Fresh Faced

Slytherin!Jungkook x Slytherin!Reader

slight!Jaehyun x Reader

-🐍🐍🐍-

Synopsis: Jeon Jungkook is a notorious name in the halls of Hogwarts. Pureblooded, talented, and somewhat cold, he is a textbook definition of everything it means to be Slytherin. At least, the Slytherin stereotype. The unfazed, unapproachable, and unobtainable aura the male exudes was the holy trinity that attracted the eyes of many, enemies and admirers alike. When your every move and interaction is judged and scrutinized, it's not exactly hard to attempt to cut off the root of the problem. And as far as Jeon Jungkook is concerned, the entirety of humanity is nothing more than a mere nuisance. His greatest wish is to disappear.

You were sorted into Slytherin house before the hat had even touched your head. A feat, the headmaster claimed, only ever once repeated by the pale-haired heir of one of the most infamous, long-storied Pureblood wizarding families in history. Half-blooded and fairly quiet, it didn’t take long for the initial novel interest in you to die down and be replaced with scorn instead. You found yourself largely ignored by your housemates; never bullied, but not quite seen as belonging. You had always preferred your own thoughts and logic to the whimsies of others, but the more-than-passing notion that you had made no meaningful connections throughout your life began to plague your heart more and more. In this life, you wanted nothing more than to be seen.

So when two people, with opposite lifestyles and goals but exceedingly firm beliefs cross paths, why, instead of setting off nasty explosions, were sparks flying magnificently instead?

-🐍-

Honestly, you were very surprised when the sorting hat called out your house with no hesitation.

If you’d asked your father, he’d no doubt say he bled red and gold without a second thought. As a way of bonding with you, he’d share stories of the theatrics and misadventures he and his friends had gotten up to during his time wandering the halls of Hogwarts. He spoke of Quidditch, of friendly ghosts, of beautiful paintings who told them their stories. He spoke of the bravery of red, the goodness of yellow, and the genius of blue.

He spoke with such pride when he looked into your mother’s eyes and swore up and down she’d have been the first to be sorted into any of the three.

He spoke the romance of his youth into a fantasy in your mind, where the courageous were the most dashing heroes to be gracing these four walls. But when he spoke, well…He never mentioned green at all.

You didn’t understand.

Slytherin? Was there something wrong with you?

It’s one thing to be sorted into Slytherin, but another thing to lean so overwhelmingly in that direction that it made you question your own character. You knew stereotypes were just that -- stereotypes, but Slytherins weren’t exactly known for exuding kindness and civility, and you don’t consider yourself a cruel girl. But the sorting hat has proven on several occasions that it absolutely abhors being doubted, so, amongst the stares and whispers, you sucked it up and found your place amongst the snakes you presumed you’d have been warned about had your father even bothered to mention them. And unfortunately, it didn’t take very long for your dreaded prediction to come true.

You were a pariah in your own House.

Not one to bully, you never really participated in the House rivalry Slytherin had going on with the rest of Hogwarts. Rather, you promptly acknowledged that your housemates were pretty similar to you; very prideful and self-assured, so opposing viewpoints weren’t looked upon favorably. You understood them, because they reminded you of yourself. As a matter of fact, the only difference was that your mother had always taught you to learn from those you didn’t agree with so that you could better understand them, though it didn’t mean you had to agree. This common sentiment so often cited in the muggle world was lost on the pureblooded heirs of Slytherin, it seemed. And this glaring at-odds way of approaching dissidents compared to your housemates came from the most muggle thing about you -- your mother.

As a muggle thrust into the wizarding world rather unceremoniously, your mother never could reconcile the sheer divisiveness of the Wizarding Community compared to the Muggle World, where everyone was essentially forced to live amongst and tolerate those with differing views. She quickly learned that the wizarding world was what the muggle world could become if expressing such violent, intolerant sentiments were expressly allowed - thus she promptly raised you as a muggle until the age of 12.

Your father had always been in and out of your life before then, your parents’ relationship in a weird state of limbo that you were entirely sure was your mother’s paranoid doing.

But you -- you were daring, and bold, and opinionated in thought -- a carbon copy of your father. His likeness, his passion, his honesty -- you received it all from him, and it scared her. She was afraid his mere magical existence would influence you, even though your very existence had proven how much hers had influenced him. The countless letters he’d written begging for a chance to live as a family culminated in him willing to give up the entirety of the wizarding world for you two -- the love story of the century, restricted to being known in full only to a select few…Or so you thought.

“Wasn’t her father besodden with a muggle?”

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

“A blood traitor’s half-blood spawn in the (L/N) family -- how preposterous!”

Such words had become a common occurrence, and after a while you became numb to the ridicule. You refused to grovel to the ignorant, of course.

But your fantasy Hogwarts life had been ruined, and you spent your days alone with only your own mind for company.

You expected nothing different for your sixth year.

Up to this point, you couldn’t help but wish more and more for a bit of the so-called friendship everyone else took for granted in their day-to-day lives.

You wanted to share your feelings, you wanted to laugh with someone, you wanted a shoulder to cry on. You wanted to become something more than a flower on the wall one would pick at to feel more beautiful, more than a forever-enclosed bud amongst blossoms.

But you were never given that chance, because as strong as your desires were, your pride, values and stubbornness that you got from your father held strong… and reflected unapologetically in just how you were raised by your mother.

And so another year began, bound to be the same.

-🐍-

As an avid reader, you’d like to confidently say that the library was your safe space. All the interesting knowledge you could find was readily available, and the temptation of forbidden texts would always lurk in your heart as well. But surprisingly, you soon came to loathe how populated it could be, and instead found yourself searching for quieter grounds.

Following countless times of getting lost in Hogwarts’ entrapping corridors, you’d promptly made up your mind that it’d be nothing short of justified to sue the historic school for child endangerment. Blood pressure high and mood now sour, you decided to make your way to the school grounds instead.

Angrily stomping along, you weren’t exactly paying attention to your surroundings. So when a whip-like branch suddenly smacked you dead in the face, the sheer volume of the screech that left your lips was enough to startle your attacker as well, the limb that had wrapped itself around your waist rapidly loosening.

Gaining your bearings, you belatedly realize that you had been ferociously attacked by the Whomping Willow.

A bloody tree had just bitch-slapped you into next Wednesday, and then had the gall to act surprised by your reaction.

Hurriedly putting some distance between you and the tree, the massive volume of expletives leaving your lips were enough to make the singular soul who witnessed the entire interaction turn red in embarrassment.

Jeon Jungkook had been minding his business, snugly nestled amongst the branches of a nearby willow tree that wasn’t violent enough to catch a murder charge. He’d found this spot his second year, after realizing that the students rarely got close to even the surrounding areas of the Whomping Willow, too afraid of the possibility of what he was currently witnessing.

His tree was close, but far enough that his presence never triggered an adverse reaction from the perverted deciduous nearby. Any wandering students quickly cleared the area once they realized where they were, so he’d never had to deal with anyone else disturbing his peace.

That is, until now.

As he watched you curse the tree in about a thousand different ways, he noted the Slytherin scarf secured tightly around your neck. He scanned his memories for something familiar, but failed to find your face amongst them. He wasn’t exactly social amongst those of his own year, so this didn’t surprise him.

What did surprise him was when, still cursing, you yanked your wand from your robes and furiously started throwing spells at the Whomping Willow. After watching a few of them hit, he realized that the spells weren’t violent in nature, per se, doing nothing but splattering bright pigments of color against its bark. Reds, oranges, and pinks soon dyed the trunk of the willow, making for an interesting sight.

But, while technically harmless, the influx of attacks did nothing short of enraging it.

The tree’ limbs were violently flailing about as it desperately tried to reach you, who taunted it from a safe distance. Your face was the picture of immense smugness and glee, eyebrows dancing and feet moving about.

