SugaTrapp

You wanted Bryce. Badly.

Your first night together had been the subject of your sweet dreams and distracted mind at work. Three times you’d forgotten to reschedule her meetings. Three times you’d filed important documents in the wrong folder and had to search the entire file cabinet for it. Twice you’d gone quiet and simply stared at her watched her in her element, such as the time you walked into her office while she was on the phone.

“You want maternity leave? Oh, but Janet, I have meningococcal meningitis and I still came in to not do my job.”

She looked up at the sound of you entering, briefly meeting your confused and concerned expression. She waved you away to let you know she wasn’t being serious before rolling her eyes at whatever was being said on the phone.

The other time, there wasn’t anything particularly interesting going on. She’d been sitting at her desk for a while, reading and signing off on a heap of documents. Every now and then, she mumbled something about “entitled needy assholes” while going through the payroll budget for the projected year. She lit a cigarette, taking a drag between pages. 

You were supposed to be organizing the file cabinet and shredding any “unsavory items.” You tackled each drawer one section at a time and made slight adjustments to the system for clarity. Though, like other times when you were in close proximity to her, you worked slower than normal. 

For weeks, you’d been building up the courage to ask Bryce out: typing out scripts on your phone, realizing it was weird before deleting them; practicing in the mirror between bouts of laughter and cringing; watching YouTube videos; LOTS of pep talks that inevitably led nowhere. It didn’t help that every time you had the opportunity, someone or something stood in your way. 

One day the copy machine got jammed and wouldn’t connect to the network. You spent the rest of the day trying to fix it with a technician who barely spoke English, going back and forth between your limited knowledge and a translator app to get the task done.

Another day two employees got into an argument over the last donut in the break room.

Another day had FIVE MEETINGS with various employees and potential investors, droning on and on until your brain was on the brink of shutting down and your hope for going outside for fresh air seemed like a fever dream. Surely your detestation for humanity couldn’t get any worse.

But that day would be different. It HAD to be.

Just ask her out, you thought. The worst thing she can say is no. Or fire you. 

You held back a sigh, focusing on the paper in your hands before your thoughts could spiral further. It was from a few years ago, out of place in the sea of recent documentation. You turned to ask her if she wanted to keep it, though the words caught in your throat.

She took a long drag from the cigarette, visibly deflating as the smoke flowed from between her full red lips. Then she tossed the pen onto the desk, leaning back in her chair with a mildly bored expression. The movement spun her in your direction though she looked to her left out of the window at the busy city below. The late afternoon sun beamed through the open blinds, casting an uneven glow that accentuated her brown eyes and made up features. Her auburn hair shone, the neat curls framing her face in an almost angelic way. She wasn’t Bryce, the beautiful yet shrewd CEO envied and feared by millions. She was just Bryce, a beautiful woman going through the motions of life.

 Her eyes met yours.

Your heartbeat stuttered, heat traveling up your neck. Her lips twitched.

“I, uh, I don’t know if you want to keep this one or not,” you said, holding the paper out for her to take.

She took it but barely glanced at it before balling it up and tossing it over her shoulder. You caught a whiff of her perfume, a light floral scent you willed yourself not to inhale too deeply. A familiar tension filled the space between you, one that was as exciting as it was intimidating. It was a silent dance, one where she ruled without hesitation. She crossed her legs slowly, a knowing glint in her eyes as you struggled to focus. A dare.

“Actually, there was something else I—”

Her phone started ringing. You bit back a sigh, your nerve evaporating at the drop of a dime. She pressed her lips into a thin line, crushing snubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray on the windowsill. Reality settled back in as she snatched her phone from the desk and answered it. Your blossoming hope that it was Donovan quickly faded when she fell into a series of business jargon with one of her shareholders.

Later, you thought while tiptoeing out of her office. It’s not a big deal. 

•─────────────•°•❀•°•─────────────•

It was several days later when you finally got another chance.

You had been busy the entire day. If you weren’t at your computer, you were looking through a series of files to enter data into your computer. If not that, you were attending meeting after godawful meeting that dragged on longer than should be legal. You happened to be on your way to doing the latter, barely paying attention to where you were going in your frantic search for a particular page of charts needed for a presentation.

You had to pass by her office to get to the conference room. Unfortunately you didn’t get past the first door as it swung open, colliding with your forehead and arm holding onto the files. The bundle scattering across the floor was the least of your concern as a sharp, throbbing pain spread through your head. 

You cursed, hunching over while pressing a hand to the area to ease the pain. 

“Damn it, Donovan! Do you know how hard it is to find good employees?”

Bryce was in your space in seconds, her soft hands and perfume falling over you. Suddenly the pain didn’t seem too bad.

“My apologies,” Donovan said.

“It’s fine,” you said, wincing. “It was my fault for not paying attention.”

“Do you have a concussion? How many fingers am I holding up? Do you need to go to the hospital?” Bryce asked.

You huffed out a laugh, a smile settling on your lips.

“No, I’m okay.”

“Can I get you anything?” 

You started to reassure her once again that you were fine until a thought came to mind. It was inevitable that the meeting would run longer than the stated two hours. The workday would practically be over, not that Bryce would stay until then. How long would you continue to push the date off? Until tomorrow? Next week? A month?

No, it was now or never.

“Some ice and maybegoingoutwithme?”

She turned to Donovan to order him to get the ice when she paused, glancing back over her shoulder at you.

“What did you say?”

You took a deep breath before you laid your heart out.

“Will you go out with me?”

Time crawled at a snail’s pace as you waited with bated breath for her answer. It was always nerve wracking when she got quiet. Usually, it meant she was two seconds away from putting a bullet between someone’s eyes, engulfed by a composed yet no less terrifying fury. (You found this out within the first couple of months of working for her.) Now, however, her face was mostly neutral but after so long of studying her way of doing things and staring far more than you’re willing to admit, you could tell by the subtle lift of her eyebrows and a certain vulnerability behind her eyes that this was new territory.

After a few agonizing seconds, she finally spoke.

“I’d love to.”

•─────────────•°•❀•°•─────────────•

The days leading up to Saturday night were…interesting.

Maintaining your usual professionalism proved more difficult than you expected. Every time you and Bryce were in the same room, your eyes always found each other’s. You both created every excuse to be near each other, sitting side by side whenever possible and lingering in your offices between tasks. And the touches—the way you thought back to each brush of her fingers when handing her something to the self-assured way she linked her arm with yours to drag you off to some unknown place…. You were smitten to put it lightly. 

A simple picnic in your backyard was what you decided on. When your grandparents still lived there, they’d started a garden, one which was heavily juxtaposed with the rest of the house. Light brown fencing closed it off from the outside world. Stone paths separated the food plants and patches of flowers from the small seating area. The seating area was enclosed by its own fencing, its entrance a white wooden archway adorned with pink and white flowers.

The night before Saturday, you raked away stray leaves, swept and hosed down the paths, and scrubbed the furniture. Luckily, you had a long extension cord in the attic so, on Saturday afternoon, you placed your grandparents’ well loved Victrola that somehow still worked on the coffee table, setting a box of records from well known 20th century crooners on the ground.

Two hours before you were due to pick her up, you gathered up and lit every candle you had, lining a path towards the seating area. You placed a bottle of champagne in a bowl of ice and sat it on the side table next to the loveseat. Next: the food.

You figured a charcuterie board would be a nice idea. Setting all the ingredients out on your counter, you pulled up a few inspiration pictures on your phone and got to work laying out the various meats, vegetables, fruits, cheeses, and crackers onto a baking sheet. Though you didn’t have one of those wooden boards and the colors weren’t as complimentary as in the photos, your stomach grumbled while admiring your handiwork. 

You checked the time, your eyes widening. You were supposed to pick her up at eight. It was half past seven, and her house was thirty minutes away. 

After shoving the tray into the fridge, taking a quick shower, and destroying your closet for something to wear, you were off. It was twenty minutes after eight o’clock when you pulled into her driveway and started up the path to the door. 

You straightened your clothes, swiping at stray pieces of lint and taking a deep breath before you rang the doorbell. Not even a minute later, she opened the door. 

“Hey, sorry I’m…late…,” your voice trailed off as you took in her appearance.

Her clothes were more casual than your previous date though no less luxurious. A red sweater dress and black thigh high boots clung to her body. Her makeup was light, her nearly bare skin glowing beneath the bright porch light. You thought she couldn’t possibly get more attractive yet there you stood, speechless.

“Hey,” she said.

It took a second longer for you to process her speaking to you and another second to force words to leave your mouth. 

“You look great.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Only great? I recall being ‘ravishing’ the last time.”

“No, you’re perfect. I mean—” you stopped talking as she smirked, your face warming with embarrassment. 

“Ready?”

You willed yourself to calm down, settling for a nod instead of words as you two headed for your house.

After pulling into your driveway, you went around to help her out of the car, tamping down the goofy smile threatening to overcome you as she continued to hold onto your hand. Hers was warm, soft, her blood red nails glowing in the dim light.

As you guided her to the sidegate leading to the backyard, she took in your old home, a far cry from the finery she surrounded herself in daily. You supposed it could’ve been worse. It could’ve still been barely standing after the wind pushed the tree in the front yard onto the roof. Your grandparents thought tarps and security cameras made up for cold nights and hot days in a house already overlooked by any thief adamant on not wasting their time. 

Though the inside was a step up from the exterior, you were grateful that they cared for the garden as much as they did. The moment you unlocked the gate, it was like a completely different place. The trail of candles casted an enchanting glow over the crops and flowers, the light breeze intertwining with a constant fresh earthy scent. 

The short walk to the end of the yard was filled with silence, though a glance out of the corner of your eyes told you it was a good one. Her eyes were slightly wide as she took in the space, brown irises shimmering with curiosity and warmth.

You guided her to sit on the loveseat before excusing yourself to retrieve the charcuterie board, juggling that plus two champagne flutes between your fingers. You carefully lowered the tray onto the coffee table, managing to find a bit of space left to sit the glasses down as well. You made one more trip, plugging in the extension cord on one end and dragging the other end back to the seating area to plug in the Victrola.

“You’ve thought of everything,” she said, her voice soft.

“I may have went a little bit overboard,” you avoided her eyes, “I wanted everything to be perfect.”

“I’m not with you because I expect some grand gestures.”

She reached out, taking your hand within hers again and pulling you down to sit next to her. You swallowed down your gasp. It took everything in you not to combust, her warmth and perfume and natural aura radiating towards you.

“W-Why then?” You managed to ask.

She looked at your joined hands, the silence stretching on as she got lost in her thoughts. Eventually, she sighed before returning your gaze. Her expression was relaxed, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen before. It was reluctant, honed from many instances of disappointment, yet its edges were lined with a spark of rare hope she had long buried beneath her rich facade. 

“You stayed.”

Those two words lingered heavy in the air between you, heartbreaking and touching all at once. Questions ran through your mind, pondering what happened that shaped her into who she is, how many times she’d been let down by the people she trusted. All you knew was that you wouldn’t be like them. You wouldn’t, not with her looking at you like someone who was already important to her. 

Your eyes flicked down to her lips for a split second.

“Bryce--”

She beat you to the punch, closing the distance between you. Her lips pressed carefully against your own, just as soft as you imagined too many times before. Your eyes closed as the rest of the world slipped away, bringing your free hand up to cup her face. Her confidence grew every second that passed as the kiss deepened. You were on cloud nine, your heart thudding against your chest, your thoughts jumbled with her, the way she leaned into you, and reassurances that you weren’t dreaming.

