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covenofagatha · 21 days ago

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A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 1)

@lanfear-is-my-darkmistress

You are a profiler for the FBI when you get called to help catch a serial killer in Westview. (Killing Eve/Hannibal AU)

Word count: 4200

Warnings: descriptions of violence, fear

The phone rings at 7:30 in the morning on your day off and you want to throw it against the wall.

You had been sleeping – having a very good dream, actually – when the harsh ringtone roughly jolts you out of your slumber.

“Hello?” you answer groggily, rubbing your face with your hand. If it’s a spam call, you think you might lose your mind.

“Is this Agent Y/L/N?” A gruff voice asks and you shoot up out of bed into the sitting position.

You clear your throat and try to sound professional. “Um, yes, this is she. Who am I speaking with?”

“This is Director Hayward,” the man says, and your eyes widen. The head of the FBI is calling you. “Have you heard of the town of Westview?”

Your forehead wrinkles while you rack your brain for anything that sounds familiar. “No, sir, I don’t think so.”

There’s muffled sounds from the other side of the phone and then you can hear Director Hayward clearly. “It’s a small town in New Jersey. Nothing special, nothing too out of the ordinary.” He pauses like you’re supposed to recognize it, but after a moment of silence he sighs and continues. “About seven months ago, we believe a pair of serial killers moved into town. Bodies started piling up, seemingly no rhyme or reason to who was killed, only that the victims were all female.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, trying to wrap your head around all this. If it’s been going on for this long, why haven’t you heard about it? “Are we sure they’re connected if there’s no pattern of victim? Usually men have a type when they do this kind of thing; the women usually look like an ex-lover who broke their heart, or their mom.”

You can practically hear him roll his eyes through the phone. “They were all killed the same way: poison to sedate them and then their hearts were carved out. And there was a purple azalea left in every single one of the victims’ chest cavities. So we’re pretty sure they’re connected.” Sarcasm drips copiously from his tone and you wince. Way to make a good first impression on the director of the FBI. “And it’s not a man. It’s a woman.”

This makes you perk up with interest. “Oh?” As a profiler for a branch of the FBI in Miami, you’ve handled your fair share of serial killers. It may make you sound insensitive, but you were only really interested in the female ones. Men were so boring and predictable. Women knew how to make it a challenge, and there was always some deep, underlying motive for why they did it. There was nothing you enjoyed more than piecing together that puzzle.

“They’re calling her The Witch. The poison used on the victims is like nothing we’ve ever seen before, so we think she must be making it herself. But since female serial killers are kind of your thing–”

You cut him off before you can think twice, thoughts whirling through your head. “How do you know it’s a woman? Cutting out a heart, that takes a lot of strength. Most female serial killers tend to use gentler methods, like poison, so it makes sense that there’s at least one woman involved. Are you sure she isn’t working with someone though? Lavinia Fisher would poison her victims and then her husband would finish the job.”

“How quickly can you get to Westview?” He asks, completely ignoring your question.

“Oh, you want me to go there?”

He scoffs. “Yes, Agent, we want you to go there. I’ve already informed your boss and he’s given his approval. No one has been better at catching the female killers than you, so we really need you on this. You can take the Miami jet as soon as you’re ready, but they want you there as soon as possible.”

“Will I be working with the Trenton branch?”

“Just the Westview PD for now. They’ve assured us that they have their best detectives on the case. But if you need backup, let us know and we can send in some more profilers. Whatever it takes to bring this woman to justice.” He hangs up without another word and you grab your to-go suitcase that you keep packed for times like these. You throw in a few extra sets of clothes just in case it takes longer than expected, and then you’re out the door, driving to Headquarters.

You walk into your boss’s office and knock on the door. The director of the Miami branch, Tony Stark, looks up at you. “Hope you packed some warm clothes,” he says and you chuckle. You definitely did not.

“Hayward said I could take the jet?”

Tony nods. “It’s out back and already fueled up. Good luck, kid. Be careful, okay?”

You scoff. “Careful? I’m always careful.” He fixes you with a stern look and you acquiesce. “I promise.”

“I don’t need to remind you what happened last time you worked on a case like this, do I?”

It hits you like a punch to the gut and you shake your head. “No, sir, you do not.” But you know he’s going to tell you anyway.

“That woman destroyed you,” he hisses. “You got so focused on finding her that you stopped eating and sleeping. The obsession completely consumed you.”

“I caught her, didn’t I?” You mutter, knowing full well that isn’t his point. He slams his hands down on his desk and you jump.

“She almost killed you,” he almost yells and your face twists at the memory.

The Scarlet Killer terrorized Miami about three years ago before you finally brought her down. At first, she would sneak into houses of families with twins and slit the parents’ throats and kidnap the kids, but the twins would always resist so she would end up killing them too.

After a while, she stopped caring about the twin aspect and started killing anyone with children.

You had spent days in the office, pacing and pouring over the evidence board, trying to make sense of it. There was no DNA anywhere, but there was also no sign of forced entry, so you figured that she was invited into the house somehow. The hunt for children made you think she had lost her own, or had some sort of abusive childhood that made her want to protect kids. She was possibly a twin as well, and very amicable if people were having her over willingly.

It took two months before you figured out the perimeter of her murders. She was making a hexagon shape with the houses of the victims. Hexagons can represent balance, so you figured she felt as if she was balancing out some score with the universe for something that had happened to her.

And then one fateful night, you realized where her next target was. A family had just moved into a house perfectly on the border of the hex, as people around the office started calling it, and they had twins.

You spent almost an entire week camped out in front of their house waiting for the Scarlet Killer to strike. You think during that time, you slept a total of ten hours. Hallucinations plagued you and you would doze off and then wake up babbling something about catching her. Agents would bring food by your car and beg you to take a break, but you kept your eyes strained on the house, determined that you wouldn’t let her get away with it again, determined to prove that you were right about where she’d be.

And you were.

Except the knocking that should’ve been on the front door of the house, the knocking that would inevitably lead to more death, was on your car window.

You had jolted awake to find a redheaded woman standing there, looking worried. You opened the door and got out to help her when she had pulled a knife out and stabbed you in the stomach.

Thank god she didn’t go for her usual M.O. of slitting throats.

You were able to weakly unholster your gun and take a shot at her as she was running away and by the yelp, you knew you had hit her. A consolation prize as your vision faded to black.

Somehow, you woke up two days later in a hospital room, Director Tony Stark by your bedside. They had caught the killer a block away thanks to the appendix your bullet had ruptured that rendered her unconscious, a woman named Wanda Maximoff, who had lost her twins in a horrible house fire, and made it a mission to try and replace them.

And her knife had missed anything important, and all you had was a nasty scar and the weariness from everyone else whenever there was a new female serial killer to catch.

“She didn’t kill me though,” you tell Tony, who rolls his eyes. “I’ll be careful. I won’t get too involved this time.”

He slides open a drawer and takes out a file and a business card that he holds out to you. You reach across the desk to grab the two and you scan the card.

Rio Vidal, Therapist, Westview. With an email and phone number.

You hold it up and raise an eyebrow. “You want me to see a shrink?” You already completed your mandated fifteen hours of therapy after the Maximoff incident and you weren’t eager to go back.

“You don’t have to, it’s just so you have an option. In case you feel yourself becoming too ‘involved.’”

You purse your lips but you slip it into your pocket and tighten your grip on the file. “Guess I’ll see you whenever we catch her.”

He salutes you and you make your way to the jet out back.

It’s a three hour flight and you spend your entire time pouring over the case file. You know there’s still some information that you’ll have to get from the Westview PD, like witness statements and exclusive photos that haven’t been released yet, but what you do have is brutal.

Photos of shriveled up bodies with barely any skin still on their bones, their cheeks hollowed out, like something sucked the life out of them. Not to be sexist, but you can tell why Director Hayward thought it was a woman.

Although there’s a gaping hole in their chests where a heart used to be, the cuts are neat, precise. And the blood has been completely cleaned up. What should be the bloodiest crime scene you’ve ever seen is void of any fluid, like the killer methodically mopped and bleached and cleansed the scene of everything. But this also means that the victims are dead before the heart is cut out, from the poison.

The most chilling thing is the singular, perfect flower placed in the cavity of their chest.

You flip through the toxicology reports but can’t really make sense of anything. One report says one chemical was the cause of death, another report says another. The levels of chemicals in the bloodstream are also different from victim to victim.

It reminds you of Jolly Jane Toppan, who would experiment with different medicines and chemicals to murder patients at hospitals.

Is the killer a nurse? A chemist? You’re able to figure out why she’s called The Witch, because it’s like she’s brewing up potions of sorts, but you have no idea why she would bother cutting their hearts out if she’s killing them with poison.

The precision of the blade also means that her hands are steady. Another reason she could be a nurse.

You flip through the pictures of all the victims – eleven, so far – and the first victim’s cut is just as accurate as the last victim. This woman is either a natural, or this isn’t the first time she’s killed.

Pulling out your computer, you search the database for any serial killer cases that match this same type of crime, male or female. You’re still not entirely convinced she’s working alone.

But there’s nothing. No cold cases, no open cases. She has truly shown up out of nowhere.

You tap your fingers to the tray table, your mind trying to make sense of the details for the rest of the flight.

When the plane lands, you’re ushered into an uber and taken to the motel where you’ll be staying. Your rental car is already in the parking lot. Even though Westview is a small town, it means a lot that they’re giving you all these accommodations.

Your room is complete with a kitchenette, a queen sized bed, and a good sized bathroom. You drop the files on the table, throw your suitcase in the bedroom, and grab your work bag before locking the door behind you.

The rental car is a small sedan that has a strange smell, but it does the job and you drive through the quaint twisting roads to get to the police station. You park up front, take a deep breath, and walk in.

No one stops you or asks what you’re doing here (no wonder this case hasn’t been solved yet) so you make your way to the back where you find the Chief’s office.

He’s a skinny man with a mustache, spots of something that looks like mustard on his shirt, talking to a woman with her back to you. All you can tell is that she has long, dark hair that flows down your back.

“Hi, excuse me?” You say, knocking on the glass door. The Chief stops and the woman turns around to face you and you’re momentarily struck by how attractive she is. “I’m Agent Y/N? The, uh, criminal profiler from Miami? The FBI sent me to help with The Witch case.”

“Oh, shoot, that’s right,” the man says, wiping his hands on his jacket before standing up. “Chief Phil Jones. This is Detective Agatha Harkness–” He motions to the woman standing there who smiles knowingly, raking her eyes up and down your body. “– our best. She’s been working this case day and night.”

“Any leads so far?” You ask her.

“Why don’t I show you what we have so far?” She offers and you nod, following her out of the office and trying not to look at her ass. She takes you into a different room with a bulletin board filled with pictures and string and post-it notes. You squint at it, trying to take everything in, while you hear more people enter the room behind you.

“So, Miami, what do you think?” A man taunts and a few others snicker at him. You ignore him, you’ve been used to this your entire career.

You’re still scanning the board when something catches your eye. The witness statements. They don’t corroborate with each other. From the six people that have seen something, they all agree that the killer had dark hair. But some say it was long, others say just past her shoulders. Some think she was taller and lean, others say shorter and just a little more filled out. There’s a detail from two witnesses that gives you pause though: they say the woman had a mask of sorts on the bottom of her face, almost like a skeleton. The other witnesses make no mention of not being able to see the killer’s entire face.

You tap the papers. “Why don’t the statements line up?”

“Surely you know how unreliable eyewitness testimony is,” Agatha drawls, and when you turn around, she’s watching you carefully.

You frown. “I do know, but it seems like there’s two different people here. So either we have a copycat, which would be unlikely due to there being no change in the level of detailedness from murder to murder, or–” You trail off, chewing on your lip. You’re waiting for someone, Agatha maybe, to finish the sentence, or to tell you you’re being crazy.

“Or?” She prompts like she’s daring you to go on. There’s a look in her eyes, a look you don’t quite recognize.

You give the men in the room a glance. Will they laugh? “I really think we’re dealing with two killers here. Working together. One poisons the victims, the other cuts out the heart. I thought it was a man and a woman, but it seems like two women. They’re obviously very close to each other, and they’ve got it down to an easy routine.”

“Why hasn’t anyone seen two women then?” Agatha asks, but you feel like she’s just guiding you to a realization, rather than criticizing your theory.

You hum, tossing the question around in your head. “Maybe…maybe because they want us to think there’s only one killer? They’ve fooled everyone, even the FBI. Easy to chalk it up to faulty witness statements.”

“Why wouldn’t they try to look alike then?” Agatha presses, and your brow furrows. It’s a good point.

The pictures of the mutilated victims on the board stare back at you while you look for anything you could’ve missed. “Are they toying with us? Do they want us confused? The poison, the cut-out heart, the flower left behind, the different descriptions, it’s like this is a game to them. They’re cocky, they feel confident that they can’t get caught. Maybe both of them are narcissists, but definitely are on the Antisocial Personality Disorder spectrum.”

“Why do you think they do it?” Agatha says in a hushed voice. You can’t help but notice that she seems excited.

Is that because she finally might be getting a break in her case?

“I don’t know,” you admit and she looks disappointed. You spin to face the board again. “There’s no obvious connection or pattern between the victims, so it doesn’t seem like there’s a personal vendetta against them. Nothing stands out about the locations either. It seems like they’re just killing for fun, right now.”

“That’s pretty dangerous,” she says, and you can feel the front of her body brush against your back. You’ve been so entranced that you didn’t even hear her notice her coming over. “That means anyone could be next.”

Goosebumps spread over your body at her hot breath on your neck, but her words sober you up. She’s right. You’re not able to rule out potential victims based on how many kids they have or don’t have, like with Wanda, or what they look like or don’t look like.

“Okay,” you say, nodding your head. “We need to send out a BOLO for two women with dark hair now. Put these descriptions out, tell them to keep an eye out for a skeleton mask? Hopefully we can get some tips and put a stop to this before anyone else gets hurt.”

“What should we call the other woman?” One of the male officers speaks up and you’re surprised that it’s an actual question.

Agatha watches you with interest while you think about it. “How about…Lady Death?” You offer and she gives a nod of approval. “Put a BOLO out for Lady Death and The Witch.”

