#rodara

[noyob]

i made a vn for dashingicecream’s ocs

[crotsen]

Recordando #strech #rodara #estirando

[lestrange-dangereux-is-archived]

Number 5: Rodara. ;)

“Rodolphus Lestrange, if you do not put your clothing back on right now, I swear to Merlin.....” Her hand went to her eyes, trying to cover them from the unfortunate sight before her.

“C’mon Tantamount, you know you’ve always wanted this,” he whispered in her ear, grinding his hips in time with the beat, his thumbs in his belt loops and tugging teasingly. 

How they ended up like this was simple. Take a drunken Rod, a nervous Tamara, and a lot of built up frustration, and you got Rod Lestrange stripping slowly for a very reluctant female Riddle. 

Oh Merlin, Tom was going to kill both of them. She peeked through her fingers, moaning in frustration when she saw him bite his lip and wiggle his ass in front of her playfully.

Of course Rod took it as a moan of pleasure and continued, slowly undoing his pants and dropping them, pulling Tam’s hands from her eyes and forcing her to watch.

“It’s not like you’ve never wanted this, Riddle, I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at me, lusted for me, craved all of......... this.” His tongue came out and met her face, licking a solid stripe down her cheek. Tamara screamed, kicking at him to get him off.

“Fiery, I like it.” He released her, removing the rest of his clothing and flicking his boxers at her face and laughing, still in his drunken stupor.

“You’ve lost your bloody mind! I’m not doing this, no sir!” She yelled, finally vacating her seat and pushing the male to the ground, restraining herself from killing him right then and there. 

“Put your damn clothes back on and never talk to me again!” She screamed as she made her way out the door, slamming it loudly behind her.

“She loves me, it’s so obvious,” he murmured before falling in to the seat she just left, downing the rest of his bottle of firewhiskey in one go.

[aomm-au]

Rod+Clara // The Catalyst

Walking in the dark corridors with unrecognisable figures waiting by the entrance of every entrance gave the Bulgarian girl goosebumps in her every step. The heels of her shoes clicked and echoed between the stone walls, emphasizing the silence and coldness wrapping her whole being. The fact that this horrific building was planted in the middle of the sea wasn't the only contributor to the cold. She was aware of it ever since she stepped into it, but she wasn't expecting the creepiness got to her that soon.

Should've thought better when people told her how Azkaban is for the thousandth time. She glanced aside every now and then, couldn't help noticing the iron bars holding back nearly-lifeless criminals behind them. Empty shells - that's what's left of them. No doubt the result of the Dementors doing their job.

The twenty-one year old Clara braced herself and continued trudging down the steps, the guard taking her even further into the prison. After what seemed like forever, the man dressed in black stopped and nodded to a cell next to him. She muttered a low 'Thank you.' and came closer to the bars as he left.

Inside, someone was sitting by the corner of the cell, hiding in the shadows. Nobody would recognise him even if he was standing under the limelight. After weeks, the man had changed so much - except for the look he had on his face. She wouldn't forget it for the world. She held her breath and stood right in front of the bars, gazing between them at the filthy man as he lifted his head and looked back at her. She swallowed. Her lips parted slightly but fail to deliver any word at the agonising sight. In the end, only his name came out in a hoarse voice.

'Lestrange.'