“Do you know how much that fucking hurt? You bloody menace, I’m going to come here every single fucking night and paint you in the colors of misery and humiliation! It felt as if my head twisted around my neck -- bloody hell, should I really sue this godforsaken school? Should I just kill this thing? Should I march up to the headmaster with all your pathetic little branches in my arms? Only you can get violent, is that it? You’re lucky you’re getting off with just paint, I should have shaved a few layers of bark off of you to teach you a lesson --” you ranted, hexes flowing freely from your wand even as you talked.

At some point, just the bark hadn’t been enough for you, and you started zapping entire branches an obnoxious shade of blue.

As he watched the spectacle in front of him, a fucking tree going absolutely batshit and a girl with more than just a little crazy in her eyes, for the first time this year, Jungkook lost it.

He laughed so loudly it startled you right out of your hateful monologue, and you whipped your head around to the source of the noise.

That proved to be a dire mistake as your neck froze up in protest, the earlier smack from that stupid tree doing more than a little damage. You fell to your knees rather dramatically, scowling up at the boy in the non-threatening tree he was perched in.

Your face was full of blame as you clutched at your aching neck, and the ridiculousness of the situation only made him laugh harder.

It took several moments for Jungkook to calm himself down, and by that point you’d made yourself comfortable on the same spot you fell at. You had toppled onto your back at some point, staring begrudgingly up at the sky. Noting the lack of laughter in the background now, you carefully inclined your head up again, Jungkook’s upside down countenance coming into view a few feet away from you.

“Are you done laughing at my pain?” you harrumphed.

“You seemed to be handling it pretty well earlier,” he responded cheekily. You felt your face grow warm, choosing to roll your eyes. You made a show of procuring your precious book from your robes, before promptly beginning to leaf through it.

“Are you always so aggressive?”

He didn’t know why he was even talking to you, but you made such a lasting impression on him at this point that it made him curious.There’s little in the way of interest for him nowadays, so to his surprise he found himself drawn to your exceedingly chaotic energy.

You ignored his inquiry as you continued to read, so he took the chance to study your appearance. You were by no means unpleasant to look at, and despite your disheveled appearance he couldn’t help but stare a little. The fact that you were so stubbornly pretending as if he didn’t exist and wasn’t blocking your sunlight was impressive really, and made him snicker a little. The marvels of your face were in full force as your habit of narrating what you read bled through. The pretty pink of your lips formed words he wished to know, telling a story he began quite curiously wishing he was a part of. It wasn’t until the noise of the Whomping Willow still raging in the background rang through again before he snapped out of his daze. Looking back at the tree in embarrassment, he collected himself before turning back to you with a devilish grin.

“Are you insane?” he continued.

The stupid question made you flinch, and you carefully turned towards him again. Were you insane? You didn’t think so. Your stinging cheek and aching neck proved otherwise. By the way, why is he even talking to you? You couldn’t remember ever even having a conversation with this boy, yet he accuses you of being insane?

At this point, you already recognized who he was. The infamous Jeon Jungkook was right here in front of you, suspiciously antagonizing you. You don’t really know how to react. Your lips pursed and your eyes narrow, an expression that rang faint warning bells in Jungkook’s mind.

Sighing, you shook your head and pointed at him in accusation.

“No, you’re insane. How could you watch a young lady such as myself be attacked by such a violent creature without doing anything to help? Isn’t that dereliction of duty as a fellow student? Are all boys these days as pathetic as you?”

Completely caught off guard at the unexpected attack, he gaped at you. He didn’t even know you, yet you so easily accused him of dereliction of -- of -- what duty, exactly?

Did you just twist the entire situation into being his fault? His fault? And did you just call him pathetic?

Pathetic?

Him?

“Are you actually out of your mind?” he choked out, eyes bulging.

Jungook had never been called pathetic in his life, the word making his eyebrows furrow and his neck tense. You had to have been the most absurd person he’d ever met; there was no possible way to wrap his mind around how such an offensive girl with so many large screws loose was sorted into his house.

He jumped down from the tree, making his way towards where you sat. You had begun ignoring him again, going back to your book. He caught a glimpse of the name on the cover as you did so, The Count of Monte Cristo. He’d never heard of such a book before, but he’d also never heard of such a person as you, so of course your tastes would be eccentric as well.

You had leaves on your head from when the tree smacked you, he clocked in amusement. The book you held looked worn and well-loved, the pages wrinkling under your fingertips. You had pretty fingers, he also noted. The look in your eyes had seemed to finally calm down as you peacefully sat while you read, completely ignoring the Whomping Willow and its still ongoing tantrum.

The entire scene before him didn’t seem the slightest bit real, and Jungkook wondered in passing if it was part of your norm to say and do outrageous things without blinking.

“If one has indulged in the greatest revenge story of all time, then one must treat revenge not as insanity, but as a duty,” you said suddenly. He looked at you as if you had two heads, not knowing what to make of you or how to respond…

“Are you talking about you and the bloody tree?” he finally squawked out incredulously.

“Sit down, you’re blocking the sunlight,” you snapped impatiently. For whatever reason, Jungkook did as he was told, seating himself next to you.

This was his first genuine interaction he’s had with someone since his hyungs all graduated, and though out of character, he realized he wanted it to last a bit longer.

Just a little bit.

He still thought you were crazy.

“So you’re saying torturing the Whomping Willow isn’t insane -- it’s just your duty?” he asked incredulously.

“If I feel wronged, I see it justified to want to correct who wronged me.”

“With torture?”

“Did I actually harm it though? It nearly snapped my neck, I’d still be in the right if I did even more.”

“But...you won’t.”

You give him a wry smile, vaguely annoyed that you can’t enjoy your book, but also somewhat enjoying the company.

Even if he was mildly insulting.

“I’m going to come here regularly from now on to put it in its place,” you sniff. After all, it was only fair to vent your frustrations a little more, right? Your emotions had been too pent up recently, this event being the catalyst to a complete meltdown.

You were embarrassed for someone to have witnessed said meltdown, but it’s far too late for regrets.

Jeon Jungkook smelled like mint, wood, and oranges, an odd combination, but not one you could say you disliked. He talked in a pout, like the entire world just existed in order to make him unhappy. So when the corners of his mouth lifted as he snickered at your response, you smiled as well.

You fully realized how insane you look, but you’re used to others judging you anyway.

“You’re something else,” he finally responds, shaking his head.

“No, I’m (Y/N),” you roll your eyes. After a beat of silence, you both snigger at the dumb statement.

And for a while, you two continued to sit there in silence, Jungkook picking at the grass as you read. It was nice, too nice. Your heartbeat gradually started to quicken as you became more self-conscious and hyperaware; you were entirely unused to spending time with someone your age in any way, shape, or form. Jungkook seemed lost in thought, his brow furrowing again as he nicked until the ground around him was bald. You took the time to study his features, everything about him being summed up in one word: pretty. He was just pretty, prettier than you, you thought. The reasons this pretty boy was gracing you with his presence were still lost on you, but you didn’t mind it for the meantime.

“If you were curious,” you started. Why? You didn’t know. For fuck’s sake, you were nervous.

“If you did read the greatest revenge story of all time, you’d understand why revenge is a duty to yourself and to the world.”

There you go again, with your matter-of-fact way of communicating, Jungkook thought.

You don’t speak as someone expressing an opinion, but as someone communicating a fact. Jungkook found that the odd things that came out of your mouth were made to seem as nothing but logical and just - the truth not just as you believed it to be, but as it was. It made him want to understand you, the girl who fought the Whomping Willow, in more detail.

Even now, he didn’t know why he kept talking to you. Well, he did -- he found you interesting. That was the problem.

The only people Jungkook spoke to past necessity were his six hyungs -- who had now all graduated and left him behind. The fact that he was now sitting with someone, a girl no less, and having an actual conversation was frustratingly perplexing. You, (Y/N), smelled like vanilla and smoke, a combination so odd it made his head spin. So When you yet again say something completely outrageous as if it’s the greatest truth ever known, and as his senses began to pick up nothing but that cursed vanilla, Jungkook decided he’d had enough of being high off you.

