#fictober

When you compliment him on how he is a gentleman, how he is always good to everyone, good to you, he gets sweaty. "You are kindly exagerrating," he says, "I am just doing my job." His hands on the keyboard are shaking when he sees you walking closer to him as he types out nonsense. 

You lean into his desk, as he is sitting in his chair, practically leaning over him to look at his computer. You squint to read as he watches your face behind his glasses, focused, inhaling the scent of your body spray on you, your hair nearly touching the side of his face. Your presence near him makes all of his senses go overdrive. "Good job, Clark." you say, and turn to smile at him, really close, your breath practically fanning over his face. "This is really good. "

It becomes a regular habit to imagine your voice telling him good job when he touches himself again as he thinks of you. You are doing good for me Clark, keep going. Would your voice be encouraging or slightly mocking as you laugh at his pathetic whines? He cums all over his hand, thinking of how your voice would sound for him.

When you tease him, putting your hand on his shoulder, feeling up his bicep or give him a pat on his back, he tenses up. His jaw clenches so hard that if he wasn't invincible, his teeth would shatter. You don't know the hell you put him through. Or maybe, you know and you are doing it on purpose to make his life miserable, he can't decide. "You are a big guy, Clark." you say, hand still on his shoulder, squeezing, "I don't get why everyone is not all over you."

He dreams of you, holding onto his shoulders while you are on his lap, going torturously slow as you ride him. You are a big boy, Clark, you can be good and don't cum until I say so, yeah? When he wakes up, feeling the maddeding flush on his body, his boxers are ruined.

When you finally kiss him in the storage closet of the office, his knees buckle. Every fantasy, every dream he had of you is nothing compared to feeling your warm body in his arms and your hot mouth on his lips. You kiss him playfully, biting his lip and smiling into the kiss as you play with his hair, petting him like a dog. 

He finds out that night while being surrounded by your tantalizing warmth around his cock, that you love teasing him, and you sound mellowingly mocking when you tell him to be good. He can be good for you, he realizes. He will be good for you. He will do anything you want.

the moment the words left your lips, you swore you could’ve felt the air shift. it was like time froze, everything suddenly stood still and went way too quiet. mattheo’s expression shifted, the usual soft gaze he saved for you disappearing. you saw how the hurt flickered in his dark eyes, before he quickly covered it with cold indifference.

“forget it,” he said sharply before walking out, turning his heel and disappearing out of the common room before you could even get a word out.

you stood there, frozen, the weight of your words slowly sinking in. merlin, you hadn’t meant it like that. in fact, you hadn’t meant to hurt him at all. but you had and now he was gone, and you didn’t even know where.

you couldn’t focus on anything for the rest of the evening and as wandered around the castle - silently hoping you’d bump into him around the corner - the hallways felt emptier than ever. dinner passed in a blur too. every time someone entered the great hall and sat down at the slytherin table, you quickly looked up, only to realise it wasn’t him.

you spent the rest of the night alone in your dorm, laying in bed and staring at the ceiling, trying and failing to get any sleep. your last conversation kept replaying in your head, what if you’d really hurt him this time ? what if he didn’t come back ? sure, mattheo had his walls, but he never stayed mad at you for long… your mind spiralled. outside the window, everything was dark and still. inside your heart, everything was twisted in knots.

and then, just as you were finally drifting off, a loud noise jolted you awake. it wasn’t just you either, you heard frantic footsteps outside your dorm, and voices raising as well. you sat up, heart pounding and confused. it wasn’t long before a frantic knock echoed through the door, and your best friend pansy came in.

“you have to get up, everyone is being taken to the great hall. now !” she said quickly. “what’s happening ?” you asked in a panicky tone as you got out of bed. “dementors,” she muttered, pulling you outside and rushing you to join the many students making their way through the dark halls. “they’ve been spotted outside.”

your heart skipped a beat. dementors.

the crowd of students rushed to the great hall, tension filling the air, already thick with worry and whispers. you scanned the faces around, searching for any signs of mattheo. but he wasn’t there. he wasn’t anywhere.

“pansy,” you breathed, tugging on her sleeve as realisation dawned on you. “i don’t see mattheo. where is he ?”

she shrugged, concern flickering in her eyes “don’t know, i haven’t seen him since this afternoon”

you swallowed hard, your chest tightening. where was he ? the last time you saw him was when he’d left after the argument, angry and hurt. what if he was outside when the dementors had left ? what if… what if the last thing you said to him was the stupid comment about his father ?

your breathing picked up and theo noticed it from across the room, before making his way over. “what’s going on ?” he asked with furrowed brows.

“i can’t find mattheo,” you whispered with a trembling voice. “we had a fight earlier and now he’s probably out there, and-“

theo exchanged a knowing look with pansy before cutting you off by gently pulling you into a reassuring side hug “he’s fine, amore. probably just running late, you know him, always slipping off to do merlin knows what.”

but you weren’t reassured. not when the castle was in lockdown. it when dementors were around. not when mattheo was nowhere to be seen, and the last thing he heard from you was something you didn’t mean.

“i didn’t mean it,” you whispered with regret. pansy rubbed your back to comfort you but it didn’t stop the tears from welling up in your eyes as you reached the great hall. the place was crowded with panicked students and teachers, but you still felt terribly alone in your world of fear.

“i shouldn’t have said it,” you choked out, wiping your eyes and ignoring the people running around and bumping into you. “i shouldn’t have-“

before you could finish, a heavy sound echoed through the hall. the giant wooden doors swung open with a gust of cold air, and every head turned toward the entrance.

mattheo stood in the doorway, along with some others students you didn’t even glance at. his curly hair was damp with the rain, and his robes slightly disheveled. he looked like he’d been through a storm, but he was there.

without thinking, you ran. you pushed through the crowd, not caring who you bumped into, your heart racing as you closed the distance between you. by the time you reached him, a tear had managed to roll down your cheek, but you didn’t care. you threw yourself into his arms, your hands fisting his robes as you breathed him in.

“mattheo,” you gasped, holding onto him like he might disappear. “i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean it, i swear i didn’t mean it.”

his arms came around you immediately, pulling you close, his chin resting on top of your head. “hey, hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “it’s okay, love. i’m not mad.”

you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your slightly red eyes searching his face. “you’re not?”

he shook his head, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “no. i just… needed some time. but i’m not mad. i promise.”

you bit your lip, trying to stop the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you again. “i thought—i thought something happened to you. i was so scared.”

mattheo’s gaze softened, and he wiped the tears away with his thumb. “i’m sorry i scared you. i shouldn’t have just left like that.”

you shook your head quickly, you knew your boyfriend’s habit of walking out during arguments was just to help manage his anger. it was something he’d started doing when he realised you were the only good thing in his life, and he didn’t want to take his negative feelings out on you.

“no, it’s my fault. i shouldn’t have said what i did.” he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “it’s okay,” he whispered. “i’m here. i’m not walking away this time.”

for the first time that night, you felt the tightness in your chest ease. the panic, the fear, it all melted away in his arms, replaced by the steady, grounding warmth of his presence. “nice pajamas by the way,” he chuckled, and you rolled your eyes.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Rain had been worrying the roof since dusk—soft at first, then steadier, a patient tapping that threaded itself through the cabin’s old beams and your ribs alike. The place always felt larger when it rained. The rafters seemed to stretch, the shadows to soften, the windows to blur into panes of warm gray. You had lit only the brass lantern over your workbench and the hearth; everything else was outlines: books stacked two deep, bunches of dried herbs hanging from blue thread, a cloak draped over the back of a chair like someone who had tried to leave and changed their mind.

On the table: order. Mortar and pestle, cleaned and dry. Vials ranked by volatility, then hue, then the privately satisfying category you wrote on your personal inventory as “temper.” The cauldron sat low on a steady flame; tonight’s brew wasn’t showy, just a keystone stabilizer the sixth-years would need for countercharm lab. Measured, boring. Boring was the point.

The door creaked once and Jake shouldered in with the weather still on him—sleeves damp past the wrists, curls spattered, cheeks bright from the walk. He toed off his boots without looking, found you in the amber circle of light, and smiled like he’d arrived exactly where he’d been heading all day.

“Don’t touch that,” you said, because rituals are also stabilizers.

“I haven’t touched anything,” he said, pitching his voice into the long-suffering range as he set his boots by the hearth. “I walked in. That’s it.”

“You breathed near my vitrified measurer,” you said, checking the simmer and adjusting the flame half a tick down. “I could feel it.”

He came up behind you and did the most Jake thing he could: wrapped both arms around your waist and settled his chin carefully on your shoulder, like he’d practiced to find the angle that made you least likely to shrug him off. He smelled like wet wool and smoke from the Great Hall and something clean and citrus that was not a cologne so much as an inevitability.

“Missed you,” he said into your hair.

“You left me at the staff table forty minutes ago,” you said, moving your quill to the next line. “It’s hardly an epic separation.”

“That was me missing you while in your presence,” he said. “Very advanced feeling. They should offer a N.E.W.T.”

“You’d fail,” you said, because it was your line.

He squeezed you once, unapologetic. His palms were warm even through your robes. “I’m good at practicals.”

“You are,” you said before your good sense could shut it down. You forced your attention back to the ledger, to the tidy columns the rain kept time for. “Hands, Jake.”

He obeyed—mostly. The touch retreated from your waist to your hips, then to the edge of the worktable, fingers drumming silently. You could feel the drumming in your spine anyway. He watched you measure two drams of dried valerian and say the number under your breath. He watched you lift the mortar and tap its rim twice so the dust fell in a straight line. He watched you; that was his real hobby.

“New quill?” he asked, like a gentleman at a gallery.

“Graphorn feather,” you said, and regretted the softness in your voice. He pounced on softness the way he pounced on any open door.

“Writes like you,” he said. “Clean. Tiny bit ruthless.”

“That’s a compliment?”

“It’s the nicest thing I know how to say.” He nuzzled, a quick press against your temple. “I can say it worse, if you want.”

“I do not.”

“Then accept the praise,” he said, and you could hear him smiling.

You flicked the burner down to a siesta of heat and reached for the vial of chrysopoeic lattice. His chin followed your shoulder, his breath close enough to fog the glass; you angled the vial away on principle. He huffed a laugh and stepped back, which you knew better than to celebrate. Two beats later, the scrape of wood across wood announced that he had dragged a kitchen stool over and plopped onto it right beside your bench.

You didn’t look up. “That’s not what I meant by backing away.”

“I am outside the splash zone for once in my life,” he said piously. The stool creaked as he propped an elbow on the table and settled his chin into his palm. “Perfect distance for observing greatness.”

