Rose (platoapproved) wrote in flaming_fawkes,

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Fic post: "A Light Will Come Again" (Voldemort/Stan) - R

Title: A Light Will Come Again
Pairing: Voldemort/Stan Shunpike
Rating: Hard R
Word Count: 833 (without footnotes); 1,340 (with footnotes)
Disclaimer: I think Rowling’s brain would explode if she ever saw this. So let’s keep it on the down low. If these were my characters I wouldn’t do such awful things to them.
Warnings: BADFIC!writing, whipped cream, rimming, footnotes
Summary: Stan lies on the wretched floor of his Azkaban cell, lost in a torrent of emo despair, til he is saved by his knight in shining armor. Er …
A/N: You shouldn’t have provoked my crackfic muse, happiestwhen, dear. THIS IS DEDICATED TO YOU. WITH MOOSHY, SPOTTY LOVE. FROM STAN. XOXO

A Light Will Come Again


Stan coughed miserably, his spotty cheek pressed against the cold slimy cell floor of his Azkaban residence. It was practically a cage, dark and dank, with the wind howling in through a slit in the wall. He was sick and bruised and shattered and beaten and not having a good month, at all, really. It was almost like a Bright Eyes (1) song.

He knew it was pointless hoping for better. He wasn’t going to be rescued. No one cared about him, with his garish accent and his marred complexion. All those things his true love had said were lies – that was the thought the Dementors put into his head. Everyone (2) hated Stan, poor Stan, and he would rot away here.

He hated the darkness. It seeped in through his skin into his very soul, the way the mushy grey soup (3) he was fed had seeped into his only blanket when he had spilled it from shivering so much. Now the blanket smelled wretched, and Stan had managed to shove it out the window. His world was a haze of cold, meaningless, agonizing hours.

One day – he knew not which, for the hours ran together like runny eggs – Stan felt almost as though his torment were lessening. The sun was shining in through the slit on the wall onto his face, illuminating it due to the accumulation of grease and perspiration. He heard a loud –BANG- from a few floors below and sat up. Could it be? No – it was foolish to think, yet he could not help but feel excited, as though a great balloon were filling in his chest (4).

After a few moments his cell door burst open and Stan felt strong, firm, masculine arms lifting him from the floor. He felt faint. In fact, he did faint. His true love bent down to kiss his forehead and then swept dashingly from the island prison, cloak billowing and everything (5).


Stan opened his eyes. He was in a soft fluffy downy four-poster bed with emerald velvet – no, satin – sheets. There were heaps of pillows and a carved mahogany bedstead. It looked rather like something out of Beauty and the Beast (6).

Lying beside him was Him. His True Love. Stan started to blubber, remembering everything, realizing what this wonderful man had done for him. He had been saved! Rescued! Never again would he have to wake up to a grimy, wet cell, alone! Never again would he think in anything but exclamations! He was free, free at last!

Unbeknownst to Stan, sudden removal from Azkaban had some physical side effects (7). He gaped in horror as his body became aroused at positively NOTHING at all! Blushing, embarrassed, he made to leave the bed, not wanting to awake his man-lover.

Something caught his wrist as we has slipping from beneath the sheets. Stan looked into the now-open eyes of his saviour, his Only, his love, and he felt like he was falling into a pit of lava (8). The deep and brazen hue of the man’s irises scorched through his soul. Stan knew, then, that they would never, ever again be parted.

“I love you,” he gasped, body thrumming with joyous sweet emotion.

“I love you, too,” Voldemort murmured, pulling him into a soul-affirming kiss (9).


Stan almost couldn’t believe it. His entire world was overcome with pleasure. He moaned and howled and caterwauled, as that tricky (10) tongue lapped over inch of his skin, leaving none unexplored. The bed was spinning (or was it him?). He had never, ever felt this good. He didn’t want that moment to end.

Voldemort liked the whipped cream off his lips like a cat – no, a snake, more romantic – and resumed licking Stan’s ankles clean. A discarded tub of whipped cream lay beside the bed, which creaked and thwumpped the wall with their every move. Stan’s eyes were filled with stars.

“Donchoo stop,” he panted, almost (11) like every blonde big-breasted porn star ever to grace the face of the earth. Voldemort did not stop. Instead, he slithered himself between Stan’s legs, his snake-like tongue dancing over Stan’s entrance (12). Stan screamed in delicious pleasure, flailing, his body submitting to the ruthless euphoria of orgasm.

After a few moments of silent cuddling, Stan spoke, “You … want to talk ‘bout it? (13)”

Voldemort exhaled a long breath of smoke, flicking ash from the tip of his fag onto the floor. He touched Stan’s face with a finger, trailing its bone-white spidery length over the quagmire of Stan’s skin.

“You’re beautiful,” he hissed, red reptilian eyes warm with adoration.

Stan flushed a dark red, looking most like a lumpy tomato, “’choo think I’m beau’iful for?”

Voldemort kissed Stan hard, their tongues dancing, a pure and holy and wonderful and blissful expression of their love.

And as the dawn broke, Stan cried, feeling the light flowing in onto his face, warm and approving, like Voldemort’s love.

The light in his life had come again.


1 – An American Muggle band that Stan rather liked to listen to alone in his room lying on his bed with the lights off.

2 – Or, at very least, Stan knew that there was a rather batty American bird named “Snoy” who seemed to bear a grudge against him. Perhaps it had been because while she was riding the Knight Bus he accidentally spilled her hot coco on her, or perhaps she was simply frustrated that he would not love her like no man had loved her before. He couldn’t help that, though – he was spoken for, and Stan was not about to be unfaithful, oh no.

3 – Madam Jennington’s Authentic English Canned Cream of Mushroom.

4 –The huge red kind his mum used to not buy him at the fair.

5 – Stan’s One True Love had had to ask Severus Snape just how to get it to whip through the air dramatically. The lessons were rather embarrassing for both parties, and there was rather a lot of drinking done in the process, but the end result had been satisfactory.

6 – One time when Stan was young he strayed from his mother’s hand in a shop and had waddled over to a shiny display of televisions which were playing the animated version. He had screamed and kicked until his mother bought a version (never knowing that she had transfigured her breath mints into a Muggle credit card, because she didn’t own one). He had watched it four times per day and insisted that his mother call him “The Beast”, growling ferociously at his pudding and wearing the old mothy purple draperies as his cloak.

7 – None of them were very scary, like internal bleeding or scrofungulus. Rather, the male body, reacting to the sudden elimination of depression, became saturated with adrenaline and atrociously virile. Had Stan read the Daily Prophet much a few years previously he would have noticed the outbreak of Dark wizard orgies in the Welsh countryside just after the massive outbreak from Azkaban, which the Prophet writers attributed to this rather bizarre, if temporary disease, informally dubbed “The Freedom Friskies” by uncouth Ministry officials.

8 – The kind you see in nature programs on the telly, that sort of ooze … not the sooty type.

9 – Technically, this kiss was only soul-affirming for Stan, as Voldemort’s soul was rather busy being scattered across the world hidden in obscure and exotic locations. After all, what fun would it be for Harry Potter to track down the horcruxes only in England?

10 – “tricky” read: extra-long.

11 – No big-breasted blonde porn star ever had an accent like Stan’s.

12 – The author found this to be a much more savoury word than ‘anus’ or ‘asshole’. Pleased to not be confused – it was a part of Stan’s anatomy that was only ever meant by nature to be an exit, but humans can be rather silly that way.

13 – Please excuse this somewhat pathetic attempt at capturing the unique dialect of one Stan Shunpike. Imagine the accent, if you would.
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