“No thanks,” he replied, rising to his feet. He didn’t know what to expect in response, but it wasn’t you shoving the book into his hands before you bounded off, and definitely not before you flicked one last hex at that tree.

He clutched the book in his hands as he watched you walk away, finally coming to a conclusion about you.

You were definitely insane.

-🐍-

You quietly ate your dinner in the Great Hall, the chatter of your housemates a welcome distraction from thinking too hard about the events of your day. But foolishly enough, your mind still wandered to the pretty boy every now and then. You were vaguely aware that he sat somewhere amongst your housemates at this table, but you were too stubborn to look around for him. You knew you made quite the impression, but with the rumors you’d heard about Jeon Jungkook, you weren’t even sure if he’d acknowledge even knowing who you were at this point. And now that you’d given him your favorite book, you wanted nothing more than to head to the library to find new reading material. You decided to hasten your dinner, but unfortunately for you, the headmaster had other plans in mind.

Apparently, plans for your utter demise.

“Good evening students,”

Dumbledore had said beforehand that there was something he needed to discuss with the student body, a fact that you’d forgotten until now. You mentally groaned as you turned toward the old man, your escape plan flying out the window.

“It has come to my attention that the Whomping Willow has been vandalized,” he continued. You immediately stiffen, caught off guard. The other students begin whispering, mentions of the now colorful, volatile tree being thrown around. You wanted to literally die on the spot, more uncomfortable than you’d been when you realized that Jeon Jungkook had been watching you.

It was one thing to be the center of attention, but another to be the center of attention with everyone still not knowing who you are. The notion made you uncomfortable, and just reminded you of the fact that you had no one here close enough to recognize you to begin with.

Well, except for that person.

You suppose you should be happy that no one knew it was you, that way you can avoid trouble, but your heart felt heavy instead. You felt like a ghost in what was supposed to be your home for seven years...not that the ghosts here were the type you wanted to be particularly acquainted with.

You still remember the time Moaning Myrtle suggested you die alongside her so that at least you wouldn’t feel lonely...

You had stayed up the entire night that time researching how to successfully murder a ghost.

“Though I understand the willow can be a bit violent, vandalizing it in such a way shall not be tolerated. Please refrain from doing such acts in the future. If you must, avoid the area. If such a thing is repeated, harsh discipline will follow. I trust you students will all behave accordingly.”

You thought your ears were playing tricks on you, but the murmurs of your classmates around you confirmed it. The uncontrollable giggling you thought you heard was coming from Jeon Jungkook himself, sat all the way at the far corner of the Slytherin table. A wide smile had broken the ever-present pout on his face, his head tilted down as he tried to control himself.

Suddenly looking up, he makes eye contact with your horrified countenance, and under the stares of shock and curiosity of his housemates, he throws his head back and guffaws.

You shoot up out of your seat and rush out of the Hall, past Jungkook who only laughed harder. How one singular person could make your heart beat this fast and make being seen, your greatest wish, feel this uncomfortable was beyond you. But you were sure of one thing:

That stupid tree attacked you, you were (technically) reprimanded for your revenge, and now you were being laughed at by the sole witness. The embarrassment was enough to make you shiver.

Yeah, you were definitely going to sue this fucking school.

*

He doesn’t think he’s ever been more entertained by another person in his life. Or, at least not recently. Jungkook found himself genuinely questioning the stability of your emotions and thought process as he watched you storm out of the Great Hall. He was so focused on you and your antics that he didn’t notice all the eyes watching him after his outburst for quite a while.

“Jungkook, did something funny happen? I’d like to know too,” the girl sitting next to him finally questioned, batting her eyelashes coquettishly. Jungkook smoothly shifted his body away from her, ignoring the invasive question. His thoughts were still on you, and how ridiculous your expression was. He’d been observing you from the very start of Dumbledore’s speech, and as the man went on, Jungkook found himself more and more amused at the annoyed, indignant look on your face. You, this girl he’d never even noticed before, had suddenly become so distracting that he even began to forget himself.

So distracting that, tipped over by the mortification on your face once the two of you finally made eye contact, he couldn’t help but explode into incredulous, tickled laughter. So distracting that he completely forgot that he, Jeon Jungkook, behaving in such a way was a distraction in of itself and would draw unwanted attention.

And as he finally calmed down and began to finish his dinner amongst the stares, the distraction that was you still plagued his mind even after he had long since left the Great Hall and wandered down the castle corridors. He should have gone farther and down several flights of the magical staircases to get to the Dungeons, but a glimpse of something to his left, outside of one of the windows, caught his attention.

Curiously approaching, a grin soon etched itself across his mouth as the far-off sight of the bespeckled Whomping Willow came into view. The tree was shaking it’s pink-and-orange leaves in anger, still triggered beyond belief at the day’s events.

Jungkook softly sniggered to himself, the sight giving him recall of yet another reminder of yours -- the book you’d left with him. He felt around his robes for a bit before finally grasping it, pulling it out under the soft glow of the moonlight through the windowpane.

The pages of the book were well-worn, a nod to how often those pretty fingers of yours leafed through its pages, he begrudgingly noticed.

The Count of Monte Cristo, as it was titled, promised a tale of grand revenge of the utmost satisfaction, according to the synopsis. Your neurotic insistence on living your life by said book’s principles came to mind, and for the first time in his life Jungkook became fascinated by something made by muggles.

Just as light reading material, he promised himself, tucking the book away safely before continuing his journey.

-🐍-

Jungkook didn’t expect to see you again, or at least not in any real capacity, but when Professor Flitwick was accidentally bitten by one of his numerous venomous plants, Professor Slughorn insisted that he was up to snuff and could take over the duties of both he and Flitwick, thus leading to the merger between the two classrooms.

Now this began a multitude of problems, the first being that Jungkook tended to avoid Slughorn like the plague. Slughorn’s love of geniuses led him to approach Jungkook when they crossed paths in Diagon Alley the summer before his third year. After refusing to take his class in a rather rude manner, Jungkook became the subject of Slughorn’s petty ire, the man insisting to anyone who’d listen how arrogant and questionable of a character he was.

Feud aside, Jungkook absolutely loathed the man, the stories of favoritism and incompetence leading him to view the glory-obsessed man as little more than an eyesore. He’d managed dodging him for three years now, but it seems his luck has finally run out.

The second cause of his problems was none other than the entirety of Gryffindor house itself, or at least the ones who’d managed to be coming along with Slughorn in this merger. Gryffindors were yet another thing he avoided like the plague, their brash, competitive nature often causing them to make bets on who could finally beat him or… who could finally get him.

At least the Hufflepuffs of Flitwick’s class were too shy or polite to actually try anything, but the frequent glances and loud whispers and red scarves reminded him that those days were over. At the very least, Slughorn’s class had also been a mixture with more Slytherins, and those of his house generally left him to his own devices for the most part.

Or so Jungkook thought, until he looks up and sees you bounding toward him in all your glory. No one had actually mustered up the courage to claim partnership with him just yet, the seat beside him in his new classroom currently empty. No, they were too busy daring each other into it or incessantly giggling. It had been all of thirty seconds since he sat his seat before he suddenly found you in his space.

His senses once again filled with vanilla and smoke, his eyes wide as he stared you down.

You were in this class? What were you doing? Why did you come to him?

“Is this seat taken?” You cut off his thought process smoothly, swiftly pulling the chair from out under the table. You looked more put together than when he last saw you, if that was saying anything. Jungkook couldn’t help but think back to the brutal, confident energy you exuded as the filthiest of words flew out of your mouth, the image of you and your wild eyes etched into his mind.

The confidence was still there, but the wildfire seemed to have been replaced with something cooler, more calculative, as you sat beside him.