“Shut up,” you said, too quick, and that was the problem with him: your mouth got ahead of your shields. He knew it; you heard his grin.

The cabin made its peaceful noises: rain deepened; the fire rearranged itself with a hollow pop; far off, the castle gave a contented sigh that might have been wind through stone or the sound of a hundred portraits gossiping at once. You measured, stirred, noted—the patient math of making something safe out of things that didn’t want to be—and Jake watched like he was learning a language he intended to speak fluently.

“You have two little lines here,” he said, his forefinger hovering near your brow, not quite touching. “When you’re concentrating.”

“Don’t map my face,” you said. “It’s not a star chart.”

“It is tonight,” he said. “We’ve got good seeing.”

You kept your eyes on the meniscus and did not give him the benefit of any reaction at all. Your focus had a cost; the price of getting to exist in a room full of volatile glass was refusing to perform for the boy you shared a bed with. That was the rule you pretended you were good at, the one he pretended he respected.

“Need me to do anything?” he asked after a while in a tamer voice. “Water? Firewood? Stand very still and make encouraging noises?”

“Firewood,” you said. “Since you’re already up.”

He wasn’t, but he stood anyway. “That was a trick,” he said, amused, as he crossed to the hearth. “You Ravenclaws make chores sound like honors.”

“It’s pedagogy,” you said, and his laugh came like someone opening a door at the end of a hall. You’d known it was coming; you still felt your stomach tilt as if the cabin had shifted on its foundation. He didn’t treat your laugh like a rare specimen; he treated it like something he had the right to keep hearing. Somehow that was worse.

He knelt and fed the fire two split logs, the new flame flattering his cheekbones. The stool complained with another creak when he came back and folded onto it, close again, knee bumping yours once. Not an accident. You ignored it, because ignoring Jake was a game you always lost by increments.

His energy had a vibration when he tried to be obedient. He could sit remarkably still under pressure—during duels, in faculty meetings, braced in a corridor with a seventh-year crying into his shoulder—but give him comfort and he moved. Sock heel on rung; fingers rolling an invisible coin; a hum that wasn’t a tune so much as a current he couldn’t let run unspent. Gryffindor jitters, you’d called it the first week you moved into the cabin together. He’d called it “happy.”

“You’re thinking very loudly,” you said, not looking up.

“I’m making a lesson plan in my head,” he said, tone pure innocence.

“For what? How to bother your girlfriend?”

“For recognizing subtle threats,” he said. “Some of my students insist evil always announces itself with a theme song. I try to teach them to watch for quieter things. The way a room goes tense.” He angled his head. “The way someone holds a vial like she could end the world with it.”

You looked up against your better judgment and found him watching you in a way that put a heat under your skin that had nothing to do with the lantern. He didn’t have the decency to look away. He never did. The desire in him wasn’t showy; it lived in the undramatic steadiness of his gaze, in the hand he rested near your knee but never quite on it, in the way he made space and then crept an inch into it, asking without asking.

You cleared your throat. “Your students will pass if they learn not to monologue,” you said. “Tell them to keep their wands up and their egos down.”

“Is that what I should do?”

“Both would be a first.”

He smiled like you’d petted him. You hated that you could feel a flush starting high on your cheekbones; you loved that he noticed and didn’t crow about it. He just tucked his chin into his palm again, stupidly content, like the best seat in the castle was a creaky stool beside a too-bright table while you pretended you were stone.

“Tea?” he asked, gentler.

“In a minute,” you said. “When this sets.”

He nodded. For nearly a full minute, he even managed stillness. You tipped in a final measure, stirred six clockwise, three counter, and cocked your head. The surface took the light properly; the scent—that faint burnt sugar you’d been chasing—lifted true. You noted the time and took the cauldron off heat to rest.

Jake exhaled like he’d been holding his breath with you, which you hated to like, but you did. “Good?” he asked.

“Good,” you said, and he wore that one-word like something you’d pinned to his chest.

He pushed up from the stool to fetch the kettle; you put a hand out without thinking. “Leave it. It’ll start singing.”

“It always sings off-key,” he said, but he sank back down, obedient. His heel found the rung and started its restless bounce again. That was the trouble with letting him close: he remembered he was allowed to be himself. You felt it like a draft every time.

“Stop fidgeting,” you said, softer than you meant to.

“I’m trying,” he said, honest. He let the bounce settle—then redirected the leftover energy into his hands, which found a slow rhythm drumming a nonsense pattern on his thigh. He caught himself and flattened his palms on the bench. “Better?”

“Marginally.”

“You love my marginal gains,” he said, but he kept his hands where they were. His knee brushed yours again—quick, almost an apology—and when you didn’t move away, he did it once more, testing. You kept your eyes on the ledger. You felt his smile without looking.

Outside, thunder rolled far enough away to count; the cabin took the sound and made it a purr. Inside, the vials at the foot of his stool waited—three you’d set on the floor for lack of space: a skinny mauve philter in a stoppered cone, a squat emerald tincture in thick glass, and a flask with a runic sticker that meant “harmless alone, fanged in company.”

“Don’t kick those,” you said, because if a thing was going to go wrong, the least you could do was say you told it not to.

“I won’t,” he said, and the thing about Jake was that he meant it utterly in the moment he said it.

You wrote another line. Jake breathed, which felt like a decision. He leaned on his elbow and studied the side of your face as if he were memorizing the angles lantern light discovered. You hated that you knew exactly what he saw—ink on your middle finger, the line that lived between your brows when you concentrated, hair refusing to stay in whatever order you put it in. You hated to want to be seen; you hated how good he was at it.

He tilted his head. “You get this look when you’re working,” he said, voice pitched careful, like he’d put down the jokes the way you’d put down a hot crucible. “Not the scary one. The one that says you can see the shape of the solution before it exists.”

“Everyone can if they read,” you said.

“Not like you,” he said, not pushing, not trying to make the words bigger than they were, just offering them like a cup of tea he knew you’d accept when you were ready. The flush deepened; you blamed the lantern.

“Stop flattering me,” you said, because the alternative was admitting how steadying it felt.

“Stop being flattering,” he said.

“Terrible sentence.”

“I’m a practical man,” he said. “I demonstrate.”

He did, which is to say he didn’t move closer, because he’d learned that sometimes the demonstration you’d accept was restraint. The silence warmed. You breathed together. The kettle finally took a breath and tried to remember a melody; it missed, as always. You flicked a finger and cut the sound.

Jake made a quiet sound that sat exactly between laugh and sigh. “I like our cabin when it’s like this,” he said. “Feels like it’s choosing us.”

“Don’t get sentimental,” you said, but you heard yourself tuck the sentence somewhere for later.

You were not unaware of his desire; you were only very good at pretending you were. He didn’t hide it—he didn’t know how—but he didn’t weaponize it either. It lived in the small things: the way his thumb brushed the edge of your bench and then stopped like he’d remembered he’d promised; the way his eyes flickered to your mouth when you chewed a measurement; the way his shoulders softened every time you addressed him by name, like a call-and-response for two.

He was also, tragically, Jake.

The stool rocked a fraction when he rebalanced his weight, still watching you. You caught the motion at the edge of your vision. “Heel,” you said without thinking, and he grinned at the command even as he stilled.

Then you did the thing he was a disaster for: you laughed. Not a performance—just a small, betrayed sound at the sheer seriousness with which he obeyed a joke. His head turned toward it like you’d called him; his expression went bright and unguarded, devotion without the usual spark of mischief.

It was such an ordinary human moment that you were unprepared for the ordinary human mistake that followed.

His sock heel slipped on the stool rung. He jolted to steady himself—elbow catching the bench, knee knocking the leg—and his foot, seeking purchase, slid exactly where you’d told him not to: into the neat rank of glass on the floor.

The first vial went with a fluting “tik.” The second answered, heavier. Your mind did the arithmetic faster than your body did the reach.

“Jake—”

He was already half-rising, sorry in every muscle. “I’ve got—” he started, and the rest drowned under the quick, chemical hiss of two colors finding each other.

Mauve met emerald in a shallow puddle that looked benign for the length of one breath. Then it fizzed. The fizz contracted to a malignant boil. The boil made a sound like someone inhaling to speak.

You had your wand out, the counter-sequence blooming in your wrist on reflex, but the magic had already decided what story it wanted to tell. The puddle exhaled.

Whoomp.

Gold. Not yellow, not smoke-colored lit by the lantern, but a ridiculous, saturated gold that rolled up from the flagstones in a single eager column and unfurled around him. It didn’t sting your eyes so much as try to pet them; the particles were fat and showy as if alchemy had insisted on becoming confetti for an event you had not planned.

The cloud swelled once and—Merlin’s honest truth—wagged.

Your brain, which could run analyses while stepping around exploding glass, had time to think that’s an unserious physical property for a vapor before the column collapsed with a soft pop and spilled glitter across the room like someone had shaken a sun out.

Where Jake had been—tall, warm, leaning too close—sat a golden retriever large enough to count as furniture. His coat was the same impossible color as the smoke; his ears were too handsome; his paws were a credible argument against calling anything else “big.” He blinked up at you with eyes you recognized with your whole stupid body.

“No,” you said into the clattering quiet. “Absolutely not.”

The dog’s tail thumped the stool leg, once, then again with gathering conviction. The stool scooted an inch. He glanced at the stool, at you, and then—because nothing fundamental had changed—he leaned forward and pressed his head into your stomach with the weight of a vow.

“Jake?” you asked, because the world still required names.

He made a sound that wasn’t quite a bark—more a yes, hello, it’s me, who else would it be—and, emboldened by your posture collapsing into your hands, tried to lick your wrist through your sleeve. You discovered two new facts at once: the translation of his clinginess into canine form was seamless, and golden retriever tongues were workaholic.

“Stop—stop—no,” you said, laughing in the shocked way that sounded like crying’s faster cousin. You pushed at his ruff and got a handful of impossible softness for your trouble. He leaned harder, installing himself where he wanted to be: under your attention.

You looked at the glittering smear on the stones, at the empty spot where a boy had been, at the dog, at your notes, which you suddenly hated, and did the thing you were trained to do when a class went sideways: you took inventory. Heart rate: high. Smell: burnt sugar and citrus (of course). Residue: chrysopoeic lattice, unmistakable. Mechanism: alchemical anthropomorphosis, transfiguration-adjacent, lunar decay. Duration: if your math wasn’t lying, seven days.

You crouched, took his ridiculous face between your hands, and found, absurdly, steadiness there. His ears flicked; his attention did not. “Listen to me,” you said, which was silly because he always did. “This is going to wear off. In a week.”

