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ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey · 12 days ago

Note

Hinny prompt: Harry dealing with Ginny’s new fan base.

Ginny is starting to get her first few fan letters. The harpies try and sort them but Harry spots a few on the creepier side OR at a game he overhears some fans obsessing over the fit new Chaser. Have fun with it.😉

This might not be what you meant by "fun," but right about now the most fun thing I could imagine writing was a situation in which horrible, misogynistic men get what they deserve. Can't imagine why... NSFW (language) - Please note, there's some offensive language in this one, included to illustrate how horrible these characters are; NOT meant to condone it. I hope that's clear in the tone.

It would be blasphemous to say it, but Harry strongly prefers attending Ginny’s away matches.

The furor around the relationship between “The Chosen One” and the rising star Chaser of the Holyhead Harpies had reached dizzying heights. Fans of their relationship flock faithfully to Harpies matches in the hope they might witness Harry cheering for Ginny, or clapping for Ginny, or something equally mundane, made exciting and romantic only because he’s the one doing it. While bizarre and invasive to Harry, this parasocial fantasy is nothing short of a PR dream for the Quidditch Club.

The Harpies administration had been thrilled to reap the benefits of this excitement, and consequently laid out Harry and Ginny’s relationship on a silver platter: whenever Harry attended a match in their home stadium, he was offered a private Top Box at a prime location, complementary Omnioculars, unlimited food and drink, and a large Weasley Banner adorning the wall behind.

Ostensibly a generous gesture, but in reality a nuisance, because it meant every reporter in the stadium knew exactly where to direct their cameras every time Ginny so much as sniffed the Quaffle. They’d capture Harry’s reaction and then rush to print it in the paper the next day, with interpretations so loosely based in reality that Harry’s nearly impressed at the creativity.

Once, Harry had sneezed, and his pained expression in the leadup to it was painted as ��trouble in paradise” for weeks because it had happened to coincide with Ginny scoring.

On another occasion, Harry had spent much of a particularly chilly match with his hands in his pockets. Of course, the only explanation for such insane behavior was obviously to hide the nonexistent wedding ring on his finger, which clearly resulted from a secret weekend elopement in the aftermath of Ginny’s spectacular performance against Pride of Portree.

“They’ve got a point,” Ginny had joked over their morning breakfast. “I did deserve a diamond after that match. What gives?”

“A bit late for that, haven’t you heard?” Harry had said through a bite of porridge. “We’re already getting divorced. I’m having another affair with Hermione at the weekend.”

“Damn,” Ginny sighed. “I wanted to have an affair with Hermione.”

Much more insidious, though, were the stories suggesting that Ginny’s signing and popularity was only because of her relationship with Harry. Ginny swore she didn’t give a flying fuck what the papers wrote about her, but Harry took to ripping every story that cast aspersions at her talent to shreds.

But, Harry had finally got one over on the press. He’d called an uncharacteristic press conference and made an announcement that, due to undefined “security risks” at away stadiums, he was unable to attend matches outside of Holyhead.

The statement had been worth all of the ridiculous stories speculating about his lack of support for his girlfriend’s career, because it meant that he got to watch the Harpies vs Falcons match – donning a thick cap, sunglasses, and a scarf, in some cheap seat that no one would suspect Harry Potter of sitting in – utterly without audience. Sure, his view of the match leaves a bit to be desired, and he’s cramped next to a rowdy group of Falcons fans, but it’s wonderfully refreshing to swear angrily when Ginny is fouled without fear of a think-piece speculating about his repressed anger issues appearing in tomorrow’s Prophet.

It’s one of his better lies, all told, and Harry’s inclined to celebrate his stroke of genius.

It’s not until about ten minutes into the match that Harry is forced to concede he may have celebrated prematurely, as he reckons with the drawbacks to his little caper up close and personally.

“HI! HO! FALMOUTH FALCONS! HI! HO! FALMOUTH FALCONS!”