Jungkook had properly interacted with you all of one time and couldn’t get you out of his mind since, but now that you were sitting in front of him, approaching him first, anything he’d ever thought to have said had flown right out the window.

“You have something of mine. It’s been about a month, I assume you’re all done up, yeah?” You broke the silence again, reaching your hand out expectantly.

“What?” he said dumbly.

Your brows raise, and he swore to God he never felt so dumb under someone else’s gaze before. Holding your stare for a few moments, Jungkook swore he’d never been more red after he finally realized you were referring to your book.

“Oh, yeah. I have it, just not here.” he replied. He watched you as you let out a sigh, leaning back in your chair.

He honestly still couldn’t get past the fact that you actually sat next to him.

“Are you going to stay there?” he said uncomfortably, clocking the fact that half the class was watching their interaction with interest. You seemed to treat the jealous scowls of the others as air, making yourself comfortable as you began pulling out your textbook.

“Where else am I going to go?” you drawled, gesturing to the rest of the classroom. It seems indeed as if everyone else had already found their seats amidst your conversation, but that didn’t stop those who were listening in.

“I’ll switch with you,” piped up a Gryffindor girl rather snidely. She looked vaguely familiar, but as the girl gave him a flirty smile Jungkook found it hard to even recall her name.

Her seatmate giggled as she jabbed her in the side, clearly at least partially the cause of her friend’s boldness.

He rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to you. But your attention was still on the girl, who had already gotten up and began gathering her books.

“Sit back down, Crumpet, before I hex you into oblivion.” you sneered.

“I’d like to see you try,” the girl snapped, promptly dropping her books onto your side of the table. Her hand reached for her wand, but yours was faster.

Before anyone could react, you’d charmed her books right as Slughorn walked into the classroom, pomp and circumstance and an annoyingly familiar narcissistic energy arriving with him.

Jungkook fought back the urge to roll his eyes again, still admittedly embroiled in the conflict between you and the Gryffindor girl. He could once again see a sliver of that same girl he saw that day in the current you, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to see how this played out.

He couldn’t help but to snicker when he saw what you did to Crumpet’s books, but it seemed the Professor, who’s eyes were now zeroed in on the three of you as Crumpet was still standing, was not as amused.

“Why now -- what are you doing still standing? And who brought food into my classroom?” Slughorn looked outright offended, his hands making their way to his hips in a comical fashion.

Before anyone could say anything else, you smiled sweetly at the man before piping up,

“They’re Amanda’s, sir. Her signature, of course. She made them as a gift for you in appreciation for taking on the difficulties of managing two classes,” you exclaim, ignoring the other girl’s venomous stare.

“Ah! Well thank you, Miss Crumpet,” Slughorn lit up.

“The notion is very well appreciated. Now, if you may please take your seat.”

“O-Of course, Professor! It was my pleasure.” the Gryffindor stuttered out in panic.

The teacher proceeded to observe as Amanda defeatedly made her way back to her original seat, and all the way until she sat down. He watched, and continued to watch, before his brows finally began to furrow.

“Miss Crumpet, where are your books?” Slughorn finally questioned. After a full minute of Amanda failing to find an answer, Slughorn’s hands once again found their way to his hips, and Jungkook’s nostrils couldn’t help but flare as he looked from Slughorn to you, who silently watched your work with blatant fascination.

“Well now, this won’t do. I hope you don’t think I will favor you because of your gift,” Slughorn said unhappily. If there was one thing the man hated more than being rejected, it was being made to look bad. And if Slughorn arbitrarily decided as such, you could go from a hero right back to zero in his eyes.

Jungkook rolled his eyes for the upteenth time that day.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Ms. Crumpet. Gifts will not allow you to escape punishment, children,” Slughorn loudly proclaimed, waving his finger around.

Amanda’s face had turned beet red, before she gathered her things in a hurry as the rest of the class looked on in silence. And just when he thought it was over, you proved that the portrait of the Fat Lady still had some wind in those pipes, and Jungkook nearly died.

“Don’t forget your crumpets,” you trill. You looked the picture of smug as the rest of the class looked at you in abject horror, determined not to cross you in this lifetime. Your reaction was petty, vindictive, and all the more frustrating, confusing, and technically harmless that Jungkook remembered. He was sure his own face was a similar shade to Amanda’s from holding in his laughter for so long.

“I’m going to kill you!” Amanda finally screeched, lunging.

“Stupe--”

“Expelliarmus,” Once again, your hand was quicker, disarming the girl before she could complete her threat.

At this point, Slughorn looked as red as the rest of you, his hands clenched into little fists as he started wheezing out a response to Amanda’s outburst.

“How dare you! Out this instant! The audacity -- to attack another student in front of me! The disrespect! I don’t want you back for the rest of the school year!”

The girl turned ashen, not saying another word as she hurried out of the classroom. Her friend tried to speak up for her, to no avail --

“Miss Crumpet can get her credit through thorough personal study instead. She shall still take her exams like the rest of you. If she cannot respect me or my classroom then she is no longer welcome,” Slughorn harrumphed, and that was that.

That was that, and the grin that stretched across Jungkook’s face mirrored yours as he -- along with the rest of your classroom -- decided that you were, indeed, insane.

-🐍-

You really didn’t mean to cause any trouble at first.

You weren’t exactly nice, so the other Houses were wary of you. You did happen to draw the line at bullying for no reason, so in turn your own House hated you. You were simply true to your own emotions, and little-miss-crumpet triggered your annoyance frighteningly so that day.

If there was one thing you hated, it was to be interrupted.

Following Crumpet’s dramatic exit, Slughorn was quite irritable afterwards. You in all your grace decided to quit while you were ahead, electing to stay quiet the rest of the class.

You could hear the occasional whisper of your classmates about your actions, but you honestly couldn’t care less. You were a friend to exactly zero of them, so you cared even less what they thought of you. For you, that ship sailed a long time ago. Nevertheless, you were still slightly uncomfortable over the frequent looks Jungkook would toss your way throughout the lesson.

Did he want you to actually switch with her? Does he not want to be your partner?

You were so used to being treated with disdain by your peers that you found it difficult to spot any other intentions -- for better or worse. This has saved you a lot of bullshit dealing with some of the two-faced snakes of your House, but definitely didn’t help you to spot genuine interactions and intentions throughout the years. You’ve finally decided to resign yourself to the fact that you’d be alone during your stay at Hogwarts, so you couldn’t understand why exactly Jungkook’s reaction bothered you so much.

Given how riled up you’d already made Slughorn via the Crumpet girl, talking during the class would have been unwise, but Jungkook’s constant staring made you unsettled and paranoid. You had no idea what the boy was thinking, and from what you’ve gathered about how unsocial he is, maybe you really did piss him off by acting too friendly.

You were hyper aware of his presence all the way until the class ended. With every stolen glance, you noticed a bit more about him. His bangs had been swept above his forehead, a single strand hanging stubbornly as he concentrated on his book. Jungkook had the tendency to silently narrate as he read, a quirk that he shared with you. The sight made you smile, and you noticed his plump bottom lip often rolled between his teeth.

He would fiddle with the pages as he read, silver rings glistening on his pale fingers. You wondered how they contrasted with your own, then further wondered if you’d finally lost it.

The thought abruptly ended your reverie.

The two of you sat in silence until the class cleared out, not knowing what to say. You gathered your books without another word from either you or Jungkook, who just quietly watched you from his seat.

Biting your own lip, you spun around and began marching to the door before you felt a squish as your foot slipped out from under you and you fell unceremoniously on your back. Your feet had damn near gone over your head, the pain registering a few moments later. The groan that left your body was ungodly, your mind disoriented and eyes blatantly confused. Your robes had also flown over your head in your fall, and in a tizzy you hurried to right yourself and fix your clothes. Jungkook watched you in your disheveled state with wide eyes, a look of his you’ve come to grow very familiar with.

