#full black cloak last year

[borom1r]

My Commitment To The Bit Has Been Questioned.

[novaursa]

Where Dragons Dare (2/3)

- Summary: After your declaration to marry Alicent in the small council meeting, the day of the wedding finally comes. And so does your first wedding night.

- Pairing: male!targ reader/Alicent Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is twin brother of Rhaenyra and is bonded with a dragon. For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @literaturedog

- A/N: This was requested by @witch-of-letters. Enjoy! ❤️ Battle of the Stepstones is add as a bonus, because I love writing dragon battles. The last part will be posted later tomorrow once it is done.

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: 3

The grand hall of the Red Keep is awash with the glow of thousands of candles. The flames dance across golden tapestries depicting the histories of Old Valyria, but today the storied past pales in comparison to the momentous occasion unfolding before all in attendance. The wedding is one spoken of in whispers and rumors, but now it blooms before the gathered lords and ladies with all the splendor and gravitas worthy of House Targaryen. 

You stand at the altar draped in black and red, the rich silk of your doublet catching the light in subtle ways. The fine Valyrian embroidery at the hems speaks of dragons in flight, each thread imbued with dark crimson that shimmers like fresh blood. A black cloak, edged in deep scarlet, flows from your shoulders, fastened at your throat with a clasp shaped like a coiled dragon. Your hair, the silvery-white of pure Valyrian descent, is tied back, letting your angular features and sharp violet eyes take in every gaze, every emotion displayed openly or hidden away. At your side hangs Blackfyre—your birthright as Prince of Dragonstone—its pommel set with a ruby that gleams like a beating heart.

Before you, Alicent Hightower stands radiant in a gown of deep emerald green. The dress, fitted perfectly to her frame, billows out in layers of silk and fine lace, each shimmering with golden accents as she moves. A delicate crown of silver leaves and pearls rests atop her auburn hair, carefully arranged in elegant curls. Her eyes, a brilliant shade of brown, reflect a mixture of pride, joy, and the quiet steel she’s honed under the pressures of courtly life. There is a softness in her gaze, however, reserved only for you as her eyes meet yours—a silent understanding, a shared relief, and a promise of what is to come.

The Septon's voice rings out, leading the words of the traditional vows. Beside you, Rhaenyra is practically glowing with excitement. Her smile is unrestrained, her eyes darting between you and Alicent with genuine happiness, a sister’s joy at seeing her twin brother embrace his own fate. She wears a gown of pale red, adorned with the colors of House Targaryen and a crown of silver atop her flowing locks, her presence radiating confidence as the heir’s sister and a firm ally to your cause. 

King Viserys is seated in a place of honor, his face full of warmth and pride. His smile is wide as he watches his only son wed the woman who has become a daughter to him over the years. He has the contented look of a father who finally sees his children happy, a rare expression in a court filled with ambition and schemes. He lifts his cup in a subtle toast to you and Alicent, his eyes misting over slightly with emotion.

Daemon Targaryen, your uncle, stands near the rear of the gathered nobles, his silver hair catching the light as he observes the ceremony. His expression is inscrutable, but those who know him well enough can see the slight curve at the edge of his lips, the way his gaze sharpens whenever it falls upon you. For all his unpredictability, there is a flicker of pride there—a satisfaction, perhaps, that you finally asserted yourself against the forces that sought to control you. Daemon has always favored those who carve their own path, and today you have done just that.

As the ceremony draws to a close, you step forward to place a cloak upon Alicent’s shoulders, the symbol of House Targaryen enveloping her as you claim her as your own. The green of House Hightower blends now with the red and black of the dragon, a union that cements alliances but more importantly binds two hearts that have long yearned for this day. When you lean in to kiss her, there is a softness, a tenderness in the way her lips meet yours, and the hall erupts in applause, though the world shrinks to just the two of you in that fleeting moment.

As the applause dies down, Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, watches with a carefully controlled expression. His eyes flicker between you and Alicent, a mixture of satisfaction and unease buried beneath his calm demeanor. Though this is a victory for him in securing his daughter’s position, there’s a tension in his jaw—he had hoped to control this outcome more closely, but you’ve slipped from his grasp, a dragon untamed. He studies you with the gaze of a man who sees both a rival and a dangerous ally.

At the feast, Rhaenyra approaches you first, practically throwing herself into your arms. "You did it, Y/N! I knew you would," she beams, her joy infectious. "Alicent looks so beautiful, and you—you were magnificent. I’ve never seen the council so speechless!" Her eyes sparkle with mischief. "And Uncle Daemon, I think he’s actually proud of you for once."

You chuckle, wrapping an arm around your sister. “He probably is. But I didn’t do this for him or the council. This was always for her.” Your gaze drifts back to Alicent, who’s engaged in conversation with a group of highborn ladies, her laughter soft and genuine.

Viserys claps a hand on your shoulder. "You’ve brought honor to our house, Y/N. I couldn’t be prouder of the man you’ve become. Your mother would be so proud, too." His voice carries a slight tremor as he mentions Queen Aemma, but it is quickly overshadowed by his joy.

You offer him a warm smile. "Thank you, father. I’ll do everything I can to ensure that this union strengthens our house."

Daemon is the next to approach, a goblet in hand and that familiar smirk playing on his lips. "I didn’t think you had it in you, nephew," he says, voice laced with amusement. "I was beginning to think you’d let others chart your course forever. But you’ve surprised us all, haven’t you?"

You meet his gaze squarely, your own smile more restrained but no less confident. "Some paths are worth fighting for, uncle. Even if they’re not what others expect."

Daemon raises his cup in a mock salute. “Spoken like a true Targaryen. Perhaps there’s more fire in you than I thought.”

The feast carries on with music, laughter, and the clinking of cups. You and Alicent share dances with the lords and ladies of the realm, but every now and then, your eyes find each other’s, and the world falls away again, leaving just the two of you in this sea of people.

When you finally manage to steal a private moment with her in a quiet corner of the hall, she takes your hand, squeezing it gently. “I was so afraid,” she admits in a hushed voice, her eyes reflecting the firelight. “Afraid that we’d never be able to reach this moment. But here we are.”

You brush a strand of hair from her face, letting your hand linger against her cheek. “You’re mine now, Alicent. I’ll fight for you, for us, against anyone who tries to tear us apart.”

A flicker of relief passes through her expression, followed by a warmth that softens her usually reserved emotions. “And I’ll stand by you, no matter the storm we face.”

The words hang between you like an unspoken vow—one more binding than anything recited before the Septon. 

The night deepens as the feast continues, a blur of music and the warm glow of candlelight reflecting off the ornate dishes piled with food. Laughter and the sound of clinking goblets fill the Great Hall. You and Alicent sit side by side at the high table, your hands occasionally brushing against each other beneath the table. The touch is small, but each time it happens, there’s a comforting warmth, a silent reassurance between the two of you. Alicent’s soft smile, reserved just for you, never quite fades from her lips.

As you’re enjoying a brief moment of quiet conversation, the sound of footsteps approaches. Gwayne Hightower, Alicent’s brother, strides up, his eyes bright with joy. "Sister! Y/N!" he greets, his voice tinged with the exuberance of youth. His resemblance to Alicent is striking, though his features are more angular, his posture that of a man eager to prove himself. "I couldn’t let the night end without offering my congratulations." He gives you a hearty clap on the shoulder, his grin broad. "It’s about time someone put a spark in this old court! You’ve done well, my friend. I’ve known you since we were boys, and I’ve always believed you’d find your way."

You return his grin, reaching out to clasp his forearm in the familiar gesture of comrades. "Gwayne, your support has never gone unnoticed. I’ve always valued your friendship, even when we got ourselves into trouble as children. But I think this time, we’ve both stepped into something greater than mischief.”

Gwayne chuckles. “You certainly have, Y/N. And Alicent—” He turns to his sister, his tone softening with genuine affection. “I’ve never seen you look happier. I’m glad you’ve found this happiness, even if I’ll be the one who has to keep a closer eye on courtly matters with you from now on.”

Alicent smiles warmly at her brother, her hand gently resting over yours atop the table. “Thank you, Gwayne. Your words mean more to me than you know. And don’t worry, we’ll both make sure to keep you busy in your duties, though perhaps with fewer pranks than when we were children.”

The three of you share a laugh, the ease of old friendships and sibling bonds lightening the mood.

Soon after, the familiar figures of Lord Corlys Velaryon and Princess Rhaenys approach. The Sea Snake is every bit the powerful figure one expects, his deep blue doublet adorned with intricate silver embroidery resembling the waves of the sea. Rhaenys is resplendent in crimson and gold, her presence commanding yet warm. There’s a certain wisdom in her gaze as she looks between you and Alicent, as if she sees beyond what most do.

“Prince Y/N, Lady Alicent,” Corlys begins, his voice deep and steady. “Congratulations are in order. The union of Targaryen and Hightower is a strategic move, and one I hope will bring stability to the realm. But more than that, it’s clear to see the bond you share.” His eyes linger on you, a hint of approval in his expression. “And perhaps this is the start of a new chapter where the young find their own path amidst the expectations of the old.”

Princess Rhaenys nods, her lips curling into a knowing smile. “It is good to see love and strength walk hand in hand. The history of our houses has often been marked by conflict, but this—” she gestures subtly between you and Alicent, “—this has the potential to change much. You both carry the future on your shoulders now.”

You bow your head slightly in respect. “Thank you, Lord Corlys, Princess Rhaenys. Your wisdom is always welcome. I hope to earn that respect in time and prove that this union is more than just a political move.”

Rhaenys’ eyes glint with something sharp and approving. “Oh, I believe you will, Y/N. The blood of Old Valyria runs deep, and you’ve shown you’re willing to chart your own course. I, for one, look forward to seeing what comes next.”

As they step away, Lord Tyland Lannister, clad in rich reds and golds, approaches next. His sharp features and keen eyes give away his nature as a man ever mindful of the shifting tides of power. “Prince Y/N, Lady Alicent, it is a joyous day indeed.” His voice is smooth, practiced, yet there’s an undercurrent of genuine intent behind his words. “House Lannister is ever eager to lend its support to the Targaryen line. May your union be fruitful and prosperous. It seems the dragons have found a way to blend strength with the grace of the Reach.”

You nod, ever cautious with Tyland’s honeyed words. “Thank you, Lord Tyland. Your support will be remembered, and I hope our alliance will benefit all corners of the realm.”

He offers a slight bow before moving off, ever mindful of where the winds blow.

The feast begins to wind down, and as tradition demands, there is the looming expectation of the bedding ceremony. The air in the hall thickens with the anticipation of it. Some lords and ladies begin to gather, murmuring and glancing toward you and Alicent with barely hidden excitement. The tension, the ribald jokes, the whispers—it all threatens to reduce the sanctity of this moment to a spectacle.

Before anyone can make a move to initiate it, you rise to your feet, the air of command in your posture silencing the crowd before the teasing can begin. “There will be no bedding ceremony tonight,” you declare, your voice clear and firm, leaving no room for argument. The hall quiets instantly, the murmur of protests caught in the throats of those who thought to see the night end in such a manner.

Daemon, standing with arms crossed at the edge of the hall, lets out a low chuckle, his approval evident in the sharp nod he gives you. “Let the young prince make his own choices,” he says, his voice carrying across the room. “There’s enough spectacle in these halls without turning the most sacred of nights into another charade.��

The crowd hesitates, unsure whether to push the matter. But when you meet your father’s gaze, Viserys nods slowly, an expression of both surprise and respect on his face. Otto Hightower, who had been watching with tension in his eyes, finally relaxes, a subtle sigh escaping him. His face settles into an expression that resembles something close to approval, a rare look from a man who values tradition and order above all.

Alicent looks at you with deep gratitude and admiration, her fingers squeezing yours as she stands. You turn to her, your expression softening as you offer her your arm. “Shall we retire, my lady?” you ask, your voice laced with tenderness.

She dips her head slightly, eyes shimmering with emotion. “Let’s,” she replies, her voice barely more than a whisper as she takes your arm.

Together, you walk down the long aisle toward the doors leading out of the Great Hall, every eye on you both as you leave. There is a certain weight lifted from your shoulders as the doors close behind you, the noise of the hall fading as you enter the quieter, more intimate corridors of the Keep.

As you walk side by side toward your chambers, the echoes of your footsteps and the distant flicker of torchlight create an almost dreamlike atmosphere. Neither of you speaks, the silence between you comfortable, filled with the knowledge that this is just the beginning. When you reach the doors to your shared chambers, you pause, turning to face her fully. You lift her hand to your lips and press a soft kiss to her knuckles, your eyes never leaving hers.

“No more performances,” you murmur. “This is just us now.”

Alicent’s eyes shine as she steps closer, her other hand rising to rest against your cheek. “I’ve never wanted anything more than to be with you, like this, away from prying eyes.”

With that, you open the door and guide her inside, the world outside forgotten as the heavy oak doors close behind you both, sealing away the courtly intrigue and the expectations of the realm. In this moment, it’s just you and her, bound together by choice, love, and a shared determination to forge your own destiny.

The chamber is bathed in the soft light of the fire, shadows flickering across the stone walls as the door closes behind you both. The silence stretches, not uncomfortable but full with the awareness of what comes next. For all the warmth you share, the affection that’s blossomed over years of quiet moments and unspoken glances, this is new for both of you. The air is tinged with the sweet fragrance of candles, the soft rustle of fabric as you both stand there, suddenly unsure how to proceed.

You turn to face her, meeting Alicent’s gaze. There’s a nervousness in her eyes, a slight quiver in her breath, but beneath it lies trust, and something more—desire, hesitant but real. You step closer, reaching out to take her hands in yours, your thumb brushing over her knuckles in a gentle, soothing motion. “Alicent,” you murmur, your voice softer than usual, tinged with both affection and concern. “Are you sure? If you’re not ready—”

“I am,” she interrupts softly, her voice a tender whisper in the quiet of the room. Her cheeks flush pink, but her eyes never leave yours. “I’ve never been more certain of anything.”

You nod, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Slowly, you lean down, capturing her lips in a kiss, tender and delicate. Her lips are warm against yours, the kiss a gentle exploration rather than a fervent rush. You both linger in the simplicity of it, letting it ease the tension from your bodies. When you pull back, you see her chest rise and fall as she steadies her breath, her eyes searching yours for reassurance.

Your hand moves to the clasp of her dress, fingers hesitating for a moment before you look at her once more. “May I?” you ask softly.

She nods, her voice catching slightly. “Yes… I want you to.”

With careful fingers, you undo the clasp and let the fabric slip from her shoulders, revealing the pale skin beneath. The dress pools at her feet, and she stands before you in just her shift, delicate and vulnerable. Her eyes flicker down, shyly avoiding your gaze as you take her in. In turn, she reaches out, her hands trembling slightly as she begins to unlace your doublet. There’s an unspoken agreement between you—a mutual understanding that this moment is as much about trust as it is about desire. You help her with the laces, guiding her hands until your clothing is cast aside, leaving you both bare in the warm glow of the fire.

For a long moment, you simply stand there, your breaths mingling, your eyes tracing the curves and lines of each other’s bodies. There’s a sense of curiosity mixed with reverence, your gazes shyly meeting before drifting again, both of you learning and memorizing the sight of each other.

“Beautiful,” you whisper, your voice filled with sincerity. Alicent’s breath hitches at the word, her eyes shining as she looks up at you, her lips parting as if to say something, but words fail her. Instead, she just reaches out, fingers brushing over your chest, her touch sending a shiver through you.

You gently take her hand and guide her toward the bed, the furs soft beneath your feet as you lead her down onto the mattress. You lay her down with the utmost care, your eyes never leaving hers, searching for any sign of discomfort. Her lips part as she draws in a shaky breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but her gaze is steady, trusting.

You lower yourself beside her, your hand caressing her cheek as you lean in to kiss her again. This time, the kiss is deeper, a gradual melding of lips as you both begin to relax into each other. Your hand trails down, brushing against her collarbone, then lower, until it rests just above her breast. You pause, your eyes flicking to hers for permission, and when she nods slightly, you continue, cupping her breast gently, your thumb brushing over the soft skin. A soft gasp escapes her lips, her back arching slightly as you explore her.

