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lqveharrington · 5 months ago

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The Alchemy | D.M.

summary: Although Draco promised that he would keep your relationship a secret just for you, he can’t contain himself after winning the Hogwarts quidditch cup.

pairing: draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader

includes: FLUFF, established relationship (and a last name of Evergreen for the reader)

a/n: inspired by the olympics recently ❤️

When Draco asked you out in fourth year, you thought it was a joke. Sure, you were both acquainted due to your pure wizardry bloodline, but you were in Hufflepuff. The only time the other houses thought you were useful was when they wanted to sneak into the kitchen. So when he came up and sat down beside you when you were studying potions, you were disheartened.

“Malfoy, please don’t do this.” You sigh, rubbing your forehead. You were just starting to understand what ingredients made a truth serum.

“Do what? I’m asking you if you want to go to Hogsmeade together this weekend.” He spun the Malfoy signet ring adorning his hand.

You look up at him with tired eyes, “Did someone put you up to this?”

“What? No no, I—“ He cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks warm at how you were able to fluster him with even a small glance. “I’m really asking you to go on a date with me.”

You search his face for any indication of a lie, before biting your lip softly and looking down at your parchment. “Are you really?”

“I am.” Draco dropped his hand onto yours to stop your fidgeting with the quill.

You felt your own face heat up at the notion. He thumbed your palm softly as you stayed quiet, not minding his closeness. Finally, you looked up at him, “You have yourself a date, Malfoy.” He sent you a soft smile but before he could say anything else, you interrupted. “Please don’t let me down.”

Draco never let you down. Despite your earlier doubts, you saw how kind and thoughtful the Malfoy heir was underneath his hardened shell his father had built around him. In private, he was always attentive, loving, clingy — there wasn’t a moment where he was separated from you. In public, he had to rein in those feelings just for you.

Even when you started your seventh year at Hogwarts, you were still terrified what others at school would say about a Hufflepuff dating the Slytherin Prince. Sure, his parents and your parents knew, but not the entirety of Hogwarts. You had asked Draco to keep your relationship private until you were ready to face the reality of your relationship to the rest of the world. He begrudgingly agreed, respecting your wishes; but the need to kiss you in front of the entire student body to rightly claim that you were his was wavering.

Especially when it had been three years since you first started dating. And right now, you were currently hiding below the stands together as you greeted him with good luck kisses for his final quidditch match as a student in Hogwarts.

“I.” Kiss. “Love.” Kiss. “You.” Kiss. You say softly as he holds you close by your hips — smiling into all your kisses. “Good.” Kiss. “Luck.” Kiss.

“You’re killing me here, love.” Draco murmurs against your lips. He pulls away gently to look at your ever so loving gaze. He draws small hearts on you hip, “You done?”

“Never.” You kiss him again, hands cupping his jaw. “I want you to be stuck with me forever.”

He hums into the kiss as you thumb his cheeks softly, “I will after I win this game, my love.”

You separate again, grinning like a lovesick puppy. “Good luck, Dray. I’ll see you later.” You press one last kiss to his lips before leaving his arms and running up the Hufflepuff stands to cheer. You couldn’t deny that even after all these years he still made you giddy and red.

Draco shook his head with a soft smile only you could coax out of him. He walked out from the stands and hopped on his broom, ready in the air for his final match as Slytherin’s seeker. Cheers filled the stadium as the players took their place, captains shaking hands.

The final match for Slytherin and Gryffindor was probably the most anticipated all year round. Since it was also Harry Potter’s last game as seeker, and the two seekers were known as rivals, it was hyped up to be one of the best end matches of the season.

As the game progressed, Slytherin and Gryffindor were constantly tied. It was really up to the seekers to find the golden snitch to determine the winner. There were bets taking place in the house stands, mind fixated on earning a few galleons for the last time. For the Hufflepuff stands, they were a house divided. Many cheered for scarlet and gold while the other half cheered for green and silver.

