The first indication that all was not well was the front door slamming shut with a resounding thud. One that echoed through the dark halls of his family's property and lingered in the air like a bad smell. The sheer force of it had the supporting walls trembling from the impact as it settled into place, as though it had shaken the very foundations on which the manor was built.

Then, it was the heavy drag of dragon-skin boots across the hardwood floors, careless and scuffing at every surface that dared get in their way. Loud, thudding footsteps that resounded through the corridors, causing you to bristle with anticipation. No doubt that Theo was trailing dirt, blood, and Merlin knows what else across the fitted carpets and polished halls. Even worse, you doubted he cared at all, too focused on whatever he'd been cajoled into doing tonight.

He often got like this after a mission, as if he’d lost all ability to think. His usual dry humour and composure replaced by a sort of tunnel vision focus, bordering on obsession. Whenever Theo was like this, he had no regard for anyone or anything— he was volatile, cold, unpredictable.

And there was nothing that could fix that. Not even you.

The poor elves would be appalled when they saw him, his blatant disregard for their strenuous upkeep of Nott Manor an unthinkable sin. You could picture them now, begrudgingly cleaning up the offending footprints while muttering sourly about the reckless heir they were bound to serve. You made a mental note to apologise profusely on his behalf in the morning, already thinking about what baked treats would best appease two scorned house-elves.

Before Theo’s return, all had been well - or, at least — as well as it could be when your boyfriend was in the presence of the Dark Lord.

The soft crackling of the fire in the far corner of the bedroom cast a flickering glow across the room, like the fleeting light of the setting sun on a summers evening. And as the flames burned out to embers you sat tight jawed, fidgety, and trying to distract yourself with one of the books that rested on Theo's bedside.

As one hand flicked through pages you weren't really reading, the other rested in the fur of the purring feline in your lap. The small creature, curled up and warm against your cool skin, soothed the restlessness you fought halfheartedly. You fell into a rhythm, stroking his fur in time with the gentle rise and fall of his tiny frame, biting at the dry skin of your bottom lip.

You hated when Theo was away.

He had been out for hours. So long in fact that you'd abandoned any hope of fulfilling your dinner plans, and instead settled into the plush - but empty - four poster bed. Armed with a book and the cat, who'd soon taken to sprawling out on Theo’s side of the mattress, and you waited apprehensively.

Time twisted in on itself — hours slipping by in a slow, aching crawl. You'd learned not to keep an eye on the clock nowadays, and so you continued to scratch behind the cat's ears, smiling as he purred every so often. You were almost envious of how ignorant the small animal was, sleeping soundly through the heavy thud of boots just down the hall, the footsteps heading to ruin what looked like a perfectly good nap wrapped up in Theo's expensive sheets.

Down the hall, the familiar sound of a cupboard opening, then a glass being firmly sat down on the table echoed through the corridors. Your mind's eye pictured Theo, reaching for one of the many bar cabinets, pouring a healthy glass of whiskey then dispersing of it in one, large gulp.

Not a good night, then. You thought absently and continued your pets, turning a page of the book propped up against the pillow, halfheartedly trying to feign interest. It was best not to pry on nights like this, he'd tell you in his own way once he was ready. Or maybe he wouldn't, and you'd just have to accept that there were some things best left unsaid. Some sins that were best left unconfessed.

You listened to the soft purr of the sleeping animal beside you and waited, anxious.

Eventually, Theo appeared—sullen, quiet. As expected, he said nothing, and so you said nothing either. You stole a glance at him and regretted it instantly: gaunt lines carved into his face, flecks of what you could only assume was blood scattered across his skin. The dark circles beneath his eyes had become a near-constant feature, and his hair stuck out in every direction, like he’d been dragging his fingers through it for hours.

He looked so different now from the fourteen-year-old boy you'd fallen in love with. Back then, his dark circles were from staying up too late in the library, his dishevelled hair from falling asleep on his notes while he tried to practice a particularly difficult spell. Now his late nights were filled with fear, spurred on not by academic success, but by dark magic and a burning mark on his left forearm.

Through your thick lashes, you watched his robes fall unceremoniously from his body, piling in a discarded heap by the ottoman. He kicked them away from his feet, and his boots clattered against the floor a moment later, with the same careless disregard for where they landed. You said nothing, only watched the dull expression on his face— lifeless and miserable— and waited for him to speak.

Theo sighed and huffed as though something was weighing heavily on his mind, yet he didn't speak, only stripped down to his boxers and disappeared into the en-suite. The shower began to run and your eyes flitted up to meet the ajar door he'd just slid behind, tentatively listening to his movements until he settled underneath the stream of water.

Definitely not a good night.

Wordlessly, you rose from the bed and lifted his robes, dropping them into the washing basket without taking a look at them - you didn't want to know what, or who, was staining them. On nights like this, it was best not to ask because you’d never like the answer, and Theo would struggle to meet your gaze.

The water still ran in the bathroom, falling harshly against the tiled floor as Theo scrubbed at his skin with fervour, a ritual neither of you had entirely come to terms with. Your teeth bit at the dry skin of your lips, the air thick with tension, and you returned his boots to the shoe rack, murmuring a quick cleaning spell and hiding them from sight. As if hiding the evidence he'd ever left the house might help him forget.

Whether that was for your benefit or Theo’s was unclear.

In the bathroom, Theo was muttering, not loud enough for you to make out details, but enough that you were aware of it. Whatever had happened tonight was playing on his mind. You knew it was bad, but Theo had come home in one piece - and that? Well, that was good enough for you.

Was it selfish of you? Perhaps. But Theo was alive, and really, that's all that mattered.

In recent years, you'd seen how ruthless Voldemort could be, you'd watched when the lifeless body of Cedric Diggory had appeared before the student body, pale and lifeless, whilst his father wailed at his side. When Harry Potter had fought him in the Department of Mysteries, you’d all seen the news coverage. You could still picture the Daily Prophet's front page announcing his return, clear as day. And when things had begun to change at Hogwarts, you'd only held onto Theo tighter, promised that no matter what, you were there for him.

A promise you would honour to the grave.

Theo was no stranger to the cruelty of the Dark Lord. His mother’s death had marked him, twisted him into something darker even as a child, but it was his father’s loyalty to the cause that had nearly destroyed him. You still remember the look on his face when he received that letter in your sixth year—that letter.

It was December. You’d just finished your winter exams. Theo had decided to stay at Hogwarts over the break, just to be with you, to escape whatever darkness called to him. But that evening, as he sat beside you on the couch, his fingers trembling as he hesitated, something in him was cracked open. He’d been terrified to show you what he’d received in the morning post—a letter that wasn’t just words on parchment, but a death warrant. A promise. One that sealed his future as a servant of the Dark Lord.

The moment he handed it to you, his eyes wide, he looked to you as if you might be his salvation — or his undoing. But before you could say a word, before you could reach for him, he crumpled the letter back in his hand and whispered, "I have to go."

And Theo went home for Christmas that year.

It took him nearly twenty minutes to get clean enough that his hushed murmurs had fallen quiet, and another ten until the water finally shut off entirely. You weren’t sure what version of Theo you’d get.

Some nights he’d come in without a word, he’d shower and scrub at his skin— scrub at that mark until he felt better— then he’d collapse into bed beside you, wrap his arms around your waist and tug you close, whisper sweet nothings into your ear till you fell asleep tangled up together. You wouldn’t speak, but you’d burrow closer, let his tight grip squeeze the breath from your lungs if it meant he could rest easier.

“Still here, then." He said flatly, his tone laced with a bitter sharpness. You looked up at him cautiously, studying him. "Thought maybe you'd have finally grown a spine and left."

The towel around his waist dropped, and he tugged on a fresh shirt and clean boxer shorts, not glancing at you once.

So it was that version of Theo tonight.

You said nothing, your fingers still stroking the cat lying beside you. The small creature stirred a little, then sat up quickly as Theo scoffed. Its eyes narrowed as it stretched out, as if limbering up for an attack— the sweet thing had always preferred you, much to Theo’s amusement, and clung to your side whenever he had the chance. Your gaze flitted from the cat to Theo, concern etched into your features.

"Don't look at me like that. I don't want your pity." He spat, instinctively tucking his left arm from sight, pulling a jumper over his head a moment later. You knew he hated when you saw his mark.

The cat sprang off the bed and scuttled out the door quickly, Theo's words clearly agitating the small beast. You frowned, watching the end of his bushy tail slipping out of sight, leaving the two of you alone.

"You scared him." You murmured softly, your eyes lingering on the slightly ajar door. Then, as if you'd drifted off briefly, your head turned back towards Theo, taking in the sight of him as he dried his hair with the towel, his dark locks tousled and damp from the shower

"Theo baby, I-" You tried, voice tender and careful. Using that word— that name that was only ever his— hoping it might jolt him out of his spiral. Comfort him, ground him.

But he flinched like the word burned him.

"Don't."

It came out like a snarl, cutting through your hesitant words. So unlike your Theo, it was almost unrecognisable. He spun sharply, eyes wide. Wild.

"Don't fucking 'baby' me." His voice was low and cruel. Mocking.

You bristled, swallowing back the sting. Fighting every instinct to physically recoil from his words. He didn’t mean it. You knew that, even if it hurt to hear. Your nails dug into your palms, crescents pressing deep into skin. Every breath felt brittle, like it might shatter in your throat. You wanted to move—reach for him—but your limbs felt like they’d been filled with lead. If you could just get to him, take his hand, press kisses to his bruised knuckles and red skin, maybe he’d see. Maybe then he’d realise you were in this for keeps.

Maybe if you just—

"I killed a boy with eyes the same shade as yours tonight."

He didn’t look for your reaction — didn’t need to. He could feel it in the silence. He didn't need to see your wide eyes or parted lips to know. He just started to pace, hands dug into his hair and tugging angrily, as if he could tear the image of their lifeless faces from his mind if he pulled hard enough.

You swallowed the lump beginning to form, crawling across the bed till you were sat at the edge. Waiting for the right moment to interrupt, but he was talking now, and he needed to talk about it. You needed him to talk.

“A kid. Younger than me.” He muttered, not looking at you, just pacing angrily. As if he were at war with himself. "I didn't flinch."

“What kind of person doesn’t flinch?” He scoffed, a bitter, breathless sound that didn’t quite reach a laugh. “I looked him in the eyes. Held my wand steady as he begged. Do you know how easy it was?”

You couldn’t tear your eyes off him, uncontrollable tears welling up and threatening to spill. He stopped pacing for a moment, just long enough to look at you— and Merlin, there was something fractured in his stare. Like he wanted you to see him as a monster, that cruel snarl on his face as if he wanted you to look away in shame.

“Like breathing. That easy.” He snapped his fingers and you flinched, your whole body jerking like a puppet on a string.

Theo's chest heaved, as though the act had knocked the wind out of him. His shoulders collapsed inward, jaw slack, fingers twitching faintly like they hadn’t gotten the message that the moment had passed.

His eyes fluttered shut, as if he couldn't bear to even look at you. His tongue ran across the inside of his cheek, and he exhaled a bitter sigh, one that was loaded with self-loathing and spite. Your heart broke for him.

"Theo, baby. You had no choice." You murmured weakly, pleading. It wasn't enough, but what else could you say— I'm sorry your father signed you up for a war you didn't want to be a part of?

"I killed someone tonight. Do you even get that?" He snapped incredulously, taking a step closer to you. And it was like that flicker of softness from just a moment ago had vanished, replaced by the hardened composure that had been drilled into him.

Your lip trembled, mouth opening and closing, useless, as you tried to speak. Tears pricked in your eyes, blurring your vision as you stared back at him, speechless.

"Dead. Gone. Just like that. Do you really think you understand how I feel at all?"

He took another step toward you, less than a meter from the edge of the bed where you sat. The same bed that you'd held him in as he cried, sobbed till his voice died out about the things he was terrified to have to do. Things he could now do, as easily as breathing, apparently.

You shook your head in quiet defeat. He scoffed once more.

"Exactly. So don't sit here with your little book and your— your fucking cat and act like everything is fine."

His voice raised louder, crueller, and you forced yourself to look away and exhale shakily. Theo hadn't taken his eyes off you since his outburst; he just stood and watched, chest heaving up and down in ragged breaths.

"Theo..." You said softly, rising from the mattress and reaching out to cup his cheek, holding his face in your much smaller hand like he was made of glass. "You didn’t have a choice. It's not your fault."

He opened his mouth, another argument on the tip of his tongue, and your head shook gently. He blinked, as if he was about to ignore you, but then he pressed his lips together and his eyes softened.

"It's not your fault, baby." You said again, stronger this time. Less like you were trying to convince him, and more like you were telling the truth. Your thumb stroking over his cheek in tender, repetitive swipes. He didn't flinch under your touch, but he didn't lean into it either. Just stared down at you with something unreadable in his eyes.

"You can't forget it, I know." You soothed, "But you don't need to deal with it on your own either. You can talk to me."

Theo's head shook just slightly. "You don't know what you're saying." He swallowed, his familiar blue eyes staring down at you.

"Yes, I do."

He shook his head again, firmer. "I can't. I'll only hurt you. I'll destroy everything good in you just by being with you."

Your hand slid down his cheek, skimmed down past the tender skin of his neck, and paused as it reached his chest. You could feel the quick, uneven thrum of his heart, pulsing in his chest like a trapped bird.

"Then ruin me." You murmured.

It came out soft, but sure—like you meant it. Like it wasn’t some reckless offer made out of pity or panic, but a choice. A deliberate invitation to be broken, that you’d do anything if it meant that he wouldn’t have to break alone.

Theo froze. His chest stopped its ragged rise and fall. His eyes dropped to where your hand pressed flat against his chest, to the place where you could feel the wild, desperate flutter of his heart. And then he looked back at you.

Your breath hitched as he surged forward, lips pressing against your own in a bruising kiss that made you stagger back a step. He was unrelenting, however, and his strong hands only wrapped around you, pulling you back to him.

One hand tangled in your hair, messy and desperate, pressing your head closer to his and chasing your lips hungrily. The other rested on the small of your back, his fingers grasping at your clothes like you'd slip away otherwise.

You let your fingers slide up his chest, over the taut muscles of his shoulders, feeling the harsh beat of his heart under your fingertips, mirroring the frantic rhythm in your own chest.

The kiss was heated, raw, and filled with unspoken words. Theo's grip tightened, the tips of his fingers digging in enough that you winced, and a quiet groan fell from your lips. His breath was hot against your skin as he pulled away just enough to press his forehead to yours. His hand drifted to your face, cupping it like you were the most precious thing on earth.

His eyes searched yours — torn, conflicted, filled with a mixture of guilt and something deeper. His lips parted as if he was going to say something, but he didn't. Instead, he closed the space between you once more, his kiss rough. Stripped of all restraint and filled only with desire.

His hands roamed again, pulling at your clothes with a sense of urgency that matched the frantic pulse of your heartbeat. There was no hesitation in how he moved, only the fierce need to feel something other than the heaviness inside him. To feel you, real and tangible, here with him.

Your back hit the mattress before you could even register moving, and Theo was climbing on top of you in an instant, caging you in between his arms. His lips found yours quickly, pressing desperate kisses across your lips, nose brushing against yours as he moved.

It didn’t feel like his usual tender kisses. It felt like there was something more, as if he was pouring all of the hurt and anger that had boiled up inside him into the kiss, and you were all too eager to take it.

Theo growled low in his throat as he tore his mouth from yours, only to bury it in the soft curve of your neck. His teeth sank into your skin, rough and unrelenting, leaving behind an angry, pulsing bruise.

“Theo—” you gasped, fingers digging into his shoulder as a sharp ache bloomed beneath his bite. But he didn’t respond— didn’t even seem to hear you. He was lost, wholly consumed by the feel of your body, by the desperate need to drown in something that wasn’t blood or guilt.

Your spine arched instinctively, pressing closer as he ravaged your neck with hungry, possessive nips. His hands moved blindly, tugging at your clothes with a desperation that bordered on frantic— stripping you like he couldn’t bear even an inch of fabric between you.

“So fucking gorgeous…” he breathed against your skin, voice gravelly and low. His hand snaked down to grasp at your chest, kneading roughly at your tits.

Your head tilted back as a moan tore from your throat, and Theo groaned at the sound— low and wrecked— like it shattered something within him.

“Fuck— do that again,” he muttered, his mouth hot and desperate against your collarbone. His fingers grasping at your nipple and pinching, rolling it between his fingers.

You writhed underneath him, moaning softly, and Theo swore under his breath— something guttural and half-feral. Something that only made you want to moan louder, to give him that satisfaction.

“Drives me fucking mad…” he rasped, lips trailing down your chest. “You don’t even know.”

His mouth wrapped around your nipple without warning, sucking hard enough to make you jolt, his teeth grazing at the sensitive flesh just shy of too rough. His hand slipped between your thighs, forcing them apart with a bruising grip.

“All I think about—” he muttered into your skin, voice breaking. “All fucking day.”

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his own dark and glazed over with need. “You make it stop.” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your skin, “The only time I can breathe is when I’m inside you.”

You barely had time to process his words before his fingers slid underneath the waistband of your panties, dragging them down with a rough urgency that made your breath catch. He didn’t wait for your permission, pressing two fingers against your heat, swearing under his breath as he felt how wet you already were.

“Fuck,” he muttered as if it hurt, “you’re soaked for me— always are, aren’t you?”

Your hips bucked into his touch and his eyes snapped up to meet yours, tearing away from between your thighs as if it pained him to look away. “You love this, don’t you?” He growled, “Letting me ruin you like this.”

He pressed inside quickly, thick fingers filling you, and your cry only encouraged him to work quicker, pushing in and out of you with ease.

“That’s it,” Theo murmured, eyes mesmerised by the way his fingers disappeared inside of you. “Taking it so well, good girl.”

“T-Theo!” You gasped, eyes screwing shut as he continued his ministrations.

At the sound of your voice he smirked, dragging his thumb to your clit and drew small circles, working you open quickly. His mouth still panting against your throat, watching the way you writhed and moaned, “Gonna fuck you so hard you won’t remember your own name.”

Your thighs trembled as he pumped his fingers into you, whispering filthy words of praise as you whimpered and writhed beneath him. Each thrust felt precise and punishing, his palm grinding against your clit in the most delicious way.

Theo’s mouth was everywhere— biting at your throat, licking over bruises he’d just made, his tongue catching on your pulse point like he needed to taste how alive you were beneath him. Like that alone was enough to keep him grounded.

“God,” he rasped, pulling his hand back to strip the rest of his clothes from his body, barely breaking contact with your sensitive skin. “Gonna lose my fucking mind.” He groaned.

Your legs parted instinctively as he adjusted, and he caught your thighs in his palms, humming approvingly as you opened yourself up to him. His cock was rock hard, the tip glistening with pre cum as he lined himself up, then paused, his eyes meeting yours.

“This what you wanted?” He asked roughly, unable to stop himself from pressing forward just slightly. “Say it. Tell me.” He urged.

“Yes,” you panted, “Theo, please—”

He didn’t let you finish.