“You’re so beautiful, Alicent,” you murmur against her lips, and she responds with a soft sigh, her hand sliding up your back, pulling you closer.

Your kisses begin to wander, trailing down her jawline, to the tender skin of her neck. You feel her pulse quicken under your lips, her breath growing more uneven as you move lower. When your mouth finds her breast, she gasps, her fingers threading through your hair. You take your time, savoring each reaction, each soft sound she makes as your lips and tongue explore her.

As you move lower, her breath catches, her fingers tightening in your hair when you kiss the curve of her hip. You glance up at her, seeing the mixture of nerves and anticipation in her eyes. She’s never experienced anything like this, and neither have you—not truly. But you remember the lessons Daemon half-teased, half-instructed you on during that one visit to the brothel, showing you the ways of pleasure in a more practical, if unconventional, manner. While you hadn’t partaken that night, you watched, curious, and the knowledge lingers now, guiding your movements.

You press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, and she lets out a soft whimper, her fingers clutching at the furs beneath her. You murmur a line from an old Valyrian poem, the words ancient and filled with meaning, letting the sounds roll off your tongue as your kisses grow more intimate. “Gevives isse tolvie jelevre—beauty in every breath,” you whisper, your breath warm against her skin.

When your mouth finally finds her core, she gasps, her body tensing for a moment before she melts into the sensation, her hips shifting instinctively toward you. Her breath comes in shallow bursts, her hand gripping your shoulder as you apply what you’ve learned, taking your time, listening to the way her body responds. When she lets out a soft moan, her voice trembling with pleasure, you smile against her, murmuring another line from the poem—words of love and devotion that have been passed down through generations.

Slowly, you trail your kisses back up her body, feeling her trembling beneath you. Her hands reach for you, pulling you close, and when your lips find hers again, the kiss is hungry, filled with the taste of her desire and the passion that’s been building between you both.

You position yourself above her, your eyes locked on hers as you ask one last time, “Are you sure, Alicent?”

Her response is a breathless nod, her hand cupping your cheek as she whispers, “I want this. I want you.”

You enter her gently, inch by inch, mindful of her innocence, watching her every expression for any sign of pain. She winces slightly at first, her brow furrowing, but her fingers dig into your back, holding you close as she adjusts. When she finally opens her eyes again, there’s no hesitation, only trust. “Move,” she breathes, her voice barely audible, but full of need.

You start slowly, each movement careful, deliberate, letting her body adjust, her warmth enveloping you. Her breaths come out in soft, quick bursts, her nails dragging lightly across your skin as she holds on to you. The tension in her body gradually gives way to something else, her hips meeting yours in a rhythm that’s both instinctive and hesitant.

As the moments pass, the awkwardness gives way to a deeper connection. The tenderness remains, but passion begins to take root. Alicent’s breath hitches when she wraps her legs around your waist, her hands pulling you closer. You respond to her need, moving with more urgency as she finds her own rhythm, her body moving against yours in a dance that’s both new and timeless.

When she pushes herself up, shifting into your lap, there’s a sudden surge of boldness in her gaze, something wild and free. You guide her movements, your hands steadying her as she takes control, her breathless gasps mingling with your own. The intimacy between you grows not just in the physical connection but in the way you respond to each other’s needs, desires, and unspoken fears. It’s a union forged in trust, love, and the desire to explore the depths of what you share.

Eventually, when the night reaches its quiet peak, you collapse together into the furs, breathless and spent, your limbs entangled as you hold her close. Here, in this moment, there’s only the warmth of her skin against yours, the sound of her steadying breaths, and the knowledge that this is only the beginning of your shared life together.

As sleep slowly claims you both, you press a final kiss to her forehead, murmuring words of love in Valyrian, promising her with every breath that this night is just the start of what you’ll build together.

The sky is a bruised shade of twilight, thick with smoke and ash. The stench of blood, sweat, and salt fills the air as the waves crash against the jagged rocks of the Stepstones. This place is a wasteland—a battlefield stained with the bodies of the dead and dying. For over two years, the Crabfeeder’s men have held these islands, turning them into a butcher’s yard. But today, you intend to end it. Today, the dragons return in fire and fury.

You sit atop Dallax, your black-scaled beast, perched on a ridge overlooking the main encampment of the Triarchy’s forces. His green eyes gleam in the dim light, and his body shifts restlessly beneath you, eager to unleash his wrath. His teeth, hidden within the dark flesh of his jaws, retract only when his rage is stoked—a menace lying in wait. You run a gloved hand along his neck, feeling the raw power coiled within him. “Soon,” you whisper, your voice firm yet laced with anticipation. “We will end this.”

Below, Daemon Targaryen plays his part to perfection. Clad in soot-streaked armor, a white banner clutched in one hand, he approaches the enemy lines. The Crabfeeder’s forces, a mix of hardened sellswords and conscripts, watch from behind their sharpened stakes and crude fortifications, unsure whether this is truly surrender or another of Daemon’s ruses. The Prince of the City moves with a calculated slowness, his steps deliberate, his head lowered just enough to give the impression of defeat. But you know him better. There’s a fire in his eyes—a fury barely contained behind that facade of submission. The plan hinges on this moment, on the Crabfeeder’s arrogance and greed.

From your vantage point, you spot Lord Corlys Velaryon’s forces hidden in the shallows, ready to pounce the moment the trap is sprung. The Sea Snake commands his men with a veteran’s precision, their silence a stark contrast to the braying jeers coming from the Crabfeeder’s ranks.

Daemon finally stops, mere feet from the Crabfeeder’s line, where a grotesque figure emerges from the shadows. Drahar, the Crabfeeder, is a ghastly sight, his face hidden behind a cracked and twisted mask, his skin mottled from disease. He raises a hand, halting the jeers, and for a moment, silence reigns.

Then, chaos erupts.

Daemon’s false surrender is cast aside as he draws Dark Sister in a blur of Valyrian steel, cutting through the nearest soldier in one swift, practiced motion. Blood sprays into the air, catching the dim light as the battlefield roars back to life. The Triarchy’s soldiers charge forward, desperate to claim the prize they believe within reach, but they are rushing headlong into a trap.

It’s your moment.

With a word in Valyrian, you urge Dallax into a dive. His wings unfurl, dark as midnight, blotting out the dying light. The air screams past you as you plummet toward the battlefield, the ground rushing up to meet you. “Dracarys!” you roar, the command slicing through the din of battle.

Dallax responds with a torrent of flame that incinerates everything in its path. The first line of the Crabfeeder’s men is engulfed in a roaring inferno, their screams swallowed by the relentless fire. Armor melts, flesh sizzles, and bone turns to ash in mere moments. You bank sharply, pulling Dallax into another dive, this time focusing on the siege engines positioned along the ridge. The ballistae, meant to keep the dragons at bay, are shattered under the crushing weight of dragonfire and claws. Timber explodes, splinters raining down on the screaming soldiers below as you rip through their defenses with ruthless efficiency.

You catch a glimpse of Daemon, now fully engaged in the melee, his sword a blur of lethal grace as he carves a bloody path through the Triarchy’s forces. He fights with a savage joy, laughing as he dodges and counters, the battlefield his stage. Corlys and his men surge from the shallows, catching the enemy in a brutal pincer. The once-confident soldiers of the Crabfeeder are thrown into disarray, their lines crumbling under the combined might of dragon and steel.

You circle back, eyes locked on Drahar, who attempts to retreat deeper into the labyrinth of stakes and pits his men have constructed. But there’s no escape. You guide Dallax lower, skimming the ground, his claws gouging the earth as you close in on your prey. The Crabfeeder looks up in desperation, his eyes wide behind his mask as he realizes his end is near.

“End him!” Daemon’s voice echoes in your mind like a phantom’s dare, though the words are drowned out by the roar of battle.

Dallax’s jaws snap open, his teeth glinting as they slide out from their hidden sheaths. With a snarl, he lunges, clamping down on Drahar with a sickening crunch. The Crabfeeder’s mask falls away, revealing a twisted visage frozen in terror before his body is torn apart in a spray of blood and gore. Dallax shakes his head, flinging what remains of Drahar’s corpse into the dirt before incinerating it with a final jet of flame.

Around you, the battlefield is a scene of utter carnage. The ground is slick with blood, littered with the hacked remains of soldiers. Men scream, their limbs severed, or burn as they try to flee, only to be cut down by Corlys’s disciplined troops. The cries of the dying are a symphony of suffering, underscored by the relentless roar of flames. Dallax moves among the survivors like a shadow, crushing and burning any who dare to resist.

As the last pockets of resistance are snuffed out, you land amidst the ruins, stepping down from Dallax’s back. You scan the battlefield, taking in the broken fortifications, the piles of charred corpses, and the men who now kneel in surrender. Victory is yours. The Stepstones are won.

Daemon approaches, blood splattered across his armor, a wild grin on his face. “Well done, nephew,” he says, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction. “I thought I might have all the fun, but you’ve stolen quite the show.” His eyes gleam with shared triumph, the bond between you strengthened through battle and bloodshed. “The Crabfeeder will feast no more.”

You smirk, wiping sweat and grime from your brow. “Someone had to keep you from getting killed. I couldn’t let you take all the glory.”

He laughs, the sound cutting through the dying echoes of the battle. “You’re learning. Perhaps there’s more of me in you than anyone cares to admit.”

As Daemon moves to rally the remaining men, your thoughts drift, carried away on the winds of victory. The image of Alicent appears in your mind—her gentle smile, the way her hand rests on the curve of her belly, swollen with the child she carries. You think of your son, Aegon, barely more than a year old, his bright eyes so full of curiosity. It is for them that you fight, for the future you intend to build, for the family you have claimed as your own.

The taste of blood and ash lingers on your tongue, but underneath it all is the yearning to return to them, to hold Alicent in your arms and feel the soft weight of your son as he rests against your chest. You think of how you will recount this victory to them—how Aegon will listen in awe, his little hands reaching out as if to grasp the tales of dragons and battles. You smile to yourself, imagining the way Alicent will scold you softly for the bloodshed, though you know she will be proud all the same.

“Soon,” you murmur to yourself, the words almost lost in the wind. “Soon I’ll be home.”

But for now, the battle is done, and the Stepstones are yours. The fires burn low as you gaze out over the broken landscape, your thoughts with your family, even as your dragon’s shadow stretches long over the conquered land, a reminder of the price of victory.

[oceanicwriting]

new year.

part one. part two.

summary: sneaking out of your dorm after the events of the party, mattheo finally gets a little taste of you. or maybe more than a little.

pairing(s): mattheo riddle x gryffindor!fem!reader

+18 smut, oral sex (f!receiving), overstimulation, tabletop

ㅤㅤㅤit had been hard for you to escape from the dorm. right after your sister spent hours reproaching your actions, she decided to sleep with you in the room. you didn't know if she did it as an apology for the things she said selflessly or to prevent you from running away, but you had tried everything to change her mind, and nothing worked.

ㅤㅤㅤnow you were walking with the tip of your wand lit, hiding your face in a black cloak and walking quickly towards the study rooms. room number five is the only one with the door halfway open, inviting you to enter. mattheo doesn't take long to turn to see you at the sound of the hinges creaking.

ㅤㅤㅤ—mattheo, your eye —you say, walking quickly in his direction.

ㅤㅤㅤ—doesn't it fit me? —he says, smiling and taking your waist to lean against the table—. don't worry. i would have paid the price every time.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i'm sorry.

ㅤㅤㅤmattheo's smile lights up the place in a matter of seconds, and you can't keep hiding the desire you have to kiss him. your hands go up to wrap them around his neck and melt it in a desperate kiss. your whole body lights up at the fight of your tongues side by side, tickling every part of your body and begging to take a breath of air every now and then.

ㅤㅤㅤa minute later, you're pressed against the table, stripped of your clothes and being studied by mattheo's dark gaze.

ㅤㅤㅤ—my most precious possession—he says, running his hands along your waist until they reach the fabric of your panties—. sit down.

ㅤㅤㅤyou do it without complaint, opening your legs to receive the boy between them.

ㅤㅤㅤ—what are you waiting for? —you challenge, smiling maliciously.

ㅤㅤㅤmattheo laughs, clenching his fists in your panties and pulling them. the sound of the seams breaking makes you clench the muscles of your sex tightly.

ㅤㅤㅤmattheo's lips spread over your neck, collarbone, breasts, and abdomen slowly. when the opportunity presented itself, he buried his teeth or licked, looking directly into your eyes, seeing you get restless from the sensation with great enjoyment. then, he falls to the ground on his knees, running his hot mouth along the inside of your thigh.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i'm going to taste you until the last drop —he says, his breath hitting your wet folds—. and you'll have to learn to keep your mouth shut sometimes.

ㅤㅤㅤand mattheo's tongue crashes against your hot, throbbing pussy, making you arch your back at the intrusion. his mouth sucks in just the right places, tickling with the strands of his hair brushing against your skin and squeezing your thighs to keep you at his beck and call.

ㅤㅤㅤevery time his tongue moistens your folds, your head hits the table, moaning and struggling with the force of his hands burying themselves in your flesh. the wave of pleasure is intensified by the pressure of one of his fingers at your entrance and the stimulation of your clitoris with his tongue, managing to shudder in every corner of your body.

ㅤㅤㅤ—m-mattheo, like that... —your hand can't help but travel to his hair, looking him straight in the eyes as you push him against you.

ㅤㅤㅤhis tongue increases the pace of its movement, while his finger presses, and you moan from the accumulation of your orgasm. from one moment to the next, you feel your legs tremble at the same time as your walls contract. mattheo knows you've reached climax by the way your breath chokes in the darkness. he could come out from between your legs squeezing his head, but it doesn't.

ㅤㅤㅤ—wait... mattheo —you moan, feeling his bite on the inside of your thighs while he repositions you—. w-wait.

ㅤㅤㅤany empty plea is replaced by moans, taking you to the pleasant surprise that mattheo is moaning low against your pussy full of his saliva. he lets out grunts that increase when your body moves unconsciously against his face, looking for more.

ㅤㅤㅤall the sensations attacking your body feel unreal, unsettling you when your desire quickly forms in the wetness of your body. his hot tongue, teeth threatening to bite, lips kissing and sucking whenever he feels like it were enough to have you on the edge. mattheo can feel it, the way your breathing becomes unsteady, filling the room with whimpers between moans and your legs threatening to squeeze his head.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i'm close —you can feel mattheo's smile spread across his face, still devouring you like a god—. p-please.

ㅤㅤㅤyour entire body convulses in a wave of pleasure that explodes in your center. you thought mattheo would do something else, that he would look for something else to entertain himself, but his face is still buried between your legs, growling and breathing as heavy as you.

ㅤㅤㅤ—what are you doing? —mattheo grabs your legs, opening them once more—. mattheo.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i told you, i'm going to savor you until the last. happy new year.

ㅤㅤㅤyou can see the evil smile and look full of desire that you can't speak. mattheo runs his tongue through your folds, accompanied by his fingers that push inside you without warning. the sensation of his fingers wrapped around your hot interior, mixing with the wetness of his restless tongue was so overstimulating that you couldn't help but cry. you knew it was going to be a long night.

ㅤㅤㅤmattheo has you sticky with sweat, weakly able to move through the tremors and barely breathing. up to that point, you had reached your climax seven times, each one coming after the other, leaving you as exhausted as having run marathons all day. the truth is, between each one, the boy practically begged you to give him one more, needing to be in that place between your legs, tasting and recording everything from his position.

ㅤㅤㅤnow he continued to do his thing, shaking your body at the sensations. you can feel between your sounds how the orgasm builds up again, this time sending different sensations than the previous ones.

ㅤㅤㅤ—come on, baby, you can do it —mattheo says against your cunt.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i-i can't, mattheo. —there is a small pain camouflaged under your pleasure that you hadn't registered—. w-wait...

ㅤㅤㅤbut he trusts that you can and doesn't stop what he's doing. your body tingles, making you feel a tickle far above where mattheo sucks your clit. your breath catches, trembling at the suffocation of the scream that comes out in a low voice, and you expel a liquid right in front of the boy's face.

