Ray ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

Charlotte stepped back, though her stance was firm as she took a deep breath, her chest heaving, “Listen, Rafe. I didn’t mean for this to happen; it just… naturally did, and it makes sense. I've known him my whole life, and I know it’s cutting it close, but it feels right.” There weren’t many things that didn’t make sense to Rafe, but hearing his fiancée speak was one of the few that he could add to that list. “You deserve someone who’d marry you without keeping secrets from you. I’m honestly doing you a favour.”

“Doing me a favour?” Rafe barked out a bitter laugh, shaking his head at how incredulously confident Charlotte was in the situation. “Nah, nah, nah. Tell me how any of this is meant to benefit me. How are we going to tell everyone?” 

“I don’t know, Rafe,” She turned, her manicured nails sliding off the engagement ring on her finger before placing it on the counter of the island. It didn’t feel real, seeing the ring that Rafe had given out of a place of love be discarded so easily, sitting solemnly on the marble top and mocking Rafe that he’d been played. Charlotte slipped her weekender bag on her shoulder, nonchalantly letting out, “I’ll have someone pick up my things. Goodbye, Rafe.” 

The hair that prickled under Rafe’s palm felt more like a bed of nails as he rubbed his head, trying to make sense of how his Saturday afternoon went from nothing to everything in a matter of five minutes. He watched her blonde hair swaying from one end to another as she walked towards the car of a man she'd apparently been choosing long before she'd admitted it out loud. 

Suddenly, everything that was in sight was all the more overwhelming for Rafe, the smell of the citrus candles she’d placed around the house still hanging in the air. The decor she had chosen with such taste hung across from a portrait from their engagement shoot, as he was dragged from one store to another while he blindly handed over his credit card. 

Reminders of her were practically plastered in every space a wall could have in a house as big as his, and it all had to come down. Rafe grabbed the familiar black trash bag, the polyethylene gliding smoothly in his touch as he opened it, tossing every little thing he could into the plastic without a care for if it broke. By the time he'd finished clearing out the main floor, his chest was rising and falling heavily, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to the back of his neck despite the cool air conditioning that hummed throughout the house. Once the main floor was stripped bare, he headed for his bedroom, tearing fabrics from the hangers into their impending doom in the bag. 

He tied off the last trash bag with a brutal, snapping shot that echoed in the silence of the bedroom, the adrenaline now wearing off, leaving a cold, hollow cavity in his chest. With every picture frame that shattered and every piece of her life that disappeared into the bag, the reality of it all seemed to settle heavier in his chest, a sickening realization washing over him that she hadn't just chosen someone else—she'd looked at everything he'd spent years building and decided it still wasn't enough.

Ward and his constant disappointment were another problem that he’d have to deal with soon, Ward having spent the past year telling anyone who'd listen that Rafe was finally settling down. The knowledge that he’d be met with the same condescending words that it was his fault, hurled at him, as Rafe would stare towards the ground in a blank stare. 

As he lay in bed that night, he looked at that picture on his phone, the one where he’d stood with Charlotte, him, and you on the day of his engagement party. Charlotte was leaning in much too close toward her childhood friend, who’d done the same, while you and Rafe just stood at the ends, smiling towards a camera without the knowledge of what would happen. 

You.

Rafe knew he had to tell you, even if it meant having to go to the fucker’s house. He'd seen Charlotte's location sitting at her parents' house, the little blue dot still visible thanks to the fact that she'd forgotten to stop sharing it with him. If they were still there, he knew they hadn't found a way to come clean to you yet.

Another amber-hued sunrise, streaked with remnants of baby blue and rose, flooded your eyes as you sat on the patio seats in your backyard. It’d been four days since Ethan was supposed to come back from his trip, yet here you were, staring at the screen where your last text to him was still left unread. You tried hard not to let your mind spiral from all the possibilities that could have happened, the morning wind contributing to the shiver that went down your spine as you thought of if there was a plane crash you hadn’t heard of yet, making you pull your sweater’s arms closer to you. 