You make copies of everything that’s on the board and paper clip them together to put in your bag. As you’re packing everything up to go back and leave to the motel (Tony would be proud of you for leaving the station at an acceptable time), Agatha comes over and leans on the table.

“What do you think their relationship is? Lady Death and The Witch,” she says, amusement lacing her tone when she says their nicknames.

You shrug. “Sisters, friends, wives? Maybe they’re just two crazy people who met each other and want to kill people.” She chuckles and studies you curiously.

“You know, we’ve had some other profilers come in, but none of them have been like you. You know your stuff.”

“Female serial killers are kind of my thing,” you say. “There’s just something about untangling the mystery that’s so much sweeter. Makes me feel…alive. Which I know sounds bad, because so many people have died, and I’m sorry.”

Agatha looks like she knows exactly what you’re talking about. “No, don’t apologize. It’s exciting, isn’t it? The exhilaration, the moment when you finally get what you want, what you’ve been working toward.” Her voice is low and you nod, leaning in before you can realize what you’re doing. Your gaze drops down to her smirk and then back to her blown-out pupils. “Do you think you’ll be able to find them?”

“Yeah, I do,” you breathe, and she looks positively delighted. Out of nowhere, the scar on your stomach stings and you grimace. Agatha looks at you, concerned but you brush it off. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?” You ask, standing up and slinging your bag onto your shoulder.

“See you then, superstar,” she says with a grin and watches you leave.

When you get back to the motel, you spread all the pictures and notes out, trying to connect some dots. You scribble down Friends? Sisters? Lovers? on a sticky note and press it to the wall.

Why do you think they do it? Agatha’s question still haunts you. You don’t want to believe that it’s just for fun, there has to be some meaning, some motive for poisoning and then physically removing hearts. There has to be some significance to the flower left behind.

But what is it?

Your stomach grumbles so you decide to take a step back and go pick up food from a restaurant in town. As you’re pulling out of the parking lot to come back to the motel with wings and french fries, you get a call from Tony Stark. You accept it, taking a sip from your cup quickly.

“Hey, Director,” you say.

“There she is! How’s it going?”

You shrug even though he can’t see you. “Not too bad. Just went and got dinner. See, I’m taking care of myself.”

He laughs like it’s the funniest joke he’s heard. “Glad to hear it. Any new leads in the case?”

“There’s two women, not one. They’re working together.” There’s silence on his end of the line for a second and you wonder if he heard you. “Did you–?

“Yeah, I got that. Shit, so you think you’re looking for partners? I don’t like this,” he says.

“I’m okay, I promise. What happened with Wanda won’t happen this time,” you reassure him as you turn back into the motel lot. “I’ll check in with you whenever you want. I’ll go see that shrink. I’ll be careful.” You’re worried that he’ll pull you off the case if he thinks you’re too obsessed. Your hyperfixation tendencies almost cost you your life, and you know Tony doesn’t want that to happen to you again. He’s become somewhat of a father figure to you since you started working there, and it’s touching how much he cares.

He hums in satisfaction. “I expect you to eat three meals a day and get at least five hours of sleep.” Before you can protest, he continues. “And I want you to make an appointment with that therapist. Just get ahead of your spiral, maybe talking about the case with someone removed will help you be more level-headed.”

“I will,” you vow. “Okay, just got back to the motel, I’ll talk to you later.” He says goodbye and hangs up. When you get out of the car with your food, the hair on the back of your neck stands up and your scar tingles.

Something feels off.

You get to your door to find it slightly ajar and you frown. You remember locking it. Maybe room service cleans at night?

“Hello?” You call, pushing it open. Taking a few cautious steps into the room, you scan from wall to wall looking for anything or anyone.

There’s no one there, nothing seems out of place except for your suitcase that is now on your bed. You tentatively walk over to it and unzip it, jumping back like you’re expecting something to pop out. Inside, you find all the clothes you packed gone, and entirely replaced by a new wardrobe. Pulling them out, you gasp when you find cashmere sweaters and silky blouses and comfortable but professional looking pants. There’s a bottle of perfume with the word “Thanatos” printed in perfect calligraphy and you take a whiff. It smells like flowers and wood at the same time and it makes you think of a forest.

So someone broke into your motel room just to give you some new clothes and perfume? You rustle through the rest of the suitcase and a piece of paper flutters to the floor.

Heart pounding, you lean down to pick it up. It’s the same sticky note that you put on your wall before you left to get food.

Friends? Sisters? Lovers?

Only now, the word ‘lovers’ is circled, with a small heart drawn. You drop the paper like you’ve been burned and run over to where all your case information is and you feel nauseous.

Nothing has been touched. Nothing is out of place.

Except for the single purple azalea resting on the middle of the table.

They were here.

#agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha x you #agatha all along #agatha x rio #agathario x reader #agathario #rio vidal x reader #rio x reader #rio vidal x agatha harkness

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aeralux · 20 days ago

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"Spellbound" - Daemon Targaryen

Daemon Targaryen x Witch!Reader

Summary: A witch doesn't cower to anyone... except maybe a dragon. But that's not necessarily a bad thing. Harrenhal seems to be riddled with darkness and mysteries, after all.

Warnings: SMUT (18+); rough sex; oral (f!receiving); fingering; foul language; talks of magick and its use; technically infidelity on Daemon's part; loss of virginity; mention of blood

Words: 8.3k

Notes: No description of the reader, except for dark hair. Takes place in Harrenhal when Daemon is staying there. I tried to be as accurate to Westeros lore as I could, I literally spent hours on their wiki, so I hope it shows through :)

𐔌 . ⋮ aera .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

Harrenhal was a ghastly place. It had the biggest castle of all of Westeros. The castle had five dizzying towers, with equally monstrous curtain walls. The walls were incredibly thick, and its rooms were built on a scale that would be more comfortable for giants than humans—said to be haunted and eerie.

Perfect for sorceresses and sorcerers alike, the city had a coven of Witches who collectively went by the name "Wives of the Gods Eye." The name was an ode to Gods Eye, the largest lake of the Seven Kingdoms, located south of Harrenhal.

In the embrace of warm sunlight, the water of the Gods Eye shimmers in vibrant shades of blue and green, casting a magical glow. Yet, as winter blankets the land, its surface transforms into a steely grey, reminiscent of the coldest metal. Majestic black swans glide gracefully across the water. Just a short distance away, a winding lake road meanders near the storied Harrenhal, leading through a patchwork of rolling hills, sparkling streams, and golden sunlit fields. As one journeys further south, the landscape gives way to dense, shadowy forests, creating a clear contrast.

The lake, with its murky depths, bore a name of divine beings, yet here, amidst the towering pines and shivering mists, there existed no gods. Only monsters lurked in the shadows, and witches wove their secrets beneath the pale moonlight. As for you, you were a bastard of Pinkmaiden, an unwelcome child of a place that should have offered a home. At the young age of six, you were sent to Harrenhal, a castle steeped in blood and betrayal, to serve the lords and ladies of House Strong as one of the laundresses. The ancient stones watched over you with cold indifference, whispering the secrets of many who had come before.

Your raven-black hair flowed like a dark river down your back, framing your face and matching nicely with your unsettling eyes, which shimmered like a stormy sea. These features marked you as different, a reminder of your uncertain heritage. It was not long before the Lady of Harrenhal, with her porcelain skin and sharp gaze, grew wary of your presence. On the eve of your sixteenth birthday, she cast you out, her disdain cutting deeper than any blade.

Alone and bereft, you wandered the wilderness, uncertainty gnawing at your heart. But fortune smiled upon you when the coven of witches found you, their cloaks billowing like dark wings against the whispering wind. They took you in, offering a refuge far removed from the stone walls of Harrenhal. In their hidden glen, where wildflowers crowded beneath the trees, they made you feel cherished for the first time.

Nowadays, for most, magic is a little-understood force in the world. It has been so long since magic was truly potent that most understanding now exists only in superstition and rituals of questionable validity. But with them, you understood, the doubts of others have no claim.

"You are special," they insisted, words dripping with ancient wisdom. "You possess something otherworldly." Their voices wrapped around you like a warm embrace. For the first time, you believed there was a purpose to your existence—a spark that set you apart from common folk, a thread woven from the fabric of something otherworldly.

Under their solemn guidance, you began to practice the mysterious arts. You learned to mix herbs and roots, crafting potions that glinted with promise and danger. Each incantation you whispered held power, resonating with the essence of the world around you. The witching nights became your solace, and as you delved deeper into their teachings, the women of the coven began to call you their newest daughter—their black swan. In that embrace, you found your wings, soaring above the harsh reality that had sought to bind you.

There, in the shadows of Harrenhal, you discovered your true calling and uncovered your hidden talent: Glamour magic. The few ladies of the coven from Asshai welcomed you into their fold. Asshai, a mysterious and ancient port city nestled in the far southeast of Essos, was unlike any place in Westeros, you gathered from their stories. There, the Ash River wound its way through the land, flowing into the vast expanse of the Jade Sea, where the waters sparkled under the sun like jewels.

As you sat among the flickering candles in their dimly lit chamber, they taught you ancient spells in their native tongue. Words danced on your lips like whispers in the wind, each incantation holding power and mystique. They guided you in prayer, teaching you how to bow your head before the Red God, channelling your intentions through sacred rituals. The air was thick with incense, and the flickering shadows brought to life the stories of ages past, filling your heart with a sense of wonder and purpose.

When the wise ladies of the coven, cloaked in shadows and steeped in ancient lore, deemed you ready to embrace your destiny, they presented you with a striking necklace carved from deep black obsidian. Its surface shimmered like a starless night sky, reflecting the flickering flames of the hearth where your journey began. Though the obsidian was traditionally used to forge weapons of war, the coven believed it resonated with your spirit, a perfect talisman for what lay ahead.

As you clasped the necklace around your neck, it transformed into your glamor, an enchanting charm that bestowed upon you the power to weave illusions. With it, the magic could shift the perceptions of those around you, allowing you to appear as someone—or something—entirely different. While the shape of the necklace remained unchanged, the world could see whatever you wished it to see, bending reality to your will.

The true strength of glamors lies in their connection to the wearer. Each illusion from the obsidian was ingrained with a piece of you, making them far more potent than mere tricks of light. As you wore the necklace, you felt it pulse gently against your skin, a current of magic entwining your fate with ancient spells. The coven’s trust in you burned bright like the embers of a dying fire.

In the realm where shadows danced and whispers echoed, the obsidian necklace became more than just an accessory; it was an extension of your very being, a bridge between the world you knew and the numerous possibilities.

Through the fogs surrounding Harrenhal and its haunting towers, a figure emerged one day that would change the course of history. Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince, found himself in the ancient fortress where magic lingered in the air, where witches snarled their secrets beneath the pale moonlight, and where even the strongest of men lost their minds to visions that tormented them.

The arrival of the Targaryen prince foreshadowed the beginning of the violent conflict known as the Dance of the Dragons, igniting the flames of war. The first target being Harrenhal. Daemon Targaryen, fierce and determined, led the charge to seize this shadowy castle for his wife, Rhaenyra. In his mind, it would become a stronghold for loyal supporters rising in the Riverlands.

Chaos erupted in the region, the air thick with tension and fear hanging heavily over the lords and common folk. Yet amidst this turmoil, you stood resolute, encouraged by the words of an elder from your coven, whose foresight promised their safety in these troubled times.

With unwavering determination, you journeyed to the godswood of Harrenhal, walking along the clear, winding stream that wandered gently through the emerald shrubberies. The ancient weirwood, with its deformed roots and an angry face carved into its bark, awaited you at the heart of the woods. Its pale leaves trembled softly in the breeze, whispering secrets of generations past.

Above you, birds flitted through the branches, their songs mingling with the rustling leaves, while bats emerged as shadows against the dusky sky, patrolling for their evening meal. A sly cat sneaked near the godswood's stone wall, its eyes glinting like lanterns in the twilight. In this serene moment, you felt a peculiar kinship with the creatures of the wood, convinced that you were not alone.

With reverence, you placed your offering between the twisted roots of the ancient tree, murmuring a quick prayer. You believed in many deities, each an important part of your life, hoping that at least one would consider your call. After all, in these dark times, hope was a precious thing.

Before your journey back, you felt a tug in your heart to pay a quick visit to Alys. The kind healer lady was one of the rare souls who did not cast disdainful glances at you during your time in the castle. Known by others as the “witch queen,” Alys saw past the uncanny aura that surrounded you. She had grown fond of you, despite the brooding darkness that seemed to dance in your eyes, and she understood that your best path was far from these stone walls. You stood out too much among the lords and ladies, a vision amidst the living.

Like a creeping shadow, you slipped through the secret passage, the cool air brushing against your skin as you navigated the hidden corridors. The echoes of your footsteps were muffled by the cold, damp stones, as you moved with practised ease to avoid the lurking guards. You knew better than to provoke their watchful eyes.

Upon entering Alys's chamber, you were greeted by a familiar sight—her collection of potions and drying herbs adorned the shelves, a simple yet charming chaos that spoke of her craft. The room held a soft scent of lavender and something earthy, an aroma that always brought you comfort. You wandered over to the table, intrigued by the array of glass bottles filled with vivid liquids.

But the serenity shattered in an instant, as a cold steel blade pressed against your throat, sending a chill cascading down your spine. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, mingling with the tension in the air. Your heart raced, pounding against your ribcage as panic surged. Who could it be, a figure lurking in the shadows, ready to end your life? The world around you faded into silence, but your senses heightened, honed by years of uncertainty. At that moment, you wondered if your last moments would be in the castle that had been both shelter and prison.

You couldn't see the face of your attacker, but you could feel the presence looming over you, the weight of their body pressing you forward. The blade dug into your skin, drawing a thin line of blood that trickled down your neck. You swallowed hard, fighting back the fear that threatened to overwhelm you.

"Who are you?" a low and menacing voice demanded. And what are you doing here?"

The voice was unfamiliar to you, but there was a certain authority in it that sent a chill down your spine. You knew that whoever this person was, they meant business.