He pushed in with a hard thrust, one that knocked the air from your lungs as he buried himself to the hilt in one desperate motion. Your walls clenching around him, causing his body to shudder above you and a strangled sound breaking in his throat.

“Fuck, baby. So tight.” He gritted out, head falling against your shoulder as he started to move. “So perfect for me.”

Every thrust was hard, deliberate— like if he buried himself deep enough he could fuck the memories out of his head. You could feel it in the way his hands gripped your body, the way his rhythm faltered every time you gasped his name.

Your back arched as he drove into you, unrelenting, each thrust dragging little gasps from your throat. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, wet and filthy and desperate, and the broken moans he drew from you only matched the obscene sounds.

“Fuck, you feel—” he choked out, voice raw with need, “—so fucking good. Can’t think— can’t fucking breathe.”

His fingers bruised your hips, dragging you back onto him as if he needed you closer. His mouth finding yours in a kiss that was all heat, and teeth, and breathless groans. You whimpered into his mouth, nails clawing at his back and he only hissed through his teeth, the pain spurring him on.

“Theo— fuck— Theo,” you gasped, head tipping back as your body began to tremble beneath him, your orgasm fast approaching.

He snapped his hips harder, faster, his thrusts turning punishing as he chased both your pleasure and his own oblivion. His face burried in your neck, breath ragged and uneven as he panted against your skin.

“Gonna cum,” he groaned, biting down hard on your shoulder. “Gonna come inside you— fuck— can’t stop—can’t—”

You cried out as your orgasm hit, clenching around him like a vice, your whole body seizing from the sheer force of it. Your orgasm triggered Theo’s and he tipped over the edge just after you. His thrusts faltered as he spilled into you with a low, guttural sound, his hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself, still clutching onto you tightly.

You were still catching your breath when his body finally stilled, the frantic pace giving way to a trembling stillness as he collapsed on top of you. His hands, once gripping onto your hips harder enough to bruise, loosened quickly— like he was suddenly now aware of how lost in the moment he had been.

His forehead dropped once more, pushing against your shoulder as his damp curls brushed against your skin and he exhaled shakily. For a long moment he didn’t move, just breathed, shallow, broken breaths against your collarbone.

“Shit— I’m sorry,” he mumbled, barely audible. “I didn’t mean to— fuck. I just… I didn’t know where else to put it.”

Your hand rose instinctively, fingers threading through his curls, massaging lightly.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you murmured against his hair, “You’re allowed to let it out.”

He hummed absently, and his arms tightened around you. Clutching on like you were the only thing keeping him afloat. “I love you so much.” He mumbled in an exhausted voice.

Your boots scuffed against the ground as you moved further into the village. The two of you were heading to the Three Broomsticks, the plan was simple—grab a drink, relax after a long day of classes, maybe complain about Professor Snape’s never-ending slew of potions homework. It was just a regular outing, and yet something tugged at the back of your mind.

"Thinking about something?" Mattheo's voice broke your thoughts, his tone casual.

You shook your head with a light laugh. "Just tired, I guess. Snape's been killing me with that essay."

He smiled, a crooked grin that you'd seen a hundred times before, though today it seemed to twist just a little at the edges. "Yeah, I bet. Maybe you should let me finish it for you."

Your eyes flicked to his, catching a glimpse of something beneath his playful offer, but you waved it off, smiling. "Tempting, but you’re just as behind as I am,” you muttered with a laugh.

Later that night, alone in your dorm, you sat on the edge of your bed, absentmindedly running your fingers over the soft fabric of your quilt. The silence of the castle was deafening, interrupted only by the soft rustle of the wind outside your window. You’d been feeling uneasy lately, a creeping sensation that someone had been in your room when you weren’t.

It started small; little things out of place. A book moved an inch from where you left it, a shirt from your wardrobe lying in the middle of your floor when you distinctly remembered hanging it up. And then there were the notes.

You leaned over, picking up a small piece of paper from your nightstand, your fingers tracing the unnerving script. The note was brief, cryptic, and yet there was a strange intimacy to it:

"Thinking of you again. Your scent still lingers here. Until next time... Yours, truly."

Your breath hitched as you reread it for the hundredth time, the soft flutter of your heart betraying the anxiety that clung to your skin. You didn’t know what to make of it—this was the fifth note you’d found in your room over the past month. The first few had been vague, unsettling, but this one… this one felt too close, too intimate.

It wasn’t just the notes anymore. Something had been missing lately—your favorite pair of panties, the ones you swore you had washed and placed back in your drawer. You’d torn your room apart looking for them, but they were gone, as if plucked from your very hands.

The days blurred into each other after that, each one marked by small but unsettling incidents that chipped away at your sense of security. Every night, as you climbed into bed, you felt the prickling sensation of eyes on you, the eerie certainty that you weren’t alone.

Your things continued to go missing. Another pair of panties vanished, and this time, you found a new set of lingerie in their place. Black lace, far too revealing for your usual taste, but still pretty. Whoever he was, he knew exactly what you liked, or worse, what he wanted you to like.

“Sorry about your panties. Hope this makes up for it. Yours truly.”

The thrill of fear, mingled with something you couldn’t quite place, crawled up your spine as you read the note and stared at the lace set lying innocently in your drawer. You picked it up, feeling the delicate fabric between your fingers, and your heart hammered in your chest. There was something undeniably intimate about it, something that stirred a dark, shameful excitement deep within you. But just as quickly, disgust washed over you.

You weren’t supposed to feel this way—this twisted sense of thrill at the thought of being watched, of being wanted. It was wrong. It was dangerous. You shook your head, pushing the thoughts away, shoving the lingerie to the back of your drawer, hidden beneath layers of clothes you rarely wore.

The next day, you found yourself alone with Mattheo again, this time in the library. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t told him yet—it should have been the first thing out of your mouth, but as he sat beside you, so close you could feel the heat from his body, the words felt stuck in your throat.

“Something on your mind?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, the familiar rasp soothing your nerves.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I… I think I have a stalker.”

There. You’d said it. Finally.

Mattheo’s hand stilled on the page of his book, his expression unreadable as he turned to look at you. His eyes darkened slightly, but his voice remained casual. “A stalker? Why do you think that?”

You hesitated, glancing around the library to make sure no one could overhear. “Someone’s been… leaving me notes. And things are going missing—personal things. Like… like my underwear,” you admitted with an embarrassed blush. “It’s been happening for weeks.”

Mattheo’s lips twitched into a small smile, like he was holding back a laugh. “Notes, huh? Like love notes?”

“Something like that,” you muttered, feeling embarrassed. “It’s creepy. They know things about me, Mattheo. They’ve been in my room, I can feel it.”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze unreadable. Then, to your surprise, he chuckled softly. “What, you think your stalker is going to steal more of your panties?”

You blinked, heat rushing to your face. “What?”

His eyes gleamed with amusement as he leaned in closer. “Why don’t you lend them to me? I’ll keep them safe for you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, a strange, electric thrill rushing through your veins. It was a joke, just a stupid joke. Just Mattheo being his dumb, idiotic, flirty self, right?

Right?

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, Mattheo’s words still hanging in the air between you, but his words somehow managed to get a laugh out of you.

"Very funny," you muttered, hoping to brush it off, to make the tension disappear. But Mattheo didn’t move away.

"I’m serious," he said, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down your spine. "If you’re worried about this stalker, I could help you. Keep an eye on things for you."

You looked up at him, surprised by the sudden intensity in his tone. For a second, your heart fluttered at the offer—it was sweet in a way, protective. But there was something else there too, something in the way he stared at you, unblinking, as if waiting for something more than just your thanks.

You shook your head, trying to clear the haze of confusion. "I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine. It’s probably nothing, anyway."

But Mattheo didn’t look convinced. He reached out, his hand grazing your arm in a way that felt too intimate for the moment, his fingers lingering longer than necessary. "Just… let me know if you need anything, yeah? I’d hate for something to happen to you."

The way he said it made your pulse quicken, but not in the way it should have. Something about the way he looked at you, the possessiveness in his eyes… it felt like he wasn’t offering to protect you from someone else. It felt like he was offering to protect you from himself.

The afternoon sun casted a golden light through the window as you sat cross-legged on Mattheo's bed. The casual atmosphere between you both felt easy, natural, just like it used to. He was sitting close beside you, flipping through the pages of his sketchbook, showing you various drawings and doodles.

Suddenly, there was a sharp knock at the door. Mattheo stood up quickly, glancing over his shoulder at you as he crossed the room. “Be right back.”

You watched him disappear through the door, leaving you alone in his room. The weight of his sketchbook rested in your lap, its pages slightly worn from use, inviting curiosity. Mattheo had been showing you sketches of animals, abstract patterns, and even a few architectural designs, but there was something about the way he had kept skipping pages—flipping past them too quickly—that had piqued your interest.

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the corner of the page he had left off on. Your curiosity got the better of you and with a small breath, you flipped through the book, turning page after page, until something stopped you cold.

There, scrawled in Mattheo’s messy handwriting, was your name.

The sketches had changed. No longer harmless doodles or intricate designs, these were disturbingly familiar. Images of you—detailed, painstakingly crafted sketches of your face, your body, your every expression. In some of them, you were asleep, peaceful and unaware. In others, you were undressing, your eyes looking in a way that made your stomach twist. But it wasn’t just the drawings that made your breath catch in your throat. It was the words.

"I envy the oxygen she breathes. She is woven into every one of my thoughts, like some sick, twisted addiction. Everywhere, sewn into the fabric of my very being."

You froze, your pulse quickening as your eyes darted over the lines, the obsessive thoughts spilling onto the page.

“There’s something intoxicating about her. It’s maddening, really. The way she moves, like she’s made of something I can never fully grasp, but I will. I’ll have all of her soon enough. Her body, her mind, her soul. They’re mine for the taking, and she won’t be able to resist me. She was created to belong to me, to be consumed by me. She just doesn’t know it yet."

A cold chill spread through you, your hands trembling as you turned the page. Each entry was worse than the last. Paragraphs describing you: your movements, your habits, your quirks. He had detailed the way you laughed, the way you spoke, even the way you walked, as if he’d been studying you for years. But the words were laced with something much darker, much more dangerous.

"No one else even deserves her. She was meant for me, and only me. Every part of her will bend to my will, whether she wants it or not. And the best part? She’ll love it."

You were shaking now, horrified by the realization that crept over you like a shadow. The stolen items, the missing lingerie, the notes left in your room—it wasn’t just anyone. It was Mattheo. He was your stalker. And your best friend.

Your breath hitched, your eyes wide as you flipped further into the book. There were sketches of you in positions you had never been in, drawings of your naked form, detailed and disturbingly intimate. In some, you were lying on his bed, your limbs tangled in the sheets, your body contorted in ways that made your skin crawl. In others, you were seated at your desk, working, completely unaware that someone was watching.

A creak at the door made you jump, slamming the sketchbook shut as Mattheo casually stepped back into the room. His face was relaxed, his usual charming smile in place as he sauntered over to you, his eyes flicking briefly to the book in your hands. “Sorry about that,” he said, his voice light.

“Who was at the door?” you asked, your voice shaking slightly as you placed the sketchbook back on the bed, hoping he wouldn’t notice how flushed your cheeks were.

Mattheo studied you for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he sensed something was off. But then his smirk widened, and he shrugged. “Just some guy asking about homework. Nothing important.” His gaze lingered on your face, his eyes sharp, calculating. He stepped closer, and you instinctively scooted back, trying to put more space between the two of you.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, his tone casual, but there was something predatory in his eyes now, a glint that made your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

You nodded quickly, laughing nervously. "Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all."

He didn’t believe you. You could tell by the way he moved, his body hovering closer to yours. He was your best friend, after all. Of course he knew when you were lying.

He picked up the sketchbook and flipped it open. And then, with a knowing smirk, he glanced up at you.

"You know," he said, his voice dropping into something more intimate. "I’m not quite done with this one yet." He tapped a sketch of you, his finger tracing the lines of your figure. "I know you looked through my book."

You froze, your blood turning to ice. There was no point in denying it. He had caught you. But before you could respond, he closed the book, his gaze locking onto yours with a twisted intensity.

"It’s alright," he said softly, a sinister edge to his tone. "You were bound to find out at some point." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Now you know how bad I want you. How bad I need you."

Your breath hitched, panic surging through you as you stared at him, the reality of the situation settling in. “Mattheo, I—”

He cut you off as he leaned back, arms crossed. "It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t have to be scared." He smirked, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You’ll learn to like it."

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as you tried to steady your breathing. “What if I don’t want to be yours?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with fear.

Mattheo’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. He chuckled softly, his voice dark and mocking. “You’re already mine.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel the walls closing in, your heart pounding in your chest as Mattheo’s possessive gaze remained locked on you.

Every part of your body screamed for you to get up, to leave, to run. But you couldn't. It was as if the intensity in his dark eyes pinned you to the spot, freezing you in place.

You forced yourself to look away, staring down at your hands clasped tightly in your lap. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of everything.

The boy you thought you knew never even existed.

You had to get out. Now.

Summoning every ounce of strength, you forced yourself to stand, your legs unsteady as you stepped away from the bed. "I should go," you muttered, your voice barely audible as you avoided his gaze. "I just remembered I have some homework to finish, so I'll—"

Before you could take another step, Mattheo's hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a firm grip. "You're not going anywhere."

The way he said it, with such casual confidence, made your stomach twist. His grip on your wrist wasn't painful, but it was enough to remind you that he was in control here. You weren't leaving until he let you.

"Mattheo..." You tugged at your wrist, but his grip tightened. "Let go.”

Instead of releasing you, he pulled you back toward him, the sudden movement making you stumble slightly as you fell back onto the bed. His hands were on you in an instant, one gripping your arm, the other gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. The contrast between his possessive hold and the softness of his touch made your skin crawl.

He wasn't rough, but there was an unspoken authority in the way he held you, like he was reminding you that leaving wasn't an option.

"Don't be scared," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. "I would never hurt you, Y/N. You know that."

You shuddered at his words, the gentle tone doing nothing to quell the fear twisting in your gut. "Mattheo, please. This isn't right. You're my friend, we're—"

"Friends?" he interrupted, his voice dripping with mockery as he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. "Is that what you think we are? Friends?" He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered darkly, "You have no idea how I long for you."

Your body stiffened, your mind racing as you tried to make sense of what was happening. This wasn't the Mattheo you knew. The Mattheo who had always been protective, teasing, and affectionate in a way that felt like a safe harbor. The boy who made you held and held you when you cried. This was someone else entirely—someone whose obsession with you had festered into something scary.

"I've always been there, haven't I?" he murmured, his voice low. "Always looking out for you, always keeping you safe. And yet, you never see me, Y/N. You never notice how much l've done for you, how much I've sacrificed. But that's going to change now."

You swallowed hard, your heart racing in your chest as his words cut through the air like a knife. "I see you, Mattheo," you whispered, your voice shaky. "I've always seen you."

He chuckled softly, his grip on your arm loosening just enough to let you breathe, but not enough to let you escape. "No, you don't. You see what I let you see." His eyes darkened, his gaze flickering over your face with a twisted hunger that made your skin prickle. "But now? Now you'll see everything."

Mattheo's eyes lingered on your face, studying every flicker of emotion as if he were dissecting you, peeling away every layer. He was close enough now that you could smell the faint scent of smoke and cologne that always clung to him. It was overwhelming, suffocating.

Your pulse hammered in your ears, panic rising as you tried to pull your wrist from his grasp. But he held firm, his smile never faltering as he watched you struggle. It wasn't a fight; it was a game to him, and you were losing.

"Mattheo, please," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I... I don't understand."

His smile faded slightly, his eyes darkening as he leaned in even closer, his breath hot against your skin. "I think you understand perfectly," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're scared, Y/N. But part of you likes it. Part of you wants this."

Your heart skipped a beat, fear and confusion twisting together in a sickening knot in your chest. You shook your head, trying to deny it, but the truth was... part of you was drawn to him. Part of you had always been drawn to him. The way he looked at you, the way he made you feel like you were the center of his universe. It was intoxicating.

And now, even though you were terrified, even though you knew this was wrong, that same twisted attraction lingered beneath the surface.

He saw it. He knew.

"See?" he whispered, his fingers brushing softly at your temple. "You love this, Y/N. And deep down, you know it."

You pulled back, your breath coming in short, panicked bursts as you tried to process everything. You had to get out of here. You had to leave. But as you stood, Mattheo's hand shot out again, this time grabbing your waist, pulling you back down onto the bed beside him.

"You're not leaving," he said softly, his voice low and commanding. "You can’t.”

Your heart raced, your mind screaming at you to fight, to scream, to do something.

But all you could do was sit there, frozen, as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

"You were made for me," he whispered, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “I was made for you.”

Before you could protest, his hand was on your thigh, squeezing gently, his fingers inching dangerously high. The heat of his touch burned through your skin, leaving you breathless. You should have pushed him away, you should have fought, but your body betrayed you, sinking into the mattress as if every nerve was alive, reacting to him.

"You want this," he whispered, his lips grazing your neck now. “I can feel it, Y/N. I can feel how much you want me."

You whimpered, trying to deny it, but he was right. The truth settled deep inside you, a dark, shameful desire that you had buried for so long, now rising to the surface under his touch.

His hand slid further up, teasing the edge of your skirt as his breath ghosted over your skin, making you shiver. “Just say it," he murmured, his voice low and commanding. “Tell me you're mine."

You squeezed your eyes shut, a soft gasp escaping your lips as his fingers grazed the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice dark and commanding, his hand tightening on your leg. "Say you're mine, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched, the tension between you snapping like a live wire. The fear, the desire, the confusion—they all blended together until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

The words caught in your throat, refusing to come out. Your mind screamed at you to push him away, to run, to do anything but give in to this sick, twisted game he was playing. But your body wouldn't listen. It arched into him, craving more of his touch.

Deep down, you knew it was true. You were his. But you couldn’t say it. You wouldn’t say it out loud.

Mattheo's fingers stilled on your thigh, a frown tugging at his lips as you remained silent.

Then, slowly, he slid his hand away from your leg, letting it fall to his side as he pulled back. His eyes met yours, dark and intense, burning with a fire that both terrified and thrilled you.

"No matter," he said softly, a dangerous undertone to his voice. "We have all the time in the world for you to come around."

A chill ran down your spine at the implication and you swallowed hard. This wasn't over. Far from it. This was only the beginning and deep down, some twisted part of you couldn't wait to see what came next.

You opened your mouth to speak, to demand answers, to threaten him with exposure, but no sound came out. Because deep down, you knew it would be useless. He held all the cards, and you both knew it.

So instead, you simply nodded, a tiny, jerky movement of your chin. Acceptance. Resignation. Defeat.

Mattheo smiled then, triumphant, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction. He reached out, cupping your cheek in his palm.

"That's my good girl.”

His thumb traced your lower lip, a gentle caress that contrasted the darkness in his eyes. Slowly, he leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours. His free hand slid to the back of your neck, tangling in your hair, holding you in place.

