Chapter Text
Two Months Ago...
Sutton
🖤🖤🖤
"This is absolutely mental."
Sutton Blackwell stared at the laptop in front of her, seeing the little mask icon in the center of the screen repetitively spin in a circle until it finally disappeared, the words, 'welcome Bookworm18' flashing across it in petite, block letters. As her profile came into view, she took a moment to scan over every significant detail of the site before reality sunk in.
She was truly doing this — creating an account on a notorious dark wizarding website; one where wizards and witches alike went to indulge in a community of the most wicked of fantasies. She supposed she was one of those numbers now. Sutton would've giggled at the hilarity of the situation had she not been overcome by the pounding of her pulse in her ears.
Damn Hermione for sharing such a thing with her.
The wretched witch she currently called her best friend had innocently dropped the name of the salacious site days prior, and Sutton had been unable to scrub it from her memory.
She'd never been one to be adventurous within the bedroom, nor was she ever one to fantasize about sexual explorations that were considered to be questionable or untraditional. Although, when Hermione Granger had mentioned the fact that one of her distant cousins had shared the name of an online platform called Masquerade, Sutton found herself embarrassingly intrigued.
According to Hermione, Masquerade was a network solely set up for witches and wizards who had very... niche desires. Everyone on the platform was expected to remain anonymous, unless they so chose to divulge such information, and if private messages evolved into video chats, it was typical for users to wear masks to conceal their identities.
Sutton wasn't quite sure why, but the idea of donning a mask seemed thrilling. Having the ability to be herself, to discover various realms of desire without the worry of judgement from those around her, it was sort of... freeing.
She had a feeling that if any of her friends found out what she was about to do, they'd lock her up and declare her nuts. Including Hermione. Especially Hermione. Her friend, for as much as she adored her, was rather haughty and uptight.
Sutton chewed absently on her fingernail, feeling the week old pink polish peel off on her tongue.
No, she would keep this a secret.
Just for herself. At least until she figured out if the little inkling in the back of her mind was truly something she needed to explore.
And in truth, what was there to really lose anyway?
It was unlikely she'd ever meet, let alone know, those who frequented Masquerade. They were essentially strangers. She would be nothing more than a collection of letters to them. A screen name. And perhaps, just maybe, she actually needed this. She needed a space where she could be a bit more daring, a little less... good.
Steeling her nerves, Sutton began to scroll through the side bar. There were hundreds of different suggestions — anything from BDSM to mask play. She couldn't see the intrigue for either, but she supposed that's what this was all for. Figuring out what she liked, what made the blood pump a little faster in her veins.
She took her time clicking on various options. There were some accounts that had posted videos. Others that offered role play scenarios. Neither of which she was really sure about yet.
She moved on.
Her thumb hovered over the page, scrolling through each option, until the words, 'Dominant/Submissive Roles' appeared in her line of view. Sutton paused.
She'd heard this particular phrase thrown around a time or two, often in the muggle romance novels she bought from the bookshop back home, but it had never once tugged at her the way it did now.
Before she could question herself, Sutton clicked on the section. A list of scenarios appeared on her screen, detailing just how someone might play the role of the dominant, and how one might play the role of the submissive. She knew there was no shame in obedience, but there was something in the way that this particular representation of subservience was described that caused her stomach to twist with nerves.
The idea that someone might, in theory, control her felt so taboo. But oddly enough, it also made her heart beat a little faster.
Sutton continued to work the polish off her nail as she curiously clicked on the assorted suggestions. A few videos popped up, some of which she played before proceeding to quickly turn them off.
That was a definite no to... whatever that was.
She went back to the selection in the side bar, scanning until she came across a new one that caught her eye.
Bondage.
She stared at the word as if it were foreign to her, before finally, with great thought, clicking forward. She'd never attempted anything like it, but the idea of being restrained made her cheeks burn.
She knew she was a bit of a prude, and that her friends often teased her for it, but the thought of her hands being bound, the thought of being forced to be at the total mercy of somebody else was a little exciting, to say the least.
Slowly but surely, Sutton began curating a mental list of the inclinations she found intriguing. Yes, yes, no, yes, absolutely not, hmm maybe... She found herself opening up to fantasies and ideas she'd never even thought of before, and now... it felt as if she had awakened a sleeping beast.
Something deep inside of her had come alive, begging for more.
Her eyes flicked from left to right as she scrolled, finally stopping when her attention caught on, 'Death Eater Kink'.
Sutton's pulse jumped at the sound of it, her tongue subconsciously wetting her bottom lip in anticipation. There were a few profiles on the screen, their descriptions brief, a few pictures attached. One in particular caught her eye — a man, she assumed — and her breath stalled in her throat.
There was something about him that called to her.
