy came to a rolling stop.
An older man with oversized glasses and a salt-and-pepper beard walked over to the driver’s side door. You rolled your window down with a small smile on your face.
“Hi, just fill it up, if you don’t mind?”
He nodded with a welcoming smile, though his mouth closed more than it should have been able to, like he was missing most of his teeth.
As he began to fill your gas tank, you stepped out of the vehicle to stretch your legs. Your belly protruded outward, nearly brushing against the side of the car as you slipped toward the Muggle gas station.
Your hands came to rest against your swollen belly just as they always did, one resting atop it and the other cupping its bottom. You were surprised there weren’t permanent indentations on your skin from how often you’d touched.
On the porch of the gas station was a creaking rocking chair, probably older than you. Your hand created a barrier between the sun and your eyes, shielding your line of vision from the blazing light.
Hiding behind the old chair was a young boy—probably no more than seven or eight. A large camera was cupped in his hands. He seemed to be debating whether or not to do something, rocking on his heels awkwardly.
“Are you okay?” you called gently. He didn’t respond.
“Miss? Is there anything else I can do for you?” the old man called from the side of your car. You turned back and shook your head.
“No, that’ll be—” Your voice was cut off by a clicking sound. You turned back to the gas station and noticed the little boy just feet from you. His camera was clutched against his chest. A small black picture slid out of the top of the machine.
He smiled a toothy grin, some of them missing here and there, just like his older friend. He shook it back and forth until an image appeared.
“Only five euros,” he said emphatically. You smiled gently at this young boy’s faux business.
“That’s kind of pricey, don’t you think?” you laughed. The boy shook his head, insisting that the price was fair and that you wouldn’t find any better of a deal around here.
“Alright,” you whispered, pulling a small roll of cash out of your pocket. You handed him a ten-euro note just for his troubles. When you set the money in his hand, his eyes sparkled proudly. He clenched his tiny fist around the note and handed you the photo before bounding off.
Your smile faded gently as you looked down at your new picture. Ice settled in your stomach as you realized what you were looking at.
You felt as if the universe were playing some kind of joke on you. Pressed between your fingers, and balancing on your belly, was a pristine copy of the picture Mattheo had brought through time with him.
There were no bent corners or dust marks marring your image. Your hands shuddered at the realization. You didn’t see how this was possible, you’d left that picture in his cold fist before you’d buried him.
These new clothes, your vehicle, your slightly rounded cheeks…it was clear that this was the original image that your son would inevitably give to Mattheo.
Your breath shook. Everything had come so painfully full-circle. It felt as though the earth was laughing at your shock, mocking your naivety, saying “How could you possibly not think this would happen? You fuck with time, you reap the results.”
A single tear slipped down your cheek. You hurriedly flicked it away.
“All ready to go, ma’am?” the man asked, wiping his oily hands on a blackened rag. He seemed concerned for only a moment when he caught your splotchy cheeks. He started to ask if you were okay, but you just nodded to forgo any awkward conversation.
You gently folded the image and slid it into your pocket—the first fold that marked the beginning of the indent that would inevitably stay in the material forever.
Before you took off, tires spinning in the dirt, you reached into the back seat and grabbed a small wooden box that you’d purchased the same day you’d gotten this outfit—the one you hadn’t recognized the first time Mattheo had shown you the image.
The silver latch popped open. Inside was a stack of letters, each addressed to a Harry Potter for when he was born. You would let him read them when the time was right.
And in the vein of every version of you before this one, you set the photo of you atop the letters that told Harry all about his father who’d been lost to time, but immortalized in him.
Hey y’all—I’m sorry for the impromptu hiatus I was on. I had a lot of stuff going on in my personal life. But, I am back for as long as I can be with a new idea. But! I need your opinion on who this should be about.
Y’all are gonna think I’m crazy, but all I’m gonna say on the matter is the story will be related to Time-Turners and inspired by: Terminator (1984), but HEAR ME OUT!
Just trust me on this, folks. I think you’ll like it. Now, who would you like to see?
Which HP boy? OR you can comment one if you don’t see your pick here!
+ SUMMARY - *Requested - based on this* Regulus is painfully obsessed with you, to the point he’s following you after class and thinking of you every time he comes. When he decides to take something of yours to help him get off, he’s not expecting you to find out.
+ WARNINGS - Perv!Regulus, masturbation (m!receiving), sub!Reg, Regulus following reader, Oral (f!receiving), public sex, light stalking?, language, not fully proof-read (lmk if I missed anything!)
+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -
Desire - MEG MYERS
- - -
Soft, lavender sheets. Honey over a warm, homemade breakfast with coffee at the Three Broomsticks. The Hogwarts grounds at the cusp of spring.
Those were the scents he could so clearly make out in Potions this afternoon. It was his final class of the day, and he’d successfully produced an incredibly effective batch of Amortentia. He could tell that because all he could smell was you.
The scent overtook him, shaking him with surprise. His breath caught in his throat. His eyes rolled backwards, closing to conceal the embarrassing gesture. He swayed ever so slightly, his fingers bracing himself against the lab table. Fuck.
“Are you alright, dear boy?” Professor Slughorn’s voice broke through his fantasies.
Regulus’s eyes popped open. The pleasant dizziness subsided only a bit. He nodded.
“Yes, sir, I’m…,” he trailed off. Subconsciously, his eyes glanced toward his cauldron. It steamed gently, the coloring of such flickering soft oranges and pale blue-purples. It was reminiscent of the smells it gave off.
Slughorn’s eyes found his cauldron as well. “Ah, I do believe I can smell it now. It appears you’ve made a superb mixture of the love potion.” He chuckled gleefully.
“Well, now, tell me—what do you smell?” The professor asked, a devious glint in his eye.
“I—er…” Regulus stuttered. It wasn’t as if the scents would indicate anything that related to you, but his knowledge of his perversion made it seem like anybody could know. Besides, if anyone in this room was a Legilimens—he was already screwed.
So, he swallowed nervously and told him. Soft, lavender sheets were reminiscent of your scent. The uniforms that you kept washed and prepared so perfectly in that delicious laundry soap were almost too much for him to bear sometimes. He always knew when he’d just missed you in a room—your scent was overwhelming.
Honey over a warm, homemade breakfast with coffee at the Three Broomsticks. Every Saturday morning, you would join your friends at approximately nine o’clock right inside Hogsmeade. The first few times he’d caught you there, it was by accident. The last dozen, he’d intended to be there.
It didn’t take long to figure that aspect of your schedule out. It just clicked one day that you always happened to be there at the same time. One day, he decided to test his theory and went back the very next day at the same time. And, sure enough, there you were. Gorgeous with a dazzlingly bright smile. You sipped at your creamy coffee and drizzled golden honey over your breakfast. That time he’d realized you always went there on Saturdays, was one of the most beautiful times he’d ever seen you.
The Hogwarts grounds at the cusp of spring. This one was more so a mixture of his love for the school and his love for you. The changing of the seasons at Hogwarts was beautiful and comforting anyway, but you had done to it what you had done to everything else in his life. You took it over, bleeding into every aspect of it like paint in water.
With every early blooming flower, he saw you pressing your nose to them, intaking their scent with a gentle smile on your lips. With every spring shower, he saw you giggling amongst your friends as you raced across the quads to reach your classroom.
Everything he loved had become infected with you, and he didn’t care. He only wanted more.
Professor Slughorn nodded and gave him one last smile before wandering away to check other students. If he had any inkling that any of what Regulus smelled had anything to do with you, he didn’t show it.
Regulus turned back to his cauldron and inconspicuously leaned in, taking another deep breath. The smell was intoxicating. So much so, in fact, that he felt his trousers beginning to tighten.
His eyes snapped open and he looked around the classroom. Everyone seemed focused on their projects. He tugged his robes tighter around his front to cover his issue.
Fuck, when was class going to be over? Desire filled his limbs like a sweet warmth. All he could think about was you—your body, your hair, that smile. He switched his weight back and forth between each foot, fidgeting idly.
His eyes closed as he popped his neck, trying to urge his brain in a different direction. But, of course, everything led back to you.
He’d overheard you talking to your friends earlier this morning, stating that you would be in the library until later this evening while you waited for your laundry. In lieu of looking like a complete stalker, he’d told himself he wouldn’t follow. He would wait in his room and leave you be until this Saturday where he’d resume his typical routine by taking a small booth in the corner, and admiring from afar. But, now, the lust burning within him was almost too much to bear.
“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, that is all for today!” Slughorn announced. Fucking finally.
That was all Regulus waited around to hear. He muttered a quick vanishing charm over the cauldron. The Amortentia inside and all evidence it had ever been there disappeared before his eyes, but the scent of you lingered. He snatched his bag off the ground and made for the doors.
Somehow, his cauldron would find its way to the collection of them by the door. But, for now, he had to get back to his room and take care of his problem.
His mind raced with thoughts of you, which only served to worsen the pressure in his pants. Your exposed neck flashed across his eyes, your lips spread over your teeth, your body shuddered beneath his. One day, he’d see those things. But, for now, his imagination would work.
At least, it had been. The last few times he’d used you as a visual to get off, it’d taken much longer than it used to. His attraction to you was anything but fading, but his imagination was beginning to not cut it anymore.
If only he could have something of yours that would—
He stopped in his tracks. The entrance to the laundry room stared back at him.
Hadn’t you said something about waiting on your laundry this morning? Would your laundry still be in there?
That was too far. He was beginning to act like a total creep. But, what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you. Right?
With a preemptive glance around, he slipped into the laundry room.
One single house elf wandered about the far corner, sprinkling some scented concoctions over drying clothes on a rack. She did not seem to bear him any mind as he stalked in.
Regulus’s eyes scanned the room, searching for anything that reminded him of your uniform. Nothing really stood out and, amongst the hundreds of laundry soaps being used, he was having a hard time singling your scent out. Until, he came across a hamper in the corner waiting to be picked up.
It seemed to be filled with uniforms only, but a small metal plaque was imprinted on the side of the basket. Your initials were etched into the silver. His breath caught in his throat. It could have been someone else’s with the same initials, but there was only one way he’d know for sure.
He walked over to the basket and picked up the set of robes at the top. Gently, he pressed them to his nose and inhaled.
His limbs all but melted. These clothes were yours, without a doubt. Fuck, you were irresistible. He gripped the robes and contemplated. Was there anything of yours he could take without you noticing? How wrong was this, really? He wasn’t sure. He felt like a total creep, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted you so fucking bad. He just hadn’t quite figured out how to approach you yet.