You didn’t mind the division between your house. After all, you only watched the games for Draco. Your friends were cheering for the Gryffindors whilst you carried the small Slytherin flag in your hands — eyes trained on the blonde high above the game itself. The second you blinked from the blazing sun, Draco was soaring after the golden snitch, Harry close behind and eventually flying right next to him.

The shouts from the stands only fueled the seekers’ attention to the flying gold. Draco and Harry were chasing in circles after the snitch, attention focused on nothing else even as the bludger zoomed past them.

You held your breath as they both reach out for the snitch. Your friend held your shoulder in anticipation, watching the two closely. Before you could register what happened, she gasped and shook your shoulders in frustration.

“I lost ten galleons to that!” She sighed heavily as Draco flashed the golden snitch in the air.

The rush of the win made you scream happily with the other Hufflepuffs and houses cheering for the Slytherin team. You wear clapping your hands as the team began flying around in victory. You watched as Draco flew around the stands more as the rest of the Slytherin team settled on the grounds. His eyes scanned the stadium until they lit up when they saw you at the very front of the Hufflepuff stands — waving your Slytherin flag with pride.

“Seems like Malfoy is off showing the last snitch he’ll catch for the Slytherin quidditch team! But we all want to know where the trophy is!” The third year announcer spoke, voice casted across the stadium.

You smiled at Draco softly when you finally met his eyes. And before you knew it, he flew right over to you and cupped your face, kissing you senselessly. You grinned into the kiss as you held his cheeks, the shouts and screams from your housemates blending in your ears.

“Aw, quite a beautiful way to celebrate the win. Don’t you think so, McGonagall? Honestly, I wasn’t expecting Malfoy and Evergreen— Ow, sorry.” The third year announcer spoke once more, rubbing the spot the professor lightly hit them with a newspaper.

You part from Draco with a blinding smile, “I think I agree, this is a beautiful way to celebrate.” You say quietly only for him to hear, pressing quick kisses to his lips.

“I’m proud of you, love.” Draco nudges your nose with his to gently stop your kisses for a second — even though he did want more.

“Me? You just won the quidditch cup for your house!” You laugh while wrapping your arms behind his neck, careful in trying not to pull him off his broom.

He rubbed the apples of your cheeks, “You just let me kiss you in front of the entire student body… I think that’s more important.” He pulled you in for another mind searing kiss, making you smile helplessly.

“AGAIN?” The third year announcer shouted into the microphone once more. “Is there—“

“Alright, we’re done announcing, boys and girls.” Professor McGonagall spoke and shut the speakers off; although she was quite happy for the couple.

You giggled as he pulled you into a hug. “I love you.”

Draco pressed kisses to your cheek repeatedly, “I love you more.”

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aethelwyneleigh27 · 5 months ago

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Villain!Ghost x Pregnant!Wife!Reader

Synopsis: Your husband wants your company..

A/n: GUYS OMG, I know it's been 1 month and a little more since my last official work. I've been procrastinating on this for so long since I only have less than a week till school again.. Also everyone I love on this app is just disappearing, like @ghost-cyphera just deleted her account 4 days ago and I got the notif but didn't see it in time, I didn't even get to say goodbye. Just wanted to apologize to you guys after being gone for so long as well. Also, another villain!Ghost drabble? 👀

Finding it difficult to walk was one of the least things you've suspected you'd be concerned of upon conceiving, always needing your handmaiden's help in such a mundane task was shameful to say the least but your husband insisted.

If it hadn't been the hand maiden then it would've been him instead, you couldn't keep him from his duties from the kingdom as he carried even yours. Wanting you to turn your attention to the health of the babe growing in you and especially yourself..

"My lady.." you were pulled out of your thoughts by the voice of your handmaiden. You took in a breath from the cool air that blew on your face as you stood by the stone railing..

"Yes, Leticia?" You turned to her..

"The prince consort has requested your company.." Leticia announced, you nod as you removed your hand from the cold stone. You glanced once more to the people of your kingdom, going about their day and life before gently lifting yourself off from leaning on the stone.