The user's profile picture depicted a dark figure donned in black robes and an eerie white skeleton mask. The man was leaning back in a leather armchair, his body splayed in a way that almost gave the appearance of a king in a throne. His thighs — which filled out his black slacks quite nicely, if she may add — were spread in a commanding manner, his arms perched casually on the sides of the wingback.
He was clearly a man who knew power, who had tasted it; one that'd had it in his grasp more often than not. A man that expected it at every turn.
Something within Sutton ached in anticipation as she examined the man in the photo, her gaze sweeping over every bit of him. The mask, the way he sat, the way the robes fit over his broad and undoubtedly strong body, the way his legs were positioned... He exuded dominance; the knowledge that he knew how to command any and all in his presence was written in every line of his body.
She was entranced by him.
A Death Eater. She was fantasizing about a Death Eater.
Sutton nearly smacked herself silly.
This was utterly insane.
The second wizarding war had only ended a mere two years prior, and the notion that she was now here — lusting over a man who could've been one of the very dark wizards responsible for hundreds of deaths — was positively asinine.
And yet... she didn't know if he had actually been one...
Masquerade was an anonymous platform. All of its users were required to wear masks. Maybe this man had just chosen to dress as such a being for the exhilaration of it. After all, villains were always more sought after than heroes.
But, a tiny, traitorous little voice in the back of her mind argued, what if he HAD been one? The thought only caused Sutton's pulse to quicken for reasons she didn't understand. Why, then, was that idea all the more invigorating?
It was sick, she knew, to fantasize over someone who could possibly be a cold blooded murderer, someone who may possess a dark and sadistic side. But the voice, that little devil on her shoulder, refused to be silenced. It continued to chant, over and over again, what if, what if, what if, until Sutton finally, reluctantly, gave in.
She clicked on the man's account.
His profile popped up across her screen, the picture of him sprawled out in the chair front and center. She found herself holding her breath as she attempted to scroll through, only to discover, much to her disappointment, that he only interacted through direct messages. There were no other pictures. No sultry videos.
Nothing.
The fact that he only used such an intimate form of communication should have been enough for Sutton to give in to common sense, but now, as her pulse thrummed wildly in her ears, that proved to be quite impossible.
Her tongue darted out, her mouth suddenly feeling very dry. With trembling fingers, she clicked on the icon that would send the man a private missive, trying to ignore the warning bells that rang within her mind.
Sutton found herself staring at the box in which she was expected to type for nearly fifteen minutes. The amount of times she'd written a message, then second guessed herself was nearing a hundred by now, and as the seconds ticked by, her nerve was beginning to crumble into ash.
Was this truly what she was about to do? Message a man, through a private and anonymous network, whose identity she didn't know, and whose morals were most likely questionable at best?
What in the bloody hell was she thinking?
Yet, the longer her finger hovered over the mouse, the more her doubts seemed to quiet, and were replaced instead by a deep sense of hunger.
He was a stranger. An absolute stranger. One that — with her luck — could be a creep, or older than her own father. The odds of the wizard being even remotely attractive were likely low.
The rational part of her brain was shouting, screaming, begging her to shut the damn laptop and go to bed before she did something she'd sorely regret, but Sutton's pulse had begun drumming in her ears so loud that it was nearly impossible to hear a thing, much less listen to reason.
Besides, wasn't she on this website for the very purpose of indulging in a little recklessness for once in her life?
Her fingertips hovered over the keyboard once more before a light sound met her ears. At first, Sutton was unsure if she'd somehow blacked out and managed to send him a message without remembering. But as her eyes registered the screen before her, she soon discovered, much to her relief, that the incoming chat wasn't, in fact, from her end.
The odd 'ping' had been a tiny pop up informing her that there was an incoming communication. Her heart stuttered in her chest.
It was a chat.
From him.
With trembling hands, she slowly, carefully, pressed the 'accept' button, her entire body tensing in anticipation. She stared at the screen as the private message box opened, her eyes fixed on the blinking bar that indicated he was currently typing.
BlackPotioneer: Hello, sweetheart. I admit, I didn't expect to find such an innocent thing like you hanging around my profile tonight.
The words, written in dark ink on her screen, made Sutton's thoughts run dry. She felt her mouth part involuntarily, a ragged sound hitching beneath her ribcage. She knew, just from the single line, that this man didn't have a shred of decency in him.
Why was that so intriguing to her? And how the hell did he know she'd been stalking him for the last half hour?
Sutton took a deep breath in and attempted to steady herself, her fingers hovering over the keys of the keyboard. There were so many things she could say, so many responses she could offer him, and yet, the only thing she could manage was:
Bookworm18: How did you know I was looking at your profile?
Oh yes, that's a brilliant question. Well done, Sutton.
As replies went, hers was stupid. Rather foolish, really — making her sound like some sort of teenager trying too hard to impress someone blindingly out of her league.