And, just as he had begun to set the robes back into their basket and move on—deciding that this behavior was unacceptable—something slipped from within the robes. A flash of a pale peachy color caught his eye.
Interested, he set the robes back into the basket and squatted down to get a better look. Laying scattered across the floor was a lacy coral pair of underwear.
The rear panel of the piece was cut high and couldn’t have covered much of your ass. He swallowed thickly, pinching the material between his fingers.
Without another thought, he shoved the panties into his pocket and disappeared back down the hallway.
When he returned to his dormitory, he locked the door and crawled into bed, pulling the canopy curtains shut tight.
And before he could question the morality of all of this anymore, his desire overtook him. With a shuddering breath, he ripped his belt off and pulled himself out of his pants.
He grabbed the panties out from his pocket and hesitantly took in a breath. Your scent hit him like a rock. He all but groaned and struggled not to come from the sight of your underwear alone. Merlin, he was pathetic.
He pressed the fabric to his face as he began to pump himself to the thought of you. The image of you in these would have him on the floor clawing for you if he wasn’t careful.
Already, he was close and near ecstasy. His eyes opened as an idea crossed his mind. He wrapped his knuckles in the lacy material and then placed his fingers back around his dick. He continued to pump himself with the scratchy fabric tightened against his fingers. He shuddered at the sensation, his eyes rolling backward.
He placed a hand over his mouth to muffle the impending sounds. His head fell back against his pillow. His chest jerked beneath each wave of building pleasure.
Before he could hold it in, he came hard around his fist, your panties soaking in his release. As hard as it was, he forced his eyes open to catch the visual. The sight alone nearly made him come again.
And before any guilt about the situation could cloud his mind, he dozed off with you on his mind.
***
By the time he’d woken up, showered off all of his guilt, and made it to class, he’d worked up enough anxiety upon seeing you that he’d hardly even noticed you weren’t in your normal seat.
His eyes glanced about the room, straying away from the spot they usually locked onto every time he walked in.
He noticed that you were seated right beside his normal spot. His breath stopped in his chest. He nearly turned back around and skipped class, before you caught his eyes with yours. His lips parted as he tried to decipher your expression. You must know what he had done. Why else would you be up there?
Your eyes dropped and a hint of a smile brushed across your lips. He took in a shuddering breath and tightened his fingers around his bag strap. His heart pounded in his chest as he worked up the courage to climb the steps to reach his seat.
This classroom was arranged in an auditorium-type setting, with each row of seats on an elevated set of bleachers that stood about ten rows high.
He’d always sat at the top because it gave him a perfect view of the back of your head, and, more importantly, the tops of your breasts when you’d lean back over the edge of your seat to stretch. He was such a fucking freak and he hated himself for it, but he could not help it.
He reached his seat and sat, knee bouncing nervously beneath the desk.
“Good morning, Regulus,” you spoke quietly. Despite your odd tone, his name on your lips sped his heart rate up even more.
“Er, good morning,” he responded. “What’s up?”
His attempt to sound nonchalant was thoroughly ignored by you as you slid a folded piece of paper onto his desk. Before he could question it, you stood and made your way back to your normal seat.
Maybe it was the nerves wracking his brain, but he could swear you’d buttoned one less button on your shirt than you usually did today.
Right on cue, you leaned backward over your chair and stretched. This time, it was different. The edges of your black bra were ever so slightly exposed this time. You had definitely buttoned one less. And your face found his, smirking slightly.
You knew. You had to.
He broke eye contact and scrambled with the piece of paper, unfolding it as quickly as he could.
I know what you did. You should have just asked. Meet me in my dorm after school. 5pm.
If his heart could physically pound even harder, it did. The blood drained from his face. How could you have known? Did the elf tell you? Fuck, he was going to be sick. The lace panties currently sitting in his back trouser pocket were burning a hole through the chair.
He shouldn’t have brought them. He couldn’t help himself. He needed you so bad. Just gently fingering the material beneath his robes was helping him through the morning.
He took in a deep breath and pulled his hand from his pocket. He needed to focus on something other than you. You were driving him completely insane.
And yet, the class and every other aspect of his life was nothing compared to you—your scent, your face, your voice, your panties around his cock.
He shuddered with want. His heart pounded. Sweat beaded at his temples. If he stuck around much longer, his vision was going to start blurring. He grabbed his bag and whisked himself down the bleacher stairs.
The professor hadn’t yet arrived and was not there to see him disappear through the heavy wooden door.
The door clunked shut behind him, echoing down the corridor like a blast of lightning. He all but ran to the men’s lavatory at the end of the hall, pushing through that door, while trying to ignore the fact that he swore he’d heard the classroom door shut a second time.
He wouldn’t allow himself to hope that it was you running after him.
He ducked down and assured himself that the bathroom was completely empty. His bag dropped from his shoulder as he ran over to the porcelain sinks lining the far wall.
Pain scorched through his chest as his breath came out rapidly. He ripped his robe down his shoulders, letting it slip to a pool on the ground. His hands slammed against the sink, fingers twitching in panic.
He ripped his uniform sweater vest over his head and tossed it away. The old faucet squeaked as he jerked it on, letting the cold water rinse over his hands, then splash onto his face.
He all but panted into his reflection; his cheeks flushed and his eyes lidded. He needed something. Anything. It felt like his insides were on fire.
Before he could turn and whisper a locking charm over the lavatory door, it burst open, revealing you in your full glory. Your chest pumped with heavy breaths as if you’d run to get there.
Anticipation in seeing you jerked through him, a small gasp catching in his chest. Neither of you spoke for a few moments.
“I—”
“Don’t speak,” you interrupted immediately. His jaw snapped shut, his hands anxiously gripping the sink behind him. The still running water began to seep over the sink’s lip, sliding down through his fingers. The cold feeling over his hot skin forced a small gasp from him.
Wordlessly, you willed the sink to stop. The water shut off, and the last bit of leaking liquid fell across his fingers and hit the floor with a gentle splatter.
“The elf told me what you did,” you finally spoke. So he had been right. That was how you’d found out. “She told me a dark-haired boy stole something from my basket. I knew it was you.”
“How—how did you know?” Regulus stuttered out.
“Please. If you were anymore obvious, you’d have begged to fuck me in the middle of class,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. Regulus flushed a deep red at the thought, in disbelief that this conversation was really happening. What made it even crazier was he couldn’t tell if you were mad or not.
“You’ve been obsessed with me for months. I’m not stupid, and you’re more obvious than you think.”
“I—I’m sorry,” Regulus frowned, looking down at his shoes. Embarrassment flared uncomfortably in his stomach. He could feel his cheeks and ears heating up substantially. Despite his desires, he wanted to be far away from you at this moment.
“And yet, I can’t find it in me to be mad at you,” you said. Regulus’s eyes snapped up.
“Do you like me?” you asked, head tilting to the side at the question. Regulus’s mouth parted as if to speak, but stuttered as no words came out. He had silently begged for a scenario where he could admit his feelings to you for months, but now, when it was all he needed to do, he couldn’t speak.
“Reg, do you like me?” You said each word slowly and overenunciated. Your eyes were wide and your head nodded with each word, as if you were talking to a badly-behaved dog. For some reason, that turned him on even more.
He couldn’t speak, but he could show you how much he liked you.
This was either going to go very well, or he was going to elongate this humiliation ritual indefinitely. Then again, your humiliating him was not doing much to put him off. If anything, it was making him harder.
He pressed his lips together and let his hands slide off the sink. He slowly dropped to his knees, the left one bracing against the wet tile, then the right one shortly after. His eyes never left you—lidded and needy. Your eyes lowered with his body.
“Crawl.”
A shuddering breath left his lips, but he did not let anything deter him. At this point, he’d bare himself naked and rip his own chest open to get to you.
His hands braced against the wet floor and he crawled toward you. He moved slowly, carefully, so you could turn him down if you decided he wasn’t worth it at any point in the process. He wanted you to know that he was a choice—a disposable one at that. He was less than that.
Once he was inches from your body, his eyes stopped at your unclothed thighs, taking in every inch of your skin until it disappeared beneath your uniform skirt. He forced himself to look away and find your eyes.
Your expression was only describable as bored. If anything, you could have been disgusted with him. What did you want from him? Without instruction, he was useless. He wanted to touch you, to show you how bad he wanted you. He leaned his face forward ever so slightly and glanced up.
When you didn’t protest, he inched closer and closer until, with a shaky breath and a barely stifled moan, he pressed his face above your right knee. He trailed his nose across your skin, breathing your scent in. His hands pulled from the ground and gently cupped the back of your leg.
He exhaled roughly. His lips dragged across the top of your knee, tongue barely darting out to scrape along your flesh.
He placed a line of hot, wet kisses upwards until the hem of your skirt brushed against the bridge of his nose. He paused, looking up at you for permission. He could smell your desire.
You still had a plain expression on your face, your arms crossed. You didn’t say anything, so he took it as a pass to keep going.
He pushed his face upward, your skirt sliding over his face and shielding his eyes from the light in the bathroom. Hesitantly, his lips pressed over you from over top your bottoms.
They were lacy like the ones currently sitting in his back pocket, his tongue could taste the design poured over them. Despite your disinterested expression, you were unbelievably wet. As soon as his mouth pressed to you, the pressure from his jaw forced a gush of desire from between your thighs.
He audibly moaned at the flavor. All hesitancy left him and he pulled the entirety of your cunt over his face. He heard you gasp at the sudden pull, your fingers bracing against his curls as you struggled to keep your balance.
Your legs were split down over his jaw as he worked his tongue over you, revelling in your taste through the lace. Your nonchalance faded away as he continued to kiss against you. Soft moans slipped from between your teeth, echoing gently off the lavatory walls.
“Fuck,” you whispered, fingers tightening in his hair. When you didn’t stop him from going any further, he traced his fingers up the length of your thighs until they reached the waistband of your panties. He slipped his fingertips beneath the strap and pulled them down, the material soaked in a mixture of his saliva and your desire. He pulled his mouth away from you only long enough to push your bottoms down to your ankles, before reuniting his lips with your bare core.
At the connection with nothing in between, he watched through lidded eyes as you threw your head back and moaned aloud. “Reg…fuck, baby!”
The sound of those words on your lips only urged him on faster. Every time he’d touched himself at night, it was to his imagining what you’d sound like as he pleasured you. And this was everything he’d hoped for and more.
