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courfee · 17 hours
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messing up his hair is actually just an excuse to show off his biceps
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lilbeanz · 3 days
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"DO YOU HAVE AN APPOINTMENT"
I'm losing my shit beans holy hell
Ah, yes. Another of my fave moments to write 😂💛
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merlinpinkpant · 2 days
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🐍
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ginevrapng · 3 days
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I just want to put an idea in your head that’s been living in mine.
George Weasley x reader x Theo Nott
Smut and all I just feel like a 3sum with them would be nice 😭
thats a good idea omg! i've been ruminating about this concept since i got this ask a couple months back! so i've got a couple of headcanons about them (readers hogwarts house isn't specified) i hope you enjoy this bestie<3
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- both are very house proud people. george is much more louder about being a proud gryffindor whereas theo doesn't talk about how much better slytherins are but likes to prove it.
- because of this sex with them together would be super competitive, they both want to give you more pleasure than the other one and love hearing you say their name out of the two of them.
- theo would smirk after you move your hips upwards and arch your back while he's eating you out, trying to get more from him. "who's making you feel this good princess? tell weasley how good you feel."
- george would chuckle as you grab hold of his forearm trying to ground yourself as he fingers you. "that feel good sweetheart? yeah i bet it does. you keep holding onto me tight baby and moan my name."
- theo prefers anal and fucking your thighs, george prefers blowjobs and vaginal sex
- they're definitely not into each other... they don't find each other attractive... if they constantly makeout with each other every time you're sandwiched between them that's no one's business and they won't bring it after.
- if theo will make goading comments to george about how george left hogwarts early and he personally has always been more academic all while wrapping his hand around his throat or pulling him down by his hair so he can help you suck his cock then that's no one's business.
- theo will stay away from teasing about topics that he knows will actually upset george though or make him feel insecure in anyway.
- for example he never brings up fred, even after sex or in a joking matter, knowing that it makes him anxious and insecure about his self worth. all the time you're unknowingly making george feel one of the most amazing men in the world as you babble about how perfect he is, and how he's so hot and big and feels so good as he's thrusting into you. all either you or theo care about is george, neither of you have time for any other weasley or any other gryffindor and george has no other time for any one that isn't the two of you.
- if george teases theo about how he's sleeping with a weasley of all people, a blood traitor and a gryffindor while kissing his neck and leaving love bites across his collarbone and chest that only the three of you to see then that's no one's business. if he's telling knott that he's the only slytherin he knew back in hogwarts who he could ever stand that's no one's business.
- both were serial dating hoppers before they met you, george more than theo though. they both liked being with a new girl every couple of weeks and having one night stands but then you came into both of their lives. before you neither of them had been with a man either.
- definitely have all said 'i love you' in the heat of the moment but never actually talked about it.
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sunsfawn · 10 hours
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happy birthday to my fave dilf
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jun-hug · 16 hours
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comfort
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Y/n: Congratulations, you three have won gold, silver, and bronze in the morons’ Olympics.
Pansy:
Theo:
Draco: who won gold?
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rip remus lupin you would have loved wordle
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hp-hcs · 2 days
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• smut• and lead us nott into temptation — asshole! pureblood! dom bottom! theodore nott x male! muggleborn! catholic! sub top! reader
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requested by 🦈 anon! (aka my silly goofy lil guy <3)
WARNING: if you don’t like sacrilegious shit or gay male reader inserts, KEEP SCROLLING
i’ve got enough religious trauma to last me many lifetimes, so writing this one was just like ✍️🥲📿
tws: ⚠️dub-con⚠️, 🔞smut mdni🔞, literally no plot, manipulation, coercion, amab reader, virgin reader, corruption kink, pure blasphemy ngl, inappropriate use of religious prayers, lot of shit talking about the catholic church, gratuitous use of em-dashes, gratuitous use of the pet-name “angel”
you and theo are dormmates or something? idfk man this is literally just 2.2k words of depravity
not edited cause tbh i’m hella embarrassed that i wrote this
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“…hallowed be thy na— Theo?”
“What are you doing?” your roommate asked as he stepped inside your shared dorm, his eyebrows furrowing as his gaze focused on the rosary in your hand. 
“Praying,” you mumble, cheeks flushing under his heavy stare. 
“You’re religious?” he asked, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “You believe in all that Muggle deity bullshit?”
“Yes.” You stiffened, lips twisting in distaste at his choice of words. 