"I'm going to ruin you for anyone else," he whispered, his voice low and seductive.

With that promise hanging heavy in the air, he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

His kiss was demanding and possessive, a claim that resonated deep within you, and it sent a jolt of electricity through your system.

You melted into him, your hands reaching up to clutch at his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he explored your mouth with a hunger that matched your own twisted cravings.

Mattheo groaned into the kiss, his control slipping as he tasted your sweetness once again. Each stroke of your tongue against his sent sparks of pleasure coursing through his veins.

He pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss only to trail his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the tender skin there. His hands roamed freely over your body, exploring curves and valleys with a growing impatience.

He needed more. More of your taste, more of your warmth, more of your submission. And he intended to take everything you offered and then some.

With a growl of frustration, he tore himself away from you, his breath coming in ragged pants and his eyes dark with lust.

"Stand up," he commanded, his voice rough with need. "Let's get these clothes off."

You blinked up at him, your body still humming from the intensity of his kiss. You felt dazed, disoriented, as if you'd been swept away by a tidal wave of emotions and sensations.

But you obeyed, pushing yourself up onto shaky legs. As you stood, you pushed your skirt down for it to fall to the floor, revealing your bare thighs and the lacy panties that clung to your hips.

You glanced down at yourself, suddenly aware of how exposed you were. But you didn't move to cover yourself, you didn't even think about it. Instead, you looked back at Mattheo, waiting for his next command.

Mattheo's eyes raked over your form, taking in every curve and dip with an appreciative glance. The sight of you standing there, vulnerable and waiting, was enough to make his cock twitch with anticipation.

Without wasting another second, he stepped closer, his hands moving to the hem of your shirt. With a swift tug, he pulled it over your head, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze. They were perfect, full and firm, with nipples that hardened instantly at his perusal.

He bent down, his mouth descending upon your left tit, his tongue swirling around the nipple before taking it into his mouth. He pinched the other, hard, drawing a pained squeal from your lips, but the pain only had you clenching your thighs harder. He sucked hard, relishing the moan that escaped your lips before pushing you back down on the bed, his mouth staying latched on as you moved.

You cried out, your back arching off the bed as his mouth worked magic on your sensitive flesh. Your fingers gripped uselessly at the comforter beneath you.

Your other breast throbbed, aching for attention, and you whimpered in protest when he released your nipple with a wet pop. But that was quickly forgotten when you felt his hands sliding down your stomach, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties.

In one smooth motion, he pushed the delicate fabric aside, baring your most intimate parts to his greedy gaze. You should have felt exposed, maybe nervous, but all you could focus on was the heat building between your thighs, the slickness coating your folds as your body prepared for him.

Mattheo's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of your glistening sex, the evidence of your arousal clear for him to see. A smug smile played at his lips as he settled between your thighs, his breath ghosting over your heated flesh.

"You're so wet for me already," he murmured, his fingers tracing teasing patterns along your inner thighs. "Such a needy little thing, aren't you?"

Without warning, he leaned in and dragged his tongue along your slit, groaning at the taste of you. He licked and suckled at your clit, his fingers spreading you open wider, allowing him better access to your dripping core.

He thrust two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out at a steady rhythm as his tongue continued its relentless assault on your sensitive clit.

Your body thrashed around a bit, your nails digging into Mattheo's scalp as waves of pleasure crashed over you. His fingers pumped in and out of you, stretching your walls, while his tongue danced across your clit, sending sparks of ecstasy shooting through your veins.

"Oh god, oh god," you chanted, your voice high and breathy, hips bucking wildly against his face. "That feels... it feels so good..."

Just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, Mattheo added a third finger, scissoring them inside you as he sucked harder on your clit.

“‘s too much!” you whined as you writhed around.

Mattheo smirked against your pussy, loving the way you squirmed beneath him. He could tell you were close, but he wasn't about to let you cum just yet.

He continued his ministrations, his tongue flicking rapidly over your swollen clit while his fingers curled inside you, stroking the sweet spot hidden deep within your cunt.

He lifted his head slightly, looking up at you with lust-filled eyes. "Not yet," he growled, his voice muffled by your soaked pussy. "You're not allowed to cum without my permission."

His fingers curved deeper inside you, hitting that magical spot that sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your trembling body. Your walls clamped down on him instinctively, attempting to suck his fingers deeper.

“Say it. Say you’re mine and I’ll let you cum,” he growled against your pussy, the way you’d refused to admit it earlier was clearly still lingering through his mind.

Mattheo waited, his tongue hovering just above your sensitive clit, refusing to grant you the relief you so desperately craved. The silence stretched between you, broken only by your ragged breathing.

He watched your face contort in a mix of pleasure and frustration, your hips straining upward in a futile attempt to chase the orgasm he was denying you. The sight only served to stoke his own desire, his cock throbbing almost painfully in his boxers.

"Just admit you were made for me," he purred, his voice low and husky with lust.

He traced lazy circles around your clit with the tip of his tongue, keeping just out of reach of the sensitive bundle of nerves. He could see the war you were fighting between your body and your mind.

"I know you want to say it," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "I can feel it in the way your body responds to my touch."

He dipped his head lower, dragging the flat of his tongue along your dripping slit before prodding at your entrance with the tip. He savored the taste.

"No…” you whimpered, your walls clenching around nothing. “No.”

Mattheo ignored your denials, knowing full well that they were half-hearted at best. He could smell your arousal, see the way your body responded to his touches, how desperately you were trying to fuck his face.

"Admit it," he commanded again, his voice laced with authority and raw desire. "Tell me you belong to me."

He plunged his fingers deep inside you once more, curling them up to stroke that sensitive spot within your depths. The action elicited another moan from you, your body desperately convulsing around his hand as if begging for more.

"Or do I need to drill it into your head in a different way?”

And with that, he retracted his fingers from your quivering pussy. In one swift motion, he flipped you onto your stomach, positioning you just right, the new angle leaving your ass up and presented for him.

Mattheo gripped your hips tightly, his gaze fixed upon your plump ass exposed to him in such an alluringly degrading pose.

Splattering a generous dollop of saliva onto your trembling hole, he pressed his hands against the mattress next to your head. With his legs on either side of yours, he pressed the tip of his cock firmly against your entrance. With a push of sheer primal desire, Mattheo drove his hard shaft into your pussy for the first time, filling your tight space completely.

You arched your back, pushing your ass higher against him, silently urging him to move, to claim you fully.

As Mattheo began to thrust, you couldn't help but moan, the sound muffled by the pillow as you buried your face in it. Each stroke sent waves of ecstasy crashing through you, your pussy gripping him like a hungry fist, desperate for more.

"Yes... fuck me..."

Mattheo groaned deeply, reveling in the way your cunt gripped him so tightly. His large hands roamed over your plump ass cheeks, smacking them with enough force to leave marks. A sick satisfaction coursed through him as he heard the loud slapping sound echo throughout the room, knowing it would leave visible evidence of what the two of you had done.

"You love this don't you?" he hissed into your ear, his voice rough with desire. "Taking it like a good little slut."

Each word was punctuated by another vicious thrust, deeper, harder than before. Mattheo felt his cock twitch inside you, anticipating the impending orgasm that promised to be explosive.

“Fuck..." he grunted, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. "Your pussy's so fucking tight around me."

Your body moved instinctively, meeting each of his thrusts with a matching rhythm, your own hips grinding back against him. You could hardly form coherent thoughts, let alone words, but the moans and whimpers escaping your lips spoke volumes.

"Oh god..." you breathed out, the words barely audible above the symphony of flesh slapping against flesh. "More... please... Harder…”

The sight of your reddened ass bouncing with each thrust was almost too much for him to handle. With a dark chuckle, he gripped your hips with bruising force, using the leverage to pound into you even harder.

“That’s my girl. Never forgets to say please, so polite even when she’s being fucked dumb out of her mind.”

As he continued to brutally rut into your sopping cunt, he wrapped a strand of your hair around his finger and yanked sharply, forcing you to yelp and arch your back further.

"This is what you needed, isn't it? To be ruined by your best friend, the guy who’s dreamed of having you like this for so fucking long.”

He released your hair only to grip the swell of your ass harder, pulling you back against his pelvis as he surged forward, burying himself to the hilt inside you once more.

"I'm going to fill you up until you're dripping with it, mark you inside and out as mine."

Just as Mattheo was about to reach his peak, you suddenly clenched around him like a vice, your inner walls fluttering wildly as you came undone. A gush of warm fluid squirted out around his pistoning cock, drenching his balls and the sheets below.

“Fuck!" Mattheo growled, his thrusts becoming erratic as your orgasm triggered his own. With a final, brutal slam of his hips, he buried himself to the root inside your spasming cunt and let go, pumping stream after stream of hot cum deep into your womb.

For several moments, you remained locked together, Mattheo's softening cock still lodged inside your twitching pussy as you both struggled to catch your breath.

Panting heavily, Mattheo slowly withdrew from your spent body, his cock sliding free easily. He flipped you onto your back before reaching for his nightstand drawer.

Still so worn out, you struggled to make sense of what he pulled out when suddenly, the blade of silver became visible.

Mattheo's grip on the knife tightened as he brought it into view, the steel glinting menacingly in the dim light. He pressed the flat of the blade to the underside of your chin, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to make his point clear.

"I love you,” he said softly, his tone contrasting the dangerous intent in his eyes. "And because I love you, I’m going to make sure you never forget it again.”

He trailed the knife downwards gently, following the valley of your sweat and saliva covered tits before resting the tip against your lower abdomen. The cold metal contrasted starkly with the heat of your skin, raising goosebumps in its wake.

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding against your ribcage. “What are you doing, Mattheo?” you whispered.

"Don’t worry, baby," he purred, tracing the knife lightly over your stomach. "You know I’d never hurt you… At least, not in any way you won't enjoy."

With a sudden movement, he yanked you closer by your legs, gently trailing the knife over your inner thighs.

As soon as the words left his lips, Mattheo brought the knife down, ready to leave his mark upon your shaking thigh.

"I swear I love you, Y/N," he whispered. "I just want you to make this easier for yourself and love me back.”

With a resigned whisper, you let out a soft, “Okay.”

The knife bit into your skin, carving a perfect 'M' into the tender flesh of your inner thigh. Your quiet cry echoed through the room as blood welled up from the wound, trickling down your leg. And it was then that you realized, even if you could stop him right now, you wouldn’t. Because something about this pain, the pain only he could give you, felt good.

It wasn’t long before there was a red outline of the letters, “MR,” on your skin, searing with both pain and pleasure.

He ran his finger along the freshly carved letters, a sick sort of satisfaction washing over him at the sight of your branded flesh. He leaned down to press his lips over the wound, almost as if it were a simple paper cut that would feel better with a kiss.

When he pulled away with your blood smeared over his mouth, his palm covered the red skin firmly, applying pressure to somewhat ease the pain you felt.

Mattheo rose back up from his place near your thighs so he could plant a kiss on your forehead, his free hand tenderly brushing the hair out of your face, his demeanor completely flipped. “You took that so well, my love. So perfect. You’re going to be okay. You’re okay, yeah?”

kinktober taglist: @mattheoriddles-sluttt @theeslutintheroom @esmerai-artemis @gigival @cloudyyydayzzz @sn000py @abeoavita @yesiamthatwierd @shaquilles-0atmeal @roseofsharron438 @iouinotes @romantasyreader28 @daenerystorgaryen @emma-grace0 @tori-303 @ilovehpb0ys

You sigh deeply. “Yes, I have. If you didn’t decide to be busy tonight and leave me to go by myself, we could’ve worn that matching set I got us. Your fault, really.”

“Next year, then.” he replies, flipping through the pages of the newspaper he retrieved from your nightstand—stopping briefly at the main article of the day.

“Serial killer still at large as investigators celebrate their first breakthrough in the case—public urged to stay alert and lock doors.”

He reads out loud, his eyes flicking back to you, currently doing your makeup for the night.

You nod absentmindedly at the information, continuing with your eyeliner. “I have heard they caught a few seconds of video material of him with a security camera. Dark hair, tall. Unbothered by the blood on his hands.”

Your boyfriend then shuts the paper with a disapproving huff, tossing it in the trash. “I should be home when the party ends. Give me a call, and I will pick you up.”

“Are you afraid he might get me next?” You laugh half-heartedly, briefly turning to look at him. “I don’t think his main target are young women—like me.”

He merely scoffs, raising an eyebrow. “You never know.”

You just smile, discarding the thought as quickly as it came.

“He should be a bit more careful next time if he doesn’t wish to be caught anyway, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps he should.”

・・・・・

Getting to the party is not the issue. Your friends pick you up, already handing you a warm-up cocktail before you even step out of your front door. The sun has already set, darkness enveloping you save for the flickering street light your city’s road workers have not yet fixed—children a few houses further trick or treating.

A shiver runs down your spine when a cool breeze sweeps past you, revealing your costume—and of course it catches your friends’ attention, disapproving looks coming your way as they scold you for wearing the same outfit again. Which you, already more tired than you’d like to admit, can’t quite bring yourself to care about.

When you arrive at the club, you walk past a huge flickering neon ghost at the entrance, the arrow next to it pointing to the party room. It’s themed accordingly with carved pumpkins, plastic skeletons hung from the ceiling, smoke machines, and other decorations you don’t really pay attention to—too focused on the booming seasonal music and the possibly a few too manydrinks your girls hand during the course of the night.

And although you’re enjoying yourself, you grow exhausted quicker than you’d like—clearing the haze around your thoughts with two full glasses of water as you sit down at the bar, checking the time on your phone.

Twenty minutes past one in the morning. 

You don’t know the last time you stayed up this late, but with your tight schedule, it must have been weeks ago. 

Turning your head to scan the area for your friends, you think you see something—a tall shadow lurking in the corner of the room—but when your eyes return, it’s gone.

Weird, you think to yourself. Maybe you aren’t as sober as you believe to be.

So, you ask the bartender for another glass of water.

But your vision didn’t betray you.

The shadow you saw is real. And not just a shadow at all.

It’s him.

The person you convinced yourself you aren’t afraid of, who would never choose you as his next victim.

Though that is not your decision to make—his eyes, tinted in a dark shade of red, something near crimson, have been locked onto your figure ever since you entered the building that night.

Every step you take, every sway of your hips—every gentle smile you offer the bartender.

In reality, you have long been chosen.

Thirty minutes later, with still no sight of your friends, you withdraw your phone from your purse and check your notifications. Your boyfriend has not yet seen the message you sent around an hour ago.

You sigh in defeat, sinking back against the barstool, realising you will be here for a while longer.

・・・・・

“Yeah? Can you pick me up? I am like halfway home already.”

“Halfway home? As in—you walked all this way?” The voice coming from your speakers questions, laced with irritation.

“Nobody answered my calls, the club closed an hour ago. I didn’t have another choice.” You counter, annoyed at the pressure of your heels on your sore feet, which has blisters form on your skin. Nearly tripping over a loose cobblestone on the sidewalk does not ease your irritation, silently cursing your new mayor who cut the budget for road maintenance.

“I will be there in a bit. Don’t move.” Your boyfriend says, hurried footsteps accompanying his words. “Give me ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes,” you huff when you end the call just a second later. It’s freezing outside, and the last thing you need along your stress is a cold.

Your battery is at 2%, and just when you try to send him your location, your phone dies. Well, just great.

With an exasperated sigh, you shove it back inside your handbag, annoyed with yourself for leaving your powerbank at home and forgetting to properly charge your phone in the first place.

Figuring he’ll approach from the opposite direction anyway, you continue walking—as fast as you can with your aching legs.

It’s entirely dark now, only the bright full moon’s glow lighting your way. The next residential area is around half a kilometre away, and what you’re about to pass seems to be a small forest, trees shielding from the outside view.

You don’t think much of it.

The air around you is thick with humidity as it has rained the past few days, the biting cold weather of this late-October night slowly creeping up your thighs, making your muscles stiff and tingly. A shiver runs down your spine, and you clutch your purse just a little tighter.

Your outfit is cute, you know that, but a mini skirt in combination with a low cut crop top surely is not the ideal clothing to be wandering around in outside in the depths of the night.

The ten minutes he promised have long passed when you reach the part where the narrow street stretches through the woods, and for a moment—just briefly—doubt rises in your chest, an insistent pressure that thrums lowly against your ribcage.

An instinct, perhaps.

Suddenly, you remember your boyfriend’s words when he read the newspaper earlier today—serial killer, near your town, still out there.

He should have long been here by now.

No, you whisper to yourself. It’s pathetic to even think about this.

So, picking up your pace, you enter the shielded area, glancing around as you do.

Nothing. No sound, no light, no unusual movement.

You knew it.

Sighing in relief, you hurry on, cursing your damned heels for being this uncomfortable—though a screeching crow momentarily freezes you in place, eyes focusing on the spooked bird fleeing from the scene with thrashing wings.

Hm.

It’s okay, you reassure yourself, nearly having reached the other end—nothing is going to happen.

He is going to be here soon.

It’s all going to be—

“You are brave,” a voice from just a few metres away remarks, a branch snapping as footsteps near you. “Walking around at night with a serial killer in town. Aren’t you scared?”

Your entire body jolts when the raspy voice cuts through the dark, tranquil night, head snapping around to the source.

“What— who are you?” you whisper, instinctively taking a step backwards as you watch the figure coming closer.

Tom huffs a laugh, the corner of his lips lifting into a subtle smirk. “That I am afraid I cannot tell you, sweetheart.”

“I have to go my— uhh— boyfriend. He’ll be here soon,” you excuse yourself, adrenaline freely rushing through your body as you begin to run—or, in your heels, stumble—towards the next streetlight just outside the forest.

But Tom, he just watches in amusement. No one has ever—and no one will ever—escape his grasp before he decides he is done with them. And most people, well, they don’t escape at all—if you think you’re an exception, you are gravely mistaken.

He closes the distance to you in just three long strides.

“You needn’t worry about him, my love. He isn’t coming for you.”

“No, that’s not—“ you stutter, both because of the cold and the growing fear in the pits of your stomach. You should have listened not to walk home. “He’ll be there any second now I—“

A large, leather-clad hand clasps over your mouth and stops the words from spilling over your lips.

“Enough of this. I am done playing around.”

His second arm wraps around your waist, and with one smooth motion, he hauls you against him, dragging you back into the woods and hiding you from any possible distraction behind thick stems of fir trees.

You scream, you thrash, you claw at his skin and kick his shins. But his grip—his grip is iron. And in no way escapable.

“Please,” you gasp when he suddenly lets go of you, and you drop to your knees onto the muddy forest floor, the damp soil uncomfortably moist on your legs. “Please let me go!”

He scoffs, and only from the corner of your vision do you catch a knife’s handle poking from his pocket, a smooth metallic material catching in the blueish glow of the night.

Realisation dawns upon you.

Dark hair peeking from underneath the hood of his coat, eyes reflecting the moonlight—not silver, but crimson red. 

It’s him.