It was almost impossible to imagine what life would be like for you without Ethan in the picture, having been with him for so long. Your love story was akin to a romance straight from the books: two teens who’d fallen deep in love in the midst of high school and soon enough, found themselves following each other through every step of life, whether it be going to the same university, applying for jobs in the same company, and now happily engaged to each other while living in a house was fit for you both. His scent from the sweater draped over your figure, interlaced with the slight scent of salt from the waterfront nearby, wrapped you in comfort that he’d come home soon, but there was an unsettling feeling knotting in your stomach that wouldn’t go away. 

Your train of thought abruptly came to a stop when you heard banging on the door, your name being called in the distance, dread filling you as your eyes widened. Just as you reached your patio door, you saw Rafe’s figure come out from the side, his eyes that seemed like he’d been awake for almost a month looking at you with a look of pity and regret as he softly called out your name. 

“Rafe! What are you doing here so early?” You opened the door, inviting him in as you made your way to the kitchen. “The bachelorette party must’ve been going super well since they still haven’t come back yet.” 

You’d noticed that he was hesitating to step into the house, the internal battle in his head as he tried to contemplate if it was worth stepping into the house of someone who’d gotten what was his, and inadvertently broken your heart without you even knowing it. Rafe knew he was going to be breaking a home that’d taken years to build. “Hey, are you okay?” 

“I, uh-” Rafe heavily sighed. Seeing you look so vulnerable and unsuspecting of what was to come next almost made him feel guilty for what he’d come to do. Almost. “Listen, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your fiancé isn't running late because the bachelorette party got extended. He’s not coming back to you at all.”

You froze, your hand hovering over the kitchen counter. “W-what? Rafe, what are you talking about?”

Rafe rubbed a hand over his jaw, already regretting this as the anger towards the two began to fester in his heart again. “Charlotte called off the wedding a few days ago,” Rafe said, his voice dropping into a sharp, venomous cadence as he finally stepped fully into the house. He couldn't stop his eyes from scanning the room, noting the domestic little life you had set up with the guy who had just ruined his. “Turns out they had this life-changing revelation that they actually love each other or some bullshit, and now they’re currently holed up at her parents' place pretending they’re some star-crossed lovers.”

He let out a harsh, mocking laugh, his jaw clenching. “So yeah. They’re together right now. The wedding’s off, and you and I just got completely fucked over by the same two people.”

Your face drained of colour. “That's not funny. Don’t fucking play with me right now.”

“Trust me, sweetheart, if this were a joke, I'd have stayed home.”

“No.”

“Yeah.”

“No, Ethan would never-” The words hit you like a physical force, leaving you breathless as the room seemed to tilt. Before your brain could even begin to process the sheer gravity of what Rafe was telling you, the heavy thud of the front door opening echoed through the hallway, making you both turn your heads towards the commotion of the sound as your name was called out. 

“Hey, baby? I’m home! Sorry, I’m so late; the trip became longer than we’d expected-” Ethan’s voice cut off the second he rounded the corner into the kitchen, his weekender bag slipping right out of his hand and hitting the floor with a dull thud. Then Ethan's eyes landed on Rafe, and it was as if someone had literally drained the colour from his face as he paled. It wasn’t much help that you could see small splotches of purple peeking out from under the collar of his shirt, nor the sickening smell of sweet, lingering perfume that clung to him; notes of vanilla and coffee so deeply embedded in the fabric that it felt as though she'd walked into the room with him.

You didn't even look at Rafe, though you knew that his cold glare was enough to frighten your fiancé. Your gaze locked onto Ethan, your voice barely a whisper but laced with a sudden, terrifying panic while your lips trembled. “Tell me he’s lying.” 

Ethan swallowed hard, his eyes glossy as he looked at you. “I don’t know-” 

“No!” You interjected, your voice raised at a level you hadn’t heard from yourself since that night. “Tell me he’s wrong. That you went on that bachelorette trip with Charlotte and did nothing else. That you didn’t confess your feelings for her. That you didn’t fuck her behind my back while calling to tell me ‘I love you’. That you-” 

You didn't even realize you were crying until the tears hanging from your jaw began to drip onto your feet, the sobs tearing from your chest before you could stop them. “Why, E, why? What could have possibly been missing from our relationship that was so easy to let us go?” 