You could physically see his pupils dilate at your affirmative answer. 
“Shit,” he mumbled under his breath. “So you’re…what, celibate, or whatever it’s called?”
You startled at the sudden change of topic. 
“Um…abstinent, yes,” you corrected, taking a step backwards as he moved closer. 
“Shit,” he cursed again. “That’s fuckin’ hot.”
He kept moving forward, crowding you back against the wall. You squeaked when he rested his hand against the wall beside your head, blocking you in on one side. He gently, but firmly, gripped your jaw in his other hand. His gaze raked up and down your body.
You gulped. “Th-Theo, what’re you d—”
He cut you off with a harsh kiss. 
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft or sweet. It was Theo biting your bottom lip hard enough to bleed, tightening his grip on your jaw to wrench it open, and shoving his tongue in your mouth.
You were frozen, the rosary slipping from your fingers and hitting the floor with a loud clatter. After an aggressively…passionate? possessive? minute, Theo pulled back. 
“My sweet little angel,” he cooed, gently stroking the side of your face. “So pretty and pure.”
Your skin prickled under his touch, at the way his eyes darkened with hunger. The way his gentle caress belied the drop of blood running down your chin. 
He looked like sin. The way his hair curled above his ears, his pretty pink lips dotted red with your blood…
He looked like the Devil himself. 
“I want you to fuck me, Y/n,” Theo murmured unabashedly into your ear. 
Your knees trembled. Your heart raced. Your eyes were so wide, it was near painful. “Wh-what?”
“Please, angel? I want you to fuck me,” Theo whispered against your lips, a sensual tone in his voice. 
“Or,” he sighed over-dramatically, really playing it up, “if you want to remain a prude, you can tell me to stop right now and I will; no hard feelings.”
You trembled. What were you doing? Why were you even considering this?
Theo’s hand remained on your waist, and he ran his thumb across your bottommost rib in a steady pattern, back and forth, as he waited for your answer. 
“L-Leviticus 18:22,” you spluttered, doing your damn best to ignore the way the sunlight streaming through your dorm window highlighted and accentuated Theo’s gorgeous bone structure. “Th-thou shalt not lie with m-mankind, as with womankind: it is a-abomination.”
“That’s not a no.”
“That’s not a yes!” you argued. “Besides, lust is a sin of its own!”
“No, this doesn’t count.” He waved a hand dismissively. “It’s an abomination, not sex. Says so right in your little book. So therefore…” his fingers wandered down to the waistband of your trousers, dipping teasingly underneath to ghost over your hip bone before retreating. “Therefore it can’t be lust.”
It was the most backwards logic you’d ever heard. 
But it was hard to think about turning him away when the heel of his hand was suddenly pressing against the front of your trousers. 
“I-it…it isn’t?” you choke out, a confusing new sensation sparking in your stomach. “A-are you sure?”
“Of course,” Theo said, so confidently that you couldn’t help but believe him. 
“I-if you’re sure…” you trailed off, eyes widening as Theo dropped like a rock, his knees hitting the flagstone with a resounding crack that you wished you could record, just so you could listen to it over and over and over again. 
His impatient fingers fumbled with the button of your trousers, yanking them and your boxers down to your mid-thigh in a single smooth motion. 
You flushed bright red at the mere notion of being naked from the waist down in front of another person; let alone Theo, the boy who’d been your roommate for the last eight years. 
He kept his gaze firmly locked with yours, those unnervingly dead eyes framed with sinfully long lashes, as he flattened his tongue against the base of your dick and licked a long, slow stroke up the length of it. 
“Oh, fuck—” you cursed, your head falling backwards and hitting the wall behind you with a solid thunk. 
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse before.” He grinned, his thumb swiping over the head of your dick and collecting the dribble of precum that was steadily leaking from the tip before spreading it around. 
You whined pathetically, your thighs shaking as a moan was wrenched from your lips. Theo grinned wickedly at how debauched you already looked. 
Without a speck of hesitation, he closed his mouth around your dick, his clever tongue teasing the underside. He hollowed his cheeks around you and you gasped out a choked-off moan. 
Theo’s hand snaked up and found your wrist, guiding your hand to the mess of curls on the top of his head. Your fingers tightened in his hair, gripping onto a handful of it for dear life just to keep yourself from passing out from the overwhelming pleasure. Honestly, the only thing keeping you from falling over was Theo’s tight grip on your hips. 