He leaned until your forehead touched his, breathing a dog’s frank breath, and you felt his tail whack the cabinet like punctuation. The cabinet rattled; a jar of nettles tiptoed to the edge and, somehow, did not fall. He froze, guilty to the core of whatever remained of his Gryffindor soul.

“Oh, now you’re careful,” you said, helpless.

He whined once—quiet, offended that reality had tricked him—and shifted closer so your hands couldn’t leave his face without choosing to leave. You didn’t. The rain kept at the roof. The kettle tried another bar of the tune and failed it again. Somewhere, very far off, the castle clock tolled the hour like a reminder that the world was continuing hilariously on schedule.

You scraped your composure together one inch at a time. “We’re telling McGonagall,” you said. “We’re telling Pomfrey. We’re not telling Hagrid until we have a plan.”

At the name Hagrid, Jake’s ears perked in a way that said friend with snacks, and you pinched the bridge of your nose because you could see your next week unspooling like a ribbon: fur on your rugs, a translation charm, students pretending not to coo, Peeves inventing a song about Professor Fetch, and you, doing what you had always done, which was making chaos hold still long enough to learn from it.

“Do not wag inside the glass zone,” you said, standing carefully.

He wagged outside the glass zone, exquisitely literal. Then he pressed to your leg as if magnetized, looking up with Jake’s uncomplicated devotion.

“Fine,” you said, and hated how quickly your voice softened. “Stay close.”

He did, obviously. He always did.

By the time the knock came, you had scrubbed most of the golden residue off the floor, gathered the remaining intact vials back into proper rows, and warded the workbench against further “Jake-related accidents.” The cabin smelled faintly like singed sugar, wet fur, and regret.

You opened the door to find Madam Pomfrey standing primly with her healer’s satchel and an expression that suggested she expected to see a feverish student on your sofa.

“You said it was urgent,” she said, eyeing you. “Where is the patient?”

You stepped aside. “Inside.”

Pomfrey walked in—and stopped dead.

Because there, sitting obediently on the rug, was Jake. A very large, very fluffy golden retriever version of Jake. His tail gave a hopeful thump, then another.

Pomfrey blinked. “…When,” she said finally, “did you acquire a dog?”

“I didn’t,” you said. “That’s Jake.”

Her eyes flicked to you, sharp. “Pardon?”

“Jake Sim. Defense Against the Dark Arts.” You gestured helplessly. “He touched something he shouldn’t, and now he's—” You waved a hand at the dog. “—this.”

Pomfrey pressed her lips together in a way that usually preceded the words you’re wasting my time. She looked back at the retriever. “That’s a dog.”

“Yes.”

“A very healthy dog.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “It’s Jake.”

The retriever barked once as if to confirm, then leaned his entire weight against your legs. His head pressed into your hip, eyes looking up with all the tragic dignity of a man wrongly accused.

Pomfrey blinked again. “…Good heavens.” She crouched slowly, peering into his eyes. “Well, I’ll be.” She tapped her chin. “He does have that same unfortunate Gryffindor twinkle.”

Jake whined in agreement, tail sweeping the rug.

Pomfrey straightened, adjusting her spectacles. “Explain.”

You gave the short version. The potions, the spill, the smoke that had wagged. Jake’s inability to keep his limbs to himself. You left out the bit where his heel had knocked the vial over while he was starstruck by your laugh. You had to draw the line somewhere.

Pomfrey nodded gravely through it all, until she finally said, “Well. I’ve treated transfigured limbs, cursed stomachs, one Head Boy who spent a week as a ferret—but never a full anthropomorphosis. Fascinating.”

“Fascinating for you,” you muttered. “I’m the one who has to live with him like this.”

Jake huffed loudly, ears flattening.

You reached down and patted his head. “Don’t pout. You did this to yourself.”

Pomfrey was already digging in her satchel. “We’ll need to try a counteractive draft. Might not reverse it entirely, but it should shorten the duration.”

She produced several phials and a roll of parchment, spreading them across your table. She began listing ingredients, most of which you already had on hand. You started assembling them with a resigned efficiency.

Meanwhile, Jake climbed onto the sofa and sprawled across it dramatically, chin on the armrest, giving the best impression of a sulking schoolboy you had ever seen on four legs. His eyes tracked you as you moved about, as if to remind you that he was still the victim here.

Pomfrey glanced at him and sniffed. “At least he’s quiet like this.”

You smirked. “You say that now. Wait until he realizes he can’t kiss me every five seconds.”

Jake’s head shot up. He barked once, offended, then let out a long, theatrical huff that fogged the glass of the window beside him.

You grinned. “See? Pouting. Even with fur.”

Pomfrey’s mouth twitched, but she forced it into a frown. “Unprofessional.” She pointed at the retriever. “Sit still, Professor Sim.”

To everyone’s surprise, Jake obeyed immediately. He sat, ears perked, tail swishing once.

You folded your arms. “Oh, so now you listen when she tells you to behave?”

Another bark—short, sharp, unmistakably cheeky.

Pomfrey muttered something about “men, no matter the form,” and began mixing the draft with the precision of decades. You assisted, fetching the stabilizers and grinding what needed grinding.

Jake tried to climb off the sofa twice—once to nose at your hand, once to investigate the mortar—and each time you steered him back with a stern look. His tail thumped anyway, betraying his joy at being close.

At last, Pomfrey set a small phial of shimmering silver liquid on the table. “This should temper the transfiguration matrix,” she said. “May bring him back sooner. Or, at worst, do nothing.”

Jake bounded over, tail wagging furiously.

“Not so fast.” Pomfrey knelt, holding the phial just out of reach. “You’ll need to drink the whole thing. Slowly.”

Jake opened his mouth eagerly.

You bit back a laugh. “Careful, Pomfrey. He’ll try to charm you into giving him a belly rub next.”

Jake froze mid-slurp, turning his head to glare at you. The most human glare a dog had ever managed. Then he huffed again, slurping the potion indignantly, as though he could make a point by the volume of his gulps.

You leaned back in your chair, smirking. “Merlin help me, it’s like living with the world’s neediest dog and the clingiest boyfriend rolled into one.”

Jake set down the empty phial with a proud clink, then deliberately flopped onto your feet, tail covering your boots like a blanket.

Pomfrey sighed, gathering her things. “Well. If this works, he should be back to normal in two to three days. If it doesn’t, you’ll have to ride out the week.”

You nodded, scratching behind Jake’s ear despite yourself. “Either way, I’m investing in stronger locks for my potion shelves.”

Jake leaned harder against you, tongue lolling, eyes shining as if to say good luck trying to keep me away.

Pomfrey snapped her satchel shut. “Good night, Professors.”

“Good night,” you said.

Jake barked once, proudly.

When the door closed, you looked down at him. “You heard her. Two days. Three, tops. You can survive that.”

Jake groaned, head dropping dramatically onto your lap.

You sighed, stroking his soft fur. “Alright, fine. Maybe I’ll survive it too.”

His tail wagged, smug as ever.

By morning, you had decided on two things:

Jake was not allowed within six feet of your potion shelves ever again.

You were going to have to face the castle sooner or later, and later only made things worse.

So you left the cabin with a stack of parchment tucked under your arm, and a golden retriever glued to your side like a shadow with fur.

Jake padded along the muddy path with all the solemn dignity of a head boy escorting you to class—if head boys wagged their tails with every third step and insisted on brushing against your leg every chance they got. His ears perked at every sound, nose twitching at every breeze, and every so often he’d glance up at you like, Still here? Still mine?

“Yes, I’m still here,” you muttered when he nudged your hand for the third time. “And yes, you’re still ridiculous.”

He wagged harder, pleased.

By the time you reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, a gaggle of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw fifth-years were already waiting. The moment you walked in, parchment in hand, their chatter died down—not because of you, but because of the enormous golden retriever trotting proudly at your heels.

“Professor?” one girl asked, wide-eyed. “Whose dog is that?”

Jake sat on your feet, chest puffed out, tail thumping against the flagstones like he was personally answering the roll call.

You cleared your throat. “He’s… mine.”

There was a collective gasp. “You have a dog?”

“I do now,” you said shortly, hoping that would be enough. “As for Professor Sim—” You held up the stack of parchment like a shield. “Classes are suspended until further notice. Fortunately, he prepared assignments for the week, so you won’t fall behind.”

A collective groan rolled through the room.

Jake wagged anyway, delighted by the noise, and leaned his weight against your leg. You tried to shuffle forward, only for him to scoot with you, glued as if some invisible leash tied you together.

“Where is Professor Sim?” another student asked, suspicious. “Is he ill?”

“He’s… traveling,” you said quickly. “Important business. Very heroic. Very private. That’s all you need to know.”

Jake turned his head up at you and gave you the most judgmental canine look possible, ears twitching flat as if to say, That’s the best lie you’ve got?

“Anyway,” you pressed on, slapping the assignments onto the nearest desk. “Essays on counter-hex sequencing. Due by Friday. Enjoy.”

There were groans, muttering, a few curses under breath. Jake barked once—sharp enough that the muttering ceased immediately. The students stared, startled.

“Good boy,” you muttered, patting his head. He wagged smugly, tongue lolling.

By the time you left the classroom, word had already spread. By the second corridor, you were trailed by whispers: Professor got a dog! Why is it following her everywhere? Do you think we can pet it?

Jake didn’t mind the attention. In fact, he preened, strutting with tail high, brushing so close against you that you nearly tripped over his bulk twice. He was clingier than ever—probably the new senses, probably his unshakable need to be under your hand at all times. You swore you could feel his smugness radiating every time you gave in and scratched behind his ears.

Of course, that was when Professor Jay appeared at the end of the corridor.

Jay, the Astronomy professor. All dark robes, polished shoes, and a smile that lingered too long whenever it was directed at you. He had the audacity to lean casually against the banister as you approached, like he’d been waiting.

“Good morning,” Jay said smoothly, his gaze flicking from you to the dog. “New companion?”

Before you could reply, Jake froze. His ears went flat, his tail stiffened, and then—very deliberately—he planted himself in front of you like a four-legged wall. His eyes narrowed (you didn’t know dogs could narrow their eyes, but somehow he managed it).

Jay raised a brow. “Protective, isn’t he?”

“Something like that,” you said tightly.

Jake gave a single, sharp bark. Then another, louder. He didn’t move from his spot, his whole body bristling with disapproval.

Jay blinked, taking half a step back. “…Does he not like me?”

You forced a laugh, patting Jake’s head a little harder than necessary, your smile stretched taut. “Oh, he’s just… chatty.”