Even if you ditched him and never let him touch you again, he’d never lose the memory of your gorgeous body, your taste, your scent, your sounds. Shit.
Before he realized it, he caught himself grinding against your shin. He had no idea how long he’d been doing it for, but it had to have been a few minutes at least, as he felt a coil of pleasure building in the base of his stomach.
“You get off from pleasuring me, Reg?” you teased, scraping your nails easily against his scalp.
He moaned in confirmation, clutching at your ass, kneading the soft skin there as he continued to consume you.
“Shit, baby, I’m gonna…”
Regulus buckled down and traced every inch of you, his tongue swirling as roughly as it could. His hands gripped your thighs even tighter if that was even possible.
As he worked you further toward your orgasm, you let out increasingly loud, breathy moans that pounded in his brain. And with each one, he echoed with one of his own. He forced you closer, and forced himself closer.
And then you were gasping, and clutching at his curls even tighter than before, just as you broke around him. An excess of your lust gushed around his lips, and slid down his cheek and throat in gentle beads.
At the flavor and the way you clenched around his tongue, he came into his trousers, his hips no longer trying to seem subtle as they rocked against you. He panted raggedly against you as he continued to work you through your end, despite the power of his.
Once you had come down from your high, you all but collapsed against him. Your knees buckled and he caught you as you melted into his arms. All of your confidence had seemed to have fallen away. You shuddered as aftershocks hit you like waves.
He wiped his mouth along the length of his sleeve, before gingerly wrapping his arms around you. He only meant to test the waters, but just as with before, you did not question him and you did not push him away. In fact, he felt you snuggle against him with a contented sigh.
With a burst of confidence, he raised a hand and gently eased it across the crown of your head, smoothing your hair along the way. You said nothing, but your fingers gripped against his robes.
He needed to get you up and pull you into your dormitory, so you weren’t resting on the floor of the bathroom. He could tuck you into your bed, and watch you as you fell asleep, just like he’d always wanted to.
But, for now, he was happy with holding you as he could, with your taste still in his mouth.
AHHHH This was so so SO incredible! I'm down fucking bad for obsessed Reg, when he started crawling!! Catch me kicking my feets and cackling reading this, please keep this vibe coming omg! Well done love ❤️
Hello again! I'm back with another Regulus request <3
I was wondering if you could do a fic where Regulus has become so desperately obsessed with reader to the point of (Slightly) stalking her ( ex. Memorizing class schedules/ always finding her in a crowd), but she ends up noticing and teasingly confronting him about it. Maybe ending in sub Reggie smut if your up for it 🫶🏻
Hello, beautiful!! Thanks for coming back to my blog again. I always love your requests—they’re some of my favorites <3 Here’s your request, let me know what you think!
+ SUMMARY - *Requested - based on this* Regulus is painfully obsessed with you, to the point he’s following you after class and thinking of you every time he comes. When he decides to take something of yours to help him get off, he’s not expecting you to find out.
+ WARNINGS - SMUT! Perv!Regulus, masturbation (m!receiving), sub!Reg, Regulus following reader, Oral (f!receiving), public sex, light stalking?, language, not fully proof-read (lmk if I missed anything!)
+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -
Desire - MEG MYERS
- - -
Soft, lavender sheets. Honey over a warm, homemade breakfast with coffee at the Three Broomsticks. The Hogwarts grounds at the cusp of spring.
Those were the scents he could so clearly make out in Potions this afternoon. It was his final class of the day, and he’d successfully produced an incredibly effective batch of Amortentia. He could tell that because all he could smell was you.
The scent overtook him, shaking him with surprise. His breath caught in his throat. His eyes rolled backwards, closing to conceal the embarrassing gesture. He swayed ever so slightly, his fingers bracing himself against the lab table. Fuck.
“Are you alright, dear boy?” Professor Slughorn’s voice broke through his fantasies.
Regulus’s eyes popped open. The pleasant dizziness subsided only a bit. He nodded.
“Yes, sir, I’m…,” he trailed off. Subconsciously, his eyes glanced toward his cauldron. It steamed gently, the coloring of such flickering soft oranges and pale blue-purples. It was reminiscent of the smells it gave off.
Slughorn’s eyes found his cauldron as well. “Ah, I do believe I can smell it now. It appears you’ve made a superb mixture of the love potion.” He chuckled gleefully.
“Well, now, tell me—what do you smell?” The professor asked, a devious glint in his eye.
“I—er…” Regulus stuttered. It wasn’t as if the scents would indicate anything that related to you, but his knowledge of his perversion made it seem like anybody could know. Besides, if anyone in this room was a Legilimens—he was already screwed.
So, he swallowed nervously and told him. Soft, lavender sheets were reminiscent of your scent. The uniforms that you kept washed and prepared so perfectly in that delicious laundry soap were almost too much for him to bear sometimes. He always knew when he’d just missed you in a room—your scent was overwhelming.
Honey over a warm, homemade breakfast with coffee at the Three Broomsticks. Every Saturday morning, you would join your friends at approximately nine o’clock right inside Hogsmeade. The first few times he’d caught you there, it was by accident. The last dozen, he’d intended to be there.
It didn’t take long to figure that aspect of your schedule out. It just clicked one day that you always happened to be there at the same time. One day, he decided to test his theory and went back the very next day at the same time. And, sure enough, there you were. Gorgeous with a dazzlingly bright smile. You sipped at your creamy coffee and drizzled golden honey over your breakfast. That time he’d realized you always went there on Saturdays, was one of the most beautiful times he’d ever seen you.
The Hogwarts grounds at the cusp of spring. This one was more so a mixture of his love for the school and his love for you. The changing of the seasons at Hogwarts was beautiful and comforting anyway, but you had done to it what you had done to everything else in his life. You took it over, bleeding into every aspect of it like paint in water.
With every early blooming flower, he saw you pressing your nose to them, intaking their scent with a gentle smile on your lips. With every spring shower, he saw you giggling amongst your friends as you raced across the quads to reach your classroom.
Everything he loved had become infected with you, and he didn’t care. He only wanted more.
Professor Slughorn nodded and gave him one last smile before wandering away to check other students. If he had any inkling that any of what Regulus smelled had anything to do with you, he didn’t show it.
Regulus turned back to his cauldron and inconspicuously leaned in, taking another deep breath. The smell was intoxicating. So much so, in fact, that he felt his trousers beginning to tighten.
His eyes snapped open and he looked around the classroom. Everyone seemed focused on their projects. He tugged his robes tighter around his front to cover his issue.
Fuck, when was class going to be over? Desire filled his limbs like a sweet warmth. All he could think about was you—your body, your hair, that smile. He switched his weight back and forth between each foot, fidgeting idly.
His eyes closed as he popped his neck, trying to urge his brain in a different direction. But, of course, everything led back to you.
He’d overheard you talking to your friends earlier this morning, stating that you would be in the library until later this evening while you waited for your laundry. In lieu of looking like a complete stalker, he’d told himself he wouldn’t follow. He would wait in his room and leave you be until this Saturday where he’d resume his typical routine by taking a small booth in the corner, and admiring from afar. But, now, the lust burning within him was almost too much to bear.
“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, that is all for today!” Slughorn announced. Fucking finally.
That was all Regulus waited around to hear. He muttered a quick vanishing charm over the cauldron. The Amortentia inside and all evidence it had ever been there disappeared before his eyes, but the scent of you lingered. He snatched his bag off the ground and made for the doors.
Somehow, his cauldron would find its way to the collection of them by the door. But, for now, he had to get back to his room and take care of his problem.
His mind raced with thoughts of you, which only served to worsen the pressure in his pants. Your exposed neck flashed across his eyes, your lips spread over your teeth, your body shuddered beneath his. One day, he’d see those things. But, for now, his imagination would work.
At least, it had been. The last few times he’d used you as a visual to get off, it’d taken much longer than it used to. His attraction to you was anything but fading, but his imagination was beginning to not cut it anymore.
If only he could have something of yours that would—
He stopped in his tracks. The entrance to the laundry room stared back at him.
Hadn’t you said something about waiting on your laundry this morning? Would your laundry still be in there?
That was too far. He was beginning to act like a total creep. But, what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you. Right?
With a preemptive glance around, he slipped into the laundry room.
One single house elf wandered about the far corner, sprinkling some scented concoctions over drying clothes on a rack. She did not seem to bear him any mind as he stalked in.
Regulus’s eyes scanned the room, searching for anything that reminded him of your uniform. Nothing really stood out and, amongst the hundreds of laundry soaps being used, he was having a hard time singling your scent out. Until, he came across a hamper in the corner waiting to be picked up.
It seemed to be filled with uniforms only, but a small metal plaque was imprinted on the side of the basket. Your initials were etched into the silver. His breath caught in his throat. It could have been someone else’s with the same initials, but there was only one way he’d know for sure.
He walked over to the basket and picked up the set of robes at the top. Gently, he pressed them to his nose and inhaled.
His limbs all but melted. These clothes were yours, without a doubt. Fuck, you were irresistible. He gripped the robes and contemplated. Was there anything of yours he could take without you noticing? How wrong was this, really? He wasn’t sure. He felt like a total creep, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted you so fucking bad. He just hadn’t quite figured out how to approach you yet.
And, just as he had begun to set the robes back into their basket and move on—deciding that this behavior was unacceptable—something slipped from within the robes. A flash of a pale peachy color caught his eye.
Interested, he set the robes back into the basket and squatted down to get a better look. Laying scattered across the floor was a lacy coral pair of underwear.
The rear panel of the piece was cut high and couldn’t have covered much of your ass. He swallowed thickly, pinching the material between his fingers.
Without another thought, he shoved the panties into his pocket and disappeared back down the hallway.
When he returned to his dormitory, he locked the door and crawled into bed, pulling the canopy curtains shut tight.
And before he could question the morality of all of this anymore, his desire overtook him. With a shuddering breath, he ripped his belt off and pulled himself out of his pants.
He grabbed the panties out from his pocket and hesitantly took in a breath. Your scent hit him like a rock. He all but groaned and struggled not to come from the sight of your underwear alone. Merlin, he was pathetic.
He pressed the fabric to his face as he began to pump himself to the thought of you. The image of you in these would have him on the floor clawing for you if he wasn’t careful.
Already, he was close and near ecstasy. His eyes opened as an idea crossed his mind. He wrapped his knuckles in the lacy material and then placed his fingers back around his dick. He continued to pump himself with the scratchy fabric tightened against his fingers. He shuddered at the sensation, his eyes rolling backward.