You try your best to convince him to spare you once more, heart pumping wildly against your ribcage, mind blurry with fear coursing through your veins. “I have money, I can give you anything you want, I—“

“Useless.” Tom interrupts you, unaffected and uninterested in your offer. “Useless, when all I desire is kneeling right before me in this very moment.”

You shake your head frantically, scrambling backwards, away from him. “No, no— no, please!”

Tom loves it. Loves taking a step closer for every few centimetres you manage to increase the distance between you two. Adores how gorgeous you look with tears stinging at your waterline, a most frightened expression carved into your features.

He wishes to make it permanent. His to keep. Forever.

He stops when he stands right before you, the moon’s dim light disappearing behind his tall, dark figure, and you instantly feel a chilly breeze replacing the last hope you’ve tried clinging on to. 

“Why are you shaking? I haven’t even properly touched you yet.”

Yet?

You don’t get to question his words and their intention any further—because just a moment later, he lowers himself to level your face, the knife you spotted earlier in one of his hands, inching closer to you.

Whimpering, you draw back—but his hand strikes forward, tangling in your hair and tugging on your roots so harshly, you wince sharply.

This sound and the sight of your first tear of the night running down your cheek have his trousers tightening over his quickly hardening length. “You’re even prettier when in pain. Knew you were a good catch.”

“Let— let me go!” you sob, pleading eyes meeting his—fully glowing red now.

“Let you go?” Tom repeats mockingly, flipping his knife so the sharp edge presses onto your pulse point. “I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

With a quick twist of his wrist, the tip breaches your skin just a little—though still enough to draw a drop of blood, which he brings to your face, smearing it along your quivering lips.

“I have a proposal,” he drawls then, blade slicing the fabric of your crop top open. “You let me have you—in any way I please—and I’ll let you live.”

You want to scream, cry, tell him he’s delusional if he really believes you’ll ever let him do that—but your will to survive outweighs what you have left of your dignity by far.

“A-anything.”

You catch the fiery glint in his eyes before he lets go of you—and you gasp as he stabs the knife into the soil, just a breath away from your thigh.

“Strip and ride it.”

You swallow in disbelief. “What?”

Smack!

His clothed palm collides with your left cheek with a loud crack, knocking the air from your lungs and leaving a hot, tingly feeling behind as your head snaps to the side.

“Do as I say. A dirty knife won’t cut as well, just so you know.”

Oh.

You quickly scramble to your feet, shaky fingers tugging your skirt and panties down your legs, ripped shirt already dangling off your side. You shiver against the cold—and yet, you don’t feel it. Don’t feel the chilly breezes brushing past you, because all you can focus on is him. 

Tom watches intently, his own hand reaching for the zipper of his trousers—letting them slip just far enough to reveal his aching cock, thick and heavy, leaking at the tip.

You haven’t caught on just yet—only when you, sobbing, lower yourself to your knees, the knife’s handle between your thighs prodding at your entrance, do you see it.

Alert eyes scanning him up and down, gulping down your thoughts when you realise his plan.

“You’re wasting my time here. Are you sure that’s what you want?”

You are quick to shake your head. “No, no, I don’t— I—“

“Speed the fuck up then, slut.” he growls, hand fisting in your hair again, making you sink down on the smooth handle.

Although it’s not of a relevant size, it still burns.

You don’t get to waste another thought on it, though. The glistening head of his cock drags over your lips, mixing your dried-up blood with his pearly white arousal, glowing eyes staring down at you.

“You know what happens when you use your teeth, I presume?”

You nod, biting back a sob.

“Good. Now open your mouth and suck. And you better do it with passion.”

As soon as you part your trembling lips, reluctantly so, he shoves himself inside—no break, no adjusting, doesn’t even wait for you to fully open your jaw for him.

You choke as soon as your nose is flush with his abdomen, throat constricting violently around him. But Tom, he only seems to grow more eager at that, holding you there until tears fall freely and you shake your head frantically.

“Just like that—that’s how I want it,” he rasps, hand dropping to his side. “Now, continue.”

Sniffling, you take him back into your mouth—gagging at merely the salty taste of him on your tongue. Your lips stretch taut around his cock, and you struggle to even take him halfway—but the fear helps.

“All the way down. Good girl, you can listen after all.”

This continues for God knows how long. Each time you aren’t able to take him wholly, he does it for you—hitting the back of your throat, burying himself to the hilt inside your warm mouth.

You wince at the stabbing pain in your jaw, tears spilling over your cheeks, mixing with your drool and making a mess on your tits—but to Tom, this is only encouraging.

“Can’t— please, I can’t,” you try, shaking your head, a string of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his flushed tip.

“In that case,” he scoffs, fingers tugging at your roots as he shoves you down on him again. “Let me be of assistance.”

Now, it’s him who sets the rhythm.

And it’s much worse than just moments ago. Each time he pushes inside you, he lifts you off the handle a few inches and makes you sink back down once he’s nestled inside all the way.

At this point, you don’t know what’s worse—the stabbing pain against your cervix, or the slick sounds of him hitting the back of your throat, echoing into the forest and coming back at you almost mockingly.

Weakly, you tap his thigh repeatedly—pleading for a break, for oxygen—anything. But Tom doesn’t listen to anyone’s pleas, and definitely not yours—not when you feel so good.

“Hmph— stop, can’t—“ you squeal, muffled by his cock. However, his hold doesn’t allow you to move a single inch. Instead, he makes you stay right there—until spit combined with his precum dribbles down your chin and you choke violently, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Tom loves it. Adores how tight you get when you’re running out of breath, how you’re shivering in the cold, knelt on wet leaves, branches scratching against your skin.

He loves it so much, he only lets you off once he feels your body go limp.

Pulling you off him with his hand still in your hair, he slaps you across your face again, hard. And as soon as your eyes regain their spark, blinking a few times—he pushes you forward onto your stomach, shoving your face into the damp soil.

“You better stay with me. The best part is about to begin, sweetheart.”

But you are too slow to catch on. Too slow to realise what he’s about to do until the silence is disrupted by a harsh slap on your exposed pussy, and he’s holding your legs down with his weight.

“No— my boyfriend, he—“ you cry, wriggling away from him—though you don’t make it far until he’s leaning over you, hot breath ghosting over your ear.

He hums. Low. Dangerous. It’s as though you can feel the smirk on his lips. “Your boyfriend would love watching me take you like this. Like a dirty whore.”

“You’re wrong, you’re— fuck, no!” Your protest is cut short by the sudden stretch of him entering you, forcing himself deeper even as you clench your thighs together.

It hurts. A blinding, white, hot ache between your thighs that sears through your nerves like wildfire and has a sharp screech tear from your throat—though, mumbled by the dirty black leather of his gloves, it rather resembles a tiny mouse than an honest scream for help.

He smirks.

At what, you don’t know exactly.

Maybe at your futile attempt to make noise, try to get someone to help.

Perhaps because you still believe that there is a way out—even when he’s already halfway inside of you, tearing and stabbing at your walls to push himself deeper.

Most likely though, you assume, at the fear in your eyes and the hurt etched into your features.

And you would be right.

“Stop! Please, it— it hurts!” you stumble over your words, hiccuping. Dragging your body away inch by inch over the filthy ground, only for him to pull you back onto his thick length.

The knife he’s withdrawn from the ground is back at your neck again, pressing more forcefully against the bare skin as a warning, just shy of cutting into your flesh. 

“Oh, but baby, your pussy is practically begging me to go deeper, deeper, deeper.” Each time he says it, he rolls his hips into yours—pushing deeper inch, by inch, by inch.

A tear rolls down your cheek. And Tom—he dips his head to trace the wet path with his tongue, licking them away.

It’s only briefly that his eyes drop where you’re connected—though immediately, satisfaction courses through him.

“Blood is my favourite lube, sweetheart. Good job.”

Fucking sick bastard.

He takes and he takes and he takes—until you’re reduced to nothing but a sobbing, trembling mess beneath him. Speared open on his thick cock, too weak to fight back.

The sound of his hips snapping against your own splits the stillness of the night, accompanied by your stifled sobs that he’s long told you to quit.

In reality, they push him to the edge faster than he wants.

“Sweet pussy getting so wet. Dirty girl.” Tom purrs, biting down at the side of your neck, thrusts growing rougher. “Going to leave her dripping with me, yeah?”

Your blood turns ice at his tone, feeling him pulse inside of you—eyes opening wide as you claw at his hand. “Mmph— don’t! fuck, don’t— please,”

Tom withdraws just a few inches then, and for a moment, you think he may listen to you, may have mercy—only for him to push back inside at once, the swollen head of his cock nudging painfully at your cervix.

“Look, she’s sucking me right back in. You can say stop all you want, I am not going to when your cunt is nearly begging me for it.”

You can’t do more than plead with him once more when he’s about to spill himself inside of you. Beg him to spare you, beg him to stop.

But you’re a fool to think he will.

Fresh tears spill over your waterline, your entire body trembling when you feel his warmth spill inside of you, painting your sore walls white with his release—his final thrust sharp, so deep it hurts.

He pulls out at once then, admiring the view. Spreading you apart when you weakly fight against his hands, two fingers pushing his cum back inside of you, even when you whimper in protest.

“Good girl, keep it in. All inside.”

Only with your last strength do you hear the faint sound of him getting dressed, quick footsteps carrying him away from the scene and leaving you by yourself.

Leaving with a memory that will forever be engraved in his brain.

A memory of you, wet and soaked in filth, spit and tears dribbling down your chin while his cum mixes with your blood between your thighs.

And oh, how Tom wishes he took a camera with him—it’s almost too bad you won’t remember much of this in the morning.

・・・・・

You wake, half an hour later perhaps. Tired eyes slowly blinking open, muscles burning excruciatingly as you try to lift yourself from the ground.

But you’re alive. Breathing, moving. 

Alive.

Scrambling to your legs, you don’t take the time to check yourself for injuries—drowsily stumbling home, first, weak sun rays already splitting the dark night sky when you leave the dark forest for good.

It’s not far, a kilometre perhaps—and yet, every step you take is pure agony.

Hot tears streak your cheeks as you sink into your soft mattress, drifting off to deep sleep just a moment later.

The next morning, or rather afternoon, when your eyes flutter open and your whole body aches, you curse yourself for not listening to your boyfriend. He always knows what is best for you, after all.

Taking in your roughed-up body in the bathroom mirror, you spot something unusual.

You think it’s a cross at first. A Christian cross, carved on the swell of your left breast—right above your heart. It thrums softly beneath the inflamed wound when you wipe the dried-up blood from your skin, and you wince in pain.

A cruel reminder of last night.

Soon, though, you figure it’s a T instead.

You know it’s a sign. A sign that you—and your heart—belong to him. To T. That he’ll come back one day to claim what is his. Your heart.

In what way—you aren’t sure you want to know.

── .✦ BONUS ENDING:

The door to your bathroom creaks open with a soft hum, and just a moment later, your boyfriend steps inside—circling his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

He looks at the both of you in the reflection of the mirror, a sly smirk playing on his lips as he studies your marks, some of them bruises, some of them cuts—and you return a soft smile when he places a kiss on the top of your head, caressing his hand along your slightly swollen cheek.

“Were you still successful last night, Tommy?” You ask, not having to turn as you meet his satisfied gaze in the mirror.

He hums lowly, trailing kisses down your neck from behind, brushing his lips over the bite mark he left behind. “More than. Look at you.”

A/N pt2: trying to post this while I am interrupted 500 times by children ringing at my door. NO TREATS I GOTTA POST!!! (just kidding, of course they get their sweets) might just disappear off the internet after putting this out there. I am normal, I promise (or not). well, I hope yall enjoyed this last kinktober fic!!! it was an honour to supply some filthy Tommy smut, and I am beyond grateful for all the support. I love you all so so much. <333

also, I hope we all understand that ending? CNC was the tag I left out… 👀

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3 — masterlist. | kinktober.

No matter how many afternoons passed like this, with you seated beside Regulus beneath the dappled shade of the courtyard trees, the picture never quite lost its strange allure.

Remus, in particular, always felt a quiet tug of wonder whenever his gaze drifted to you both. 

You, his younger sister, whose heart had always seemed so open, so achingly bright. 

And beside you, of all people, sat Regulus Black. Who so rarely let anyone breach the carefully built walls around him.

It still surprised Remus, no matter how many times he saw it, the way Regulus changed in your presence. 

The shift was subtle but unmistakable, a softening in his expression, a quiet attentiveness in the way he leaned towards you. 

His eyes, usually so cold and distant, seemed warmer when they lingered on your face. He spoke more easily with you than with anyone else, his clipped words touched with something that almost resembled tenderness.

And you, in turn, seemed utterly at ease beside him. Where others might have been intimidated by his silence, his sharp glances and sharper tongue, you only smiled, filling the spaces between his words with your own easy warmth. 

And though it had once seemed strange to Remus, this pairing, he could no longer imagine it otherwise.

Sirius, of course, noticed it all as well. He often watched the two of you with a wide grin, elbowing Remus with a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. "Look at them," he would murmur, voice low with amusement. 

"So bloody obvious and yet so impossibly dense."

And Remus could only shake his head, a fond exasperation curling in his chest. For there was no denying it anymore. You and Regulus were in love.

Anyone with eyes could see it, could feel the invisible thread that bound you together, taut and shimmering with all that was left unsaid.

Yet somehow, you both remained oblivious to the truth of it. Friends, you called yourselves, though the word seemed a poor fit for what passed between you. 

Friends did not linger in each other’s gaze quite so long. 

Friends did not find excuses to brush fingers, to sit a little too close beneath the wide sky. 

Friends did not look at each other the way you did, as though the world had narrowed to a single point and everything else had faded away.

It was almost maddening to watch. And yet, neither Sirius nor Remus could bring themselves to look away. 

They had been here themselves, after all. They knew too well how love could creep in slowly, unnoticed, until it filled every corner of the heart. 

They knew how blind one could be to one’s own feelings, how fear and uncertainty could bind the tongue and still the heart.

It ran in the family, perhaps. This stubborn obliviousness. This tendency to circle around love instead of stepping boldly into it.

So they watched. From beneath the archway, from across the courtyard, from the windows of the library. And with every glance they exchanged, with every sigh and shake of the head, a quiet resolve began to take root between them.

Because someone had to do something. Someone had to help you both see what was already written so clearly in every glance, every smile, every lingering touch.

And really, who better to take matters into their own hands than two Marauders, hopelessly in love themselves, determined to see their siblings find the same happiness?

Remus and Sirius shared a look. Then their eyes shifted to Barty, lounging nearby with that infuriatingly charming grin.

They didn’t say anything. 

The idea came instantly. The execution would be easy. And with Barty involved, jealousy was practically guaranteed.

-

It had almost become a habit now, the way your afternoons led you here. The quiet comfort of the library’s farthest corner, a sun-drenched alcove of old wood and older books, always somehow waiting for the two of you. 

No one really disturbed this place, and fewer still disturbed the pair of you when you were here, heads bent close over parchment and ink.

You sat with your chin propped in one palm, quill twirling idly between your fingers, the open pages of an Arithmancy text long abandoned in favor of quieter conversation.

Regulus sat across from you, sharp-boned and poised as ever, though the usual hard set of his mouth was softened now. 

His hand moved absently, the tip of his quill tracing light, meaningless shapes in the margin of his notes. His gaze, though, was not on his work.

It was on you.

"Your hair is falling into your eyes again," he murmured, voice low and even, with a quiet patience that few others ever heard from him.

You blinked up at him, a little smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. 

"Is it? Oh." You pushed the strands back clumsily with your fingers, only for them to tumble forward once more a moment later.

And then, without another word, Regulus reached across the table, slow and careful, brushing the stray locks gently behind your ear. 

His fingers lingered for the briefest moment against your temple, the lightest of touches, and when he drew his hand back, something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

You smiled again, bright and unbothered, your voice a soft lilt that always seemed to wind beneath his defenses. "Thank you, Reggie!"

He only gave a faint incline of his head, as though it were nothing, though you noticed the way he lowered his gaze to his notes with a sudden, almost studious focus.

"You know," you said after a moment, voice bright with amusement, "you would probably get more studying done if you stopped doodling in the margins."

He gave a soft huff of breath, almost a laugh. "And you would probably get more studying done if you stopped daydreaming so much."

You gasped in mock outrage. "Rude."

"Entirely true," he replied smoothly, though there was a faint, fond curve to his mouth now.

Before you could retort, the distant thud of boots echoed through the stacks, followed by the low murmur of familiar voices.

"Oi, there you are," came Sirius’s voice, louder now as he rounded the shelves, Remus close behind him.

Regulus straightened in an instant, the soft warmth you had coaxed from him retreating as though a door had been quietly closed. 

Remus and Sirius were an easy, familiar sight together. Remus with his gentle, thoughtful gaze, always steady, and Sirius with all his wild charm, half a grin playing at his mouth as he strode toward your table.

Remus’s eyes softened when they met yours. "We were looking for you," he said with quiet fondness, reaching to ruffle your hair with one large, calloused hand. 

"You were supposed to meet us after quidditch."

You laughed, swatting at him playfully. "I forgot."

"She forgets everything," Sirius said cheerfully, flopping into the empty seat beside you, far too comfortable. 

"Probably forgot we even existed. Here she is, holed up with my charming little brother, plotting who knows what."

Regulus gave him a look of cool indifference. "If we were plotting, you would not know about it."

"See what I mean," Sirius grinned, nudging you with his elbow. "Utter delight, that one."

You giggled softly, glancing between them. "Honestly, I am just trying to get through potions."

Remus settled beside Sirius, leaning comfortably into his side, fingers twining absently with his. 

Sirius nudged you again. "And you dragged poor Reg into it with you? Cruel."

"I did not drag him," you said with mock primness, smiling at Regulus, who only inclined his head slightly, gaze unreadable once more. "He came willingly."

"I can hardly believe that," Sirius teased, though there was no real bite to his words. If anything, a note of genuine curiosity threaded through them. 

Even now, after all these years, he still marveled quietly at the strange friendship that had grown between you and his brother.

Regulus remained silent, though something faint touched his eyes when he glanced your way.

Remus watched it all with a thoughtful expression, his gaze lingering on Regulus a moment longer than usual. 

There was a quiet understanding in his eyes, an old awareness that never quite left him. He had always seen it, the way Regulus shifted when he was near you, the way your presence seemed to gentle him.

But as always, you seemed blissfully unaware of it.

And Sirius, ever impatient, could hardly help himself. 

"You know," he began, voice bright with mischief, "we were just saying how you two spend more time together than anyone else these days. Should we be worried? Or are we finally going to admit that this is something more than just... studying?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "It is friendship, Sirius. Nothing more."

Regulus, for his part, said nothing at all, though a faint tension had crept into his shoulders.

Remus only smiled softly, squeezing Sirius’s hand in silent warning. Not too much, not yet. They would need more careful coaxing than that.

But as the four of you sat there in that sunlit corner of the library, conversation weaving around old books and quiet glances, the truth hung between you like the dust in the air. Obvious to anyone who cared to look.