The lads surrounding Harry are chanting with such an obnoxious, drunken fervor that Harry can hardly hear himself think, forget hearing the match commentary. They scream with such persistence for so long that they’ve nearly earned Harry’s begrudging respect, when the chant finally succumbs to raucous cheers as Falmouth is awarded a penalty.

“Nice to have a bit of a doss match this week,” the bloke next to Harry remarks loudly after Falmouth scores their penalty. “Gives Wickford time to rest up before we play Puddlemere.”

Harry squints up at the speeding players above and confirms that Wickford, a thick-necked man and Falmouth’s star Chaser, is indeed speeding back defensively as the Harpies offensive formation takes shape, and not resting on the sidelines. Harry shoots a sidelong glance to his neighbors, perplexed.

“Yeah, nice of the Harpies to carry on with an all-female squad,” another dark-haired lad chimes in. “I thought they were finally going to give it up after last season. What a joke.”

The first bloke, who Harry observes looks rather like Dudley, laughs ruefully. “Gwenog Jones won’t ever admit the problem, though, will she? They just don’t have the speed or the strength, everyone can see it–”

Harry scowls. Pricks.

“She clearly thinks the new recruit, Weasley or whatever, is going to make them competitive again, but–”

“Does she?” the Dudley-looking one snorts. “Or do they just want the Harry Potter fangirls to bring in the revenue? It’s a massive publicity stunt, honestly, just like the whole team.”

The three of them laugh, and Harry’s scowl deepens beneath his sunglasses.

“I’m only hoping they bring back the swimsuit calendar this year,” the dark-haired one adds. “Weasley’s fit as fuck.”

The group murmurs their general agreement, and Harry takes stock of the hexes available to him. Might be time to dust off the toenail-growing one of Snape’s… But no. He can’t get hauled in front of Magical Law Enforcement again. Robards will sack him.

“Yeah, the Harpies can fuck around with an all-women team, as long as they all look like that,” the Dudley-looking lad adds, pointing up at Ginny who is now flying overhead, and they all get a particularly good view of her from behind. The blond one jeers. “Wouldn’t mind seeing her strutting around on my calendar in a bikini.”

“I’d go so low as to call myself a Harpies fan for one of those,” the dark-haired jokes, and they all snigger.

Sod hexing. Harry would quite like to kill them. He’s gripping the metal bars in front of him, knuckles white, imagining creative ways of doing it when Ginny - quite literally - takes matters into her own hands: all of their attention is pulled to the pitch as she feints, drawing Wickford into an ugly-looking lurch before she dodges and cannons a shot directly into the right goal.

God, he loves her.

“Damn,” the blond one whistles. “Fit and fair enough at Chasing, I suppose.”

“Potter’s a lucky bloke,” they joke. “I’d let her score on me all she wants.”

Yeah, Harry thinks darkly, today’s my lucky day.

Harry thinks he deserves a medal for the level of restraint he exercises, as the lads continue to offer lewd, sexist, and leering comments about Ginny for the entirety of the match. In fact, the only reason he manages not to strangle them is because Ginny, herself, is shutting them up far more effectively than he ever could.

“Watch this, Robbins’ll catch her, look at the difference in wingspan–”

Ginny drops a beautiful pass to Gwenog who times her formation perfectly, and the Harpies score yet again.

“Weasley’s tiny, once they let our Beaters loose on her she’ll be a goner–”

Ginny executes a perfect Sloth-Grip Roll to dodge an incoming bludger, and manages to whip a shot past the Falcons Keeper while dangling upside-down.

“Knock her off her fucking broom!”

Wickford, clearly frustrated, fouls Ginny – hard. While the referee blows a shrill whistle, Harry lets out a stream of abuse, “Dirty fucking wanker–”

“Oi!” the Dudley-looking bloke next to Harry exclaims with glee. “Have we got ourselves a Harpies fan in our midst?”