“Shit shit shit shit—”
He pulled off of your dick with a sinful pop. 
“Keep reciting,” Theo rasped, his voice already rough and breathless. 
“Wh-what?”
“I interrupted your prayer when I walked in here. Keep reciting.”
You gulped, licking your lips nervously as you tried to remember where you’d left off before fully giving up and just starting the Our Father over. “O-Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Th-thy kingdom come, thy w-will be done, on Earth as it— hah~”
Your head fell back against the wall again as Theo sucked furiously on the tip of your dick, all of your thoughts going out the window. 
Theodore, that bastard, pulled off again.
You whined at the loss. “No- d-don’t—”
“Ah ah ah,” Theo chided, patting your thigh. “You stop, I stop. Keep going.”
You hissed out a displeased grumble before returning to your prayer as he returned to his S-tier dick sucking. “O-on Earth as it is in H-Heaven. G-give us this d-day our— Theo— daily b-bread—”
His fingers slipped down from your hip to brush against the sensitive skin behind your balls. 
Your hips jerked forward on instinct, and Theo moaned like a cheap whore around your cock as it was shoved down his throat, his nose suddenly buried in your pubes. 
“And f-forgive us our tre-trespasses…” you panted, fingers tightening their grip on his hair as your eyes squeezed shut. 
There was an odd sensation, like a coil tightening, behind your belly button. It was strange, although not unpleasant. 
“…as we f-forgive those who— who trespass aga-against us.”
Theo pulled away again. You opened your mouth to curse him out—Heaven knows he deserved it, the damn tease—when he got to his feet and promptly shucked off his shirt and trousers, dropping his boxers without a hint of modesty or insecurity. 
You stared, mouth agape, as Theo wandered over to his bed, seemingly in no hurry. He slowly splayed himself out on his bed for you, casting a wandless lubrication charm with a sly grin and an easy, relaxed posture that was belied by his achingly hard cock practically touching his stomach. 
“Close your mouth, angel,” he purred, beckoning you closer with two fingers. “You might catch flies.”
You took a small step forward, entranced by the sight in front of you.
“Keep praying, angel,” Theo murmured, running a hand through his already-disheveled curls—which only served in making his just-fucked hairstyle even more pronounced. 
“A-and lead us n-not into temptation,”—Theodore Nott was nothing if not temptation in its purest form—“but deliver us from evil.”
 You took another step closer, then another, until you were by his bedside. “Amen.”
“Amen,” Theo echoed, reaching for you with one hand. His fingers knotted themselves in your shirt, yanking you down on top of him. 
He grabbed the back of your neck and smashed his lips against yours. You wiggled, kicking your trousers and boxers off from where they were still stuck around your knees before pulling back to gasp for air. 
Theo grabbed the front of your shirt again, yanking on it. “Off.”
You complied without a second thought, tugging your shirt off over your head in one fluid motion. 
Theo groaned at the sight of your body as you tossed your shirt God-knows-where. He grabbed the back of your neck again and tugged you into another passionate kiss. 
“One day, ‘m gonna ride you,” he mumbled against your lips, running a possessive hand over your stomach. “My fuckin’ gorgeous boy. But today, you’re gonna fuck me.”
He pulled you fully on top of him, your knees between his, your forearms flat against the mattress on either side of the boy underneath you. 
“Y’know, I never told you to stop praying,” Theo murmured, reaching downwards. His fingers tightened around your cock, stroking it a few times before guiding it closer to his ass and pushing his body down against it. 
You swallowed nervously as you took the not-so-subtle hint, taking a deep breath before slowly pressing the tip in and continuing your Rosary. “H-Hail Mary, f-full of Gr—ah!—ace—”
You had to pause then to bury your head in the crook of his neck, your breathing coming in shaky gasps. Your body zinged with pleasure, your toes curling. 
“That’s it, baby,” Theo cooed, petting your hair gently. “Doing so good. Keep going. Makin’ me feel so good.”
“Th-the Lord is with thee. Blessed art th-thou amongst women—” you whispered breathlessly against his sweaty skin, pausing again for another second to compose yourself before you very slowly and hesitantly pressed in further. 
Theo’s knees tightened around your hips as he dug his heels into the backs of your thighs, urging you closer. “Sh-shit— angel, I need you to go in all the way. C-can you do that for me, pretty boy?”
You nodded and took a deep breath, and slowly and carefully pushed yourself all the way in, bottoming out inside of him after an agonizingly long moment. 