Jake huffed, offended, and barked again, lower this time, clearly directed at Jay’s face.

Jay frowned. “Strange dog.”

“Strange but harmless,” you said quickly, smoothing Jake’s ruff like you could iron out his temper. “Sorry. He’s still… adjusting.”

Jake turned his head, shooting you a betrayed glare. Then he flopped down at your feet with a heavy thud, chin on his paws, emitting a long, put-upon sigh.

Jay coughed, tugging at his sleeve. “Well. I’d best be off—someone’s waiting for me in the tower.”

“Of course,” you said, all polite smiles.

He gave a short nod, then swept away, his shoes clicking against the stone.

The moment he was gone, Jake raised his head, staring up at you with a look that could only be described as See? I told you he was shady.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You are impossible.”

Jake snorted, tail giving one satisfied wag.

And for all your exasperation, you couldn’t hide the laugh that slipped out. He preened at the sound, bumping his nose into your hand until you scratched his ears again.

“Merlin help me,” you muttered. “Golden retriever or not, you’re still the clingiest man alive.”

Jake’s tail wagged harder, smug and radiant, because he knew it was true.

Breakfast in the Great Hall was supposed to be a quiet affair for you—just tea, toast, and parchment. Instead, you entered with a golden retriever stuck so close to your side he may as well have been enchanted there.

The entire hall went silent as Jake trotted proudly in, tail wagging like he was the guest of honor. Students dropped spoons. One Hufflepuff shrieked, “DOG!” and half the table dissolved into squeals.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Please ignore him. He’s… auditing Defense classes.”

Jake sat at your feet, chest puffed out, ears perked like he’d just been knighted. When you reached for the teapot, he leaned against your leg, eyes fixed on your hand until you sighed and poured an extra saucer of milk for him.

Of course, Professor Jay had to pipe up. “Odd,” he said smoothly from two seats down. “I could’ve sworn you weren’t a dog person.”

Before you could reply, Jake barked—sharp, deliberate. Then he leaned across your lap and licked your teacup just to make his point.

“Jake!” you hissed quietly, shoving his face back, cheeks burning. The hall erupted in laughter. Jay muttered something about being late for Astronomy and left, clearly unnerved by the canine death stare boring into him.

Jake huffed smugly, tail thumping.

“Menace,” you muttered, scratching his ear anyway.

He wagged harder.

McGonagall had insisted you bring “the situation” to the weekly check up with you.

The moment you walked in, Jake at your side, Flitwick lit up like Christmas. “Oh, magnificent! May I? Just one pat?”

“Filius,” McGonagall warned, though her own mouth twitched.

Jake trotted over and promptly leaned all sixty pounds of golden fluff against Flitwick’s legs, nearly toppling the man off his chair. Flitwick squeaked in delight and scratched his ears. Jake’s tail wagged so wildly it knocked over two stacks of parchment.

“Professor Sim,” McGonagall said, pinching the bridge of her nose, “you are not to disrupt faculty business.”

Jake looked at her with perfect solemnity, then turned and licked Flitwick’s entire cheek.

You buried your face in your hands. “I am so sorry.”

“He’s delightful,” Flitwick insisted, hair sticking up from static.

When the meeting ended, Sprout slipped Jake a biscuit from her pocket. He barked happily, crumbs all over the floor.

“Don’t encourage him,” you groaned, tugging him toward the door.

McGonagall muttered something under her breath about “dogs with tenure.”

By the third day, you had accepted the truth: Pomfrey’s potion hadn’t worked. Jake was still very much a dog.

But oddly enough… you didn’t mind.

For once, he wasn’t able to hover over your shoulder, stealing kisses while you measured out delicate powders. Instead, he lay sprawled across the rug while you worked, occasionally padding over to nose at your knee until you scratched behind his ears. You could actually finish three full drafts of your lecture notes without interruption.

Well. Almost without interruption.

Because every so often, Jake would leap up, bound over, and plant a slobbery kiss across your hand, your arm, sometimes your cheek if you leaned down too far.

“Jake!” you yelped one evening as he caught you square on the jaw with his tongue. “That is not romantic.”

He wagged furiously, tongue lolling, entirely unrepentant.

“You’re disgusting,” you muttered, scrubbing your face with your sleeve.

Jake just dropped his chin onto your lap, eyes shining with such devoted fondness that you melted despite yourself. “Fine,” you sighed, stroking his fur. “I’ll allow it. But only because you’re quiet enough to let me get things done.”

His tail thumped the floor in triumph.

That night, as you curled into bed, Jake hopped up too, circling once before flopping beside you like he owned the pillow. He pressed his nose against your arm and let out a long, contented sigh.

You turned your head to look at him, still in awe of the ridiculous situation. “Four more days,” you whispered.

His ears twitched. He leaned closer, tongue flicking once against your wrist.

You laughed softly despite yourself. “Alright. Maybe I like you this way, too.”

Jake huffed, smug as ever, and drifted off with his head pillowed on your chest.

The castle always felt half-asleep in the late afternoon. The torches hadn’t been relit yet, the sun slid low enough to turn the windows into sheets of honey, and the corridors echoed with the last scatterings of footsteps as students drifted off to supper. For once, you walked alone—essays stacked in your arms, the silence pressing around you like a comforter.

Jake was supposed to be outside. You’d left him with strict instructions to burn off some of that bounding golden retriever energy before following you back in. Just an hour, you’d told yourself. An hour without a wagging tail against your calf or a wet nose shoved into your hand while you tried to write.

That’s when you heard him.

“Funny,” Jay’s voice drawled, smooth as always, “how I only ever catch you when he isn’t here.”

You stopped, forcing your features into polite neutrality before you turned. “Jay.”

He leaned against the stone archway at the Astronomy Tower stairwell, robes neat, silver trim gleaming faintly in the dying light. His smile was soft enough to pass for friendly, but his eyes carried that familiar gleam—persistent, sly, patient. Always waiting for a gap.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he said, straightening as you approached. “The halls are quieter these days. Almost like they’re conspiring to bring us together.”

You shifted the essays higher in your arms. “Or maybe it’s just the schedule.”

He chuckled at that, unbothered. “Still sharp. Just like sixth year. You were always in the library, head bent over parchment, lips pursed when you concentrated.” His gaze dipped briefly, uninvited. “I used to sit two tables away, hoping you’d look up.”

“And get glared at when you didn’t finish your star charts,” you reminded him, dry.

Jay grinned, unashamed. “Worth it. A glare from you felt like attention. I’d take that over any praise.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like that. He always tried when Jake wasn’t around, as if he thought the absence meant a door cracked open. And you always responded the same way: firm, polite, but never cruel.

“You know I’m with Jake,” you said, voice even. “I’ve been with him for years.”

His smile twitched. “And yet… I never stopped wondering. Maybe time would change something. Maybe not. But wonder has a way of sticking.”

He stepped closer, closing the space just slightly too much. You held your ground, spine straight, essays clutched tighter.

“You don’t have to—”

A low, rumbling growl sliced through the air.

Jay froze.

You turned instinctively, and your stomach dropped.

The double doors at the far end of the corridor had just swung open, courtesy of a gawking second-year. Through them padded Jake—massive, golden, radiant in the dim light. His paws clicked against the flagstones, each step deliberate, eyes locked on Jay.

His hackles rose. The growl deepened, vibrating through the stone itself.

“Jake,” you breathed, relief and dread tangled in your chest. Then, realizing, you fumbled, “—Jakey. I mean, Jakey.”

Jay’s head whipped toward you, suspicion flashing in his eyes. “…Jake?”

Your mouth went dry. “That’s—what I named him. Jake named him, actually. Said the dog looked like him.” You forced a laugh that came out thin. “Bit of a joke between us.”

Jay studied you for a long moment, the smile gone sharp around the edges. “Hm. Fitting.”

Meanwhile, Jake had reached your side, planting himself firmly between you and Jay. His tail was stiff, ears flat, the sound in his throat closer to thunder than bark.

Jay raised his hands slowly, palms out. “Easy, Jakey. I didn’t mean any harm.”

Jake barked once, deafening in the echoing corridor. Portraits gasped; one witch ducked clear out of her frame.

“Jake—Jakey!” you corrected yourself hastily, dropping the essays onto the nearest bench so you could grab his ruff. Your fingers sank into warm fur, muscles quivering beneath. “It’s fine. We were just talking.”

Jake didn’t believe you. He didn’t take his eyes off Jay, not for a heartbeat.

Jay shifted back half a step, the confidence bleeding just a little from his posture. “Strange creature. Looks at me like he understands every word.”

Your smile stretched too wide, brittle at the edges. “Dogs are perceptive. Especially about… tone.” You patted Jake’s head, maybe a little too firmly. “Right, Jakey?”

Jake huffed, insulted by the nickname, but didn’t break his glare.

Jay adjusted his sleeve, buying time. “Well. I should… get going.”

“Of course,” you said, sweet as poisoned tea.

He gave one last look—sharp, considering—then swept away down the hall, footsteps quicker than usual.

The silence left behind was thick, broken only by Jake’s steady growl tapering into a huff. Finally, he sat, tail thumping once like a gavel. His eyes turned up to you, smug, as if to say You’re welcome.

You groaned, scrubbing your face. “I cannot believe I just called you Jake in front of him.”

Jake’s ears perked. He leaned against your leg, tail wagging now, pleased with himself.

“Don’t look so proud,” you muttered, scratching his head anyway. “You nearly gave us away.”

He licked your wrist in triumph, smugness radiating off him.

You sighed. “Fine. Good work, knight in golden fur. But you’re still impossible.”

Jake barked softly, leaning closer, eyes gleaming with victory.

The cabin was quiet, the fire in the hearth burned low, and you were finally ready to collapse into bed. You’d changed into your nightclothes, folded the day’s robes over a chair, and were halfway through smoothing the covers when you heard the soft thump-thump of a tail against the floorboards.

“Don’t start,” you warned, not even turning around. “I’ve had enough of your antics for one day.”

Jake ignored you, of course.

By the time you faced him, he was already nosing through the small pile of laundry you’d set aside. His golden coat glowed in the lantern light, ears perked, eyes mischievous.

“Jake,” you said sharply. “Drop it.”

Instead, he tugged. Hard.

You gasped. “Jake! Those are my favorite—”

Rip.

The delicate hem of your panties dangled from his mouth like a trophy. His tail wagged furiously, eyes dancing as if he’d just caught the Golden Snitch.

You groaned, throwing your head back. “Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. Do you know how hard it is to find ones like those? You’re buying me a new pair the second you’re human again.”