Harry takes a measured, calming breath before answering, still staring up at the match above. “Yep.”

The group lets out a gleeful ooh. Harry knows it’s commonplace to give opposing fans a hard time at away matches, but these blokes haven’t got a clue how close Harry is to losing it. He’s about one more comment away from turning them into Aunt Marge.

He claps when Ginny easily puts away the penalty shot, extending the Harpies already considerable lead.

“Very progressive of you,” the blond one jokes. “Are they your girlfriend’s favorite team, or something?”

“Or something,” Harry answers through gritted teeth.

They all jeer. “She’s got you whipped, eh? I hope the pussy’s worth rooting for a pussy-ass team like–”

“I’d watch my fucking mouth, if I were you,” Harry says, his voice low and dangerous. He realizes, dimly, that he must look far less intimidating than he’d like, with his ridiculous hat and sunglasses and scarf covering much of his face. Oh, well. Looks can be deceiving. He’s just finished up with seven weeks of an intensive dueling refresher course with the Aurors. He reckons he could incapacitate all three of them before they even had a chance to pull their wands.

“Oooh, would you?” they jeer. “What, do you reckon if you cheer loud enough, Weasley will hear you and come over to thank you after the match?”

“Could she thank me too, you reckon?” the Dudley one adds.

Harry can hear his own heartbeat angrily pounding in his ears. They’re all disgusting pricks, not worth a moment of his time or his energy, but he’s not stupid, either. He’d been, at first, when Ginny had originally signed with the club, and he’d just started paying more attention to the news about the team and the undermining, sexist undertones in all of it. He’d been shocked to see the nasty objectifying comments, the aspersions at their talent, the insinuation that the team was a feminist gimmick, not to be taken seriously.

Hermione had humbled him with a sharp, “No,” when he’d asked her if she was surprised by it, too.

He’s not as naive anymore. He realizes these blokes are watching their own team get shellacked by an all-female side, watching as Ginny plays elite Quidditch with their own eyes, and still they’ve got nothing but bullshit to say.

Helpfully, Ginny chooses that moment to score yet another goal, her seventh. When Harry claps, they all join in mockingly.

“Weasleyyyyy,” they call, with mocking, lovesick expressions. “Ditch the Chosen One and choose meee!”

Harry turns to them, and asks in a flat tone. “Is that the reason you’ve been rooting for such a shit team, then? You’re hoping Wickford will come and give you a cuddle after?”

“Oi!” the dark-haired one says. “Hang on–”

“That’s the only reason you’d be a fan of the fucking Falcons, isn’t it? If Wickford will take you home?”

“Nah mate, reckon all poofs are Harpies fans, aren’t you?”

The toenail hex seems woefully tame, all the sudden. “Are all Falcons fans pricks or is it just you lot?”

“Oi, relax mate,” the blond one jeers. “We’re just wondering how it all works. How many times have you got to wear a Harpies kit before they let you pull a leg over?”

“Dunno, how many times have you got to wear that Falcons kit for them to win a match?”

“Is that the new Harpies recruitment strategy?” the Dudley-looking one continues. “They only sign slags to the team, so they can shag together a fanbase?”

Harry pulls his wand so fast that they jump back, startled. “Say that again,” he growls, holding his wand in the man’s face. “Say it.”

“Watch yourself,” the blond one says, holding his hands up and pointing to his mate threateningly. “This one’s about to be an Auror, you’re about a second away from–”

What surely deadly threat Harry is a second away from, he’ll never learn, because just then, with a loud groan from the crowd, the Harpies Seeker pulls out of a spectacular dive with the snitch clasped in her fist, thereby ending the match at an embarrassing score of 260-10.

“YES!” Harry yells, his wand dropping to his side as his eyes seek out Ginny in the air.