Theo gasped sharply as soon as you were fully seated inside of him. His fingers tightened their grip on your shoulders until his nails managed to break the skin. You leaned down to press your lips against his—much more gently than he had—and moaned into his mouth at the slight sting from his nails. 
Theo sighed in pleasure against your lips and returned the kiss. “M-move, angel. Need you t-to move.”
You slowly pulled nearly all the way out, your eyes fixed on his face. You wanted to document every facial expression, every muscle twitch, everything that Theo did while underneath you. 
Watching his lower lip tremble as a moan spilled out of him had to be your breaking point. Your hips snapped forward of their own accord, quickly filling him back up. “A-and blessed- is- the- fruit- fuck- of thy w-oh!-mb, Jesus.”
His head fell backwards with a loud cry, his nails raking up your back as he scrambled for anything to cling onto. “Yes! Fuck— harder!”
“H-Holy Mar— shit! M-Mary, Mother of G-God…”
You sped up, driving into him faster and harder with every frantic demand that left his lips. You let out a high whine as Theo leaned up to suck on the tender flesh under your jaw with a feral-like possessiveness. Red and purple marks had already begun to bloom along your neck and jaw. 
The coil in your stomach tightened even further.
“Th-Theo, I don’t— wh-what’s—?” you stuttered, panicking at the unfamiliar sensation. 
“Y-you about to cum, angel?” he panted. He stroked a gentle hand over your lower abdomen. “You feel s-something funny right here?”
You whimpered and nodded frantically. “P-please— I’m gonna—”
“No. Hold it, angel.”
“Wh-what?”
“You don’t get to finish until you finish your prayer, baby boy.”
You hissed in discomfort. “P-pray for us sinners—”
Your words were interrupted by a high-pitched moan from Theo as his back arched off the bed. He started chanting your name, over and over again, like a prayer of his own. 
His fingers scrabbled for a hold on your shoulders as he tightened around you. “Shit shit shit— ‘m not g-gonna last— fuck! Cum for me, angel,” Theo pleaded, his nails digging further into your back and leaving long marks that quickly blossomed into a rich pink color. 
“Nowandatthehourofourdeath!” you rushed the last line with a near-shriek as the coil in your abdomen exploded, your toes curling again and your vision going white. Your arms buckled and you collapsed on top of Theo, who was experiencing the exact same thing as you.
You both just laid there in a sweaty heap, limp and boneless from your respective mind-blowing orgasms. 
“Amen,” Theo said softly, finishing your prayer. He casted a wandless cleaning spell on the both of you before gently wrapping his arms around you and stroking your scratched-up back as you both came down from your highs. You let out a pleased purr at the feeling of his soft touch gently brushing over your stinging scratches, a wordless spell from Theo methodically coating the marks with a numbing topical ointment. 
You echoed the sentiment after a moment of catching your breath, content to just cuddle with him in this moment. You pressed a kiss to the side of Theo’s throat and whispered a singular word against his skin, “Amen.”
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delicrieux · 3 days
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𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑶 𝑷𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑫, 5. year one: early september, 1972
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pairing for this chapter—f!lestrange!reader x regulus black warnings for this chapter—none word count—1.9k
the woes of the first week.
masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | ttp masterlist | < back | next >
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 “how is she?” you inquire.
evan remains quiet for a few moments, the very picture of misery. sad eyes pour down the letter held between steady fingers, toast and marmalade untouched by his elbow. he had read it trice and still remains unsatisfied. if you weren’t as tired, you’d snatch it out his hands to inspect it yourself. unfortunately, both of you seem to have been tormented by a sleepless night.
“completely bedridden,” he surmises. there’s a pinch between his brows that will become routine when he’ll be faced with something inconsiderate. you know upon notice, and it feels as though you always knew, “from a common cold.”
hardly a novelty, “hope she gets better soon,” she never does, and anyone but evan would scoff at the words. you wonder if he ever tires of hearing them. a porcelain cup between your palms warms you – black tea and balmy fumes against your skin, “how’d she catch it, anyway?”
“exploring the garden,”
“thought she wasn’t allowed to do that.”