“It wasn’t you; it’s just that Charlotte and I have known each other since we were babies. And during the trip, I realized that I don’t know how I would feel if I had to watch her get married and live the rest of her life with some guy who wasn’t me.” He moved closer to you, trying to reach out to console you, though you pulled away. “I guess Char just realized that, too, and it felt like we made sense. I promise it had nothing to do with us, baby, I swear.” 

Rafe scoffed, “So it took you right until our fucking wedding to realize that you wanted to be with her all this time? I don’t buy it.” 

“You don’t buy it?” Ethan snapped, pivoting toward Rafe as a desperate, defensive anger flushed his cheeks red. “This has nothing to do with you, Cameron! Get the hell out of my house!”

“Yeah?” Rafe’s voice dropped, a terrifyingly quiet rumble that sounded like a predator cornering its prey. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them until he was towering over Ethan. The air in the kitchen grew heavy, suffocating under the weight of Rafe’s volatile energy. “You think you’re a man just cause your name’s on the papers? You’re a coward, Ethan. You took my money to go sleep with my fiancée, and you ruined her life,” he gestured wildly toward you, his chest heaving under his designer shirt. “You’re a parasitic little piece of shit who couldn't keep it in his pants long enough to make it to the altar.”

“Rafe-”

“No, seriously,” Rafe cut him off, taking a step forward. “You spent years with her.” He jabbed a finger in your direction. “Years. And you couldn't break things off before screwing around with somebody else's fiancée?”

“Don't talk to me like you know anything about our relationship,” Ethan snapped, his voice rising as he lunged forward, shoving his hands square against Rafe’s chest. “Not my fault, your girl loves me more.” 

That was all the invitation Rafe needed. The manic heat that had been bubbling under Rafe's skin for days finally exploded. Before Ethan could even pull his hand back, Rafe’s fist connected with Ethan’s jaw with a sickening, wet crack, the only sound to be heard alongside your gasp, echoing through the kitchen. The force of the punch sent Ethan stumbling backward into the kitchen island, his hip colliding violently with the marble countertop. A decorative ceramic fruit bowl wobbled before crashing to the hardwood floor, shattering into a dozen sharp, white shards. 

“Rafe, stop!” you screamed, your voice cracking under the weight of the chaos.

But Rafe wasn't listening; the animalistic urge to destroy the thing that had humiliated him took over. He grabbed the front of Ethan’s shirt, the fury in him rising as he smelled Charlotte’s vanilla perfume on him, and slammed him against the refrigerator, raising his fist to strike again. Ethan groaned, his hands flying up to block his face, blood already trickling from the corner of his split lip.

“For fucks sake, I said stop!” Your voice rang out, louder and sharper than either of them had ever heard it. It pierced through the red mist in Rafe’s head. Rafe froze, his fist suspended in mid-air. He blinked, breathing heavily through his nose as he slowly turned his head to look at you. You were standing near the doorway, your hands trembling violently against your sides, tears streaming down your paled face. However, your eyes weren't weak anymore; but rather, it stunned him to see them filled with a raw, agonizing heartbreak that was all too familiar to him.

Rafe slowly lowered his fist, loosening his grip on Ethan’s collar, making Ethan slide down against the refrigerator, clutching his jaw and panting. You pointed a shaking finger directly at Ethan. “Get the fuck out.”

Ethan looked up, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes wide with a pathetic sort of shock. “Listen, sweetheart, just let me explain—”

“Don’t you dare call me that. I really don’t have the time for your shit today, Ethan,” you whispered, the venom in your voice making him flinch. Ethan opened his mouth to protest, but looking at the absolute finality in your eyes, he knew he had lost. He pushed himself up from the floor, avoiding Rafe’s lingering, lethal glare entirely. He grabbed his weekender bag from the floor, his head hanging low as he practically sprinted out the front door, the heavy click of the lock signalling the definitive end of the life you had spent years building.

The silence that followed was deafening, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the sound of Rafe trying to catch his breath. He stood in the center of your ruined kitchen, looking around at the shattered ceramic pieces on the floor. The aggressive, manic armour he had arrived with seemed to deflate, leaving him looking suddenly awkward, a stark contrast to the violence he had just unleashed. He cleared his throat, flexing his reddened knuckles, refusing to look you directly in the eye.