You take a moment to stare down at the offending cause of your tumble - a golden crumpet, fallen to the floor during the escapade from earlier.

You look at the crumpet, then at Jungkook, who looked at the crumpet, then at you.

You watch his face slowly begin to morph before you shoot up and zoom out the door, a peal of loud laughter following your back.

As your earlier triumphant high faded into intense embarrassment -- a crumpet! Of all things! You had one vindictive, petty, definitely not harmless thought on your mind --

That a muggle lawyer should be able to wipe the floor with a magical one, you supposed. Taking a cue from your father’s distant cousins, the Malfoys, you were sure you’d get the doors of this blasted place shuttered in no time.

-🐍-

You’d be lying if you said you saw it coming. It was one summer. One summer you gave to Jung Jaehyun in exchange for your heart.

You in all your teenage romanticism and delirium reckoned he was the love of your life, in all his brown haired and honey eyed glory. You’d kept those memories under lock and key for years now, determined to never think about the boy again, let alone see him.

So when Jaehyun emerged into the Great Hall with an arm slung around Jungkook’s shoulders, part of you wondered if you’d finally gone as crazy as people claimed.

This was the same boy who swept you off your feet with copious amounts of charm enough to sway even McGonagall, the same boy who suddenly left and never spoke to you again.

When you looked at him then, you saw stars in his eyes. When you look at him now, he seems like a complete fucking devil in disguise.

You watch with thinly veiled disgust as the two sat at the far end of the table, chatting away. A red scarf was wrapped securely around Jaehyun’s neck, causing you to scoff at the irony.

Coward, you thought. The two ignored the looks being sent their way, too engrossed with their own conversation to notice anything else. This was the first time you’d seen Jungkook happy (outside when he was laughing at you), and you felt somewhat unnerved. You wished to see him smile a bit more often, as nice as it was. His ring adorned fingers were flitting about in the air as he animated whatever tale he was spinning for Jaehyun, the most expressive you’d ever seen him. Jungkook really was pretty, his chiseled jawline nicely complementing the softer features of his face. You’d long gotten used to the sound of his laugh, but right now, for some reason, you felt a discomfort at the sight of it being caused by Jaehyun of all people.

You honestly didn’t know which of the two it was directed toward.

You wanted to watch Jungkook in this rare state for a bit longer, but it seems as if Jaehyun finally noticed the holes you were burning into the sides of their faces. His head abruptly turned to level his gaze with yours.

It seemed as if time had stopped for a moment, rendering you the only two in the room. You watched the recognition light up behind his eyes, his face softening into something else -- a smile, but something more. You couldn’t quite figure it out before the boy started gesturing towards you, calling your name loudly.

“(Y/N)!”

You locked eyes with Jungkook first, who looked back at you with shock. Then you face Jaehyun, who was already making his way toward you.

Jaehyun, the supposed… love of your life?

You turned on your heels and ran away.

-🐍🐍🐍-

Nicholas Scratch x Reader

The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

Part Four:

The Angel of Mercy

First, it was his soul.

Nick never regretted the fact that he was born a warlock. He had powers, longevity, and led a lifestyle of envy. So, when he came of age, he signed on the dotted line in the Book of the Beast. Ever since then, the word ‘regret’ had never once entered his vocabulary.

There was a slim chance he’d ever be called upon to do something untoward, and if it did happen, well...what’s one sin in exchange for a life of frivolity and debauchery?

But next...it was his heart.

Lust, power, knowledge; dedicating his soul to the Dark Lord came with massive perks, and he wasn’t exactly complaining when one of them manifested in the appearance of Sabrina Spellman.

No...Sabrina Morningstar.

He couldn’t explain exactly how or why. His devotion, his loyalty; It had been stolen away by yet another Morningstar, his heart charmed and mind swayed. The powerful capabilities the young witch displayed did nothing but endear him to the demure, compassionate mor(t)ality she fought so hard to keep.

Sabrina Morningstar-Spellman was both the enticement and innocence of the flesh of the lamb... and it would have done Nick well to remember that the lamb is but the spawn of the Beast.

Suddenly, Nick found himself dancing a little too closely with the Devil; twin stars he pledged himself to ended up with him finally learning the word regret once the last pledge left his lips:

Nicholas Scratch, for the love of his life and the containment of it’s keeper, volunteered to be the flesh acheron.

And now, Nick found himself trapped in an everlasting Hell even the darkest of his nightmares couldn’t have begun to manifest.

The Baphomet and the lamb; the Degraded and the Pure. Both were sides of the same twisted fate he’d found himself a part of, desperate to escape. His mind had long since melted into a pool of chaos and intense fear. He’d tried countless ways to just end it all, if only Lucifer were so kind. He no longer had a life to speak of; just endless suffering and eternal doom. His life wasn’t supposed to be like this…

Not like this.

Nick thought himself a pretty gifted warlock, and had long since placed protection charms upon his mind and body should anything or anyone with malicious intention attempt to try him.

He doesn’t know what he was thinking at the time he convinced Sabrina, the coven, and himself that it was a good idea to use his own body as the flesh acheron, but he does admit that hubris and naivete played a part. And at the moment of that final “I love you” to Sabrina, he accepted his fate and was determined to face it no matter what happened to him.

Unfortunately for Nick, you can’t guard against the Devil.

Lucifer made quick work of him, and Nick soon found himself in a never-ending cycle of pain and torture he couldn’t have even fathomed beforehand. Suddenly, his life’s outlook was being eternally violated by the Dark Lord without reprieve. And from what it looked like, it was only a matter of time before he completely broke and the Dark Lord once again took up his mantle of dominating Hell and eventually Earth. All that would be left of Nick and his sacrifice would be any empty shell of a person who no longer knows how to exist as one.

So when the lamb arrived and saved Nick from the Baphomet, he supposed he should have been grateful. Happy, even. Nick had gone to Hell for Sabrina Spellman, and she’d gone to Hell to save him.

But as time still seemed to stretch on without end, he started to break.

Though it wasn’t exactly her fault, Sabrina could never understand what her father put him through because of her. Coupled with her lack of even really trying, her wish for him to just sweep everything under the rug and go back to how things were left him feeling more than a little resentful.

The resounding silence of his once scrambled mind did nothing but make for a much effective echochamber of his worst memories; memories which were exceedingly numerous and fresh. Nick looked for something, anything to fill up or dull that silence; most of which were methods not exactly healthy for him and definitely not healthy for his relationship.

It didn’t take long for the Morningstars to steal away Nicholas Scratch, and it was with resounding disgust that they spat back out all three parts of him they’d taken, broken beyond recognition.

Now stuck dealing with his many issues alone, the tortured boy clung to the only achingly fleeting memories that kept him grounded in rationality instead of spiraling into illusions of the dreadful abyss looming in his haunted mind. And as he replayed the images of the illuminating figure who reminded him that he was still human and that his heart was still beating, to his displeasure he’d found that he wished he had more.

She visited exactly 12 times.

Twelve blessed encounters, each one increasing his fervor more than the last; her presence was like a drug to Nick, a sustenance that he would easily admit to himself he couldn’t go without any longer.

While (Y/N) did explain to him that her powers were limited inside Hell and there wasn’t much of a chance she could directly free him, he couldn’t stop himself from pining after her whenever she was absent. At first, images of Sabrina had been what kept him going. He constantly reminded himself that she was probably doing all she could to save him, and when she actually did, he told himself that everything would finally be okay again.

Nick and Sabrina picked up exactly where they left off, eager to get back to each other again. He reminded himself, Satan be damned, he loved her; otherwise he’d have never sacrificed himself for her to begin with.

Nick had gone to Hell for Sabrina Spellman, was tortured by the Devil himself, and at the time, he had no regrets.

But things couldn’t go back to the way they used to be. He couldn’t go back.