He can’t remember ever finding a win so satisfying, and Ginny quite so attractive as she streaks across the pitch to hug Gwenog Jones in a midair heap, her red hair streaming behind her in the wind. When she lets go, she scans the section she knows Harry is sitting in. Looking for him, like she always does after a match, only this time she’s looking for an idiot in a shit disguise.

He turns back to the blokes, fury and disgust with them still radiating in his bloodstream, and a reckless desire that he’ll surely regret later overtakes him. Fuck it, he thinks, and he begins to pull off his scarf.

“What was it you were saying before?” he goads, pulling their attention back to him before they move with the rushing crowd out of the stands. “One of you arseholes is going to be an Auror?”

“I am, and I’ll curse you into next week, if you like,” the Dudley looking-one taunts. “Maybe then Weasley will give you a pity ride, if that’s what you’re hoping for–”

“Interesting offer, but I’ll pass,” Harry says, as he pulls off his sunglasses. A look of vague recognition sweeps across the blond one’s face, though the others merely look a combination of angry and befuddled.

Harry replaces his regular specs and looks to the pitch just in time to lock eyes with Ginny - she’s found him in the crowd.

She’s halfway across the pitch, but Harry can tell by the tilt of her head that she’s wondering why he’s gone and taken off half the disguise they’d laughed so hard about earlier. He waves, and despite their earlier agreement to forgo their usual public post-match celebration, she seems to get the message and begins flying toward him.

He turns back to the blokes and finally removes his hat, revealing the still famously recognizable scar on his forehead. All three of their expressions transform into varying degrees of horror as they recall every horrible thing they’d said over the last hour, and connect just who they said it to. “What the fuck–” one of them mutters. “What the fucking shit– is that– Harry Potter–”

Harry stares directly at the aspiring Auror, memorizing his stupid features as he reddens. “I–” he stammers.

“I wouldn’t count on the Auror thing,” Harry spits. “If you’ll pardon me, though, I’ve got to congratulate my girlfriend. Maybe thank her later, for giving me so much to cheer for.”

He turns just as Ginny arrives to hover in front of him, windswept and flushed with victory and so ruddy gorgeous he can’t think. “You were so fucking brilliant,” he tells her.

“I know,” she says with that cheeky grin he loves so much, and then she kisses him so soundly that he quite forgets the pricks openly gaping at them from behind.

For a moment.

He pulls back from the kiss and turns to find them making a hasty retreat from the scene, but not before he hears the telling sound of a camera pop.

The ensuing stories plastered all over the papers the next day - Harry, pictured in his ridiculous disguise entering the stadium, their victorious kiss in the stands - ensure that Harry’s never able to sneak surreptitiously into the crowd of an away match ever again.

A trade worth making, though, when Harry gives an exclusive interview detailing every disgusting thing the three men identified in the background of the photograph had said, and when Ginny writes a cutting op-ed for the Prophet highlighting the ways in which the press had created the very narrative those three pricks had parroted.

Of course, it doesn’t solve the problem overnight, nor did they expect that it would. But, it moves the needle, just a bit. When Ginny reads an excellent article detailing the Harpies’ unique formations without once mentioning Harry or questioning whether they might be more effective by signing male players, she smiles.

The rejection of Winston Winthrop’s Auror application is just the frosting on the cake.

#hinny #quidditch #justice #just let me have this one #this fictional world where people can say awful things #and it actually affects them #and they dont get positions of power because of it

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sluttyten · 2 months ago

Text

magic tricks and magical d*cks

Kinktober Day 3 | Johnny Masterlist | Member Masterlist

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

length: 5435

Growing up, you’d always believed in magic.

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

Nothing.

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

It was all real.

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

But it does.

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

And it’s there that you learn of Johnny.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A warm spark embeds itself in your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that you would object to that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smirks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Johnny,” you whimper involuntarily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just want his cum coating your tongue.

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

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

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

That’s exactly what Johnny was waiting for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Show me, Johnny.” You need it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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