And though you and Regulus remained blind to it still, there was a quiet certainty in Remus’s heart as he glanced at his sister, then at the boy who watched her when she was not looking.

It was only a matter of time.

“You know,” Sirius was saying, tone far too casual to be innocent, “if you keep sitting here in the dark with Regulus all day, you are going to forget how to have any fun.”

You looked up from your book, a small smile tugging at your mouth. “This is fun,” you replied lightly, voice warm with amusement. “Some of us do enjoy quiet, you know. And Regulus is the most fun person ever!”

“Fun?” Sirius repeated, making a face like he’d just bitten into something sour. “Right. Loads of laughs.”

Love really was blind. Because if Sirius had to name the most boring person in the entire castle, it would be his own brother—without hesitation. 

Regulus was practically allergic to fun. The human embodiment of a sigh.

“You used to be so bright and cheerful, too. What have you done to her, Reggie?”

Regulus, who had been steadily ignoring the entire exchange in favor of a well-worn copy of Advanced Potions, turned a single cool glance toward his brother. 

“If anything, she has done something to me,” he said smoothly. 

“And she is perfectly capable of deciding what she enjoys.”

The words were calm, but there was something softer beneath them, something that made Remus glance sidelong at Sirius with the faintest of knowing smiles.

Regulus’s fingers tapped lightly against the spine of his book, eyes lowered again. You could see it — the way his guard was pulling back up around him, piece by piece.

You bit the inside of your cheek, a soft breath caught behind your ribs.

Enough of this.

“Well,” you said brightly, pushing your chair back with a soft scrape against the floor, “that is quite enough for one afternoon.”

Before either of them could reply, you reached out and caught Regulus gently by the sleeve of his robe, fingers curling lightly around the fabric.

“Come on, Reggie,” you said, voice soft but sure. “We will go somewhere quieter.”

Regulus looked up at you, something unspoken flickering in his gaze — and then he nodded, closing his book with a quiet snap and rising smoothly to his feet beside you.

Sirius blinked, half a grin still lingering on his mouth. “Oh? Running off with her now, are you?”

You stifled a laugh, giving a small shake of your head. “I will see you both later,” you said lightly, offering a smile first to Sirius, then to Remus, who only returned it with a soft, knowing warmth that lingered long after you had turned away.

And with that, your hand still brushing lightly against Regulus’s sleeve, you led him from the sun-dappled corner, the faint sound of Sirius’s teasing voice echoing behind you, growing fainter with each step.

Your steps are light, weaving easily through the scattered leaves and roots as you lead Regulus away from the library. 

He follows you with that quiet steadiness of his, hands in his pockets, eyes flicking to you now and again. He never needs to ask where you are going. You both already know.

And soon, there it is—your favorite tree. Ancient and wide, its branches reaching high into the pale blue sky, its roots curling like lazy serpents across the earth. 

Without a word, Regulus leans his back to the trunk and exhales softly, lids fluttering closed for a moment as if to savor the calm. 

You smile at him, bright and easy, and with no hesitation at all, you fold your legs beneath you and settle onto the grass beside him. 

Then, slower, gentler, you ease your head into his lap, the crown of it resting against the fine wool of his robes. You feel him still beneath you, feel the way his breath catches and then softens. 

And when you tilt your gaze up, you catch the barest curve of his lips, an almost-smile, the kind he seems to keep only for you.

For a little while, neither of you speak. The rustle of the leaves above is enough, the warmth of the afternoon sun, the quiet sound of students far off in the distance. 

And the steady presence of him. You let it fill you, content, before you finally break the silence in that soft, lilting tone of yours.

“What do you think we will do once this year is over?” you ask lightly, tracing idle shapes into the fabric of his robes. 

Regulus shifts a little beneath you, gaze dropping to watch your fingers move. He hums low in his throat. “You will go to the Potters’, most likely.”

“And you?” You tilt your head, eyes bright.

There is a pause. Then, quietly, he says, “I will return to Grimmauld.”

You frown, a small crease between your brows. “No, you will not.”

Regulus arches a brow at you, the faintest amusement in his voice. “And why is that?”

“Because I won’t let you.” You smile up at him now, soft and sure. 

“I will not leave you there. You will come with me. With Sirius, Remus, James, and Lily. We will all go to the Potters’ for the summer, and you will be there too. I will not allow you to go back to that house.”

There is a long moment where he says nothing. You watch him, patient. 

You know him well enough not to push too quickly. And after a moment, his gaze drops again to meet yours. 

“It is not so simple, amour” he murmurs.

“It is.” You reach up now, fingertips brushing the edge of his jaw with a tenderness that makes something in him go still. 

“Because you are my favorite person, Regulus. And I refuse to be parted from my favorite person. Especially not for a whole summer.”

That nearly undoes him. He breathes in, careful and slow. 

His fingers twitch faintly where they rest beside you on the grass, as if he is fighting the urge to reach for you, to tangle his hands in your hair. 

“I… cannot promise,” he says at last, voice low.

“Then I will promise for you,” you say, your smile soft and your eyes bright. 

“You will come, I will make sure of it, Sirius will too, and Remus. You are welcome, none of us want you to be alone.”

He lets out a breath. His gaze softens more than he means it to. And though he does not say yes, you can feel the edges of his resistance slipping.

“You are impossible,” he murmurs.

The silence deepens, heavy and fragile, until a familiar voice finally breaks through.

“Well, well,” Barty drawled, voice low and smooth as he dropped onto the grass beside you without invitation. 

“Didn’t think I’d find such excellent company out here!”

You looked up, raising a brow. “You always say that. Makes it hard to believe you’re ever surprised.”

Barty’s mouth curved into something softer than a smirk. “Maybe I’m just easily impressed.” He plucked a stray leaf from your shoulder, his fingers brushing just a little longer than necessary. 

“Though I think we both know that isn’t true.”

You gave a quiet laugh, brushing your hair behind your ear. “You’re impossible.”

“Possibly,” he said, eyes gleaming. “But I’m told I’m charming enough to get away with it.”

Regulus didn’t move at first. Then slowly, he shifted, sitting straighter, though his gaze remained firmly ahead. His face had gone carefully blank—expression composed, impassive. 

But his lips were pressed tight and his brows faintly drawn, like he was holding something steady just beneath the surface.

Barty turned back to you. “You always this lovely in the morning, or is this just luck?”

“You’re laying it on thick today, Junior,” you said lightly, flipping the page in your book.

“Only for you.”

Regulus’s fingers flexed once at his side, then stilled. His posture was perfect. His expression hadn’t changed. He looked almost bored, if not for the edge behind his eyes.

Barty leaned back on his elbows, turning his face toward the sky. “You’d think being this pretty would come with a warning.”

You smiled, amused, but didn’t reply.

For the first time, Regulus turned his head.

His voice, when it came, was quiet and clipped. “Some of us were enjoying the quiet.”

Barty glanced over at him, then back to you. “Wasn’t trying to interrupt. Just couldn’t resist the view.”

Regulus’s jaw shifted, subtle and sharp, and though he didn’t respond, his eyes didn’t leave Barty for a long moment.

Barty just grinned. “Anyway,” he said, standing and brushing his trousers off. 

“Don’t let me keep you. I’ll see you around, sweetheart.”

He winked before turning, and Regulus tracked his retreat with a gaze cold enough to freeze wind.

You, still thumbing through your book, didn’t seem to notice.

Regulus looked back at you, his features schooled again into that same unreadable calm. But his fingers, curled in the grass, didn’t unclench.

You give him a playful swat to the arm. “Go on then, let us have our peace.”

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The quiet settles again, but it feels different now—less peaceful, more strained. 

You shift slightly, resting your head back on Regulus’s lap, eyes turning upward as if the sky might offer some explanation.

He’s unusually still beneath you.

You glance up, catching the sharp line of his jaw, the way his lips are pressed together, the faint crease between his brows. That unreadable look he gets when he’s thinking too much, or trying too hard not to feel something.

Something’s off.

You tilt your head, voice soft. “You alright?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. When he does, it’s clipped. “Fine.”

You blink. “You don’t sound fine.”

Regulus exhales, low and barely audible. His eyes stay on some far-off point, cold and focused like they’ve locked onto a problem only he can see. 

“I don’t get it,” you say, quieter now, more to yourself than to him.

“One minute you’re fine, and then Barty shows up, and you shut down like someone flipped a switch.” You sit up a little, resting your weight on your elbows, still watching him.

“What did he even say that got under your skin?” you ask, genuinely puzzled. “He was just being Barty.”

Regulus’s gaze flicks down to you then, briefly. His expression is unreadable. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or tired or just done with the conversation. 

“I said I’m fine,” he mutters.

You hesitate, then nod, letting the silence settle again even though it gnaws at your thoughts. You lie back against him, but it doesn’t feel the same now.

The rest of the day blurs by in a way that days sometimes do when your mind is a little elsewhere, when the air feels lighter and you are quietly waiting for something. 

The hours of lessons seem to bleed into one another.

You and Regulus had not shared classes today. Not until later. And already, you were counting down until you could meet him again, like you always do. 

The two of you had made quiet plans for dinner, you would meet by the entrance hall, as always.

But now, with the last lesson fading to a close, you are already making your way down one of the quieter corridors. 

You turn the final corner, steps light and familiar as your eyes scan the corridor ahead. 

You’re expecting to see Regulus leaning against the archway like he usually does, arms crossed, half-annoyed at being early. But the space is empty.

You slow slightly, glancing around.

“Looking for someone?” a voice purrs beside you.

You blink, startled, and turn to find Barty, again, falling into step beside you, hands in his pockets and a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Oh,” you say, letting out a small laugh. “Just Regulus.”

“Of course,” he says lightly. “You two are practically stitched together.”

You smile without thinking. “He’s usually here by now.”

Barty tilts his head, studying you. “I could keep you company until he shows.”

You nod, kind. “That’s sweet of you.”

“So,” he says, casually sliding a bit closer, “what are you doing tomorrow afternoon?”

You blink. “Tomorrow?”

“Mm,” he hums. “Thought maybe you and I could go into Hogsmeade. Get something warm and take a walk. Unless you’ve sworn some blood oath to Regulus to never leave his side.”

You laugh again, still not entirely catching on. “Oh—I mean, I’ve got a few things to do. Some studying and a bit of tutoring.”

Barty leans in slightly, voice warm and teasing. “Surely someone like you can make time for something fun.”

You hesitate, blinking at him. “I—well, I suppose maybe. But—”

“There you are.”

The words cut clean and cold through the air.

You turn.

Regulus is standing just behind you, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. 

He looks directly at Barty, not even pretending to smile.

Barty only grins wider. “Perfect timing, Regulus. Just asking your girl here to spend a little time with me tomorrow! We’re thinking Hogsmeade.”

Regulus doesn’t answer or even smile. He just takes a slow step toward you.

Barty claps his hands once, mock-pleasant. “Well, now I don’t have to worry about walking her back. I’ll pick you up at the dorm tomorrow, yeah?”

You look between them, confused, but Barty doesn’t give you time to answer. He gives a wink and strolls off down the corridor, whistling low under his breath.

You turn back to Regulus. “What was that about?”

He starts walking, not waiting for you to follow.

You hurry after him. “Regulus!”

He doesn’t look at you. “You seemed busy.”

You frown. “What does that mean?”

“It means I didn’t want to interrupt,” he mutters, voice clipped.

You fall silent for a few steps, trying to puzzle through the tone, cold and sharp, nothing like the warmth he usually carries around you.

“I didn’t agree to anything,” you say quietly. “I didn’t even understand what he was doing.”

Regulus exhales slowly, still not looking at you.

“I’m not stupid,” he says. “I know exactly what he was doing.”

You watch the rigid line of his back as he walks ahead, and for the first time, you’re not sure how to reach him.

You catch up to him just outside the common room, your steps quick and light across the stone floor. 

He doesn’t slow when he hears you or even glance back. That alone is strange.

“Regulus,” you call gently. He keeps walking.

You try again, louder. “Regulus!”

He stops.

But he still doesn’t look at you. His shoulders are stiff, the line of his spine pulled taut, as if even standing still is a strain.

You frown, stepping up beside him. “What’s wrong with you?” you ask lightly, hoping the softness in your voice will coax whatever it is from him. “You’ve been off since—”

“I’m fine.”

You blink. “You don’t sound fine.”

He finally turns to you. “I’m just tired,” he mutters.

You cross your arms. “Tired doesn’t usually come with the silent treatment.”

Regulus scoffs under his breath and starts walking again.

You follow. “Did I do something?”

He doesn’t answer.

You press again, voice rising. “Regulus!”

That’s when he turns, too fast, too sudden. “Why does it always have to be about you?”

You freeze.

“What?” you whisper.

He exhales through his nose, jaw clenched, like he’s said too much already. “Forget it.”

“No, say it,” you snap, stepping forward. “You’re being impossible right now, and I deserve to know why.”

His eyes flicker to yours, cold and unreadable. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself just fine earlier. Maybe you should go ask Barty to walk you back.”

The name lands like ice on your skin.

You blink again, more confused than anything. “What does Barty have to do with this?”

Regulus laughs once — a hollow, bitter sound. “Of course! You don’t even see it.”

“See what?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” you say firmly, voice rising. “If you’re going to treat me like this, you don’t get to act like I’m the problem. Tell me what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything,” he says, almost too fast. “That’s the point!”

Your mouth opens, then shuts again. You stare at him for a long moment, stunned and aching and not even sure what it is you’re supposed to be defending yourself from.

“I don’t understand,” you whisper.

He looks at you, really looks, and for a moment something flickers behind his eyes — not quite anger, not quite sorrow. But then it’s gone.

“Neither do I,” he says tightly, and turns again, disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.

You stand there for a long moment, the stone walls pressing in around you, heart hammering too loud in the sudden quiet.

You didn’t cry.

You told yourself that when you slammed the door shut behind you, chest heaving and eyes dry with stubborn heat. 

You wouldn’t cry over Regulus Black and his moods and his walls and his unreadable coldness. You paced the length of your room for what felt like hours, silent and bristling, your thoughts circling like a storm.

And when sleep finally came, it was out of exhaustion, not peace.

The morning dawned too early, too bright. You woke with your jaw clenched, the memory of his voice sharp in your bones, the ache of confusion still lodged under your ribs. 

You got dressed slower than usual. There was hope beneath your frustration — that maybe, just maybe, it had been a bad night.

That maybe he’d speak.

You made your way through the corridors, the castle quiet in that golden, waking kind of way. And there he was.

Up ahead, his stride is even and precise, as always. The clean line of his shoulders, the dark sweep of his hair, too familiar not to draw you in. 

“Regulus,” you called gently, a little breathless.

He didn’t stop.

He didn’t even glance at you.

He passed by as if he hadn’t heard. As if you weren’t even there.

Like you were nothing.

You stopped walking. Your eyes stung, but you blinked it away, standing alone in the middle of the corridor, heat rising to your cheeks, sharp and furious. 

Fine. If he wanted to be cold, you’d let him freeze alone.

“Morning.”

The voice curled around you with an easy drawl, smooth as ever. 

You turned to find Barty leaning casually against the wall just ahead, his eyes already waiting for yours, lazy amusement tugging at his mouth.

You hesitated for only a moment. Then you walked toward him.

Far behind you, unnoticed by most, two Marauders sat in a tucked-away alcove near the end of the corridor. 

kOne leaned forward just enough to catch the moment Regulus passed you without looking. The other raised a brow.

Remus smirked behind the rim of his cup. Sirius didn’t bother hiding his grin.

You, of course, didn’t see it.

You only saw Barty, already stepping forward to fall into pace beside you. “Rough morning?” he asked, like he didn’t already know.

You exhaled slowly, lips twitching into something tired but sharp. “You could say that.”

He gave a soft chuckle, brushing his hand through his hair. “Well, lucky for you, I happen to be excellent company. You need a seat partner?”

You nodded before thinking, letting him guide you into the Great Hall without another glance back. 

You followed him down the aisle, right past the usual table where Regulus always sat — not even sparing a glance.

Barty pulled out the bench for you with a flourish, flashing a half-smile. “Allow me.”

You sat, jaw tight but grateful, and he slid in beside you with practiced ease.

“So,” he said, reaching for a slice of toast. “What’s the plan today, trouble? Should we skip Potions?”

You laughed, quietly. “Tempting.”

His eyes flicked over you, warm and just a little too knowing. “You’re sad.”

You blinked, surprised. “What?”

Barty grinned. “You’ve got that edge today. Out of all the gryffindors, you’re usually the happiest. So what’s got little Lupin sad?”

You shook your head, pretending not to be flustered. “It’s really nothing.”

“Whatever you say, trouble,” he said smoothly.

Far off, behind his own untouched plate, Regulus did not look away from the spot you used to sit. 

“You really ought to let yourself have fun more often, you know?” Barty said, tilting his head as he studied you.

You gave him a look, but your lips curled into a smile. “I do have fun. You’re not the only source of entertainment at Hogwarts.”

“Maybe not,” he murmured, voice dipping lower now. “But I am the best one.”

You laughed despite yourself. He leaned a little closer, his knee brushing yours as if by accident. You didn’t pull away. His presence was warm, light, easy.

Still, your eyes flicked away for a moment. 

You thought of how Regulus always knew what you needed before you said it, how his silences somehow spoke more truth than others’ words. 

You thought of the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing left in the world worth trusting after all the heartache his family brought upon him.

And just like that, the breath you took felt thinner.

Barty didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did, and he didn’t care.

He shifted again, closer still. His hand hovered near yours, his eyes unreadable now.

“You’ve got this look,” he said softly. “Like you’re trying to decide something.”

You blinked. “Am I?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his gaze fixed on your mouth. “But if I’m lucky, maybe you’ll decide in my favor.”

And then he leaned in. Slowly, deliberately, like gravity itself had shifted to pull him closer.

His face tilted toward yours, the space between you thinning until his lips hovered just shy of yours, brushing the shape of your breath.

Your breath hitched. A quiet, startled catch in your chest. And before you could think better of it, before you could remind yourself that something about this felt not quite right, you found yourself beginning to lean in, too.

“I need my copy of Advanced Defensive Charms back,” 

The voice cut through the moment like a blade, sharp and deliberate. You jolted slightly, startled. Regulus stood a few paces away, arms crossed, his tone just loud enough to make a few heads turn. 

His eyes never once flicked to you. They were locked on Barty, steady and searing, the kind of stare that didn’t waver or soften, only dared him to lean closer.

“Now?” you asked, breath catching.

“Yes, now.” He didn’t wait for a response. He simply turned, expecting you to follow.

You hesitated, glancing back at Barty. He only hummed under his breath, half a grin tugging at his lips.

“Well,” Barty said with a slow smile, rising to his feet. His eyes flicked to Regulus, all amusement. “Good luck with that.”

He brushed past you lightly, then turned back just enough to add, “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

As he passed Regulus, his shoulder brushed deliberately against his. He leaned in, voice barely audible, words meant for one person only.

“Took you long enough, Black.”

You didn’t hear it. You were already catching up, confusion stirring beneath your ribs. You moved after Regulus without looking back.