“I, uh… I didn’t mean to break your bowl,” Rafe muttered, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly hyper-aware of how intrusive he was in your grief. “I should probably go.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself as the cool morning breeze drifted in from the open patio door, making you both feel the cold loneliness of having their reality flipped in a matter of days. The golden sunlight was fully pouring through the windows now, illuminating the empty space where Ethan used to be every morning.

“Hey, Rafe?” you called out softly, stopping him just as he reached for the doorknob.

He stopped in his tracks, and looked up to see you directly looking at him for the first time since he’d arrived. There was still tension between the two of you; there had always been. You'd spent years knowing each other through Charlotte and Ethan, though, never quite becoming friends and never quite becoming strangers either.

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice thick with more unshed tears, while your words still had a weight of awkwardness to them. “For letting me know.” 

Rafe’s throat was tight, his expression softening into something resembling genuine empathy—a rare look on a face usually twisted by anger or pride. He gave you a tight, solemn nod. “Yeah,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against his bruised knuckles. “Anytime.”

You both stood there for a moment, surrounded by shattered pieces of the lives you'd spent years building. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly. 

With that, he stepped out into the crisp morning air, leaving you alone in the quiet wreckage of your home.

Seven weeks later…

You sighed as you inserted the key into the keyhole of the door, being welcomed by the soft amber lighting and quiet stillness of the new abode that still couldn’t be called home or yours just yet. After Rafe left, you'd spent the following week with anything but a dry face, packing your belongings into cardboard boxes as memories that were once vivid and lively became confined within their brown, paper walls, stacked neatly in the corner of your bedroom. Even if the house had belonged to the both of you, you knew Ethan's name was the one on the deed, leaving you with no choice but to let him and Charlotte continue their lives together in the very house where you'd once imagined raising your children.

“Hey, hey, hey, roomie,” your roommate cheerfully called out as she lay on the couch, her laptop littered with lines of code glowing in front of her. “You’re home! How was your day?”

“Hi, Sage. Work was okay,” you gave a meek smile, even though it was a dead giveaway of how you’d felt. Even though you’d found Sage’s listing for a new roommate online, you were thankful that she’d been accommodating and understanding enough to understand when you were feeling the need to be on your own.

“I’ll, just, uh-” You gestured your thumb towards your room, rounding into the hallway. 

“Wait!” 

You stopped in your tracks, turning around towards her. “Yeah?” 

Sage winced, which immediately made your stomach drop. “I know you need your space and you’re feeling down, but…” Sage hesitated, closing her laptop slightly so the blue light from her code didn't illuminate the sudden dread on her face. She reached onto the coffee table, picking up a thick, heavy, cream-coloured cardstock invitation with your name scribbled in handwriting you’d know from anywhere. It made your throat tighten. 

"Oh."

"Do you want me to throw it out?" Sage offered gently. “Or we could burn it? A lot more fun.” 

You stepped back into the living room, your fingers trembling as you took the envelope from her. The paper was expensive, textured, and embossed with elegant gold foil. You ripped it open, the sharp tear of paper echoing in the quiet apartment. Inside was a wedding invitation. Charlotte and Ethan invite you to celebrate their union. The date was the exact date of your wedding, your name easily swapped out for Charlotte’s.

The ground felt like a top, spinning you as you struggled to keep your composure without losing your mind. For almost two months, you’d struggled to pick up the pieces of yourself, trying to go on with your usual routine without someone who’d been part of that routine for so long. Even morning coffee felt odd to have when he wasn’t there to make sure your coffees were made precisely how he’d perfected it for you both all those years back. 

"No."

Sage was off the couch immediately. "What is it?"

"They invited me," you laughed weakly, tears immediately springing to your eyes. "They actually invited me."

"What the actual fuck?" Sage snatched the invitation from your hands. "Oh, that’s so fucking twisted. I’m so sorry, babe."

Before the tears could even sting the back of your eyes, a heavy, demanding knock rattled the front door, making you both freeze. 

"I'll get it." You wiped furiously at your eyes before heading towards the entrance and pulling the door open. Whatever tears were left in your system had been shocked as you found yourself looking at Rafe, his appearance looking no different than yours. A permanent frown was etched on his face, while red rimmed his eyes, making the blue in them stand out more. 

“Rafe?”

"I need to talk to you." His eyes immediately landed on the invitation clenched in your hand, making his fingernails dig deeper into his palm as he tried to keep himself calm. "You got one too?"