He placed a hand over his mouth to muffle the impending sounds. His head fell back against his pillow. His chest jerked beneath each wave of building pleasure.
Before he could hold it in, he came hard around his fist, your panties soaking in his release. As hard as it was, he forced his eyes open to catch the visual. The sight alone nearly made him come again.
And before any guilt about the situation could cloud his mind, he dozed off with you on his mind.
***
By the time he’d woken up, showered off all of his guilt, and made it to class, he’d worked up enough anxiety upon seeing you that he’d hardly even noticed you weren’t in your normal seat.
His eyes glanced about the room, straying away from the spot they usually locked onto every time he walked in.
He noticed that you were seated right beside his normal spot. His breath stopped in his chest. He nearly turned back around and skipped class, before you caught his eyes with yours. His lips parted as he tried to decipher your expression. You must know what he had done. Why else would you be up there?
Your eyes dropped and a hint of a smile brushed across your lips. He took in a shuddering breath and tightened his fingers around his bag strap. His heart pounded in his chest as he worked up the courage to climb the steps to reach his seat.
This classroom was arranged in an auditorium-type setting, with each row of seats on an elevated set of bleachers that stood about ten rows high.
He’d always sat at the top because it gave him a perfect view of the back of your head, and, more importantly, the tops of your breasts when you’d lean back over the edge of your seat to stretch. He was such a fucking freak and he hated himself for it, but he could not help it.
He reached his seat and sat, knee bouncing nervously beneath the desk.
“Good morning, Regulus,” you spoke quietly. Despite your odd tone, his name on your lips sped his heart rate up even more.
“Er, good morning,” he responded. “What’s up?”
His attempt to sound nonchalant was thoroughly ignored by you as you slid a folded piece of paper onto his desk. Before he could question it, you stood and made your way back to your normal seat.
Maybe it was the nerves wracking his brain, but he could swear you’d buttoned one less button on your shirt than you usually did today.
Right on cue, you leaned backward over your chair and stretched. This time, it was different. The edges of your black bra were ever so slightly exposed this time. You had definitely buttoned one less. And your face found his, smirking slightly.
You knew. You had to.
He broke eye contact and scrambled with the piece of paper, unfolding it as quickly as he could.
I know what you did. You should have just asked. Meet me in my dorm after school. 5pm.
If his heart could physically pound even harder, it did. The blood drained from his face. How could you have known? Did the elf tell you? Fuck, he was going to be sick. The lace panties currently sitting in his back trouser pocket were burning a hole through the chair.
He shouldn’t have brought them. He couldn’t help himself. He needed you so bad. Just gently fingering the material beneath his robes was helping him through the morning.
He took in a deep breath and pulled his hand from his pocket. He needed to focus on something other than you. You were driving him completely insane.
And yet, the class and every other aspect of his life was nothing compared to you—your scent, your face, your voice, your panties around his cock.
He shuddered with want. His heart pounded. Sweat beaded at his temples. If he stuck around much longer, his vision was going to start blurring. He grabbed his bag and whisked himself down the bleacher stairs.
The professor hadn’t yet arrived and was not there to see him disappear through the heavy wooden door.
The door clunked shut behind him, echoing down the corridor like a blast of lightning. He all but ran to the men’s lavatory at the end of the hall, pushing through that door, while trying to ignore the fact that he swore he’d heard the classroom door shut a second time.
He wouldn’t allow himself to hope that it was you running after him.
He ducked down and assured himself that the bathroom was completely empty. His bag dropped from his shoulder as he ran over to the porcelain sinks lining the far wall.
Pain scorched through his chest as his breath came out rapidly. He ripped his robe down his shoulders, letting it slip to a pool on the ground. His hands slammed against the sink, fingers twitching in panic.
He ripped his uniform sweater vest over his head and tossed it away. The old faucet squeaked as he jerked it on, letting the cold water rinse over his hands, then splash onto his face.
He all but panted into his reflection; his cheeks flushed and his eyes lidded. He needed something. Anything. It felt like his insides were on fire.
Before he could turn and whisper a locking charm over the lavatory door, it burst open, revealing you in your full glory. Your chest pumped with heavy breaths as if you’d run to get there.
Anticipation in seeing you jerked through him, a small gasp catching in his chest. Neither of you spoke for a few moments.
“I—”
“Don’t speak,” you interrupted immediately. His jaw snapped shut, his hands anxiously gripping the sink behind him. The still running water began to seep over the sink’s lip, sliding down through his fingers. The cold feeling over his hot skin forced a small gasp from him.
Wordlessly, you willed the sink to stop. The water shut off, and the last bit of leaking liquid fell across his fingers and hit the floor with a gentle splatter.
“The elf told me what you did,” you finally spoke. So he had been right. That was how you’d found out. “She told me a dark-haired boy stole something from my basket. I knew it was you.”
“How—how did you know?” Regulus stuttered out.
“Please. If you were anymore obvious, you’d have begged to fuck me in the middle of class,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. Regulus flushed a deep red at the thought, in disbelief that this conversation was really happening. What made it even crazier was he couldn’t tell if you were mad or not.
“You’ve been obsessed with me for months. I’m not stupid, and you’re more obvious than you think.”
“I—I’m sorry,” Regulus frowned, looking down at his shoes. Embarrassment flared uncomfortably in his stomach. He could feel his cheeks and ears heating up substantially. Despite his desires, he wanted to be far away from you at this moment.
“And yet, I can’t find it in me to be mad at you,” you said. Regulus’s eyes snapped up.
“Do you like me?” you asked, head tilting to the side at the question. Regulus’s mouth parted as if to speak, but stuttered as no words came out. He had silently begged for a scenario where he could admit his feelings to you for months, but now, when it was all he needed to do, he couldn’t speak.
“Reg, do you like me?” You said each word slowly and overenunciated. Your eyes were wide and your head nodded with each word, as if you were talking to a badly-behaved dog. For some reason, that turned him on even more.
He couldn’t speak, but he could show you how much he liked you.
This was either going to go very well, or he was going to elongate this humiliation ritual indefinitely. Then again, your humiliating him was not doing much to put him off. If anything, it was making him harder.
He pressed his lips together and let his hands slide off the sink. He slowly dropped to his knees, the left one bracing against the wet tile, then the right one shortly after. His eyes never left you—lidded and needy. Your eyes lowered with his body.
“Crawl.”
A shuddering breath left his lips, but he did not let anything deter him. At this point, he’d bare himself naked and rip his own chest open to get to you.
His hands braced against the wet floor and he crawled toward you. He moved slowly, carefully, so you could turn him down if you decided he wasn’t worth it at any point in the process. He wanted you to know that he was a choice—a disposable one at that. He was less than that.
Once he was inches from your body, his eyes stopped at your unclothed thighs, taking in every inch of your skin until it disappeared beneath your uniform skirt. He forced himself to look away and find your eyes.
Your expression was only describable as bored. If anything, you could have been disgusted with him. What did you want from him? Without instruction, he was useless. He wanted to touch you, to show you how bad he wanted you. He leaned his face forward ever so slightly and glanced up.
When you didn’t protest, he inched closer and closer until, with a shaky breath and a barely stifled moan, he pressed his face above your right knee. He trailed his nose across your skin, breathing your scent in. His hands pulled from the ground and gently cupped the back of your leg.
He exhaled roughly. His lips dragged across the top of your knee, tongue barely darting out to scrape along your flesh.
He placed a line of hot, wet kisses upwards until the hem of your skirt brushed against the bridge of his nose. He paused, looking up at you for permission. He could smell your desire.
You still had a plain expression on your face, your arms crossed. You didn’t say anything, so he took it as a pass to keep going.
He pushed his face upward, your skirt sliding over his face and shielding his eyes from the light in the bathroom. Hesitantly, his lips pressed over you from over top your bottoms.
They were lacy like the ones currently sitting in his back pocket, his tongue could taste the design poured over them. Despite your disinterested expression, you were unbelievably wet. As soon as his mouth pressed to you, the pressure from his jaw forced a gush of desire from between your thighs.
He audibly moaned at the flavor. All hesitancy left him and he pulled the entirety of your cunt over his face. He heard you gasp at the sudden pull, your fingers bracing against his curls as you struggled to keep your balance.
Your legs were split down over his jaw as he worked his tongue over you, revelling in your taste through the lace. Your nonchalance faded away as he continued to kiss against you. Soft moans slipped from between your teeth, echoing gently off the lavatory walls.
“Fuck,” you whispered, fingers tightening in his hair. When you didn’t stop him from going any further, he traced his fingers up the length of your thighs until they reached the waistband of your panties. He slipped his fingertips beneath the strap and pulled them down, the material soaked in a mixture of his saliva and your desire. He pulled his mouth away from you only long enough to push your bottoms down to your ankles, before reuniting his lips with your bare core.
At the connection with nothing in between, he watched through lidded eyes as you threw your head back and moaned aloud. “Reg…fuck, baby!”
The sound of those words on your lips only urged him on faster. Every time he’d touched himself at night, it was to his imagining what you’d sound like as he pleasured you. And this was everything he’d hoped for and more.
Even if you ditched him and never let him touch you again, he’d never lose the memory of your gorgeous body, your taste, your scent, your sounds. Shit.
Before he realized it, he caught himself grinding against your shin. He had no idea how long he’d been doing it for, but it had to have been a few minutes at least, as he felt a coil of pleasure building in the base of his stomach.
“You get off from pleasuring me, Reg?” you teased, scraping your nails easily against his scalp.
He moaned in confirmation, clutching at your ass, kneading the soft skin there as he continued to consume you.
“Shit, baby, I’m gonna…”
Regulus buckled down and traced every inch of you, his tongue swirling as roughly as it could. His hands gripped your thighs even tighter if that was even possible.
As he worked you further toward your orgasm, you let out increasingly loud, breathy moans that pounded in his brain. And with each one, he echoed with one of his own. He forced you closer, and forced himself closer.
And then you were gasping, and clutching at his curls even tighter than before, just as you broke around him. An excess of your lust gushed around his lips, and slid down his cheek and throat in gentle beads.
At the flavor and the way you clenched around his tongue, he came into his trousers, his hips no longer trying to seem subtle as they rocked against you. He panted raggedly against you as he continued to work you through your end, despite the power of his.
Once you had come down from your high, you all but collapsed against him. Your knees buckled and he caught you as you melted into his arms. All of your confidence had seemed to have fallen away. You shuddered as aftershocks hit you like waves.