ㅤㅤㅤwith all the strength you can find, you support your arms on the table to look at him, to say something, but you are speechless when you see him smile with the sticky substance on his face.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i knew you could hold on for one more. —he takes off his shirt, wiping his face—. so perfect, damn.

ㅤㅤㅤmattheo finally gets up. one of his hands holds your back, and the other rests on your thigh. your whole body feels so weak and gone that you're grateful that mattheo takes his time to spread kisses and caresses tenderly.

ㅤㅤㅤ—too much?

ㅤㅤㅤyou laugh softly against his shoulder, still catching your breath.

ㅤㅤㅤ—mattheo...

ㅤㅤㅤ—and you can still take one more.

ㅤㅤㅤhe presses his pelvis against you, his bulge making you throb in need, but too tired to admit it.

ㅤㅤㅤ—just give me a minute, please.

ㅤㅤㅤmattheo kisses you with the same softness of his caresses a moment ago, caressing your lips with the taste of your pussy mixing between you. his hands travel to his pants, pushing you down on the table and carelessly kissing your neck.

ㅤㅤㅤ—come on, you have to relax.

ㅤㅤㅤmattheo is fascinated by the sight of his cock entering you, soft and sure. the intrusion makes you moan against the brunette's growl.

ㅤㅤㅤ—g-give me a second, please —you plead, but mattheo doesn't listen and grabs your neck to kiss you—. p-please.

ㅤㅤㅤhe pulls out and re-enters slowly, torturing himself with the rocking of his hips. your nails dig into his back, pulling his chest against yours and messing up your thoughts. his slow rocking is blending perfectly with his soft kisses.

ㅤㅤㅤ—ah, mattheo —you moans against his mouth, making his movements speed up—. i-i...

ㅤㅤㅤ—such a good girl.

ㅤㅤㅤevery time he pulled out he scattered kisses on your bare shoulder, thrusting in harder and building up a new wave of desire in your wet center. mattheo starts to breathe heavily, growling against your mouth every time you clench your muscles, making him lose his mind at the sensation.

ㅤㅤㅤgrunts, moans, sighs, and sounds of your skins colliding. he grabs your hair to kiss you, raising the recognized tingle of your orgasm.

ㅤㅤㅤ—you're going to be the end of me.

ㅤㅤㅤhe wiggles just two more times to move lazily, going in and out ever so slowly. when you look at the place where your bodies meet, you notice his cock stained with his own fluids.

ㅤㅤㅤ—what would your sister say if she saw you like this, little granger?

ㅤㅤㅤyou slam into him, receiving a shove and a leisurely kiss on the lips from him.

ㅤㅤㅤ—are you going with me to the bedroom? —he asks, pulling out of you to wipe everything with his shirt—. or should i walk you to yours?

ㅤㅤㅤ—i rather sleep with you a thousand times over and put up with hermione tomorrow —you say, mattheo helps you get off the table, dressing in your underwear.

ㅤㅤㅤ—fine, then i'll have to make sure no one sees that you're almost naked under the cloak, honey.

[societyfolklore]

The Golden Yule Hunt

Title: The Golden Yule Hunt Pairing: Loki x Asgardian Female Reader

Summary:   Asgard holds its annual Yule Hunt, a festive competition involving enchanted beasts and snowy landscapes. Loki and the reader team up to win- but Loki has eyes on another prize.

Word Count:  3.2k

Warnings:  Warnings // Explicit Content //18+, Minors DNI, SMUT, Finger, Hunting Refs, Uprotected Sex (Don’t), Pet Names.. No Beta read..

A/N: Entry for @lokisgoodgirl  Winter Warmers collection

The great halls of Asgard glittered under the light of a thousand enchanted candles, casting golden reflections that danced across the walls. The annual Yule feast was in full swing-long tables laden with roasted meats, honeyed fruits, and overflowing goblets of mead and spiced wine. Laughter and music filled the air as Asgardians celebrated the season, their joy echoing off the palace’s gilded arches.

At the center of it all sat Odin, his lone eye scanning the room with measured authority. Thor laughed heartily beside him, a tankard of mead raised high as he regaled the table with one of his grand tales.

And then, there was him-Loki. The God of Mischief lounged lazily in his high-backed chair, emerald eyes sharp with amusement as he sipped from a goblet of wine. He seemed content to observe the revelry rather than partake, his black and green robes pooling elegantly at his feet.

You caught his gaze for only a second as you passed by, and even that brief look sent a chill down your spine. Loki’s smirk was faint but unmistakable, as if he were already scheming something-or perhaps he was just bored.

You took a steadying breath and turned your attention back to the feast. Tonight was not just a celebration; it was the eve of the Golden Hunt, an event as old as Yule itself.

The rules were simple: teams of two would be sent into Asgard’s enchanted forests to track and capture one of the legendary creatures blessed by the season. The winning team would earn a blessing said to bring prosperity, fortune, and love for the coming year. It was a test of wit, skill, and-if you were partnered with someone like Loki-a test of patience as well.

You had not expected your name to be paired with his.

“All hunters are to be chosen at random,” Odin’s booming voice declared, silencing the room. Scroll in hand, he called out the teams one by one, and your heartbeat faster with each name announced.

When Odin spoke your name, you stood quickly, your hands balling into nervous fists at your sides.

“And you shall hunt with…” Odin’s eye paused on Loki, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Loki, Prince of Asgard.”

The room fell eerily quiet for a moment before whispers began to ripple across the crowd like wildfire.

Loki, still lounging with an air of disinterest, raised a brow as if mildly inconvenienced. He looked at you, his lips curving into that infuriating smirk. “Ah, what fortune. I’ve been given a charming partner.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And I’ve been saddled with the trickster.”

A few quiet snickers rose from the table. Loki stood with all the grace of a predator rising from its rest and approached you with long, unhurried strides. He towered over you slightly as he stopped, hands folded behind his back.

“Try to keep up, darling,” he murmured, his voice a low drawl only you could hear. “The forest is no place for the faint of heart.”

“Then you’ll have no problem keeping up with me,” you shot back, unwilling to let him get the last word.

Loki chuckled softly, his smile sharper than glass. “We shall see.”

The forest at night was alive with magic. Snow blanketed the ground in pristine white, undisturbed save for the faint shimmer of starlight that scattered across its surface. Massive trees loomed overhead, their branches heavy with snow and twisted with golden Yule wreaths that glowed faintly, enchanted to mark the hunting grounds.

You pulled your cloak tighter around your shoulders as the air grew colder. Beside you, Loki moved with quiet confidence, his dark silhouette blending into the shadows. His long coat swayed as he walked, the faint hum of his magic pulsing faintly around him, an invisible thread of energy that made the hairs on your skin prickle.

“Do you always walk like you own the place?” you muttered, your breath misting in the air.

Loki turned his head toward you, his expression unreadable. “Darling, when one has earned their power, one doesn’t hide it.”

You rolled your eyes. “And yet, you’ve managed to lose every ounce of humility along the way.”

Loki smirked. “You’re lucky I find your insolence amusing.”

Before you could retort, a faint noise cut through the stillness-something soft, like the crunch of snow beneath hooves. You froze, and Loki’s gaze snapped forward, the teasing nature gone in an instant.

The two of you crept closer, weaving between snow-covered trees, your footfalls light against the forest floor. Emerging into a small clearing, you saw it: the Golden Hart

The Stag stood tall and regal, its fur shimmering like spun gold, its antlers glistening with frost. Its eyes glowed faintly, as though it were watching and waiting. The prize of the Hunt.

“I’ll go left, you go right,” Loki murmured, his voice low and sharp.

You nodded, circling around as Loki mirrored your movements. The creature watched you both but didn’t run, its head tilting as though considering its opponents.

Closer now.

Your pulse quickened as you reached out, ready to act.

Suddenly, the Hart turned and bolted, its golden glow vanishing into the darkness.

“Blast it!” Loki hissed, his illusion magic crackling in his palms as he spun to follow it. “Come on!”

Without hesitation, you tore after him. The chase was wild and chaotic-the Hart’s glow darting between trees like a living star as the two of you gave chase. Loki’s magic flashed ahead of you, forming illusions to corral the beast, but it was too clever, slipping past his tricks each time.

You sprinted faster, adrenaline roaring in your veins. Snow flew up around you, catching in your hair as you dove over a fallen log. Ahead, Loki leapt, his coat whipping around him as he skidded to a stop-too late.

You crashed into him, the force sending you both tumbling into a snowdrift.

You groaned as you pushed yourself upright, only to realize that you were pinned beneath Loki, his weight holding you in place. Snow clung to his dark hair, the faint moonlight catching the edges of his face.

Loki blinked, as though startled by the proximity, his green eyes locking with yours. His breath misted faintly in the space between you, his gaze flickering to your lips for just a moment before snapping back to your eyes.

“Comfortable?” you asked, your voice dry despite the fluttering in your chest.

Loki’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Immensely.”

You shoved at his chest, your gloved hands sinking into the fur-lined coat. He relented with a low chuckle, rolling off of you and into the snow.

“Are we done falling all over each other now?” you muttered, brushing snow from your cloak.

“Perhaps,” Loki replied lazily, propping himself up on one elbow. “Though I must admit, I’m starting to enjoy it.”

Loki’s words hung in the air, laced with teasing, but there was a darker glint in his eyes, one that made heat pool in your stomach despite the biting cold. You shot him a glare, determined not to let him get under your skin, but he only smirked wider, his gaze drifting over you in a way that made your breath hitch.

“Perhaps we should get back to the hunt,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended, as you pushed to your feet and began brushing snow from your cloak.

But Loki remained where he was, lounging in the snow like a satisfied cat. “Why rush?” he drawled, his voice smooth and infuriatingly calm. “The Golden Stag isn’t going anywhere. And besides...” His eyes met yours, his smirk softening into something more dangerous. “I find myself rather taken with... other prizes.”

You froze mid-motion, his meaning sinking in as he rose fluidly to his feet, brushing snow from his coat. Before you could respond, he stepped closer, his tall frame looming over you in the dim light.

“Other prizes?” you echoed, your voice wavering slightly as your pulse quickened.

Loki tilted his head, studying you with that predatory intensity that always left you unsteady. “The kind worth savouring,” he murmured, his gloved hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your cheek. His touch was featherlight, yet it sent a shiver down your spine, and not from the cold.

“Loki, we’re wasting time-”

“On the contrary,” he interrupted, his voice dropping an octave as he stepped closer, backing you against the rough bark of a frost-covered tree. “I think this is the most productive use of our time.”

Your retort died on your lips as his hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his. His thumb brushed your cheek, his eyes searching yours for the barest hesitation. When he found none, his lips descended on yours with a hunger that left you breathless.

The kiss was searing, a stark contrast to the cold air biting at your skin. His hand slid from your jaw to your waist, pulling you flush against him as his tongue swept over your bottom lip, demanding entry. You granted it without hesitation, your gloved hands gripping the fur of his coat as the kiss deepened.

“Loki,” you gasped against his lips when he finally pulled back, his breath warm against your skin. But whatever protest you’d been about to voice dissolved into a shuddering moan as his lips trailed down your neck, his teeth scraping lightly against your pulse.

“You’re far more captivating than any golden stag,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire as his hands roamed over your body, tugging at the clasps of your cloak and letting it fall to the ground.

His lips found the sensitive spot beneath your ear, drawing a soft cry from you as his hands slid over your curves, deftly finding the fastenings of your armour. His touch was deliberate, almost reverent, as though unwrapping the most precious of treasures.

“You’re insufferable,” you managed to say, your voice breathy as his hands found bare skin, the chill of the air soon forgotten under the heat of his touch.

“And yet,” Loki replied, his lips curving against your collarbone, “you’re not stopping me are you?”

Your only response was a gasp as his mouth moved lower, his teeth grazing the edge of your tunic before he pulled it free, leaving you exposed to the icy night air. But the cold was forgotten the moment his hands found your skin, his long fingers skimming over your waist and hips before gripping you possessively.

The world around you seemed to blur as Loki lowered you onto the snowy ground, the chill seeping through your layers countered by the heat of his body. His coat fanned out beneath you as his lips reclaimed yours, his hands continuing their exploration with a hunger that left you trembling.

“You’re mine tonight,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with possession as his knee nudged your legs apart. “The stag can wait.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but your words dissolved into a moan as his hand slipped between your thighs, his touch sending a jolt of pleasure through you his long fingers sliding along the wet flesh between your legs.

“Loki...” you whispered, your voice raw with need as your fingers tangled in his raven hair, holding him to you. “Please.”

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest as his lips captured yours once more, his fingers teasing and tormenting until you were arching against him, every nerve alight with sensation. “Your far easier game then the stag my darling..”

You felt his fingers brush against your entrance, teasing the sensitive skin before sliding inside. The invasion was slow, deliberate, and utterly devastating. “uh-ah..”  Your body arched against him, your hips tilting upwards as his fingers slid deeper, filling you with a sense of fullness and completion, walls fluttering and gipping his fingers.

“Oh yes, a far better prize” 

His breath hot against your skin as he felt your response. His fingers began to move, stroking and caressing the slick inner walls, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. You felt your muscles clenching around him, trying to hold him inside, but he was relentless, his touch expert and unyielding. “One I’m going to enjoy claiming.”

His thumb found your clit, rubbing gentle circles around the sensitive nub as his fingers continued their slow, sensual assault. You felt your body begin to build, the tension coiling inside you like a spring, waiting to be released.

"Loki- oh Gods," you whispered, your voice barely audible as his fingers worked their magic. Your hands were still tangled in his hair, holding him to you as your body trembled and shook.

His response was a low, husky whisper, his breath hot against your skin.

"Come for me my little doe," he murmured, his fingers stroking and teasing, pushing you closer to the edge. "Let go, my love. Let me feel you come apart."

As he spoke, his fingers quickened, his touch growing more insistent, more demanding. You felt your body respond, the tension building to a crescendo as his fingers drove you closer and closer to the edge. And then, in a burst of sensation, you were over, your body shattering into a thousand pieces as you came, Loki's fingers still deep inside you, his lips still locked on yours, his eyes blazing with triumph and desire. “Mmm, perfect.” You were still coming back to yourself when your barely made out the noise of Loki undoing his own hunting tunics, and you felt him back pressed upon you again, him taking his place back between your legs.

“Look at me Doe.” His eyes locked on yours as he filled you completely, it was slow and deliberate. The stretch of him was exquisite, a perfect combination of pain and pleasure that left you gasping his name. His movements were unhurried at first, savouring the way you clenched around him, but the need burning between you soon took over. “You feel better than I even imaged,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, each word dripping with reverence and possession. “Thought of nothing but this since I saw you in the hall.” As Loki's eyes locked onto yours, you felt a shiver run down your spine. His gaze was intense, burning with a fierce desire that seemed to sear your very soul. You felt his hips press against yours, his cock filling you to the brim, and you couldn't help but gasp at the sensation your breath letting out little puffs of steam into the fridged air. “Do you feel that, little Doe?” Loki’s voice was a low, velvety rasp, each word laced with dark satisfaction. “How perfectly you fit me? Like you were crafted for this-for me.”

The stretch of him was like nothing you'd ever felt before. It was as if he was claiming you, marking you as his own, and you couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement at the thought. His movements were slow at first, deliberate and sensual, as if he was savouring the feel of you around him. “Loki…” you gasped, your voice trembling with need, “I-”

The snow crunched around you both as his weight held you under him,  his pace quickened, his hips thrusting against yours with a growing urgency. You felt his cock sliding in and out of you, the friction building to a fever pitch as he drove you closer and closer to the edge.

Your hands were still tangled in his hair, holding him to you as his lips crashed down onto yours. The kiss was fierce, passionate, and all-consuming, his tongue probing the depths of your mouth as his hips pounded against yours. “I need you,” you gasped, your body arching into his as a wave of pleasure rippled through you. “I need all of you.”

His lips curved into a wicked grin against your skin. “You already have me,” he murmured, his pace growing rougher, each thrust sending sparks of heat cascading through your body. “Every piece of me is yours. And you…” He paused, his hand tangling in your hair, tugging just enough to lift your gaze to meet his. “You’re mine.”

