#hpwtiys

[sailtomarina]

You Taste Like Sin

Written for the 2025.04.09 IG prompt by @thetacowrites, "You taste like sin," grumpy/sunshine / morally grey, <300 words (the WC I blatantly ignored, sorry!)

🪴 Pansy/Neville | Rated R | 8th Year, grumpy/sunshine, greenhouse smut | WC 423

--

The greenhouse walls shuddered with the slam of the door. Pansy stood there, arms crossed and dark eyes glittering. Despite the violence of her entrance, she looked otherwise immaculate. Not a strand of her bobbed hair out of place. Not a wrinkle in her uniform.

“P-Pansy, did you need some–”

“Shut it, Longbottom,” she snapped.

He swallowed hard, hands falling away from the potted plant he’d been clutching between them like some sort of shield. 

“You have your work cut out for you now that you’ve put me in this predicament,” she went on to say, before sauntering closer.

He very nearly asked her what he’d done, but caught himself just in time. 

A nod of approval from her, followed by a slide of her finger down his exposed forearm. “What did I tell you about this?”

“That you like them.” Merlin, all he wanted to do was touch her.

She hummed, then attempted to wrap thumb and forefinger around the muscle. “And?”

“To keep them covered,” he quickly answered. 

It had been unseasonably warm. He could have cast a cooling charm, but hadn’t in favour of rolling up his sleeves. There weren’t any other witches about at the time. 

“I had to hear from fucking Daphne how she’d love to have you toss her around.” Her voice dripped with disdain.

“I-I’m sorry, Pans, I didn’t think–”

“No. You didn’t. But, that’s okay. I’ll forgive you.”

He sighed in relief, thinking he was in the clear. Her hold on him tightened, nails digging into the skin.

“Get on your knees.”

Neville dropped to the ground with embarrassing swiftness, eagerly waiting for the next command. Pansy backed up to the workbench, then flipped up her skirt. She wasn’t wearing any knickers.

“Make me come.”

She didn’t need to tell him twice. Gently, he lifted one of her legs to rest over his shoulder, leaned in, and inhaled. Bloody Baron. Neville hadn’t even tasted her today yet and his mouth was already watering. The first swipe of his tongue earned him a sigh. Another, a fist in his hair that edged just the right side of pleasurable.

“What do I taste like?” she asked, her voice husky.

Peering up, he let her see the circle of his tongue before answering. “You taste like sin. Like there’s no going back, not that I want to.”

Her eyes flashed. “Prove it.”

He did, then did again once he’d folded her over the table, until they both shouted hoarsely into the stillness, a potted Puffapod their only witness.

[elcieford]

This is Overdue | WTIYS

🖤💌❤️‍🔥

[elcieford]

Come Back For Your Scarf | WTIYS | "it's always been you"

Loving this /in your style/ exercise for writers. Here's one of mine, text fic style. 📱❤️