You squeezed her hand after you both pulled away, a bashful smile on your face. 

“You’re alright, Tankthrust.”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, though she squeezed your hand back. 

A gentle calm settled in the air as you both ate and talked about anything and nothing, reveling in each other’s company to the smooth ballads floating in the air. 

You remembered when you believed the lies told by people who had their pick of people yet choice to remain single, all better looking and taking a break from the supposedly full dating pool.

Be yourself, they’d say, there’s someone for everyone.

You believed that once , when you were still young and naive and desperate. You were technically still young, thirty five, but your lack of intimate knowledge suggested otherwise. Those were the days you’d thought about just hiring someone to be with. If others couldn’t see how great you were, you would make them see. But your pride and nerves got the better of you before you could send the message.

A little longer, you’d said that night. You were only twenty three at the time. Yeah it was a little later than most people expected one to be untouched, but some guys were into that. With the new job you were moving to a new city, one with plenty of people and opportunities to meet them.

You wrote articles about things you actually cared about with a company that hadn’t been persuaded to put out what’s trending for more money. You met some great people who happened to have a couple of the same interests as you, one man standing out in particular.

He was nice and respectful and incredibly handsome. It wasn’t long before you grew something of a schoolgirl crush on him. You did what those people said all that time ago in the videos and online. You were your same nerdy yet curious self, talking to him about your favorite things—outer space being the main one. You couldn’t help it.

Space felt like the only thing more misunderstood than you. It was seen as mysterious and dangous but it’s beautiful despite it all. Once one got past the gravity and distance which protected it from ruin, it welcomed exploration with open arms. Its true beauty was revealed.

Hours and hours you both would spend talking about any and everything. He loved nature untouched by man. He invited you to go hiking to his favorite spot every other weekend. He was more nerdy than he let on, pointing out a few species of plants to avoid touching even though their looks suggested otherwise. You were one of those plants but vice versa. You were left for so many years avoided because a few leaves were withered and misshapen, but your fruit was still the same. You still desired what everyone else wanted, water, sunlight, and careful attention.

You thought he was the one.

The day you worked up the nerve to talk to him was one of the scariest days of your life. You couldn’t sit still for anything, you heart was pounding in your ears, and you kept writing what to say in your journal so you wouldn’t mess up.

Just tell him that you like him, you thought. Just be honest. It’s not like he’ll laugh at you. He IS your friend.

You waited until you both were in the depths of nature one weekend to come clean.

“Are you okay? You kinda went quiet there for a second,” he asked.

You wrung your hands together, an uncomfortable feeling bubbling in your stomach.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you started but sighed instead.

He stopped in his tracks, turning to you with a watchful gaze you’d longed for for so long. This was it. The moment where your life would either begin or collapse.

“What’s wrong?”

“I-I have something to tell you but I don’t know how you’ll take it.”

“You can tell me anything, you know that.”

You looked into his kind eyes, all worried yet beautiful that you wanted to get lost in. That you believed wouldn’t hurt you. You believed him.

“Ok, well, I, we’ve-we’ve known each other for a while and—“ you wrung your hands together, “and since then I-I think I have feelings for you. Like, romantically.”

You took a deep breath, the weight slipping off your shoulders gradually as your confession settled between you.

He muttered your name and from the way he said it, your heart sunk in your chest. You were already calling yourself everything under the sun. Stupid, idiot, hideous—

“I didn’t know you felt that way.”

He chuckled awkwardly, adjusting the pack on his back.

“You’re a great person and an even better friend, but I don’t feel that way about you.”

The pain was immense, the anxiety even worse. Though there was no one or nothing around, it felt like a thousand eyes were on you, mocking you from the shadows. Laughing.

But you pushed back the eager tears burning your eyes and nodded, attempting a little smile.

“Hey, it was worth a shot,” you said. You had no idea how your voice came out steady, much less how you hadn’t broken down immediately.

“No hard feelings?” He asked.

“Course not,” you bumped his shoulder with your own.

The hike was a bit tense for a while before the incident slipped away as you both continued to get up to your usual shenanigans, as if it not your feelings had never been real.

He drove you home like usual and, with a smile and wave, you slipped into your house. You leaned against the door, sliding down to the floor where you stayed for an hour or so, trying and failing to contain your tears and thoughts of inadequacy.

You didn’t know what you did wrong, why you had been born with something you needed, why you couldn’t have what everyone else did. Was it because of some sick deity or a case of genetic coincidence? You didn’t know. All you knew was heartache, constant pain and anxiety at the fact that no one would love you the way you wanted.

Work was no different the following Monday. You pushed your pain aside like normal to maintain what care you did have. But it did hurt, to hear your coworkers and friends talk about relationships as if it were some casual and natural thing. While you were laughing and joking as if you understood, as if you didn’t have to come to terms with the fact that you would never be able to fulfill a big desire you’d had since you were younger.

The years passed by in a blink. That day was your thirty fifth birthday. You were still friends with the handful of people you met at work, including him, but this time most of them were married with children or ones on the way. The only thing you had was a backlog of chats from various internet dating sites, all left unfinished as you or the other party couldn’t be bothered to pretend something was there.

They’d been planning your birthday party since last month. It was an overseas trip on a cruise you’d always wanted to take. There were pg games, gambling, delicious food, and luxurious accommodations. You thought it was only fair to pick up the tabs on land since they’d bought the cruise tickets, but they were having none of it. It was the best birthday present you’d ever gotten, yet why did you feel so…sad, empty?

At dinner, you looked around the table at your friends, some with their spouses and kids, and felt the familiar welling of tears in your eyes. They fell before you could stop them.

“What’s wrong, hon?”

You brushed them away and painted on a watery smile, your excuse coming out as natural as breath.

“You guys didn’t have to do this for me. I’m just so lucky I met you all.”

A few aw’s went around, those nearest to you pulling you into a hug and patting your back. You excused yourself to the bathroom, claiming to want to fix your makeup. But after you checked to make sure the stalls were empty, you bawled your eyes out. You were thirty five. The amount of dates you’d been on could be counted with barely both hands. You were still a virgin and the fact that you’d turned thirty five meant that that would probably never change.

You got some tissue and dabbed at your eyes and nose with cold water, fanning your face to dry your eyes and regain your composure. You eventually do fix your makeup and return to your group, the joyful mask in place once more even though you were falling apart internally.

It started to hurt less after a while—three years. You had to accept what was meant to be, that you just weren’t meant to be cared for in that way. But you had your friends. They were the best that you could’ve asked for. They entertained your nerdy tangents about space and were a phone call away should you need them. They were practically family. If romance wasn’t in the cards for you, the least you could do was extend the same friendship that they’d offered to you to others who needed it.

It was a calm fall night in the city. Streetlamps glowed lazily around the park, lighting the open space with an almost eerie orange light. You were the only one there, sitting on a bench just off the paved path. A gentle cool breeze brushed against your cheeks which had started to numb a bit, but you remained sitting, your gaze turned to the stars. You couldn’t leave yet, not until the meteor shower started.

A repetitive clicking sound torn your attention from the sky to further down the path. A man was walking along the path in your direction, his head bowed to block out the wind. A cigarette hung from his lips, a trembling hand flicking the lighter in a silent plea to work. He stopped a few feet away from where you were sitting, shaking the cheap lighter to get any bit of fuel he could to light the cigarette he clearly needed.

You pulled out the one you kept in your pocket from a time before, taking it by habit rather than expecting to actually use it.

“Wanna use mine?” You asked.

His head shot up, startled by realizing that someone else was around. You extended it to him. He looked between it and you as if confirming something in his mind before reaching out to take it.

“Thanks,” he said.

The nearly full lighter flicked on the first time. He held it to the end of his cigarette, taking a huge drag before releasing it, his shoulders visibly deflating of the weight he carried around. You shook your head when he tried to offer the lighter back to you.

“You keep it. I don’t have much use for it now.”

He nodded, storing it away in his jacket pocket. You looked at your phone. 1:43am. You’d pay for staying up for so long, but you had the rest of your life to sleep. In a few minutes, you’d see something that most people wouldn’t see in their lifetime.

“Are you, uh, waiting for someone?”

The man shifted in place, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“No, just a meteor shower.”

You kept a vigilant watch on the sky as you continued on, unable to help the eagerness in your tone.

“It’s the last one of the year that I’ll be able to see from here.”

“Oh, that’s pretty cool.”

You held back a hum of disbelief. You’d heard those words plenty of times before the other person changed the subject or found some excuse to leave the conversation. There weren’t many people interested in stargazing or “daydreaming” as you had been accused of. Though when you spared him a glance, he was now looking at the sky, turning his head in different directions as if trying to spot out a hint of when it would start.

“I’m guessing you haven’t seen one before,” you said.

“No, uh, I haven’t. Just whatever’s in the movies, I guess.”

You looked down at your phone. 1:49.

“Well lucky for you that you’re out at the right time to watch the real thing. Just watch.”

In a matter of moments, bright streaks began to trail sporadically across the night. Some were short. Others had long tails that drew a line that remained for a few seconds after the meteor disappeared. He cursed under his breath, taking in the ethereal sight. You laid back on the bench to give your neck a rest, the world opening up more to reveal meteors further away. You sighed, longing to reach out and touch the sky, to ride away on the meteors and away from the responsibilities that life on earth brought. You’d make sure to explore everything so it didn’t feel left out.

“Can I…?”

His voice brought you back to the ground. He nodded to the empty spot beside you. You gestured to it. He sat there, mimicking your relaxed stance and goes back to watching the sky. His cigarette burned idly between his fingers, the acrid smoke mingling with his cologne, the scent of flour, and the fresh yet subtly sweet smell of the surrounding plants.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as you both took in the mystique of space and a tiny portion of what it had to offer.

“This is definitely better than the movies.”

“Every time.”

It was nearly 2:30am when you decided to head home. You sighed, your limbs heavy and your joints popping when you stood up. You would’ve stayed out there all night if you weren’t fighting a losing battle with sleep. You used to be able to stay up for two days at a time when you were in your twenties. Nowadays, you were lucky if you lasted a day before succumbing to your warm, plush, welcoming bed.

You rubbed your half lidded eyes, covering a yawn with your other hand.

“I’m gonna call it a night. I’m well past my bedtime.”

“I probably should too. I have to work in the morning, well in a few hours.”

“Damn, I’m sorry to hear that.”

He chuckled.

“Yeah, me too.”

There was a moment of stillness, neither making a move to leave. You looked up at the sky once more, getting your fill of the shower which had slowed down before you turned back to him.

“Well, I’m off. Have a good rest of your night, morning, whatever.”

“Thanks, you too.”

Sleep eluded him the entire weekend. Hours upon hours passed as he laid down, eyes heavy but unable to close, staring at the amulet held within his careful grasp. He’d mutter the activation spell every so often, taken to a new place each time. Four hours of an endless stream of calm surrounded him with thoughts of his favorite things—brewing potions to perfection, drinking firewhisky while reading classic literature near a roaring fire, sitting beneath a quiet, star-filled sky. Those few moments of bliss were indescribable, lifting, precious—a feeling frozen in time to be revisited at his discretion.

Was that what it felt like to be…happy?

The word was as foreign to him as the magic which made it possible. He made a mental note to pay a visit to the library’s restricted section later. There was rarely an occasion when he didn’t use it, relying on it like a life line. It certainly felt that way, the gradual fade of the effect returning him to a cold, uncomfortable reality littered with disappointments. One of those moments happened that Sunday morning after awaking from a short yet peaceful slumber.