Leticia offered you her arm to help you walk more efficiently..

...

"You sent for me..?" You asked your husband, he was sat and signing another set of documents and scrolls. You closed the door, palms gently pushing till you heard it click.

"No, I told them to announce my arrival to you. How dare they exert my wife by giving her false instructions.." he huffed to which you laughed. He wouldn't do anything violent about it, as he so usually does with staff that don't comply but he knew it'd upset you if anything gory were to happen to them.

"I am quite alright, I need to move around too. It's proven to be good for our child." You said, sitting next to the graciously comfortable chair next to his working desk that he had someone make for you.

You felt relief from the pressure previously on your back, hand on the bump of your stomach and with that a sigh came from your lips. Peacefully watching your husband, the sound of the satisfying scratching of the quill on the crisp papers.

You felt his hand grasp yours, he pulled it, lips resting on the back. His affection made your heart beat faster and he felt it, the pad of his index finger on your wrist. The thumping made him chuckle as you smiled and leaned your head on his shoulder.

"You should rest for a while, my love. You'd work yourself to sickness at this point." You kiss his cheek softly. He put his quill down, "If that's my wife wants.." he said.

He wrapped his arm around you, the other hand placed on your baby bump. His thumb gently rubbing, you jolted a bit feeling a strong kick..

It made you groan, how restless the rascal is. Your husband adjusted his hand to feel the next kick.. he'd swear it was a girl, not that he'd care for that sort of thing. He'd kill for them either way, especially for you. He could stare at you all day, swollen with his child.

How glowing you looked wrapped in the finest silk and the gold and jewels in your hair and body clicking upon contact with another piece, he wished he could tell you how utterly speechless you'd leave each man by just walking passed them but to him no word is enough to describe you.

At least he could spend these small intimate moments with just you and you alone, free of the world for even just a few minutes as he needed a break from the work he very much was eager to do to be able to receive praise from his wife..

My CoD Masterlist

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @callsignsnowpunisher @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @iexiam @drewsmusee @konigceo @duck-a-doodle

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slytherinslut0 · 17 days ago

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SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 17th. tom riddle — overstim, cockwarming.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. I 2024

summary: cockwarming as a punishment? clit stim cockwarming as a punishment? tom would think so.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, cockwarming, ft. tom’s mythical clit magic that i force into almost everyone of my fics for him, overstimulation, begging, sharp tongue banter, slight praise, tom is an infuriating bastard like always, dom!tom, slight part 2 from this.

also, thank you to my beautiful @cotttagecorewhore for the idea 🤍

He's a master of multitasking, you've learned in the passing months. Multitasking and complete self-possession, something you can see as he writes, without a break—as you sit perched in his lap, thighs on either side of his.

He's not writing anything of any particular importance—some letter, an order, some instruction for something. All of it is of little consequence to you, so you focus on the act of it instead—the way he holds the quill, the way it moves across the page in neat, angular script. He does it like it's something that requires no effort, not even a moment of thought, and you wonder if writing to him is as easy as breathing.

It's so easy to love you, you think, until your brain goes back to focusing on the feeling of him. His scent. His breath. His length buried inside you. His free hand not letting you move.

Him.

"That's a filthy habit," he murmurs, and you realize you've been biting your lip, watching his hand work across the page. "You’re breaking the skin."

"Can't help it," you grumble, and to make a point, you start biting your lip again. "I chew my lip when I'm impatient. I'm impatient right now."

He makes a sound that's somewhere between a huff and a sigh at that—and you can feel his attention shift from the page to look up at you for a moment—

"Patience, you've never had. Your only flaw, I'd say." He says, languidly taking in the sight of you before shifting his eyes back to his work. “That, and the penchant for damaging your skin."

You roll your eyes. You know he sees it.

"I didn't realize you were an expert in dermatology.”