You felt his hands on your hips, holding you in place as he drove into you, his fingers digging deep into your skin. The sensation was exquisite, a perfect combination of pain and pleasure that left you gasping for breath. “Let the whole forest know who owns you.”

As he fucked you, his movements grew more intense, more primal. You felt his cock slamming into you, the sound of his hips meeting yours echoing through the forest like a primal drumbeat. The world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you, lost in a sea of sensation and desire.

“Yes,” you choked out, the intensity in his emerald eyes making your breath hitch. “I’m yours, Loki.” Loki’s rhythm grew rougher, more frantic, as though trying to imprint himself on every part of you. His name spilled from your lips in a chant, your nails digging into his shoulders as he drove you closer to the edge. The sounds of your shared pleasure mingled with the crackle of distant frost, the only witnesses to your union the silent trees and the distant stars.

You cried out as his movements became even more urgent, the friction between your bodies building to an unbearable crescendo. “Loki, I-oh gods-”

When release finally overtook you, it was blinding, a wave of pleasure that left you trembling beneath him. Loki followed soon after, his hips snapping against yours as he spilled into you, his head falling to the crook of your neck with a low, satisfied groan. “Come for me,” he commanded, his voice both tender and unyielding as his lips captured yours in a bruising kiss. “Now, little Doe. Be mine.”

The words pushed you over the edge, your body trembling as waves of ecstasy surged through you. “Uah!” you screamed, your voice echoing through the stillness of the forest.

He groaned deeply, the sound vibrating against your skin as his own release followed, his body tensing above you as he spilled into you with a shuddering breath. For a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound your laboured breaths mingling in the icy air. Leaving puffs of steam in the air around you. Then Loki raised his head, a wicked smile curving his lips as he brushed a strand of hair from your flushed face. Your breaths slowed, your fingers still tangled in his hair, you met his gaze, the raw intensity in his eyes making your heart race all over again

“I believe I’ve found my prize,” he said, his voice low and rich with satisfaction.

You laughed softly, your chest still heaving. “I hope it was worth it.”

“Oh, it was,” Loki replied, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he leaned down to kiss you once more, the warmth of his lips chasing away the cold of the night. “Always next year.”

[apoemaday]

Eurydice

by Carol Ann Duffy

Girls, I was dead and down in the Underworld, a shade, a shadow of my former self, nowhen. It was a place where language stopped, a black full stop, a black hole Where the words had to come to an end. And end they did there, last words, famous or not. It suited me down to the ground.

So imagine me there, unavailable, out of this world, then picture my face in that place of Eternal Repose, in the one place you’d think a girl would be safe from the kind of a man who follows her round writing poems, hovers about while she reads them, calls her His Muse, and once sulked for a night and a day because she remarked on his weakness for abstract nouns. Just picture my face when I heard -- Ye Gods -- a familiar knock-knock at Death’s door.

Him. Big O. Larger than life. With his lyre and a poem to pitch, with me as the prize.

Things were different back then. For the men, verse-wise, Big O was the boy. Legendary. The blurb on the back of his books claimed that animals, aardvark to zebra, flocked to his side when he sang, fish leapt in their shoals at the sound of his voice, even the mute, sullen stones at his feet wept wee, silver tears.

Bollocks. (I’d done all the typing myself, I should know.) And given my time all over again, rest assured that I’d rather speak for myself than be Dearest, Beloved, Dark Lady, White Goddess etc., etc.

In fact girls, I’d rather be dead.

But the Gods are like publishers, usually male, and what you doubtless know of my tale is the deal.

Orpheus strutted his stuff.

The bloodless ghosts were in tears. Sisyphus sat on his rock for the first time in years. Tantalus was permitted a couple of beers. The woman in question could scarcely believe her ears.

Like it or not, I must follow him back to our life -- Eurydice, Orpheus’ wife -- to be trapped in his images, metaphors, similes, octaves and sextets, quatrains and couplets, elegies, limericks, villanelles, histories, myths…

He’d been told that he mustn’t look back or turn round, but walk steadily upwards, myself right behind him, out of the Underworld into the upper air that for me was the past. He’d been warned that one look would lose me for ever and ever.

So we walked, we walked. Nobody talked.

Girls, forget what you’ve read. It happened like this -- I did everything in my power to make him look back. What did I have to do, I said, to make him see we were through? I was dead. Deceased. I was Resting in Peace. Passé. Late. Past my sell-by date… I stretched out my hand to touch him once on the back of the neck. Please let me stay. But already the light had saddened from purple to grey.

It was an uphill schlep from death to life and with every step I willed him to turn. I was thinking of filching the poem out of his cloak, when inspiration finally struck. I stopped, thrilled. He was a yard in front. My voice shook when I spoke -- Orpheus, your poem’s a masterpiece. I’d love to hear it again…

He was smiling modestly, when he turned, when he turned and he looked at me.

What else? I noticed he hadn’t shaved. I waved once and was gone.

The dead are so talented. The living walk by the edge of a vast lake near, the wise, drowned silence of the dead.

[nerdinabook]

One thing that erks me so bad is when people play off Peter Pettigrew as the lost puppy of the Marauders or write him as always off with other people or just simply not as tight knit in the group as the rest of the boys.

THAT IS NOT TRUE! HE IS A MARAUDER HE WAS JUST AS PART OF THE GROUP AS JAMES SIRIUS AND REMUS!

That's what makes his betrayal so heartbreaking and unexpected is because Peter was their brother, he also broke the law and became an animagus in 5th year because he wanted to help his friend, he also stayed up late at night creating the map with them, he also traversed the castle under the invisibility cloak with them. He was apart of them in ever bit.

His betrayal was so devastating cause no one saw it coming, he was probably there with Sirius and Remus waiting to find out the news of when baby Harry was born. He was probably dubbed Uncle Wormtail just as Remus and Sirius were Uncle Padfoot and Uncle Moony.

He was their brother and his betrayal was as blindsided and shell shocking as if Remus or Sirius betrayed James and Lily, perhaps even more because Sirius was suspected due to his Black family heritage and Remus with his Lycanthrophy.

They must have thought oh its definitely not Peter though, Peter is as loyal ad they come, he has nothing in his life that might pull him to the death eater, and depending on which version of Marauders lore you subscribe to Peter is possibly a life long childhood friend of James, grew up down the road always did everything together.

He was the last one they'd expect to be the snitch that's why Sirius told James to make him secret keeper and why James full heartedly excepted that choice. James never would've put the life of his wife and child in the hands of someone if he didn't wholeheartedly believe they would defend them as if they were James.

That's why it's so heartbreaking and that's why everytime I read a fic that plays Peter off as a clumsy guys that just wonders around them I get a upset because that's not who he was and I don't want to take creative liberties away from anyone else but in my fics Peter will get the character he deserves (so you can all cry with me when he ultimately betrays them).

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

[shadowdaddies]

The Offering

Nesta x witch!Reader smut (AU)

A/N: I'm very much in the Witchy Girl Autumn spirit. This is an AU where Nesta is a Death Goddess; be warned it's a bit dark and twisty.

Warnings: mean domme!Nesta, fingering, oral f!receiving, tribbing, pussy spanking, breath play ish?, degradation, idk this is filthy just beware and minors dni or I'll hex you

Ice-coated leaves crunched beneath your bare feet, the remnants of snow a dulled sting against your skin. Unable to fight the shivers that wracked through you, you inwardly cursed yourself for being such a weak witch to be phased by something as little as the weather. 

The heavy black cloak draped over your body provided your only protection from the late December air as you found your small opening in the forest and knelt. Shaky hands, stiff from winter air clumsily pushed debris to the side, pulled kindling from your pack, carved the spell circle into the dirt.

Hands dirtied, breath cloudy in the crisp cold, you looked to the sky as the stars seemed to dim even without the light of the moon. The second full moon of this month - and the last of this year - would guarantee the strongest connection to the earth. As mother nature began anew, you would so draw from her power, praying to the goddesses for guidance and strength to begin anew as well.

Regretfully, you pulled the black shawl from where it draped across your neck, sucking in a deep breath at the chill that filled your bones when you laid the offering at your makeshift altar’s base beside the purple candles and fruits you’d set to honor the Crone. 

The symbol of new beginnings, wisdom, and serenity - your last hope was sacrament and supplication to the waning facet of the Triple Headed Goddess. As darkness enveloped the land and the wind grew eerily still, you breathed light into the candles with a whisper of a spell-cast. The kindling caught quickly, blazing to life with a ferocity that had you pulling off your cloak. 

Completely bare in the darkness with the spirits of goddesses and witches past watching curiously, you began to chant in the old language - your story, and your please for help. A soft smile graced your lips as the flames raged higher and higher, the only source of light in this Black Moon night, signaled that your voice had been heard.

As warm hope swelled in your chest, you closed your eyes, head thrown back in whole surrender to the powers that listened, only for that warmth to be brusquely ripped away. No gust of wind signaled the suffocation of the flames before you. It was the cold, a supernatural force that rattled your core which told you something was amiss. 

Eyes fluttering open, you gasped at the sight of the North Star shining brightly in the sky, where it had been missing only moments ago. 

“It’s snowing,” a sultry voice purred. You jumped at the sight of a woman - not a woman, but something... more - leaning against the pyre, seemingly unbothered by the simmering embers of extinguished flames against her exposed skin. 

Translucent silver fabric draped over the curves of her body, your eyes drinking her in as they trailed upwards. The thorned diadem that circled her braided hair seemed to mimic the silver flames that danced in her eyes, and you gasped at the realization of who was before you.

Lady Death read your expression with a taunting smirk, eyes glittering with amusement as she leapt from the altar with grace. You watched in awe as she picked up a pomegranate from the offerings, humming a cheery tune that seemed to betray the nature of her being. 

“It’s snowing,” she repeated, brow arched in question as Death’s gaze raked unabashedly over your naked body. “Aren’t you cold, little witch?”

The heat from her gaze sent a shock of confidence though you, your expression shifting to match her own. “I could ask the same of you, Lady Death,” you countered, accentuating your own, slow stare. You allowed yourself to fully revel in her form, the unexpected beauty of a goddess of death. 

Her long legs reflected the star’s light through the slits of wispy fabric in her gown, her breasts peaked from the cold, nearly as pale as the snow that had begun to drift upon the forest floor. 

A laugh echoed through the air, and your eyes snapped to hers to find that same taunting smile, lazy like a predator who’s caught its prey. “I am Death,” she purred, plunging a finger through the flesh of the pomegranate in her hand. “I don’t get cold, pet.”

Tipping the fruit to her lips, pomegranate juice flowed down, staining her lips a deep red and trailing down. Down her throat, the red liquid flowed slowly between her breasts and below the dress. 

You could feel heat rise to your cheeks, cunt fluttering at the mere sight of her, of everything you could and could not see. The fruit rolled from the goddess’s fingertips, dropping to the ground unceremoniously as she strolled toward where you still kneeled on the ground. 

A single finger curled under your chin, easily maneuvering you how she pleased. “Why did you summon me?” 

Heart thundered in your chest, eyes widening as you registered her question. “I-I didn’t mean to summon you,” you argued, voice pleading. “I was making an offering, hoping for a blessing from the Crone-“

“You meant to summon the Crone?” Death’s grip sharpened on your chin. 

Willing your heart to still, you forced yourself to look into her eyes, the depths of them swirling with dark power. “No, I meant to ask for wisdom. For blessings with a fresh start. My life-“ You choked slightly at the press of her hand at your throat, just hard enough to make your head feel lighter.

“You summoned me, you naive little witch.” She spat the last word like a curse, cupping your jaw as she jerked your head to face the circle behind her. “You summoned the Crone. Hecate, Coatlicue, Muerte, Meng Po, Lady Death.” The briefest pause. “Nesta.”

I go by many names, witch. And yet, you somehow ‘accidentally’ summoned me, for a mere blessing?” 

“W-well, yes. I just wanted to move on, my relationship-“

A sharp cackle cut off your rambling, the noise so unlike how the goddess had sounded earlier that you nearly jumped again. 

“You know, pet,” Nesta whispered, leaning down until her face was a breath away from your own. “I appear to those who call on me as what they truly desire. And you, my dear, see me as myself.” Drawing back slightly, the goddess’s hand moved to stroke your hair in a frighteningly soft manner.

“So tell me, pet, what do you truly desire?”

Eyes dropping down to the trail of sweet juice that stained Nesta’s skin, you could feel her smile as though she could read your thoughts. Lust overcame you like a force of its own, head cloudy as you heard yourself babble admissions of want. 

“Take it. Take what you need, little witch.” Nesta gasped as you lunged forward, pulling her to her knees along with you in the dirt. Lips instantly found hers, a clash of teeth and tongues as you licked every bit of remaining fruit from her mouth. 

Trailing down, you followed the path of temptation down her chest with a frantic need you had never felt before, pawing at the scraps of fabric that held Nesta’s dress in place. She laughed softly, the sound quickly turning to a moan as you took one of her nipples into your mouth. 

“Lay back,” you panted, Nesta’s amused lack of urgency only spurring on your own frustration. “Please,” you whined, helpless in your need to touch her, taste her. With a soft hum, she obliged you, laying back on the thin blanket of snow with a slowness that allowed you to strip her bare before she hit the earth.

Bringing your lips back to her chest, you licked and sucked dark bruises that drew sinful moans from the goddess. She reveled in the pain and pleasure, and with that knowledge you dragged your nails down her thighs, cleaning up the juice until you hovered above her glistening cunt.

Practically panting in your crazed state, you spread her legs to settle in when you felt yourself suddenly lifted. Death had easily flipped you onto your back, her hips nestled atop your own as she pinned your wrists into the dirt. 

“You look so cute like this. Needy, desperate enough to let me do anything to you,” she growled. So wrapped up in your lustful haze, you simply nodded along, weakly arching your hips for some sort of friction. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you asked for, baby,” Nesta cooed. Her hips lowered to meet yours, legs interlocked as she slowly ground her clit against your own.

Soft moans flowed from her lips like a melody, your own soft pants swallowed by her lips crashing against yours, her teeth sinking into your skin, lips sucking your tongue into her mouth as though she was trying to consume you. Nesta kept you pinned beneath her, using your body as she humped and rolled her growing slick against yours. 

You had never felt so helpless yet so powerful, lacking control but seizing pleasure. Your pussy clenched, lips gaping as you felt yourself begin to hit your orgasm when Nesta abruptly pulled away. “Not yet, pet,” she tsk’d at your fucked out confusion beneath her. 

“You need to take care of me.” Turning around, Nesta slid up your body, her sticky cunt perched over your mouth as her hands skated down your hips. “Show me that you deserve my blessing.”

Fully pressing her weight onto you, you moaned at the feeling of breathlessness, the taste of her dripping against your chin and lips as her hips began to rock. Taking advantage of Nesta releasing your wrists, you wrapped your arms around her thighs, pulling her closer to lick her clean, sucking and lightly nipping at her clit while you studied her reactions to every motion. 

You could tell she was close, doubling down your efforts when she suddenly thrust a finger inside of you, curling against your slick walls with embarrassing ease. She chuckled, adding to the humiliation when she added a second finger, twisting a curling with tortuous slowness that stole your focus from her pussy.

Nesta’s thumb found your clit, your hips bucking up at the sudden feeling. Before you could register what happened, Nesta was fully sitting on you, cutting off your air as a harsh smack landed on your pussy. Your scream was muffled by her cunt on your lips, but Nesta rolled against you in response, moaning at the vibrations.

Lifting up slightly, the goddess rolled a soothing hand over your puffy clit. “You take what I give you, pet. Now, stay still. I will not ask again.” She gave no warning before plunging her fingers inside of you once more, this time faster as her tongue licked a wet stripe down your clit. 

Your legs burned from keeping them still against the cold, hard ground, head swimming from how long you’d been held between Nesta’s thighs when she fluttered around your tongue. “Come, now,” she commanded, and your body obeyed. Shaking and moaning, you savored her release as she worked you through yours. 

Sitting up with an impossible grace, Nesta smirked at you over her shoulder, lips stained red and shining with your arousal as the North Star cast a glow over her silhouette. You lay, sore and exhausted, as the goddess crawled up your body, sitting her wet pussy on your stomach. She looked down at you with a sense of appraisal, hands lazily roaming every inch of your skin.