A heavy sensation pressed on his chest as if someone were squeezing his heart in their hand. He gasped, clutching his chest as his awareness returned to him. The amulet surely wasn't meant for him. He hadn’t done anything worthy of such a gift. Perhaps it was meant for Clara. Maybe it belonged to an eavesdropping student. All he knew was the emptiness that settled in when he woke up and the tranquility that eased it after he activated the amulet. But his curiosity over its origin remained.

That Monday, the brooding potions master was anything but. The dread of dealing with incompetent and uninterested students never came. His normally hardened features were less biting, softer. He returned other professors’ greetings rather than giving his usual stiff nods or grunts. When it came time for brewing in his first class of the day and one of the students inevitably overflowed their cauldron, he didn’t issue a detention nor take away house points.

He’d looked at the cowering student avoiding his gaze and awaiting punishment. His expression remained calm, his next words equally as terrifying to the students as his punishments.

“Perhaps you’d do well with further tutoring. I will be in my classroom today until curfew,” he offered.

The student blinked, staring at him as if he’d grown another head. The rest of the class was a combination of stunned silence, mouths agape and eyes wide while the others whispered to one another their confusion and theories. Of course, his better mood didn’t prevent him from taking away house points for the students who continued gossiping and gaping like fish out of water instead of finishing their assignments.

Whispers and stares followed him through the halls of Hogwarts more so than usual, questioning if their professor had been switched with a clone with a better attitude or if he was simply in a good mood. A few of them scoffed at the latter. If Snape was in a good mood then hell had frozen over.

On the other side of the castle, the same couldn’t be said for Professor Greeves. Known for their fair teaching style, their personality noticeably dampened over the weekend. Their patience and dedication to the art of phylactery making waned. They took more than their fair share of house points for mistakes they used to brush off as beginner errors which could be mended with one wave of their wand. They furrowed their brows, biting back frustration when a student had a difficult time finding the correct balance of magic to infuse within their amulet. They sighed when another student needed assistance at their station, dragging their feet rather than falling into their usual quick stride, all but eager to help.

They brushed off any questions of concern with an “I’m just a bit tired,” with a failed attempt at perking up.

They just couldn’t shake the image of Severus and Clara no matter how hard they tried to distract themselves. A constant sinking in their stomach followed every time that night resurfaced, the constant shame warming their skin and reigniting the feeling of inadequacy.

They were so stupid, to think that a man like him would see them as anything more than a colleague and acquaintance at best. They didn’t even like potions when they attended Hogwarts and had never gotten higher than passing marks in the class. Naturally he’d be interested in someone who shared the same passion as him.

After classes were over for the day, they couldn’t bare being so close to the couple knowing that they had what Greeves had been after for so long. They distracted themself with anything they could: grading, cleaning, rearranging the desks for an upcoming assignment. They finally landed on reading a book from the restricted section, a thick tome detailing the history of phylactery, its uses, and how one can achieve different results depending on the crafter’s experience.

It didn’t take long for them to be swept away in their reading, their mind occupied by various theories and projects to attempt later. Two hours slipped by without them realizing. They probably would’ve still been there reading well into the dead of night if someone hadn’t knocked on their door.

“Come in,” they said, replacing their mark and closing the book.

Black robes billowed behind the pale man who possessed them. Their shoulders tensed, his intimidating presence filling up the vast space as he strode towards their desk. They fought to keep their expression neutral, their heart racing as his intoxicating scent filled their nose.

“Professor Snape, what can I do for you?”

It was a miracle they managed to sound composed. They were a complete mess internally, especially when he spoke, his deep voice stroking that part of their soul which longed for him.

“I require your expertise for a rather…peculiar event that occurred over the weekend.”

Their heart leapt in their throat as he pulled the amulet from his pocket. He held it out for them to take, but they’d know their handiwork anywhere. They took it anyways, swallowing the growing lump in their throat as their fingers brushed against his cool ones. Their mouth went dry, skin warming as if a wall of heat had suddenly pressed down upon them.

“What—What exactly would you like to know?”

Had his eyes always been so piercing and quizzical, like he was examining their every reaction with a fine tooth comb?

“Someone left it outside of my classroom well after curfew. Would you happen to know if a student was wearing it recently? Or perhaps working on it in your class?”

“No,” they responded too quickly.

His eyes narrowed. They looked away, turning the talisman over in their hands before setting it aside to busy themself with tidying up the loose papers and books strewn across their desk.

“Are you absolutely certain?”

They fought to keep their hands steady.

“Quite. I’m awfully busy at the moment, Professor. I wish I could be of more help.”

A tense silence settled over them, the only sound being their nervous shuffling of objects and the occasional set of footsteps passing behind the door. In their hurry to avert his suspicion, they reached over to grab another book though only managed to succeed in knocking it to the floor. Loose pieces of parchment tucked between the pages slipped out, sliding in different directions across the floor. They huffed, a layer of embarrassment joining the array of emotions swirling through them.

Severus was already stooping down to collect the few near him when they rose to clean up the mess. They made quick work of the remaining pages, shoving them back into the book and turning to retrieve the ones he’d gotten. Their blood ran cold.

He was scanning the page with an unreadable expression on his face. A sickening feeling settled in their stomach as an eerily similar sketch of the very amulet he possessed greeted them on the back of the page. The other side noted its intended purpose, its intended recipient—unnamed though obvious to anyone who’d ever been in the school. He tightened his grip, the parchment crinkling in protest.

“Severus—“ they tried to explain.

“So, that was you snooping around.”

“I-I didn’t, that wasn’t my intention I swear.”

He didn't say anything, so they continued to plead their case.

“I’ve always sort of admired you, the way you’re so passionate about potions even when others don’t appreciate it. And—and how you say you don’t care about something but what you do is the complete opposite.”

They can’t help the words spilling from their mouth. They had surely already ruined whatever slim chance they might’ve had with him. May as well lay everything on the table.

“I like how overly dramatic you are, your dry humor, the way we can talk about something as complex as politics in Shakespeare to something as mundane as which tea tastes better. Things feel better and…easier with you,” they swallowed, “but I understand that you and Clara are—“

“—nothing,” he interrupted, a bit breathless.

“W-What?”

He closed the distance between them. They sucked in a sharp breath, unable to prevent themself from getting lost in his eyes. Deep like an abyss, cold, dangerous if one leaned too far but honest about it. They glinted with a hint of amusement at their starstruck expression though there was something else they couldn’t quite place. He reached for their hand, slow enough to give them an opportunity to pull away. They didn’t.

“I’ll admit that I’m not an expert in matters of the heart. I had no idea you felt that way about me. Oddly enough, Clara helped me realize that.”

His thumb idly caressed the back of their hand. They wanted to pinch themself to make sure that they hadn’t fallen asleep while reading.

“That amulet is the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received.”

They bit the inside of their cheek to hold back the lopsided grin fighting to the surface. “I spent a month alone cutting the mold, but it was worth it.”

A small smile graced his lips, something they never thought they’d be the cause of.

“Then I take it you aren’t opposed to joining me for dinner?”

“Not at all.”

•─────────────•°•❀•°•─────────────•

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The night began as mundane and restless as most did. It was well past midnight. His limbs were weighed down with fatigue, movements sluggish as he organized his stores. The yellowing labels blurred, glass bottles clinking against wooden shelves as he sorted them by name, then color. Perhaps he’d get around to replacing the labels as some of the letters faded from age and constant handling. But it wouldn’t be that night as nothing sounded better than falling back in bed and being swallowed by plush pillows. Though he knew no matter how desperately he chased an uneventful slumber, Merlin laughed in his face. Reprimanded him with nightmares of past indiscretions and cold sweat as if the request was outlandish, too much to ask for.

Not to mention the mountain of essays awaiting judgement, no doubt a waste of ink for a third of them. With a sigh, he descended the ladder to head back to his classroom. Better to get the disappointment over with so he could have partial calm over the weekend. When he swung open the door, however, a form was sitting at his desk, already over halfway through the stack of parchments. 

“What are you still doing up?” He asked his assistant. The brunette looked up, adjusting her glasses further up the bridge of her nose.

“I forgot my notes, but I figured you could use some help with these.”

He sat next to her in his own chair, plopping down with a deep sigh. The relief was instant, the sharp sensation in his lower back soothing with each passing second. As much as the habit of handling matters singlehandedly gnawed at him, having more time for leisure was always welcomed despite its rarity and short length. Why hadn’t he considered an assistant sooner?

With his main priority taken care of, that left a bit of time for him to work on a separate project. He retrieved a handful of notes acting as a placeholder for a book equally neglected, brushing away the fine layer of dust on the cover and pages. Crude sketches and hurried scribbles littered the bundle as he sifted through them to recover where he’d left off. He made a mental note to rewrite and organize the pages later.

Clara gazed at him over the top of her glasses, rolling her eyes as he retrieved his spare quill and ink to jot down notes on a blank page.

“For heaven’s sake, you can’t even take a break properly,” she teased.

He paused, the tip of his quill hovering over the parchment.

“I beg your pardon. As far as I am concerned, any moment away from those babbling dunderheads is liberation enough.”

She wrote a crimson B- on the corner of the essay, placing it in an adjacent pile before scanning another one.

“They aren’t all bad, Professor. You shouldn’t allow the minority to cloud your judgment.”

“Neither should you allow your brief employment to be a sufficient determinant of character.”

“I haven’t been wrong yet. I knew we’d be good friends despite the whole brooding thing you have going on.”

He scoffed. “I’m tolerant of your antics at best, and I do not brood.”

She chuckled, a soft smile settling on her lips.

“Yes, frowning and grumbling behind a book is a rather welcoming sight. My apologies.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek to hold back the smile tugging at his own lips.

The room fell into a comfortable silence as they continued their separate tasks. When he wasn’t scolding students for nearly blowing his classroom into the stratosphere and avoiding conversation like the plague, Severus spent his open moments within nature–the Dark Forest especially. Its dangers dissuaded students from entering while almost eliminating the possibility of interruptions from unwanted company. There was much flora left to discover, one flower in particular capturing his attention on a trek he’d taken last month.

“May I ask what you’re working on?” Clara asked.

He blinked. He couldn’t remember the last time someone expressed interest in anything he did, especially when it didn’t benefit them. Having an assistant would surely require some getting used to.

“There has been a recent surge of poisonings near the Dark Forest. All are linked to this particular plant.”

He slid a photo of the flower towards her, known ominously as Widow’s Nectar. It was a flower that belonged to the Liliaceae family. Its dark purple and red petals were unassuming, even beautiful, to the uninformed eye. One may be tempted to touch or pick the plant. Not even he was immune to the urge. Only his knowledge of its potent poison and painful symptoms prevented him from touching it. 

She glanced at it from the corner of her eyes, widening before she turned to him fully.

“Is that…”

He nodded.

“Are you kidding me? I’ve been researching Widow’s Nectar since fifth year.”

He raised an eyebrow. Where had she been hiding all this time? Like minds were hard to come by and to have one as his assistant? He didn’t know how he got so lucky.

“Truly?”

She shifted her focus away from grading. Her chair scraped against the floor as she drew closer, scouring over his notes. “Yes, I even remember bombarding Professor Sprout for more details after she mentioned it during class.”

Conversation flowed easily between them as they discussed the flower, its uncertain origin, the lack of concrete research on its properties, and his desire to produce an antidote. It was a far cry from the lackluster talks he’d have with other professors which never strayed far from the topic of students and the school. To have someone as intelligent as him, one with similar interests and a devotion to learn more was rare. Admirable. 