Your stomach dropped. "What do you mean ‘too’?"

"They sent me one." Rafe let out a humourless laugh, bafflement overcoming his senses. “Some audacity they have.” 

“Rafe, I’m really not in the mood—”

“Just listen to me,” Rafe interrupted, wrapping his hands around your wrist as he pulled you towards the hallway. As soon as you closed the door to your bedroom, Rafe was leaning his hands on your dresser, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “Charlotte never changed the passwords to her email. I still have access to everything. They think they’re being slick, but I just saw the confirmation emails. They are taking the exact same honeymoon itinerary that we planned. The one I paid for.”

You stared at him, confused. “What?”

“I overheard it from Topper at the country club, they’re going to Italy and Greece,” Rafe said, a dark, vindictive smirk spreading across his lips. “It was supposed to be my wedding gift to her since her type A ass couldn’t stop perfecting her dream trip.”

“Okay, so what am I supposed to do about that?” You countered, shrugging your blazer off as you approached your closet. He tapped the folder, the noise almost as loud as your heart thumping as Rafe replied, “I want you to come with me. We're going, and we’re going to follow them and make ‘em pay for the shit they pulled on us.”

You blinked, your brain struggling to process the sheer audacity of the words coming out of his mouth. “You want me to WHAT?” you hissed, your voice rising in pitch, not entirely caring if Sage could overhear your conversation with Rage. “You want to follow our ex-fiancés on their makeshift-honeymoon wannabe trip and sabotage everything they do?”

“Yes,” Rafe’s expression was serious as ever, not a flicker of sarcasm in his voice. He leaned closer, his voice dropping into that persuasive, lethal cadence. “Think about it. We show up at the same places they go to and boot them out, then take every opportunity to ruin their entire trip. C’mon, they wasted all of these years of our lives just to fuck each other behind our backs, you don’t want a little bit of payback?”

You looked from Rafe’s wild, determined eyes down to the gold-embossed invitation mocking you from the counter. For seven weeks, you had been sad. You had been mourning a ghost.

“No, Rafe, no. I know you’re hurt and grieving, but I can’t do that to him.” 

“He ruined your life!” Rafe waved the invitation in your view, the gold foil catching the light. “They both did, and now they’re getting married on what was supposed to be your wedding day!”

The words hit you like someone had driven a fist into your chest, the air in your lungs coming out in a slow exhale as you were reminded once again. Your wedding day. That was the date you’d spent a year circling on calendars, the date you’d meticulously picked out flowers for, the date you thought you’d finally become a wife. Hearing Rafe voice the cruel reality out loud made the room tilt slightly.

An intense, exhausting battle ignited in your mind, tearing you in two directions. Part of you—the part that still wore Ethan's oversized sweaters and kept checking an unread text thread—shrank back in horror. Revenge was anything but what you wanted; it was all the more toxic. Part of you knew that if you followed through with this, it would just be letting them keep their chokehold on your life, even when they both had moved on.

But then your eyes flicked back to the gold-foiled invitation resting on the counter.

They didn't care about ruining your life. Ethan hadn’t hesitated to destroy your future, while Charlotte hadn't blinked twice before taking everything Rafe had built for her. They were rewriting their betrayal as a romance, and they were using a dream vacation to celebrate it. A sudden, unfamiliar wave of hot, venomous anger surged through your veins, momentarily drowning out the suffocating sadness. The red-horned voice whispered in your ears that they deserved to have their paradise ruined, to look up and see the collateral damage of their choices staring them right in the face.

You closed your eyes, your breath hitching as you tried to steady the frantic beating of your heart. You were so tired of being the bigger person. You were so tired of crying.

"Rafe, stop," you whispered, pressing your palms against the cool marble of the kitchen island to keep your hands from shaking. You opened your eyes, looking at him with a mixture of exhaustion and raw vulnerability. "I... I can't give you an answer right now."

Rafe lowered the invitation, his chest still heaving slightly from his outburst. He stared at you, his jaw tight, clearly expecting you to either jump on board or reject him entirely.

"I need to think about it," you said softly, your voice barely carrying across the room. "Just... give me some time. Please."