You tried to turn your head, to catch a glimpse of your attacker, but the blade pressed harder against your throat, making you wince in pain. "Please," you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper. "I mean no harm."

The figure behind you let out a harsh laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "No harm? You sneak into the healer's chambers like a thief in the night, and you claim to mean no harm?"

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, mingling with the blood on your skin. "I'm not a thief," you said, your voice trembling. "I'm a friend of Alys. I came to see her, to...to say hello."

The blade pressed harder against your throat, making you gasp in pain. "Hello?" the voice repeated, a note of suspicion in it. "Somehow I doubt you, little witch."

You knew then that your attacker was well aware of your true nature, of the magic that coursed through your veins. You thought of the obsidian necklace around your neck, the glamor that disguised you as a simple servant girl. But you knew that even that powerful magic would be no match for the Valyrian steel pressed against your throat.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you struggled to steady your breathing. The cold steel pressed harder against your throat, sending a jolt of pain through your body. You tried to swallow, but your mouth was dry, and your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.

"I swear, it's true," you managed to choke out, your voice trembling with fear. "I didn't know anyone would be here. I thought...I thought Alys would be alone."

You could feel your attacker's warm breath on the back of your neck, their presence looming over you like a dark shadow. You wanted to turn and face them, to see the face of the one who held your life in their hands, but the blade kept you still.

"Please," you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. "Don't hurt me. I'm not here to cause any trouble. I just...I just wanted to see her"

Your hands shook at your sides, the obsidian necklace hidden beneath your simple servant's gown a cold weight against your skin. You knew that your glamor was useless now, that your true nature had been discovered. But you couldn't let them know about the coven, about the power that you possessed.

You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the pain that was sure to come. You had survived so much in your short life and had endured so much hardship and betrayal. But in that moment, faced with the cold steel of a stranger's blade, you felt more vulnerable than ever.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I didn't mean any harm."

You waited for the blade to slice through your skin, for the blood to pour from the wound. But it never came. Instead, you felt the pressure of the blade lessen, the cold steel sliding away from your throat.

Slowly, you turned your head, your eyes widening as you saw the face of the one who had held your life in their hands. It was a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with hair the colour of spun silver and eyes as violet as an iris. He looked like he had stepped straight out of a legend, a true son of Valyria.

Daemon's violet eyes narrowed as he studied the young woman before him, his gaze sharp and piercing. He could see the fear in your eyes, the way your body trembled beneath his touch, but he also sensed something else—a flicker of something dark and dangerous lurking just beneath the surface. He knew a witch when he saw one, and you were no ordinary servant.

"A friend of Alys's, you say?" he growled, his voice low and menacing. "And yet you seem to know your way around this castle better than most. Tell me, little witch, what exactly are you doing here?"

He kept the blade pressed against your throat, not enough to draw blood, but enough to keep you still. He could feel the heat of your skin beneath the cold steel and could see the way your pulse fluttered. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear.

"I've dealt with your kind before," he whispered, his voice a low rumble. "I know the tricks you play, the illusions you weave. But trust me, little one, you'll find no mercy here."

Daemon's eyes flicked down to the necklace hidden beneath your gown, a flicker of recognition sparking in their depths. He had seen such trinkets before. But this one was different—there was a power to it that even he could sense, a dark and ancient magic that thrummed through the air like a heartbeat.

"What's this?" he demanded, his fingers brushing against the hidden amulet. "Some kind of charm, is it? A trinket to hide your true face from the world?"

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "I can smell the magic on you, little witch. It clings to your skin like perfume. The same foul odour that clings to the healer."

Daemon's hand slid down from your throat to your collarbone, his fingers tracing the curve of your flesh beneath the thin fabric of your gown. He could feel the heat of your skin beneath his touch, could see the way your body trembled at his proximity.

You took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady the trembling of your hands as you met Daemon's piercing violet gaze. With a steady motion, you reached behind your neck and unclasped the necklace, letting the heavy amulet drop into your palm. There was no point in trying to hide your identity any longer. Your true face coming to light.

Daemon's lips curled into a wicked grin as you revealed the truth of your identity, his eyes glinting with a predatory hunger. He could see the fear in your eyes, but also the aggressiveness, the spark of something wild and untamed that called to him like a siren's song.

"I am a witch, yes," you admitted in a hushed whisper, your heart pounding so hard you feared he could hear it. "But I speak the truth, your grace. I did not know anyone would be here."

You couldn't help but notice his rugged handsomeness as you spoke, the strong lines of his jaw and the way his muscles rippled beneath the thin linen of his tunic. You quickly averted your gaze, not wanting him to see the effect he was having on you.

"I'm from the coven called the Wives of the Gods Eye," you continued, voice barely above a whisper. "We practice the old ways, the magic that was once forbidden. I simply came here seeking some herbs."

You met his eyes once more, defiance mingling with the apprehension. "I meant you no harm, my lord. I swear it on my life."

"A witch of the old ways, are you?" he purred, his hand sliding up from your collarbone to cup your chin, tilting your face towards his. "How very interesting. And here I thought Alys was the only one in this godforsaken castle who dabbled in the dark arts."

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "You say you seek herbs, little witch, but what say you to a bargain? Your secrets for my protection."

Daemon's hand slid down to your neck, his fingers wrapping around your throat in a loose grip. He could feel your pulse fluttering beneath his touch, could see the way your body trembled at his proximity.

"I could use a witch of your talents in my service," he murmured, his voice low and seductive.

You stepped back, your hand brushing against the dagger beneath your skirts. "I am not some whore," you hissed, your voice low and dangerous. "I do not offer my services to any man, least of all one who would threaten me with a blade."

You met his gaze, your own eyes blazing with defiance. "You would be wise to let me leave at once, your grace. I have no quarrel with you, but I will not be cowed by threats or promises of power."

Turning on your heel, you strode to the shelves, your movements quick and precise. You grabbed a bottle of dried hemlock, the bitter scent filling your nostrils. You turned back to face him, the vial clutched in your hand like a weapon.

"I a daughter of the Gods Eye. I bow to no man, not even a prince of the realm."

You lifted your chin, your dark hair falling in waves around your face. "Now, I will ask you once more. Let me pass, or face the consequences of crossing a witch."

Your hand tightened on the hemlock, the glass cold against your skin. You could feel the rage thrumming through your veins.

"Choose wisely, your grace."

He had dealt with witches before and had watched as they danced and writhed beneath his touch. In pain and pleasure.

But this one was different. This one had a fire in her eyes that couldn't be tamed, a defiance that only fuelled his dark desires.

"A daughter of the Gods Eye, are you?" he growled, his hand tightening around the hilt of his dagger. "How very bold of you, little witch. To stand before a prince of the realm and threaten him with your petty magic."

He took a step forward, his eyes locked on the vial of hemlock clutched in your hand. "You think that trinket will save you? That your gods will protect you from the wrath of a dragon?"

Your breath hitched as Daemon closed the distance between you, his presence overwhelming your senses. The threats rolling off his tongue made your head spin, a dizzying combination of fear and thrill coursing through your veins. You had never met a man who could match the fire in your blood, his very existence seems to challenge you at every turn.

Daemon's lips curled into a cruel smile, his voice dropping to a low, seductive purr. "I have seen the faces of men and women as they begged for mercy, only to be denied. And I have drunk the blood of my enemies, their cries of agony echoing in my ears like a symphony."

"I could hurt you," he growled, his voice a low rumble. "I could crack you like this vial in my hand, leaving you a broken shell of the proud sorceress you once were."

"What do you want?" You gritted out through clenched teeth, hating the way your body reacted to his proximity. Your legs felt weak, your knees threatening to buckle as he loomed over you, his eyes burning into yours.

Daemon's lips curled into a wicked grin at the challenge in your voice, his eyes glinting with a predatory hunger that made your blood run cold. He could see the way your body trembled beneath his gaze, could feel the heat of your skin even from a distance.

Stop it, you scolded yourself. He's just a man. Don't let him get under your skin.

But even as you tried to regain your composure, you could feel the power emanating from him like a physical force. It was intoxicating and dangerous, and you knew that if you weren't careful, you could easily lose yourself in the reckless temptation.

"What do I want?" he purred, his voice low and seductive. "Why, I want what all men want, little witch. Power. Control. To bend others to my will."

He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. His fingers lingered on your cheek, his touch searing your skin like a brand.

"But with you, I want something more," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to break you. To shatter that defiant spirit of yours and make you mine."

You could feel the heat of his skin against yours, could smell the musk of his scent, and for a moment, you were tempted to give in to the desire coursing through your veins.

But you were not some simpering maiden to be seduced by a pretty face and a silver tongue.

Daemon's hand slid down to your throat, his fingers wrapping around your neck in a loose grip.

"I could take you now," he growled, his lips brushing against your jawline. "I could pin you to the floor and claim you, make you scream my name until your voice is hoarse."

His other hand slid down your side, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip through the thin fabric of your gown. "But where's the fun in that? No, I'll take my time with you, little witch. I'll make you beg for my touch, for the sweet release only I can give you."

Daemon's eyes locked with yours, his gaze intense and unwavering. "So what will it be, my sweet? Will you submit to me willingly, or will I have to break you first?"

"You think you can break me?" You said, my voice steady and clear. "That you can tame my soul with your pretty words and your empty promises?"

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. "I have faced far worse than you, Daemon Targaryen. I have stared into the abyss and emerged unscathed. Your threats mean nothing to me."

Your hand slid up his chest, your fingers curling around the chain of the dragon necklace that hung from his neck. You could feel the heat of the metal against your skin, looking at him with a scowl on your face.

"But if you truly want to test yourself against me, my lord," you teased, your voice low and enchanting. "If you think you have what it takes to claim me as your own... by all means, try."

Daemon's eyes flashed with a dangerous light at your challenge, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He could feel the heat of your body against his, could smell the scent of your skin, sweet and intoxicating.

"You play a dangerous game, little witch," he purred, his hand tightening around your throat. "To challenge a dragon is to invite its wrath."

His other hand slid down your back, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. He could feel the heat of your body, could sense the power that coursed through your veins.

"But I like a woman with spirit," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "It makes the eventual submission all the sweeter."

Daemon's hand slid up your side, his fingers tracing the curve of your breast through the thin fabric of your gown. He could feel your nipple harden beneath his touch, could see the way your body responded to his ministrations.

"I will have you, little witch," he growled, his voice low and seductive. "I will claim you as my own, body and soul. And when I am done with you, you will beg for more."

You roll your eyes at Daemon's sweet words, his attempts at seduction falling flat. He thinks he can have you with just a few pretty lies? How naive.

"You tempt me, my prince," you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I'm no easy conquest. Besides, Alys will be back soon. I bet she won't be happy to see an old man taking advantage of her friend." You smirk cruelly, enjoying the way his eyes narrow at your words.

You try to pull away from him, but his grip on your throat tightens, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"I could seriously hurt you, you know," you snarl, your eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "Don't underestimate me."

Daemon's eyes flashed with a dangerous light at your words, a low growl rumbling in his chest. In one swift motion, he slammed you against the wall, his body pinning you in place.

"Enough of your games, little witch," he snarled, his hand tightening around your throat. "You think you can toy with me, challenge me, and walk away unscathed?"

His free hand slid down your body, his fingers tearing at the fabric of your gown with a sharp, ripping sound. Buttons scattered across the floor as he bared your skin to his hungry gaze.

Shock and fury flash through you as Daemon rips open your dress, baring your breasts to his hungry gaze. You stare at him, completely still as a statue from utter disbelief, your breath coming in heavy gasps that make your breasts heave with each inhale.

"I will have you," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "I will claim you as my own, body and soul."

Daemon's hand slid down your body, his fingers tracing the curve of your breast, teasing your nipple into a hardened peak. He could feel the heat of your skin, the way your body trembled beneath his touch.

"I can feel your desire, little witch," he purred, his lips brushing against your ear. "Your body betrays you, even as you try to resist. I will make you mine, in every way possible."

"W-wait," you try to say, but your voice comes out breathy and weak as his fingers roll your nipple, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. Your eyes roll back and a soft moan escapes your parted lips.

What is happening? How did this get so out of control? You think to yourself, your mind spinning from the onslaught of sensation. You can't believe this is happening, that you are letting a man you barely know take such liberties with your body.

Daemon's lips curled into a wicked grin as he saw the effect his touch was having on you, your body arching into his hand like a cat in heat. He could feel the heat of your skin, the way your body trembled beneath his ministrations.

His hand slid down to your thigh, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your ripped gown to caress the soft skin of your leg. He could feel the heat of your body.

"But first, I think I'll taste you," he growled, his hand sliding higher, higher until his fingers brushed against the slick, heated flesh of your core.

Even as you try to formulate a protest, your body betrays you, arching into his touch, craving more of the delicious pleasure he's igniting within you. No, I can't let this happen. I have to stop him.

But the words never leave your lips, lost in a moan as Daemon's hand slides lower, teasing you in places you have only touched in secret, in the dark of night. You are lost in a haze of sensation, your body responding to his touch despite your mind's protests.

"That's it, little witch," he purred, his fingers pinching and tugging at your nipple. "Give in to the pleasure. Let yourself feel the ecstasy only I can give you."

He could feel the wetness of your arousal, could smell the musky scent of your desire.

"You're already so wet for me," he growled, his fingers brushing against your slick folds. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind tries to deny it."

Daemon's fingers slid higher, teasing your entrance with a feather-light touch. Your walls clenched around his fingers, begging for more.

You couldn't think straight, your mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. It was wrong to crave a man you had just met, especially one who had threatened your life moments ago. But the way his fingers teased your most intimate places sent waves of pleasure through your body.

You had heard the other women of your coven speak of lovemaking, their descriptions painting it as a powerful form of magic. Perhaps you could harness this power, and use it to your advantage as Daemon desired to use you for his own pleasure.

Your hips rolled against his hand, seeking more friction. You bit your lip to stifle the moans that threatened to spill from your lips, determined to maintain some facade of control. But deep down, you knew you were in danger of losing yourself to the sensations he was eliciting.