She yawned into the palm of her hand. He glanced at the nearby clock. 2:13 a.m. A pang of disappointment settled in. It didn’t feel like they’d been talking that long, but he knew it was time to call it a night. He started to tuck his research back into the book, placing each page inside one at a time in a neat stack. She was just as hesitant, fingering through each essay to ensure all were marked.

“It’s refreshing to know someone that is interested in the same things as I am,” she said. “You wouldn’t believe how badly I was teased for being a ‘teacher’s pet.’”

There were plenty of similar instances he had, ones caked with pain and mistakes he didn’t care to divulge or relive.

“It is nothing against you personally. Others fear and envy what they don’t understand.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

He hummed, noncommittal.

“My early days were no walk in the park either, however it is best not to dwell on the past. You have a brilliant mind and potions are a viable medium, personal bias aside of course.”

After he put away his things and could no longer stall, he sighed and turned towards her. Their eyes met. Had she been this close to him the whole time?

“That means a lot coming from you, Severus.”

Before he could react to her unusual lack of formality, her lips were pressed against his. His eyes widened, his eyebrows reaching for his hairline. What. was. happening? Time seemed to slow to a snail’s pace, though it had only been a few seconds. He racked his mind for some way to escape the situation. Push her away? Too harsh, even for him. Wait for her to pull away? It was awkward enough with him sitting stiff as a plank and letting her have her way with him.

A noise from outside the classroom door provided just the distraction he needed to pull away. Quickly dissipating footsteps gave him further reason to do so with haste. He crossed the room in a few long strides, throwing open the door and casting Lumos. 

“What is it, Severus?”

He peered down both ends of the hall narrowed eyed, finding nothing out of the ordinary. He went to investigate further and inadvertently sent an object skipping across the floor. He picked it up. It was a small velvet bag. Turning it over in his fingers gave little away. Nothing except the presence of a smaller item which shifted inside. 

“Is someone out there?” Clara’s voice grew closer.

Inconspicuous, yet suspicious all the same. Was it another prank by those awful Weasley twins? 

“Probably students trying their luck,” he mumbled.

She peered over his shoulder as he turned it over in his hand before going over to place it on a nearby desk for later inspection.

“I’m sure it’s nothing. Now, where were we?”

She ran her hands over his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck. Before she could lean in, he took a step back. Her arms fell back to her sides.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think our relationship should remain professional.”

“Why? Didn’t you like the kiss?”

His search for the right words—his silence—was all it took for a wounded look to claim her usually chipper expression. The bright glint had dimmed, replaced with a glassy surface. Her smile,  replaced with a thin line as her cheeks reddened from embarrassment. He held back a grimace. Like clockwork, he’d managed to hurt someone who tried to get close to him, unintentionally but damaging all the same. She probably hated him. Would she decide to leave him like all the others, confirming his self-fulfilling prophecy of being unworthy of companionship? 

He didn’t deserve her forgiveness, yet she tried to salvage the situation anyways.

“Way to let me down easy,” she joked, her chuckle hollow in the tense moment.

He couldn’t meet her eyes. “I apologize, but I don’t feel that way about you.”

The guilt felt like a ton of brinks settling upon his shoulders as she went back to his desk to collect her things. He parted his lips multiple times but nothing seemed appropriate. 

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You and Greeves were close before I came here,” she sighed.

He furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t notice them giving you doe eyes every time they are around you?”

He hadn’t. Sure, they were cordial. There were a few instances of idle, unrelated conversations over tea. There were moments they ran into each other in Hogsmeade and browsed the shops together. They traded reading material every so often to discuss their opinions. They weren’t as chipper as Clara, instead more reserved with how they presented themselves around others. He could only recall a handful of times when he caught them staring at him, though he was scrutinized often by the school body. 

He remained silent, caught within a whirlwind of confusion and suspicion.

Clara sighed and rolled her eyes, a genuine smile settling on her lips.

“For such an intelligent man, you can be quite thick sometimes. I hope that we can be friends at least?”

“Sure—of course,” he mumbled, still in a daze.

He watched her leave, the door clicking behind her. A cloud of denial filled his head, pushing down any minuscule belief that her words were true. 

By no means did he consider himself attractive. The unintentional eavesdropping on students and few staff never let him forget it, neither did his avoidance of the mirror each morning. Yet these two people had romantic interest in him of all people? The so-called greasy dungeon bat? 

Perhaps in his sleep deprived state he’d misheard Clara, imagined the kiss because of his mind’s cruel way of manifesting occurrences he could never have. 

He definitely needed to lie down.

Glancing over his shoulder at the drawstring bag, he groaned internally. He wanted nothing more than to forget about it and head back to his chambers to regain some semblance of sanity. But it was his duty to investigate suspicious activity, lest the offending party got away with causing mischief.

Just get it over with, he thought, snatching the bag up and emptying its contents in his hand.

With careful hands, he loosened the bag’s string, emptying its contents onto the desk. A silver talisman no bigger than his palm fell out. A pale blue glow illuminated the center’s intricate, handcrafted design. In its heart was a hollowed eight-point star, the source of the light. He armed himself with his wand, mentally preparing himself for the worst, then pointed the tip of it at the amulet's center.

“Amuvelio.”

At once, streams of light shot upwards and formed into an orb of energy. Its ghostly hue shifted into a brilliant gold surrounded in shimmering glitter. Severus watched on wide eyed as it formed into waves, encircling him from head to toe like strings of ribbon. The gentle spray of the sea peppered his skin, its saltiness filled his nose, and the afternoon sun warmed him from the cold dungeon. Unconsciously, he reached out to touch the energy and gasped.

It started externally at first, the sensation of being hugged. Then it sunk internally, touching the darkest depths of his mind. He felt…safe. The world’s obstacles turned off at the flick of a switch, his mistakes forgotten at the blink of an eye. He didn’t have to hide behind defenses he’d spent years building around himself. He didn’t have to face constant scrutiny from people who didn’t understand. He entered a place untouched by the cruelness of man, a place which accepted even his broken soul with open arms.

He was at peace.

Liquid dripped onto his face as the light returned to the amulet. With trembling fingers, he brushed it away only to realize they were his own tears. Turning the amulet over, his sob finally cut through the silence.

For the bad days.

•─────────────•°•❀•°•─────────────•

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“Fuck…just like that.”

“That’s it, take it all.”

“Look at me, baby—fuck—that’s right.”

His voice fills your ears through the headphones atop your head. He’s everywhere at once: his scent, his presence, his attention. You imagine his hooded eyes, pupils blown wide while watching you trace the curves of your body with delicate fingers. He was biting his lip while standing over your splayed figure, chest heaving and shifting in place, not knowing whether to let you have your way or take control himself. His cock strained against the already tight material of his uniform slacks, aching for release.

It’s already past 9 p.m. The right side of the bed is cold from regular nights of neglect, making it the perfect place to rest your head as the video unfolds. You know it forwards and backwards, have every word, groan, and orgasm ingrained in your memory. He took it near the beginning of your relationship.

When he first asked for permission to record “just for us,” it intrigued and flattered you. No one ever liked you enough to want to preserve your intimate moments. But the instant the flash trained on you, it seared into your skin like a hundred eyes during a performance. Did you look ridiculous? Desperate? Gross? Would he show it to his friends or, god forbid, post it online?

Your thoughts were a whirlwind a few days after. Your search history was that of a sex crazed degenerate. Your detective hat tingled when he would come over to your apartment and occupy himself with something away from his phone. You didn’t think he was that type of guy, but reading enough horror stories online told you that you couldn’t really know anyone.

Luckily, you never found yourself gracing twitter’s homepage, nor in texts or emails between his friends. Even when spats arose, he didn’t threaten you with eternal embarrassment.

He treated you like royalty.

Now, your gallery is filled with tens of videos to choose from for nights like this. Missing him is a little less heavy on your chest. Instead, it’s warm and sensitive as you pinch your nipples through your thin cropped shirt. You run your fingertips over them in his same teasing manner, biting the corner of your lip. He caressed your cheek with his thumb before tangling them in your hair, guiding your head just the way he liked. You squeeze your thighs together.

“Good girl. You’re doin’ so well for me.”

You make quick work of your shorts, tossing them in the corner of your bedroom. You reach for the silicone toy you placed next to you earlier, almost as thick and veiny as the real thing. It would have to do.

You keep your ass in the air as you return to your position on your stomach. It makes it easier to reach underneath your body and slide the toy between your legs.

You jolt as the tip brushes against your clit then moan when sliding it between your folds, gliding with ease due to the wetness already accumulated.

Your eyes lock on your phone, watching yourself take his cock impossibly deeper, stroking what couldn’t fit in small rotations. His groans and curses send shivers down your spine. You wish he was here so you could taste him again, musk and soap and salt coating your tongue as he grew closer to his release.

Having waited long enough, you position the head at your entrance and lower your hips. Your whine is drawn out as the toy disappears further into your depths. Shuffling in your ears signals the best part. He pulled you on top of him, giving you the camera to record. His face was beet red, brown curls sticking to his forehead. His breaths came in quick pants. Sexy, handsome, utterly debauched.

You ride the toy at the same pace as your past self, slowly, teasing the tip with shallow thrusts before plunging down without warning. You cry out at the same time he did. His hands gripped your hips like a vice, veins protruding along his arms in an effort to hold himself back. God, you wish he hadn’t. You wish he would’ve tossed you like a rag doll, pounded into you with reckless abandon, and told you to suck it up when it was too much.

One after the other, your moans cut through the audio, loud, lewd, and needy. A familiar inkling of shame sets in as you wonder how you must look, rocking your hips back and forth out of rhythm, your essence dribbling down your thighs as the heat in your belly increases.

“C-Carmy,” you whimper.

Almost as if it were happening in real time, his voice filled your ears once more.

“T-That’s it, baby. Ride my cock. Take it. Feels so fuckin’ good. Faster.”

Who are you to deny him anything? You rock your hips faster. Your thighs burn from the exertion, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. You’re so close, the heat reaching and reaching, getting louder and louder with every thrust. You grip the bedsheets with your free hand, tugging them between your teeth.

Within seconds, you’re tumbling over the edge. Your hips shudder to a stop and your legs slam closed, a scream ripping through your throat. For a long time, you’re gasping for breath, resting your head against your arm. You can’t stop shaking.

Eventually, you come down from your high and are left with pleasant tingling. Looking at the time, you know it won’t be long until Carmy comes home. It’s plenty of time to shower and change the sheets. You take off your headphones, turn, and nearly have a heart attack when you see him leaning against the dresser adjacent to the bed. He’s still in uniform, though his pants are pushed down his thighs. His hard length in hand and covered with his release, it’s no question as to what happened.

“I didn’t know you were home,” you speak softly, crossing your legs and hiding the toy behind your back.

“Been here a while, not that you would’ve noticed.”

Your face warms at his smug grin.

“I…” you scramble for something to say. You settle on, “I have to change the sheets.”

Before you can climb off the bed, he crosses the room and pushes you onto your back.

“Nu-uh, baby. We have unfinished business.”

“We do?”

He hums, nudging your legs open with his knee.

“Have you been doing this behind my back the whole time?”

You glance away, biting your bottom lip.

“I know my rights.”

Fridays in Advanced Phylactery Making held a special place in Professor Greeves’s heart. Watching awe light up their students’ eyes after separating the metal from their molds never failed to light a fire of pride in them. The hollow pieces were dim and bare bones, but it was a steppingstone to material that would prove useful beyond their studies.