Jake huffed through his nose, ears twitching, but refused to let go. When you lunged, he dodged left, then right, tail wagging harder. He pranced around the room with the ruined fabric flapping from his mouth like a victory flag.

“Stop playing keep-away!” you snapped, though your lips twitched despite yourself. “You’re insufferable.”

Finally, after two laps around the cabin and one near-collision with the armchair, he padded over and dropped the ripped and wet fabric into your hands, tail thumping against your leg. Then, as if to seal the deal, he nudged his head under your palm, forcing you to scratch behind his ears.

You glared down at him. “Don’t think I’m letting this slide. You owe me.”

He licked your wrist, smug as ever.

“Fine,” you sighed, tossing the ruined piece onto the chair. “But only because you’re impossible to stay mad at.”

Jake immediately hopped onto the bed, sprawling across your half of it with a satisfied groan. You shoved at his side, but he only rolled closer, laying his heavy head on your stomach with a triumphant sigh.

“Menace,” you muttered, scratching his ears anyway.

His tail wagged lazily against the blankets. Victory, once again, was his.

You woke to the weight first. A heavy, insistent pressure on your chest, followed by the tickle of fur against your cheek. You cracked one eye open to find Jake perched half-on, half-off the bed, dragging his paws over your face with exaggerated determination.

“Jake,” you groaned, muffled by a paw. “It’s early. Go back to sleep.”

He didn’t. His tail wagged in slow, sleepy arcs, and he pressed another paw to your forehead, nails clicking softly against your skin.

You tried pushing him away, shoving at the wall of golden fur looming above you. “Honestly, you’re worse than an alarm clock.”

That’s when he switched tactics.

He dropped off the bed, circled once, and then shoved his snout right under the blankets. Before you could stop him, he gave a mischievous nibble right where you were most ticklish—your backside.

You yelped, twisting around, laughter spilling out before you could choke it back. “Jake! Stop—oh my god, you menace!”

He huffed, entirely too pleased with himself, then bounded back onto the mattress and plopped down beside you with smug satisfaction written all over his furry face.

You flopped onto your back, out of breath from laughing, hair a mess. “Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. You’ve lost all sense of boundaries.”

Jake ignored your glare, head tilting toward the window. He let out a sharp whine, then another, ears pricked toward the pale morning light streaming through the glass.

You blinked, then sighed. “Oh, don’t tell me—”

Another whine, this one paired with a pointed look at the door.

You dragged a hand over your face. “Of course. You have to pee.”

Jake barked once in confirmation, tail thumping against the bedframe.

You groaned dramatically, rolling upright. “You couldn’t have picked literally anyone else to live with, could you? No, it had to be me.”

Jake bounded to the door, nails clicking against the floor, looking back every other step to make sure you were following.

“Fine, fine, I know I made the decision for us to live together” you muttered, shoving your feet into slippers. “Let’s go before you prove to me that golden retrievers really are hopeless.”

He wagged furiously, tongue lolling, already victorious.

The air outside was crisp, the sky washed pale with the kind of dawn light that made the castle look softer, quieter. You rubbed your eyes, cinching your blue fluffy robe tighter as you trudged across the grass. Jake padded happily ahead, tail wagging like a banner, sniffing at everything as though he’d never seen the grounds before in his life.

“Do your business,” you muttered, stifling a yawn. “And then straight back inside.”

Jake looked over his shoulder, tongue lolling, ears perked as if he’d just heard free playtime forever. You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t you dare.”

Too late.

In one swift, mischievous motion, he doubled back, nosed at your ankle, and tugged your slipper clean off your foot. Before you could even register the cold grass under your toes, he had it clenched between his teeth and was bounding across the lawn like he’d just stolen treasure.

“Jake!” you hissed, half-giggle, half-growl. “That is not a toy!”

He barked once—sharp, gleeful—and darted in a wide circle, tail high, ears flapping as he pranced.

“Bring it back right now!” you demanded, jogging after him, essays and dignity both left behind in the cabin.

He did not bring it back. Instead, he stopped just far enough away to make you think you could grab it, then darted off again the moment you lunged.

You chased him once. Twice. By the third loop, you were laughing despite yourself, breath puffing in the chill morning. “I swear, you’re impossible! You owe me new slippers, new panties and new patience when you’re human again!”

And that was, of course, when a group of bleary-eyed seventh-years crossed the courtyard on their way to breakfast. They froze, watching as their normally composed Potions professor tore across the grass in pajamas and one bare foot, lunging at a golden retriever who carried her house shoe like a victory flag.

“…Is that—” one whispered.

“Professor’s dog,” another hissed.

“Why’s she—”

“Don’t question it.”

Jake slowed just enough to let you almost grab him again, then swerved, slipper flapping triumphantly from his jaws. His bark rang out, loud and happy, echoing across the courtyard. The students broke into muffled laughter.

You finally stopped, bent double with your hands on your knees, hair a mess, one slipper on, one foot freezing. “You win,” you panted. “You absolute menace. You win.”

Jake trotted back proudly, dropped the soggy slipper at your feet, and sat down with his chest puffed out like he’d just defeated Voldemort himself.

The students scattered toward the large doors before you could glare them into silence, their laughter echoing faintly behind them.

You groaned, jamming your damp slipper back on. “Congratulations,” you muttered, scratching his ears despite yourself. “Now the whole castle thinks I’ve lost my mind.”

Jake wagged, smug as ever, tail sweeping the grass in triumph.

The castle might have grown used to the sight of you with a golden retriever shadow at your side, but inside your cabin, the reality of living with Jake in dog form was something else entirely. You had thought, perhaps, that his transformation would make him easier to manage. Surely without hands, without that cheeky grin, without the ability to sneak kisses every two minutes, you’d finally get some peace.

You were wrong.

If anything, he had found new, canine ways to be just as clingy, just as distracting, and just as infuriatingly lovable as ever.

It started innocently enough. You’d set up your notes at the workbench, parchment spread in neat rows, inkpot full, quill sharpened. The cabin was quiet except for the steady pop of the fire and the occasional sigh of wind against the window. Perfect. A rare chance to make progress on your lesson plans.

And then a weight settled on your thigh.

“Jake,” you said without looking down.

A soft whine answered you, followed by the steady rhythm of a tail thumping against the floor.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, determined not to fall into the trap. “No. I’m working.”

The weight shifted, chin pressing harder into your leg. Another whine. Longer this time, pitiful.

“Absolutely not.” You dipped your quill, carefully ignoring the warmth seeping through the fabric of your robes where his muzzle rested.

When you didn’t cave, he upped the stakes. A paw landed squarely on your knee, claws clicking against the wood of your chair. You glanced down, finally, and nearly cursed yourself.

His eyes. Brown, soft, enormous in the lantern light, staring up at you with the tragic devotion of someone abandoned in the cold.

“Oh, don’t you dare,” you muttered.

He tilted his head, ears flopping slightly. The picture of heartbreak.

You lasted all of ten seconds. Groaning, you dropped the quill and pushed your notes aside. “Fine. Come here, you menace.”

That was all the invitation he needed. In one bound he was clambering onto your lap, far too big for it, sending your parchment sliding to the floor in a flutter.

“Jake!” you yelped as your chair rocked dangerously. “You’re not a lap dog!”

He didn’t care. He sprawled across you with the full weight of his body, tail wagging furiously, tongue lolling in triumph. He slathered a kiss against your chin, another against your cheek, while you sputtered and shoved half-heartedly at his shoulders.

“You’re impossible,” you laughed breathlessly, hands giving up and scratching behind his ears. His eyes fluttered closed in bliss, head heavy against your chest. “Absolutely impossible.”

He sighed deeply, content, as if to say This is where I belong.

Your lesson plans lay forgotten on the floor.

The next battle came at bedtime.

“Jake, move over,” you grumbled, shoving at the golden wall of fur that had claimed your pillow. “That’s my side.”

He flopped dramatically onto his back, paws in the air, head still squarely on the pillow. His tail thumped once, deliberately slow, like he was mocking you.

“You have your own blanket on the rug,” you reminded him, tugging at the covers. “Go lie down.”

He rolled onto his side with exaggerated effort, then turned his face toward you.

Doggy eyes. Full force.

“Oh, no. No, no, no. That’s not working on me.” You crossed your arms, glaring down at him.

He whined softly, paw stretching out until it landed gently against your arm. His ears drooped.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Merlin’s beard, you’re insufferable.”

When you peeked again, he hadn’t moved—still staring up at you with that same pitiful devotion, paw resting like a knight begging mercy.

“Fine!” you snapped, collapsing onto the mattress beside him. “But you’re not taking all the covers.”

By morning, of course, you were clinging to the very edge of the bed, shivering under a scrap of blanket. Jake lay sprawled across the center, snoring softly, head pillowed perfectly on your shoulder, his golden fur radiant in the early light.

You stared at him, exasperated and fond all at once. “I hate you.”

His tail wagged in his sleep.

Even during the day, he found ways to derail your composure.

You were pacing the cabin, muttering through your lecture notes, hands moving as you recited the finer points of counter-hexes. Jake sprawled lazily across the rug, chin on his paws. For a while, he seemed content to watch you work.

Then, without warning, he bounded up and shoved himself against your legs.

You staggered, clutching your notes. “Jake!”

He barked once, bright, then pressed harder, practically herding you toward the sofa. His tail wagged like a metronome, beating out a rhythm of relentless cheer.

“I just scratched your ears!” you protested, trying to shuffle sideways.

He nudged harder, warm weight against your thigh.

“You’re ridiculous.”

He whined, soft and wounded, tilting his head back to fix you with those eyes again.

You groaned, lowering your notes. “Fine. You win.”

The moment you crouched, he pounced, knocking you onto the cushions. His tongue was everywhere—your cheek, your jaw, your hand—sloppy kisses that had you laughing helplessly even as you shoved at his shoulders.

“Jake! That’s disgusting!”

He didn’t stop. His tail wagged like mad, the picture of triumph.

You gave in, burying your hands in his fur, laughing too hard to fight him off. “You’re disgusting,” you gasped. “But you’re mine.”

He sighed, settling heavily against you, as if to say Exactly.

Not every moment was chaos. Sometimes, when he was finally worn out from his antics, Jake would curl up at your feet, head resting on your slipper, eyes fluttering shut. Those were the moments you let yourself soften, stroking his fur gently, whispering words you’d never dare say aloud when he was human.

“You’re a menace,” you murmured into the quiet. “But I love you. Every version of you.”

His tail thumped once in his sleep, and you smiled, heart full despite yourself.

Jake was still Jake, no matter the shape. Clingy, needy, impossible to ignore. And you? You were still you. Pretending to resist. Pretending you didn’t melt every time.