You can feel the vibrations in his chest as he laughs—a low breathless chuckle, and you can't stop yourself from shuddering.

"It's more because I don't want to taste blood when I kiss you."

When I kiss you.

You’ll never tire of words like that, and it’s the simplicity in which he says them that makes half your brain immediately short circuit.

Because it’s moments like this—and there are many of them—where you have to remind yourself to breathe, and it's almost embarrassing how easily he has that effect on you, how he can still make you dizzy from a single offhanded comment.

"I don't recall you complaining before."

You're trying very hard to make your voice sound nonchalant now, and you think you're doing a fairly good job of it, but you can feel the way your hips try to wiggle against him involuntarily, the way your hands tighten on his shoulders, digging your nails into his sweater.

He can feel it, he can definitely feel it.

"I'm not complaining now," he says, the smirk still in his voice. "Just stating my preference."

"I have a preference for you not writing right now," you toss back, and you sound whinier than you intended. "You're torturing me."

"Torture implies you're not enjoying it at all," he murmurs, his eyes never leaving the page. "And I can feel how much you're enjoying it."

You can't stop yourself from shuddering again, as if half of your nerve endings are suddenly connected to him, and you bury your face in his neck.

"You're insufferable," you murmur, feeling the soft wool of his sweater against your face. "Can you feel how much I'm wishing to hex you, too?"

"I can," he replies, before his hips cant up a fraction—just the tiniest shift—pressing his throbbing dick up a little deeper into you, making you bite your lip again, and you're almost certain he's done it just so you'll react. "I far prefer the former, however."

You make an indignant sound at that, but it comes out all breathless and a little high-pitched—and it’s then that you decide to give up your attempts at sounding dignified.

"You and your fucking preferences." You hiss, half muffled against his shoulder.

"I'm nothing if not consistent," he says, and you think he actually sounds more distracted now, as if he's more focused on the wiggling of your hips against him then he is his writing. And then— "if you want something, you know you could just ask for it."

You lift your head from his shoulder at that, just so he can see the glare you're giving him now.

"I won't beg for you." You retort, and you realize halfway through that it's not quite as biting as you intended—it's hard to be biting when you can't seem to stop shuddering—when you feel so fucking full of him. "Not after this."

"I didn't say you had to beg," he whispers, and you realize his quill has stopped moving on the page. "I said you had to ask."

It takes every ounce of willpower you have to keep from rocking your hips against him again—you're not sure how much of this you're willing to take.

"And you'd actually indulge me?" You cock a suspicious eyebrow. "If I just, asked for it?"

Now his eyes have left the page completely—quill dropping from his hand as he brings it to your chin, gripping it gently, tilting your head up so he can look you in the face now. You know you're flushed—you can feel the heat crawling over your skin, your neck, probably to your ears, too.

"When have I ever denied you?" He wets his lips as he says it. "As long as you ask nicely."

"I always ask nicely," you mutter, but the effect is lost somewhat when, in your attempt to regain a semblance of control, his hips shift and his dick twitches inside you again. "Jesus—Tom, just fuck me. I can't—"

There's an instant when you think the corners of his eyes crinkle in satisfaction when you say that, and he knows just how undone you feel because he's the one who's gotten you there, and that's why he likes to take his time, because it gets you like this—

"That wasn't nicely," he tuts, tilting your head up a little further. "That was greedy. Selfish."

And there's a hitch in your breath when he says it, because as much as it rankles you to be called that, you know he's right—

"Please," you whine, slick walls clenching tight around him—craving the friction. "Please please please..."

You hoped you’d catch a hitch in his breath at that, something that shows you’re getting somewhere—but he just smiles—and it's a slow, almost cruel smile as his hand slips down to your throat, thumb running over the skin of your neck.

"Much better," he coos, and god it's so condescending you’re back to mentally hexing him. "For your efforts."

And the second he says that—you feel his magic swirling and massaging over your clit.