Daemon's eyes glinted with triumph as he felt your hips roll against his hand, your body betraying your true desires. He could see the conflict in your eyes, the way you bit your lip to stifle your moans, and it only served to fuel his own dark lust.

"You can't hide from me, little witch," he growled, his fingers teasing your slick folds. "I can feel how much you want this, how much you crave my touch."

He pressed two fingers inside you, his thumb circling your clit with a maddening rhythm.

You let out a loud, uncontrollable moan as Daemon's fingers delved deep into your untouched walls, his touch igniting a fire within you. Your juices flowed freely, coating his hand as ecstasy consumed your entire being.

Your body writhed against the cold stone wall, your hips bucking shamelessly against his skilled fingers as he finger-fucked you with reckless abandon. Waves of pleasure crashed over you with each thrust, your breasts heaving as he groped and kneaded them roughly.

"Your body is mine now," Daemon snarled, plunging his fingers deeper into your slick heat. He curled them just right, stroking that sensitive spot within you that made your vision go white. "You'll scream my name until your throat is raw. You'll beg for my cock like a bitch in heat."

His other hand gripped your hip, holding you in place as he finger-fucked you with ruthless intensity. Your cries of pleasure echoed off the stone walls, mingling with the lewd squelching sounds of his fingers pounding into your drenched cunt.

"That's it, take it," Daemon growled, his lips latching onto a pert nipple. He sucked hard, grazing the bud with his teeth as his fingers ruthlessly stroked your g-spot. "Come for me, little witch. Let me feel you spasm on my fingers."

He could feel your walls fluttering around his digits, your body teetering on the brink of climax. With a final, brutal thrust, he sent you careening over the edge. Your scream of ecstasy filled the room as your pussy clenched down on his fingers, your release dripping down his fingers.

Daemon lapped at your neck, tasting the salt of your sweat. He continued pumping his fingers through your climax, prolonging your pleasure until you were boneless and mewling.

"Good girl," he purred, finally withdrawing his soaked fingers. He brought them to your lips, smearing your essence across them. "Clean them."

Your eyes fluttered open, glazed with post-orgasmic bliss. You hesitated only a moment before parting your lips, allowing him to push his fingers into your mouth. The musky taste of your arousal coated your tongue, and you couldn't help but moan around his digits.

He grins wickedly as you lap at his fingers provocatively, cleaning your essence from them. As his fingers are clean, he lowers himself to the floor, kneeling before you, as to worship you.

You gasp as Daemon sinks to his knees before you, his dark eyes fuming with raw desire. Your heart races, your pulse pounding in your ears as he settles between your trembling thighs. The heat of his breath on your most sensitive flesh sends electric shocks of pleasure straight to your core.

Dazed and off-balance, you instinctively reach out, fisting your hands in his hair for support. Your legs still feel like jelly from your earth-shattering climax moments before.

A bewildered expression crosses your face as he grins up at you, his tongue snaking out to drag along your dripping slit. You cry out, your head slamming back against the cold stone wall as ecstasy crashes over you in relentless waves.

"Mmmm, you taste divine," Daemon purrs, his hot breath fanning over your slick folds. He laps at your essence like a man starved, his tongue delving deep to drink from your most intimate well.

You can only moan brokenly, your head thrashing from side to side as he feasts upon your quivering flesh. His tongue is pure sin, licking and suckling at your clit with unholy skill.

"Good girl," he growls, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. "Ride my face. Grind that pretty cunt against my tongue."

Lost to the all-consuming pleasure, you do as he commands, rolling your hips shamelessly against his mouth. Your thighs clench around his head, trapping him in place as you fuck his face with feral ease.

His lips close around your clit, suckling the sensitive bud as he thrusts two fingers into your dripping channel. They curl just right, stroking that secret spot within you that makes you see stars.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Daemon groans, pumping his fingers in and out of your fluttering walls.

You can only whimper in response, your body tensing as another climax builds at the base of your spine. It coils tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

Daemon's tongue delved deep, lapping at your dripping essence with a hunger that bordered on feral. He groaned against your slick flesh, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure racing through your body.

He focused his attention on your clit, the tip of his tongue flicking the sensitive bud with rapid, teasing strokes. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he devoured you like a man starved.

Your fingers tightened in his hair. The public nature of your coupling only served to heighten the forbidden thrill, the rush of being taken in a place where anyone could stumble upon you.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. He could feel your body tensing, your walls fluttering around his probing tongue as he brought you to the brink of climax once more.

With one final, hard suck, he sent you spiralling over the edge. Your scream of ecstasy echoed off the stone walls as your pussy clenched around his tongue, your release gushing into his eager mouth.

Daemon lapped at your spasming cunt, prolonging your pleasure as he drank down every last drop of your sweet nectar. He continued his ministrations until your body went limp, your cries turning to whimpers as the waves of pleasure subsided.

Finally, he pulled back, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. He stood, a wicked grin on his face as he towered over your prone form.

"You taste divine, little witch," he purred, his hand sliding up your body to cup your breast. He pinched your nipple, rolling the hardened peak between his fingers. "I could feast on your cunt for hours and never grow tired."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "But I'm not nearly done with you yet..."

Lifting you up with ease, Daemon tosses you onto the creaky bed, your body bouncing on the worn mattress. You cry out in surprise, your heart pounding as you take in his towering form looming over you. His eyes burn with a hunger that gives you chills.

"Daemon, please," you plead, your voice trembling. Your core aches, still throbbing from the intense climaxes he's wrought from your untouched body. You are no experienced harlot, but an untouched maiden, and you fear you are not ready for the sheer size of him.

Daemon's large hands grip your ankles, spreading your legs wide as he settles between your thighs.

Daemon's eyes raked over your trembling form, taking in the sight of you spread out before him like a feast. His cock throbbed with need, straining against the confines of his breeches as he drank in the sight of your swollen, glistening folds.

His hands moved with urgent purpose, his fingers making quick work of the laces of his breeches. He shoved the garment down his legs, kicking it aside with a careless motion. His cock sprang free, the thick shaft jutting out proudly from a nest of dark curls.

He rubbed his cock against your slick entrance, teasing you with the promise of his hard length. You could feel it throbbing against your sensitive flesh, hot and hard and ready to claim you utterly.

"Please," you whimpered, your body trembling with need. "I... I've never... I don't know if I can take you."

A cruel smile twisted Daemon's lips as he heard your plea.

"Please be gentle," you whisper, looking up at him with wide, vulnerable eyes.

Daemon's expression softens for a moment, a flicker of something akin to tenderness crossing his features. His hand reaches up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your trembling bottom lip.

"Shh, little witch," he murmurs, his voice surprisingly mild. "I'll make it good for you. I promise."

With that, he leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue delves into your mouth, claiming you, staking his claim over you.

As he kisses you deeply, you feel the head of his cock nudging against your entrance. Slowly, incredibly slowly, he begins to push forward, stretching you open around his thick girth.

A sharp gasp escapes you, breaking the kiss as he breaches your barrier. Pain and pleasure mingle together, your untouched walls struggling to accommodate his size.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groans, his hips grinding against yours. He gives you a moment to adjust, his hands roaming your body possessively. "Such a perfect little cunt, made just for me."

He starts to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in. The rhythm is brutal, each thrust hitting that spot deep inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids.

You cried out, your back arching off the bed as pain and pleasure crashed over you in equal measure. He stretched you wide, his thick length filling you in a way you never thought possible. Your walls stretched and clenched around him, your slick arousal easing the way as he claimed you over and over again.

"Fuck!" Daemon snarls, his eyes rolling back at the tight, wet heat of your virgin walls.

Daemon sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with animalistic hunger. His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as he ruts into your willing body.

"Take it," he growls, his voice strained with pleasure, his hips snapping against yours with ruthless force.

The bed creaked beneath you, the sound mingling with your moans and his grunts as he took you, his cock sawing in and out of your dripping cunt. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your nails raking down his back, leaving red marks and bloody imprints.

Daemon's brutal thrusts tore through you, each one sending shockwaves of pain and pleasure coursing through your body. You screamed, your voice hoarse and ragged as he pounded into your virgin cunt. Tears streamed down your face, your nails raking down his back as you clung to him desperately.

He had taken something sacred from you, your maidenhead, and you knew your souls were now tied. The ritual of first blood, unplanned as it was, had sealed your fates together. And with a dragon as your first, the power you could now wield...

You threw your head back, your moans echoing off the stone walls as he fucked you with complete disregard. Your hips bucked to meet his thrusts, the pain giving way to a pleasure you had never known before. You were lost to the sensation, your body consumed by the feel of him inside you.

Daemon's eyes darkened at the sight of your tears, a predatory grin spreading across his face. He could feel your walls clenching around him, gripping his cock like a vice as he claimed you over and over again.

He angled his hips, hitting that sweet spot deep inside you with each brutal thrust. His hands roamed your body, groping and squeezing, leaving bruises in their wake.

"That's it," he growled, his voice rough with pleasure. "Take my cock like the little slut you are. Fucking mine now, aren't you? Your cunt belongs to me."

You met his thrusts with your own, your hips rising to meet him as he drove into you over and over again. The bed groaned beneath you, the frame creaking threateningly as he took you with unrestrained lust.

You felt your peak nearing, your entire body on fire as Daemon pounded into you with unrestrained fury. You brought his neck to your teeth, biting down hard enough to draw a few drops of blood. The copper taste flooded your mouth, bitter and metallic as you licked the crimson liquid from your lips.

"Now you have bled for me too," you whispered ominously, your voice thick with lust and dark magic.

But before you could reach your peak, you quickly reached for your enchanted necklace, clutching it in your hand. The ancient magics within pulsed to life, amplifying the power of this ritual tenfold.

Power surged through you, your cunt squeezing tight around Daemon's cock as you came. Your eyes rolled back, your body convulsing as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. Dark energy swirled around you, the air crackling with stifled energy.

"Mine," you whispered, your voice echoing with unexpected dominance. "You are mine now, Daemon Targaryen. Entwined by blood and pleasure."

Daemon's eyes flew open in surprise, his mouth falling open as he felt the surge of dark witchcraft. But it was too late - the ritual was complete.

Daemon froze, his cock buried deep inside your still-spasming cunt. He stared down at you, his eyes wide with shock and a hint of fear.

He groaned, his hips stuttering as your cunt clenched around him like a vice. The dark magic amplified every sensation, every touch, every thrust. It was overwhelming and intoxicating, and he never wanted it to end.

"Fuck," he gasped, his voice strained with anger and pleasure. "What did you do?"

But even as he asked, he knew. You had bound him to you, claimed him in a way that went beyond the physical.

He thrust into you one last time, his cock erupting deep inside you as he came.

He tried to pull out, to break the connection, but your walls clenched around him, refusing to let him go. Panic flashed across his face as he realized the implications of what you'd done.

"You... you she-devil," he snarled, his hands tightening on your hips. "Did you plan this? To trick me, to bind me to you?"

You just grinned, a vicious, seductive curve of your lips. You could feel his fear, his anger, but beneath it all was a flicker of arousal. The power you now held over him was intoxicating.

"Shh," you cooed, your fingers trailing down his chest. "Don't fight it. We are one now."

You roll your hips, your walls clenching around his softening cock. He groans, his hips bucking unconsciously into yours.

You gasped as the obsidian stone of your necklace pulsed warmly against your throat. The maleficent force surged through your veins, your eyes rolling back in ecstasy. "Yes!" You cried out, the power exhilarating in your veins.

Your eyes, nearly black now, held his gaze as you sneered cruelly.

Daemon collapsed on top of you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His softening cock slipped from your abused cunt, a trickle of his seed leaking out to pool on the tattered sheets beneath you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, your bodies still intertwined as you both tried to process what had just happened. The energy that had swirled around you during your climax still lingered in the air, making the hairs on Daemon's arms stand on end.

Slowly, he lifted his head, his dark eyes searching your face. He looked confused as he took in your triumphant grin and the blackness of your eyes.

"What... what did you do to me?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

You smiled at him, your eyes gleaming with malice. "I didn't do anything to you. I had no desire to harm you, as I stated before," you answered truthfully. "Did you know that the moment when one reaches orgasm is the most intense and the most powerful experience a human can have in life? For in that moment, the soul suddenly opens to the divine realm and the breath of God is infused. I needed another to reach divinity."

You rose from the bed, slipping your ripped dress back on and throwing a cloak over yourself. "I simply used you... as you have done to many women in your life, I'm sure. Do not fret, my prince," you smirked.

Daemon stared up at you, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and a hint of grudging admiration. He pushed himself up to sit, his naked body on full display as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

"Used me?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "I've never been used like this before."

He stood, his cock already starting to harden again at the sight of you, despite his anger. He took a step towards you, his hand reaching out as if to grab you, but he stopped himself.

"What are you?" he demanded, his eyes raking over your form. "What kind of witch are you?"

He snatched up his discarded breeches, roughly pulling them on, his mind reeling from the events of the past hour.

"I should kill you for this," he growled, but there was no real heat behind his words. He knew he couldn't, not now. Not with the bond between you, however unexpected it may be.

"What do you want from me now?" He asked, rage clearly visible in his eyes.

You sauntered over to Daemon, your hips swaying seductively. The rip in your dress left little to the imagination, your full breasts on display for his hungry gaze. You could see the desire warring with the anger in his eyes as you approached.

"Nothing anymore, my prince," you purred, your voice like honey. "My powers have been amplified. I owe you a debt of gratitude for that."

You traced a finger along his jawline, feeling the prickle of his stubble. "Though I wouldn't mind having you take me again. I doubt I'll find another man as virile as you in all of Westeros."

You leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "You've awakened something in me, Daemon Targaryen. A hunger I never knew I could satisfy."

Your hand slid down his chest, your nails raking lightly over his skin. "I am yours. And I suspect you are mine as well."

You pulled back, your eyes locking with his. "What say you, my dragon?"

Daemon's breath hitched as you touched him, his body responding instantly to your proximity despite his anger. He grabbed your wrist, his grip tight enough to bruise as he glared down at you.

He pulled you closer, his other hand gripping your hip. "You want to be taken again?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "I'll fucking ruin you."