He wiped his mouth along the length of his sleeve, before gingerly wrapping his arms around you. He only meant to test the waters, but just as with before, you did not question him and you did not push him away. In fact, he felt you snuggle against him with a contented sigh.
With a burst of confidence, he raised a hand and gently eased it across the crown of your head, smoothing your hair along the way. You said nothing, but your fingers gripped against his robes.
He needed to get you up and pull you into your dormitory, so you weren’t resting on the floor of the bathroom. He could tuck you into your bed, and watch you as you fell asleep, just like he’d always wanted to.
But, for now, he was happy with holding you as he could, with your taste still in his mouth.
OMGGGG can you please write something for a tom riddle who is your partner in class and wants to hate you but actually loves you? Preferably smutty and subby?
Hi! Thank you for the request, and thank you for bearing with me on how long this took. I hope you enjoy!
+ SUMMARY - *Requested - based on this* When you don’t show for class, Tom goes looking for you.
+ WARNINGS - Oral (m!receiving), Dom!Reader, Fem!Reader, Sub!Tom Riddle, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, Reader is persistent in suggesting a sexual favor, language, not fully proof-read (lmk if I missed anything)
+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -
makes me want you - Sombr
The day you were partnered together in Potions class, Tom swore he was going to be miserable for the rest of the school year.
Your overly bubbly attitude and all its accessories echoed across the classroom daily, clueing him and everyone else in on your conversations. The lilt of your voice was one that he’d become accustomed to hearing when entering the dimly lit room. It was so common now that not hearing it was something of a fable. You never missed a class; therefore, he never missed your voice.
But today, you were gone. Not in class. Not in any of your classes. The sound of your voice was an absence in the day that had somehow become its own noise, like a vacuum that had sucked him in and refused to spit him out. It almost set him on edge. He was looking over his shoulder, trying to dictate where you were going to come from. But you never did.
And, thank Merlin for that. Finally, he could concentrate for more than two seconds at a time as soon as Professor Slughorn set the class out on its own to prepare for their upcoming projects. Finally, he could get some work done without you interrupting his train of thought with meaningless anecdotes that had nothing to do with the topic at hand. Finally, he could work without you in his way.
Of course, you were helpful. It wasn’t like you didn’t work on your project with him. In between your many random stories, you applied helpful facts and suggestions—occasionally, you even managed to impress him with your ideas. Occasionally. For the most part, you just giggled annoyingly at things he said that weren’t even jokes.
The thing about you: you found everything funny. You would say something stupid, Tom would reply with a snarky response, and you would throw your head back—hair falling easily down your shoulders, lips reddened as they parted, teeth shining beneath the torchlight—laughing like he’d just let slip the funniest joke you’d ever heard. It was ridiculous.
But today, as he sat scribbling neat notes with a rundown quill and his quickly dwindling inkwell, he kept glancing up, expecting to find you peculiarly silent—perhaps deep in thought, or dozing off—but, instead, finding an empty chair. It seemed that he had to keep reminding himself you weren’t in today. You were out. Sick or something else, he guessed.
After remembering you were out, he’d turn back to his work and continue to put his thoughts down. Until he’d look up again and find the emptiness of your chair spoiling his concentration. Somehow, you were managing to distract him even when you weren’t here. Unbelievable.
A huff left him. Class was nearly over. He would go check on you or see if he could bump into you on the way to the Slytherin common room. He wouldn’t be surprised at all if you were just skipping class to hang out with some of your friends. With your free-willed nature came undeniable irresponsibility.
He was only concerned with your absence due to the effect it would have on the project grade. Of course, he could finish it on his own. It’d probably be improved if he finished it alone, but it was imperative that you worked together. Besides, it wasn’t fair for you to be out gallivanting about while he remained and did your part of the assignment. It didn’t matter if he could. What mattered was what was fair.
Concern for you was not the reason he was stuck on the notion of you being out of class. It was the principle.
But, by the third time or so that he glanced up, wondering what could possibly have kept you out of class, he grunted frustratedly and shot his hand up in the air. Professor Slughorn, who seemed to be lost in some kind of recipe book for the “traditional Witch,” caught the motion out of the corner of his eye.
“Oh, Tom, my dear boy,” he said quietly. “Come up here.”
Tom ignored the few pairs of eyes that flickered over to him as he broke the private work silence. He stood from his desk and hurried over to the professor’s. His eyes were serious and pointed downward, his jaw clenching so hard, he thought it might snap.
“What is it?” Slughorn asked, voice echoing with concern. His bushy eyebrows were furrowed toward the middle of his forehead, casting a silly shadow down the rest of his face.
“Er, sir,” Tom began, not particularly knowing how to finish. “I was hoping…might I…?”
His hands flexed frustratedly behind his back as he struggled to keep his resolve while simultaneously trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to say.
“Yes? What is it?” Slughorn pushed. Tom took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring with annoyance.
“Er, my partner,” he spoke. “She didn’t show up for any of her classes today. Her friends haven’t heard anything. I was not told anything either. I was hoping I might be excused to go and…check on her?”
Slughorn’s expression of concern melted into something that looked as if a young child had just told him they had a crush. Tom’s teeth ground.
“Oh…I see,” the professor said. “I’m sure I could allow that. I trust you, Tom. Just be sure to make it back in time for the end of class. There’ll be a few more things for us to go over about the impending due date.”
“Yes, sir,” Tom responded, nodding his head respectfully, though he wanted to scream in embarrassment.
With one more curt nod—and a sly, irritating grin from Slughorn—Tom turned and made his way toward the door of the classroom, but not before turning back to his desk and summoning his notebook into his hands. What use were his efforts to hunt down his partner and save his project grade if someone was just going to snatch his ideas up?
As the heavy door clunked shut behind him, he rolled his eyes and briefly considered just turning around and going back inside. What was he going to do? Waltz up to your room and demand to know where you’d been all day? What business of his was that?
He couldn’t even imagine what he would do if you’d shown up at his door when he was out sick. However, he’d never been out sick. He shrugged that thought off and headed off in the direction of your common room.
Sick rolled painfully in his stomach, threatening to spew any minute as he debated what on earth he might say to you. He had no idea why he was so nervous doing this. Nothing had had his nerves this riled up since last year’s exams. And, honestly, the fact that you were even making him this anxious annoyed him terribly. Why would a simple girl, beneath him in both skill and intelligence, affect him so genuinely? Surely, it was just the nerves of having to go somewhere unfamiliar to him and confront you. It wasn’t specifically you who had riled him, but the confrontation in general. Confrontation with anyone was startling to the body. It was a simple fight-or-flight explanation.
But—though he’d never admit it—as he rounded the corner to your common room, he found his insides lighting up as if they’d been set fire to. He was so anxious, his fingers were all but shaking.
As he whispered the password to your common room, he found the warmth coming from the fireplace in the corner unwelcome. It only exacerbated the heat blooming in his stomach and sliding down his back. He felt as though he would pass out if he didn’t just speak with you already.
So, when he finally made his way to your dormitory, he could hardly contain the panic rising up his throat. Before he could find it within him to just back out and forget the whole thing, he raised his fist and knocked swiftly.
Silence ensued and lasted for far too long. Tom found his panic rising and confidence dwindling. He didn’t think he could find the strength to knock again.
And just when he was about to swallow his pride and turn to leave, he heard a lock unlatching distantly as though it were from underwater. His heart hitched in his chest as he awaited the response from within the dormitory.
He hadn’t really thought this whole thing through. It could be that you were visiting family or just skipping class down in Hogsmeade and didn’t tell anyone. What if one of your dormmates was sick and hanging back in the room and would be standing there confused when Tom turned to face them? Then he’d stutter awkwardly through his whole “asking for you” spiel, and then they would tell you. He’d be mortified.
“Tom?”
His heart dropped down through his ribs, hitting each one on the way down. He took a few seconds to splutter to life like an old Muggle vehicle, but when he finally did, he whipped around and came face-to-face with his charge.
It was you, easy eyes and pleasant expression—painfully familiar and devastatingly pretty. You were attractive, and you always had been. Despite your insistence on finding and pushing all of his buttons, he couldn’t deny the undeniable attraction he felt toward you. Maybe he hadn’t quite realized it until just now, when he saw you in your scathingly short pajama shorts, your oversized tee, and slightly messy hair. He could hardly breathe.
“What are you doing here?” you chuckled awkwardly. His lips parted despite his attempts to keep them shut. He had no idea what had come over him. Why on earth was his chest so tight? He felt as though he were going to explode.
“E-er, I came to—sorry,” he stuttered. He kicked himself mentally, wanting so badly to just get the words out, but they wouldn’t come. “I just took it upon myself to check on you as you weren’t in class today, and it seemed as though no one else knew where you were either.”
“Aw, did you ask people where I was?” you teased, laughing lightly. He fought off a frown.
He knew this was going to go one of two ways. He wouldn’t be able to locate you, or you’d tease him relentlessly when he did. Turns out, he’d been right.
“You’re so sweet, Tommy—” he flinched at the nickname— “but I’m alright, I’m just feeling a little under the weather today.”
And right on schedule, just as he was about to ask what had you feeling ill, you broke out into a coughing fit that seemed to rattle your chest. When you were done, you moaned painfully and pressed your cold fingers to your chest. The too-big collar seemed to expose your chest in just the right way. He couldn’t see too much, but he could still glimpse your soft skin. His lips trembled at the thought of seeing more of you.
“Ugh, sorry,” you groaned. “I just feel awful. Thanks for checking on me. Was there a reason you came down here, or just checking on me?”
“Er, I was just curious about your whereabouts due to our assignment in Professor Slughorn’s class being due at the end of the week. I am concerned about our ability to get the assignment done on time.”
“Ah, that’s silly, Tom,” you laughed. “Knowing you, this assignment is probably already done!”
“Well, it’s not, and I need your help,” he sighed. “We both have to work on this. Slughorn’ll know if we don’t.”
“Do we really have to, though?” you laughed. “Ol’ Sluggy won’t notice if you slip a few answers in there for me! And, besides, even if he does, you’re one of his favorite students—he won’t punish you.”
“Okay, it’s for me, then,” Tom shrugged. “I don’t care if Slughorn catches anything, I just don’t want to be forced to do your work.” He was beginning to get angry. Blood was starting to pool in his cheeks, slowly threatening to pour out in the form of strongly-worded insults. If you weren’t careful, you’d land yourself right back in the same boat you were during classes, with you stupidly oblivious and Tom counting the minutes until he was rid of you till the next day.