“I think I’ll have to keep you,” she hummed, thumb lazily dragging across your bottom lip.

“Keep me? What does that mean?” you squeaked out in a whisper, eagerness and fear eddying within your mind at the possibilities. 

Nesta only offered you a cryptic smile, thumb dipping into your mouth where you could still taste the pomegranate’s sweet nectar on her skin. Tongue flicking out, you wrapped your lips around her like second nature. “Good girl,” she muttered as the forest grew dark around you once more.

[cottonlemonade]

Dracula And His Damsel

word count: 1135 || avg. reading time: 5 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Kyotani x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff with a pinch of spice

warnings: mdni, suggestive

request: watching Nightmare Before Christmas with pumpkin-spice, dressed as a tomato with Kyotani || fluffy-spicy, Halloween costume shopping with boyfriend Kyotani

Only through the power of undying love was Kyotani able to cross the threshold of the costume parlor. After weeks of hints decreasing in subtlety by the day, had he agreed to a couple’s costume for this year’s Halloween party under the condition that it would be nothing too out there or embarrassing. Even though, in all honesty, you could have asked him to wear a dress and he would have, just to see you smile.

“How about this one?”, you asked, holding up a picture of the Barbie movie on your phone, “You’re halfway there already. You’re hot, blond and your name is Kentaro.”

You giggled at your own joke and it turned into a full laugh when you saw his unimpressed expression.

“Let’s make this quick, alright?”

“Ah ah ah, good things take time, babe. Now, what are you in the mood for? Something dangerous? Creepy? Funny? Sexy?” With each new word, you pulled a different costume from the rack.

Your boyfriend raised a brow at the last piece. “What’s that supposed to be?”

“The Phantom of the Opera. A classic…”, you sighed dreamily, “And pretty simple. I just need a fancy ball gown for my part. Wanna try it on?”

“I’m good.”, he replied, disinterested, “Let’s get that one and leave.”

You hit him with the big doe eyes - a trick that had yet to fail its effect.

“But I wanna see how it looks beforehand. Please~?”

Today was no different.

“Fine…” Snatching the cloak and mask from you, he let you usher him to the spacious changing rooms - no wonder they were so big, considering some costumes were made to be worn by two people.

Five minutes later you brushed the curtain to the side to inspect. Kyotani flinched, needlessly trying to cover himself even though he was fully dressed.

“Ya can’t just come in here, ya know?”

“Says who?”, you replied and began brushing along the cloak and fixing his collar, “You look so handsome… even more so than usual.”

It was no use pretending that he didn’t love your praise. Years of pathetically crushing on you, followed now by months of clumsily being a boyfriend for the very first time had taught him that when it came to you, anything was his weakness. And your warm hands running over his chest, combined with sweet talk ensured he would stay in this dressing room until closing time if you told him to.

Reaching out of the curtain for a moment, you produced another hanger with a - to him - absolutely identical costume you found.

“If the phantom isn’t it, how about we go with another classic? Draculaaaa~”

“And who would you be?”

“Well…”, you said, tapping your finger thoughtfully on your chin, “I could either be some woman you seduce ooor maybe a vampire huntress?”

He hated how that idea made him blush and he was even more embarrassed when you noticed.

“Oh? You like the idea? Well, say no more! Imma grab a dress.” And with that, you wooshed out of the changing room.

A little while later, while he was tying the black and red cape, you slipped back through his curtain.

“Could you please help me with the corset, baby?”

“The c-…”

You would 100% be the death of him. It was only a matter of time.

Part of the reason he fell for you in the first place was that you were the exact opposite of him, bright and friendly, definitely something people would call approachable. And where he was considered lean and lanky, you were soft and rounded. This had led to many many afternoons of him bringing you home after a date and not being able to stop when you kissed him Goodnight because the feeling of your warm chub between his cold fingers was more addictive than anything he’d ever experienced.

“Babe?”, you asked when he could only stare.

“Hm?”

“The corset?”

“Right.”

You smiled and turned your back to him expectantly.

He examined the laces.

“Uhm… what… what do I do?”

“It’s kinda like putting on shoes, just tighten it a little. Not too much though, I like to breathe.”

The knowledge that he could hurt you in this situation if he did something wrong, made him hesitate but with a bit more encouragement (praise) he finished the job in no time.

“What do you think?”

You tilted your head a little, meeting his eyes in the large mirror.

“Pretty.”, he said, clearing his throat. His eyes had dropped down and landed on your breasts, plump and on display with the corset.

Obviously, you caught him looking. “Yeah?”, you teased, “Let’s take a picture. I wanna try something.”

You turned to the side, leaning your back against the wall, and pulled out your phone.

He stood there, waiting for instructions.

“Come here and pretend to bite my neck.”

And there was that stupid blush again. He stepped closer and opened his mouth as wide as he could, hovering over that sensitive bit of skin that usually made you so… noisy when you were alone. The camera clicked and he straightened, waiting for your verdict.

“Hm.”, you said, “It doesn’t look quite right.” You turned the screen so he could see. He looked very very stiff but that was his default in any pictures to be fair. He only had two modes. Stiff or glaring - already a huge upgrade from his high school days.

“Maybe this time try putting your hand here - yes, like that, the other there - perfect - and when you lean in, maybe just kiss my neck but with a bit more teeth.”

A truly terrible idea as he came to realize soon enough. The smell of your perfume and feeling of your warmth had him entranced and he could only vaguely hear you taking one picture after another.

You didn’t tell him to stop.

Only a small eternity later did he hear you gasp his name.

He moved in even closer, pressing his body against you, and automatically slotted his leg between yours.

His sharp incisors raked over your skin, making you shudder in his arms.

You brought your hands up to rest on his shoulders, steadying yourself as he continued to kiss, touch, and grind.

A large calloused hand came up to your breasts but with the corset, it was impossible to grab. He focused on his thigh pushing up to your core, groaning with frustration at that piece of impenetrable fabric keeping him from feeling heaven.

“Excuse me? Sir? Miss? What are you doing?”, the voice of the store clerk rang through the curtain and burst the hot bubble you were in.

“We’re almost out.”, you replied, decidedly croaky sounding.

Suddenly glad for the robes hiding his otherwise very prominent problem, Kyotani panted quietly, “We should get these ones.”

art: @_geolatte on Twitter

a/n: request for @rosetakemi

Thank you very much for your request! Ngl I thought I would struggle a whole lot more writing for him but it was actually really fun! I hope you enjoyed it 🌟

That concludes the Halloween event. Thank you so so much to everyone who participated, liked, commented, and reblogged. While the event was going on I surpassed 1000 followers and I can’t wrap my head around that. That’s so many of you!!! The next event will be a much simpler one that I had planned since… like May, but always kept pushing back because I thought of other things xD

[breakdownsbuttlights]

What style of clothes do drift and ratchet wear?

I've written before about Drift's weaponized athleisure, and it is true that for a good long while, he tended to look like he was travelling to or from the gym with a sword on his back because, well, he was. And besides, he could make a wardrobe of sweats and ankle socks work in a way that only extremely pulchritudinous people can.

However, if we expand our frame of temporal reference beyond his Lost Light years, our vision of Drift's style changes. As Deadlock, he favoured black tactical gear accentuated with copious gold jewelry, as if a waterproof ninja had robbed a pawn shop. In his later years, as his punishing athletic routine gave way to teaching and writing, and his natural eccentricity braided with his aversion to cold, heavy capes and cloaks became de rigeur. His love of jewelry returned at this time in the form of intricate beads and amulets, and thus adorned, he entered his wizard phase,* which would last until his death.

*Sadly, Ratchet did not live to see the wizard phase in full effect.

Were it not for Drift, Ratchet would inhabit the same pair of jeans with the same brown leather belt and the same denim work shirt every day of his life. Thankfully, Drift buys his clothes, so he has several identical pairs of jeans to wear with his belt, as well as a few flannel shirts to mix in with the denim, and some cozy cardigans for Drift to steal when he takes a chill. The only suit he owns is the one he got married in, and he has worn it exactly once. Far from appearing slovenly, Ratchet's Levis uniform has a lived-in sexiness that suggests James Dean, if James Dean had been allowed to get old, develop love handles, and build cabinets in his spare time.

[livinginshambles]

Preview: I thought you'd be different | James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

Summary: A Cinderella Story, but Hogwarts. (Enemies? to lovers)

Notes: Sorry I've been mia; i wrote this today, it's all I have so the full fic will probably take a while, not proofread, mistakes blah blah, enjoy!

PS. I am currently no longer making a taglist because I can't keep up with it, I'm really sorry!

Masterlist. Taglist

------------------------------------

You could still remember the moment vividly, as if it was engraved in your memory.

That moment when the sorting hat placed you in Slytherin instead of Gryffindor like your two older sisters had been sorted. You could still see the look of surprise, concern, horror and then eventually disgust, every time you closed your eyes.

“Now we finally know your true colors,” is what you sister Alyssa had hissed coldly at you. You had pleadingly looked at your other sister, but Marla had supported her twin sister, disregarding the confused and scared look in your eleven-year-old eyes.

“Don’t talk to us, don’t look at us and don’t mention us at all,” she sneered down at you and for a moment you wondered how she hadn’t been the one to be sorted into Slytherin instead. But you had cast your eyes down and agreed.

But years passed and you had become the very stereotype of a Slytherin student, completely leaning into the cold, distant, quiet but calculating persona that your sisters had created for you. Might as well, you figured after your parent’s dismay at the revelation of your house.

You were making your way down the corridor, long strides as you passed your sisters while looking them straight in the eye. They grimaced at the sight of you, but without their entire group of classmates, they didn’t dare make any comments.

A feeling of victory erupted inside of you, and you couldn’t help the small smirk that crept up your face.

“What poor soul suffered for you to look so satisfied?” You turned your head to look at the person who called out to you. James Potter and Sirius Black were both leaning against a statue in the open yard.

“Did you get rid of Regulus or something?” Sirius taunted. “Finally had enough of him following you around, did you L/N?”

“Go die in a ditch, Sirius,” you retorted with an eyeroll, but seemed unphased.

“Why so much hostility,” James unpleasantly remarked, and you halted in your step.

To be petty or not to be petty, you sighed and rolled your eyes.

“10 points from Gryffindor for loitering,” you decided.

The two marauders started to protest.

“If you have nothing to do, other than insulting students, I would love to recommend you to Professor McGonagall for detention. Heard she was still looking for the person who made all the pumpkins explode last week during Halloween, and you guys are terrible at getting rid of the evidence.” It effectively shut them up, and with a last glance up and down, you continued your way towards the room of requirement.

When you entered the sober room with a sigh, you noticed the small scrolled up piece of parchment in the middle of the room. You frowned. This was your space. The room didn’t open this space for anyone else, you made it specifically as a safe haven.

You cautiously approached the parchment and rolled it open to reveal nothing. It was completely blank. You shrugged. If the room left this here, it was meant for you, and so you took a seat and started drawing on it.

James sat in an empty room, his invisibility cloak hiding him from plain sight as he pulled the now folded paper from his back pocket. He inspected it closely, almost pressing the paper to his glasses in a curious manner.

He had gone to the Room of Requirements earlier that day and found a piece of paper floating in the air. Of course, levitating stuff wasn't that strange, but it had intrigued him nonetheless.

James unfolded the paper, and his eyebrows flew up. Lines were appearing on the paper by itself, and a beautiful portrait of a weeping willow with a girl who was crying on a bench under the tree, appeared.

James fumbled to find his quill and ink. Then he started to write something on it, in a handwriting that he only ever used for written exams.

(Credits to Professor McGonagall who had announced that she would not be grading anything she couldn’t read. And she had looked over her glasses at him while she said it.)

It’s beautiful.

You dropped the parchment at the words that formed right under your drawing. You traced it with your fingers. Then you decided to write back.

Full fic

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Some James, Lily, and Sirius notes

I needed to figure out for my fic what Sirius was doing after graduation and before Azkaban. Like, what James, Lily, and Sirius were doing for a living, you know. The common fanon consensus is that Sirius and James were Aurors, but I found an interview that gave the closest to canon answer that we have:

Q: Harry often wondered about his parents lives before he died. What did Lily, James, Remus, Lupin and Sirius do after Hogwarts? JKR: To take Remus first, Remus was unemployable. Poor Lupin, prior to Dumbledore taking him in, led a really impoverished life because no one wanted to employ a werewolf. The other three were full-time members of the Order of the Phoenix. If you remember when Lily, James and co. were at school, the first war was raging. It never reached the heights that the second war reached, because the Ministry was never infiltrated to that extent but it was a very bad time, the same disappearances, the same deaths. So that’s what they did, they left school. James has gold, enough to support Sirius and Lily. So I suppose they lived off a private income. But they were full-time fighters, that’s what they did, until Lily fell pregnant with Harry. So then they went into hiding.

(Interview)

And I found this answer hilarious and it implies 2 things:

That my assumption that James and Lily went into hiding prior to Harry's birth when the prophecy was made is likely what the intention was.

And that there is a nonzero chance Sirius lived with James and Lily at least part-time. He was, after all, living off of James' inheritance (while Remus didn't). JKR stated James supported Sirius and Lily, not Remus who was suspected to be a traitor at the time.

The mental image of a married James and Lily with an infant Harry and Sirius all in the same house is hilarious and I just wanted to share it.

We know how close James and Sirius were:

“Naturally,” said Madam Rosmerta, with a small laugh. “Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here — ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!”

(PoA, Ch10)

They were so co-dependant they enchanted the two-way mirrors becouse they couldn't bear to stay in separate detentions from each other. James and Sirius' friendship was insane.

And Lily's letter to Sirius actually hints the situation wasn't far off from what JKR said in the above interview:

We were so sorry you couldn’t come, but the Order’s got to come first, and Harry’s not old enough to know it’s his birthday anyway! James is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, he tries not to show it but I can tell—also Dumbledore’s still got his Invisibility Cloak, so no chance of little excursions. If you could visit, it would cheer him up so much. Wormy was here last weekend.

(DH, Ch10)

It's made clear Lily wrote to Sirius outside of her relationship with James, that she and Sirius were close by that point, and that Sirius came by whenever he could. I don't know, I just find these three and their potential dynamic in these few years between graduation and the end of the war super interesting.

like Lily and James are married, James and Sirius are best-best friends, and Lily is clearly very close to Sirius by her death. He's probably her closest friend (or one of them) when she dies. And, like, these three are raising baby Harry between them.

Like, Lily asking Sirius to come over to cheer up James... idk... it makes me feel things.

[spicybunni]

Yandere Dark Wizard x Maid!Darling

Little Dark Wizard blurb ! I’ve had this idea for like all of October and had to get it out of my system, enjoy! 🌙

WARNINGS!! ⚠️ : NSFW IMPLICATIONS, YANDERE TENDENCIES, OBSESSIVE, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

You swept the floors clean by 8AM this morning, and now it was time to start on dusting this horrid tower again. Even though you dusted a week ago there are somehow a buildup of cobwebs and thick layers of dust on almost everything! It’s almost as if he uses his magic to make the tower more dirty, keeping you busy with work while he is away. He is Faris, the dark Wizard. About a year and a half ago you came to him, as a castle maid looking to give assistance to either a Witch or Wizard in exchange for lessons in magic wielding. He told you off the bat that it would take time and patience since you didn’t have the gift of magic to begin with.

When you first met him, you certainly did not expect him to be so…handsome, to say the least. With the rumors you’ve heard around the kingdom and castle, you thought he would look scarier. But he did have an intense look on his face giving you his full attention. Long black curls piling in the hood of his cloak, his robes gray and colorless, and his eyes were sage green. No wonder the other maids gossiped about him constantly when he visited. But for your sake you pushed your attraction for him to the side, just trying to make a business deal to better your life.

Through the months it was harder and harder to push your feelings down. He was stern but never had an outburst or became violent like the royals you used to serve. The only thing damned about your position is that he never lets you leave the tower without him. Needing to buy food? He’ll escort you through a portal to the nearest Market place. Need new clothes? No need for travel when he special order them for you.