BlackPotioneer: You must be new to the site. Creators often receive notifications whenever someone views their profile, as well as if the user is still online. Not to mention, when they're typing.
Sutton felt her cheeks burning, a wave of embarrassment shooting through her veins. He'd seen her gawking; seen the way she'd written, deleted, then rewritten likely a dozen messages to him. He knew that she was interested.
She swallowed thickly, her hands clenched against the keys, biting back a groan.
Of course he'd be the type of man who would track each and every time another person checked out his profile.
Obsessive bastard.
A part of her — a small, traitorous part — found that somewhat attractive.
BlackPotioneer: Tell me, little bookworm, what brings you to such a website as Masquerade?
Little bookworm. He'd taken one look at her username and instantly pegged her for the innocent, inexperienced woman that she was. She felt heat crawl up her neck in response.
What did she have to lose, really?
She'd already made an absolute dunce of herself by ogling his profile, and now he very clearly knew that she was there.
Bookworm18: I was curious. And a friend recommended it.
BlackPotioneer: Curious? About what, exactly? The people on Masquerade... the masks... or something else?
If Sutton wasn't mistaken, she swore she could hear the hint of a smile in his words.
He was toying with her.
It was obvious that the wizard beyond the screen was taking great joy from speaking with her in such a manner. The confidence, the arrogance of it all, should've had her fuming. Instead, it only fueled the little fire that was burning in the pit of her stomach. The one that caused her limbs to shake and her tongue to turn to lead.
Bookworm18: A little bit of everything, I suppose.
BlackPotioneer: You suppose? Sounds like you haven't quite figured out what you're looking for.
His words were almost patronizing, as if he was speaking to a child. Rather than being offended, Sutton found that she sort of liked it. And she shouldn't like it. He was talking down to her, like she was nothing more than a bumbling teen.
Although, the authoritative lilt in his words caused her stomach to twist in a delicious way, and that little voice inside her head told her that she desperately, achingly, longed for more.
BlackPotioneer: Maybe I could help with that, sweetheart.
There it was again, that pet name. Sweetheart. She was a nobody, some faceless witch, and yet, he called her that as if he knew her.
It was wrong, so obviously wrong. This man was a complete stranger. She didn't even know what he looked like. But here she was — heart racing, cheeks burning, thighs pressing together as he indulged her in such a way.
He was dangerous, there was no denying it. And he was exactly what she wanted.
She felt stupid. She was stupid. And the worst part was that she wanted more of it. More of him.
Why was she letting him get to her like this?
This man was a predator, she was sure of it. A predator that had her in his sights.
And she was willingly walking straight into his trap.
Bookworm18: And what, exactly, would be in it for you?
BlackPotioneer: Oh, plenty.
A shiver crept up Sutton's spine. His words were vague, so damn vague that her imagination immediately went to a million different, twisted places. And she found that she didn't necessarily hate the idea of letting this man do any number of debauched things to her.
Oh, if only Hermione could see her now...
Sutton's eyes remained locked on the screen as she debated the best way to respond to such ambiguity. This man could want anything from her, and he was so clearly not only experienced, but incisive. And there was absolutely no doubt in her mind that he knew it.
There was a moment of silence, a beat in which she was certain that he was relishing in her struggle, until his next message popped up on the screen.
BlackPotioneer: I have a bit of a proposal.
Sutton's breath hitched in her throat. And suddenly, she was acutely aware of how hard her heart was hammering in her chest.
A proposal?
What sort of proposal? she wanted to ask, but it was as if her ability to type had abandoned her. Her fingers were still perched over the keyboard, trembling slightly as she stared at the screen, waiting, yearning, for him to continue.
BlackPotioneer: But first, I need a small bit of information from you. Something simple.
His words nearly made her breath hitch again, causing her thighs to clench involuntarily.
And here it was. He was going to ask things of her, things that would doubtlessly have her friends locking her in a cell. But, oh, did she want to say yes.
He clearly took great pleasure in being the one in control. Sutton should've been running for her damn life, and yet, all she could think was how much she wanted him to demand whatever it was he so clearly wanted from her. She needed to be as far as possible from him — and yet, she knew that she wasn't going to resist.
She was going to agree.
Bookworm18: What do you need to know?
Her response was as quick as a whip, as if the thought had been waiting on the tip of her tongue since his first chat.
Her mind was screaming, telling her to say no, to shut down the computer and get her ass into bed. But her heart — and other parts of her body — were telling her to shut her mouth and do whatever the hell he asked.
What was happening to her?
How was a complete stranger able to have her wrapped around his finger and behaving like a damn puppy?
She was already at his mercy, and they both knew it.
There was another pause, and Sutton had to force herself to remain still. To not type out the million and one desperate questions that were going through her mind. She had to wait. Wait for whatever ridiculous notion he had in mind.