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chiisana-lion · 2 years ago

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OK IM FREE IM GETTING UP TO DATE DID ENDOKOBA ANIME SPOILERED THE MANGA ONLYS!!!?!!! JDHDSKD IM CRYING the model is a gacha addict

ASDJKHGAHGJKSD I THINK SO. KINDA i see it more as foreshadowing rly?? otome game addict top model

#wondering if theres some sort of correlation to the evil witch hating fiene so much and the fact that this Doesnt seem to be the first time #that kirise ''awakened'' fiene or something #whoever eve is she doesnt seem to stick around for too long irl maybe theres something to do w that #asks #endokoba #hitsuyou fukaketsu #that reminds me i should check if the manga has updated....

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inubaki · 10 days ago

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The Exchange (first showings)

part 6

Adam had no accurate account of how long he’d laid in the pit. Lucifer said nothing and neither did the boys as Eve remained in her state of stasis.

The pit was an engorged trench of earth Eve had so keenly constructed amongst many in Adam’s absence. Deep enough to cover but never not adequately deep enough to bury a human body. It was intricately cushioned in stakes of strange smelling plants, flowers and possible herbs. Its bedding bore a sharp contrast to its barren surroundings where floral refused to grow. Nothing disturbed Eve and days dragged along to months without even a murmur.

It came as a double edge to ease Adam’s paranoia from her last fit, but also entrapped him to the same spot. Refusing to abandoned her and cause a rift with the twins. All the while his stomach was only growing larger by the day.

“Ozzy…”

Lucifer announced with a kiss to Adam’s brow. The human man looking up from his assorted rations, giving the pale man a perfect window to push a daisy behind Adam’s ear. Sunflower colored eyes leered back at him with its usual suspicion. The once angel laughed and disrupted Adam boldly to shove himself into Adam’s lap. The beast’s favorite place if not to leer eerily behind him. “Asmodeus, really, but Ozzy for short!”

Lucifer repeated. Like a snake, he curled himself around Adam’s front. An embrace as lucid as it kept constricting. Adam shuddered away by instinct and general unease by physical contact. “That’s a Stu——“ he jerked in alarm as Lucifer’s fangs nicked at his swelled nipple. The arising tenderness in his chest which he refused to acknowledge. Their softening metamorphosis and only inspiring more leeching excitement for the demon making it all the more impossible to shove the leech away. “-STUPID FUCKING NAME!! Ahh—-“. Adam’s breath caught as Lucifer’s warm tongue engulf his nipple entirely. The shock of it eliciting a full body jerk, his cock twitching between his leather and furs. The years of neglect since leaving Eden rendering him ultra sensitive to even the slightest touch from the beast at his breast.

What would Eve say now? Now that he was the one being entrapped upon by Lucifer’s corroding influence. Adam chocked back a stammering moan as Lucifer switched breasts as easily as he switched humans. The fucker… Between them, his stomach gave the faintness of movement and dispute Adam jerking away from the sheer alieness of the feeling, Lucifer only purred. “So fitting it is, for the first prince to be of Lust…”

Lucifer’s hands lower to slip through Adam’s coverings. Tapered claws tracing along the beginning of an ample curve. Something shifted beneath the skin invoking a thirsty snarl from sharpened fangs. The ‘angel’ Adam had long forsaken shoved his face between Adam’s bared chest while giving an utterly inhuman whine. There was no end to Lucifer’s reach as Adam felt utterly engulfed. “Cause we’ll never get enough of you… My Queen and I… to our mother of hell….”

——-

It’s not very good. But, even with my headache, I wanted to do at least something. Eve, the earth’s first witch, had wanted to bring Adam some happiness. In form that would take, not even she expected.

Eve was Lucifer’s and Lilith’s first conduit. Dispute being human children, the children Eve bore carried their blood, strengthening their bond. The pit is the space in which both Abel and Cain drew their first breath and first blood so it’s the site most closeted to ‘them’.

And by extension are the marking Eve’s craved both into herself and Adam. Tying them both to the pit and Lilith, and Lucifer’s influence. Eve had expected to be the mother of humanity. And though she would be, she did not expect to what liberty Adam would carry in parallel to her.

pervs:

#Pregnantadamsappleweek #adamsapple #guitarduck #lucifer x adam #adam x lucifer #hazbin hotel #traditional art #my art #drawing #Eve is the first witch #adam is trying #Lilith and Lucifer are biding their time #Sacrifices #After eden #earth adam

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hsunrry · 3 months ago

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. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

twitter // requests are open, so feel free to ask! ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

i’m posting as often as i can!

english is not my first language, so sorry if there’s any typos or something! enjoy!

newest on the top!

⊹ ࣪ ˖𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬⊹ ࣪ ˖

christmas lights (smut)

• shy (smut)

• coachella (smut)

• date night (smut, angst)

• it's positive (smut)

• you can take it (smut)

• you're not the problem (smut)

• water whale (smut)

• best i've ever had (smut)

• new side (smut)

• are you fucking hard? (smut)

• fairy lights (smut, fluff)

• don't leave me (smut, angst)

• pretty boy (smut)

• moustache | moustache 2 (smut)

• perfumes (smut)

• argument (smut, angst)

• college teacher (smut)

• home alone (smut)

• safe word (smut)

• sweet release (smut)

• ring (fluff)

• assistant (smut)

• special room (smut)

• witch (smut)

• about you (smut)

• wedding (smut, angst)

• ghostface (smut)

• online meeting (smut)

• new year's eve (smut)

• dressing room (smut)

• nurse (smut)

• lights up (smut)

• princess (smut)

• love triangle (smut)

• location (smut)

• winter house (smut, angst)

• teacher (smut)

• lesson (smut)

• princess (smut)

• first time? (smut)

• study session (smut)

• hockey (smut)

• dressing room (smut)

• car ride (smut)

• new pillow (smut)

• roommates (smut)

• app (smut)

• summer house | summer house 2 (smut)

⊹ ࣪ ˖𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬⊹ ࣪ ˖

• innocent (smut)

• are you fucking hard? (smut)

• better (smut)

• argument (smut)

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drghostwrite · 16 days ago

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This Christmas…

This is a long one so buckle up, it’s also a little late but considering today is Christmas… well I did my best lol.

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x wife!reader

Summary: it’s your first married Christmas together and you have a mischievous plan in the works to brighten your wife’s holiday.

Warnings: smut… Minors DNI!

********************************************************

The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg lingered in the air as you stood at the stove, a cover of ‘This Christmas’ softly playing in the background. You glanced over at the beautifully decorated Christmas tree standing proudly in the corner of the room. Each ornament reflected tiny sparks of firelight, and the star atop glimmered with enchantments Agatha had whispered into existence.

The soft glow of twinkling lights illuminated the kitchen, casting golden hues across your wedding ring as you stirred the pot of mulled cider.

Its was your first Christmas married to Agatha and it felt like a dream, each small moment filled with warmth and anticipation.

Over the last week, you and Agatha had taken to sneaking little gifts into each other’s stockings early. She had gifted you an antique gold necklace with a small onyx gem that hummed faintly with protective enchantments, and in return, you’d slipped a handwritten poem about the love you shared along with a very expensive cashmere sweater in her signature purple. Yesterday, she had surprised you with a leather-bound spellbook from the 17th century, its pages imbued with whispers of witches long past. And in her stocking today, you’d placed a bottle of her favorite vintage wine with a cheeky note: Save this for dessert, my love.

You heard her before you saw her—the familiar sound of her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. Agatha appeared in the doorway, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, lips painted a rich wine-red that matched the sweater. She smirked, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she approached.

“You’re spoiling me, darling,” she murmured, sliding in beside you at the counter. Her hand found yours, fingers curling around your wrist as she pressed a kiss to your temple. Her other hand toyed with your wedding ring that glinted against the kitchen lights, turning it idly as though marveling at the commitment it symbolized.

“Just making sure you’re as spoiled as I feel,” you teased, leaning into her touch.

“You’re too good to me.” she purred as she continued playing with your ring.

The sight of it made her pause, her fingers curling around yours as her thumb traced the smooth, silver band. Your ring was a marquise diamond surrounded by an elegant twist of platinum and deep sapphires that Agatha said reminded her of starlight. In contrast, her own ring was bold: black diamond surrounded by tiny, white diamonds, a design you chose to reflect her darker mystique.

“I still love seeing this on your finger,” she murmured, her voice softer than usual as she raised your hand to her lips.

“Good,” you replied, leaning back into her warmth. “Because it’s staying there.”

Her chuckle vibrated against you as she nuzzled into your hair. “Of course it is, darling.”

You bit your lip, fighting the grin threatening to spread across your face as your plan began to form. “Actually… I just realized we’re missing something important.”

She arched a perfectly sculpted brow, her hand pausing mid-caress. “Missing something? We have wine, presents, cookies, magic-infused cider, and each other. What could possibly be missing?”

“Candy canes,” you said with an exaggerated sigh. “From that little shop downtown, the one with the nice owners that makes them by hand.”

Agatha blinked in disbelief. “Candy canes? It’s Christmas Eve! The stores will be a madhouse, and besides, I can just conjure—”

You shook your head, slipping into your best dramatic pout. “No magic. It won’t taste the same. I need those candy canes to make Christmas perfect.”

She gave you a long, dramatic sigh, “You’re lucky I love you.”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider her words. “You’re right, I am. Now, go on. The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll be back, and I can finish up here.”

Agatha grumbled under her breath but pulled you close, her lips brushing yours in a lingering kiss before she finally relented. “Fine. But you owe me for this, and I’m cashing in tonight.” With a wink, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the night.

As soon as the door shut, you sprang into action. The lingerie you’d hidden away for this moment was a deep shade of burgundy, edged with delicate lace that left little to the imagination as it hugged your curves perfectly, paired with sheer stockings and heels, the Santa hat you wore tying the whole outfit together.

You slipped it on quickly, adding a spritz of your favorite perfume before draping yourself under the tree. The glow of the lights danced over your skin, and you arranged yourself with care, legs stretched out, arms resting above your head, the picture of temptation.

Minutes passed, and then you heard the telltale sound of the front door creaking open.

“Darling, the things I do for you…” Agatha’s voice carried through the house as she kicked off her boots.

“I got the damn candy canes, but if one more person bumps into me—” She stopped mid-sentence as her gaze fell on you. Her sharp blue eyes darkened, a slow smirk spreading across her face.

“Why, Mrs. Harkness,” she drawled, tossing the bag of candy canes onto the couch without a second thought. “What do we have here?” A low sultry laughed slipped past her perfectly painted lips.

You grinned, tilting your head to meet her gaze. “Christmas came a little early this year.”

Agatha’s lips curved into a wicked smirk as she stalked toward you. “My, my. You’re the best gift I’ve ever unwrapped.”

You leaned back on your elbows, letting your legs shift just enough to catch her attention. “I figured it was time to unwrap the real present.”

Her eyes trailed your body, “You’ve been a very naughty girl, haven’t you?”

“Maybe,” you teased, “You going to punish me?”

“Punish you?” she echoed, her lips brushing against yours as her fingers found the hem of your lingerie. “Oh, darling… I’m going to make sure you don’t leave this spot until morning.”

You leaned up, capturing her lips in a kiss that made her sigh against you. “Merry Christmas, my love,” you whispered, your voice laced with anticipation.

Agatha’s reply was a low, teasing growl as she trailed kisses down your neck. “Oh, darling, Christmas isn’t over yet. Let’s see how many times we can unwrap this present tonight.”

Agatha’s words sent a shiver down your spine, her sultry tone lighting a fire in your chest. Her hands were firm yet tender as they slid over the lace framing your body, her fingers expertly tracing every curve with maddening precision. She paused, her lips hovering over the hollow of your throat as she chuckled softly.

“And to think you pretended to need candy canes of all things…”

You tilted your head, pretending to look thoughtful. “Well, I did need those candy canes for the perfect Christmas…”

“Forget the candy canes,” she interrupted, her voice a low growl, “The only thing I want tonight is right here.”

Your laughter was cut short as she leaned in again, her lips finding the sensitive spot just beneath your jaw. She kissed a path down your neck, her teeth grazing your skin just enough to leave you gasping. You let out a small groan your hips grinding down into her lap. She undid your bra quickly tossing it aside and pulling an erect nipple into her mouth.

“You’re absolutely sinful, you know that?” she murmured, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. The way her dark blue eyes burned into yours made your cheeks flush, your breath catching as she smirked. “If this is how you’re starting Christmas, I can’t wait to see what you’ve got planned for our anniversary.”

You reached up, threading your fingers through her hair, tugging gently to draw her closer, her lips connecting with the bare skin between your boobs. “Oh, don’t worry. There’s plenty more where this came from.”

Her laughter was low and wicked, the sound sending another wave of heat through you as she leaned in. “Then let’s make this Christmas one to remember, shall we?”

Her grip was firm as she laid you back onto the plush rug beneath the tree. You couldn’t help but marvel at her strength, the way she carried herself with such confidence and control. The twinkling lights of the tree cast shifting patterns over her face as she trailed heatedly kisses all down your body.

Her thigh was pressed to your core and you tried your best to grind up against her, searching for any kind of friction. She grinned against you at your silent pleas but decided she would be generous with the teasing, sliding her long delicate fingers beneath the waistband of your panties.

“Mm… so wet for me already, waiting all day really did a number on you.” She whispered as her fingers stroked through your dripping folds.

“Agathaaa…” you whined against her soft lips.

“Careful darling, I wouldn’t want to rush unwrapping my gift…”

Her fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear and peeled them off, seeing the wet spot already forming. She tossed them over her shoulder and they ended up hanging from your tree, you chuckled but it was cut short by your wife forcing your legs open.

One hand dug into your bare inner thigh while she watched her fingers slowly drag through your slick, she let out a low possessive groan and she watched you clench around nothing.

She slowly bent down, and stuck out her tongue flatly running it against your pussy tasting you, she gently pulled your clit into her mouth, swirling her tongue.

“Agatha, baby?” You pleaded.

“What does my darling wife need… hmm?” She hummed, mesmerized by the effect she had on you. She continued to tease you, her fingers sliding into you as she moved to bite into your thigh.