He’s so stingy whenever you ask him about the “business” he takes care of during the day. 4 days out of the week, he leaves the tower from morning until late evening doing heaven knows what. You had gathered a technique in finishing your chores early. Which he absolutely despised. It’s not that he hated you having free time. He just doesn’t want you roaming into certain quarters of the tower. He kept such dangerous artifacts in certain rooms that if you explored, you just might hurt yourself. Which was the last thing he wanted. But usually when you did finish early you kept busy with either cooking dinner or doing some crafty hobbies you liked in your chambers. If he didn’t spot you in the kitchen he would either teleport to your room to knock or just peak to see you if you're there from afar.

Over the past year, unbeknownst to you, Faris has actually depended on you being here at the tower. At first he labeled it as just being reliant on a maid or a housekeeper to keep the place in order. But something sparked within him when you had the courage to speak to him outside the Royal Palace. You were a mistreated maid there and wanted a better life, a magical one. Who was he to refuse a future apprentice? Unfortunately for him now, he see’s you as more than a beloved maid. You were his.

Teaching magic to non magical humans did take time, but it was easy. You start with the basics of elemental magic, then energy magic, and if you asked him, he would teach you dark magic to defend yourself.

But teaching you to become your own Witch meant you would leave eventually…And these feelings of loneliness have swelled over the years before you came into his life. Perhaps he can push it a few months, making more excuses that you weren’t ready, or that his work requires his full concentration. He found that getting in close proximity to you and simply saying “Not now, Y/N.” when you asked questions made you stop for a few days. He found it so endearing that you would blush madly for him and be so shy to be close to him when he did stuff like that.

But you on the other hand we’re ready to take your lessons into your own hands now. You’ve done your part of the bargain. You just won’t ask anymore. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission right? Putting your broom and other cleaning equipment in the kitchen, you head over to the library with many anxious thoughts in your head. ‘Maybe he’ll be impressed when you show him- No, no don’t show him! He’ll find me out sooner if I do that- Ughh’

Finally coming up on the massive door, you bring out the spare key you borrowed from Faris. You only took it because he kept it in the same office drawer of a desk you clean every week. You knew it was for the library because it shared the same symbol of a skull that the library doors adorned on the wood. Obviously he didn't think you were such a curious darling. Plus it’s still midday, you’ll have plenty of time to browse and put things back where they belong.

With a click, the door unlocks. You push the doors open, revealing a massive collection of books with towering shelves holding them. Right when the doors opened a spark flew from the torches at the entrance to light all candles in the library. You gasp in amazement, quickly putting the key into your apron’s pocket. You step in further, glancing at the book spines, reading their titles. Some were just regular story books while others were encyclopedias, dictionaries, How-To’s and much more. There was a particular book that caught your attention. It was a faded purple color that shined in certain lighting. You pull it out reading the title ‘LOVE SPELLS AND POTIONS’. The book obviously stayed untouched for years, the spine wasn’t worn and the pages were crisp. You can tell by the color and feel of the paper that it’s an old book though. You had no need for any spells or potions within this book, but taking a peak is almost harm right?

You opened and flipped to a random page. The potion was for fertility and love making. But before you could even read the details a black swirl of mist appeared in the middle of the library, making the shelves rumble. It opened up like a portal, making you tremble holding the book to your chest like a shield. You panic thinking it’s an entity of some sort coming into the tower but then you see Faris walking through, looking around until he spots you. His face looks both displeased and amused at the same time. He takes languid steps towards you. You gulp, not having expected any of this, to be caught so red handed by your Wizard most of all.

“I did not expect this, my darling maid. You actually had the gall to trespass into my library and get ahead of yourself.” He chuckles, removing his coat as he comes to you.

“And I see the thing you’ve decided to learn from first is?..” He raises his hand with his palm down, turning it up and flicks his wrist back, making an unseeable force take the book hiding within your arms. “W-Wait! Faris I-“ he pays no attention to your cries of embarrassment. As the book floats into his grasp he holds his other hand out in a stop motion, making the invisible force block ho. He marks the page you were at with a finger before looking at the front cover.

You can see his eyes read the title, creasing slightly by his grin as he looks back to you. “Really Y/N? Love Potions?” His magic releases its hold on you. You’re fidgeting with your hands with a face as red as rubies. You were about to speak your truth before you see he’s about to see the page you were on. Your mortified expression fuels him to carry on with his torment. You didn’t really think you were going to be unpunished for sneaking into a forbidden room of his tower?

He looks over the potion ingredients with the…expressive.. illustrations on the page. He chuckles at you begging to stop and trying to grab the book. “Oh dear, a fertility potion huh?” He looks back at you now, making you freeze in your actions.

“Listen Faris, I just thought the book looked pretty! Stop drawing it out like this! You know I didn’t-”

You were pulled to him by his magic, your front against his. A hand rests itself on your lower back. You look up at him, hands on his robes. You’ve never embraced him like this before. It was making you flush so warm against his body.

“If you’d like, my dear Y/N, your first magic lesson can be from this book…”

~~~~

Part 2??

[loverangels]

THRONE BOUND; prelude

A UNION. ONE THAT CAN ONLY STRENGTHEN OR WEAKEN THE THRONE.

pairings: king hal x fem!reader

warnings: arranged marriage, death, political insights

a/n: this will be a series from the post I had earlier teased 'the tailor girl' and this is the prologue I hope you enjoy it! Reblogs and feedback is very much appreciated!

One

The Will of King Henry IV, First of His Name

To Be Read and Executed Upon the Event of My Passing

In the Name of God, Amen.

I, Henry of Bolingbroke, First of My Name, King of England, Sovereign Lord of the Isles, and Protector of the Realm, being of sound mind and body, do hereby declare this my last will and testament, that it may be carried out in full accordance with the law of God and the statutes of this kingdom.

First, I commend my soul to the Almighty, trusting in His infinite wisdom to judge me as both king and man. May the weight of my deeds, both noble and cruel, be measured fairly on the scales of eternity.

To my son and heir, Henry of Monmouth, known as Hal, I bequeath the throne, the scepter, and the kingdom of England. May he wear the crown with strength and wisdom, ruling over this land with honor and justice.

To my loyal councilors, who have served me with unwavering loyalty, I entrust the guidance of my son, Henry of Monmouth, in his reign. Let them continue to support him as they did for me, aiding him in the duties of kingship.

To the Church, I dedicate lands and wealth for the care of our souls and the furtherance of God’s will upon this earth. The relationship between crown and church must remain sacred, especially in these tumultuous times.

And lastly, to my son Henry of Monmouth,

I leave a final decree. On the Feast of St. George in the Year 1412, an agreement was forged between this crown and the noble house of Fairmont, sealed by blood and bound by honor. Despite the fall of Lord Alaric Fairmont’s house, despite his descent into debauchery and ruin, the contract between our families remains intact.

You, my son, are bound to marry (name) Fairmont, daughter of Lord Alaric Fairmont. It is a union forged not out of love or whim, but for the stability of this kingdom. Let it be known, that the fall of her family’s house shall not dissolve the contract, for a king’s word, once given, is unbreakable.

You may wish for a different bride, one of higher birth or nobler blood, but the kingdom’s future is tied to this union. Thus, I command you, Hal, my son, to wed (name) Fairmont and unite our houses.

May God bless this union, for the future of our crown and our kingdom.

Signed this day, in the Year of Our Lord 1418, by my own hand,

Henry of Bolingbroke, First of His Name, King of England

The will lay open on the desk like a predator, its contents baring their teeth with every line. Hal’s gaze had been fixed on it for so long that the words had begun to blur, the black ink swimming against the yellowed parchment. His temples throbbed, and yet he could not look away.

The study was cold, despite the fire burning in the massive hearth. The high, arched windows let in shafts of dying sunlight, but the golden rays did nothing to warm the room. The scent of aged wood and leather mixed with the faint tang of smoke from the fireplace, creating an atmosphere both rich and oppressive.

Hal stood at the centre of it all, his figure tense and unyielding. He paced like a caged animal, his boots clicking against the polished floor, the fur lined mantle of his cloak sweeping behind him with each sharp turn.

"Why now?" he muttered to himself, his voice low and venomous. "Why did he have to tether me to this… to her?"

He stopped pacing abruptly and turned toward the desk, where the will waited, silent and damning. His father’s words still echoed in his mind, a relentless specter. You will wed her, Hal. You will honor this contract.

Hal clenched his fists, his nails biting into the leather of his gloves. His jaw tightened, his teeth grinding as he fought the urge to shout, to lash out at the unfairness of it all.

He could see his father now, clear as day, seated in the very chair that now sat empty behind the desk. He had been a man of iron—cold, unyielding, and immovable. Hal had hated him as much as he had respected him, and now, with the old king dead and buried, that hatred seemed to burn brighter than ever.

"You couldn’t even leave me in peace," Hal spat, his voice rising. He slammed his fist onto the desk, the sound reverberating through the room. The inkpot wobbled precariously, threatening to spill, but Hal barely noticed.

For a moment, he stood still, his chest heaving as he tried to wrestle his emotions back under control. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. But the words on the will remained etched in his mind.

His bethroed.

He knew little of her, only that she was the daughter of a disgraced nobleman—a drunkard and a gambler who had squandered his wealth and reputation. Her name had been little more than a distant whisper in court gossip, a relic of a house that had long since fallen into obscurity.

And now, she was to be his bride.

The thought sent a fresh wave of anger coursing through him. What kind of woman would she be? A simpering fool, eager to please? Or worse, a resentful, bitter creature, forced into this union just as he was?

"Henslowe," Hal barked suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

The older steward, who had been standing quietly in the shadows near the door, stepped forward. His expression was calm, unreadable, as always, but there was a flicker of concern in his eyes.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Send for her," Hal commanded, his tone sharp. "Eleanor Fairmont. Summon her to court immediately."

Henslowe nodded, bowing slightly. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

Hal hesitated for a moment, his jaw working as he considered his next words. "And have the maids prepare chambers for her. Something… appropriate."

"Of course," Henslowe replied.

"And the tailors," Hal added, his voice quieter now but no less commanding. "Have them craft a gown for her. Pink. With lace. Something…" He trailed off, struggling to find the words. "Something worthy of a queen."

The steward bowed again and left the room, his footsteps fading into the distance.

Hal turned back to the desk, his hands gripping the edge tightly. The fire crackled behind him, its warmth doing little to soothe the cold knot of anger and resignation in his chest.

For a long moment, he simply stood there, staring at the will. His mind raced, filled with thoughts of duty, of legacy, of a future that was no longer his own. He thought of his father, of the weight of the crown, of the woman who was now hurtling toward his castle in a carriage she likely never thought she would see.

The room seemed to grow darker as the sun dipped below the horizon, the firelight casting long, flickering shadows across the walls. Hal’s reflection shimmered faintly in the polished surface of the desk—a lone figure, surrounded by opulence and burdened by the weight of kingship.

"Damned old man," he muttered under his breath, his voice raw.

And yet, even as the anger boiled within him, there was a flicker of something else—a quiet, unspoken fear.

What kind of queen would she be?

The question lingered in his mind, unanswered, as the fire crackled on.

@deadgirlrin @futuristicmiracleballoon @marvellover98 @evangelinesecondacc @matilde-333 @ilovefamousmen11 @confusionmeisss @sensationalstardust @gwenstacyspiderman @ludarg15 @libralovegood @mdzz1e @neznamstvarno @that-one-heartstopper-nerd @tchalamss @wailingp03ts @red-432 @taliavelazquez1234 @vithmein @urdeftonesgrrrl

(rest that wanted to be tagged I apologise but it wouldn't let me tag you!)

[heavenlyraindrops]

The Devil Made Me Do It | Arcane | Silco x Reader | Chapter Ten

available on AO3 and Quotev | visit the first tag for other chapters | warnings: very brief mention of blood, profanity, smoking

summary:

In the midst of an unfortunate run-in with the enforcers, you meet the young revolutionary Silco, and by extension, his friends Vander and Felicia. Growing close friends, you get through life in the undercity together, determined to make Zaun a better place. Until tragedy strikes, and betrayal and carelessness stabs hard enough to turn you bitter. Years later as time solidifies the scars, Silco proves to be a thorn in your side. You, in his. Hatred festers. And your world cracks further open.

Chapter Ten:

You tugged your black top, which had ridden up your midriff, back down towards your belt as you stormed into the Last Drop, shoving patrons as you passed through the crowd. Sevika was at a table, ashtray half-full and glass half empty.

Scowling, you grabbed her arm, the one concealed by her cloak. Your hand made contact with metal through the fabric.

She stared at you. “[name],” she said flatly. You snatched your hand away, balling it into a fist. 

“Tell me-“ you stabbed a finger at her chest, “there’s been men at my doorstep at least three times this week.”

She scoffed. “Probably because you run a brothel.”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” you hissed. She stared at you, a frown carving a notch into her forehead, before nodding at her tablemates. Slamming her palms onto the surface a little too hard she slowly heaved herself up.

“Let’s talk somewhere else,” she said.

You watched as she went to a corner, nodding at a door. You stared at her incredulously.

“Go in there with you?” You yelled over the din. “You must be insane.”

She groaned, and within moments you were both standing outside.

“You look real different, dressed like a normal person.” She nodded at your toned-down appearance. You scowled, flicking a hair out of your face. “Almost didn’t recognise you.”

“Whatever.” You took out a cigarette, rolling it between your fingers between placing it in between your lips. You’d dropped any efforts to keep up your beguiling, siren-like facade around Sevika- there was no point. You flicked open your lighter, palm shielding the flame.

“So what’s all this about men outside the brothel?”

“They’ve been heckling my girls. And guys,” you added. “I assumed they had something to do with your- boss, considering the fact I have something he wants.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say his name, now that someone was actually listening.

Sevika must have taken notice of this, because her lips twitched. But she didn’t mention it. “You know, you look a lot like when we were younger. Before everything went to shit.”

“Did he send them?” Your voice was stone cold and hard. Sevika scowled at this.

“Of course he fucking didn’t. You think he’d stoop that low? I thought you knew him.”

You took a deep drag on your cigarette, not meeting her eyes as you exhaled. Your leg threatened to bounce with well-concealed anxiety. “Well, I don’t now. I want these bastards dealt with.”

Sevika crossed her arms. “Since when do I have to deal with your problems? Last I checked, it’s not you I’m working for.”

You scowled. “Well, something’s telling me that this is gonna be your problem soon enough,” you snapped. “Considering the fact that they’re looking for your boss.”

She paused. “Wait, what?”

“They keep bugging us about him. No idea why us,” you sneered, “because I’d rather shoot myself in the foot than be associated with you or his people, but sadly that’s the case. So hurry up and fix this before I send them your way for good.” You pushed the cigarette into her chest. “Enjoy, errand-girl.”

And with that you turned around and stalked off, pulling your coat around you as your brisk steps carried you away from the Last Drop. Breath misting in the air, you turned to look at Sevika. But all you saw was the door swinging shut as she disappeared back into the bar. 

-

You hurried back into the brothel, a gust of warm air enveloping you in a snug, cozy embrace. Immediately the feeling was quenched as you turned and saw a girl with big glassy eyes and mousy brown hair looking up at you, arms outstretched.

You gingerly shrugged off your coat and dumped it in her hands. She followed you to your office, hovering anxiously around the beaded curtains.

“What is it?” You sounded miffed.

“Your coat, Madam. I was instructed to leave it in your office.”

“Then why’d you make me take it off?” 

But nonetheless, you beckoned for her to come in. She placed it on a hook in the corner, and you curled your finger, calling her forwards. A cigarette dangling from your bottom lip, you placed something in her soft palm.

She unfurled her fingers. “Do you know what that is?” She shook her head.

You took it back from her, flicked it open, and pushed down. Flame erupted from the lighter, illuminating a freckle on her face. Her eyes widened and she shuffled back.

“Don’t be afraid,” you said, snapping it shut. You gently but firmly took hold of her wrist, tugging it forward and pushing it back into her hand. You leaned back, arm slung across the back of the couch, and gestured to your cigarette.

She leaned over the armrest and, with a trembling thumb, pushed down as you’d shown her. The flame jumped a little too close to your face and you moved your head back, eyes widening, as she hurriedly snapped it shut.

She froze, waiting for a reprimand. But you didn’t say anything, just sucked on the cigarette and smiled at her, eyes looking at her without turning your face. You tipped your head back and let the smoke curl in the air.

“Hand-eye coordination needs some work,” you commented. She nodded.

“Yes, Madam.”

“What’s your name?”

“Alice-“

Your eyes widened, chest tightening.

“-son.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Allison,” she repeated timidly. You were shaking, she noticed, and took a quick step back.

Chewing on your lip, your eyes crawled across her face desperately. She looked…

Scared.

You could taste blood on your tongue. You released your bloodied lip from between your teeth, then soothed it with your tongue.

This girl is not Alice, you reminded yourself. 

“You look tired,” you remarked, relaxing. “Have you been getting a good night’s sleep?”

“No,” she admitted silently. You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow. “The mattresses are hard,” she said regretfully. “Not that I’m complaining, Madam,” she added hastily.

You chuckled. “No, please. Feel free to complain.”

She couldn’t tell if you were being sarcastic or not, as you patted the spot on the couch next to you. She clambered onto the cushions obediently.

You took another thoughtful drag, then blew out the smoke, cigarette poised in between your fingers as you leaned into Allison.

“Will I tell you something important?”

She nodded, eyes wide.

“I used to have a daughter just like you.” You looked the girl up and down. “Same age, same eyes, same hair. Almost the same name.”

Allison knotted her little fingers together in her lap, looking up at you in wonder as you smoked some more.

“But she died.” Your tone was flat. 

Allison recoiled. “Killed by enforcers,” you continued. You looked at the little girl, silently staring at her.

Then you sighed.

“You can sleep on the couch tonight, if you want. A welcome change from the mattresses.” You leaned forward and stubbed out the cigarette on the ashtray that lay on the table, next to the long-wilted rose, and rubbed the bridge of your nose. “I’d have them changed if they weren’t the best we could afford in Zaun. Piltie bastards are probably sleeping well into the afternoon.”

She didn’t say anything.

“My bedroom is that door,” you told her, pointing to a door next to a bookshelf. “The office locks from the inside.”

“This is too generous, Madam,” Allison whispered.

You scoffed. “Not at all. You’ll have a job, you know.”

Allison looked up expectantly, and you stumbled around your words to find an excuse. “Uhh… clean up the office every now and then. And lock it once I go to bed.”

Allison smiled. “Alright.”

“And if I have anything else that needs tending to then expect the responsibility to fall to you, in the case that you’re able for such tasks.”

Allison nodded, bowing her head. “Yes, Madam.”

You flicked your hand at her. “Right, now… go away.”

Allison scuttled away into the front entrance of the brothel, cutting across and eventually disappearing into another narrow hallway. You followed after her, looking around. Beads, lanterns, curtains. Sickly sweet incense, mist swirling across the floor. A new client had just passed in through the doorway. She was looking behind herself nervously as she hurried in.

You silently watched her from the spot in the corner you’d chosen to lean on, obscured by the sheer fabric draped across the ceiling. She disappeared hand in hand with one of your men, and a tall, broad figure stepped into view.

Sevika.

You brushed the sheer drapes as you emerged, mist coiling around your feet as you walked.

“I thought we already spoke today,” you said steadily, expression even as you studied her face.

“What if I came here for your services?” She sounded amused.

“You don’t look like it. Hurry up, tell me what it is.”

Sevika squared her shoulders, gaze roving around the all-took familiar room. It eventually settled back on your face.

“He wants a meeting with you.”

“What?”

“You deaf?” She tilted her head. “He wants to meet with you in his office. Tomorrow night.”

“No.” Your response was fast.

You couldn’t face him. You’d rather never speak to him face to face again- your last in-person interaction, despite years ago, had been quite fond and you knew that whatever version of him you’d meet if you went would simply take on the image of the man you used to know.

Sevika frowned at you. “Are you okay?”

You were breathing hard. “No, I’m not. Get out.”

She stepped towards you. “[name].”

“What’s it about?” You hissed. “I’ll talk to you. Come on.” You stepped towards your office.

For a moment, you thought Sevika would protest, but she simply followed you silently after a quick moment of hesitation. You shut the door properly.

“Sit down.”

“I think I’ll stand.” There was a glint in her eye you didn’t miss.

“It wasn’t a request.”

Sighing and rolling her shoulders back, she assumed her usual position on the couch.

You didn’t sit down, choosing to remain standing. You crossed your arms, leg shaking. “What’s the issue?”

“It’s the men. They’re here for, er, other people.”

“What?” She couldn’t be any less clear- your pounding head was beginning to grow fuzzy. 

“You’re harbouring more wanted men and women than you think, or than you’d like to admit. We need to round them up, and finish them off,” she said steadily. You frowned at her.

“I’m not giving up innocent people,” you spat.

“Believe me, [name],” her voice was strained with exasperation. “They are far from innocent. Just hand them over, and this whole ordeal can be over. No more men at your door, no more Silco breathing down your neck.”

You took a deep breath, rubbing your face, considering her words.

“And I have your word that whatever happens to them next will be deserved, be it good or bad?” You asked quietly.

She was surprisingly solemn in her response. “You have my word.”

“Fine. I’ll round them up, and drop them off tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow night, the Last Drop. Ten o’clock.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, whatever you say. But-“ you held up your hand. “I want a trade.”

She stared at you. “What?”

You scowled. “You think I’ll just give away my men for free? I want something in return.”

She suppressed a groan. “And what might that be? Money? Shimmer?”

You bit your lip, thinking. “I need collateral.”

She stared at you blankly. “Well, we don’t have collateral.”

“Something I can hold over his head,” you ploughed on. She laughed. 

“You know I’m right here, right? It’s my boss you’re scheming against.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck. Whatever, just- give me men in return.” 

“Wh- men?”

“Employee for employee.” You’d fully regained your composure by now, and you adjusted the cuffs of your sleeves. “It’s only fair.”

She stared at you incredulously. “Well, who would you want?”

“I’ll take my pick when the time comes,” you hummed, waving her out. She scowled, flinging the door open. Hand still on the doorknob, she paused, twisting her head around.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” She snarled.

You grinned. “So I’ve been told.”

[hogwartslegacyreactions2]

HLC REACT TO SEEING MC AGAIN AFTER SUMMER BREAK

MC steps down from the Hogwarts Express on the Hogsmeade Platform. The birds singing they're departure south as the cooling fall air blows the leaves from the trees. MC takes a deep breath, it was good to be back.

Through the crowd of students filing out of the train, MC spots a familiar face. With a smile as big as their excitement, they charge their favorite friend.