“Please, Tommy?” His nose wrinkled again at the name.
“I don’t think it’s appropriate to bribe me to finish your work,” Tom said stiffly.
“Bribe you? Darling, I haven’t bribed you yet,” you chuckled, your voice ever so slightly hoarse from your ailment. “That’s for later.”
He jumped at your sneakily spoken words, not having expected anything of the sort. Your eyes trailed slowly down the front of his uniform, and he could hardly believe the bluntness of it all.
“Are you insinuating…a…,” he stuttered, struggling to find the right words. “... a favor of a…sexual nature?”
There was an awkward silence in the air that dropped into the conversation like a brick. Tom could hear himself breathing, could almost hear your heartbeat. Or was that his?
Your eyes did not pull from his once, and the searing contact was close to making him turn away.
When you finally spoke, he almost didn’t hear you as your fingers latched onto his robe sleeve and yanked him into your dormitory at the speed of light. But when he came to and his eyes blinked away the sudden change of light between the lit hallway and your dim dorm, he realized what you’d said. “Only if you want.”
Before he could gather any more of his senses, he felt you shove him against the now shut dormitory door. His back hit the wooden surface so roughly, his notebook slipped out of his arms and a single dark curl fell over his eyebrow.
Suddenly, you were on him. One hand was pressed to the door beside his head, caging him in. The other gently rose to ease the dark curl away from his eyes.
“Say the words and I’m yours,” you whispered. “Or…you can tell me to back off, and I swear I will. What do you want, Tommy?” Your breath fanned across his neck as you leaned in to whisper into his ear. He shuddered at the sensation.
“I—oh,” he shuddered quietly as the tip of your tongue traced up the shell of his ear. He took in a shaky breath, his fists clenching painfully at his sides. It was taking everything in him not to touch you. His pride was holding him back.
“Say it, baby,” you whispered, placing a light kiss where his cheekbone met his hair. “Say it.”
“I don’t think this is appropriate,” he shuddered, eyes clenching shut.
“I didn’t ask you if it was appropriate,” you said, backing up and stifling a laugh at his expression. “I asked you if you wanted me to fuck you.”
Tom’s eyes creeped open at your mouth’s absence at his neck, finding you staring at him with a devious smirk printed on your face. “I—”
“I’m not touching you unless you say you want it,” you reiterated.
He opens his mouth to speak but then snaps it shut again, trying to weigh out his options. His brain was telling him that this was a terrible idea logically. The pain and stress that would certainly come with the aftermath of sex with you didn’t seem worth it. Unless there was no aftermath. It didn’t seem likely you were looking for a relationship here, but…
He sighed. “No one can know—”
Before he even got the last syllable out, you crashed your lips onto his.
He groaned into your mouth, hands finally coming up to your sides but not quite touching. His fingers flexed as he debated grabbing onto you. In his mind, touching you would solidify the reality of what the two of you were doing.
Mentally, you rolled your eyes at his hesitance. You grabbed ahold of his hands and placed one on your waist and the other on your right breast. He gasped at the sensation, already feeling your perked nipple beneath your sleep shirt. With a burst of confidence, he rolled the peak beneath his fingertips.
You gasped against him, your throat catching with the irritation the breath caused. You jerked away, covering your face with your elbow, coughing violently.
Tom panted as he watched you, his lips swollen, his hair tousled, his trousers uncomfortably tight. He swallowed.
“Sorry,” you groaned. “I probably shouldn’t have even done that—you’re gonna get sick.”
“I d-don’t care,” he shuddered, his fingers almost shaking with want. At his confession, your eyes found his again, desire glaring within them.
His disinterest in your illness only fueled the fire blazing in your stomach more. Of course you should turn him away so he wouldn’t get sick as well, but you couldn’t help yourself. You needed him beneath you right now.
You pulled his mouth back to yours, your fingers curling through his soft hair. Your knuckles locked around his dark strands as you edged him backward to your bed. All of the rest of your dormmates were in class, so you had the room all to yourself.
He followed you willingly like a needy dog, your hand wrapped tight around his tie and pulling. The pressure tightened around his neck, inciting a breathless, lightheadedness that sent tingles through his stomach. He groaned at the sensation.
The back of your thighs bumped the trunk at the foot of the bed. You grunted and pulled away from the kiss for just a minute to slide it out of the way with your foot.
Tom gasped as you grabbed him by the open sides of his robes and spun him around to push him on the bed. He grunted at the impact, his breath coming out in a small huff. He looked up at you with surprise as you crawled slowly up his body.
He hesitantly glanced down as your loose shirt hung open, revealing the entirety of your breasts to him from beneath the fabric. He stifled a gasp at the visual.
You finally straddled him, grinding your core down against his trousers. He gasped at the feeling, his eyes rolling backward. One hand gripped your duvet while the other curved delicately up your hips.
“Do you need it?” you whispered. “Tell me how bad you need it, Tommy.”
He’d just about hit his limit with your condescending words. He wasn’t completely helpless.
“I n-need it,” he stuttered out. You smirked at his words. Your fingers slid down between where your bodies met, caressing the tip of his core through his pants. He moaned aloud, his elbows coming up beneath him to prop his body upward.
“You want me to suck you off?” you asked, your fingers still tracing down his length. He nodded his head wordlessly.
“Say please, baby,” you whispered.
His pride finally caught up with him. He said nothing, but bucked his hips as an answer.
“Ah-ah,” you tutted. “Say please first, then you’ll get all of me.”
“I don’t say please.” He growled through gritted teeth, frustrated that you were teasing him so.
“Alright.” You pulled away from him.
“What—?” He stumbled upward, trying to figure out why you’d stopped. In an instant, you’d crossed the room and were holding the door to your dormitory wide open.
At the prospect of possibly being spotted in such a vulnerable position, he abruptly stood and straightened out his robes, covering the unfortunate issue between his legs.
“What on earth are you doing?” he demanded.
“I’m sorry, I’m confused. I asked you to say please so I could fuck you, and you refused—”
“Keep your voice down!” he hissed. You smirked.
“My assumption was that your refusal meant you weren’t interested, so please leave.” You gestured to the open door.
“But, you—I…” he sighed, closing his eyes in exasperation for just a moment.
“Just say please, baby,” you urged him. “That’s all I need. That’s it, and I promise you’ll never forget what I’ll do to you.”
He squirmed beneath your eyes. They travelled down to his trousers where he was still painfully hard. He scoffed and looked off to the side, finding it impossibly difficult to verbalize what he wanted.
“Come on, Tommy,” you purred. “It’s just one word.”
He sighed. “Please.”
It wasn’t more than a whisper. You cocked your head toward him as if struggling to hear, though you’d heard him perfectly well.
“What was that?” you teased.
“Please fuck me.” His jaw set. His desire had pushed his pride all the way down, repressing it so deliciously. That burst of confidence from earlier seemed to have spread all the way down to his feet. You smiled.
You walked forward, pushing back onto the bed.
“What about the—?” And on cue, the dorm door magically slammed shut and locked.
Your fingers wrapped around his tie and loosened it. He shuddered as you grabbed the neck of his collar and ripped the buttons wide open.
He gasped as his chest was exposed to the cool air, his nipples pebbling suddenly. Your mouth latched to his skin, pulling dark purple spots across his pale flesh. “Fuck.”
His hands pressed against his eyes as his head rolled back against the mattress. You worked your way down, trailing kisses farther and farther down until you reached the waistband of his trousers.
You paused and stared up at him through long eyelashes. Your cheeks were flushed, either from the sickness or your activity, but you looked absolutely flawless beneath the light seeping through the window.
His breath left him in a soft puff. He didn’t understand how he’d ever denied you before. There had been times before when you’d asked him favors and he’d said no. But, now, as you unzipped his pants with your eyes on him, he couldn’t see how he could ever say no to you again.
When your lips wrapped around him, it was solidified that he was undeniably yours. His eyes rolled backward and his fingers gripped the duvet so as not to wrap them in your hair.
You took him all the way to the back of your throat, his tip caressing the roof of your mouth. He gasped aloud, his back arching off the bed. It was taking everything in him not to buck his hips against your lips. He wanted to force himself even farther down your throat, in ways that just weren’t possible. But he wanted it. He wanted it so bad. He wanted to feel the inside of you in any way that he could.
Your hands stroked the sides of his naked stomach, eliciting chills down his body. As they moved up and down his figure, he could feel the small amount of pressure you applied that was keeping him pinned down to your mattress.
His pride almost caught up to him just enough to make him feel embarrassed at how submissive he was. But, he found he did not want to become more dominant, he only covered his face with his hands to try and muffle the pathetic sounds he was forcing out.
“Fuck, I’m close,” he groaned through his palms, his eyes clenched shut. As his end approached, you allowed him to roll his hips upward into your mouth a few times.
You pulled off of him with an audible pop, ignoring his groan of disappointment. Your hand replaced your mouth and you began to jerk him as fast as you could.
“Sorry, baby,” you breathed, your lips swollen and covered with strings of saliva. “I want to see this…keep it for later.”
Your brutal pace sent his end tumbling toward him at an intense speed. His face, still covered by his hands, jerked backward as he came hard around your fist.
His hips instinctively bucked against your hand, forcing every pump of his finish upward. “Fuck,” he whined pathetically.
His hips shuddered as you continued to pump your hand up and down, despite the end of his finish having already poured out. “Mm, please, ‘s too much.”
“I thought you didn’t say please, Tommy,” you teased, still jerking him. Your fist clenched tighter.
He yelped at the sensation, trying to pull himself up and out of your grasp, but you quickly straddled his thighs, keeping him pinned to the bed. “Stop it!”
“Please,” he groaned, his head slamming back down to the bed. “It’s too much, I can’t—”
“You can.”
“No, I’m going to—it’s too—” And then his eyes were fluttering backward and his mouth was gaping wide as a second orgasm washed over him, even quicker than the last. A smaller amount of his finish poured out this time, but the climax was easily harder than the last one.
When he was done the second time, you let him fall away from your hand. His messed stomach shone beneath the light. His breaths came out in rough shudders as if he were crying, but no tears came forth.
“So, about that assignment…” you smirked.
His head leaned up, his eyes lidded and roving, his mouth panting roughly. He looked in utter disbelief that you could even think to bring that up at this time.
Hii, just wondering if you were going to be continuing the ‘by the fireplace’ series and if so do you know when? Ofc you don’t have to or anything!!