That doesn’t mean that Sabrina didn’t try to help him in whatever way she could, but once she revealed her new royal status, Nick’s remaining feelings of responsibility towards the blonde Morningstar withered away along with the rest of the kinders of their relationship.

Nick was back amongst his coven, friends, lover; but he still felt so achingly alone and afraid all the time. He wanted to feel something, anything other than the despair Lucifer Morningstar so thoroughly imprinted into his being. Despite the love he told himself he felt for the little Morningstar, the literal spawn of his trauma, the only beacon he could rely on to keep him sane was the memory of you.

And as he reminisced on your serendipitous encounters, to his shame, he couldn’t help but compare.

After a while, it had become hard for Nick to separate the daughter from the father, the lamb from the Baphomet. In his intense resentment, he’d gotten to the point where his mind was becoming absolutely blank as it gave in to the invading presence of the sheer evil he’d been fighting against for so long…

And then an angel descended, and he’d nearly cried out in tears and praise for the false God.

It had taken him a while to realize that Lucifer’s presence couldn’t be felt anymore, and even longer to convince himself that it wasn’t a trick. He would close his eyes and see his demons warping beneath the surface, twisting his psyche into a weak, chaotic mess. He would open them and still see red, the color of a neverending hellscape created specifically to terrorize his soul and break him apart piece by piece, rebuilding and breaking again until nothing original was left. He saw despair, and he felt it as well. A gloom so deeply settled into his being that it would have been impossible to get rid of; a shell of the person he’d once been.

So no, Nick couldn’t tell you if his eyes were ever open or closed, because it made no difference to him at all. And one day in that eternity of Hell, Nick finally came to realize he regretted being all alone...

So, pray tell, when a lonely, broken boy suddenly feels someone wipe away his tears, what ever should he say?

He could only posture himself and pray.

The warmth and comfort his angel brought him blessed him with a near orgasmic experience, abruptly tugging him from the brink of despair. For a moment, he questioned if she, if he — was even real, or if Lucifer was really trying that hard to live up to his name as the harbinger of lost home and doom. But when the blessed hands caressed his face, and those saintly eyes pierced through the darkness forever in his view to meet his own, all he could feel was intense relief -- and shame.

Shame over who he was, where he’d gotten himself, and how he’d gotten there.

Surely someone who dedicated their life and soul to the Devil himself didn’t deserve the presence and grace of a literal angel in the darkest moment of his life?

So, with his eyes wide open once again, he cried. He cried at her grace, and at her mercy. Even after she coaxed him down from his delirium and explained who she really was, he wept at the sheer exuberance he felt that she even appeared -- let alone helped him -- just when he was forgetting what it felt to feel anything but pain and suffering. She was his angel, godly or not, and he thanked his lucky stars that it was his fate to be able to meet her in that moment.

Soon, between visits, it became her face, not Sabrina’s, that he’d found had kept him going. (Y/N) had become his symbol of hope, his new god, his only savior. Disillusioned with giving his life to people who only harmed him, (Y/N) became his new religion as he found himself praying to the stars and the Fates for her speedy return. Every time he was graced with her presence, he understood that whatever was written in the stars for him couldn’t have been so bad if he was able to meet her in between the lines.

And when Nick found himself finally out of Hell and in Sabrina’s arms again, he was fully prepared to keep his newfound faith close to his heart and out of the sight of others. Everything that had happened to him was incredibly personal, whether it be his time with you or with the Dark Lord. But when Sabrina revealed her new status as Queen of Hell to him and effectively admitted that everything he’d been through -- his sacrifice, his loss, his pain -- was all for nothing, Nick felt as if time had stopped and his heart had caved in.

He tried his hardest to be okay; with his life, with his coven, with Sabrina. He began coping in the only way he knew how, which admittedly did more harm than good. But without your presence to pull him from the brink, Nick found himself spiralling down the dark depths of his memories with no foreseeable end and without support. Eventually, the pent up resentment and mind games the Dark Lord still insisted on playing with him even after his escape got to him, and he lashed out. The Morningstars took everything from him; his heart, his body, his soul. The coven, Sabrina; no one actually understood him or the anguish he had experienced -- still experienced -- every second of his existence since that final pledge left his lips. The increased sense of isolation brought up his darkest thoughts and feelings, and soon he found himself not only cut off from Sabrina, but from the rest of the coven as well.

As the witches found themselves caught off guard by the arrival of the pagans, Nick instead would find himself staring up at the night sky, alone, searching for his hope.

And while the witches were more concerned with the moon, Nick was waiting for the stars.

As it was predestined, one very particular night Nick felt a very particular warmth bloom across his chest. He smiled, and smiled as wide as his face would allow at that. Because as he watched a very particular star fall from the sky, he knew finally:

The person he placed his faith in didn’t let him down.

*

Author’s Note: Here’s part 5! Next chapter should be out next Sunday.

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Nicholas Scratch x Reader

The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

Part Three:

The Broken Boy

Now there were two.

Or at least, the only sounds being made now were the quiet sobs still being let out from the poor figure now in front of you.

You’d sent Lucifer away with a banishment sigil, though with how powerful he was and your lack of familiarity with your domain, he should be back soon. You felt a lot more drained than you did when you first came in, the spell taking a lot out of you. You now realized that your visit came with a time limit, and would only last as long as the remaining energy in your core did. The flesh acheron had you currently separated from the stars, so it was only natural that your power was unable to replenish itself here.

But at least, now you were alone with the boy.

You exerted a bit more power to make the space a more welcoming, eliminating the eerie red scenery in exchange for something milder. An endless white replaced it in a flash; you weren’t exactly a living human for long and didn’t know much about what comforted them, you realized glumly.

It seemed as if they boy didn’t notice the change in scenery, failing to even flinch. Back and forth, back and forth. He endlessly rocked as mumbled jargon poured listlessly from his mouth. Though it isn’t your first time pitying humans, this was the first time that you were face to face with the cruelty Fate was capable of. The sentiment fed into your growing discomfort with the situation.

Cautiously, you drew closer. Once you stopped in front of him, you slowly lowered yourself until you were truly able to look him in the face.

Dampened hair stuck to his forehead, pale and leaking a cold sweat. Raised goosebumps clearly visible over taught muscles were felt under your fingertips, gently stroking his arm in comfort.

A sharp gasp and a quick hand nearly made you yelp out in shock yourself, your wrist now held in a tight grasp. Panicked eyes met your own, dark and deep and boding. You felt your very soul tremble as if it were crying, as if you were crying.

It wasn’t until you noticeably felt a liquid drop culminate at the tip of your nose before splattering did you realize that you were.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you cooed, attempting to make eye contact. 

Your gaze meets frantic mirrors of desperation, anguish and torture reflecting in the muddy pools that stared back at you. 

As if it was natural to you, your hands rise to caress his face. His skin feels warm beneath your fingers, and you hold back a shudder. Concentrating, you focused deep on the constant thrumming of your soul and willed your core to mimic these pulsations through your body and out your fingertips, your hands now glowing the color of moonlight.

You can’t undo what Lucifer has done and possibly will do to him, but you were confident that you could make your presence a beacon and relieve some of the burden for him.

The boy leaned into your hands, and for a long while you just watched entranced as his eyelids fluttered while he took the time he needed to calm down. Finally, he looked up at you. The panic had now been replaced with sheer exhaustion, and you wanted nothing more than to protect him.

“Who are you?” he croaked, eyes flooding in tears. They flowed silently down his face, following familiar track marks of the rivers before them. His fingers tightened around yours, afraid of letting go. Afraid that if he let go, you would disappear. This was the first time he felt relief in what felt like an eternity, and all he could focus on was the figure in front him. You paid no mind to his tight grip, electing to settle yourself between his knees, getting as close as you possibly could.

“I’m here to help you, it’s okay,” you repeat softly.

“Wh-where did he go? The...the Dark Lord,” he quivered, muscles tensing up at the mere thought of the man. You felt your heart go out to him, your own eyes becoming misty as well.