The fierce, manic energy that had been radiating off Rafe for the last ten minutes suddenly seemed to dissipate. He looked at you—really looked at you—standing in a bedroom that wasn't really yours, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, clutching yourself as if you were trying to keep from falling apart. For a split second, the cold, calculating façade he often had on slipped from his face. A flash of profound pity and shared grief softened his eyes. He knew exactly what it felt like to look at the wreckage of a life you thought you'd secured, and for the first time, he didn't just see an ally for revenge but instead someone who was hurting just as badly as he was.

Rafe slowly let out a breath, tossing the manila folder onto the counter beside the invitation.

"Fine," he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. He stepped back toward the door, his eyes lingering on you for one last moment. "Think about it. The flight leaves in three weeks."

As Rafe stepped out, you looked at the folder again, then back to the wedding invitation that was mocking you with its presence. Suddenly, your room felt bigger than it had since you’d moved in, the heavy silence of the apartment settling around you like a calm before the storm. The soft, gold-embossed font blurred beneath the shadows creeping across the kitchen counter, leaving you alone in the quiet dark with a choice that could either heal your heart or burn your entire world to the ground.

dividers: @cursed-carmine @saradika-graphics

“good night, draco.”

“night,” he mumbles against your jaw.

“love.” you stir, draco’s gruff morning voice waking you up. “hm? i was asleep,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes once you noticed he wasn’t laying on you anymore.

“i saw that.” he chuckled, pushing your hair out of your face. “i love you,” he says. you blink.

“well? something to say to me after that?”

“huh? oh. i love you, too.” draco rolls his eyes,

“yet you needed to be reminded to say it back?”

you knew he was just joking, but your stomach made that weird feeling—the bad, guilty kind. “just woke up, baby. sorry,” you mumble, squeezing his wrist.

he grins, “i know. im kidding,” he stands up, “gonna shower. in my own bathroom, ive pestered you enough.” he chuckles at his own joke, unlocking and locking the door behind him.

you lean back, mind rushing. what could you do to make it up to him? these past couple of days, he’s been remarkably sweet and clingy with you, both emotionally and especially physically.

you sighed, reaching for your wand on your bedside drawer, blinking when you grasp your quill instead. you blink again, a slow realization coming in.

a couple hours and lessons later, around nine pm, you hear three familiar knocks on your bedroom door. you smile, getting the long, folded piece of parchment from your bedside table drawer and putting it inside your robes’ pocket before opening the door.

“you havent changed yet?” draco frowns. “mm, just put my robes back on. was cold,” he raises a brow, taking the robe off of your shoulders, actions smooth.

the letter falls to the ground, he picks it up. “a love letter, hm?” he fails to bite back a smile as you hang your robes, revealing your short pyjama shorts and his shirt underneath.

“read it, come on.”

he does, opening the parchment, guiding you onto his lap once he sits down on the edge of your bed, eyes traveling and stopping on the page.

dear draco,

i love you, you know that, right? in case you don’t, i’m writing this letter to remind you. i love it when you smirk after making me flustered. i love it when you bite your lip whilst concentrating in potions. i love it when your chuckle turns raspy for no reason.

i love it when you’re tired sometimes, not because i like seeing you suffer but because of the way your breath feels on my skin, like im all you need to feel better. i love it when you whisper praises in my ear at night, i love it when you kiss the one part of my neck that makes me squirm.

i love it when you pretend you can’t find something just so you can ask me for help, and shrug when i complain once finding it in plain sight. i love it when your eyes look like they physically soften when you’re around me or looking at me.

i love it when your hair turns fluffy and soft after a good quiddditch practice. i love it when you enthusiastically talk about quidditch with me, even if i don’t understand half the terms you’re using. i love it when you explain things to me for the umpteenth time and never get bored or annoyed with it.

i love it when you can practically sense when somethings wrong, even if I dont say it outright or even show it. i love it when you sigh while im playing and fidgeting around with your hair. i love it when you say you love me out loud. i love it when you listen to my talks about utter nonsense.

i love it. i love you; always, in all ways.

he finally looks at you, folding the paper with care. he kisses you fervently, pulling away only when your eyes start to flutter.

you catch your breath, arms wrapping around his neck as he kisses you all over.