“you’ve met pandora,” he grumbles, folding the letter neatly before hiding it inside the inner lapels of his cloak. close to the heart, where all important things should remain, “a rambunctious child,” he says, as if he isn’t one. the miasma of his father’s perfume doesn’t enfold him. he seems particularly young in the pale morning light, “don’t think she realises the consequences.”
no, surely she does not. sickly and dream-like, pandora rosier speaks little and feels too much. the sight of a butterfly’s torn wing had distraught her so horribly that she fell comatose for a week before she awoke mid-winter with a terrible headache and no recollection of the occurrence. mrs rosier had forbid anyone to speak of it, and pandora was no longer allowed to play in the manor’s garden without an escort. every space needed to be scrubbed and tailored before she was to step foot in it.
not that it helped much. once, pandora told you that she saw mirages in the dancing dust. you thought her terribly stupid and suggested to play dolls instead.
“how will she fare, i wonder,” you think yourself sounding very diplomatic, like mrs rosier when she masked worry with a pinched lip and a slight raise of a brow. your weathered gaze sweeps the sleepy gaggle of children seeking breakfast in the great hall. today, it is much less impressive than the night of the sorting, “hogwarts is hardly up to standards.”
truly, headless ghosts and moving armours, twisting staircases and wailing portraits, not to mention the great expanse of rolling hills and the murky depths of the black lake, still as glass against the trees when you peeked at it this morning. you imagine pandora would faint at the sight of a ripple, or burst into tears upon a still portraits sudden, uncanny movement.
evan must have considered this for far longer than you have. he shrugs. either he doesn’t want to say or he doesn’t want to speak of this further. both fit you fine, for your interest in young pandora goes as far as politeness wills it.
“where’s regulus?” he switches topic idly, pouring some milk into a steaming cup that appeared by his right hand no sooner than he moved it.
“how should i know,” perhaps a tone too petulant for such an offhanded comment, “sleeping, probably.”
he tuts, “surprised you’re awake.”
“i'm very diligent and studious,” you remark, which only earns a quiet chortle. a year ago you would have smacked him. perhaps you haven’t changed so much, because he nurses his shoulder with a glare pointed in your direction, “don’t pout, you look like a pug.”
whatever else he was going to mumble is lost under the threat of more violence. perhaps he has no fight in him. it is very early. you would say you awoke at sunrise, watching it gleam through the water and onto the cold tiles of the slytherin common room. but that would be a lie. you hardly slept at all.
there was no clear reason for it, not that you could name. a restless uneasy spiked once you laid your head down on the cool pillow. your eyes didn’t close, even when they grew heavy from each slow blink. they got used to the dark. you could outline the faint silver embroidery of the curtain around your bed. hear matilda’s hushed breaths and marzy’s quiet snore. the overhead gurgle of pipes. the groan of old wooden structures as you moved, and the rustle of linen sheets. all these sights and sounds distracted you. you kept thinking, but it was too fragmented to understand. at once there was the pungent burn of a record and melted lemon fudge on your tongue.
you wished, for a moment, to find regulus, though you were unsure of what you would do once you located him, nor why you wanted it in the first place. this thought soon warped into a bitter ache because he hadn’t searched you out first. he should know, of course, when you’re unhappy, and he should do something instead of sleeping soundly as if to mock you.
“have you spoken to slughorn?” evan pulls you out of your musings. like a true gentleman, he keeps his elbows off the table and speaks only when he’s done chewing.
“he invited regulus and i for tea and biscuits,” you recall. evan hums in agreement.
“i've got tea with him today. with barty.”
“matilda and marzipan are scheduled for tomorrow, i think,” you say, “curious what to expect?”
“i assume praises about our good blood and magical potential?” he raises a brow with a sideways glance.
you smile, “it’s not so horrid. you can tune him out after the first ten minutes, he hardly says anything worthwhile after.”
the head of your house, the esteemed potion and poison pioneer and rigorous socialite, horace slughorn, is a well-known figure to you outside of the classroom. an invitation is always extended to him during particularly big socials, and he’s always delighted smarmy around the upper echelon of the wizarding world. while his focus then was mostly directed at figures such as your father and others of equal importance, he always gave you a caramel toffee once you were instructed to say hello.
now, of course, you are very much important, a star jewel in his collection of significant children, and he extended his summons to you and regulus personally, and wanted just the two of you alone. you suppose slughorn split you all into pairs so he wouldn’t run out of compliments. you adore being adored, though his praises had felt a tad shallow, and the tea too sweet.
“when’s it, anyway?”
“after dinner,” evan sighs; more students pile into the hall.
“don’t sound all that enthusiastic.”