Sanding was next. Each student was equipped with sheets of wet sandpaper as they hunched over their tables and ran them over their soon to be amulets. Greeves had to correct a few eager ones well on the way to sanding a hole in the frames. It was understandable; they’ve been waiting since fifth year to start crafting. Two whole years of learning theory and writing papers on proper amulet usage left plenty of time to weed out bad apples and encourage those with a genuine interest. Much to their surprise, only two students dropped the course while leaving a majority of thirteen.

They couldn’t ask for better students. It was every professor’s dream to have an engaged, well-behaved class every day. They were the talk around the staff room, including from the potions master. One Monday evening while both professors were heading off to dinner in the Great Hall, he expressed his disbelief after hearing of their students’ accomplishments and quick comprehension.

“Some of the seventh years can hardly brew a Wiggenweld potion, let alone craft a talisman,” he grumbled.

It was a normal day in the Hall. The students talked among themselves while forking down their meals. Greeves noticed a little too late that the only available seats were at his usual end of the table. They struggled to contain the warmth rushing through their face and their trembling hands. Talking with the reclusive dungeon bat was rare in and of itself, but sitting near him during mealtimes was unheard of for them. Even in the three years they’d been at Hogwarts, the opportunity had presented itself only one other time, much less desired back then.

Now, as they piled food onto their plate while continuing to speak about their classes, Greeves was aware of their lingering gaze. It wouldn’t surprise them if he could see the hearts shining in their eyes. His deep drawl caressed their soul with feather light fingers, leaving it a purring mess. His obsidian pools drew Greeves in further into their depths each time their eyes met. They seared their skin when they weren’t looking. And his hair, sleek and majestic, aroused the urge to run their fingers through it.

To say they were smitten was an understatement.

His perfect lips were saying something, yet no words reached their ears.

They wiped the serene smile stretching across their face, attention planted firmly back in the present. Hopefully they weren’t as obvious as they were back then. After a few laps around the rows of tables, the clock hanging above the door signaled the end of class and the end of the school week.

“Great work today everyone. Please bring your projects to my desk and don’t forget to clean your workstations,” they looked pointedly at the student notorious for leaving her area in a whirlwind. She blushed before sweeping her metal shavings into a bin. The rest scrambled to collect their things and turn in their work.

“Next week we will learn how to infuse them with magic, so make sure to begin reading the section in your textbooks,” they called to their retreating forms.

Excited chatter settled over the group, continuing down the hall. While they pondered their plans for the weekend, Greeves had their own to attend to. They opened their bottom desk drawer, retrieving a small drawstring bag. They turned it over in their hand then stowed it away in their pocket with a deep breath. Very big plans indeed.

An embarrassing bounce plagued their steps on their way to the Great Hall. Their stomach growled angrily at their insolence, empty since the lackluster biscuit and jam breakfast they had. They couldn’t entirely blame waking up later than usual. No, the nerves from haunting thoughts of a certain dark-haired man are partially to blame.

Before he grew to tolerate them, Severus hadn’t made it easy to get close to him. Asking him a simple question about his day seemed like a crime. Greeves could admit they didn’t trust others easily either, but there came a time when they had to realize not everyone had bad intentions. They didn’t know why he was so cautious. All they knew was they wanted him to take a chance on them.

The usual cacophony of chatter greeted them as they entered the Great Hall. A couple of students waved at them while they walked down the aisle, which they reciprocated with a smile. It eased their mind slightly from the task at hand.

It’s not a big deal, they thought, just say you want to talk to him about something privately. But would that be too forward? Too weird? Would he want to talk to me at all? They were so lost in their head that they didn’t realize the seat beside him was already occupied. They almost choked on their next breath. There she was, Clara—his newly appointed potions assistant—munching away on grapes while talking to him. Her animated manner of speaking was hard to ignore. Some days it was infectious to a degree.

Today was not one of those days.

When Clara first joined the Hogwarts staff, Greeves didn’t mind her jovial company. It made grading and trips to Hogsmeade more interesting. The stories she told of her muggle life in America fueled their desire to visit it one day. She made an honest effort to get to know each of her colleagues. Though not everyone appreciated her chipper attitude. Severus scoffed at any mention of her. He gave her the treatment he gave every newcomer: one-word answers and avoidance like they were diseased ridden. Clara didn’t heed their warnings about his standoffishness, pacing furiously in their classroom one day with a frown that didn’t fit her face.

“I mean, he didn’t even let me finish what I was saying!”

Greeves recalled similarly their time as a newbie. They didn’t fully accept him brushing them off either, but they learned when not to push him too hard. Clara, not so much.

“Don’t be too upset,” they patted her shoulder before going back to putting up supplies. “He’s like that with everyone.”

“But I want us to be civil at least. He won’t even give me the time of day!”

Greeves smirked, vaguely remembering having the same conversation with Professor McGonagall.

“He’ll come around eventually. Just don’t bombard him so soon, okay? Ease into it.”

She paused her frantic movements to ponder their words then nodded, a determined expression replacing her frown.

“Okay. Thanks, Professor.”

They wouldn’t have bothered if they knew it would lead to that. Their heart pounded against their chest harder the closer they get to the head table. He didn’t look annoyed or even mildly disinterested. He was actually engaging with her. They rounded the table, pausing to address them.

“Hello Clara,” it came out more strained than they intended. “Professor.”

Greeves barely paid attention to her cheery response and focused their attention on him instead. He glanced over for a second and gave a polite nod.

Ouch. It felt like their every move was being ridiculed and scrutinized as they took the available seat next to Professor McGonagall further down the table. They greeted the older woman and made a bit of small talk between bites of pasta. They went into autopilot mode. They didn’t fully comprehend what they or Minerva were discussing. All they could linger on was the fact that Clara had waltzed in and wormed her way into Severus’s good graces much faster than them. Much faster than they had heard from the other professors.

A sudden giggle reached their ears, startling them from their trance. They looked in that direction, regretting it immediately. Clara was cackling at something he said. But what really left their heart heavy was the expression on his face. His fine lines were smoothed out, the corner of his lips raised in a half smile, and a glint in his eyes that reminded them of stars on a moonless night. They never saw him look so…placid.

Greeves sighed, long and defeated. They turned back to their plate where they’d been pushing and prodding at their food. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a good idea to talk to him after all.

“Are you alright, dear?” Minerva interrupted their spiraling thoughts.

They blinked, quickly forcing a smile when the question registered.

“Of course, Professor. Just thinking about the assignments I have left to grade.”

They took another bite of food to sell the lie though grimaced afterwards. It had gone cold. Minerva took one look over her shoulder at what they had been transfixed on before a knowing smirk tugged on her lips.

“This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with a certain professor, would it?”

“No-No, not at all!”

Even they didn’t believe the lie. Their half-hearted denial fell on deaf ears.

“You should tell him how you feel.”

“And if he doesn’t feel the same?”

She placed a warm hand on their shoulder. “Then you’ll know, and you won’t be tormented by constant what-ifs.”

They were still unsure, yet groups of students heading for the exit let them know they didn’t have long to decide. From the corner of their eye, they saw Severus taking his leave, his cloak billowing behind him. Clara was nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps Minerva was right. It made sense for them to get along. It would be counterproductive if they despised one another while working together so closely. Or maybe Greeves was setting themselves up for heartbreak. Maybe they were closer than typical colleagues. Either way, they knew they had to do something.

They had to know for sure.

They thanked Minerva for the advice before heading off to their chambers to freshen up.

•─────────────•°•❀•°•─────────────•

Unfortunately for them, patrol duty didn’t wait or care about their prior plans.

The halls were calm apart from the stragglers they caught sneaking around with firecrackers. It was even worse since they now had to serve them with a lengthy detention sentence on Monday. After escorting them back to their respective common rooms, they realized they weren’t far from the potions’ classroom. Past curfew or not, Greeves could count on Severus doing some late-night grading or reading. They figured a slight deviation wouldn’t hurt.

They fished the drawstring pouch from their pocket, a faint blue glow emanating from it in the dim lighting. On they walked toward the dungeons, feeling the gradual shift of temperature to a biting chill. They gave themselves a pep talk the entire way that did nothing to slow their doubts.

The door came into view, left cracked open which he only did when he expected them to drop by. Did he notice their not-so-subtle staring at dinner? Had he been aware of their affection for him the whole time?

They bit their lip as they approached the door, raising their fist to knock when a voice that wasn’t his slashed their resolve.

“It’s refreshing to know someone who’s into the same things as I am. You wouldn’t believe how much I was teased for being a teacher’s pet.”

Clara, Greeves frowned. What was she doing here? They willed their heart to quiet for fear of anyone hearing, leaning closer to hear his response.

“It’s nothing against you personally. Others only fear and envy what they don’t understand.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

“My early days were no walk in the park either, but you can’t dwell on the past lest you prove them right. You have a brilliant mind and potions are a viable medium, personal bias aside of course.”

“That means a lot, Severus.”

Heels clicked further away before a pin drop silence settled in. With feathered steps, they inched the door open enough to see what was happening. The moment their eyes focused, they gasped and covered their mouth with both hands. The pouch hit the ground with a muffled clack. They…

A hellscape realized was the only thing close to describing the scene. Their blurry forms pulled away from each other as they questioned the noise, one of them starting towards Greeves. They forced their legs to work, casting the disillusionment spell then taking off running. Patrol forgotten, they didn’t stop until they reached their chambers. Only when the door was closed and securely locked behind them did they allow the building sob to escape. They slid down the doors length until they were on the floor, hiding their face behind their knees.

At least they finally got an answer.

•─────────────•°•❀•°•─────────────•

TAGLIST

@liv2post

@cold-blooded-girls

@bobobomao

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

@reivelmin

@evans23

@dracolilhoe

“I’m leaving.” 

Blunt and to the point. The words echoed over the sea of tables piled high with paints, tools, and half-finished works. His form hovered over an easel, canvas splotched with dark reds and blacks. The brush between his fingers clattered as he dropped it in a bucket of cleaning solution, yet his back continued to face her. 

“We’ve talked about this, love—“ 

She interrupted, “Well this’ll be the last time you hear it.” 

He huffed, swiveling on his heels to humor her. The moment he saw the suitcase, a noticeable tension dampened the mood of the room. Frown fixed upon his lips, he took slow steps toward her. An unsettling flutter settled in her stomach, but she maintained eye contact, bringing herself to full height. 

“And where will you go? How will you support yourself?” 

“I don’t think that’s any of your concern anymore,” she sassed. 

Soon, he was mere inches away from her face, now glaring.  

“No.” 

She rose an eyebrow. 

“It wasn’t a question.” 

“I’m telling you you’re not going anywhere.” 

“Too bad you can’t stop me. Just thought I’d be decent enough to tell you to your face.” 

He clenched his fists at his sides as she dared to turn away from him. A mumbled series of words left his mouth. Before she could process them, the ground rumbled beneath her feet and the back wall of the studio exploded, debris flung into the void. The Aperture floated into view, its sight locked on her. Tendrils stretched out from it on all sides before abruptly rushing to her position. She just barely managed to dodge them, abandoning her suitcase in the process.  

“What the hell Stefano!” She yelled, sliding under a table as a nearby one was crushed to bits. She crawled out from the other side, making a mad dash for the exit. Her heartbeat filled her ears and thoughts of death swarmed her mind. Surely, he wouldn’t kill her?  

Her evasion only fueled his anger, attacks becoming more frequent yet sloppy. The door was in her reach. She could almost taste normalcy, the promise for a fresh start in the city where she could blend in, see new sights and work on herself. It was beautiful. And in that split second of bliss, he had teleported in front of the door, a toothy grin on his face. 