"Oh god," you manage, half a gasp and half a moan, your eyes squeezed shut. "Oh my god—"

It feels both instantaneous and instant—the wave of pleasure that washes through you at the exact time that the hand around your throat tightens. Another gasp gets stuck in your throat and you want to rock against him but he's holding you in place, and you have to settle for clinging on to his shoulders, clawing at him—

"Eyes open," he rasps, and you do, with an effort, the look on his face almost sinful when you manage to open them—his eyes darkened, watching you intently. "Just like that. Good. No moving."

That simple word—good—does way more to you then it has any right to, and you watch his face as the realization of how much you liked it shows there too.

"Don't be cruel," you whine again, your nails still biting into his shoulders because it's all you have, the only way to anchor yourself. "Tom—fuck—please—"

You see the way a muscle in his jaw clenches for a second—just a second—as if he's biting back a reaction.

"Relax," his hand slips to the back of your head, pulling you to rest your face against his shoulder as he goes back to writing. "I'm almost done here."

You want to make some biting comeback but you can't even think, let alone speak—the pleasure is already at a fever pitch that's almost too much, to the point where you feel like you're trembling, your muscles taut, your thighs clenching, your nails raking desperately up the wool of his sweater.

"Almost?" You manage between gasps as the sensation heightens and you can practically feel your climax prowling near. "You—you said you'd—give me what I want if I asked—"

"You're right," he's hardly focused, as if he can't be bothered in the slightest by your frantic state on his lap. "But I didn't say I'd give it to you now, did I?"

"You bastard," you gasp, your head lolling against the crook of his neck. "You're a fucking—mmffff—god—"

"Poor thing," he responds, all faux-pity as he runs a hand through your hair. "So helpless she's calling me a god."

You roll your eyes with a groan, while he just keeps writing—you can feel yourself trying to rock against him again as the pleasure is building and building and you can't find a balance—

"Tom," you gasp out, but you're not even sure what you're asking for, all you know is that it's him—it’s him and him and him. "Tom—I'm going to—you're going to make me—"

A shudder goes through him at that, barely perceptible, the smallest jerk that you're not sure anyone else would notice but you're so aware of his body and his responses that you'd never miss it—

"Go on." He urges, quietly. "I won't stop you."

You think it's probably the tone in which he says it—half pitying, half condescending—that does you in, and all you can do is bite down on his shoulder, hard, and then you're cumming, almost violently—as if something inside you snaps all at once and you're shaking with it, clawing at him, gasping for air, trying in vain not to make a sound because his dorm is not warded off yet and you're certain the rest of the school would hear if you screamed—

"Mfffff—"

You're clenching, walls fluttering around him as he lets you bite down on his shoulder as hard as you want—the shudder that goes through him at the feeling of your teeth on his skin doesn't go unnoticed, and you wonder if he likes it, if he wants you to mark him just as bad as you want to leave your claim.

"Alright," he purrs when you go limp against him, half slumped over his lap. "Alright. Relax. Good."

You feel utterly boneless and breathless against him, like you've been completely drained out of everything, still shaking a little—he's done this to you in a matter of a few minutes and you feel humiliated by the ease in which he manages it, the control—

"I hate you," you murmur breathlessly, wincing as you feel him—huge and solid, buried inside you—twitch. "Fuck, I hate you."

There’s a low, breathless hum that those words pull from him—and you feel him tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, before his hand goes back to your throat, tilting your head back up.

"Don't lie," he murmurs, mouthing at your jaw. "You don't."

You're half tempted to argue otherwise, or give him some sort of biting response—but at the feeling of his mouth against your neck, you feel a fresh burst of heat flare up again and you can't seem to fight it—

"No," you breathe out, and you sound almost delirious with it now, too far gone to pretend you have any semblance of control. "I d-don't."

"That's what I thought," he hums, you can feel that smirk on your skin and you hate it and you love it simultaneously, and you wonder how it's possible to feel this many things at once. "You've always been a terrible liar."