“It’s fine,” he says calmly, fingertips brushing your collarbone as he adjusts the viper’s position. “She’s affectionate. And she likes warmth.”

“Tom, I am also affectionate and like warmth. That doesn’t mean people should hang me around their necks.”

He huffs a soft laugh, eyes uncharacteristically glittering. “You’re being dramatic.”

The viper flicks her tongue against your jaw. You nearly black out onto the stone floor.

“She likes you,” Tom murmurs, sounding pleased.

“Super,” you choke out. “Love that journey for us.”

Tom leans in slightly, close enough that you can smell the faint hint of ink and old books clinging to his robes. His voice drops lower, conspiratorial:

“You know, they’re highly intelligent creatures. They remember faces. They can feel your mood.”

“I’m pretty sure mine’s terror right now.”

He smirks. “Yes. And yet you’re still here. That’s… admirable.”

Your eyes flick to his. Despite the snake currently coiling a little tighter around your neck, you find yourself softening.

“Why do you like them so much?” you ask quietly.

Tom goes still. His lashes lower a fraction, and for a heartbeat, he looks almost shy.

“They’re misunderstood,” he murmurs. “Everyone thinks they’re cold. Dangerous. But they’re… elegant. Precise. They’re quiet. They don’t waste energy on things that don’t matter. They know how to wait.”

You blink.

It’s the most words he’s spoken about anything personal in… ever.

“You know,” you say softly, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were describing yourself.”

Tom blinks. Once. Twice. Then he clears his throat and gently removes Aracelis from your shoulders, placing her back into the crate.

“Nonsense,” he says briskly, but his ears have gone a suspicious shade of red.

Before you can tease him further, a low, musical hissing fills the room. You freeze. Tom glances back at the crate and responds in a language that makes your skin prickle. Long, sliding syllables, quiet and smooth as silk. Parseltongue.

The snakes go still, all eyes fixed on him like he’s royalty.

“Are you… talking to them?” you whisper.

He looks over at you, a tiny, smug smile curving his lips. “Of course. They’re rather curious about you.”

“Oh, wonderful. What are they saying? That I look delicious?”

“Actually, Aracelis said you smell like vanilla.”

You gape. “Is… is that good?”

Tom tilts his head, eyes glinting. “She likes vanilla.”

You’re about to scream when he gently lifts another snake out of the crate, a pale golden one with a delicate diamond pattern along its spine.

“This is Callidora,” he murmurs, stroking the serpent’s back with feather-light fingers. “She’s a corn snake. She’s quite gentle.”

Callidora blinks slowly at you, tongue flicking out.

Tom tilts her toward your face. “She wants to say hello.”

“Oh God.”

Tom hisses softly again, a few quiet syllables that send the scales rippling along Callidora’s body. The snake slithers closer and gently bumps her nose against your cheek. You squeal. Tom laughs under his breath, a rare, genuine sound that makes your chest feel full and impossibly fragile.

“You’re so brave,” he murmurs, his hand coming up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“Don’t patronize me, Riddle.”

He grins. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He carefully returns Callidora to the crate, then looks at you, quieter. “Thank you,” he says. “For… indulging me.”

You smile, heart pounding. “Next time, can we indulge me instead? Like, I dunno… kittens?”

Tom tilts his head, considering. “I suppose kittens would be… tolerable.”

And even though your knees are still trembling, and you can practically feel phantom scales brushing your skin, you lean forward and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“You’re tolerable too,” you whisper.

Tom’s lips curve into the faintest, rarest smile.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

You grin. “Your secret’s safe with me. And Aracelis.”

🦌 : you become a quidditch partner to say the least, he expects you to be there, be the loudest, most attentive person in the stands. he "only plays well" these days because he knows your watching, he wants to impress his baby.

🦌 : he sneaks you into his dorm ALOT sirius and remus are used to the way you knock by now so even if james is out late practicing they let you in.

🦌 : james takes lil' trinkets of yours, a hair clip, a keychain, a piece of fabric you were using for a project or for homework. he'll attach it to his bag as a little "im THEIR boyfriend" moment.

🦌 : in the beginning of your relationship sirius got "territorial" over james because he felt like he wasn't spending enough time with him, so on weekends you have movie nights, making popcorn for the two big oafs on your couch while they debate over call me by your name or moana.