“Going somewhere?” 

She screeched to a halt and stumbled back, right into the grasp of Aperture. Crimson strands tangled around her limbs within seconds. A fruitless struggle ensued as her feet left the ground. Only when they grew tighter did she accept her fate. The heels of his shoes clicked as he strolled over. 

“After everything we’ve been through…” 

He reached up to touch her cheek, but she flinched away before his fingers made contact. His hand returned to his side with a sigh, thinking she’d imagined the glimpse of hurt behind his eyes. 

“Why?” 

“You know why.” 

It’d only been a year since his art gained traction in the mainstream. After years of working freelance in photography and having multiple rejections, he’d finally found a break when a private collector decided to take a chance on his gore inspired paintings. Word of mouth led to many painting and sculpture commissions alike. Money seemed bottomless and the fame wasn’t half bad either. His dream had finally come true like she always knew it would. 

The problems began soon after. Nothing came before work. Dates were cancelled last minute, excuses were made, her feelings were discarded. Everything was about his art.  

It’s only temporary, my love. I could never be too busy for you. 

We are this close to living the life we’ve always wanted. I just need a little more time. 

Please be patient with me. 

It had been months and nothing changed. She stood by his side since the beginning and this was the thanks she got? Being held hostage? 

“I just need more time,” he whispered, a broken record. His hand was back on her body, trailing down her abdomen. 

“Please don’t make this harder than it has to be,” she pleaded. Her words went in one ear and out the other as he grew closer and closer to the place she didn’t want. The leather of his glove met her bare skin, sliding underneath her panties to stroke her bundle of nerves. Her eyes closed despite herself, the rough texture expediting the growing heat in her belly. 

“Tell me you don’t feel anything, and I will let you leave.” 

She wanted to scream, ask where he’d gotten the gall to assume she’d stay after everything he’d done. As he continued to toy with her, however, a hunch told her nothing close to what she was thinking would leave her mouth. Though, she made an attempt. 

“I-I don’t—“ 

The tentacle around her throat tightened, cutting her off. At the same time, Stefano slipped two fingers inside and forced a choked moan from her. She squeezed the digits as he set a steady pace, hating the way his expression filled with smug delight.  

“You could never leave me,” he stated, his free hand coming up to squeeze her breast. She hissed when he pinched her nipple through her bra hard enough to bruise.  

“S-So you think,” she managed to get out, struggling against her captors. In that moment, she’d never felt smaller. “I don’t even know you anymore.” 

For a split second, it seemed like she finally got through to him. Those calculating eyes softened around the edges, revealing the man she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with. The man who was an open book and a willing ear. The man whose presence gave her warmth and an abundance of belonging. The man who could capture the unlikely beauties of the world with precision. He’d seemed too good to be true—soft spoken and careful—a far cry from the guys she dated in the past.  

“Perhaps you’ve never known me at all,” he zoned out, staring off into the distance. How had things gone so wrong and so fast? But her initial glint of hope faded away as he steeled himself, the wall building back up.  

“Stefano…” 

His lips suddenly pressed against hers in a rough kiss. Her vision grew misty at the sensation, like two star-crossed lovers finally overcame the oceans separating them only to realize there was nothing. No sparks, no reasons to continue loving. Despite it, she tried to match his urgency, expecting with each brush of their tongues that everything would work itself out like before. Her fingers twitched out of habit, wanting to card through his hair and see that blissful smile that never failed to light a torch in her heart. 

But Aperture refused to give. More tentacles trickled down to meet her, the moist appendages slithering beneath her clothes and leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. They were reduced to scraps littering the floor.  

A hammock like structure formed under her, hips rising involuntarily to meet his. She begged him to stop the madness and accept that there was nothing left between them. Not to mention it wasn’t fair. But she was met with deaf ears as he unzipped his slacks and pushed them down just enough to release his hard cock. 

All she could do was watch him line himself up with her entrance, plunging achingly slow into her depths. She exhaled a shaky breath when he settled against the sensitive patch of tissue lining her walls. He tossed his head back and she hated that he still had an effect on her body. Each thrust grew easier to make, a thin layer of her essence coating his skin and glistening in Aperture’s light. 

He pushed her thighs closer to her chest and the tendrils readjusted to hold her open. She jolted as he went impossibly deeper. A twinge emerged but he didn’t stop, instead picking up the pace. 

“Good girl, take all of me,” he groaned. 

Her earlier resistance was flung out the window as a series of moans slipped through her lips and refused to stop. They grew in volume the harder he pounded into her, too far gone for embarrassment to set in at their lewdness. For a moment, her rational side spoke above the fog of lust, telling her this was exactly what he wanted. He’d never let her go and she be trapped in an endless loop of unhappiness. Their time together was over, the situation only prolonging the inevitable. But a glance down at her body webbed with tentacles—one on a path toward her parted lips—pacified any further attempts at disobedience. She allowed its slickness to wander over her tongue and down her throat, gagging as it mirrored its master’s thrusting at a slower speed. 

Stefano fixed his eyes on the sight of her throat rising and falling, cock throbbing dangerously. The combined visuals and sensations of her tight, warm tunnels squeezing him for dear life sent him over the edge. His rhythm broke, shuddering and grasping for purchase on her waist while sheathing himself fully. He growled a curse as spurt after spurt of cum filled her to the brim. The ringing in his ears seemed never ending. After the room came back into focus, he brushed the strands of hair from his right eye. A bluish glow and a whir emitted from it.  

Her whine muffled, she could almost feel the heat of his stare as he filmed between her legs, an unbearable emptiness setting in as he pulled out. She felt the ticklish caress of his seed trickling down her labia, leaving her longing for its blanket. He collected some on his fingertips, forcing it back in with a loud squelching sound. 

The tendril left her mouth, the saliva coated digit coming to stroke her clit in small, firm circles. The noises she made grew more pitiful and desperate, legs trembling in a fight to snap closed. 

“Right there, darling?” 

“Don’t stop,” she gasped.  

It didn’t take long before her orgasm rocked her body, her back arching as much as the tentacles would allow. He caressed her thigh through it with a tenderness miles away from his earlier roughness.  

“I’m going to ruin you,” he rose to his feet and called out to the eye. It turned her around, her back facing him. She hung her head, a testament to the building shame breaching the surface, watching their cum flow out of her in a steady stream. His knees locked, the head of his cock parting her folds. She jolted as he thrusted against her still sensitive clit. “No other man will ever be able to satisfy you like I can.” 

Being around Carmen felt as natural as breathing. From the moment you met, you knew right away there was no one else you’d rather give your heart to. He made you laugh even when he wasn’t trying, he remembered the most minuscule details about you and what you liked, and he was always there when you needed him. You could never bother me. ‘M only a call or text away, he’d remind you for the fortieth time after you admitted to not wanting to add to his stress from work. No one could ever dream of asking for a better boyfriend.

Except whenever you tried to take pictures with him.

It had been ten minutes since you asked him to take a picture with you for your socials. Saving memories was your second favorite part of making them, so it was inevitable that you’d ask him. But he was in an especially playful mood that day. The smile he flashed at the camera was overly wide and a bit creepy if you looked long enough. With a pout, you shoved him away while he laughed.

“You’re such a jag off.”

He held a hand over his mouth to calm himself down to no avail. “Hey, I smiled didn’t I?”

“Like a serial killer.”

He shrugged and kissed your forehead as an apology. As you scrolled through the handful of failed images, a lightbulb flicked on over your head.

“I don’t even care, I’m still gonna post them.”

“No you’re not.”

When he saw the blank expression on your face, he reached for the phone only for you to hold it out of his grasp. You both made eye contact. A glint he knew all too well flashed behind your eyes. A glint that meant you were going to be a bratty pain in the ass. He reacted a second too slow as your form dodged his arms and took off running up the stairs. He rushed after you, but you had already shut and locked yourself in the bedroom. He banged on the door.

“Babe open the door! You better not post those.”

“Or what Carmen?” You asked, putting emphasis on his name.

“I’ll sue.”

You chuckled. “Guess I’ll be seeing you in court then.”

He sighed, running his fingers through his curls while pacing. What to do, what to do? After a moment, an idea popped into his mind and he smirked. He made sure to get nice and close to the area of the door where he knew you were standing.

“I’ll spank you.”

There was dead silence for a while before you spoke in a breathless whisper.

“Promise?”

He hummed in agreement. “Just give me your phone and you can have what’s behind door number one.”

“What’s the catch?”

You knew him too well.

“You take however many I feel you deserve—“ you made a sound of protest, “but I’ll sweeten the deal with some waffles.”

You thought over his proposal, but the throbbing between your legs had already decided. The lock clicked and the door swung open. You huffed as you handed over your phone. He deleted all but one of the photos, using it to set your wallpaper to his creepy smile before pocketing the phone. You’d see his surprise later.

You were bouncing your leg the entire time he was preparing the waffles. Carmy was awfully heavy handed when it came to punishments. Just a few weeks ago when he caught your hand between your legs without permission, you thought he was in a good mood helping you find your release. But then he kept going and going until you were too sore and sensitive to handle him even breathing on your skin.

A shiver ran up your spine as the steaming stack of waffles was placed on the island in front of you. While you were zoned out, he had dressed them up with whipped cream and berries, topping it off with buttermilk syrup. You were definitely not going to be able to sit down properly for a while.

“You wanna eat ‘em now or take ‘em with you?”

“With me,” you mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

“Don’t worry babe, I won’t go easy on you if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You frowned as he chuckled, giving you one last nicety of a kiss at your temple before he got down to business.

“Bedroom in three. Don’t be late.”

•─────────────•°•❀•°•─────────────•

He was sitting at the edge of the bed when you entered. Beside him was a can of whipped cream. He patted his leg with a smirk on his face.

You took a deep breath before walking over, carefully lying across his lap with your waffles. You had sliced them into smaller pieces downstairs to make it easier. He wasted no time, hooking his fingers beneath the waistband of your shorts and underwear, tugging them off. You flinched as he gave you a light playful swat, laughing.

“I haven’t done anything yet, baby, relax.”

Easy for him to say. You knew he was lulling you into a false sense of security as he caressed your bare bottom, but you couldn’t help but melt, taking a bite of the waffles. It was heavenly, all fluffy and sweet, bright flavors exploding in your—

Smack!

You yelped as his hand came down hard on your right cheek.

“Count,” he demanded.

“O-One chef.”

“Good.”

Another on the right. Two chef. Three chef. Four. It wasn’t until eight when he switched to the left. It was because the right cheek was slightly smaller than the other. You were insecure about it at first, but he made sure to give it equal attention in any other case. But in this case, it didn’t help.

Tears streamed down your face at eleven, shoving more waffle in your mouth to mask your noises. His hand left your hot skin for a moment and you braced for another hit only to be met with a cold spray of whipped cream. He smeared the cream over your sore bottom, bending over to lick it off.

You mewled, forcing yourself to remain still as he tongued you down, open mouth kisses getting awful close to your desperate core. Of course he pretended not to notice, avoiding it like the plague yet gripping your inner thigh mere inches away.

“Carmy,” you moaned.

His hum vibrated over your skin.

“Please…”

Smack! You had fallen for it again.

“Was trying t’ give you a break but if you insist.”

You gritted your teeth, stopping yourself from rolling your eyes. Another five hits later and the whipped cream was back. You sighed and pushed back into his roaming hand.

“Taste so good baby,” he moaned.