Barty, however, didn’t glance away. He smiled to himself and wandered off, whistling low under his breath.

And not too far off, beneath the arch of a crumbling corridor, Sirius watched with a grin curled into the corner of his mouth. 

Remus leaned against the wall beside him, expression unreadable, but his eyes flicked briefly to Regulus’s back.

“Well,” Sirius said under his breath. “That’s one way for him to realise.”

Right after Barty left, before you could fully process what had just happened, a hand closed around yours. Firm, warm, and unmistakably his.

You froze mid-step, surprise catching in your throat. “Regulus?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he tugged sharply, a sudden, insistent pull that sent your feet moving before your mind could even catch up. 

He was dragging you out of the hall, his jaw clenched tight, eyes fixed straight ahead with an intensity that brooked no argument.

You stumbled, breath hitching in your chest. “What the hell are you doing?”

Still no response.

“Regulus!” You yanked at your arm, trying desperately to plant your heels into the cold stone floor. “What’s gotten into you?”

His grip didn’t waver. Knuckles whitening around your wrist, holding on like losing you was something he simply could not afford.

“You can’t just—drag me around like this,” you snapped, voice rising now.

“You ignored me yesterday, acted like I didn't exist, and now you think you can just show up, grab me, and what? Command me like a dog?”

He kept walking.

“Regulus, seriously, stop! What is this? What do you want from me?”

You were furious now. Not just annoyed—furious. Because you didn’t understand, and he wasn’t saying anything, and his silence felt like a match held too long over your skin.

“Is this a joke to you?” you hissed. “Because if this is some twisted mood swing of yours, I’m not playing along!”

He didn’t even look at you.

He was dragging you through the empty corridors, his grip unwavering, steps quick and purposeful as the castle's echoes followed behind.

When he finally stopped, it was outside a narrow door tucked between unused classrooms—an old closet room long forgotten. Without hesitation, he opened it and pulled you inside, the darkness swallowing you both.

You were breathless, panting more from anger than exertion.

Without warning, he spun you around, his hand gripping your waist with a force that both startled and grounded you.

His touch was firm, commanding, pulling you close as he pressed you back against the cold stone wall. 

His breaths came ragged and uneven, a low exhale escaping him as if the air itself was thick with tension.

His pupils were dilated, dark and wide, flickering with a restless fire that made your skin prickle.

The smooth weight of his body loomed over you, tall and unyielding, casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the space between you. 

Your shoulders met the wall with a deliberate, lingering pressure—not harsh, but enough to stop your breath and still your racing thoughts in an instant.

Your hands flew up to his chest instinctively. “Are you insane?!” you snapped.

He stared at you like he couldn’t hear you. Or like he’d heard every word but couldn’t stop himself anyway.

He stepped closer. You could feel the tension pulsing off him now, raw, sharp, and electric.

And then, finally, he spoke. “He wants you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Junior,” he said, voice low and bitter. “He wants you.”

You shot him a fierce glare, voice trembling with barely contained anger. “Junior? Is that what this is? Him sitting with me?”

He closed the gap, breath hot against your face, hand gripping your waist tight.

“He wasn’t just sitting with you. He was about to kiss you and you were going to kiss him back!.”

You shot back, voice sharp, nearly a shout. “And why do you care?”

He opened his mouth then closed it again. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”

That made you scoff. “Oh, really? Enlighten me, Black.”

His eyes searched you, as if trying to decide whether to say it at all.

You laughed, too harsh. “You know what, Regulus? You’re unbelievable!”

“You’re acting like I’ve committed some crime. He sat beside me. He talked. What did you want me to do, tell him to leave?”

“You were going to kiss him,” Regulus said, he didn’t flinch. Instead, his hand shot out, fingers curling around your jaw with an unexpected firmness that both claimed and grounded you. 

You stared at him, the heat in your chest twisting. “And what if I did?”

His thumb brushed lightly against your lips, slow and deliberate, before his eyes dropped from your face to linger on your mouth. 

His voice dropped low, edged with a quiet intensity that made your pulse hammer in your ears.

[I highly suggest playing Friends by Chase Atlantic here!!!]

“I’m not here to argue,” he said, husky but steady. “I’m here to tell you that I won’t let you forget what almost happened. You were about to kiss some other bastard.” 

His gaze held yours, unyielding and raw. “And I’m the only one you should ever want.”

Before you could even register what was happening, his lips were on yours, urgent and demanding.

You kissed him back instantly, your hands in his shirt, pulling, anchoring, trying to close the impossible space that had always lived between you.

The kiss deepened, lips parting, breaths catching, hands everywhere at once—his in your hair, yours fisted in the front of his shirt like you needed something to hold onto or else you’d fall straight through the floor. 

His body pressed against yours, firm and unrelenting, pinning you to the stone wall behind like you were something worth holding onto, something he couldn’t let go of even if he tried.

Your legs parted instinctively, one of his thighs sliding between yours as your hips tilted forward without thinking, chasing the pressure, chasing him. 

The way he moved against you—slow, firm, purposeful—sent heat coiling low in your stomach, your breath stuttering as your hands slid down the hard lines of his back and held him there.

You could barely think past it. Barely speak.

But then your mouth opened and—

“Regulus,” you breathed, the sound escaping like a prayer. “God—Please.”

He stilled instantly.

The world narrowed to the way his chest heaved against yours, the shallow rise and fall of his breath. His lips brushed yours again, barely, as he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and blown wide with something more dangerous than want.

“Say that again,” he murmured, voice ragged and low like it had been torn straight from somewhere deep.

You swallowed, heat flickering through you. “Regulus.”

His name on your tongue again made something in him snap.

He surged forward before the last syllable left your lips, kissing you harder, like he was trying to consume it, claim it, swallow the sound down and make it his.

He groaned into your mouth, hips pressing against yours again in a movement that had you gasping, clinging tighter.

You didn’t hesitate. You pulled him closer, fingers sliding under the hem of his shirt, touch desperate and searching. 

His mouth found the curve of your neck, hot and open, and a gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it.

“I need you, please.” you panted, breath catching as your head fell back,

Your legs shifted instinctively, knees parting, trying to draw him closer still as his teeth scraped lightly over your skin, his hands tightening at your waist like he couldn’t get close enough.

“Keep those legs spread for me, amour.” He groaned.

The command was so firm and unquestionable that it nearly took you by surprise. He had never spoken to you like that before. Moments between you were usually filled with playfulness and light teasing.

You reached for him, fingers curling into the front of his trousers, a silent plea for him to touch you where you need him most. 

But before you could move further, his hand wrapped around your wrist. 

“Behave,” he murmured, voice low and rough, with an edge that hadn’t been there before. 

You barely manage to catch your breath before his hands slide lower, gripping your waist as he presses you harder against the wall.  

Regulus leans in, his mouth finding your neck, biting and sucking with a hunger that sends your pulse skittering. Each mark he leaves burns, a promise, a claim—evidence you already know you’ll need to hide later.

“Someone could walk in,” you gasp, voice trembling as your back presses harder into the wall, but Regulus just exhales, his breath hot against your collarbone.

“Then be quiet,” he murmurs, voice rough and low. His hands slide beneath your shirt, palms gliding over your skin with agonizing slowness. You shiver beneath his touch, already arching into him before you realize you're doing it.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?”

Your answer is a broken whimper as your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging hard enough to draw a groan from his throat.

His grip tightens on your hips, and you feel him against you—hard, aching, insistent through the fabric of his trousers, grinding into your thigh.

“Need you,” you breathe, the words barely making it past your lips, “please, Regulus.”

Regulus leans back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and seething. “You think it's funny,” he says, voice low and cold, “going around flirting with Junior?”

Before you can answer, his hands move—urgent, possessive—tugging your skirt up with rough precision, exposing skin to the cool air and his hotter gaze. His fingers press into your thighs, thumbs brushing dangerously close, and the sharp edge of the tension coils tighter in your stomach.

“You were smiling at him,” he mutters, like the thought alone sets him off. “Laughing.”

Your breath hitches. He presses closer, chest against yours, thigh slipping between your legs until you can barely stand straight.

“Say it,” he demands, voice at your ear. “Say who you want.”

You whimper softly, eyes barely meeting his as the words slip out, “Want you.”

He raises an eyebrow, a slow smirk curling at his lips. “Uh uh, that’s not my name, amour.” he says, voice low and amused.

You straighten immediately, biting back a smile. “Want you, Regulus,” you correct.

“Good, baby,” Regulus murmured, but before you could respond, he pulled you flush against him, capturing your lips again. His kisses were harsher now, urgent and hungry for more.

His hands slid beneath your skirt, fingertips tracing along your bare skin, sending a shiver through you. His glare was intense, but softened by the way his lips parted slightly, breath uneven.

You leaned in closer, brushing your lips along his jaw and teased, ​​“Is that all you’ve got, Reggie? Barty seems to be doing a much better job.”

A low sound rumbles in his chest, and before you know it, he’s doesn’t give you a chance to react before he’s stepping between your legs, hands spreading your thighs wider.

“You’re getting cocky,” he mutters, unbuttoning your shirt off in one quick motion. His hands are everywhere, skimming your sides, gripping your waist, fingers digging into your thighs. 

He finally rests one on your waist, and one just under your breast. “Think you can go around acting like that? Such a brat.”

You bite your lip, trying to hold back a moan when his mouth latches onto your collarbone, sucking a mark into your skin.

“You didn’t exactly stop me,” you manage to say, your voice breathy.

Regulus just scoffs, his hands moving to pull your skirt up “You’re right. Guess I need to teach you a lesson.”

His hands slide over your panties, and his lips brush against your ear. “You’re gonna keep quiet, understand?”

You nod, breathless, and he smirks, clearly not convinced. His fingers dip lower, teasing you through your underwear, and you have to bite down on your lip to muffle the noise that slips out. 

Regulus just hums, almost pleased with your reaction. His thumb grazes against your clothed clit, just barely giving you what you want. He applies slight pressure, and you bite your lip harder, eager for more.

“Better keep your voice low. You wouldn’t want anyone finding out how desperate you are for me, would you?” He taunts, his thumb pressing more firmly. 

He pushes your panties to the side, and strokes long stripes up and down your folds, collecting the arousal that has accumulated. 

He groans softly as he stares down at your cunt, and he slides his middle finger inside of you, earning a soft gasp from you. You can’t help the way your hips buck forward, chasing his touch. You're too needy to be embarrassed at this point.

“Please, Reggie,” you whisper, your hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric.

He gives you that intense, the one that makes your stomach twist with anticipation.

“You’re lucky I need you this bad,” he mutters before he slips his ring finger inside, curling just right, making you mewl.

His other hand cups the back of your neck, keeping you close as his mouth moves against yours, swallowing your moans.

His fingers move faster, and it’s impossible to stay quiet, but he doesn’t seem to care anymore. All that matters is the way you’re unraveling in his hands, and he’s watching every bit of it with a smug, satisfied look.

The way his fingers curl so precisely inside of you almost makes you see stars—and his thumb increases the speed against your clit. You grind your hips harder into his hand, desperate for your release.

“You’re gonna remember this next time you think about kissing Junior,” he murmurs, his thumb rubbing circles over your clit, making your thighs tremble around him. 

"Say it."

"I'll remember it, just—please, need all of you." You whimper as his fingers fuck you faster.

Regulus doesn’t waste any time, pulling out his fingers and spinning you against the wall. 

You gasp loudly at how quickly he pulled his fingers out of you, and also being slammed against the wall rather quickly.

His hand snakes around your waist, pulling your hips back to meet his, and you can feel how hard he is through his pants.

“You’re gonna be good for me now, right?” He mutters against your ear, his voice rough and dripping with dominance. 

You nod, too breathless to respond properly, and he chuckles lowly. “Use your words, amour.”

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “I’ll be good, Regulus. I promise.”

“Good girl, that’s what I thought,” he murmurs, one hand slipping under your shirt, brushing over your stomach, while the other tugs your hips back against him.

His lips trace the curve of your neck, sucking a mark just below your ear.

You can’t help the way you push and wiggle back against him, desperate for more contact.

Regulus clicks his tongue disapprovingly, his grip tightening on your waist to keep you in place.

“Patience,” he says, almost like he’s scolding you, but there’s a hint of a smirk in his voice. 

His lips follow, kissing along your shoulder as he pushes his own pants down just enough to free himself.

His cock stands proudly, and he gives himself a couple pumps in preparation. He runs his hand over the tip, collecting the precum that had accumulated. 

He brings himself closer to you, and presses his cock head against your wet folds, causing the man to sigh shakily.

You feel him press against you, hot and heavy, and your breath hitches in anticipation. Regulus leans over you, his chest pressing against your back, one hand still gripping your waist.

“Please, I need you,” you whisper, pushing your hips back to encourage him.

He finally gives in, guiding himself to your entrance and pushing in slowly, stretching you inch by inch.

The way he fills you has your knees almost giving out, but Regulus’s grip on your waist holds you steady. His girth stretches your walls out further and further—the sting and burn never feeling better.

“Fuck,” he groans, stilling once he’s fully inside you, balls deep. “So tight... and you just take it so well.”

You whimper at the stretch, your body adjusting to the intrusion, and Regulus’s lips press against the back of your neck, grounding you. 

Once he’s sure you’re ready, he starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep, every movement deliberate and measured. His grip on you tightens, and he lets out a soft sigh of pleasure.

“God!” you gasp, as he picks up the pace, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. His balls clap against your ass as he fucks into you harsher.

“Keep quiet,” he warns, his teeth grazing your shoulder. “You don’t want anyone to hear how desperate you sound, do you?”

You bite your lip, doing your best to muffle your moans, but Regulus’s relentless pace makes it impossible.

His hand slides up to cover your mouth, muffling your whimpers as he pounds into you harder, his hips snapping against yours with an urgency that drives you wild.

"You're doing a good job at listening," he praises as his cock slams in and out of your tight walls, "I'm s-shocked." You bite your lip harder, eager to please him. 

Knowing Regulus, he'll stop if you disobey. You nod your head in response, and thrust your hips back into his to match his pace.

You can feel yourself getting closer, your walls clenching tightly around him, and he whimpers at the sensation, his hand sliding from your mouth to your chest, pulling you back against him as he thrusts deeper.

“Gonna cum for me?” He whispers against your ear, his breath hot and ragged.

You nod frantically. "Good," he growls, and he bites down on your shoulder, his pace becoming rougher, more erratic.

The wet sloshing sounds filling the room along with bated breaths and desperate moans. “Fuck, amour, squeezing me so good. pretty little pussy was made just f’me”

Cock drunk moans being the only response coming from yourlips. Fingers of one of his hands digging into the flesh of your hip, no doubt leaving bruising prints you’d be seeing for days. 

The other creeping around your throat, squeezing briefly before arching you back to look into those eyes you loved so much. “Reg, hah, p-please, I can’t!”.

A harsh smack against the skin of your ass making you gasp. “Now, what did I tell you about being quiet?”

Your eyes roll back, walls of your cunt starting to spam as you feel that beautiful high creeping upon you. “Can’t hold, fuck."

His slender fingers toy with your clit bringing you closer, jaw slack with a desperate cry of his name. 

 “Merlin, you squeeze my cock so good, shit, gonna stuff you full of my cum so you’ll belong to no one other than me!” 

Whines leave your throat at the rough thrusts, tip of his cock practically kissing your cervix.  “I’ll fuck this cunt as many times as it takes, as many times I need to to make sure you’re no one else’s”.

You’re filled with the burning feeling of the thick ropes of his cum emptying deep within you, flooding your womb with the intention of his seed doing its job, leaving you whining for more.

“You feel so good.”

Emptiness taking over as he pulls out, still twitching at the sight of his cum slowly trailing down your thighs. 

Regulus’s hands found your waist with a firm, almost desperate grip. He spun you around to face him fully, his touch careful but commanding. 

He pulled your panties upwards and smoothed the hem of your skirt, adjusting it with an almost ridiculous kind of precision for someone who had just fucked you like that. 

Then, more gently, he cupped your face, his thumb brushing along your cheek as if to ground himself. “Look at me,” he murmured, voice low but steady.

You did, your eyes wide and breath shallow.

He held your gaze for a long beat before the tension cracked just slightly. “Are you alright? Was I too harsh?”

You nodded, pupils still blown wide, lips parted as you tried to steady your breath.

Your neck was littered in the proof of him—faint, blooming marks he hadn’t quite meant to leave but hadn’t resisted either.

Regulus’s hands didn’t leave you. One of them tightened at your jaw, the other resting low on your waist as he leaned in, gaze dark and unwavering.

“Use your words, baby,” he said softly, but it wasn’t a suggestion.

Your voice came quiet, a little shaky. “I’m good. Just… not sure I can walk.”

That pulled a laugh from him. Real and unguarded. It burst from his chest before he could stop it, low and warm, his head tipping slightly as he smiled at you.

And you just stared.

Because it wasn’t often that Regulus Black laughed. 

And you couldn’t look away.

Your chest ached in the sweetest way.

You loved him. You had, maybe, for far longer than you’d ever dared to admit. But now, standing here, with his hands still on your skin and his laughter blooming like a promise between you, it was impossible to ignore.

He looked back at you, eyes soft, still shining with something that made your heart stutter.

And you knew. There was no one else you would ever want like this.

His eyes searched yours like he still didn’t quite believe this was real, like he might wake up if he blinked too long.

“I’ve wanted to do that,” he said, voice low and rough, “for as long as I can remember.”

You blinked, a startled laugh slipping from your lips. You tilted your head slightly, amusement flickering in your eyes.

“You know,” you said, breath still shaky, “Remus might actually kill you for this.”

Regulus shrugged, a faint smile pulling at his lips, equal parts challenge and surrender. “Merlin, don’t even mention it.”

Your grin widened, eyes gleaming now. “Well,” you murmured, as if tasting the words before you committed to them, “our brothers are dating.”

His brows twitched, and for a moment, something almost vulnerable crossed his face. His voice was quieter this time, uncertain around the edges.

“Should we?”

The question hung in the space between your mouths, half-ridiculous, half-serious.

His voice was a whisper, raw with meaning and years of silent longing. “Je t’aime.”

“Je t’aime, Y/n, since I was eleven.”

A soft, joyful laugh escaped your lips, the weight of his words settling deep in your heart.

“I love you, Regulus, since I was eleven too.” you breathed, your voice trembling with the truth of it.

Without a pause, he drew you close again, his kiss slow and reverent, as if trying to memorize every part of you.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he murmured against your lips, the depth of his love echoing in every word.

Unbeknownst to you and Regulus, not far away Sirius and Remus were sharing a quiet moment, their voices low but filled with laughter.

Sirius was clapping Barty on the shoulder, his eyes bright with mischief and satisfaction.

“Thanks for stepping in, Junior,” Sirius said with a grin. “I don’t think we could’ve gotten through to them without a little… persuasion.”

Remus chuckled, shaking his head. “It was about time someone shook things up. Watching them circle each other like that was honestly painful.”