“I sent him...away. He will return, but not for a while at least.”

Of course you couldn’t separate them completely, this was still in part Lucifer’s mind as well, and you had an inkling that although this wasn’t the actual place, the flesh acheron, this boy’s body, was somewhere in Hell. Your energies felt off, as if they didn’t belong. That would normally only happen in a territory outside of the scope of a stela’s domain, and Hell fit that description perfectly.

Your powers weren’t nearly as strong here, and you could only offer him temporary reprieve. But it is something, and that’s all that matters.

“What’s your name?” you question, intending on keeping him present and away from the dark, straying thoughts no doubt threatening to plague his mind. He stayed silent for a while, attempting to anchor himself while he focused on the near healing effect you radiated.

“...It’s Nick,” he eventually responded.

“Okay, Nick, tell me. What makes you happy?”

Nick thought for a long while, but couldn’t gather his thoughts. His mind had been ravaged so thoroughly by the Dark Lord that any notions of happiness had long since been replaced by terrors he could only have imagined before being tortured by Satan himself. He started to shake his head, then more and more vigorously. You reached for his face again, realizing your question set off another round of panic.

“That’s okay Nick, you don’t have to think about it. How about we go somewhere that makes me happy instead, hm?”

Your creativity and knowledge of the human mind was close to zero, but there was once place you’d always wanted to see.

You had Nick close his eyes as you closed your own, visualizing the sights and sounds you wanted to experience. Soon, the soothing crash of waves could be heard in the background, your eyes opening to an expanse of sand being gently eroded by the clear blue water of the ocean. You felt a bit weaker at the manifestation, but the boy in your arms was even more so, and your heart went out to him.

You shifted yourself so Nick’s forehead was now resting on your chest, giving him all the time he needed to settle before he opened his eyes again.

His breathing was deeper now, and less erratic. You waited for it to become completely even before you attempted to speak again, Nick lifting his head in order to study your features.

“I’ve always wanted to see the ocean,” you sigh gently. “I wasn’t able to when I was human.”

“Why not?” he asked quizzically, resulting in a smile from you. You were glad he was speaking, and continued to talk before he got distracted again.

“I died very, very young. I hadn’t really even started my life before the Fates took me for their purpose,” you explained. “And after that, well, I never really thought I’d see Earth again so there wasn’t much of a point.”

You tried coaxing more out of him, like his name, likes, dislikes. His answers were simple, and he had to think about some a lot longer than others, but he put effort into answering each question. You continued to describe your ties to fate to him as he patiently listened. He nodded along thoughtfully, before going quiet again.

“Nick?” you question, worry laced in your tone.

“Is this really what Fate had planned for me?” he asked quietly, looking down at his knees. Tears instantly blurred your vision once again, but you didn’t acknowledge them.

“No, sweetie, of course not,” you grab his face once again. His watery eyes mirror yours, yet you refused to let the first one fall.

“Your fate is so much more than this. This is only temporary. You have to believe me on that.” you urge.

“But I’m tired,” the sheer amount of hopelessness emitted off him in waves. “I don’t think I can make it,” the break in his voice was enough to collapse the dam on your tears, and you clutched him to your chest.

“No, baby, no. You can. You’re strong. I’ll be here for you. I’ll come back.”

“You promise?” he cracked.

“I promise.”

You held him for a while longer, shushing him against the rumble of the waves as you stared out at the water. You’d never felt more determined to do something in your life, but you will save this boy. You meant it with your heart and soul.

A while later you felt your figure start to fade, and you knew your borrowed time in Hell had reached its end. Nick frantically began clutching at you, using one hand to caress your face like you had his, “Will you really come back?”

Begging eyes pinned your soul down and for the first time in your life, you cursed the fates. Cursed how they could allow this boy to suffer far more than he deserved, and put you in a position to witness it. No one deserved this. Not even the fickle humans. If they were meant to suffer like this...

Maybe this was what you were sent to Earth for.

Visiting the flesh acheron, and by extension, Hell, for as long as you have took not only your power, but the power of the fates as well. If you came here again, it wouldn’t be for nearly as long, and would exhaust a huge chunk of power every time you did so. But as you face the boy in front of you, you couldn’t find it in yourself to deny him.

You’d figure it out, you’d make something up, you’d lie; Tell them Lucifer was being an uncooperative dickhead, which isn’t exactly wrong anyway — anything to be able to make your way here again.

You had to.

With a few more whispered promises and broken sobs, you eventually fade away. It wasn’t until you noticed the sandy shore beneath you had been replaced with slowly moving constellations did you allow yourself to look up again, the impatient eyes of the council piercing through you.

You’d already gotten rid of any trace of tears, your mind going a million miles a minute conjuring up a plan to save Nick. You knew you had bigger priorities than one human, a single soul; Earth and her millions of souls were on the brink of annihilation yet all you could think about was one boy.

But something in you, deep in your core screamed that this was important to you, he is important to you.

Maybe it's because you’re soft, maybe it’s because he’s your first lost soul, maybe it's because it’s Fate, but as you waved an intricate web of truth and lies while you built your case with the council -- of how freeing Lucifer from the flesh acheron was of the utmost importance, of how often you’d probably need to be sent there to attempt to do so;

Your heart was nearly pounding through your ribcage at the thought of seeing that boy and his pitiful soul once again.

And as Lucifer, upon his return, ranted and roared and raged something mighty, Nick desperately held on in anticipation of your next arrival.

*

Author’s Note: Next part is out as well! They’re both shorter chapters so I did a double update as well. They would have been out a lot sooner if tumblr didn’t delete my damn editing progress when I tried to insert a photo — I nearly cried. Creating those secondary headers is WERK but not as much as editing this shit? I should sue. I got mad and stopped for a while bc I’m a petty bitch, so if you see mistakes blame Tumblr for crashing. I will also insert links to chapters later, I don’t feel like it currently 🤡

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Nicholas Scratch x Reader

The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

Part Two:

The Morningstar

For a moment, you panicked.

You were in an unfamiliar place and everything was the color of blood. As if the chilling red wasn’t enough, there was an uncomfortable cold seeping into your skin, like bugs needling their way into your pores. Everything felt...wrong. You felt your body getting smaller and the space around you getting larger, daunting. A persistent, grating ringing in your ears was making your head throb; the crown of your head to the bottom of your toes, a...feeling. A wrong feeling. Your head, your chest, your bellybutton; discomfort clenched tight and refused to let you go, but it was deeper than that. This atmosphere, this place. The screaming red, the screaming silence, the screaming sounds. Hopelessness. Despair. Doom. You can’t do this.

You can’t do this.

Your senses were going haywire as you tried to find your bearing, crashing to your knees in a dry heave. Your chest felt as if it was caving in, your tears twinkling like raindrops on their way down. You can’t do this, why did they send you here? Why did it feel like this? A gasp, a clutch of the chest, and a desperate look up --

And there he was.

Your eyes landed on a figure a few feet in front of you, studying you in surprise and interest. His appearance was handsome, but his bearing—

He stood as if he stood before the world, lying beneath his feet. He emitted a dark dominance, a dark arrogance, all-encompassing. It was encompassing you as it encompassed the world, it seemed; and deeper, an inherent cruelty you’d never want to experience beckoning beneath the darkened irises staring at you. He began rotating around you, his figure seeming to blend into the lengthened shadows, towering over you. You felt like a prey animal surrounded by not just one, but a pack of violent predators stalking you just behind the darkness. Eyes glued to your trembling figure, searching for the best way to devour it.

You were terrified.

“And who might you be?” he drawled, circling you.

Your heart would have just about fallen out of your chest if it were possible, a startled gasp ripping from your throat. Your breath began to quicken, sharp inhalations through your nose causing you to go lightheaded. You were completely lost, you lost your thoughts, you lost your senses, you lost your damn mind coming here --

“Answer me girl,” a sharp demand pierced the air. Your body began to tremble as you started to mutter.