🍂 : sam winchester is a TUGGER, your belt loops, your waist, your hair. any way to direct you and he'd take it like that.

🍂 : since your house is secluded i imagine him on his knees infront of you while your on the porch swing, big brown eyes looking up at you with his messed up hair.

“Bloody hell, maybe he breathed in more of that Draught of Living Death than we’d thought,” Pansy Parkinson said, sitting on the sofa across from you and Draco.

“That would be entirely Enzo’s fault, then,” Blaise said, earning him a disbelieving glare from the boy.

Theo laughed heartily. “To be fair, your potion did explode all over his hair.” He reached towards the sleeping-boy’s soaked curls — which Mattheo had just washed to rid of its bitter smell of Wormwood — running his hands over the sopping mess teasingly.

“Oh!” you suddenly exclaimed, tapping Draco on the shoulder avidly. “I’ve just remembered what I was meaning to tell you in Potions earlier,” you said, a grin spreading across your face.

You had meant to tell Draco during your partnership in Potions about a piece of gossip you had overheard from some of the Ravenclaws in your year, which had inevitably spread through each house. Yet, Snape had sternly swept into the room, conversations falling silent.

Draco turned to you, his silver eyes softening as he took in your keen expression.

“Basically, Ron Weasley was eyeing that Veela girl from Beauxbatons, right? Well—,” your animated voice carried through the Common Room; Enzo Berkshire leaned closer towards you, eager to hear your recollection of the newest gossip spreading through the school like wildfire; Pansy Parkinson smirked, already knowing the details.

Draco’s eyes trailed over your parted lips as you spoke. As you softly smiled through your words, he caught a glimpse of the white of your teeth, drawing his gaze to the soft shape of your lips that encircled your speech. Your lips were glossy, he realized, a sheen of sparkle coating the rosy heart-shaped skin.

“—I mean, that’s what Daphne said, anyway,” you finished. “What do you think?” you turned to Draco expectantly, your whole body shifting closer as you faced him.

“Hm?” he hummed out.

“What do you think?” you repeated, eyes narrowed on him.

Draco stared at you for a moment, blinking. “Have you done something different with your makeup?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked, caught off-guard.

You could hear Theo’s small chuckle from where he lingered across the room near a bookshelf, cigarette held between his teeth. “Nice save, mate,” he said bleakly.

Draco ignored him, staring at you expectantly.

“Oh,” you flustered. “Well, Pansy and I went to Madam Primpernelle’s in Diagon Alley when we went to pick up our textbooks a few weeks ago.”

“All of the girls have been raving over a new lipgloss they’re testing out — apparently it has notes of asphodel,” Pansy said. “I’ve been wearing it for weeks, but I see that you’ve failed to notice,” she teased, observing the two of you.

Draco looked at you, his eyes catching on your lips once more. “Well,” he coughed, “it looks nice.”

It was as if the whole Common Room had suddenly quieted, the four Slytherins who were still awake watching the two of you, breaths held.

You stared at him, your cheeks turning a shade of pink that matched your lips.

The sudden loud, breathy rattle of Mattheo’s deep snore caused all of you to startle; Enzo looked as if he’d narrowly fallen off the sofa, while Blaise pinched the bridge of his nose with a ring-clad hand, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Unbelievable,” Pansy muttered under her breath, as Theo rasped what sounded an awful lot like “cock-blocker,” masked by a ring of smoke.

Draco sat motionless, continuing to stare straight at you — or rather, at your lips.

You blushed under his gaze. “Well,” you cleared your throat, “it’s getting late now.” You stood up from the sofa, reaching for Pansy’s arm as you dragged her towards the girls dormitories.

You shot a furtive “good-night” to the five boys; Mattheo grunted in response, while Theo kissed your cheek with a chivalrous, “Sogni d’oro, bella.”

Theo turned to Draco, as the latter sat behind on the sofa, watching you and Pansy head towards the dormitories.

“Next time, amico,” he said, clapping a hand on the silver-haired boy’s shoulder.

Draco bit down on his lip, the image of your glossed-lips still burning in his head like Fiendfyre.

© 𝓐𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒

notes ⋆. 𐙚 ₊˚ thank you for the request, i hope you liked this 🤍🤍