You bucked against her at the feeling of her fingers inside you, curling against you but you needed more, you needed to feel more of her inside you.

“Please my love…”

“Words, use your words pretty girl.”

She leaned up kissing your breasts but her fingers roughly pressed against your clit, she felt your buck against her. Her hand on your thigh came up to brush against your swollen lips and you quickly sucked her thumb into your mouth, the action snapping her blue eyes to meet yours. You moaned against her and she roughly brushed your clit again making you gasp and release her finger, her hand coming to wrap around your throat.

“I need you… I need you to fill me up, I need to feel you inside me…” you gasped out, your wife’s breath hot against your skin.

“Does my gorgeous wife need me to fill her with my cock… is that what you need darling?” She asked you and you quickly nodded as you clenched around nothing but air, her fingers still lightly brushing your sensitive clit.

She bent down to kiss you and you whined into her mouth, you bucked your hips and she took the hint. She quickly sat back and fumbled with the button on her jeans, unzipping them and sliding them down her thighs, your mouth watered at the sight of her sliding her pants and underwear over her toned thighs and the effortless way she tossed her sweater and bra aside.

But the moment she waved her hand and a deep red strap appears your mouth ran dry, “Agatha…” you trailed taking in the sight, this one was bigger than the others.

“Cat got your tongue darling?”

“It’s… it’s…”

“Bigger?… well you didn’t think you were the only one with a few presents hidden did you?” She said grasping the silicone cock and lining it up at your entrance, you were propped on your elbows watching as she lined it up and started to push the tip in.

You fell back, the only thing stopping your head from hitting the floor was Agatha’s hand as she cradled you, you wrapped your arms around her shoulders, tears coming to your eyes.

“Agatha, it’s too big…”

“You can take it pretty girl…” she said pushing into you further, the burn and stretch intensifying.

“It hurts… Agatha I don’t know…”

“Okay love… just hold on…” she cradled you in her arms, fingers gently running up your spine as your nails dug into her shoulders. She halted her movements when she finally bottomed out, waiting to feel you relax, when you finally did she spoke up.

“Do you remember your safe word?”

“Snow?”

“Good girl…” you weren’t sure how but you clenched around her at the pet name, “are you okay?… or do you need me to pull out?” She asked.

Agatha could be ruthless but not when it came to you, even if you were being a brat she still let you know that she cared.

“I’m okay… m’okay…” you assured her and felt her start to move, slowly thrusting in and out of you.

You knew she could feel it, the way you clenched around her, the way your pussy greedily pulled her in, Agatha enchanted every single one of your straps. But tonight wasn’t about her, not yet, right now it was about you.

She started to speed up, still holding you in her arms as she thrusted harder and faster… your gasps and moans in her ear signaling that you were close.

“oh god… oh my god… don’t stop… Agatha don’t stop…” you said breathlessly and it only spurred her on.

“Agatha I’m going to…”

“Go ahead love, cum for me pretty girl…” she whispered and she felt you come completely undone, your legs quivering around her waist, your head falling back as your body went limp in her arms.

“Holy shit…” you laughed, your body warm against the rug covering the wooden floor, Agatha watched you closely still planted firmly inside you.

“Darling are you okay if…?” She trailed, motioning to the strap and you slowly nodded. She pulled out and you gasped at the loss of contact, the loss of that fullness but you could feel the ache and soreness building.

“Your turn Mrs. Harkness…” you trailed and grasped her shoulders slowly pushing her to lay in front of the tree.

“Oh, I think…” before she could say anything you ran your hands up her legs, opening her thighs and laying in front of her, you started gently, running your tongue through her dripping pussy, her head falling back as she propped on her elbows.

Your tongue swirled around her clit as her gasps and moans filled the room, you ate her out like a starved woman, one that wanted nothing more than to taste her wife forever.

Agatha’s hand tangled in your hair as you quickly brought her through her first two orgasms, but you didn’t stop there.

You snaked a hand up her thigh planting it firmly on her lower belly, your fingers easily sliding into her as you continued to suck and lick at her clit, your fingers curled inside her hitting that dangerously sweet spot. When you felt her getting close you applied a little more pressure and before you knew it she was orgasming all over again.

She squirted into your mouth, her juices covering your chin, running down your neck. You sat up with the most love drunk smirk on your lips. A little chuckle escaped you as you saw the blissed out look in her eyes, her lips slightly parted.

“Well darling, I see you’ve learned a few things… and apparently that means we’re going to need to replace the rug….” she laughed in a low sultry tone.

“You’re my wife… I’m supposed to know exactly how to make you feel this good… I can always buy another rug.” you leaned up to kiss her lips, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

She kissed you and you could taste the mixing of each other on your lips, the kisses gentle but heated as you both enjoyed each other, hands still gently roaming.

The world outside was forgotten as you lost yourself in her touch, her kisses, and the way she murmured your name like it was the only thing she needed. By the time the tree’s lights began to dim, your plans had unfolded perfectly, and Agatha made sure you knew just how much she appreciated her early Christmas gift.

As you lay together afterward, wrapped in a blanket on the floor beneath the tree, Agatha tilted her head to look at you. “You know,” she said with a teasing smile, “we still haven’t opened the rest of the presents.”

You grinned, resting your head against her chest as her fingers traced lazy circles along your arm. “Oh, I think we’ve already unwrapped the best one.”

Agatha laughed softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Merry Christmas, my perfect little temptress.”

“Merry Christmas, my wicked wife,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of her arms and the soft glow of the tree wrapped around you both like a spell.

#x yn #x reader #x reader smut #smut prompts #agatha all along au #rio x agatha #agatha harkness smut #agatha harkness x reader #agatha coven of chaos #agatha all along #agatha x reader #agatha harkness #christmas #wlw smut #smut

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claramelooo · 11 days ago

Text

CRIMSON REVERIE

You can't imagine what a pleasure it is to be back!!! Yey! Welcome back to the abyss that is my mind. As today is New Year's Eve, there's nothing more fair than posting the day before the first chapter, right?

Well, this theme (Wanda as Scarlet Witch) is still very recent for me, so if you read something wrong or nonsense, please forgive me

Feel it <3

Paring: Dark!Witch Wanda x Fem Reader

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Prologue

The void of the multiverse was an unfathomable place, an infinite tangle of possibilities where dreams became realities, and nightmares hid behind every fold in existence. Wanda Maximoff — the Scarlet Witch — was a traveler in this abyss. Her steps echoed through fragmented dimensions, her magic pulsing with the fiery red of determination.

Since losing everything — her children, her family, her peace — Wanda had only one purpose: to rebuild what was taken from her.

“Tommy. Billy.” Their names were a whispered mantra between the cracks of space and time. In every universe she visited, she searched for them, for any glimpse of their laughter, their faces, their hearts she longed to feel beating against hers once again. But the multiverse was cruel. Some realities were shattered, others seemed like false promises of happiness. In all of them, something was missing.

Until she found this one.

When Wanda crossed the veil of the new dimension, the air shifted. There was no chaos here. No ruins or remnants of a lost battle. Everything seemed calm, absurdly perfect. The sound of children’s laughter came from a house in the distance, and for a moment, Wanda hesitated. Could it be them?

She moved closer in silence, cloaking herself in an invisible barrier to remain unseen. Her eyes scanned the blooming garden and settled on the window illuminated by the warm light of the setting sun. There, two boys were running through the garden, laughing loudly as a woman tried, unsuccessfully, to get them to stop.

You.

Time seemed to freeze as Wanda watched. Your smile, your presence... everything about you was so natural, so full of life. But what truly stole Wanda's breath was the detail she hadn’t expected: your rounded belly, carrying a child.

You gently caressed your stomach as you laughed, calling the boys inside for dinner. There was something so extraordinarily simple about that scene, yet so unattainable for Wanda, that a lump formed in her throat.

And then, the door opened.

The Scarlet Witch stood motionless as another woman stepped out of the house — herself.

It was like looking into a mirror, but it wasn’t the reflection Wanda anticipated. This version of herself was... different. There was a brightness in her eyes, a lightness in her step, an unassuming confidence. This Wanda didn’t bear the shadows of the Darkhold, nor the weight of losses etched into her face. She wasn’t just a mother. She was whole.

Wanda watched as the other version kissed Tommy and Billy on their foreheads before approaching you. What happened next made the Scarlet Witch’s heart stop.

The other Wanda knelt before you, her hands resting tenderly on your belly as she smiled. “And how’s our little girl today?” she asked, her voice so soft it sounded like music.

You laughed, the sound light and full of joy. “I think she’s trying to play soccer in there. She hasn’t stopped kicking.”

The other Wanda laughed too, leaning in to kiss your belly before standing to wrap her arms around you.

Hidden in the shadows, the Scarlet Witch felt envy swell like a storm in her chest. This life should have been hers. Tommy and Billy. You. The child yet to be born.

She wanted it more than anything.

And then, she decided.

If this universe couldn’t be hers, she would make it hers.

Red power radiated from her hands as her eyes burned with intensity. And deep down, despite all the consequences her decision might bring, Wanda knew she would never give up.

And deep down, she knew she would do anything to claim it.

As night fell, the Scarlet Witch remained in the darkness, watching like a shadow. Every laugh, every touch, every moment of happiness inside that house felt both out of reach and dangerously close.

She clenched her fists, red energy beginning to pulse in her hands.

With a single motion, she opened a small portal in time and space, slipping inside the house. She was no longer an observer.

Now, she was ready to take what she believed was hers.

And no one, not even another version of herself, would stand in her way.

~*~

Tag list <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @trindad2k

@indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher

@idkwhatever580 @valentine585

@reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good

@imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @bees-for-brains @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp

@lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @sheriffswan-blog @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000

#mommy wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #lgbtq #elizabeth olsen x reader #mommy k!nk #wlw post #lgbtqia #mommy k1nk #wanda x you #dark wanda maximoff #dark aesthetic #scarlet witch x reader

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zepskies · 1 month ago

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Love Actually || Series Masterlist

Paring: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader

Summary: Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system. At least, you hope you can, before he meets the rest of your dysfunctional family on Christmas Day.

AN: I thought it was finally time I created a masterlist for Love Actually, since it became a mini series of its own within the Break Me Down-verse! Originally, it was just meant to be a one-shot, but I wrote the second and third parts when people requested seeing Ben interact with his girlfriend's family! 😂 That said, I hope you enjoy this little Christmas series, whether you're revisiting, or if you're new here! ❤️💚

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Romance, smut, and tinges of angst, but mostly a lot of romantic fluff and family feels.

Chapters:

Part 1: Humbug

Part 2: Season's Greetings

Part 3: Auld Lang Syne

Series Complete!

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Break Me Down Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BMD Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26

@nancymcl @emily-winchester @sl33pylilbunny @chernayawidow @spnfamily-j2

@lacilou @mimaria420 @yvonneeeee @my-stories-vault @iprobablyshipit91

@jacklesbrainworms @adoringanakin @deanwanddamons @globetrotter28 @mrsjenniferwinchester

@deans-daydream @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70

@rizlowwritessortof @chevroletdean @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @muhahaha303

@123passwort @lyarr24 @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas

@jessjad @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2 @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67

@deansbbyx @midnightmadwoman @ladysparkles78 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @tmb510

@sarahgracej @foxyjwls007 @just-levyy @roseblue373 @charmed-asylum

@mrlonelycat @kmc1989 @siampie @kaleldobrev @pieandmonsters

@alwaystiredandconfused @mostlymarvelgirl @twinkleinadiamondsky @winchestergirl2 @a-lil-pr1ncess

@winchester-whiskey @spnbabe67 @cheynovak @megara0224 @yoongi-holland

@illicithallways @perpetualabsurdity @deansimpala @impala-dreamer @k4marina

@atenea585 @kayleighwinchester @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @star-yawnznn

@number1whorehome @g0ldfishd00dles @10ava01 @sixxteenbullets @tayl0rfanatic

@everything-is-all-clear @suckitands33 @cookiechipdough @trashmoutth @riteofpassage77

@jc-winchester @mxltifxnd0m @bleuatlas @luci-in-trenchcoats @valerinapetrova

@thebiggerbear @spnaquakindgdom @podiumackles @ladykitana90

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astra-ravana · 3 months ago

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Celebrating Samhain

Samhain, pronounced "SAH-win", is the eighth Sabbat and final spoke on the Wheel of the Year. With ancient Celtic origins, Samhain was one of the four fire festivals, and falls at the halfway point between the Autumn Equinox ans Winter Solstice. Opposing Beltane on the Wheel, Samhain also similarly features a 'thinning of the Veil', a time when the barrier between our world and that of spirits and other magickal entities is weakened and easier to cross. While Beltane famously is a strong time to interact with the Fae due to the Veil thinning, Samhain is most known for interactions with spiritual entities, the dead, and ancestors.

Samhain is also known as the third and final Harvest Festival (the first being Lughnasadh, and the second Mabon). The frost is coming, and most of the produce has been collected from the fields and stored away. As people prepared for oncoming harsh weather and lack of food/resources, they had to cut back on everything that wasn't crucial to their survival. Thus, this festival was the time of the animal harvest. All creatures who could not be fed through the harsh Winter were harvested during this time, and celebrated for their sacrifice.

Other names for Samhain and similar celebrations include:

• Halloween

• All Hallow's Eve

• The Witch's New Year

• The Third/Final Harvest

• Calan Gaeaf, "The First Day Of Winter"

• Oiche Shamnhna

• All Soul's Day

• All Saint's Day

• Devil's Night

Common Samhain Traditions

• The Dumb Supper is when a meal is hosted and consumed by the living, but the dead and spirits are invited to participate and given seats and places at the table as a sign of respect. Often the windows are all open during a Dumb Supper to invite the spirits into a home. Sometimes specific spirits or ancestors are invited or the invitation is simply left open to any spirits that wish to attend. The living attendants traditionally eat in silence to honor the spirits and hear their messages.

• Carving Jack-O-Lanterns originally came from the myth of "Stringy Jack", which is an Irish folktale about a man who tricked the Devil and now has to wander the world with a lit piece of coal protected inside a carved turnip. This evolved into people carving their own turnips and potatoes and placing them in windows or doorways to scare away Stringy Jack and other tricky or potentially harmful spirits. Once Irish immigrants came to America, the tradition was continued with pumpkins.