But you always caved. You always had.

You knew you’d keep caving. Again and again.

Because if Jake Sim wanted your attention, you were powerless to deny him—paws, fur, slobbery kisses and all.

You stirred slowly, blinking against the pale spill of morning light seeping through the curtains. Your body registered warmth, weight, and the faint scent of cedarwood and parchment before your mind caught up.

And then it hit you.

The chest pressed against your side was not covered in fur. The hair tickling your chin was not golden fluff, but a familiar dark brown mess, soft and curling at the ends. The arm looped tightly around your waist had long, lean fingers instead of paws.

Jake.

Not Jake the dog. Not Jake the menace with four legs and a tail that knocked vials off shelves. But Jake — your Jake — curled around you like he’d been waiting years to hold you again.

You froze, drinking him in. The rise and fall of his chest, the faint stubble along his jaw, the little crease between his brows that always deepened when he dreamed. Your heart thudded unevenly, relief crashing through you so fast you felt dizzy.

After a week of paws and growls and slobbery kisses, you had him back. Whole. Warm. Human.

And yet… you surprised yourself with the soft tug in your chest. You almost missed the golden retriever who had sprawled across your lap, stolen your slippers, and stared you down with those ridiculous doggy eyes until you caved. Almost.

You lifted a hand and threaded your fingers through his hair, brushing the tangles gently away from his forehead. He sighed, nuzzling into your touch without waking, his lips brushing your collarbone with each breath.

“Menace,” you whispered, smiling despite yourself.

At last, his lashes fluttered. His eyes opened slowly, still hazy with sleep. He blinked once. Twice. His gaze traveled down his own arms, his hands, his chest. His breath caught.

Then his head snapped up, wide awake.

“Thank Merlin!”

The shout was so loud you nearly toppled out of bed. Before you could laugh, he surged up, pinning you back against the pillow and peppering kisses across every inch of your face.

“Jake—” You gasped, giggling as he kissed your cheeks, your forehead, the tip of your nose.

“I missed you,” he mumbled between kisses, frantic and messy. “I missed you so much. Do you know how hard it is not being able to say anything? Just wagging and barking like an idiot?” Kiss. “Do you know how much I wanted to kiss you properly?” Kiss, kiss. “I thought I’d go mad.”

Your laughter spilled out helplessly, hands trying to shove his face away. “You were mad! You chewed one of my favorite pairs of—”

He cut you off with a kiss to your lips.

This one wasn’t frantic. It was soft. Sweet. Slow. Like he’d finally remembered what it meant to take his time. You melted instantly, the last of your complaints dissolving as his thumb brushed tenderly against your jaw.

When you broke apart, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing hard. “Seven days,” he whispered. “Never again. I can’t— I don’t want to ever—”

You cupped his cheek, thumb stroking the faint flush there. “You’re back. That’s all that matters.”

He shut his eyes, sighing. “You’re all that matters.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss into his hair. “Though I’ll admit… a tiny part of me might miss the dog version of you.”

He groaned, dropping his face into your neck. “Don’t. Don’t even joke about that.”

You laughed, wrapping your arms around him. “Relax. I like this version better.”

He kissed your shoulder, soft and reverent. “Good. Because I’m never letting go again.”

And judging by the way he held you tighter, you believed him.

Life in the castle slipped back into its rhythm quickly after that. Students gossiped, of course — stories about “Professor’s strange dog” became instant lore — but now Jake was back at the front of his classroom, wand flashing as he disarmed half a dozen cocky seventh-years in a row. You, meanwhile, had peace enough to catch up on grading, though Jake still insisted on hovering, sneaking into your classroom between periods just to tug you into the corner for quick kisses.

The corridors between classes always hummed with chatter, robes swishing and laughter echoing off the stone. You kept your stack of parchments balanced carefully in your arms as you cut across toward the Great Hall, already imagining a cup of tea and five minutes of peace.

“Heading to lunch?”

You glanced sideways. Jay had fallen into step with you, his hands folded behind his back like he’d just happened upon you by chance. His smile was easy, practiced.

“Yes,” you said simply.

He nodded, eyes flicking ahead, then back to you. “It’s a clear day. Brisk, but not too cold. Perfect for a walk, don’t you think?”

You shifted the papers in your arms. “Perhaps.” You stop walking to face him.

His lips quirked. “I was thinking of stretching my legs myself. Around the grounds. The view from the cliffs is… something, this time of year.” He paused, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “Maybe you’d like to—”

Warm hands slipped around your waist before he could finish, drawing you back against a chest you knew better than your own.

You startled, essays nearly slipping from your grasp.

Jake’s curls brushed your cheek as he leaned down, voice low and amused. “There you are.”

You turned your head just enough to see his grin — wide, a little smug — before he bent to kiss you. It wasn’t rushed or rough; it was deliberate, slow enough to make your breath catch, sweet enough to leave your knees weak.

When he drew back, his eyes flicked sideways, locking on Jay with a look that was polite on the surface, but sharp underneath. A quiet warning, clear as day.

Jay’s mouth pressed into a thin line. He cleared his throat. “Ah. Of course. You’ll want to… get to lunch.”

“Yes,” you said quickly, forcing your composure back into place.

He dipped his head, the faintest tightness in his smile, before stepping neatly aside and disappearing into the current of students.

The moment he was gone, you turned in Jake’s arms, shoving lightly at his chest. “Did you have to do that right here?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation, his grin boyish and unrepentant. “Absolutely.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, though your face was burning too hot for the words to land.

“Ridiculous about you,” he corrected, leaning down to kiss your temple this time. Then he reached down, plucked the stack of parchments from your arms with ease, and laced his free hand with yours.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Lunch tastes better when you’re with me.”

You groaned but didn’t pull your hand away as he led you toward the Great Hall. His thumb brushed circles against your skin the whole way, as if to remind you — and anyone else who looked — that you were his and always had been. Dog or not.

She had always loved children. Their sweet innocence, their brash boldness, being able to teach them right from wrong and see how their little minds worked, all of that and more made her extremely happy. A natural nurturer, she’d been overjoyed with The Teacher approved her request when she had come of age and made it happen. It was a rarity, because he always put people where he thought was best- and it was best, because he knew how the world worked.

 He got the messages directly from Heaven, and he knew the fate of them all.

At least, she thought so. Sometimes, in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep she wondered, especially in the last prediction he’d made about them being called back Home being changed, but she didn’t speak about it to anyone. 

She couldn’t and she wouldn’t speak ill of their leader. The Teacher was a wonderful man with their best interests in mind.

“Miss Y/N, why is The Teacher here?” Little Zara mumbled around her thumb as Y/N fixed her hair back into the braids regulated for their age.

He was staring directly at them. Y/N’s heart fluttered and her stomach twisted with nerves as she gave the girl what she hoped was a soothing smile. “The Teacher looks after his people. He’s here to make sure we’re happy.”

That seemed to please him. A tiny smile lifting the corners of his lips, Y/N felt little bubble of warmth settle over her that she had gotten that sort of reaction from him. He was a kind man, but his attention in a positive way was all the more flattering. 

“He is staring at you a lot. Sometimes Tommy stares at me.” Zara rambled. “My momma says it’s because I’m pretty. You’re really pretty, Miss Y/N. I hope The Teacher lets me and Tommy get married one day. That would be so nice.”

The insinuation that The Teacher would be staring at her because she was pretty was laughable- not necessarily because she didn’t think she was, but because their leader had said he wasn’t taking a wife- it was in his direct messages from Heaven. It wouldn’t make much sense at all for his true admiration to be anything other than happiness that she was doing her job and showing the children care.

“I’m sure he’s just overseeing my skills, Zara. Helping you all learn what is right is such an important job. One of the most important I could have! You are the next generation of The Unity, you know.” She tapped the little one’s nose lightly with the tip of her index finger. 

Zara giggled and went back to sucking her thumb, satisfied with Y/N's answer. The Teacher, however, did not look away. His gaze remained fixed on Y/N, intense and unwavering in a way that made her want to squirm. It sent a shiver down her spine, a feeling she couldn't quite place- unease mixed with something else she didn't want to acknowledge.

The truth was, it was unusual. Their Teacher, the chosen one himself, didn’t usually pay much mind to women in the way he had been popping up lately. Having his attention was something many, many a woman have sought after but always ended with rejection and firm redirection. Y/N didn’t know why he was always around all of a sudden, but she knew better than to verbally question it out loud. 

Standing at the tree line, he had his assistant next to him taking notes. She couldn’t hear what was being said but she could make out the low timber of his voice, speaking while she went around the circle of the children making flower crowns and fixing their braids. Her own went down her back, a few strands loose in her face as she tried to focus- but it was hard when she felt his eyes on her. His gaze was heavy, something that made her feel slightly

on edge- like he was dissecting her from his spot, standing in his pressed suit.

Smoothing her hands over her skirts, she stood up and clapped her hands three times, getting the children’s attention. “Alright, Little Learners. It’s time to go inside for snack. Single file, please.”

As Y/N led the children inside, she could feel his gaze following her every step. It was like a physical touch, a weight pressing against her back, making the hairs on her neck stand up. She tried to focus on the brood she was leading in, their chatter filling her ears as they filed into the building, but all she could truly think about was him- and why he was still there along the tree line.

As she reached the door, she paused, then slowly turned to face him. Her eyes met his briefly before she lowered them to be the most respectful, her long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks in the afternoon sun. She curtsied deeply, her skirts sweeping the floor. "Teacher." she murmured respectfully, her voice as soft and honeyed as she could make it before she righted herself and slipped inside the door. 

Y/N had no idea what was happening, but she knew she couldn’t stop it. 

———

The Unity had very strict rules, all given directly from Heaven through their Teacher. The most important ones were drilled in from as soon as one could remember. 

Do not question the Teacher's word or actions.

Absolute loyalty and obedience to him and the Unity’s beliefs was expected and necessary.

- No sexual relations outside of marriage arranged by the Teacher. 

Women and men alike were to be modest in dress and behavior at all times.

 Public displays of affection when not in a Blessed relationship was absolutely forbidden.

Not as iron clad but unspoken and expected, women were expected to bear children as soon as they were married, with the Teacher himself deciding when a couple was ready for such a blessing. The education of children was solely under the control of the organization, teaching them only The Unity’s aligned beliefs. This was explained as a measure to avoid confusion for such little, precious minds of course. 

Members were not allowed any form of media or outside influence- it was from Hell, a temptation based trick to poison to the mind and body. It made their minds sick, The Teacher had said, and as such, he chose what was allowed to be absorbed. He wasn’t susceptible to the Sickness the outside world could get, given his relationship with Heaven, so he screened it all. 