Fate is with me.

Fate is with me.

You nearly cracked under the pressure, the rising pressure;

Yes, for a moment, you panicked.

But then you started to focus on your core, the small area of your body where your fate lies within you. Stelas carried their fate, their star, with them at all times. It was inherently a part of them, and like destined, it began to help you now.

“GIRL.”

You slowly began to circulate your energies, every rotation lessening the burden placed on your body by another fold.

You felt as if you could breathe again.

“I am Fate coming to warn you,” you breathed. You took your time rising to your feet, and by the time you came to your full height you were back to yourself again. Your powerful, fates-blessed self.

And you were here to fulfill your destiny.

“I, Stela (Y/n), consular of the fates, have come to take control of my domain, Lucifer Morningstar. And that begins with you.”

For a moment, the man just gaped at you. Then, a booming laugh rumbled through his body as he threw his head back, the shadows dancing around flaring up with the rise of his voice, reminiscent of hellfire.

How fitting, your eyes could have rolled right out of your head.

“Fate? What does fate have to do with me? And of all things, it comes to me in the form of some weak little girl?” he sneered.

Any intimidating effect Lucifer had had gone out the window the moment you clocked the irritatingly childish lilt in the man’s voice.

“Not even God himself could control me, let alone you dastardly little “fate” slaves.”

The man is a child.

Biting back the urge to comment on his little jab at your occupation, you continued along your explanation.

“I don’t know what you did, or how you did it, but you have a fated star now, Morningstar. You have a soul. That means Fate has officially locked onto you, whether you like it or not. This is causing problems, you are causing problems. And it is my job to fix it,” you replied firmly.

“You are clearly mistaken, there’s no possible way for the fates to contain me or my existence. I am simply above all! I am Lucifer Morningstar!”

“Is that what you’d like to name your very real star of fate, then? The Morningstar? It would only be proper,” you mocked. The aghast look on his face had you sniggering, the now chaotic strands of shadows that were twirling about wildly behind Lucifer amusing you greatly.

“You dare mock me, you filthy little girl?”

The rage in his voice was clear, but that only made you even more certain that Earth’s resident dark lord had even less maturity than you did, and that was saying something.

He continued to bellow and whoop at you for a good minute, unable to get closer due to your conflicting energies.

Earth had now become your domain, after all, so even after just arriving you were able to exert a small amount of influence.

But at some point, his rage had melted into stone cold fury, and you were reminded of why the man in front of you had earned the title of the Devil himself. He threw a mean tantrum when he wanted to, and you felt a small bit of that fear from earlier seeping into you again.

“No.” he hissed, his form warping above you, the beautiful face he displayed earlier having been replaced with the head of a goat. The Baphomet, you realized. The conceptualization of his status here on Earth, and your reminder that this man is still a celestial, and this situation is not normal.

This man, this being represented everything it meant to not have a soul.

“I am the Dark Lord! Satan, the DEVIL; your kind shall have NO control over me!” he spat viciously, the rank saliva sputtering from his mouth and spattering onto your face. The goat head was grotesque, his figure was grotesque, the surroundings grotesque. Lucifer was truly angry, and you felt it was about time to calm down the situation.

You close your eyes for a moment, reminding yourself of who you are and why you are here. The very existence of Lucifer’s should be nonexistent soul was why you were sent here, meant to commune with Satan himself. A figure you’d only heard nightmares about, stuff of fiction as far as you’d been concerned. Earth was a fairytale to you and should have stayed as one, and yet now you were here.

As a celestial, it should have normally been impossible for the fates to grasp his tangible sould, yet here he was. And as somewhere chock full of them, Earth should have been impossible for the Constellation Map to grasp and assign, yet here you were.

Fate was truly cruel at times indeed.

“How about we figure out how this happened then? This situation is clearly not working out for either of us,” you finally suggested. “You are the Devil. But where has the Devil found himself a soul?”

As curses were rained down upon you, it took you a few moments to realized that they weren’t directed at you, but at someone else. The current bane of Lucifer’s existence, and according to him, the real cause of all of this, the —

“Fucking witches! Traitors, all of them! They dared to defy their god and trap me here; those bitches! I’ll kill them all!” the ungodly screeching continued as you stared dumbly for a moment, your brows furrowing.

“Trap? This isn’t hell?”

The deeply offended look on the man’s face said all you needed to know, the interruption clearly not welcome and apparently very off mark.

“Of course it isn’t, you bloody idiot! This is merely the mindscape of the poor fool they stuck me in here with; I’ve only merely tampered with it. My underworld is much more impressive and intimidating.”

Despite the childish delivery, you couldn’t help but shiver at the notion that this place was merely an illusion Lucifer put on. You could only imagine what the poor souls actually stuck in hell must be going through.

It took quite a while for you to calm Lucifer down enough to extract the full story out of him, and if you were to be honest you were quite impressed with the sheer balls on the Greendale coven along with their sense of self-preservation.

“That explains the appearance of your star. Your soul must be entangled with the person you’re trapped here with. His star…” you trailed off, eyebrows furrowing. In the star chart, alongside the Dark Lord’s fated star was a dim, dying one. The Morningstar was obviously feeding off of the energy of the lesser one, weakening it’s owner’s connection to their fate.

What this meant for that person, you don’t know.

After coming upon this thought, you finally register the faint sound you realize had faded into the background this entire time. It sounded like light sobbing, the kind a person lets out once they’ve exhausted themselves past emotional intensity and fallen into a pure hopelessly pitiful state of despair.

Your eyes wander around the space, trying to find the source of the noise. Finally, they land upon a small figure hunched in a far corner. Watching carefully, you observe an adolescent boy rocking back and forth, hands over his head and mumbling to himself. He did not seem well, and it wasn’t until a closer look into his core did you notice the same odd split in his soul you clocked in Lucifer when you first confirmed with your own eyes it’s existence. It was the most miserable soul you’d ever seen.

The horror is quick to spread through you, the dizzying effect ignored as you twirl yourself around to face Lucifer again.

“Is that him? The boy you’re trapped with? Why is he like that? Have you been torturing him this entire time?”

Your anger was prominent, and Lucifer’s attention snapped over to the boy. His eyes narrowed and he let out a long, drawn out hiss. The boy’s body shuddered violently, and his already small frame seemed to shrink into itself even more. Rage crept through your veins as you watched the scene, intense pity and disgust shocking your core.

“Ah, yes, him. The bloody idiot volunteered to be the acheron, for my insolent daughter no less,” he claimed indignantly. “It is only right that he be punished for his offense.”

Lucifer continued to insult the boy who hailed from the same coven of witches that betrayed him, and you’d finally had enough.

“Shut up.” You inflected, voice thick with irritation. Ignoring the same offended and murderous look Lucifer has given her several times through their exchange so far, you raise your palm, cutting off any attempt at retribution.

‘If you want things to go back to normal, we need to work together. Whatever you are, you’re under my domain now. That means you help me, I help you. If you don’t,” you shrugged. “You and this entire world will more than likely be destroyed. Doesn’t mean much more than a demotion for me, but for you…”

Honestly, you were definitely underexaggerating the ramifications for yourself should you fail at your assignment. But you were also 100% telling the truth that the Dark Lord didn’t really have a choice in complying with you if he wanted things to go back to how they were. The man seemed aware of that, because he immediately began pacing, his voice once again an insanely thunderous growl.

“I WILL KILL THEM FOR THIS. THEY SHALL SUFFER FOR ALL ETERNITY. THEIR SOULS ARE MINE, YOUR SOUL,” he suddenly snaps his head in the direction of the boy, “IS MINE.”

Lucifer’s attempt at launching himself at the boy, shadows surging and flames of hellfire dancing in his eyes, frightened you beyond belief, and you found yourself forming a sigil from your studies before you could really even properly register what you were doing.

And then suddenly, quiet.

*