“can you blame me?”
you make a face, stuck somewhere between scrutiny and pity. no, you can’t really blame him, but that doesn’t mean you shan’t.
thankfully, the conversation melts to silence as you spot a disgruntled and sleepy bartimus and a much more composed regulus. they enter together, seemingly engrossed in a hushed conversation that doesn’t bode well for either, but they lighten up marginally when they see you and evan, pristine even in these unforgiving hours.
“blimey,” barty all of throws himself into a nearby seat, and the table sprouts a hearty breakfast to feed the insatiable crouch stomach, “this toad,” he points with his thumb at regulus, who, still adoring a slight frown, takes a seat beside you. naturally. barty will likely tease him once he’s done cowing over his woes, “woke me at the crack of dawn, moaning about how we’ll be late. we’ve got history of magic, for merlin’s sake. coulda slept in fine and missed zilch.”
“tragic.” is all evan says.
“did you get here early?” regulus greets instead of a good morning. he seems a tad weary, but is, overall, managing quite better than either you or your sombre seatmate. he leans a little, and you lean back, to catch evan’s gaze, “thought i heard the door opening.”
“clearly,” seems rosier’s potency for polite conversation has gone down drastically since your chat. perhaps he’s grown bored, or more tired, or is simply fed up at the sight of barty scarfing down his meal, “you know no one’s gonna take it from you.”
“i'll take from you, though,” barty says, pilfering some toast from evan’s plate.
“did you get a chance to visit the library?” regulus asks, once again, evan.
“shall we switch seats?” you inquire pointedly.
regulus spares you a glance, “i'm fine here.”
if you could roll your eyes more they’d lodge into the back of your skull. the morning is saved, however, by marzy and matilda entering with their arms linked. you spring up, grabbing at your book bag, much to the startle of the boys.
“leaving us for girls?” barty accuses.
“i’m a girl,” you huff, greatly insulted by such a statement, “and i'd much rather enjoy my breakfast with pretty company instead of this sorry sort,” before you can so much as make it a few steps, regulus pipes up.
“will you sit with me at history?”
you frown, “absolutely not!”
you do. and what is worse, you are dragged into the front row. barty and evan sit in the back, no doubt by the former’s request – easier to sleep, or cheat, out of the professor’s peripheries. marzy and matilda sit somewhere in the middle, and the rest of the company is largely unfamiliar to you – some pale-faced ravenclaws and still sleepy hufflepuffs, a few gryffindors with an abundance of school supplies taking everything out with as much volume as expected. this year’s crop of first years is, overall, quite small.
regulus takes out his quills and parchment. hogwarts: a history lays under the sunrays as you stare, willing it to catch on fire. what a feat that’d be, wandless magic on your first week with only a few simple charms under your belt. perhaps you’d be so revelled that the faculty would let you skip this course entirely. no such luck.
regulus nudges you with his elbow, feeling particularly pesky today. you don’t react, opting for scribbling the date on the top of your yellowed paper. he gives you a few moments before he does so again. you write your name. hear him sigh. good, he should feel bad for what he’s done.
“are you angry with me?” he asks quietly, minding the loud conversation just behind you, “i'm not sure what i’ve done to upset you.”
in all fairness, you’re not quite sure, either. the complexities of your mind have yet to be sorted into the words familiar to you. all that you do know is that everything here feels strange, and if you knew the term for it, perhaps it would be called homesickness.
not that you’d ever tell him. regulus changes a bit if front of evan and barty, but such was always the case, only never so apparent. perhaps you have been grieving this difference since you got here. that things will change, and that they are changing, and that you’re changing, as well. you feel as though you should be spared such a premonition. you’re too young to be so self-aware.
“it’s nothing,” you decide to forgive him for his mishaps. he is just a boy. your stupid regulus. your offering of peace is a smile. momentarily, he seems struck by it, looking at you even when you turn back to your parchment and the quirk of your lips melts into a placid line.
somewhere, a thread is weaved.