It was simple. To be in The Unity you didn’t question, you didn’t challenge, and you didn’t leave, and The Teacher would provide your guaranteed and easy path to Heaven.

So one could imagine that Y/N's mind was a battlefield as she laid in her bed the night after the third day the Teacher had been overseeing the school. Way more thoughts about the organization and her leader had cropped up in the last few days than ever before, and she had tried to ask Heaven to grant her peace of mind but it seemed they hadn’t gotten to her request quite yet. 

She had questions, doubts that crept in like shadows at night.

Why did Heaven change its mind sometimes? Why were they suddenly not being called Home this year, after The Teacher had told them? And most terrifyingly, what if her sinful questions could be overheard? 

That scared her more than anything. What if they were making her unworthy of Heaven? She would burn in Hell forever if she wasn’t careful. She caught herself questioning almost every night before bed in the last month of his close proximity, praying for forgiveness for her wandering thoughts.

Was The Teacher aware of her thoughts? Was that why he was suddenly around, after perhaps knowing of a fleeting doubt she had after he had announced they would not be going to Heaven this year after all? 

That had her nerves on overdrive every single time she caught a glimpse of him. Y/N's fear grew with each passing day, each time he was in her peripheral vision- which was a lot more often than she had ever thought. 

Was it truly a coincidence? It seemed hard to believe. It felt intentional, like he was observing her, but for what reason? Y/N wasn’t doing anything unlawful, really. Her thoughts were hard to control but she did everything she could to, because she really didn’t want to be punished. 

It seemed like the teachings she had gotten when they first joined The Unity were trying to take effect. She’d been in a room for countless hours watching videos The Teacher had made, along with his father, telling them about how they’d been saved- and what they’d been saved from. 

The idea of what waited for her without Him was what kept her in line.  Nightmares, visions of burning pits and gnarled horned demons dragging her down to Hell for her impure thoughts. During the day, she would shake off any question that dared to form in her mind, immediately replacing it with a prayer or a verse from The Book, and it seemed to work for a whole- but with The Teacher everywhere, it was hard not to be reminded of what was at stake.

Y/N did everything she could to be good. She worked diligently, over the hours she was asked to make sure the children had good education. She prayed many times a day, keeping her copy of The Book by her side at almost all times. It was memorized, inside and out,  and she could recite it out loud if asked- but thankfully it had only happened once.

A few weeks back, when The Teacher had called her out at the weekly feast to ask what page 321, paragraph 4 said. 

‘Honor your Leader, as he takes the burdens off of your shoulders. He is the link between you and Heaven, the barrier between you and Hell. He has your best interest at heart, and nothing is said without cause. Understand your Teacher holds you near and dear to his heart, and every rule is for The Greater Good.’

She remembered keeping her voice as steady as she could, and the pleased look on his face- though his eyes had been sharp, amused, like he was testing her for some reason.  Y/N had assumed it was because he had likely heard about how often she studied The Book, as people did ask her on tips for memorization, but in that moment it had felt like more.

There was something else happening, but she tried not to question it. 

It was for The Greater Good.

——————

"She's perfect.” He murmured as he watched Y/N help a little boy tie his shoe, her patient smile never faltering. "Recites The Book like an angel, no silly questions, no defiance, believes in our mission… She's the model member." 

His assistant nodded in agreement. "Sir, she's almost too good. It's truly remarkable."

"Precisely." The Teacher mused, taking a sip of his water. "No dark thoughts, no voicing doubts. She's very dedicated."  That was an understatement. Not many got to full memorization of The Book, and not many could handle their composure in the way she was. He’d been following her for a while, albeit more visually in the last few weeks, and yet there was no questioning as to why.

Y/N simply took his observation without another word and let him do as he pleased.

Which was exactly what he was looking for. 

The woman was beautiful. There was no question about that. He’d noticed it the first real time she had shown Of Age, but he hadn’t truly noticed her until last year. Her dedication, her kindness, her hard work… her beautiful submission to The Unity, and in turn, Him. 

He liked what he saw, and he liked it at a lot. More than what was ever anticipated.

His assistant cleared his throat softly, breaking The Teacher's train of thought. "Sir, if I may speak freely?" The Teacher nodded curtly, though his assistant knew that free didn’t really mean free. He’d tread lightly. "You keep staring at her openly… and while you’re free to do whatever you wish, people are beginning to talk." He paused. His assistant’s confusion as to why they’d stayed along the tree line the last few days days, along with trailing her other places hadn’t been lost on the leader, but there had been no real questioning of it all- which was exactly how he liked it.  " I don’t know what your intentions are, but based off of your prior declarations, she might get the wrong idea." 

The Teacher's jaw clenched slightly. The other man wasn't wrong. He was giving her a lot of attention. Too many looks, too many smiles when she wasn't looking- and he knew that he wasn’t going to be able to stop it any time soon. 

“I have been speaking with Heaven.” He said evenly. “About her. She is something special. Something they have only revealed to me now, because it was all based on Divine Timing.” There was a paused as he watched the door to the school shut, taking his view of her away. Irritation sparked over his spine but he soothed it when he continued. “I think the original prophecy of keeping me alone has been revised.” 

He heard his assistant drop his pen, but he didn’t dare look away from him as he turned his attention towards the clipboard in hand. “S-Shall I schedule a meeting for you to meet with her?”

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a/n: other short fics may come up too (ahem, roy harper dick grayson bruce wayne steve rogers. requests are always greatly appreciated) but i’m also unsure if i’ll get all of these out because i am a full time student, though i have started these. i’ll definitely get out whatever ppl are more interested in though :p these are all subjected to change. imma be changing a lot of things around probably.

⚰︎ You ran down the street, small bag loot gripped between your teeth. Effortlessly sidestepping every human in your way, nobody paid you any mind. Even for those who knew the truth behind the little black cat scurrying down the town streets usually looked the other way. Unfortunately, being so infamous, you were the easiest way to deliver a message to your master.

You had known the moment you started being followed. You had far keener senses than any human or even that of an ordinary cat. You were still at the outer streets of the city. This was where the less savory characters called their territory. You had done nothing that you could think of to warrant being tailed, it wasn’t a crime to pass through the city, especially down Main Street.

Now sensing a third person following you sped up and changed your path, dodging carts horses and people. Skittering down an alley, you slipped through the cracks of the outer gate, there you saw a tin cup. The northern outer wall is where trash is often tossed, the castle was as far south as could be. Less royal staff ever found its way here to even address the poverty issue, they couldn’t care less about the debris.

With what magic you could summon, you swapped the contents of the bag for the tin, burying it fast in the leaves. Once you had finished, a rat ran past you startling you from your place.

“There it is!” You heard a voice yell. Sparing the man a glance you bolted from the wall, now empty bag still clenched in your teeth. You noticed the man held a crossbow.

Why were you being hunted? Surly hunting game hasn’t gotten so scarce that the people wanted to eat their house pets? No, this was personal. These men knew who you were. What you were. As men continued to peruse you, in your panic you were none the wiser that they were corralling you. An arrow missed your right side, so you moved left to the wall, hoping to cut in front of them and bolt into the woods for good. Only they had anticipated this and had set a trap. You saw it too late, you were going too fast to change course and were soon tied up in a net. Five men gathered around you, all sweating and out of breath. The sixth man joined last, slowed down by a large metal box. You could see amateur runes casted into the metal.

You struggled harder against the ropes now, biting and clawing, but still getting nowhere. When the first man approached the net you made sure to deliver a swipe of your claws through the holes. He kicked the net in retaliation, while holding his bleeding hand. You ignored the pain in your middle, claws now digging into his shoe.

“Bag it!”

⚰︎ Wanda could feel your panic from miles away. The icy feeling spread through her own veins, her own heartbeat picking up to mirror your own. You were only running an errand, a trip you had made hundreds of times. Wanda was confident that you could travel your paths in your sleep, there had to be something wrong. This feeling was a different feeling than what she has felt when your travels accidentally brings you across a snake, or if you happened to spook a stable horse.

When the feeling didn’t disperse she knew something was wrong. You weren’t spooked you were scared. She packed up her work quickly, flicking all the candles out with a swipe before she stood to leave. By the time she was outside the feeling hadn’t ceased, in fact, it had worsened. Wanda’s feeling of irritation for having to go save you from whatever had you so spooked was now replaced with rage. Anger for whichever creature was bringing you this much distress and pain.

⚰︎ You could feel the painful thrum of the iron box through the leather bag. It was hot against your skin, burning you everywhere you moved to try and find relief. You assumed the bag itself was blessed and treated with something, the smell stung your eyes and brined throat when you breathed.

You had been inside the stupid iron box for nearly thirty minutes. You knew what it was doing. You saw the runes. It kept you locked in and shut off all of your abilities, now just an ordinary very pissed off cat in a cage. Since your skin wasn’t making full contact, all it did was cause you a constant but bearable pain.

While eavesdropping, you learned they planned to deliver you to a buyer. Some rich mortal trying to do business with Wanda. Some idiot with no idea who he is actually dealing with. If you were not in this stupid box you would have told them that they would not be surviving long enough to see their new wealth.

The iron made you powerless, but not untraceable. Wanda was capable of magic far beyond these silly warding runes. As her familiar, your own soul was no longer yours, it belonged to her. The Scarlet Witch could find you in any universe if she so chose to rip open the fabric of time and space. All you had to do was just wait for her to arrive.

“Should we open the pouch?”

“No!”

“It’s probably a curse!”

“Yeah, dead on the spot! Or-or she’ll eat your firstborn son.”

“The buyer can decided what to do with the bag.” Too bad.

You wanted to hiss out a laugh, but you were conserving your breath. Even though you were still tied in the bag, unable to see your surroundings, but you felt her as soon as she materialized. You heard all of the men go still.

⚰︎ “You stole something of mine.” Wanda announced, standing before the kidnappers. They all stood stunned amongst the makeshift camp.

“Forgive us.” One of the men dropped to his knees.

“P-please, allow us to explain.” The next of the men said softly. He raised his dirty hands up in surrender. Wanda’s eyes zeroed in on the fresh cuts on his palm, three perfectly parallel angry red lines.

Wanda made her decision on how this little interaction would go.

The second man opened his mouth to excuse their actions but he never uttered a word. Frozen in place with his mouth open wide. His cohorts looked at him in anticipation, clearly waiting for him to save them.

