#slithair

[grnlght]

continued from here / @slithair

alice lets out an embarrassing squeak as she's pulled into a dark alcove. she clutches her books to her chest, blinking rapidly as she processes the wizard in front of her. at the sight of malfoy, she huffs. hadn't he learned not to drag witches into dark corners? or better yet, hadn't he learned that a simple 'pst, alice!' was a much preferable way to get her attention? she's about to say as much until the words ( along with a snarky response about how the world does not revolve around him ) catches in her throat.

she shivers in response to his touch. cool and firm and commanding. it was almost infuriating how a simple touch and the mere proximity of malfoy was enough for her brain to think of nothing else but him. she feels his breath on her lips, and if she just leaned forward.... alice jerks back, the sudden noise and surge of classmates filing into the corridor startling her. her cheeks flush and she squares her shoulders, tightening her grip on her books. "yes, right." alice responds tightly. her eyes dart to the other students, thankful it was a first year class and not one of their own. "we all know you're particularly anal about things you can't control."

[iiscariot]

freak

Never one for witty comebacks, Peter's face flushes. He remembers Lucius Malfoy from school, older, imposing, commanding. It is the same now. And in a better world, they would be meeting as equals.

But the Dark Lord does not respect Peter, and so neither do his other servants.

Still, it is not as though Peter doesn't lack for reasons to be proud. He had proven himself one of the most faithful, even above this sniveling git. One day he would get the credit he was due.

A silver hand reaches out, plucking the glass of wine from the other. He takes a sip, trying to emulate the casual confidence he saw oozing from Sirius so often.

"This 'freak' did what you could not, Malfoy. I trust your reunion with our Dark Lord was sweet? You're welcome."

[faithwounded]

@slithair liked for a starter from narcissa

&&&. "i...thought you'd be more excited." smile cast in ice on porcelain features ; beautiful to behold - but frigid to the touch. joy leeches from her expression, leaving only the carapace of genuine emotion. "well, i won't intrude longer, i was obviously mistaken."

[faithwounded]

&&&. ivory skin is the canvas for a watercolour of maturity, cerulean rivers prominent beneath thin surface change overall hue that seeps into fine lines resistant to even the strongest charms. softness she has never tolerated conceals the artistry of her bones, and the witch feels as though she views herself through blurry lens. hands once elegant and fluid, now sharpened by age skim bare torso, nails clawing at perfections real or perceived.

drawling creak of aged mahogany door alerts her to lucius' arrival in the bedroom. familiar process exercised with haste draws heavy brocade across her form, laced closed just as blond figure materialises by the ornate mirror she currrently loathes. retreat of stormy gaze from traitorous reflection is too quick to be truly dismissive, snagged on yet another imperfection. "do i look alright, darling?"

"I bet you look even better without clothes."

salacious response is delivered into the crook of her neck whilst deft fingers do their best to relieve her of the apparently offending garment. her own hands swat and pick, woefully inadequate to defend against his ministrations. waist twists and hips wriggle, neck curves undecided between invitation and rejection. flattery warms her heart, but every glimpse in mirror is ice through her veins. grace and lithe strength of a cobra finally shifts them so she faces @slithair, hands pressed against chest briefly halting his advances. "i mean it lucius, i am no longer the young woman i once was."

her body is a canvas of the life she has lived, spidering lines at her hips are scrawled poetry honouring the child she bore, the thin ravines at her eyes a reminder of every adoring smile she has bestowed on her family. and yet, all narcissa can see is flaking paint and distorted linework.

[faithwounded]

&&&. The grand doors of Malfoy Manor closed behind the newly christened Lady Malfoy and her husband with a resonant clang. With that singular motion, the outside world—its expectations, its scrutiny, its claws—was locked firmly away and she cannot help a sigh laden with exhaustion and unspeakable relief.

Free at last from the ravenous gaze of society, she barely made it three steps into the opulent parlour before her composure dissolved. Gown gripped in both hands to free her movement, she lifted the delicate ivory skirts of her wedding dress and surged forward with unrestrained fervor, her strides long and swift until she collided with @slithair—her husband, her sanctuary.

“We’re finally alone.”

Words are muffled against the warm hollow of his neck, inhaling deeply, of the scent that had come to mean safety. Tension melted from her frame as she allowed herself to finally breathe, tension seeping from her muscles. No more watchful relatives with calculating gazes, no more reporters from the Daily Prophet waiting to twist her smile into a scandal. Just the two of them, cocooned in silence and candlelight.

❝Can I keep you forever?❞

The question leaves his lips in guttural desperation, and she knows that he feels the same way she does.

“Please…please keep me forever—and let me have you, all of you, for all eternity.” Her voice shredded by fragile desperation, her slender frame molded to his; lithe against strength, silk to steel. In his arms, the rest of the world faded into irrelevance.

For the first time in her life, Narcissa had found more than duty or legacy—she had found home, and a family that belonged entirely to her.

[faithwounded]

@slithair told narcissa ❝ i wasn’t staring, i was admiring. ❞

&&&. The reflection in the gilded mirror offers a decadent tableau, lithe frame playing peekaboo with liquid silk of unlaced dress, topped with conspiratorial smirk on painted lips, all shaded by flickering candle light. Cerulean eyes gleam with knowing amusement gaze angled slyly over one bare shoulder to her husband sprawled across the plush bed behind her.

One slender hand splayed gently over her chest, holding gown loosely in place as the silken fabric threatens to slip further down her frame. Unlaced back of her gapes open, baring the pale, graceful line of her spine. The corset ribbons hung forgotten at her sides, swaying slightly as she shifted.

Lucius watched her with the intensity of a man long familiar, yet perpetually enthralled—as though she were a masterpiece he had studied countless times and still found new reasons to marvel. His gaze roamed her reflection unapologetically, a storm of want and reverence pooling in his silver eyes.

Her smirk deepened, and a soft, teasing giggle slipped from her lips—a sound both sultry and sweet, designed to provoke. She turned her head just enough to meet his eyes in the mirror, her expression coy, chin tilted with practiced grace.

“You know,” she murmured, her voice a velvet purr that dripped mischief and suggestion in equal measure, “you could admire me with your hands… and be helpful while you're at it.” Her eyes sparkled, challenging him to rise from the bed—not just to lace the gown, but to become part of the game she was playing.

[signetrings-a]

✨ because you love ur muse and it shows‼️

send ✨ if you like my writing and feel free to tell me why !

crying yes i do love my garbage son 🥹 i'm so glad you can tell

[faithwounded]

&&&. "lucius..." alabaster fingers slide forward over shoulderblades to intertwine at his front, chin resting on spine. pitch is melodic, cadence jaunty like the vibrant dances they learned as young people.

she wants something.

"i never did tell you what a time i had at madame malkins the other day." faux pout curls her lips as she waits, gaze strategically settled on the back of @slithair's neck, monitoring tension. she loves watching the way he inevitably melts for her, loves the way he makes her work for it more. "you see she had this absolutely delightful brocade, such a resplendent grey - why it reminded me quite perfectly of your eyes - and you'll never guess what happened. that dastardly madame bones snatched it from right in front of me. so naturally, the front stoop of the shop became suddenly terribly slippery - you know what it's like in winter - and alas the fabric was ruined. but madame malkin let slip that she had procured it in italy, and it has been such a long time since we have been on holiday."