Remus sighed, then added proudly, “I’m sure he pulled her aside to talk things out. Maturely! Like the reasonable Black he is.”

Sirius snorted. “Right. I’m very sure he’s handling this like a Black.”

Remus froze. His eyes widened slowly as something unpleasant dawned on him. “You don’t think they would—”

“Oh, that’s exactly how we talked our feelings out, remember?” Sirius grinned, smug and absolutely no help at all.

Remus looked positively horrified and about to pass out. “Merlin. No. No, no—she’s my sister—”

Barty was already wheezing with laughter, doubled over on the bench. “Come on, Lupin. He’s a Black. What did you expect?”

Remus suddenly stood, eyes wide with dawning horror. “Oh no. No. I need to find them.”

He was already striding down the corridor, muttering about protective charms and locking spells, while Sirius and Barty doubled over behind him—laughing, breathless, as their plan succeeded just a little too well for Remus’ peace of mind.

you would confirm that it was actually the light of your portable lamp, dangling from your hand and swinging according to the whim of the forest’s chilly wind. and the trajectory was not arbitrary — even before you’ve emerged from your tent, you decided to stick to the quickest route towards nott and his secluded shelter.

your feet, clad in simple flip-flops, crushed the dry dirt of the pathway, stepping with swiftness through the cold air of the night. the distance between the tents was not that far, yet your pajamas and your almost bare feet were not enough to protect your body from the temperature change.

hurrying your pace, you finally arrived before nott’s enclosure.

no inside light pierced through the thick material of the tent, a clear signal that theodore may be asleep. soft murmurs could be heard here and there, but you were not sure those came from inside.

you stretched out your arm by reflex, pushing the lamp forward, closer to the tent, trying somehow to see what theodore was up to. however, the additional light did little to nothing, making only the dirty green colour of the tent more vibrant; the inside was still a mystery.

“n–nott?” you whisper-yelled his name, testing the waters, still hoping he was awake.

it would make your life so much easier.

your call and the silence following it made the entire moment feel eerie. you were suddenly more aware of your singular existence in the middle of a sleeping forest.

the air felt harsher, cutting into your lungs. the light of your lantern was suddenly too bright, blindingly so. urgency spiked throughout your body, making goosebumps appear all over your skin.

fuck it, you will wake him up.

reaching out your free hand, you tightly gripped the outside slider of the zipper. and, with a final intake of air, you dragged it in the opposite direction, slowly revealing the entrance.

but it immediately flew away from between your fingers, fastly separating half the length of the zipper’s teeth.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?”

theodore's voice boomed in your ear, hitting you before his dishevelled appearance did. his voice sounded exhausted, although he did not seem to have been sleeping before your intrusion. yet, his visible grimace and his hand shooting upwards to shelter his eyes from your stupid lantern gave away the fact that he has been staying with the light off for a while.

“umm, i-”

“put that shit away, will ya’?”

his words were harsh and rude, thrown at you with no second thought. that's usually how he is when it comes to you; your brother’s best friend barely holds back, and if he must restrict his vocabulary, he colours his speech through intonation.

intonation showcasing annoyance and displeasure.

“yeah, yeah, my bad.”

you mumbled a half-hearted apology as you flipped off the switch of the lamp, the light slowly dimming in your hand until there was no more.

your surroundings were yet again swimming in darkness, and your eyes — not yet accustomed to the lack of brightness — seem to betray your disadvantage in the face of nott.

“what do you want?”

you could barely distinguish his silhouette, the contour of his body slightly blending in with the shadowy insides of the tent. you could see, however, the way his tent was partly open, a sign you were unwelcome in his vicinity.

that and his venomous words. he clearly wanted you gone.

you sucked in a breath, hammering down your ego, and carefully answered theodore.

“my tent’s ripped. didn’t notice until now–”

“and? the fuck do you take me for? bob the builder?”

oh, his patience was wearing thin. with your vision slowly adapting to the darkness, you registered the way his hand dragged the slider back down by a quarter of the length, wishing to separate the two of you for good.

“wait, wait.” panic surged into you and your hands jumped out instinctively, clutching theo’s fingers, stopping his movement altogether. your lantern long forgotten, dropped somewhere on the dirt path. “i can’t sleep there.”

“oh, please. you think a ghost will eat you?”

theo bit back at your reasoning, poking fun at the silly horror stories the group told right before bed and mocking your childish fear.

you can insist all you want, he doesn’t care.

his other hand ushered yours away to prove his stance, pulling the slider further down.

“you’re so ugh–” you were using all your power to stop yourself from kicking the supports of his tent and have it collapse over him.

“BEARS. i am scared of bears. actual animals that are in this forest.”

“just har har back at–”

“can i please stay in your tent?”

please. you never say please to him. please, thanks, and sorry are three words you’d never redirect at him unless you were extremely desperate.

and, shit, you seem to be needing to share his tent by the way you’ve swallowed up your pride and begged.

“fine. hop in.”

he does it for mattheo, he convinced himself as he pulled back the slider, revealing the full width of the entrance for you. he does it so your brother won’t rip his skin off if something does happen to you in your ripped tent.

yeah, that’s the only reason.

you slowly crawled into the tent, careful not to touch anything in your wake; theo seems to be in a bad mood, and you did not want to aggravate the situation further. so you propped yourself at the opposite side of him, sitting with your legs crossed one over the other, observing how he zipped back up the entrance.

you were now irrefutably stuck in a small tent with theodore nott.

after securing the slider, theo turned around to locate you. and when his eyes landed on you, all stiff and unmoving, he just sighed and slapped his forehead with his own palm.

“i hope you won’t stay like that all night.”

“like what?”

“like a creep, watching me sleep.”

“a creep? what do–”

“just lay down and sleep.”

theo issued his command and moved away from the topic at once, crawling back to his sleeping bag and sliding right in. ignoring you. even if you tried to continue the discussion, him turning his back towards you was enough evidence he did not want to interact with you more than necessary.

“okay, okay.”

you still answered him, sighing with exasperation at his bitchy attitude.

why was he so irritated tonight? indeed, theodore nott was not a big fan of yours, but his patience was never this fragile. maybe you angered him during the day? you don’t really remember talking to him at all though, more interested in spending time with mattheo’s girlfriend away from the boys.

the reasons behind his shitty behaviour will remain a mystery, as theo seemed to be adamant to go to sleep. you conceded too, finally laying down, closer to the edge of the tent, taking a similar sideway position as him.

the tent was warmer than yours, no rupture disturbing the temperature of the insides, yet the lack of covers did make your body curl into itself and seek more warmth. you did so for a few minutes, twisting and turning from side to side, searching for the optimal position.

theodore seems to be aware of it all as a long exhale emerged from his side of the tent. all loud — exaggeratedly so — and purposeful, acting as a warning, as a replacement for a verbal complaint.

you bit down on your bottom lip, hoping you were just reading too much into it, and shifted the position of your legs again. the loud whoosh sound of your pants across the tent material resonated around the entire shelter.

“move one more time and i am kicking you out.”

he spat the threat at you in a heavy tone, seriousness latched onto every word of his. he even betrayed his initial position and turned around to prove it, facing you for a third time that night.

“i am not doing it on purpose.” you hissed back at him, encircling your arms around your torso and pushing your knees further into your stomach, hoping he will realise cold was making you so restless.

“oh, so your body moves on its own?”

sassiness. mockery. rage.

“i am cold.” you blatantly stated, more of a whisper than a fully articulated sentence.

this will soften his resolve, right?

“not my problem.”

no.

you huffed out a shaky breath, curling tighter into yourself. your body was visibly shivering against the cool air, air that was sneaking underneath your pajama and pinching at your skin. you did not dare to spoke another word to him, certain his coldness will only worsen your situation; so, trembling into yourself deeper and deeper, you hoped your body will just heat up on its own.

silence stretched between the two of you, heavy and palpable. you paid theo no mind, completely averting your gaze from his emotionless face and closing them with an unspoken wish for sleep.

“­fuck, fine. c’mere.”

your head snapped immediately at his words, your eyes locked in on theodore in an instant. “what?”

“you won’t sleep otherwise, right?” he muttered, reaching for the edge of his sleeping bag and pulling at the zipper just enough so you could slip in. “just– get in.”

your heart stuttered, nerves, confusion, and something else colliding inside you. carefully, you inched closer to him, joining him into the sleeping bag as instructed.

it was cramped. too cramped.

it was obvious the sleeping bag was made for one person only. yet you couldn’t complain. wouldn’t complain.

your thighs shifted against his, pajama pants brushing against pajama pants, and your chest pressed against his arm. the space between you two was almost non-existent, your bodies mushed under the too-small sleeping covers.

it was so strange, but it felt so good.

a sigh of pleasure slipped past your lips as your body soaked in the warmth of the sleeping bag and of theodore’s body. unconsciously, you even drew closer into him, dipping your head towards his clothed chest and–

“back off, weirdo.”

his hand emerged from underneath, pressing against your forehead and regaining some distance between the two of you. your upper body might have been pushed away towards the edge, but your lower body was strongly opposing theo by latching your legs to his own and keeping your ground.

“but you’re warm.”

“i don’t offer cuddles, so stop– ugh”

his complaints were interrupted by a deep loud groan. you would have said you hit a nerve with your forwardness, and that was his reaction.

but no.

you hit something else, something in the nether regions — your knee aimlessly nudged between his thighs in your attempts at trapping him, brushing against his cock.

his hard cock, if you were to be specific.

“oh my god, is that–”

“i told you to back–”

“is that why you’re so bitchy?”

you suddenly had a moment of epiphany: theodore nott was so irritated by your arrival because you ruined his jack-off session.

“you’re so weird, geez– ah.”

you kneed him again, this time applying more pressure to his cock. you did it to stop his mindless ramble, but also to see that raw reaction again. to see how his lips parted, quivering in pleasure, to see his annoyed eyes roll back at the slightest touch.

to feel how his shaft twitched against your leg.

“were you mid-stroke?”

oh, you were so taking advantage of his weakness, taunting and humiliating theodore for his previous actions. yet, your knee never stopped its ministration, shifting around his cock and applying just enough pressure to take theo’s breath away.

“and because of me, you didn’t finish?”

“f–fuck.”

his hand dropped completely from your head, slipping down your body and sliding right over your problematic knee. and with a harsh thug, he removed your leg altogether, forcing it in the opposite direction.

any sort of control you had over him disappeared.

“i really hate you, y’ know?”

he was angry. really angry. his hand on your knee was strong, pushing at your leg hard enough to hurt. the muscle stretch indeed burned, but so did his eyes. they were focused on your face, part of his gaze wishing to light you on fire and turn you to ashes, part of it to ignite a similar flame within you.

“give me one good reason why i shouldn’t throw you out, hm?”

his beautiful orbs betrayed him, but his tongue still spoke in lies.

he managed to captivate you fully, and for a moment you did not register his question. you only stared back into his eyes, forming a link with the hidden yet burning desire in them. that blazing lust was pouring out of his gaze straight into yours, only to slowly expand all throughout your entire body.

you were submerging in undeniable arousal, and his big hand pressing into your knee was keeping you underneath it all.

“i can help you out.”

so charmed by your own unwavering stare, theo did not registered the movement of your own hand, slowly creeping down his pajama top and sliding downwards to the band of his pants. your fingertips, still cold from theo’s negligence, dipped underneath the waistband in no time, only stopping their trail when reaching his cock.

“s–shit, fuck.”

his cock was heavy and hot in your palm, trembling at the mere contact with your cold fingers. his hips jerked upwards instinctively, his cock slotting deeper in your grip. it was all wet and sticky, covered in precum and what you assumed was theo’s own spit from before, so his shaft glided along your palm nicely.

“so cold, damn.”

a shaky exhale joined his remark, puffed against the crown of your head, as you slowly started to stroke him.

“told you so.”

you merely retorted, smirking against his clothed chest, allowing your hand to pick up a lazy, teasing rhythm. now it was the perfect time to torture him, carefully twisting your wrist and applying more pressure to the underside of his cock, or shamelessly thumbing at his weeping slit.

theodore couldn’t even complain, his tongue caged by a plethora of grunted moans and nonsensical babbles. his incoherence betrayed him, and so did his hand, leaving your poor knee alone and slapping itself on your ass.

with fingers spread out across your pants, he grabbed with vigour your left buttcheek.

“shut it.”

he growled low in his throat, all his pent-up frustration and need vibrating through both of your bodies. his hand was becoming greedier and greedier, groping and squeezing your ass at every harsh tug on his cock. and you had no mercy, sliding your hand up and down his shaft, with so much dexterity.

but when you dipped your other hand lower to his balls, fondling them at with a gentle touch, he too dipped his fingers into your pajama pants.

“oho, what do we have here?”

his warm fingers dragged downwards along your skin, smacking your ass one last time and, finally, dipping lower to your cunt. the tip of his digits pushed underneath your thong, all slutty and wet against your pussy, parting your sloppy fold with a single calculated stroke.

“dirty fucking girl.”

you moaned against his chest loud, unrestricted, taken by surprise by theo’s lack of hesitation at exploring your messy cunt. you could feel his fingers brushing up and down your slit, swimming in your arousal and collecting as much of your wetness as possible.

“all this just from jerking me off?”

he was taunting you, grinning like a little devil into your hair, somehow forgetting how needy and touch-starved he behaved just minutes ago.

you would have reminded him, really, but you couldn’t form one single coherent word as his fingers pressed down harshly on your clit.

“so so needy.”

tight little circles followed soon, his fingers toying with your little bundle of nerves to his heart’s content. theo finally found your irrefutable weakness — as long as he played with your quivering pussy, you were less annoying.

“i kind of like you like this.” theo mused, humming against your head as he peered down at your face. “look at me.”

you were less annoying and more obedient. you immediately listened to his command, raising your gaze up to his eyes, looking at him with your glassy orbs, so full of lust and desperation. your lips were caught between your teeth, already bruised and bullied in the process of quieting down.

but your tiny whines were loud enough for his ears to pick up.

you were so fucking cute.

“is that what it takes, huh? all i have to do is toy with your cunt to keep you in check?

his hand sped up, flicking your clit with the pad of his fingers. your hand on his cock stilled a while back, so overwhelmed by your own pleasure, but theo seems to not care about his release right now.

“what if i eat you out, hm? will you be a good girl for me?”

“theo! good god, yes.”

and here it was, your beautiful cracking voice, finally making its appearance after a good period of only moans and whimpers, accepting theodore’s proposal in a heartbeat. your pleading eyes were a nice touch to it all, making theo conform to your wishes without additional fuss.

“no takebacks.”

it’s all he says, like a warning, before retracting his palm from between your legs. and what he does next makes another glob of arousal gush out of you.

theodore nott removed his hand and directed it towards his mouth to lick it clean.

to lick it clean.

your wetness was all over his lips and tongue as he diligently lapped up all the stickiness from his hand.

“please, god. pleaseplease–”

“yeah, amore, i got you.”

pulling his fingers away from his mouth with a squelching pop, theo then completely discarded the covers of the sleeping bag, throwing the piece somewhere to the side.

“on your back, let me see that pretty pussy.”

you conformed to his words immediately, plopping yourself on your back and even discarding your pants and panties in the process. the garments joined the forgotten covers, the ones you’ve craved since the beginning of your intrusion.

but warmth was no longer important now, as you were practically burning with lust underneath theo’s predatory gaze.

his hands joined your knees again, applying enough pressure to part them away and create a passage for him and his hungry mouth. and no great effort was needed, your legs complying and allowing theo to finally see the mess between them.

“fuck, you’re soaking wet.”

his voice was gritty, disbelief laced with something darker, something feral. he was no longer mocking you — his gaze was locked between your thighs like a starved man, as if the gates of heaven have opened at the same time as your legs.

theo pushed your knees a bit more, just enough for him to slot himself between them. and you gasped as you felt his warm breath fanning over your pussy, your hole twitching in anticipation.

“spread wider for me, amore.”

you didn’t hesitate — again. your thighs stretched further apart for him, your muscles burning yet again from the pressure. but this was something you could handle for the sake of ultimate pleasure.

“fuckin’ perfect.” he muttered briefly and then–

his mouth was on your cunt.

his slippery tongue licked a long stripe from your pulsing entrance to your hard clit, savoring every drop of your arousal just like he did with his hand. your hips jerked upwards into his face, chasing his mouth — yet his arms immediately snaked around the upper part of your thighs, locking you in place and making you take every single flick of his tongue, every single kiss to your swollen pussy.

and when he sucked your clit in his mouth, between his plush wet lips? you sobbed.

“theo– that feels so good, fuck.”

your fingers clutched at his hair, tugging at his messed-up curls, needing something to hold onto as pleasure washed all over you. and that only made him delve into your cunt more, groaning in between your folds and making such vibrations travel straight to your clit.

your enjoyment was clear from miles away, but so was his. if you got extremely wet from fisting his cock, theo also got excruciatingly horny from licking your pussy. his hips were grounded into the sleeping mat, humping the surface in desperation as he lapped at your core.

he has been edged for quite some time now, and he was no longer patient.

he too needed to cum.

“always wanted to eat this pussy.”

theo was so pussy-drunk, god. you would have never in a million years expected theodore nott to announce between slurps and kisses how much he’s dreamed about your cunt.

“y–yeah?”

“yeah. i knew you’d have the tastiest fuckin’ cunt.”

his clothed cock was moving faster against the mat, the wet squelches of theo messily making out with your pussy being joined by the swish-ing sounds of the two materials colliding.

he was definitely close, and so were you.

“this” and he placed a kiss right against your clit. “haunted me all day.”

“shiiit… w–why?”

“your dress was so goddamn see-through, and fuck–”

theo was already picking up the pace, his tongue working harder to make you cum at the same time as him. his fingers even joined in, pulling your pussy lips apart for him to feast better on you, while his nose continued to poke and prod at your bundle of nerves.

“had a boner all fuckin’ day.”

and there it was. the full story on why theodore nott was jacking off before bed and why he was so irritated by your mere presence in his tent: he was affected by you all day and you had no idea.

“‘m sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m so– ughh.”

you had no time to give him a warning, retorting to weak apologies as you creamed all over his face and tongue. thighs clamming around his head and convulsing from the immense pleasure.

theo, your brother’s best friend, just made you cum in his tent, on a camping trip with all of your close friends.

and that wasn't all.

“ah, shit, wait, wait.”

he didn’t stop.

no, no, no.

theodore continued to lap at your pussy, slurping up all of your release as he continued to jut his hips into the sleeping mat. and, finally, after a couple more seconds, with a guttural moan, he too came, spilling his release inside his boxers.

filthy, pathetic, and so so hot.

he pulled away from your pussy only after his own hips stabilized, moving up from the ground and away from between your legs. his face was wet, incredibly so, yet he was smiling bigger than ever.

with glistering lips and blown-out eyes, you expected theo to say something meaningful about the entire ordeal.

but alas, he was still the idiot friend of your brother.

“someone did eat you. but it wasn’t a bear.”

“oh, shut up.”

you were so done with him and his idiocy. if it weren’t for your shaky legs, you would have kicked him in the shins by now.