• Trick-Or-Treating is also derived from old Samhain traditions. The Celts believed that by dressing up they were disguising themselves from negative spirits who wandered the Earth on Samhain. In the Middle-Ages, "guising" was when children or impoverished people would dress in costumes and go door-to-door begging for food in exchange for songs or prayers. This practice was known as "souling" and the participants called "soulers". In Ireland, the practice of "mumming" involved dressing up in costumes and going door-to-door to sing in exchange for tasty cakes and baked goods.

Samhain Correspondences

Colors:

• Black

• Green

• Orange

• Purple

• Red

• Silver

Crystals:

• Black Obsidian

• Bloodstone

• Amethyst

• Black Tourmaline

• Carnelian

• Jasper

• Jet

• Malachite

• Iolite

• Onyx

• Vivianite

• Ruby

• Smokey Quartz

• Garnet

Herbs/Plants:

• Cedar

• Allspice

• Cinnamon

• Hemlock

• Sage

• Rosemary

• Patchouli

• Hazel

• Dittany of Crete

• Bay

• Clove

• Belladonna

• Dragon's Blood

• Wormwood

• Mandrake

• Mugwort

• Snapdragon

• Gourds

• Nutmeg

• Frankincense

• Ginger

• Pine

• Hyssop

• Marigold

Animals:

• Bats

• Snakes

• Cats

• Spiders

• Scorpions

• Coyotes

• Jackals

• Dogs

• Wolves

• Foxes

• Crows

• Ravens

• Owls

• Rats

• Stags

Food/Drink:

• Pumpkins

• Cider

• Beef

• Chicken

• Pork

• Cranberries

• Turnips

• Potatoes

• Garlic

• Soups/stews

• Pears

• Corn

• Ale

• Apples

• Grain

• Pies

Deities:

• Hekate

• Lucifer

• Anubis

• Loki

• Lilith

• Morrigan

• Nyx

• Hades

• Persephone

• Osiris

• Apollo

• Cerridwen

• Hel

• Freya

• Demeter

• Bast

• Mercury

• Yama

• Dis

• Herne

Magickal Workings:

• Spirit Work

• Ancestral Work

• Banishing

• Cleansing

• Divination

• Baneful Magick

• Shadow Work

• Rebirth/Resurrection

• Transformation

• Creativity

• Defensive Magick

• Preparation

• Ambition

• Purification

• Protection

Bonus: Samhain Incense Recipe

• 2 parts Rosemary

• 1 part Frankincense

• 1 part Cinnamon

• 1 part Cloves

• 1 part Patchouli

• 1/2 part Sage

• 1/4 part Hyssop

• Pinch of Sea Salt

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sluttyten · 3 months ago

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magic tricks and magical d*cks

Kinktober Day 3 | Johnny Masterlist | Member Masterlist

tags: warlock!johnny, wand puns, magic, blowjobs, cock worship, fingering, strangers to lovers

length: 5435

Growing up, you’d always believed in magic.

You were raised on Harry Potter, dreaming of getting your Hogwarts letter at eleven, disappointed when it didn’t arrive. As a child, you spent a lot of time making up rhyming phrases with your friends that you pretended were spells, buying crystals, trying to channel the innate magic you knew you must have been born with.

Nothing.

Once you reached high school, you started getting into the occult, into underground communities that truly believed in and practiced magic. Real magic.

It was all real.

A whole world mingled with yours, practicing magic and demonology and all sorts of incredible things that you’d almost begun to think couldn’t exist.

But it does.

You find your community in Chicago, on the shores of Lake Michigan.

And it’s there that you learn of Johnny.

Johnny isn’t necessarily what you expected a warlock to be. You hear warlock and you imagine an uber-powerful grizzly, gnarled older man wearing robes and wielding a staff, chanting in an ancient, forgotten language.

But Johnny is young and hot, he dresses like a runway model, and when you’re lucky enough to observe him spell-casting he uses English and occasionally Korean. And he’s the top warlock in the Midwest.

He’s everything you aspire to be as a spellcaster. Johnny has the power and prestige that you’ve felt you’re destined to have. He’s a god among mere mortals.

So you’re kind of his fangirl. Among the magic-scene of Chicago, Johnny is sort of like the hottest bachelor, a party boy who hosts the best parties because everything is enhanced by magic — the lights, the music, the food, booze, drugs — and he’s like the mayor of the underground. He takes care of the city and surrounding areas, overseeing infrastructure spells, protection spells, making sure that local spellcasters don’t go too wild on the holidays.

He basically reminds you of Magnus Bane from the Mortal Instruments series (who you’d definitely had a crush on while reading the books and when you’d watched the film).

Shortly after you ingratiate yourself into the magical community in Chicago, you befriend a man named Kun. Kun began his interest in magic with sleight of hand and card magic, but he’d slowly slid into true magic, learning from a talented wizard in China before Kun heard about Johnny. He immigrated to America just to move to Chicago and learn from the best.

Though, when you meet him, Kun hasn’t yet succeeded in attaining the apprenticeship with Johnny just yet.

“But I’m learning a lot of new spells,” he tells you. “It’s interesting how spells differ around the world, in different languages. How different people access their magic.”

Kun, for example, uses a stereotypical magician wand – the ebony stick with ivory tips. When you came to Chicago and found the community, a kindly old witch helped you create your wand – a short oak wand with a rose quartz set in the tip. But you’ve known witches that exclusively use crystals to access their powers, warlocks who wield staffs, some access their magic through amulets, and there’s even been a warlock you met that simply used his iPhone to cast his spells.

But, typically, almost all of the spellcasters you’ve met have used wands of some sort, and you love it when everyone comes together, as it gives you the chance to see the diversity of magic, like Kun was saying.

It’s Kun that first introduces you to the celebrity of Johnny on your first New Years Eve in the city, dragging you along to the warlock’s citywide blessing celebration. It's there that you first lay eyes on Johnny’s beauty, and you first witness him perform magic.

You’re far back in the crowd, but you can hear Johnny's voice booming over the crowd as midnight nears, he promises a safe and prosperous year, and as the seconds tick down, Johnny begins casting. You can’t see him at all, but you see the resulting network of protection thrown up in the sky, stretching towards the outer limits, resembling fireworks as midnight strikes.

It’s the most incredible magic you’ve ever seen, and suddenly you understand Kun’s obsession with the warlock.

As you leave the site, Kun nearly crushes your hand when he realizes that you’re walking right by where Johnny stands. He’s just standing there with a sparkling glass of champagne in hand, laughing with a group of people. His hair is long, down to his chin, dyed a warm shade of brown, a bit windblown.

You pause, watching him for a moment, and you swear his gaze slips away from one of the other men he’s talking to, and for a second his eyes meet yours.

A warm spark embeds itself in your chest.

And then he’s looking away again, and Kun’s pulling you down the park path towards the train station. But you’re hooked on Johnny by that point.

“It’s my goal to get invited to one of his parties,” Kun tells you once you’re on the train home. “I know a guy who’s apprenticed to Johnny, and he keeps promising me that he’s going to get me an invite to a party, or at least put in a good word the next time an apprenticeship spot opens.”

You go on with your normal life, hearing about Johnny through the gossip network of magic users you encounter in the city.

In those first few months of the year, you’re so busy with work (at your devastatingly non-magical job) that you don’t get much practice in with your spell work except for simple ones like housework, warming spells, and some productivity spells to help you finish your work a little faster. When March rolls around, thawing the city a little from deep winter, replacing all of the snow and ice with lots of rain (mixed with some days of snow and ice), you finally catch a little break.

“We thought you’d left the city,” a witch friend says when you finally show up at a weekly Witching and Wining night at a witch-run bar. “No one’s seen you in months! Whatever you want, babe, tonight it’s on me. I’ve missed you, and I’ve been dying to tell you about this client I had!”

She buys your first drink of the night, sits there babbling at you about a client who hired her for some cosmetic architectural spellwork. A few other witches and warlocks join in with stories of their horrible clients, and soon you’re feeling a little more grateful that your magic isn’t yet up to the par of being able to take on a magical occupation.

One warlock, who works as a meteorologist for a news channel in the city, complains loudly about how he swears there’s someone magically sabotaging the weather. “Things have just been wild in terms of weather. Blizzard after blizzard. The ice drifts on the lake? They’re damn near giant icebergs out there. The weather changes on a dime, huge winter storms springing up out of nothing. It’s worse than usual this winter. I’ve put in a request to His Royal Highness Johnny’s people to look into it, but all I keep getting is his apprentices. I’ve heard rumors that his powers are actually waning, and he knows his New Year protection spell didn’t take as it should’ve, so he’s in hiding.”

“You’re ridiculous!” Your friend says, swatting the warlock’s arm. “The weather here always sucks. It doesn’t mean anyone’s cursed is. And maybe Johnny is busy. I’ve heard rumors that the city police have recruited him to track down a serial killer.”

You know Kun would be sitting here denying every accusation against his idol, but he’s gone right now, flown home to China for a few weeks. You’re watching his apartment, which couldn’t have happened at a better time since it was just when your lease on your place expired.

When the end of Witching and Wining night comes, you bid your friends a goodnight, bundle yourself into your coat, and you step out into the night.

This part of the city has a high magical population, which is exactly why Kun moved here, and you’re grateful for that right now as you’ve only got a fifteen minute walk back to his place instead of a ten minute walk to the train station, the lengthy train ride, and then a thirteen minute walk from there to your old place. And tonight the air is bitterly cold, thick clouds fill the sky, the ugly gray that tells you they hold either rain or snow, and given how cold it is, you can sense another blizzard coming on.

You rub your hands together, trying to keep the blood flowing to your fingertips before you remember that you’re a witch now. You dig your wand out of your coat pocket, and with the quartz tip, you draw a symbol in each of your palms. You slip your wand back into your pocket, feeling the symbols tingling on your hands, and you bring your cupped palms up to your lips as you whisper the words of the warming spell that matches the symbols. A small flame appears, shielded in your hands from the breeze. You hunch your shoulders against the wind, wishing you’d worn a hat and scarf tonight, but when you’d left earlier in the evening, it had been a mild 50°F, which is a rather decent temperature.

As you walk, snow begins to fall and the wind grows stronger and stronger until you step around a corner, and the wind buffets you backwards. Your shoulder crashes into the wall of the building, and you drop your warm little flame, helpless as it extinguishes itself on the ground.

You curse, wrapping your arms around yourself against the cold wind. Flurries hit your cheeks, and you’re already running through a list of warming, defrosting, and drying spells for once you reach Kun’s apartment. The snow is melting into your shoes and down the collar of your coat.

You brace the corner again, bowing your head and shouldering into the wind, walking straight into it down the street. Just two more blocks before you’re there, but you feel like every step you take, the wind pushes you back two more. And it’s so cold, your nose and eyes are both watering, your teeth chatter, but you can’t think of a warming spell strong enough to work in this situation.

You’ve made it halfway along the block when you’re suddenly enveloped in a pocket of warmth, blessedly wind free.

Of course, without the resistance of the wind there, you suddenly fall forward onto the snowy sidewalk.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t think about that happening, I was just trying to make your walk a little easier,” a masculine voice says above you.

Hands grip the back of your jacket, and suddenly you’re being lifted up, placed once more on your own two feet.

And you’re facing him. Johnny. The great warlock of Chicago.

He smiles. “This storm really came out of nowhere, huh?” He brushes a hand down your back, knocking off snow. “My apprentices told me that the meteorologists can’t make sense of it, and I’ve been away in Seoul on some warlock business, but, shit. I thought I’d take a look around, see what they were talking about. And this doesn’t look good.”

You’re just staring at him, perhaps a bit dumbly, but you can’t help it. He’s even more handsome at this distance — close enough that you can see each eyelash, the stubble on his chin, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple — and he’s talking to you like this is normal, like you know each other and he’s just catching up with you.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes suddenly, taking a half step back. “I’m Johnny Suh, High Warlock of Chicago.” Johnny holds his hand out to you.

You slide your hand into his, savoring the heat of his palm against yours, the strength as he closes his fingers around your hand, the firmness of his handshake. Even more than that, you feel that embedded spark in your chest flare up when Johnny’s eyes light up and he grins when you tell him your name.

“It’s nice to meet you.” He releases your hand, and you’re loath to let go, but you reluctantly let your hand fall back to your side. “Although, I feel like we’ve seen each other before.”

“Oh my god,” slips out before you realize it, and as soon as you realize you actually said that aloud, you cover your mouth with your hand. “I’m sorry, Mr. Suh. I just… I’ve seen you once before, at the New Years Eve ceremony. We, like, made eye contact, so I didn’t imagine that you would recognize me.”

Johnny’s mouth twists with barely suppressed amusement. “I have a good memory for faces and names. I won’t forget yours now.”

Bitter wind cuts through the bubble Johnny’s created around you both, and you shiver. Johnny frowns, looking away from you to scan the street.

“There’s definitely something strange about this weather,” Johnny remarks. “I understand why the weathermen have sought my attention. Someone Is tampering with the typical weather patterns, there’s a signature in this storm. Definitely something magical to be able to cut through my ward.”

“It blew straight through my heating spell,” you confess, trying not to feel small beside Johnny.

A contemplative look crosses his face. “Where are you headed?” Johnny asks, still looking like he’s thinking deeply about something.

“I’m on my way home.” And you’re not looking forward to stepping back out into the cold.

As if Johnny can read your mind, his attention snaps to you, and he offers, “I can walk you the rest of the way there.” He offers you his arm, and he says, “I can keep you warm.”

Heat floods you at the double meaning behind his words, but you gratefully accept Johnny’s arm.

To your delight and fascination, Johnny flirts with you the next two blocks, his presence providing you with protection from the cold, the wind, and the snow. You know he’s got a reputation for being a great party boy, but you wonder if he’s a notorious playboy too, if he’s walking you home with the intention of bedding you tonight.

Not that you would object to that.