~~~

Sebastian Sallow: He smiles. The few months of summer felt like a liftime, and letters would never do MC justice. He plays coy at first, letting MC do all the running for a hug, but he can't keep a straight face. He's just as enthusiastic and even spins them around if he can lift them. He laughs, "Missed me?"

Ominis Gaunt: He doesn't see them coming, but still manages to dodge their attack. He smirks when he hears MC hit the ground with a satisfying thump. "I missed you as well, MC. Please, don't run on the train platform. It's quite dangerous." He reaches out his hand for them to take.

Anne Sallow: She's just as pumped to see MC. She nearly runs over a first year getting to MC and locking herself in their embrace. She keeps hugging them, longer than what would be considered "normal". The embrace softens and they stand together until the groundskeeper has to shout to get them moving with the other students.

Imelda Reyes: She doesn't see MC, but when they attempt to grab her from behind, she slips out of their grasp and pins them against the train with enough force to nearly dent the metal train car. Her angry glare turns to immediate shock and she steps back. "MC!? Wha- WHY WOULD YOU SNEAK UP ON ME LIKE THAT!?" She catches MC as they slump away from the train, the wind knocked out of them. "Um...welcome back?"

Natsai Onai: She locks eyes with MC and meets them stride for stride. Her smile widens with every step and she hugs them as tight as possible. "I have missed you so much. It felt like summer would never end." Her hug is strong and warm and was the best way to come back to Hogwarts.

Garreth Weasley: He's pulling jellied lacewings out of his hair when MC approaches. "Merlin's blooming beard! These things have far more adhesive properties than i- oh, hello MC! Have a nice summer?" He goes to wave but his hair sticks to his fingers and yanks with own head sideways. "OW!"

Leander Prewett: He's talking to another friend when MC pounces. He's nearly knocked to the ground but finds his balance. "WHO-!?...MC?" His surprise immediately melts to awkward bashfulness. "MC why are you- that is, what are-...uh..." He doesn't know what to do. He never expected MC to miss him this much.

Amit Thakkar: He's trying to reclose his trunk for the 15th time. It keeps popping open from the amount of textbooks in it. He catches MC out of the corner of his eye and turns to them just in time for their hug. "MC! It's so good to see you!" He quickly ends the hug to pull out a book and give it to them. "Here, I found this study done on Ancient Magic. It wasn't taken seriously at the time of its publishing, but considering what happened last year... Maybe you'll find it useful."

Everett Clopton: He feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns and no one is looking at him. He feels a tap on his other shoulder. "Wha..?" He does a nearly full turnaround when he finally catches MC's cloak running around behind him. He turns around in the other direction, sharply and catches them. "HA! Gotcha!" He shares a sincere hug with them and pulls out a few dung bombs. "So, who shall we prank first?"

Poppy Sweeting: She sees them coming and hides in the sea of black robes, using her height to her advantage. She manages to take MC by surprise and hug them first. Her hiding and hunting skills would make any Kneazle proud. "If you thought you'd get to me first, you had another thing coming. Missed you too. Have you been as worried as I have been over the beasts in The Room? Deek is an incredibly capable elf, there were quite a few-" She's silenced by MC hugging her tighter.

[petals2fish]

Smutty Saturday: The Animagus Factor

Summary: After a long week as Prongs, James is struggling with the lasting side effects of being a hormonal teenager. Sharing his body with a rutting Stag certainly doesn’t help his case. As a result, his girlfriend gets really lucky thanks to her perfume that has been spiraling him into utter madness. 18+ smut fic. Click summary to read on A03 ♥️

James Potter was buying Lily Evans more perfume for Christmas.

She first started wearing the special edition ’Petals by Wonder Witch’ perfume in their fifth year. From the moment he caught a whiff, it seemed to haunt him, following him into his dreams with a persistence that bordered on maddening.

It wasn’t something she wore every day, though. Usually, he only encountered the intoxicating scent on special occasions—parties, Hogsmeade weekends, or other moments she deemed significant enough. Yet, there were times when the fragrance clung to her, trapped in the folds of her velvet cloak, or imprinted into her hair.

The lingering scent teased him relentlessly, lingering in his mind long after she had started to complain that she was almost out of it. James nearly had a heart attack when she mentioned it casually, because she was having trouble finding a new bottle.

“I only have a months worth left at best.”

It was a damn shame if he couldn’t get her more. He attributed it to her, only her. If another girl was wearing it he ached to go look for Lily instead.

It wasn’t entirely his fault that he was so attuned to the damn perfume. Becoming an Animagus had heightened all of his senses, his time spent as a stag sharpening his awareness of smells, both a blessing and a curse. He could pick up subtle scents others wouldn’t notice, and her perfume mixed with her regular scent? It was impossible to ignore.

It didn’t help that the fragrance was so uniquely her when it was on her and not another girl—a blend of hyacinth, black currant, and honeysuckle that opened with a sweet, heady decadence, before soft florals took over, grounded by a base of vetiver, patchouli, and musk. It suited her perfectly, effortlessly graceful and complex, even if she had no idea just how deeply it affected him. It drove him mad in the most frustrating way, and his girlfriend was blissfully unaware.

The full moons were the worst, though. When he shifted into his stag form to help Remus, his heightened senses became almost unbearable. He could pick up her perfume even when she wasn’t in the same room, the scent drifting through the castle like a ghost that refused to be exorcized.

November’s full moon had been particularly brutal. Three nights spent looking after Remus had left him in a state of sensory overload, his stag instincts heightened to the point where every little thing felt like too much. And her perfume—oh, her perfume—had been everywhere, swirling in his mind even though she hadn’t even been near him for hours.

By the third night, after Wormtail and Padfoot had fallen asleep in the Shrieking Shack to keep an eye on Remus, James was on edge. His muscles ached from the transformation, and his senses were frayed. But he couldn’t sleep, not with her scent, her body, still lingering in his thoughts.

He had a meeting with Professor McGonagall in the morning that he couldn’t miss—not even for Quidditch practice—so he had dragged himself back to Gryffindor Tower after the final night of the full moon, bone-tired and desperate for a shower.

It was nearly three in the morning when he finally made it inside to the shower. He stood beneath the scorching spray, letting the hot water burn away the exhaustion and the pain of three nights spent in his Animagus form. But no matter how much he scrubbed or how long he stood under the water, he couldn’t wash away the smell of her inside his head. It clung to him, as stubborn and intoxicating as ever, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was in the bloody shower with him.

Wouldn’t that be a good, very wet, dream?

James, wrapped in nothing but a fluffy white towel slung low on his hips, padded barefoot across the cool floor of the dormitory. His body still ached from the strain of three nights in his stag form, and all he wanted was to collapse into bed and forget the world for a while. As he reached his four-poster bed, he tugged the curtains open, only to freeze in place. The second the fabric parted, that familiar, intoxicating scent washed over him—the one that had been tormenting him for three days.

Lily was in his bed.

She’d charmed a soft bubble of light to hover above her, casting a warm, golden glow across the bed. She was half-sitting, half-reclining against his pillows, with a book open in her grasp. His eyes quickly caught the title—it was one of those romance novels she swore she only read for "the interesting plots."

That was the first fact that made his mind go directly into the gutter.

For a moment, all James could do was stand there, water still dripping from his hair, his mind trying to catch up to the situation. The sight of her in his bed, surrounded by the familiar scent of her perfume mixing with his own scent, was enough to make his brain go into survival mode.

“What did I do to deserve you?” he said, more to himself than her sleeping form. She moved a tiny bit at the sound of his voice, her eyelashes fluttering against her pale cheeks.

The second thing James noticed was Lily’s position. She was slumped comfortably against the headboard, her body sinking into the pillows as if the bed had gently claimed her. Her head rested at an odd angle, and her soft, pink nightgown had ridden up around her thighs, exposing the smooth curve of her legs where the fabric had slipped in her sleep. The book she had been reading lay loosely in her hand, its pages slightly bent, resting precariously against her stomach. Though the way it was propped suggested she had tried to stay awake.

“Lily,” he murmured softly, stepping closer, not wanting to disturb her too suddenly. “Love?”

She stirred at the sound of his voice, adjusting her position slightly, but her eyes remained closed. Her lips curved into a sleepy, contented smile, and she sighed softly. “Welcome back,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, laced with the warmth of familiarity and comfort. Though she didn’t fully wake, her words carried the ease of someone who knew where they were.

The third and final straw was her nightgown. It was practically see through, the thin fabric barely hiding what was underneath. No bra. No underwear. James felt something in him, the animal side, go feral when his eyes zeroed in on her tits erected through the thin material. She had the best tits, hands down, and he hadn’t tasted one in an awfully long time.

Three days to be exact.

It was a travesty.

James crawled overtop of her gently, starting to kiss her pale neck. Lily’s left hand immediately lifted to loop her fingers through his curly black hair. She tugged twice as if to encourage him. He nuzzled Lily fondly before he licked up her neck sensually, one of his hands cupping her breast through the thin fabric.

“Mmmm,” she hummed greedily as her legs fell open for him to settle between.

“You like that, babe?” James grinned into her neck. He took a nice deep breath, smelling nothing but that fucking glorious perfume. Her breast was heavy in his hand and when he flicked a thumb over her rounded nipple, she practically purred for him.

“I love you.” She said the words sleepily, but she was only sincere. ”Don’t stop.”

He had always had a hard time controlling his hormones around her, but now? He rutted his hips up and into her without even meaning too. James’ cock was straining against the stupid towel. It was so uncomfortable, but he was drinking her in, tasting her skin, while he played with her breasts.