“what? you make a tasty meal.”

“nott, stop! you–”

“come tomorrow too.”

oh?

“i will steal condoms from mattheo and fuck you all night, amore.”

your breath hitched.

“… and the next night.”

your legs instinctively parted.

“… and the next night.”

your cunt was already pulsing with need.

 “… but only if you want to.”

“how could i refuse such an offer, nott?”

©dearmisshoney 2025. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

You shook your head, fanning yourself. “Does anyone else feel hot all of a sudden? It feels like I’m getting burned alive.”

The boys shook their heads. Remus laid the back of his hand against your forehead. “You’re burning up, Y/N. I think you might be pitching a fever.” 

James pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and squinted. “Moony’s right. You’re sweating profusely and you look a bit peaked.” 

Peter nodded in agreement. “It might be that new dragon flu that’s going around. Maybe you should head back to the dorms, Y/N.” 

“I can’t miss class. There’s an assignment due in Transfiguration.” 

Just then, a violent cramp seized your lower abdomen. You gripped the edge of the dining table so hard that you felt the wood splinter underneath your palm. Padfoot’s eyes widened at the appearance of your claws. It had only been a month since Sirius helped you summon your Animagus form and while you still had much to learn, you’ve never lost control like this before. 

You needed to get out of there. Transforming into a giant snow leopard in the middle of the Great Hall would be very, very bad. 

“Don’t worry about McGonagall,” Sirius said in a stern voice. “We’ll cover for you. Now come on, I’ll walk you back to your room.” 

Fortunately, you managed to reach Gryffindor tower with no other incidents. After Sirius escorted you back to your dorm, he barred the door with magic and promised to check up on you after class. 

The cramps only worsened. It felt like someone had buried a dagger into your stomach and was now twisting and turning it as they pleased. You doubled over in pain and clutched the poster of your canopy bed before curling up into a ball in the middle of your mattress. Not even your period cramps compared to this torment. 

When you thought it couldn’t get any worse, an overwhelming ache blossomed between your thighs and made you groan with need. You twisted in your sheets and pressed your legs together to counteract the wave of lust coursing through your veins, but it only made it worse. You felt empty and hollow and the overwhelming desire to be filled was the only thing you could think about.

This was different from the surge of adolescent hormones that you had grown so familiar with. The desire was a living thing, sinking its claws into your very being. You felt feral, animalistic. 

You burrowed into your pillows, your breaths growing ragged as you tried to regain control. A demanding knock against your door broke your concentration. You sniffed the air, whining softly as the intoxicating scent of eucalyptus, bergamot, and sandalwood overpowered your heightened senses. A part of you recalled the warning Sirius left you with. You were not, under any circumstances, supposed to open the door unless it was him or one of the boys on the other side, but the temptation was too strong. 

As the knocks grew more insistent, the scent shifted into something sharper. You felt yourself drawn to it and before long, you were opening the door to satiate your curiosity. The person standing on the other side made your stomach lurch. 

“Regulus,” you said through gritted teeth. The very presence of the younger Black brother made your entire body shake as you contended against the urge to transform. It was a losing battle. You could feel your canines elongating, making your gums feel sore and achy. “Now is not a good time.” 

In fact, it was the worst bloody fucking time. On a normal day, you could barely tolerate Regulus. His surly attitude and cutting glare certainly left little to be desired. Then there was the matter of his falling out with Sirius, which only served to heighten the tension between you. When Professor McGonagall chose to make you partners, you at least attempted to keep things civil. Whatever was going on between your best friend and his younger brother was none of your business, but Regulus had practically made it impossible to stay impartial. 

You had never met a broodier, haughtier, snootier arsehole than Regulus Arcturus Black. The pureblood prick acted like he was a prince amongst peasants just because he happened to be born into the right bloodline. Yet a muggleborn like yourself had managed to take the top spot in every class. A spot that previously belonged to him. 

To be expected, Regulus wasn’t the least bit pleased about this. He was even less thrilled when McGonagall tasked him to drop off the latest lecture notes so that you wouldn’t fall behind in class. If she hadn’t threatened to deduct points from his house for refusing, Regulus would’ve never set foot in the godforsaken lion’s den.

He pushed his way inside, not bothering to wait for a proper invitation. “Here are the notes from class,” Regulus stated stiffly. “We’re required to transform a thimble into a thestral. I suggest you read up. I’ll not have you dragging me down just because you fancied playing hooky for the day.” 

“I’m not skipping for the bloody hell of it,” you snapped. “If I had a choice, I would be in class not doubled over in pain—” 

Regulus caught you just before you hit the ground. The dizzy spell had come out of nowhere, nearly knocking you to the floor from the sheer force of its effects. As Regulus snaked his arm around your waist, you almost wished it had. His scent hit you all at once. You whimpered as he tucked you against his side, feeling the heat of his touch even under all your layers of clothing. 

The ringing in your ears subsided enough for you to hear the panic in Regulus’ voice. “Y/N, can you hear me? Are you alright?” 

You pushed him off with what little strength remained in your body. “Thank you for the notes, but I’d appreciate it if you left.”

“No,” Regulus said. 

“What do you mean, no?

“I mean, no. Do you want to hear it in French? Non.” 

You frowned, clutching your stomach. The cramps were starting again, but it was different this time. The ache in your lower abdomen was excruciating and your current proximity to Regulus only seemed to make it worse. The slickness between your thighs certainly didn’t help the matter. It was humiliating, plain and simple. 

“Get the fuck out, Regulus!” 

Regulus caught your wrist. His fingers felt like ice against your overheated skin. “You don’t want that, darling. Not when I’m the only person who can help.”

“You know what’s wrong with me?” 

He sighed. “Of course my brother would convince you to turn without thinking about the side effects. Classic Sirius, honestly.” You glared at him to get on with it. “You’re in heat, Y/N.” 

You grimaced. There was no way in Godric’s green earth. “Like…a cat?” 

Regulus smirked. “Is that what you transform into, little kitten?” You pursed your lips, which caused him to roll his eyes. “Please, I know your merry band of misfits have all conjured an animagus form. There’s no use hiding it. So what are you? A fuzzy little Persian cat?” 

“No,” you said rather haughtily. Did he have to be so irritating? “My form is a snow leopard.” 

“Still a kitten,” he responded with a shit eating grin. “The same rules apply. You’ll be in heat for at least a week, mon chaton.” 

“You mean I have to suffer for seven whole days? This is hell. It feels like my uterus is being ripped apart. How am I supposed to endure this pain for an entire week?”

“Well, there are ways to find relief.” 

“What kind of ways?” 

Regulus gave you a knowing look. “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can figure it out. What’s the purpose of heat?” 

“Reproduction,” you answered almost instantly. The realization left your mouth before your brain could even process it. Oh, you have got to be kidding. This was some sort of cruel joke. For Merlin’s fucking sake! This was horrifying. Downright humiliating. “You can’t possibly mean…” 

The grin on the stupid twat’s face was growing wider by the second. “You don’t necessarily have to have sex,” he said in an amused tone. “An orgasm will do. I’m sure you can manage that with your fingers, can’t you princess?”

You swallowed thickly. “I—I’ve never—“ 

Was it possible to die from embarrassment? Discussing the details of your sex life would’ve been humiliating under any circumstance, but this? Standing here, telling Regulus fucking Black what you were about to tell him, this was truly rock bottom.

“Don’t tell me you’re a virgin.” 

“No!” you snapped. You’ve had your fair share of experience in that department, no matter how awkward they might’ve been. “I’ve had sex, I just haven’t…”

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” Regulus said, entirely perplexed. “Not even once?” 

You crossed your arms defensively, which turned out to be a big mistake. On top of everything else that you were already suffering through, your breasts now felt sore and sensitive. 

“No,” you conceded with a sigh. “I don’t need you judging me for it either, so if you’re quite done then please get the bloody hell out of my dorm.” 

It may have been your imagination, but you could’ve sworn that Regulus softened just a little bit. He at least loosened his grip on your wrist, rubbing up your arm in a gesture that might’ve been soothing if it weren’t coming from him. 

“I’m not judging you. If anything, I’m judging whoever it is that failed to make you finish. It’s quite rude to leave a lady unsatisfied.” 

“What would you even know about satisfying a woman, Regulus?”

“Trust me, darling. I know plenty.” Your cheeks heated as he traced circles on your forearm. “Tell me, kitten. Have you ever touched yourself?” 

The conversation should have ended there. You should’ve put a stop to it. But this bloody fucking heat was doing strange things to your body. Your hormones were out of control and Regulus was standing way too close for comfort. So close that you could see the little golden flecks in his emerald eyes. So close that one of his curls was tickling your cheek. So close that those full, pillowy lips were mere inches away from your own. 

He smirked when your gaze dipped down to his mouth. “My eyes are up here, Y/N and I asked you a question. The polite thing to do is answer.” 

“Since when have you ever cared about being polite?” 

“I don’t, but I think you and I are playing a very dangerous game here and I quite enjoy sparring with you, ma cherie.” Regulus tilted your chin up and cradled your jaw. “So, have you or have you not touched yourself?” 

You glared up at him defiantly; a last ditch effort to keep your dignity intact. “No,” you said with your head held high. “I’ve never touched myself and I’ve never had an orgasm. Are you happy now, Regulus?” 

“Quite the opposite,” he murmured. Regulus caressed your bottom lip with his thumb and tilted his head back to study you. His eyes were almost black when they flickered back up to meet yours. “I could teach you.” 

“You want to teach me how to…” 

“Masturbate. Wank. Get yourself off?” Regulus listed matter-of-factly. “Yes. Yes, I do, ma chérie.”

It should’ve been a no-brainer. This was a terrible, horrible fucking idea. An absolute hot mess that would yield calamitous results, but the ache in your core was too painful to ignore and you were willing to try just about anything to find relief. Including trusting someone you absolutely loathed. 

“Fine. You can teach me, but that’s it. None of this goes any further than that.” 

Regulus smirked. “I won’t touch you, princess. Not until you beg me to.” 

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “So?” 

He nodded behind you. “Get on the bed.” 

That was easy enough. You crawled into your mattress and sat cross legged on top of your sheets. “Not like that. Lie down on your back and take those ghastly pajamas off.” 

Arsehole. You happened to like your red and gold striped bottoms, but to be fair, they were in the way. The mattress dipped beneath him as Regulus positioned himself at the very edge of the bed. He leaned against the wooden poster, his gaze transfixed on the sight before him. 

“I wouldn’t have taken you as a red lace lingerie type of girl, mon chaton.” You frowned in response, which only made him chuckle. “As pretty as those panties are, you’ll need to take them off as well.” 

You hesitated, hooking your thumb over the waistband of your knickers. Regulus raised a brow as if he were challenging you to back out. Like he half-expected you to be too scared to continue. He seriously underestimated that infamous brashness that Gryffindors were so well known for. 

He inhaled sharply as you slipped out of your panties and tossed the discarded lace next to him. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.” 

For once, you kept silent and did what you were told. Regulus nodded tightly. “Wider. Yeah, just like that.” 

“What now?” you asked, trying to keep yourself from blushing at this totally undignified position. You were way past embarrassment now. 

“Run a finger through your folds,” Regulus said, his voice sounding huskier than it did a second ago. He watched with dark eyes as you stroked your core. “Fuck, you’re soaked. I can see it on your fingers.” 

You took a deep breath, feeling that tension coil in your lower abdomen. Every fiber of your being buzzed with lust. “Stroke yourself, kitten. Imagine that it’s someone else touching you.” 

With your eyes closed, you let his voice guide you through the steps. You hated to admit it, but he was good at this. “Use your own slick to make it easier, darling. Gather it before rubbing your clit. That’s it, just like that. There’s a good girl.” 

The words spurred you on, your fingers working that sensitive bundle of nerves to find release. You could feel the budding orgasm. It was spreading through you, setting your teeth on edge. You were close, so close. 

When the momentum dropped, you nearly cried out of frustration. If you thought you were in pain before, this was ten-fold of that. For some reason, there was some sort of mental block that you couldn’t get past. 

You looked up, your lower lip trembling. “I can’t do it. There’s this block and I freeze up and I just can’t do it on my own.” 

Regulus looked unhinged. Like he was going to jump out of his skin any second. You’ve never seen him like this. Anything other than calm and collected was out of character for the youngest Black. 

“Will you help me?” you whispered. To be honest, you weren’t above begging at this point. 

He looked utterly conflicted. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Y/N. You’re in heat. I don’t want to take advantage when you’re in such a vulnerable state.” 

You shook your head. “You wouldn’t be taking advantage. I know I’m hormonal, but oddly enough, I trust you. You know how to keep a secret. Just please, Regulus. I’m in so much pain.” 

Regulus was silent for a moment. He seemed to be in deep contemplation. “Are you absolutely sure?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you’re aware of what you’re asking for and who you’re asking it from?” 

“I am perfectly aware, thank you very much. Is this the most brilliant idea I’ve ever had? Fuck no. Do I still want to do it anyways? Fuck yes.” 

The two of you stared at one another. Regulus clenched his jaw and then unclenched it. Finally, he sighed in resignation. 

“C’mere then.” 

He positioned himself against the headboard, his back pressed up on the wood. Regulus bent his long legs and pulled you against him, your back resting against the solid plane of his chest. You sighed as he rubbed soothing circles upon your skin, his rings kissing your hips with their cold bite. He shuffled behind you, adjusting himself just as you caught a glimpse of the two of you in your vanity mirror. 

Regulus stuck his middle and pointer finger into his mouth, making sure they were nice and wet before he moved them lower. You whimpered as he caressed the inside of your thigh and clutched the sheets as he teased along your crease. When he stroked along your wetness, a choked moan escaped from your lips. 

“Gods, you’re fucking dripping.” His cold breath fanned over your neck just as he plunged his fingers deep within you. “Salazar fucking save me, you’re even tighter than I imagined.” 

His strokes were languid, small ministrations as he buried his fingers inside of you. The cold metal rings that adorned his slender fingers hit your pubic bone every time he thrusted inside of you, but it wasn’t painful. In fact, seeing the Black heirloom ring soaked in your wetness might’ve been the most erotic sight you’ve ever witnessed.

You whimpered as his other hand disappeared underneath your shirt. “Can I touch you here, princess?” 

The sound that came out of you barely sounded human. It was a purr more than anything. Regulus caressed your ribs with his knuckles. “I need words, kitten.” 

“You can touch me, Regulus.” 

Fire skittered along your skin as his hand traveled further up. He palmed you through your bra before he slipped under the fabric and squeezed your breast. Regulus paid equal attention to both of your breasts, admiring the curve and swell of them as he picked up the pace of his fingers. You moaned as he pinched your nipples, which only made you wetter still. 

You fisted his curls in one hand as he curved them inside of you. Regulus chuckled darkly, pleased by your reaction. “Right there? Does that feel good, princess?” 

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yes, gods that’s perfect.” 

“You’re doing so well, ma cherie. That’s it. Ride my fingers just like that. Feels good, yeah?” 

You nodded, blinking at the image in the mirror. Regulus had his hands all over you, his lips pressed lightly against your neck as he watched his fingers slide in and out of your tight cunt. His eyes caught yours in the reflection, the green completely swallowed by dark pools of lust. 

“Look at you, all spread out for me. You’re fucking exquisite. The little moans you make are enough to drive me mad.” 

“Regulus, please,” you keened. He smirked against your neck and picked up the pace. Your head fell against his shoulder as that familiar tense built. “Oh gods. Oh fuck. Reggie—“

You felt him grip your chin, tilting it towards the mirror. “Don’t close your eyes,” Regulus growled into your ear. “Watch, kitten. Watch as I make you cum.”

When you dragged your gaze upwards, you almost didn’t recognize yourself. You were in a state of disarray, cheeks flushed, hair matted, and lips parted as Regulus pushed you over the edge. His fingers were magic and every stroke unraveled you, hips bucking, back arching, begging for more and more and more. The orgasm rippled through you like a monsoon, completely swallowing you whole. 

“That’s it, princess,” Regulus cooed. “Gods, you’re so fucking pretty when you cum. Darling, you look divine. Je suis raide dingue de toi.”

The comedown had you seeing stars. Behind your eyes was a whole galaxy, a cluster of constellations that you never would’ve reached without him. Regulus had made you cum so hard that your body felt like it was floating through outer space. 

When you finally regained awareness, you were surprised to find Regulus gently brushing your hair back. “How was that, kitten?” 

“That was—you were—fuck.”

“Well said, love. Shakespeare himself would envy your silver tongue.”

He slid his fingers out of you slowly and you tried and failed to suppress the little whine that escaped from the back of your throat. 

Regulus smirked, feeling the way you clenched around his digits in an attempt to keep him in place. He stared at his hand, mesmerized by the arousal dripping off his fingers. You stirred, having every intention to find something that he could clean himself off with. 

“Let me grab you a towel.” 

He gripped your hips in place and looked you straight in the eyes as he brought his fingers to his lips. “No need, princess.” 

Then he sucked, hard. The filthy image was enough to leave you gasping in shock. He lapped up every drop like you were the sweetest delicacy on this earth. Regulus groaned, his eyes rolling back as he savored the taste. The moan that rippled through him would forever be branded into your mind.

For Godric’s fucking sake, the man was downright obscene.

“That should hold you off for the rest of the day,” Regulus said. “You’ll still feel the effects of your heat, but it won’t be as bad. You might even be able to drag yourself down to dinner. If you can manage to walk on such shaky legs.” 

You rolled your eyes, but softened a bit. If it weren’t for him, you would still be in excruciating pain. “Would it be strange to say thank you?” 

Regulus shrugged nonchalantly as though you were merely discussing the weather. “Not strange at all. You’re very welcome, princess.” 

“You’re…” you took a deep breath, like your body was rejecting whatever compliment was forming in your mind. “You’re really good at that.” 

“Yeah? You think so?” 

You quirked a brow. “Fishing for compliments, are we?” 

“The only compliment I need is the sound of you moaning my name,” he said with a smile as he hooked your bra back in place and pulled your shirt back down. “I assure you that I intend to hear plenty of that in the near future. This is just the start.” 

Regulus straightened, trailing his fingers along the sheets before snatching up the red lace underwear you’d thrown at him earlier. He pocketed the lingerie and smirked. 

"You said something earlier," you recalled. "Before I..."

"Before I made you come so hard you saw stars?"

Heat flooded your cheeks at his vulgar choice of words. "Yes. Something in French. That's your native tongue, isn't it?"

"Thinking a lot about my tongue, are you love?"

You ignored the salacious comment. "What did you say?"

A devious smirk tugged at his lips. Regulus pierced you with his gaze, those emerald eyes burning with so much lust that you felt choked with desire.

"It's a secret," he whispered, his voice a deep and rough caress. "If you're good, then maybe you'll find out what my tongue and I have to say."

You rolled your eyes. "You're a pain in the arse, Regulus."

"Find me when you want to play again, princess," Regulus said with a dark chuckle. "I'll be waiting for those claws to come out. See you soon, mon chaton.”