Blood began to pour from his orifices, starting with his nose. The other men backed away from their friend in horror. They turned to flee, not making it far as Wanda was quick hold them in place with her magic. The red energy pulses thrummed in the men’s ears, drowning out their cries of terror.

With sickening pops, one by one each of the men dropped to the forest floor. Each man crumpled into piles of blood flesh and bones

Wanda’s attention was now set on the metal box they had set on a stump. Another twinge of anger flared as she easily identified the material as iron. Like most fae and other non human creatures, iron was a weakness and caused you pain. Lifting a discarded knife, she used it to open the latch of the cage. Elementary looks or not, Wanda did not want to touch the Runes on the outer sides of the metal.

The front side dropped open with a harsh creak, revealing a black leather sack tied with a rope. As soon as your ears picked up on the sound of the cage door hitting the floor of wherever you were set on, you were fast to scurry out of the box. Still stuck in the bag, you only clumsily rolled yourself out and onto the forest floor trying to get out of it.

“Malyshka,” Wanda’s soft voice called. You stilled your thrashing, feeling her reach for you. She began to untie the knots of rope. “Are you alright?” You dramatically yowled.

Yes.

“I’m sure you’re just embarrassed.” She cooed. You yowled again.

And that you were, but she didn’t have to point it out. You could hear Wanda’s silent laugh. As soon as the bad was open, you were bolting out, soon falling into leaves as your legs gave out.

Wanda crouched down to your feline form. You were shaking, muscles stiff as you tried to catch your breath. Cat instincts at the forefront, seeing the bag spooked you again. Your back arched, inky black fur standing straight up as you turned to the bag. You hissed swatting at the fabric.

“Hey, now.” Wanda fearlessly plucked you up off the floor, you wiggled to find your footing, still feeling the global pins and needles from the iron. You stilled as you watched your lost pouch float towards the two of you surrounded by a red glow.

Wanda’s magic opened the ties and she discovered it was full of leaves. “Tricky girl,” she laughed, you purred, bumping your head against her chin. “Let’s go find your delivery.”

You lead Wanda back to the tin, the heirlooms still safely tucked away in their cloth wrapping, safe and sound.

When the two of you arrived home, to your horror Wanda gave you a bath. The leather bag had been soaked in oils often used in less savory business. Wanda could pick up on it right away, you hadn’t been in the bag for enough time to do any damage but the faster she got them off of you the better.

After you pathetically allowed her to scrub your black coat, you let her dry you with her magic. The moment you were dry you leapt off into hiding.

“Malyshka.” Wanda called.

She followed you to your chosen hiding spot inside the empty cauldron that sat on the floor. You had your paws spread out, eyes wide and looking like you were about to bolt. You knew better, Wanda most definitely wanted to clean you in both forms. Benign or not, she hated when you tracked other magic back into the house.

Just like a mother would to her kitten she grabbed your scruff before you could jump away. She fought against a laugh as your body reflexed into a learned helplessness position, legs and arms curled up in mid air.

When she had you back by the basin again, using her own magic she forced you back into your human form. You blinked twice.

She stared down at you as if waiting for something,

“I’m sorry, Mistress.” You squeezed out. She hummed in acknowledgment.

“Clothes off.” She ordered while her magic busied around her prepping the tub.

You obeyed wordlessly, already feeling for shame and guilt of the day ball together in your gut. You tugged yourself free of your final garment, folding it with the rest. You jumped at the feeling of her hands skimming along your bare back and don’t to your ribs. The bruise on your side had started to bloom from where the man had kicked you in your feline form.

She hushed you as her palm splayed over your ribs, you could sense the anger radiating off of her as she observed the tender skin. You felt the warm tingling sensation of her magic wrapping around her hands that held your skin. The dull pain began to reduce into nothing as she healed your flesh.

“Thank you.” You uttered.

She still said nothing, helping you step into the basin of warm water. She was stewing in her own anger, it wasn’t anything against you and she didn’t want to take it out on you.

She had stirred in her own mix of oils and lyes it filling the room with a pleasant smelling steam that had you relaxing into the water. Her silence continued as she scrubbed your skin until she deemed you clean of all foreign magic residue. She almost felt bad when she had finished, you had nearly fallen asleep in the tub.

Wanda dried you off with a towel and magic before allowing you to finally scurry away and sleep off today’s events. After cleaning up from your bath, she found your curled up inside of her linen closet.

“Malyshka.” Your slitted eyes blinked open. “You stay here. I have something to do.”

She scratched beneath your chin briefly before she retreated from the cottage. You opted to continue to sleep, closing your eyes and settle back down into your spot.

⚰︎ When Wanda returned, you could smell the strong scent of iron clinging to her skin and clothing. You made your appearance to her, sitting in front of the bathroom door. You yawned and blinked at her.

“Sleep well?” She greeted watching you sniff the air. You mewled, swishing your tail. The smell was filling up the air now, distorting the scent of your master that you loved so much. A human nose wouldn’t be as sensitive to it, but even in your own human form your senses were keen enough to notice it. Her eyebrow ticked upwards.

“Their benefactor is dead.” She informed you, passing by to drop her coat in the bin.

Thank you. You mewled again, waking in a circle from your spot at the bathroom doorway.

Wanda sighed. “I know, I know.” She stepped over you, peeling off her clothing as she went. You hopped up onto the sink and waited patiently as she scrubbed herself clean of the scent of death.

“You were very brave today, Malyshka.” She praised you as she dried her hair, another towel wrapped around her nude body. You sat on the counter watching her apply her facial oils.

She had hoped to coax you back to your human form now if you were feeling up to it. It seemed to be working, she could hear your loud purrs sounding out as you followed her to the bedroom. You hopped onto the bed turning to face her.

“And so smart of you to swap out your delivery.” She gave you a smile. “Even though that is not what they were really after, you still took the time to hide it.”

The tip of your tail dluytered detailing your silent excitement to her praises. While Wanda turned again to discard of her towel, she felt your magic spike as you shifted back to your human form. When she turned back to face the bed, you were still bare of your own clothing, sitting legs cross-crossed on top of the bedding. Wanda knelt onto the bed, carding a hand through your still damp hair. Your eyes fluttered closed feeling her blunt fingernails scrape along your scalp.

“You did such a good job, today.” She smiled.

⚰︎ [𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚠] Wanda cupped a hand at your cheek, pulling your lips to her own. You had to lean forward with the awkward angle from where you sat. Her hand traveled down to your breast, thumbing over your nipple. You withdrew as your breathing stuttered, hovering your lips against her own.

“Every good pet deserves her reward.” She reminded you while her hand traveled lower. Her fingers ghosted over your core, feeling the aching need for her begin to flood your system. You swallowed thickly with a nod.

“Thank you, Mistress.” You breathed as fingers parted your folds. Her fingers dipping to feel your wetness. A warm smile spread onto her face as she pushed you backwards with a small yelp. Your legs uncrossed and laid limp along the mattress.

Kneeling over you, Wanda’s hand slithered back between your thighs. Her fingers started stroking slow circles around your clit, watching as your breathing picked up from the stimulation. Your hands fisted the duvet below you as you moaned softly, hips twitching against the slow ministrations. Her fingers eventually picked up, watching the unsteady movement of your hips respond to her.

When she deemed you ready enough, Wanda grabbed ahold of your leg, slotting it over her own hip. She leaned down to kiss your lips once again, pulling your thigh closer to her. Releasing you from her kiss she pressed her hips forward, both of you moaning as her core slid forward against your wetness. She fell into a steady rhyth, red magic climbing your skin like vines.

“M-Mistress, please I-” you cried out as she adjusted her grip on your thigh, drawing her hips back further to thrust against you. Your pussy drooled as she ground her hips against you, stimulating your already sensitive clit.

“Please may I cum?” You asked her. She looked down at you with a pitied look. Even though you knew this was a reward you were using your manners. Her pet was so polite. “You don’t need me permission tonight.” She informed you as she reached out and pulled at one of your nipples roughly.

You came a loud moan ripping through you, one hand still gripped onto the sheets and the other holding Wanda’s thigh for dear life. She didn’t stop, thrusting her hips against yours clumsily until she came, soaking your own cunt in her release.

You lazily stared up at her as Wanda kissed at your thigh in her grip while sucking lightly at your warmed skin. She allowed you to lay and catch your breath before she was pulling you up effectively swapping places. You sat at her waist, messy cunt soiling her bare skin. “C’mere.” Wanda pulled your hips forward ushering you to crawl up her body. Once your legs were bracketing her head did you truly understand what she was implying.

“Let me give you your reward, Malyshka.”

You nodded, lowering your hips hesitantly, both hands holding the headboard. You felt her own hands rub at your thighs, encouraging you to be more bold. You felt her tongue swipe up your folds, but before you could run from the sensation, you felt the warm sensation of her magic spread through you. It locked you in your place against her, as her tongue explored your holds deeper. Her magic tightened its hold around you and pulled you down against her mouth further.

When her lips sealed around your clit your body lurched forward, a loud keen ripping from your throat. She slurped at your folds, greedily drinking down your essence. One of your hands held the headboard, the tiger threaded through Wanda’s hair; her own hand around your thigh.

Wanda’s fingers of her free hand began to prod at your entrance, magic curling from her fingertips. You felt the warm tingle of it firing off every nerve in its wake, pushing you into your next orgasm.

It surprised you, your entire body lurching forward. Wanda didn’t stop, tongue still working on your clit, suckling it between her lips. You felt her magic pushing her magic deeper, pleasure spiking your system into overdrive. You sobbed against the pillows, breathing in large gulps of your master’s scent.

“I can’t- I can’t.” Your instinct to crawl away from the overstimulation was foiled, her magic still held you tight to her face. You felt your orgasm next building; a deep pressure in your core. You clawed at the bedding.

“I’m. Mmm…” Your words died into a cry of pained pleasure. Wanda nipped at your sensitive bundle of nerves. You looked down at her to meet her intense stare, you were blinking rapidly, eyes beginning to fill with unshed tears.

You may think she was being mean that she wanted you to cry. She knew you inside and out, you would internalize today’s earlier events and try to ignore and work through it’s. She was just forcing the emotional reaction out of you before you buried your feelings away.

She nipped at your clit again, this time harder all while her magic massaged and stimulated your inner walls.

You came with a loud sob, soaking Wanda’s face and neck. Your final release had your vision fading away, coming to against Wanda’s chest. You sobbed against her breast, all the negative emotions of the day finally poured out.

She held you in her arms, whispering lullaby’s and enchantments in a language you didn’t understand until you drifted off to sleep.

the timed post was missing the bottom chunk that wrote forgot to copy over lolz if you missed the face sitting i’m sorry diva