And then finally, his next message popped up.
BlackPotioneer: Give me a number between one and ten.
Bookworm18: A number?
There was a short heartbeat, as if her response had thrown him off. In a matter of seconds, another message appeared.
BlackPotioneer: Don't question me, little bookworm. I'm trying to find out how much of a good girl you are. Now, give me a number.
Well, damn.
Sutton bit down on her lip again, her cheeks burning at his command. A number between one and ten. It was an odd request.
Part of her was tempted to choose an option like three or four, just to spite him. But the part of her that had long since abandoned her sense of reasoning, the part that seemed to have a bit of an obsession with being good, told her which number to choose.
Bookworm18: Ten.
As soon as she sent the message, that little voice in her mind was screaming at her again, raving that what she'd done was reckless. She didn't even know this damn man, and yet here she was, telling him that her obedience to him would be a perfect ten.
Something was seriously wrong with her.
She stared at the screen, her heart hammering in anticipation, waiting for his response.
BlackPotioneer: Such an obedient girl for me.
The compliment — if one could even call it that — made Sutton shiver, a jolt of desire shooting through her stomach. She bit on her lower lip in response.
It sent a jolt down her spine, a burst of heat shooting between her legs. A simple sentence shouldn't have had the power to have her behaving as if he would appear and take her then and there.
BlackPotioneer: Now, for the proposal I mentioned earlier...
She held her breath, her hands clenching to keep still as she waited, hankering for him to get to the point. He was doing this intentionally, of course. Drawing it out to make her squirm, to make her absolutely desperate for his next response.
He was succeeding.
BlackPotioneer: I'll admit, when I found your profile, I was a bit surprised.
Another pause, another beat in which he left her hanging like a helpless fish on a line. Sutton found herself biting down on her lip so hard that she tasted copper.
She wanted, no, needed him to continue. Her body was practically shaking with anticipation.
BlackPotioneer: A sweet little witch such as yourself doesn't seem like the type to be found on such a platform as this.
Another few seconds. And then...
BlackPotioneer: Which means, I suspect that you're quite new to the concept that is Masquerade, and are likely craving a new experience. Am I wrong?
Sutton felt her face burn crimson, her breath hitching once more at his words.
Damn him.
She was inexperienced, naïve, and completely out of her depth in this sort of situation. And the idea of how easily he seemed to be able to read her, know her, without having even met her... Sutton felt helpless to do anything but type out a reply.
Bookworm18: No, you're not wrong.
BlackPotioneer: Of course I'm not.
His egotism should have enraged her, should have had her snapping back, but at this point she couldn't find it in herself to do anything but let out a low breath, one hand slipping underneath the sheets as desire coiled its way around her spine.
When did she get so damn lust-driven?
BlackPotioneer: My proposition, little bookworm, is one that could benefit us both.
Bookworm18: I'm listening.
BlackPotioneer: I could provide you with a sounding board of sorts. With my help, we could uncover new sensations, fantasies, desires — ones that are likely hidden in the darkest depths of your subconscious. I want to help you find them, discover what makes you tick. What makes you squirm and mewl in pleasure.
His words came off as more of a promise than a suggestion, each one causing her blood to run hot with need.
How, exactly, did he seem to know what to say?
How the hell did he know what those words would do to her?
Bookworm18: And once you've helped me figure out what those things are...?
BlackPotioneer: Once I've helped you find what it is you desire most, we can discuss... further arrangements.
His response was vague on purpose. The wizard knew she was desperate for him to move forward and he was milking her longing for it.
BlackPotioneer: However, I must be clear on something. The sort of... help that I'm offering won't be the kind that you receive from a friend, or even a lover.
His words made something like dread and excitement twist together deep inside. It left her breathless, her pulse racing.
Sutton wasn't sure how much longer she could take his teasing and vague insinuations. And so, despite knowing she very well wasn't going to get a straight answer, she typed out her next question.
Bookworm18: What kind of help is it, then?
She was half expecting him to simply ignore the question, but no — his response was quick, too quick, as if he'd had the words already prepared.
BlackPotioneer: The kind that involves me having complete control over you.
Her breath hitched, her fingers trembling as she read the words again and again. Control. He was talking about having un diminished dominion over her. Over her mind, her body...
Bookworm18: Complete control?
BlackPotioneer: Yes, little bookworm. That is the only way this will work.
A part of her — the part that was still holding on to reason, to the logical idea that this was not at all normal, that it would be too much for someone like her — was screaming into the abyss to end the chat, to stop now, before it was too late.
But that little voice causing the throbbing sensation to coil between her legs and her heart to hammer in her chest — that part was screaming for her to keep going. To play his game.
Before Sutton could second guess herself, her fingers had already moved, typing out her response.
Bookworm18: Okay.