Johnny walks you up to the door of Kun’s apartment, his hands brushing your back, your arms, and he’s all smiles and charm. And when you reach the door, as you press your key into the lock, Johnny stands right behind you. He’s got one hand on the edge of the doorway, and when you twist around to look at him, he only grins and leans in.

Feeling bold, you grab the front of his shirt, and you drag him the rest of the way in.

Johnny pins you between his body and the door, his mouth ravishing yours. You place your hand on the back of his neck, twist your fingers through his long hair.

“Please come inside,” you murmur into the kiss. With your free hand, you fumble for the doorknob. “Just, um, just give me one second to dismantle my roommate’s protective enchantments.”

Johnny distractingly keeps kissing and touching whatever parts of you he can as you stand there, unraveling Kun’s protections on the apartment, until the last of them snaps away, leaving the path clear for you to drag Johnny inside.

You hope he doesn’t mind that this apartment is small and not totally tidy. It’s not a mess by any means, but you’ve been sleeping on the pull out sofa bed. And since you've moved out of your apartment, and this is your temporary place, your boxes are everywhere. You have an open box sitting halfway between the kitchen and the bathroom, piled high with laundry. And the sofa bed is unmade from when you’d flown out of it this morning, running late for work.

Johnny probably doesn’t even look around. As soon as you’ve shut the door behind you both, he starts to reel you in again, starts to pull you away from the door, but you press against his chest.

“Wait, I need to put them back together.” You won’t feel safe unless you’ve got all the enchantments up; it would be like leaving the door unlocked.

“I’ve got it.” Johnny waves his hand. You can see the thin silver and gold threads of magic lacing back together around the perimeter of the apartment, a few extra layers of protection that weren’t there before, all of them brighter and stronger than the ones that Kun had.

You’re still gazing at them in awe when Johnny cups your cheek, when he brushes his lips against yours once more, backing you through the living room. He waves his hand again, and a fire springs to life in the fireplace Kun never uses (probably because this is an old ass apartment building whose ancient chimneys shouldn’t be used anymore). Another flick of his fingers, and among the built-ins that line one wall of the room, the stereo system kicks on, softly playing music.

“Wait,” you murmur even as you’re sinking down onto the unmade sofa bed. “How are you doing all of this? Where’s your wand?”

Is he doing wandless magic? Casting without anything to channel his power?

Johnny grins, standing there above you. “Do you want to see my wand, angel?”

Fuck, does he think you meant that in a sexy way? Well, now that he’s said that, you do want to see his wand, but you also actually want to see his wand. Doesn’t he have one?’

When Johnny tucks his thumb into the waistband of his pants, you decide you can hold off on answers about his wandless magic until a later date. For now, you just want to see whatever he’ll show you.

“Can I see your wand, Johnny?” You perch on the edge of the sofa bed, legs spread enough that Johnny can stand between them. You tilt your head back, looking up at him. “You’re so powerful, I bet your wand has got to be huge.”

He smirks.

With a snap of his fingers, Johnny’s pants come undone – unbuttoned, unzipped, pulled down just enough that his large cock can spring out.

Maybe his wand truly is magical because one look at it, and all rationality flies from your head. You become single-minded, all thoughts other than desire are erased, just a single horny braincell bouncing around inside your mind.

You just want to worship his cock, to kiss and lick and touch and suck. You want to make him cum, to see him shooting from the tip. You wonder if even his cum holds a bit of his power, if tasting it will get you one step closer to being where he is.

He truly is sporting a huge dick. He’s long at probably seven inches, wide enough around that you know it won’t take much to get your jaw aching, and you might as well use both hands on him. And if you get the chance to take his cock inside you, you know it’s going to be such a stretch, that he’s going to hit so deep inside you, you’ll be feeling it for a week. But despite that – or maybe because of that – you want him even more.

“Go on, angel,” Johnny says, placing his hand on your head and nudging you forward. “You can touch.”

“I’ve never seen a wand like this,” you tease, lifting one hand to touch. You brush your fingertips along the underside of his cock. “I’m not so sure I know what to do with it, how to handle it.” You cast a look up at his face.

Johnny’s hungry gaze rests on your lips. “Should I show you, teach you?”

You nod. “Well, you’re the all-powerful High Warlock of the city, who better to show me how to handle a wand than you, sir?”

Johnny groans, “You’re gonna give me the biggest head, stroking my ego like that, angel.”

“Is your ego all that I’m supposed to stroke?” You again glide your fingers along his cock, from base to tip, swirling your finger around his tip once before you pull your hand back down to your lap. “Can you show me how to handle your wand, please?”

Johnny doesn’t say another word, just spits into his hand before reaching down to curl his hand around his cock. He strokes his hand along his length, and you watch from up close, your mouth watering with the need to have him buried down your throat. You won’t be able to take him all the way, not at first anyway, so you’re already planning how you’re going to use your hands on him too, jerking him off into your mouth while you suck at the tip, how it’ll feel to have him gushing over your tongue.

“Johnny,” you whimper involuntarily.

“Here, angel. You try.” His hand falls away, and you watch as his cock bobs, ready for more. His hands grab for both of yours, pulling your hands up so both of them are on his cock. “Come on, just like I was just doing. This wand works best if you use both hands.”

You swear Johnny shudders when you lean in and lick at the salty bead of precum at his slit, and then he definitely shivers when you curl one hand at the base of his cock, using the other to stroke up from there, and you suck the head of his cock into your mouth, tongue flicking at the slit. His hand slides to the back of your head, and when he applies gentle pressure, sinking your mouth around him, you just take it, still stroking at what you haven’t yet taken in your mouth.

“Good girl,” Johnny praises you. “A quick learner for sure.”

You pull back against his hand on the back of your head, just enough to be able to breathe, and then you’re back on him, sucking at the tip, tongue stroking just beneath the tip, your hands covering the rest. Salty blurts of precum stain the back of your tongue, but you love the taste, love the thrill of power you feel as Johnny moans and rakes his fingers through your hair. You chance a look up at him through your eyelashes, and Johnny has his head bowed to watch you, his hair hanging loose in front of his face.

Again, you pull off, bringing your left hand up to the tip while your right keeps stroking the shaft.

“Your cock is so big, Johnny. God, is there any part of you that’s not perfect?” You dip in to lick at the slit between your fingers. “I really want to work some magic with you, using your wand to make us both achieve something absolutely, truly spectacular.”

You shift against the bed, seeking friction for yourself because your pussy is throbbing, so wet that your panties are sticking to you.

Johnny strokes your hair. “I’m so glad I ran into you out there. Keep going, angel.” And then his fingers are braiding through your hair at the back of your head, pushing your mouth back down around his length, going and going until your lips meet your fingers at the base of his cock, and you’re gagging as Johnny’s tip pushes past your limit.

His hips rock, thrusting shallowly down your throat, just enough to trigger your gag reflex again.

Your eyes water, but you’re loving every second of this, giving his cock the perfect throat to fuck, you loosen your jaw and let Johnny use your throat, let him bruise your lips as he starts moving faster, and when he pulls you off with his fingers knotted in your hair, you’ve only got a few second to gasp in raw breaths before he’s bringing your lips back to his cock.

“I love it, Johnny. More!” You beg, brushing your lips down the length of him, along the sides. You bring one hand up to stroke your fingers along the opposite side as you run your lips and tongue along his cock. You draw back to the tip, flicking your tongue to gather the beads of precum on your tongue. “So good, Johnny. Your cock is just perfect.”

You scatter kisses over the sensitive flesh, trace a prominent vein with your tongue, you take just the tip between your lips, flicking your tongue beneath the tip in a way that has Johnny bucking forward just a little but no more even though both hands are buried in your hair.

You put your all into worshipping his handsome cock, his oh-so magical wand.

You just want his cum coating your tongue.

“Stop.” Johnny drags you off of him, casting you backwards so your shoulders hit the sofa bed’s thin mattress. He towers above you, cast in tangerine light by the fire flickering in the grate. He looks all-powerful and terrifying and so incredibly sexy right then.

“Do you want me, angel? Really, really want me?” Johnny asks, lowering himself over you, holding himself above you with his fists on either side of your shoulders.

“I told you already, I want to work some spectacular magic with you and your wand.” You reach for him, for his hair. Johnny’s eyes flash when your nails drag along his scalp. “In case the metaphor isn’t clear enough consent for you, sir, I want you to fuck me.”

That’s exactly what Johnny was waiting for.

He snaps his fingers, and you gasp when you realize that there’s a startling breeze over all your bare skin. Johnny vanished your clothes, and you now lie nude beneath him, who is also now nude, having vanished his own clothes as well.

“Can I show you a magic trick, angel? I think you’ll really like this one.” Johnny kneels up above you, his cock standing out between his legs, heavy and perfect.

“Show me, please,” you beg, squirming beneath him, needing to be touched.

Johnny grins, and he parts your thighs, reaching with one hand between them. His fingers are warm and just right when he touches you, stroking over your clit to draw a whimper from you, then down to your pussy.

“Fuck, Johnny. Magical fingers as well as your cock.” Your hand flies to his wrist, feeling the flexing tendons as he fucks two fingers inside you.

“Oh, this isn’t the trick, my dear.” Johnny grinds his palm against your clit, fingers as deep as he can get them, stroking over that sweet spot inside you. It’s amazing how he keeps such an even pace considering that he’s wrapped his other hand around his cock, jerking himself off while he touches you. You know you’ve got to be leaking around his fingers, so wet for him as you watch his hand on his cock.

He keeps going, fingering you while he touches himself, and you can feel the swirling tension in your belly, the tight curl of pleasure growing and growing until finally it bursts, sparking through your body as you climax around his fingers. Johnny doesn’t stop.

“That’s right, angel. Cum for me.” His fingers curl inside you, and stars spin above you as you try to focus on Johnny’s face. “Show me that you can handle this before I give you the real magic.”

You arch off the bed, reaching the ultimate peak of your climax. Your chest heaves with each breath, and Johnny pulls his hand away from between your thighs, bringing it down to his cock.

“Ready for the big event, angel?” Johnny asks. “The main magic trick of the evening?”

You nod, biting at your bottom lip while you watch him.

“See this?” He asks, signaling to you that he means his cock. “I’m going to make it disappear, and you’re going to help me with that.”

If you weren’t so turned on, that line might have made you laugh, but as it is, you’re incredibly turned on despite that orgasm just moments ago, you’re desperate to have him inside you.

“Show me, Johnny.” You need it.

Johnny presses into you slowly, as if he’s aware that he’s huge and you’re very sensitive after that orgasm. Or, maybe he’s just really wanting to watch the way that his cock disappears as he sinks into you, your pussy greedily swallowing him.

You cry out when Johnny’s patience breaks, and he thrusts in the last bit. He’s so fucking deep, and it feels so damn good. You never could’ve imagined how this would feel, not with him; it’s truly magical. Every inch of you is tingling like he’s spelled you to be extra sensitive to his touch – his cock inside you, the knock of his legs against yours, his chest brushing your tits, the soft way his lips trace your jaw and lips, his hair tickling your cheeks – and it’s driving you insane.

You move with Johnny, twisted together, bodies connecting again and again, his cock driving into you while you moan his name and spout praises about his cock. You’re not even sure what all you’re saying, only that it’s working on Johnny, pushing him to thrust harder, causing him to laugh at one point when he drops his mouth to a sensitive spot high on your throat beneath your ear.

Johnny brings you to orgasm again on his cock, and you’re elevated above Cloud Nine, soaring high on an endless wave of pleasure while Johnny keeps rolling his hips forward, pressing into you again and again.

“Come on Johnny, you too. Cum for me,” you beg, dragging your nails over his shoulders and down his chest.

“Shit!” He hisses when your nails pass over his nipples, his cock throbbing inside you. “Almost there.”

So, you flick your fingernails over his nipples again, curious if that’ll do the trick.

Johnny pulls out, jolting up towards your face. His hand is in your hair, but you’re already moving too, lifting your head and opening your mouth to take in his cock once more.

Your left hand flies to Johnny’s shaft, your lips wrap around the head, and immediately he cums.

His semen floods across your tongue, and you swear you taste power in it as you swallow down everything he gives you. You bob your head, sucking at the tip, stroking his shaft with your hand, taking everything Johnny has to offer.

When he’s gone soft on your tongue, you pull off with a pop, sinking back down onto the sofa bed. Johnny slumps down beside you, draping an arm and a leg over you, and he’s still got one hand tangled in your hair.

“That was amazing,” Johnny sighs. “I haven’t had sex like that in a long time. Mind-blowing.”

A rush of satisfaction at the praise settles in your bones. “And to think, I was just genuinely asking you about your actual wand. But I suppose you do wandless magic?”

Johnny’s eyes are closed, but he smiles. “Yeah. I do have a wand, though, somewhere in my apartment, but my magic outgrew the wand like a decade ago. If you really want to see it, I can show you sometime.”

You twist around to lie on your side facing him. “Do you mean it?”

Johnny hums in confirmation. “Sure. When I’m back to feeling like I’m on this plane of existence, I’ll give you my number. You’ll have to come over sometime so I can fuck you in a real bed. What even is this?”

You push at his shoulder. “I should’ve known the High Warlock would be snobby about where he has sex. This is a sofa bed, Mr. Suh. I’m just staying here in my friend’s apartment temporarily while I’m between places and while he’s out of town.”

Johnny purses his lips and peeks at you. “Like I said, I’ll give you my number, and you can come sleep in a real bed with me, or else the closest you'll get to having me in this bed again will be phone sex while you’re lying in this.”

But despite all his talk of hating your sofa bed, Johnny the High Warlock of Chicago doesn’t budge from your bed that night or until late the following morning, by which point the city is shut down by the record-breaking snowfall from the late-March blizzard that blew through in the night, and oh-so-unfortunately you and Johnny are trapped together in the apartment with nothing to occupy your time but magic tricks and his magical dick.

a/n: day 3 is done although it took me longer than I thought it would, and I feel like I kinda left part of it unfinished, but who knows maybe a sequel will be in the works later!

Reblogs are deserving of my eternal gratitude, likes are greatly appreciated, and your thoughts and comments are always welcome !

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