You stabbed another piece of waffle with your fork, twisting a bit to offer it to him. He closed his mouth around it, expression blissful as he took in the flavors. He plucked a strawberry from the plate, dipping it into the whipped cream still on your ass. You squirmed in place, beyond turned on and uncomfortable at being in the same position for so long.

Smack!

“You gonna be good or am I gonna have to add another one?”

You shook your head. “No, I’ll be good for you.” Then you sweetened the deal with wide, albeit watery, puppy eyes.

He took another fruit from the plate and popped it in his mouth. “Still got two more.”

You whined, on the verge of kicking your legs in protest until another smack halted you in your tracks.

“Three more.”

You bit your tongue and nodded. Eventually twenty-two rolled around and you sighed in relief. Your waffles were all gone, a few pieces of fruit left behind. You hissed as he ran his hands over your sore cheeks, no doubt bruised.

“Did so well for me baby. I think you deserve a little treat.”

Your eyes lit up. “You mean the waffles weren’t it?”

“I mean, if you don’t want it—“

“No!” You sat up, wrapping your arms around his neck and pecking the side of his face. “I want it.”

He stood up, hands falling to the button of his jeans. You watched with hungry eyes as his pants and boxers fell to his ankles, revealing his engorged cock. The tip was an angry red, a bead of precum just begging to be licked off. As if it wasn’t enough, he sprayed a strip of whipped cream down the length.

“Think you can handle it?” He teased, slowly stroking himself and smearing the cream.

“Oh I know I can Berzatto.”

“Then c’mere and show me.”

It irked him to no end to admit, but he worried for you.

Your living arrangements weren’t orthodox to say the least. Two professors who were mere strangers months ago living together was something he never would’ve imagined. Seeking out answers from Dumbledore when first finding said stranger unpacking and rearranging his things only infuriated him more. The old git had that glint in his eyes that never failed to make him question why he hadn’t found employment elsewhere. He was always thinking—plotting—up ways to make his job more difficult.

If he was forced to play one of the old man’s games, then it would be on his terms.

Whatever you chose to do with the spare bedroom was your business decorations wise. Any other areas were off limits. You didn’t touch his things and he wouldn’t bother yours. He liked peace and quiet when he got back from teaching so no unreasonable noises.

You were disappointed at the stifling strictness but agreed to his rules. It didn’t stop you from trying to be at least cordial with him. You made him breakfast in the mornings, greeted him when he got back from work, and even did some of his chores such as washing dishes if he was particularly busy with grading.

His external demeanor didn’t change, but he couldn’t help but appreciate the gestures. He reciprocated little by little—buying the snacks he noticed you bought frequently, picking up items you needed from the store, even grading your papers when he’d finished with his own. He wouldn’t say he was thrilled at the lack of privacy, but he came to tolerate your presence.

However this lack of privacy would become apparent when at an odd hour of the night, he heard you mumbling and groaning in your sleep. This had been happening for the past week. Each time, it sounded like you were having a nightmare, something all too familiar that kept him awake most nights. That feeling of waking up in a cold sweat with only yourself to reorient your tormented thoughts was a sharp one to swallow. Even if he felt for you in this regard, the mere thought of invading your space didn’t sit well with him.

He was set on ignoring you to attempt to find his own sleep, but a particularly woeful groan halted him in his tracks. Surely you wouldn’t mind him waking you from such an awful occurrence. After all, YOU had disturbed him first.

Ever so slowly he twisted the handle and eased the door open, peeking inside. His eyes widened and he placed a hand over his mouth to contain his gasp. You were lying on your stomach in the middle of the bed, asleep. While that was nothing to write home about, the fact that a pillow was nestled between your thighs being actively gyrated on was something else entirely.

The feeling of intruding intensified, but he couldn’t force himself to look away. You were mumbling something. He didn’t know what made him inch further into the room—morbid curiosity, the fabric of his pants straining, or even a little perversion—but he heard your next word loud and clear.

“Sevy…”

When you first gave him that nickname, he didn’t know how to react. He barely responded to it. But now, hearing you utter it in your sleep while acting out what was no doubt a dirty fantasy, it became all the more confusing and arousing. Him? Of all the people you could have, you fancied him?

“Sevyyyy…”

Before he could fully register what was happening, his hand descended beneath the waistband of his pants and briefs, wrapping around his now fully erect length. He fought the groans crawling up his throat as he began to stroke himself to the pace of your hips.

You ground harder into the pillow, whimpering his name and pleading for him to go faster. He did, closing his eyes and leaning against the doorframe. The rational part of his brain was screaming at him, letting him know just how many boundaries he was crossing, how much of a creep he was being but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. Not while he was imagining that it was your hand instead of his fisting his angry red cock. An all too familiar feeling brewed inside him, ramping up the faster his hand stroked, the more he thought about you in between his legs, on top of him.

He groaned beneath a closed fist as he came over his trembling hand. There was no time to react as you jolted awake with a loud moan, thighs clamped against the pillow. You sat up rubbing your eyes, mumbling something along the lines of ‘not again’ before you went to get out of bed only to be halted in your tracks at his statuesque form at your door. A long moment of tense, embarrassed silence fell over you both.

Finally, you found the words.

“So…you heard…”

He nodded.

“And you’re seeing…”

You nodded.

Another awkward moment.

“W-Well I think there’s only one thing we can do.”

His brows reached for his hairline as you stripped off your top and ruined bottoms, naked before him.

“I have to see if you’re as good as in my dreams.”

Once his composure was regained, a smirk pulled at the corner of his lips as he began to unbutton his shirt beneath your watchful eye.

Ever so slowly he twisted the handle and eased the door open, peeking inside. His eyes widened and he placed a hand over his mouth to contain his gasp. You were lying on your stomach in the middle of the bed, asleep. While that was nothing to write home about, the fact that a pillow was nestled between your thighs being actively gyrated on was something else entirely.

The feeling of intruding intensified, but he couldn’t force himself to look away. You were mumbling something. He didn’t know what made him inch further into the room—morbid curiosity, the fabric of his pants straining, or even a little perversion—but he heard your next words loud and clear.

You cast a silencing charm over the room in an embarrassing uneven tone, lying on the desk once more. Your wand slips through your fingers and clatters to the floor, yet you can’t muster enough energy to care. All you could ever need is right here, nestled between your thighs.

The familiar view of the ornate ceiling greets you. You’ve fed it many of your most lewd, earth-shattering moans but this time is different. His prodding tongue—while skillful—isn’t enough. You want to watch him as he takes what he wants.

Before, you would have thought twice about indulging in your ardent desire. To imagine what you must look like in his eyes—desperate and eager to bend in a way unlike anyone has asked of you before—is strange. It's wild and spontaneous, words you consider yourself the opposite of.

Anxiety boils in your belly, though you're hell-bent on immersing yourself in the moment. Steeling, you rise on your elbows and look down. You almost come apart at the seams.

It’s filthier than you imagined. His hair is tossed carelessly over one shoulder as he licks and sucks at your sensitive skin. Your thighs tremble and glisten with his saliva. His fingernails leave behind crescent marks to keep you still. His other hand isn’t visible from under the edge of the desk, but a rhythmic wet sound paints a clear image.

“J-Just like that, don’t stop,” you whimper, reaching out to wind your fingers in the platinum strands.

He breathes out a shaky moan as you tug, his grey orbs rising to meet your eyes. The corners of his eyes crinkle as you try to push your hips harder against his face to no avail. Smug bastard. Slick with his precum, his fingers caress with the right amount of pressure to leave you breathless. Every muscle in your body tenses and the sight of him grows to be too much.

Then he stops.

You nearly give yourself whiplash at how fast you look down. He rises to swallow your protests, pressing his lips to yours and you have no choice but to play along. Your combined taste mingles as his tongue swirls around your mouth, the bitter tang an aphrodisiac. He doesn’t stop your hands from roaming. They caress his warm skin, tug him closer. You rake your nails down his back and leave behind angry red lines. After many attempts he pulls away, steeling himself with a firm hand pinning down your neck. You’re reduced to a pile of putty.

“Do you want me pet? Do you want master’s cock deep inside of you?”

The hoarseness of his voice and the dirty words send tremors straight to your core. You nod without hesitation, squirming.

He squeezes your neck. “Say it.”

Your face warms at his intense gaze yet you bite your lip and continue to meet his eyes.

“I want you i-inside me,” you inhale sharply as the tip presses against your entrance. “Want you to fill me up and fuck me until I can’t walk.”

You groan in unison as he sheaths himself achingly slow inside, your warmth welcoming him with a clenching embrace.

“Hm, such a naughty pet. I have half a mind to stuff that filthy mouth of yours as well.”

The thought sends delicious shivers down your spine. He fucks you at a tortuous pace with slow, deep thrusts. Each time you try to urge him deeper to hit that spot that makes you see stars he pulls away with a tsk.

“Lucius…” you whine.

His hand is over your mouth in seconds, silencing any further objection. You hope your glare expresses how frustrated you are. But he only smirks.

Two can play that game.

You wedge your fingers underneath his, coaxing two into your mouth. You flick the tips, swirling your tongue around the digits before hollowing your cheeks. His jaw clenches, a shudder running through him. A dark look flashes across his eyes and you know you’ve won.

A muffled shriek leaps up your throat as he pounds into you with reckless abandon. The desk creaks in protest. Skin slapping against skin reverberates through the room. You whimper and sob around his fingers until he removes them with a resounding pop, reaching down to stroke your tender flesh the way he knows you like. Your back arches and your toes curl, breathing hitched as your end rapidly approaches.

You don’t even realize your eyes slip closed until he’s growling at you.

“Look at me.”

You obey without question. You can almost make out your reflection—a needy, pleading mess dripping with sweat, fragile from hours of foreplay.

“Now, you’re going to be a good little pet and come all over my cock. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, yes please!”

Pure ecstasy. His swelling length triggers a tsunami to crash over you. You shout to the high heavens while he curses, prolonging your orgasms with shallow thrusts before coming to a gradual stop.

Your gaze returns to the ceiling as he pulls out, beginning to redress. Your limbs are heavy, fucked out, feeling his seed trickling out of you.

It’s not long before his arrogant demeanor is back, clothes and hair smoothed out, looking down his nose at you.

“I assume you know where the front door is?”

Rolling your eyes, you slide off the desk ignoring your wobbly legs. You throw on your scattered clothes and snatch your wand from the floor. Though you can’t find your underwear.

You move to push past him to regain some semblance of dignity, but a hand on your forearm halts you in your tracks.

“Next week?” You take the leap.

His grip tightens.

“Tomorrow.”

• When you agreed to a “simple, friendly dinner on the company’s dime” with Bryce, you knew that it would be the exact opposite. For one, she sent a limo to pick you up—not to drop you off at the restaurant or even have her already waiting in the limo. No, it took you straight to Bryce’s shoreside mansion.

• Her sheer beauty made up for it, however. Walking out of the glass doors was your boss clad in a skintight, spaghetti strap dress—blood red. Her auburn hair was pinned up with the right amount of messiness and she was adorned with diamond jewelry.

• You looked down at your best clothes with a critical eye, making sure there were no loose threads or wrinkles.

• “Bryce, you look ravishing as always,” you commented when she entered, trying to maintain your composure as the intoxicating scent of her perfume filled the air.

• “Don’t I?” She smirked, crossing one leg over the other. “I suppose you clean up nicely, as well.”

• She booked a reservation at the most expensive restaurant in town. You tried not to make eye contact with the other patrons, worried they would see right through to your lackluster bank account if they hadn’t already. The neatly arranged variety of silverware that cost more per piece than you were paid in a month sent further doubts in your mind.