Hello! Thanks for asking. I do plan on continuing the series and plan on doing it very soon. I lost quite a bit of motivation for it for a long time, but always planned on picking it back up, especially due to the renewed interest in it the last few days. I will get to it as soon as I’m able.
If you’d like to be added to the tag list, let me know in the notes! Thanks 💚
Hii! I love your writing andast time I made a request it was even better than I hoped it would be so I was hoping to make another request!
Could you do an academic rivals to lovers Regulus Black fic where Regulus runs into reader in the library past hours and during a heated argument about it Regulus confesses he's in love with her? (With maybe some heated smut following the love confession if you're up to it 🤭)
TYSM! ❤️
Hi! Thank you so much for the kind words. I loved your last requests and I loved this one too! I really enjoy writing for Regulus but not a lot of requests for him come in, so ty!!! Lmk what you think of this one—I hope it lives up to your expectations!
+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* You and Regulus Black have a longstanding academic rivalry, until a chance meeting in the library alters that relationship.
+ WARNINGS - SMUT! PIV (no protection), oral (f!receiving), quickie, public sex, hairpulling, coming inside, degradation, (brief) face slapping, spanking, sort of mean!dom!regulus, sub!reader, name-calling (m! + f!receiving), fem reader, (brief) mention of blood, language, not fully proofread (lmk if I missed any!)
+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -
Glory Box - Portishead
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“Now, can anyone tell me…,” Professor Flitwick started slowly, building suspense for the final question of his extra credit pop quiz. “What, if any, are the limitations to…the Summoning Charm?”
Your hand shot up at the speed of light. The draped robe sleeve around your arm slid down the length of your bicep so quickly that it completely exposed your skin. Cold air brushed against your flesh, sending a chill down your spine.
Professor Flitwick’s eyes caught yours at the sudden motion of your body. However, his eyes had also flicked over to another boy—a Gryffindor—and…him. As your attention was pulled to the boy sitting at the opposite end of the classroom, you refrained poorly from rolling your eyes at his equal eagerness to answer this question.
The entire school year had been a back-and-forth between you two: you and Regulus Black. Merlin, even his name irritated you. It made your head fuzzy and left an awful taste in your mouth. Your lips smacked unappetizingly, attempting to force the flavor out.
And this last pop quiz before the final exams were revved up full force was the last bit of extra points you would be able to pile atop your already flawless grade. No one else in the classroom seemed to particularly care, except for a handful of struggling students and you and Regulus.
This was how it had always been, though. Regulus and you. Back and forth. Fiery competition blazing between the two of your bodies, never ceasing, unable to be extinguished. Every time his hand rose a fraction of a second before yours, or received more verbal praise from your professors, or scored a single point higher on a test, you swore you could feel your chest concaving in and rotting. It was the worst thing you’d ever felt, falling short of him.
And, still, nothing quite compared to the rush you felt when you were in competition with him. There had been a few times when you hadn’t been able to resist smiling at him. Was it more of a nasty, prideful smirk? Perhaps. But his returning expression had always made it worth it. Especially when you beat him. Fuck, it felt good.
“I do feel like we’ve had enough answers from the two of you!” Professor Flitwick chuckled heartily. “How’s about we hear from someone else?”
He put a pointed finger to his fluffy mustache as he debated who to pick, completely skipping over you and Regulus. Your heart sank in disappointment. How stupid. Why were you getting punished for being one of the smartest in class?
You glanced over at Reg. He was just as annoyed. He caught your eye and forced a nasty expression onto his face. He held a fist to the side of his throat and let his head fall over to the side, eyes rolling back and tongue sticking out. You held a giggle back and turned back to the front of the class so as not to let him distract you anymore.
“Er, well,” the student a few rows in front of you began. “The Summoning Charm can….only be used on items that belong to the caster—”
“Oh! I’ll have to cut you off there,” Flitwick interrupted. “So close! Better study up before your exams. Anyone else?”
Again, like clockwork, both of your hands shot to the sky. Flitwick seemed to deflate at the sight, only wanting the rest of his class to be as invested as the two of you were.
“Very well,” he sighed, rubbing a hand against his sore forehead. “Let’s hear from…Regulus!”
Your hand clenched midair before dropping back down to your lap. You concealed your anger deep in your jaw, letting it clench every so often as the rest of it boiled in your stomach. Regulus shot you a mocking look before turning back to the professor.
“Typically, the most well-known restriction of the Summoning Charm, Accio, is that it only works on inanimate objects. You cannot summon a human or animal. Though you could summon something on or around a living being, which could lead to it being forced along with the item.”
“Beautifully done, Black! Ten points to Slytherin!” Flitwick announced, clapping his small hands together rapidly. Regulus glanced over to you with a devilish smirk before settling back comfortably in his seat.
“I do believe that’s all we have time for today, folk! But, remember: study well, do well! Cram, cram, cram, young Wizards and Witches. You will pass these exams!”
You smiled weakly at his attempt at a pep talk, knowing that you deserved those ten points. Your answer would have been better by leaps and bounds. It would have been worded better or…something. You just knew it would have been better than his. Jerk.
As everyone else rose to their feet and lazily trudged out the door, it seemed that one person made the decision to linger behind, much to your dismay.
You sighed aloud as you stopped before the tall boy blocking your exit. His familiar waves of blackened hair curtained his face in such a way that cast a bit of a shadow across his smug face. The darkness somehow illuminated the curvatures in his face. Things that hadn’t stood out before were doing so. Your eyes flickered over his eyes, his nose, his lips, and his throat. Then, back up. He watched.
“Can I help you, Black?” you asked, your voice bored, unconcerned. He scoffed, eyes trailing over the classroom stupidly before falling back on you.
“Just wanted to see what your plans were for the final exam,” he said. “Got a study group? If not, we could—”
“Let me stop you there,” you interrupted, chuckling meanly. “Just because this is the end of the school year does not mean we need to team up. What we have is a good thing. I hate you; you hate me. We hate each other, and it works nicely. Just let it be where it is.”
“I…yeah, alright,” he said, shrugging as if he were disappointed in your response. You hadn’t the slightest idea why he’d possibly be anything but pleased with your answer. There was no way he was actually asking to work together. He was just trying to get under your skin, as if you needed to work with him to get by. Well, you weren’t falling for it. If he wanted to work with someone, you were sure he could find some ditzy Slytherin girl to follow his every word with his annoyingly handsome face.
“Okay? Can I get through, please?” you asked.
“By all means,” he scoffed again, moving himself out of the way just enough for you to slide past him and through the classroom door as if he meant less to you than anyone else in the classroom. And why wouldn’t he? The only special thing between you two was the animosity that floated there. He knew that, of course.
x x x
As the evening began to set in and spread its inky shadows over the castle slowly, you settled in with the plan you’d forged for yourself. For you to study properly, you knew that being alone was the best way for you to do it. That’s how you’d always been. So, besides the obvious, that was another reason Regulus’ proposition earlier was completely out of the question.
You gathered the materials you’d set out in the last hour, planning your studying schedule to the very tee, ensuring that no detail could have been missed. There was little more important to you than these exams at the moment. The only thing that mattered right now was getting through this school year with damn good grades and a damn good final exam.
All of your things—quills, extra ink, scrolls of parchment, study guides, textbooks, caffeine tinctures—were shoved hurriedly but neatly into your leather bag. You tossed it over your shoulder and headed out of your dormitory, careful not to bother both the strictly focused and procrastinating, snoozing students.
With a deep breath, you clenched your jaw and Disapparated, destination pinned to the vast Hogwarts library. With your special permission from Professor McGonagall to be there after hours, you were sure not to be forced out by anyone and sure to be alone. It was the perfect opportunity and scenario for your studying needs. It was almost too good to be true.
You landed before one of the library doors with a dizzying stamp. Your heels scuffed on the floor as you regained your sense of balance, fingers struggling to hold your bag from spilling its contents onto the floor. “Fuck,” you whispered. You’d never get used to that sensation.
When you gathered your bearings, you pulled the library door open, letting it groan lowly on its old hinges.
The library always had a specific smell. It was a soft one that floated easily in the air, filling your nose with gentle memories of growing up within the confines of the castle. The climbing stone walls weren’t an unwelcome confinement, though; they’d always been more like a hug from a comforting relative. You sighed contentedly as you made your way to the back of the enormous room.
There was a specific corner you always liked to retreat to when you came here. It was closed off from the rest of the library, its isolation enforced by the Restricted section that loomed on its edge.
In here, it seemed the calming scent was stronger, the fire was warmer, and living was easier. No matter your needs at the moment, you’d found that coming here made it all just a bit softer around the edges.
So, when you set all your things out in that perfect, organized way you loved and clung to, you weren’t expecting your perfect oasis to be intruded upon.
His footsteps were barely loud enough to cause an echo, but they still drew a startled jolt out of you as he stepped out of the shadows. That dark hair scattered just as it always did, and the contrasts of his face remained the same. When the fright dissipated, pure rage replaced it.
“No. No, Black, this is my place! You’re not allowed to study here—go somewhere else!” you demanded, all but stomping your foot and waving your finger. “What are you even doing in here? The library is closed!”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he murmured, shrugging his shoulders as if he weren’t impeding on your immaculately planned evening.
“You–I…,” you stammered frustratedly, “I have special permission from Professor McGonagall to be here.”
“Oh, good,” he said, sliding his newsbag off his shoulder. “I’ve got permission from Professor Slughorn.” He began to set his things on your table, already sliding some of your carefully organized things around. Your eyes fluttered in fury. It was taking everything in you not to tackle him to the ground and take out months’ worth of anger on his stupid, perfect face.
“Black, please, please, please leave. I will do anything you want. Just, for once in your life, stay out of my way and leave me alone. I have to study alone, or I won’t do well on this exam. I am begging you.”
“Well, what if I can’t study without someone?” he asked. He was being intentionally dense. You just knew it.
“That is not my problem,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Besides, I was here first. This library is enormous. Please go pick somewhere else.”
“No.”
You blinked in surprise. He stared back as if he hadn’t just completely denied your perfectly reasonable request. It took your brain a few moments to compute enough to put a response together.
“What?”
“I said, ‘No.’ I don’t want to go. I want to stay here and study with you.”
You couldn’t believe him. Merlin, what had you done to deserve this? Had you stepped on some kind of endangered mushroom species? Had you forgotten to hold the door for an elderly Wizard? You didn’t know, but it was starting to feel like the universe was playing a practical joke on you. It felt entirely unfair.