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that-bitch-kat3 · 10 hours
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rip sirius black you would have loved mother mother
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moonlightdancer26 · 16 hours
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People calling every severus looking mf Sirius is my villain origin story
SAMEEEEE OMGGGG I HATE IT SM. ESP WHEN THE SEVERUS LOOKALIKE THAT GETS CALLED SIRIUE IS MORE FEMININE LOOKING AND HAS MORE OF A LONER PERSONALITY. “he’s a Sirius variant / he’s so Sirius” LIKE WDYM BRO THAT IS LITERALLY SNAPE
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lilbeanz · 8 hours
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My brain thoughout golden snidget: PANSY PANSY PANSY PANSY DRACO DRACO DRACO HARRY HERMIONE HARRY DRACO DRARRY PANSY PANSY PANSY FOOLS IN LOVE DRARRY DRARRY DRARRY
Thank youuu for creating such awesome stuffs!!!
Haha! Indeed! Miss Pansy truly got her moment in the Golden Snidget! 😆✨️
Thank *you* for enjoying the stuffs🥺💖
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work-world-use-role · 20 hours
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sneverussape · 3 days
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monday meetings are the worst, especially if your colleagues insist on pushing their utter nonsense of an agenda
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t1oui · 17 hours
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barty crouch jr. is eleven the first time evan rosier takes his breath away.
he's a second year in barty's house, with warm brown skin and blonde hair and amber eyes that flash gold in the sunlight. he knows regulus. one of barty's dormmates, somehow, and he smiles at barty like he wants to know him, too.
barty is thirteen when he finally figures out what the butterflies in his stomach mean.
they're sitting down at the lake, barty on the grass, soaking up the sun. pandora sits on a blanket next to him, her half of it in the sun, the other half underneath regulus in the shade of a tree. dora's busied herself with making flower crowns, and evan and dorcas are swinging at each other and laughing, both ankle deep in the water of the black lake. evan reaches up to kick water at her, and the silver of his anklet - a thin chain with a silver daisy charm hanging off of it - catches the light.
dorcas ducks away and shoves evan square in the chest, sending him stumbling back a few steps before he finally lands hard on the grass next to barty. it must've hurt, even in the soft green, but instead of wincing, he just turns to barty and grins.
oh, barty thinks. it's so obvious, he thinks.
barty is a fourth year the first time he kisses evan rosier.
it's the first christmas he doesn't go home for. he spends long hours knocking about the castle, staying out past both the regular curfew and the one made later for the break.
"can't sleep, crouch?" evan had asked him, making him jump, polished prefect badge - no doubt pandora's handiwork - sparkling from his collar. and suddenly there was mistletoe and the chance to finally make his fantasies a reality. there was the taste of evan's lips (vanilla) and the smell of his shampoo (cucumber) and the feeling of his arms around barty's waist (intoxicating).
even on that dreary, cold evening, there was hope.
barty is a sixth year when regulus begins going out with james potter.
they're on the train, barty halfway out the window, evan's arms tight around his middle in the fear of him falling, and barty hoots with laughter when regulus jumps into potter's arms. potter's a seventh year like evan. head boy, a gryffindor, and one of pandora's best friends, for some reason.
"leave them be, barty," evan snorts, pulling him back through the window. barty watches him, opening his mouth to speak, only to be swiftly cut off by his boyfriend adding, "we can be as dramatic as we like, but i'm not risking missing this train just so we can kiss in front of it."
barty groans in protest, but by that point regulus has arrived at the door to their compartment with a sheepish-looking james potter in tow, so he decides to annoy them instead.
barty is seventeen the first time he comes to hogwarts without evan, and it makes him feel empty.
he's still got regulus and dorcas, of course, but there's a gaping hole in the group now that the twins have graduated. regulus is quiet without james to bring him out of his shell. dorcas doesn't cheer as hard during quidditch games - ones without regulus in them, of course - without marlene mckinnon there to cheer on. and barty? barty isn't himself without ev there to easy his anxieties.
night after night, barty and regulus curl up in the same bed for nights of bad rest. it gets easier, over time. letters pile up. floo calls happen weekly. and while regulus and dorcas struggle, barty thinks about the future. the one decided by him, and not anyone else.
two days after his eighteenth birthday, barty steps off the hogwarts express for the last time.
regulus and dorcas don't hesitate to sprint past him towards james and marlene, who wait with evan futher down the platform. barty, though, hesitates. gives himself a moment to take a deep breath, smile at evan, and start running.
evan envelopes him in a hug, his arms a reassuring weight around barty.
"you must be tired," he whispers, the hint of a smile in his voice. "eight newts, barty. you're insane."
barty grins into evan's chest. "i missed you too, rosie," he mumbles. he lets out a content sigh he didn't realize he was holding in, and evan hums.
"welcome home, love," he says. "our home."
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