He alternated between each tit, flicking, playing, sucking, and teasing. Below James, Lily was really waking up, her body eagerly lifting her hips up to catch his for some more delectable friction. James smelled her arousal now and moaned into her skin as he realized that it was mixing with her heavenly perfume. Transitioning back to human with his heightened senses was almost unbearable when it came to quality with his girlfriend.

He just wanted to fuck her.

And not gently.

His tongue thrusting into her mouth with no warning might’ve been overkill. Her squeak was from surprise at first, but then her mouth opened willingly against his and the initial shock turned into need. Lily stroked her tongue against his, passing between their hot, open-mouthed kisses. the book between their bodies was annoying so he chucked it through the opening in the curtain.

He had poor aim. He heard the lamp break, and glass shatter. He tore his mouth off hers to try and see whose lamp it was. Lily didn’t even seem to notice. Both her fists were suddenly wound up in his hair, dragging his face back to kissing. He shut just eyes, letting himself fall into her lead.

She tasted so distinctly. Honey and mint exploded on his tongue, like the tea she drank religiously every morning. James’ hands tilted her head with ease to change the angle, just so he could deepen the stroke of his tongue. Her body rolled against his in response, leaving him to meet her for the next roll.

“How wet are you?” He teased between kisses.

“Not much.”

He opened his eyes to find her wearing the biggest shit grin. Liar. He made a small pass through her folds with two fingers and found out she was sopping. Lily breathed in deeply through her nose, her hands moving up his skull, scratching at some part of his brain that was instantly pleased. He could feel the half moon of her nails digging into his skin. The desperation she was showing him only made James’ cock throb harder.

He pressed her back into the pillows and the headboard hit the wall with a resounding thump. She laughed as he used his free hand to grab onto her red hair in half a ponytail. He sank two fingers inside of her while he simultaneously tilted her head back. She squeaked, like a little mouse, her hips moving in a jerky fashion.

“I want you to keep making those sounds.” He said, “I like to hear you.”

He licked up the column of her throat first and then sucked generously at her pulse point where the smell of that perfume was the most insistent. She was hot now, and her neck tasted salty from her sweat, nearly like tasting her cunt whenever he ate her out.

“More,” she urged, “harder.”

His third finger slid in so nicely. “You take three fingers so well, just like you take my cock.” In and out and in and out, James went.

She was wiggling underneath him, her breath now coming out in short sharp bursts. He stopped marking up her neck so he could lean back and watch her. She was red in the face, her mouth open wide with each pant of pleasure. James curled his fingers. experimenting. Lily gasped but James didn’t do it again. He pulled out, lifting his hand between them in a three fingered salute.

His fingers shined with her arousal. James waited for her eyes to open, refusing to do anything else until they did. Seconds later, one green iris appeared. Then another. The light from her charmed bubble bounced off her to create dark lines and curves. James offered her his fingers to Lily and was rewarded when her mouth opened.

James praised her happily, as she swirled her tongue around him before clamping her lips shut. “You taste that? You like it?” Her hum of appreciation vibrated from his fingers in her mouth straight down to his balls. “I need that pretty mouth of yours everywhere, Lily.”

One of her hands dropped from his hair and James felt her nails trail down her chest. She teased his nipple with a little circle, then made a circle around his belly button. He wasn’t prepared for her palming his hard length through the towel. James hissed and tugged his fingers from her mouth so that he could grab the headboard for leverage.

“James,” her voice was so messy and so needy. “Oh god, James, you’re so hard for me.”

“Do you want it, baby?” He asked, staring deep into her green eyes. “Take it. Touch me.”

“Am I dreaming?” She asked hazily, sliding her hand between the folds of the towel until he felt her hand take ahold of his cock.

James chuckled but it turned into a pleasured cry when her thumb flicked over his weeping tip. “Oh damn, I hope not.”

He was pleased to see he’d marked her neck up efficiently with his time. When his eyes met hers, he noticed her pupils were blown out, and her lips were flushed with red. She raked her one hand back through his hair, just as she started jacking him off with the other. Her movements were making James’ chest rumble with pleasure. His hips bucked into her grasp, the need for more attention drowning out his self respect.

James let go of the headboard, using both hands to keep himself balanced overtop of her. His nose dropped onto her temple and he closed his eyes. He sucked in a breath again and was immediately drowning in her honeysuckle sent.

“Lily,” he said, “have I ever told you that your perfume has been haunting me every night since the day you started wearing it in fifth year?”

He struggled not to complain when she stopped touching his dick. “My perfume?”

“Yes,” he leaned forward to take another sniff, “it smells so good, so fucking nice. I smell it in my sleep, babe, when I’m dreaming about fucking you. When I’m in class, I have to hold my breath sometimes, so I don’t spend all class with my face buried into your neck…your hair…your beautiful breasts…”

“I like your smell.” He opened his eyes to find her smiling up at him. “You smell like fresh soap, the forest after it rains, and cinnamon.”

“Hyacinth.” He blurted out, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“What?” She tilted her head.

“Hyacinth and black current—a musty smell. Maybe from your books?” He kissed her cheek. “I do love how you read smutty books.” He kissed her nose. “Oh, and there’s always honeysuckle, like the ones you pull off the vines in herbology to eat when you think no one is looking.”

He moaned as he described it, all while he basically humped her through her nightgown, desperate for sex. Desperate for her. His cock persistently pressed into her curves. Lily arched her hips up as her legs fell open wider, allowing him to press himself insistently into her. She was burning for him between her thighs. Even the towel couldn’t hide the fact.

Her eyes closed again when he made a second pass. “Oh. Oh my god, you’re so horny! Fuck.”

He rode into her with specific purpose, knowing the only thing between them was really the towel now covered in his pre-cum and likely her slick as well. He loved being on top, loved making her writhe underneath him in pleasure. Her entire body was covered by his, and with each rut into her core, Lily grasped at him more.

Sweat was mixing between them now. James pressed his forehead to hers as he kept dry humping her like a fucking teenager. Lily’s breathy and pitchy moans pleased him even more. She was getting off from it as well.

“I’m gonna—“ she couldn’t even finish a sentence because her body was too busy contracting as she clearly slipped into a small orgasm from their movements. He didn’t stop grinding into her the entire time. “Dear God, James!”

“I’ve been a bloody deer for three days,” his voice was gruff as he lifted the edge of her nightgown while he kept pressing his hard cock where he could. “All I want to do is fuck you. Hard. Let me tell you how divine you smell, baby. How sexy you look in my bed. How hot you look when you finish.”

Their mouths slammed back together and James didn’t stop Lily as she frantically undid the tie to his towel, pushing it down his ass with her hands until he could kick it to the side entirely. Her hands caressed him from his shoulders down to his thighs, guiding him so his cock slipped closer to her center between her thighs.

James bit her lower lip and tugged, only letting go so that he could leaned back and watch the way her lips reached for him. He teased her, light kisses, until her growl of frustration made him laugh wickedly.

“Fuck me,” she gasped into his mouth, “holy fuck, James! Just fuck me! You’re killing me tonight.”

James had to agree as he grabbed himself so he could position his cock right where they wanted it. He made a motion with his hips swinging forward, his breath catching in his throat as the head slipped into her. She was so ready, so wet, that he slid right in. Lily felt like heaven, but her little sounds of pleasure were even more enticing as he filled her up with his cock.

James stopped kissing her again just to take in the way she looked under him. She was happy to sheath his whole dick, her legs dropping wider and knees bending further. Once he was fully inserted up to his balls, James stayed there, loving the odd sensation of it. He felt Lily constricting around him, her soft and hot pussy responding so well to his thick cock. He moved again, sliding against those welcome walls almost all the way out, before he went deeper with a more pointed motion.

“Oh.” Her gasp was one of pleasurable surprise, and then she got greedy.

James moaned at the feeling of Lily fluttering herself around his cock. She was doing it on purpose, clenching herself around him. Lily’s body was practically begging for another orgasm from him. He had only made her come with penetration once, he hoped he could do it again tonight. He grunted loudly as he sped up, rutting into her with such intensity that the bed underneath them was slamming into the wall by his headboard.

This was why they couldn’t have penetrative sex around anyone, and now, especially not after a full moon. His breathy pants were nothing short of animalistic. James fucked her harder and harder, until she was trying to meet every thrust, desperate for the feeling of coming undone.

“James.” She whimpered his name close to his ear like she was begging.

That was the final spark he needed. The world could’ve been burning as James met the brunt of his orgasm, unable to hold on with how long he’d already had with her. James proudly pumped his cum deep inside her with each shuddering thrust. The relief of release was so satisfying that his arms were shaking, but he knew it wasn’t over. He already wanted her again and he’d please her until he could go another round.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m not done with you.” He promised as Lily continued to push herself up into him, desperate for that feeling of him thrusting deep again.

James didn’t waste a second before he was pulling out of her. He grinned as he started crawling backwards, until he was face to clit with her bright pink folds. In seconds, James had his tongue licking their shared desire from her wet skin. Lily lurched up straight, one of her hands back in his hair so that she could guide him.

James teased her clit with ease, attending to it with the tip of his tongue. He decided to try something he’d read over her shoulder in one of her smutty books. His nose pressed into her fine curls as his mouth covered her and then he sucked on her clit. He was rewarded for that action when her thighs squeezed at his head.

“James, yes! Yes, James! Just like that—oh God—you’re so fucking hot tonight. Oh God, I’m so—!”

She was praising him as her hips lifted in response to his suckling. James placed a hand on her outer hip, keeping her down as he continued until she was so close that she was begging with nothing but his name, over and over.

James!

James!

James!

It rang in his ears like bells but she still didn’t crash. They’d built up stamina over the last few months. Tonight it worked in his favor because he just wanted to keep hearing Lily sing his name.

James reached up with a hand so he could fondle her breasts, still covered by her nightgown. He ripped the shoulder down without even looking up. When he pushed the fabric over her heavy breast and latched his finger and thumb onto her perky nipple, Lily whimpered so loudly it sounded like she was about to cry.

“Good girl,” he said as he started wiggling his way back up to kiss her beautiful tits. “I want to put one of your breasts in my mouth, babe, so touch yourself for me.”

His mouth replaced his hand a second later and James’s tongue swirled around her lovely tit. Her nipple was rock hard, she was so stimulated, so perfect. Lily did as he had asked, absolutely spectacularly, might he add. He could feel her wrist against his side, twitching with the motions of a person fingering themselves.

“You know,” she laughed breathlessly, “the more I have sex with you, the more I think my smutty books can’t even get me off anymore.”

“That’s because you want me to be the one to fuck you,” he said, “don’t you?”

“Yes,” she replied, “I only want you.”

James was growing hard again. He could feel his gut clenching with anticipation but tried to ignore it. He wanted to make this experience last as long as possible. He’d go to the meeting with McGonagall in a few hours looking like hell, but this was so worth the loss of sleep.

“Mmmm—I love you. I love you. Oh, I’m so close, baby! So close.”

Encouraged by her talking, James kept flicking and swirling Lily’s nipple with his tongue. He was not giving up until he heard her cry out sharply and her hand between them stopped moving. It happened seconds later. James kissed down the plane of her chest, smug as he heard her catching her breath, then moved back up to her mouth.

Lily was spent, but he’d just gotten a second wind. James purposefully rubbed his dick on the inside of her thigh as Lily swore his name between grazed lips. He grunted into her tongue heavy kisses, feeling his balls grow heavy with the need to release again.

He wasn’t going to last much longer either.

James sat up and Lily protested until he was straddling on her knees. He stared down at her, pumping a fist in quick shirt bursts. Lily pushed at his hips a bit and he let up, watching as she rolled over. He kept jacking off his cock as he moved to the side, expecting to finish himself off alone. Instead, Lily lifted herself into a crouching position, her elbows digging into the pillows. Her perfect round arse was sticking straight up in the air.

“Please.” She begged, her voice muffled by his pillows.

Fucking hell, she’d be the death of him.

James stopped touching himself so he could come up behind her and grab her soft hips. His tip brushed against Lily’s backside, waiting for permission. He was rewarded when she ground her hips up in response. James pressed forward, and his cock slid into her for a second time that night.

James’s nose fell against Lily’s freckled shoulder blade. He bit down on the skin the second he smelled that blasted perfume, this time from the hair that hadn’t swung forward with his thrusts yet. She arched when she felt his teeth against her skin, like it pleased her to feet the sharp bite of his canines into her soft flesh.

“Aren’t you a vegetarian?” She huffed, but her tone was pleased.

“You smell so good. You taste good, too.”

“Just don’t break the skin, vampi—eye—ah. Oh my god, James!”

He’d thrusted eagerly and she cried out as he hit her right where he knew would make her body practically envelope his cock so tightly he’d be forced to stifle a gasp into her skin. He dragged his teeth (carefully) down her spine as he did it again. She hid a pleased cry in the pillows while he sat up to change the angle.

”You want me to come inside you again, baby?” He rutted his hips faster, their skin slapping together roughly. “You want my cum to fill you up? You want to make me come, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” she agreed, “oh, fuck yes!”

James was so mad with lust that he fisted her hair. Instead of being scared, because he’d never been that rough with her before, she leaned her neck back to let him take more if he wanted. James brought the ends of her fiery red locks to his nose, breathing in the smell that was so Lily. So fucking tempting. And all his.

Hyacinth.

Black current.

Honeysuckle.

James knew she must be touching herself again. Her walls were squeezing at his dick as if trying to suction him into place. Two more thrusts was all it took. James felt his balls tighten first and then he coated her insides with his primal satisfaction. He wanted himself on her outside too, so that she’d smell like that glorious perfume mixed with his own aroused scent. James pulled out, and without asking, let some of his cum shoot directly onto her pretty arching backside.

“James!” She complained, the second she felt the warm liquid start sliding down her spine.

“Oh, but babe,” he groaned as he watched the white liquid paint her freckled skin, “I’m so sorry. You just look so good for me. I wish you could see how fucking perfect you look.”

“Next time, ask.”

Could next time be right now? “I promise, baby.”

He coaxed her to sit back into her knees. His chest pressed into her back, his cum sticking to him as well. James reached around to play with her breasts and kiss her neck, trying to sooth her back into a steady rhythm.

“Are you too overstimulated?” He asked. She shook her head, no. “I’ll help you, then.”

Lily fell into his hold more and rode her own fingers. He watched greedily from behind, smelling her perfume, hearing her wet cunt slosh every time her fingers moved. He praised Lily again, his tongue tracing the outside of her ear until she pressed her free hand over her mouth to hide the muffled scream that let lose once she felt the tension break.

It took them both more than a few minutes to move again. James was pretty certain he was going to regret all this activity tomorrow when the transfiguration muscle pain flared. It was worth it though. She was worth it. James kissed Lily over and over as he cleaned her up using the previously discarded towel he’d walked in with.

Lily laid back once he was done cleaning up, letting him massage her legs, looking utterly angelic and happy. “I might just wait for you after every full moon.” She smirked down at him, her brow arching. “What even brought this on? I expected you to be too tired to even realize I was here.”

James grinned back as he worked on a spot by her knee. “How do I put this delicately?”

She snorted, kicking at him slightly. “Nothing about you is delicate. Ever.”

James lifted her knee so he could press a kiss to it before admitting, “Prongs—my animal form—is a deer.”

“I know that, dear.” She teased, sitting up so that they were eye to eye again. “What does that have to do with tonight’s behavior?”

“It makes my senses become more heightened,” he explained, “smell, touch, hearing…and…hormones.”

Something mischievous sparkled in her green eyes. “So the animal side of you is what made you act like a fucking barbarian tonight?”

He had the decency to look a little ashamed. “Yeah.”

He was worried she’d ask him to never do this again, but her hand cupped his cheek, making him keep eye contact.

“Listen to me very carefully. On the next full moon,” she said slyly, “I will be here, with you, for the holidays. I want you to come find me after you’re done being Prongs. I want you to look for me, using those heightened senses of yours. I’ll wear my perfume, a cloak, and nothing else. Not even this nightgown. And if you find me, wherever I may be, I want you to fuck me so hard I won’t be able to look at you without blushing the rest of the week.”

He was buying her whatever she wanted for Christmas.