“Okay, maybe you didn’t hear me,” you said. “I do not want you to study with me. Please leave.” You spoke purposefully slow, laying it all out with your hands, to make sure he got it through his thick skull. You weren’t sure what about that was hard for him to grasp, but he was obviously having an issue with it, because he was sliding the chair across from you out from under the table and preparing to take a seat.
“What the fuck?” you sighed, slamming your hands against your face.
“If you think about it, we could be an educational force—”
“Reg, please, this isn’t the time for jokes—”
“No!” he interrupted you abruptly. Your hands fell away from your face, shocked he’d raised his voice at you. You’d never heard him speak even slightly louder than his typical mocking purr. “Listen to me for once. Don’t speak, just listen.”
And for once, you did. Your mouth snapped shut as you waited for him to continue. Regulus had never spoken to you like that, and, for some reason, the seriousness under his tone made you want to hear what he had to say.
“I can’t believe how stupid you are,” he scoffed.
“What?” you demanded, coughing out a laugh in disbelief. Your eyes bulged as he stared back at you.
“Did I say it was your turn?” he asked. Your mouth shut once again, cheeks filling with a flush usually reserved only for the embarrassment you felt when called down by a teacher.
“I thought you were smart,” he laughed. “I thought you were my academic rival—my equal, even, but you’re not half as smart as you look if you really don’t see what’s right in front of you. It’s been dropped at your feet, and, still, you’re blind.”
All you could do was stare. Regulus admitting aloud that he considered you his academic equal was already a showstopper. The boy you knew wouldn’t be caught dead with those words in his mouth. The constant degradation he laid on you for some unknown reason was something entirely different. For one, you had no idea what the hell he was talking about. For two, you were shocked at how neutral you felt at his insults, like he didn’t mean them in the way you’d initially assumed.
He stood astute, fingers perched on the edge of the table in a commanding way as he grilled you. Those familiar shadows on his face had shifted downward, highlighting the carved peaks of his cheekbones and the arrow of his lips. Subconsciously, you licked your lips at the thought. His eyes followed the hasty movement.
“I don’t do this because I hate you,” he all but whispered. “You think I keep up this rivalry, continue my efforts to be near you, because I hate you? You’re so fucking stupid.”
Your heart pounded as he stepped around the intricately carved table edge and approached you slowly, as if he were a predator stalking its kill. You swallowed thickly at the way he stared you down. The emotions you were feeling were nothing short of new to you. The only explanation even slightly near to the sensation was that of a deer whose neck was exposed to a ravenous wolf. You felt vulnerable.
He stopped inches from you. Your heart was beating so loudly you swore he could hear it in the library’s dead silence. His fingers twitched idly by his side as if he were refraining from reaching out to touch you, but you were unsure why he, of all people, would be itching to make contact with you. You couldn’t be sure either why you were desperate for him to just do it already.
“I do all of it just to make sure you see me,” he whispered, his lips parting easily. “Just to make sure you know that no one loves you the way that I do.”
A near-silent gasp broke from your lips before you could stop it. You couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes. Your vision was centered on the way his collarbone sank beneath his T-shirt, doing everything in its power to avoid his lidded gaze.
“I do it to make sure you know that I love you so much I’ll hate you if that’s what you want from me,” he whispered, his voice aching with need. His teeth shone against the light in your peripheral vision as if he were wincing at the thought of not having you. “If that’s what you need from me…hatred, animosity, abhorrence—”
Fuck.
You launched forward with one destination imprinted in your mind as if you were Disapparating. Frantic hands curled possessively into the black strands you’d eyed for so long. His silky hair cascaded over your fingers like water, unyielding to your cutting touch. His lips curved over yours dangerously, sucking and biting and gnashing as if that wolf was finally getting his long-awaited meal.
He split you open with his mouth, claiming you from the inside out. His fingers wrapped the length of your hair around their respective knuckles as if he were luring a ship in by its rope. He clenched his fist tightly, pulling the hair taut by its roots so he could control every ounce of the kiss. An embarrassingly whining moan sank from your lips into his mouth at the sensation of his hand holding your head so steadily.
“Ah, fuck…loathing…,” he whispered before delving back in. “Detestation…contempt…aversion.” Each pause was flooded with a damaging, evil kiss littered with sharp nips of his canines.
“Is that what you want?” he groaned against your lips as your fingers slipped down beneath the two of you and meanly gripped him through his trousers. “Fuck!”
“Yeah, that’s what I want from you,” you whispered breathlessly against his mouth. Your foreheads remained pressed together as the two of you took in the gravity of the situation. You weren’t sure when the dislike between the two of you had transitioned into raw desire, but you were unsure if it would ever go back. You were unsure if it had ever been “dislike” in the first place, rather than just misplaced lust.
“Yeah? That’s what you want?” he breathed.
“Do we know anything else?”
He paused for a moment, feeling out your viewpoint on this scenario. If you could force yourself to look directly into his eyes, you’d likely see questioning glances, begging for your consent but swearing not to push farther than you want. But you couldn’t look. Instead, you watched his lips. The way they started to form around words, then stop, and pant, as if this was the hardest thing he’d ever done.
Finally, instead of trying to find the words to ask you, he simply placed his hand against your hip, and you raised your chin once. Anything he wanted, you’d give it to him. You’d just never say it out loud.
He placed one hand across your throat, squeezing ever so gently so as to keep you right where he wanted you, while the other lifted your thighs onto your favorite table. Your materials had been long forgotten, scattered across the floor by his sweeping arm.
“Asshole,” you bit out, slicing your top teeth along his bottom lip. He groaned at the sensation, ripping his mouth away from yours. You watched as his tongue darted out over the curve of his swollen mouth and pulled away, dripping in scarlet.
“Bitch!” he cried, pressing a finger to his wound. You smirked roughly, rolling your eyes at his patheticism. In spotting your attitude, and in return for the bite, he gripped your hips roughly and spun you over onto your stomach. The wooden table punched roughly into your gut. He slid a swift hand across the curve of your ass, pain like a razor blade following with it.
You cried out at the sensation, gripping against nothing on the smooth, finished table.
His hands gripped roughly in your hair again, yanking your head back to meet with his shoulder. His face appeared beside you, light stubble scraping along your jawline.
“Keep your fucking voice down if you want something,” he whispered. “The librarian still patrols even after hours.”
“Fuck you, don’t hit me then!” you argued, wriggling beneath his heavy weight against your back. Your fists clenched uncomfortably between your smushed chest and the table.
He leaned back and swiped another rough slap across your ass. Though this time, before you could fully let out the responsive cry, two fingers shoved between your lips, muting the sound that leaked out.
“Don’t fucking test me, baby,” he growled in your ear, his voice rumbling in his chest against your back.
His free hand slid down the length of your body, searching blindly for the seam of your uniform skirt. When he found it, he began to clumsily attempt to work your hosiery down. However, the angle the two of you were forced in didn’t seem to do it for either one of you, because he growled in frustration and removed his fingers from your mouth.
His hands gripped your waist once again and flipped you back over so your shoulder blades were pressed into the table this time around. You gasped at the way he handled your weight so simply, as if he were just flipping a test over in class, sending you cruel smirks as he bragged that he was finishing the assignment quicker than you.
“Gotta be quick, baby,” he whispered breathlessly, as he flipped your skirt upwards and worked your stockings and bottoms down your thighs. You whined aloud at the sudden exposure of your most sensitive area to the cool, library air. He shushed you demeaningly, tapping your thigh in a tutting motion.
Once you were completely bare to him from the waist down, he wasted no time getting to his knees. He flipped your legs over his shoulders and immediately buried his nose deep within your cunt.
You screamed aloud at the feeling, fingers curling tightly in his hair, begging to find some kind of purchase. His tongue circled you rapidly, sloppy and needy, as if he were sating an obsessive addiction.
But, as soon as he was between your thighs, he was gone. A broken whine left you as you mourned the loss of his warm mouth. “Fuck, why?”
“I’ll take my time next time, darling,” he whispered, quickly working his trousers open. “This time, you’ll just have to take what I give you. You’ll take my cock, won’t you?”
A flush ripened on your cheeks as a familiar taste of frustration rose up your tongue concerning the boy. Somehow, even now, he had managed to deny you what you most desired. Only, this time it wasn’t a turn in class or the best grade. So, as childish as it was, you pouted at the loss of his tongue.
Until his hand smacked lightly across your cheek, pushing it gently to the left. Before you even had a chance to gasp at his fucking audactity, he smacked it the other way. They weren’t hard hits, just enough to remind you that he was controlling this situation and there was nothing you could do about it. And he wore the same smirk he always did when he was stealing the best assignment from you in class.
“Quit being a fucking brat,” he warned. “You’ll take what I fucking give you. I was just asking because I’m nice. I’m nice, aren’t I?”
You scoffed. He smacked you again. You gasped, laughing in disbelief at the way he was treating you, at the way you were allowing him to treat you. You were never going to live this down.
Once his trousers were unbuckled and split down the middle, he wasted no time wrapping your thighs around his waist and teasing himself along the length of your core. At the sensation of his warmth where you most needed him, you couldn’t help but roll your head against the table, gasping at the feeling. You wanted to tell him to stop teasing, to get on with it if you were supposed to be quick, but something about the way he controlled your body gave you pause, kept you quiet. You couldn’t question him. For once in your life, you had no words for Regulus Black, only aching moans that rolled off your tongue as he thrusted himself into you.
And as soon as you got too loud again, he shoved those two fingers back between your teeth, daring you to bite down on them. But you weren’t concerned with that. You didn’t want to push back anymore. The way he felt within you was more than you’d ever been able to give yourself or receive from anyone else, and you were at a loss. Every drag of his length out of you, every curl of his fingers against your tongue, every admission of dismal hatred he felt toward you, it all forced you quieter.
No matter how hard you racked your academic brain, you could not manage to form any simple sentence. You could only claw out for him and beg for more in the form of gagged whines and muffled attempts of his name.
And Regulus didn’t care. It was exactly what he wanted and more. The smell of your sweat, the cadence of your cries, the scratch of your nails down his chest, the way you tightened around him, the closer he pushed you toward the edge.
And when you finally came around him, gushing over his length and soaking both of your papers, it served as a reminder of how this all started. How he’d managed to wiggle his way into your brain, even in pretending to despise you. And, after all of this was over, you could actually hate him if you wanted to. He deserved it for not telling you how he felt. He wouldn’t mind if you did. He’d love you in any way you allowed him to, as long as it meant you’d let him love you.