• What the hell did Bryce see in you? She could have anyone at the drop of a dime, could have anyone with the most luxurious cars and homes, give her the universe if she asked for it. But you, you were only an executive assistant. You lived modestly in a home that your grandparents lived in before you were born. Your car was their hand-me-down from almost ten years ago. The outfit you wore hadn’t been worn since you got it to wear for your grandparents’ funerals.

• You were just…you.

• Naturally, you tried your best not make your discomfort known, instead taking notice of which fork was meant for what as to not look like a complete idiot.

• Everything was going well. Bryce wasn’t as bad as she seemed in the office. She was more real, gentler. You had more in common than you thought possible. Then, the soup was served.

• You and Bryce were so engrossed in conversation about your favorite artists that you hadn’t noticed the bowls of soup being placed on the table. She had moved to sit beside you a while ago; her proximity was enough to handicap your senses. Suddenly, her hand that reached towards yours on the table had knocked the bowl of scorching hot soup into your lap.

• You cursed loudly, face contorting into a pained grimace. She handed you a napkin which you took to frantically wipe away the scalding liquid. You excused yourself to the bathroom, ignoring the multiple pairs of eyes staring and Bryce as she tried to form the words to apologize.

• Wiping at the spot with a wet towel did nothing to remove the stain. You doubted it would come out. Hopefully the dry cleaners could do something about it.

• When you returned to the table, Bryce was wringing her hands, mood obviously fallen.

• “I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?” She asked in a quiet voice, tone suggesting that she already knew the answer.

• “Of course not,” you reassured. Her head snapped up. “It was an accident. No big deal.”

• The corner of her mouth tilted up. She proposed that you two get out of there and you couldn’t have said yes fast enough. Since you hadn’t eaten much, you insisted that you stop at the local fast-food place for a combo meal. She looked disturbed that you wanted such junk, but after taking a hesitant bite from a fry you offered, she demanded that the driver go back around and order her a meal as well.

• You ended your adventure on the near abandoned top floor of a car garage. Both of you were sitting on the hood of the limo, eating your food and watching the city life below. You burped. Before you could excuse yourself, another loud burp reverberated through the night. Your eyes wide, you turned to Bryce who was cupping her mouth with a sheepish expression on her face. You burst into laughter. She didn’t know how to react at first, but eventually joined in with chuckles of her own.

• “You’re alright Tankthrust,” you said, nudging her shoulder with your own.

“Sevy?”

The call is a feather floating in the wind compared to the roaring crackles of the fireplace in his room. Yet his heavy lids rise and his eyes seek them out in the dimness. Their body is halfway around the ajar door, shifting from leg to leg as if contemplating whether or not to disturb him further. He hums in acknowledgment, turning on his side to face them.

For a moment, their mouth parts and closes. They didn’t even consider how they would go about explaining everything. About how crappy their day was, about how they weren’t safe even in their dreams, about how much they missed him. After being awake for almost the entire day, they acted on autopilot, leaving the spare room to stumble blindly down the hall to his.

“Can I…stay with you? Just for a while?” Is what they settle on.

They expect him to reject them flat out, snarling at them for interrupting the scarce sleep that he managed to find. Instead, their eyes widen as he moves over to make space for them.

The door clicks shut behind them. They still shuffle their feet towards the bed, coming to a stop at the edge. He throws their hesitation out the window when he grabs their hand and tugs. They yelp. He presses them against his chest, simultaneously tucking the thick comforter around them.

The strong pulsing of his heart is music to their ears. His thumb caresses their cheek, pausing when he feels liquid on them. He pulls away to search their face. Their eyes are puffy and bloodshot, evident even in the low light. They avoid his wandering gaze by hiding their face in his nightshirt. He tightens his hold on them, sighing.

“Oh love.”

The day that marked the completion of her studies felt like a chapter finally ending. There were no more long nights of studying, no more anxiety inducing exams, and no more worrying about oversleeping because of said exams. She was finally an adult free to expand her horizons and pursue a career.

That’s where her problems started.

Saying farewell to Hogwarts—to the friends she made along the way—was bittersweet. They vowed to keep in touch with each other, but their paths paved in different directions. Many left their magical pasts behind with stars in their eyes, eager for a fresh, normal start. Others decided to stay in the wizarding world to expand their knowledge and create names for themselves. Stranded in the middle of a vast ocean was her, watching everything she ever knew drifting further from sight.

A week went by. Each day that passed made it more difficult for her to sit still as she waited for something to happen and give her answers. She hoped for a solution to fall into her lap as she packed up her dorm room, preparing for her journey back to her parents’ home in America. On the day of her departure, she received a knock on her door from headmaster Dumbledore himself. Her purpose: to join the Order of the Phoenix. Her alibi: become Severus Snape’s potions assistant.

The operation seemed easy enough as potions was a familiar headache. Her task: to infiltrate the snake’s den and become a double agent. Her heart fell.

Dumbledore’s expression morphed into a pained, deadly seriousness. “I wish that there was another alternative, but dire situations call for dire means."

Those words were the anchors that fueled her will.

Crack, crack, crunch.

The sound of her bones breaking caused wave after wave of nausea to crawl up her throat. She shivered and trembled. Sweat clung to her scorching skin. Her screams did nothing to halt the torture that resembled drawing and quartering. Even as darkness tugged at her consciousness, she continued pushing false memories to the forefront of her mind.

She clenched her eyes shut. Her senses made the situation more real. His frigid hand gripped her left forearm. The piercing stares of the silent witnesses dug into her bare skin. The stony floor caressing her balled-up form was her only comfort. It’s almost over, she thought behind the wall even though it had been over an hour. Her brain was pounding against her skull. His mental bombardment was relentless and unforgiving.

Around the two-hour mark, the pain in her body subsided. She gasped for air in relief. The dull, wandering sting on her forearm and feet shuffling away from her let know that it was over.

She was now a Death Eater.

She didn’t unravel from her ball when the Dark Lord addressed the room. Neither did she move when several sets of footsteps crossed the room’s threshold and faded down the hall. A sudden sensation over her shoulders received a harsh flinch. When she realized that it was a cloak infused with a familiar scent, only then did she allow herself to sob.

“What,” she hiccupped, “what did I do?”

•─────────────•°•❀•°•─────────────•

Two weeks went by. Night fell on the castle. For the third time that week, she skipped dinner to grade papers within the confines of her chambers. But as she sat at her desk scanning over the same parchment, paranoia and phantom pain continued to eat away at her. Instead, she checked the extra charms placed on her doors and windows. She paced back and forth. She wrung her hands together to stop them from trembling, but nothing slowed her mind.

It was too much. Everything was too much.

A series of knocks on her door almost sent her to an early grave.

Is it him? She thought, gripping the handle of her wand. Has he found out and sent someone for me?

“It’s me,” a muffled, yet unmistakable drawl spoke.

She took a deep breath before undoing her security measures and swinging open the door. One look at his face was enough to bring the emotions of that night back in full force. She collapsed in his arms, staining the front of his frock coat with salty tears. He tensed, his hand hovering for a moment before placing it lightly on her back, rubbing slightly.

“I-I’m sorry,” she whispered while pulling away. Wiping her eyes, she stepped back to allow him inside, watching as a plate piled with food and two steaming mugs floated after him. They met the coffee table with dull clinks as the pair sat down on the sofa in front of the roaring fireplace. She thanked him after he handed her the plate and began to eat while he sipped his tea.

For a while, a pregnant silence filled the room except for the crackling from the fireplace and chinking. Eventually he spoke.

“Do you remember the first time you made a potion in my class?”

The corner of her lips twitched.

“How could I forget? My hands have never cramped that much in my life.”

The ordeal had gone atrociously. Before potions became second nature to her, it was like learning gibberish with a ticking time bomb strapped to her chest. Turns out that having someone looming over her shoulder was a disaster waiting to happen. One minute she was studying the textbook, glancing between the bubbling cauldron, and the ingredients to be sure that she was following the steps. The next minute the cauldron was overflowing and spitting black sludge over her entire workstation. Her detention of scrubbing said cauldron along with the rest was inevitable and no less stressful.

“I must admit that the cauldrons have never looked better either.”

She chuckled for the first time in a while. They sipped from their cups as the room fell into a more comfortable silence.

“Will we be okay?”

He sighed, avoiding eye contact.

“I don’t know. I wish I could give you a definitive answer, but I can’t.”

Hearing her doubts voiced out loud didn’t bring much comfort, but the contrary wouldn’t be much better. She did take small comfort in the fact that she wasn’t facing them alone. After finishing off their refreshments, he stood up.

“I suppose I should be going, it’s rather late.”

Ignoring the pang in her chest, she agreed and went to clear away the dishes.

“Unless” he added, almost as if he could sense her disappointment, “you'd be interested in assisting me with a sleeping draught? Of course, you don’t have—”

“Sounds like a plan,” she wasted no time slipping on her cloak, a wave of her wand tidying up their mess. “I may need a double to sleep a wink tonight.”

Metal clinks together in an uneven rhythm throughout the room. Nails rake against mahogany wood, no doubt leaving hideous scars behind. Ragged breathing and gasps join the unholy cacophony as fatigue claws at their consciousness. 

There, lying bare in the center of the massive bed, is them. They tug desperately at the silver chains binding their wrists and ankles to the four posters to no avail. He made sure each was skin tight, disallowing any movement that his narrowed gaze would miss. They are exposed in nearly every way possible, unable to hide even from the frigid temperature of the dim space. They shiver for what feels like the hundredth time, this time from the tsunami of pleasure crashing over their fleeting composure.

Their voice cracks as they shout to the high heavens, trembling thighs clamping around the head buried between their thighs. More frantic tugging at the chains proves fruitless. The head remains despite this, jet black hair masking the face of their torturer. 

“No-No more, I c-can’t.”

A firm hand closes around their throat. They lift their heavy eyelids, meeting the stern grey eyes of the mastermind behind it all. 

“What was that, love?” He asks, yet an ever-growing smirk is present on his handsome face.

“Luci…” they whine, jolting once more when the dark-haired man’s nose brushes against their sensitive skin.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He gestures below. 

Pitifully whimpering and moaning, “Yes, but—”

“Then you should be thankful to receive what Severus is so generously providing. Maybe then you’ll be a good pet from now on.”

They are tempted to curse him and his smugness, but are catapulted into another orgasm. Their back arches as far as the chains will allow, toes curling. Their cries are suddenly muffled by lips pressing against theirs. Salty tears stream down their cheeks as he moves his blond hair over one shoulder. They feel the easing of pressure from below, letting out a small sigh in between kisses. But this insignificant noise alerts Lucius enough to shift his attention to Severus, whose chin and swollen lips glisten from his continued stimulation.

“Don’t you dare stop.”

“The poor thing’s all fucked out,” he drawls, tracing light patterns over their thigh with his fingers. They barely hold in a purr. “Perhaps they could be forgiven this once?”

Lucius hums, a pout on his lips. Silence falls over the group as they anxiously await his response. Suddenly, the smirk is back in full force. He leaves their side and strolls over to Severus. Leaning in close to the dark haired man, he murmurs though loud enough for them both to hear:

“How about I punish you as well?”

Severus’s eyes widen, his dark pupils blown. Pink dusts his cheeks and he gulps audibly.

“Would you like that, pet?” He turns towards them.

They nod frantically. “Yes.” He raises an eyebrow. “Yes, sir.”

“Good pet.”