Your lips part in response to that, but before you can get words out, he's shifting to resume his writing, and the magic on your clit starts back up again—

"Fuck! Y-you can't be serious," you manage through a mewl, because you're sure you don't have anything left to give—there's no way you can feel it again, much less so soon. "You can't just—"

"I'm not done yet," he replies, simply. "That means you aren't either."

It's almost infuriating, how simple he makes it sound, as if you don't have any say in it, as if he's going to just pull another orgasm out of you the way you'd pull a tissue out of a box—and you want to hate him for it, only you're already going back to being desperate, all your nerve endings on fire again, your fingers clenching uselessly against the dark wool—

"Tommmm" you whine, clenching around him as he twitches inside you, as the stimulation on your clit grows stronger—making your hips jerk, making you lift yourself about an inch up his shaft—just enough to make him groan—

"Fuck."

His fingers immediately fist in your hair, jerking your head back—and you love it, yet hate it, making you hate that you love it—and he makes a low, guttural sound against your neck, almost a growl.

"If you keep that up," you think it might actually be a threat now, because it’s snarled through barred teeth. "I will never finish this."

"That's—that's sort of the point," you gasp out. "I don't care if you don't finish it—I fucking need you—now—"

He makes that guttural sound against your neck again, almost as if he's biting it back—as if he needs the restraint to resist just throwing you onto the desk and having you there—

"Patience," he growls, but you can hear how breathless he is too, now, how affected he is—and that thought makes you feel insane all over again. "You think you deserve to be fucked after what you did? Hm? Slipping me that potion—tying me up—"

"Yes—yes I do—" you don't care that the sound that comes out of your mouth is most definitely a moan, that it's completely pitiful how desperate you are now—you want him, and nothing else matters. "It was just a little potion, it didn't even last that long, you were just mad I made you—"

He shakes his head, telling you without words to shut up.

"Careful," his hand slips from your hair to cover your mouth. "Don't want you to go talking yourself into trouble," his hand tightens a fraction when you try to bite at. "You might end up getting what you don't want."

He shifts under you, making you gasp against his palm, your nails biting into his shoulder as the magic on your clit twirls and swirls with just a little more intensity, enough for you to undeniably feel it—and Tom jerks his hips up into you, just enough for you to feel that, too—

You shake, forcing the words from under his palm. "Tom, please—"

It's not a whine, now—it's a keening, an almost broken sort of plea—but it's as if he doesn't hear it, or maybe he just doesn’t care, because he's continuing to speak in that low, growly rumble against your neck that's just as torturous as everything else.

"You're going to be quiet. You're going to take it," he asserts, and your eyes nearly roll back at the sheer heat of it. "Until I believe you’re deserving of more."

You have no idea if you're nodding or trying to protest, you don't even know which one you want to do because both options sound impossible to you—and you're almost hyperventilating now, the intensity almost too much and not enough all at once—you're desperate, you're aching, you're needy, and then you're falling over the edge—second orgasm shredding through you like lightening—

Oh—fucking hell—

It wrings itself out of you, violent and all consuming, but you can't make a sound—can't do anything except bite down on Tom's hand and clench your eyes shut as you fall apart—your thighs shaking, every muscle taut, your nails clawing desperately at his shoulder.

And he's murmuring things against your neck that you can't make out, holding you against him through it, making you take it in the most exquisite kind of torture—and god, you're certain he must be smiling, you're certain he loves having you like this, a broken mess on his lap, unable to speak, only whimper as he pulls his hand away with a "good girl", and urges your head to rest against his shoulder again as he resumes writing.

For the next solid minute, you still can't speak, just gasp for breath—clinging to him helplessly in the aftershock of it.

"That was two," he says, his hand trailing lazily up and down your spine. "You're in for a long night."

You want to whimper at that, because you're not sure if you can take anything more—

"How many," you manage to breathe out, your voice rasping. "How many more."

"As many as you can take," his voice is so matter-of-fact you know the bastard is smirking. "And possibly a few more after that.”

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amourane · 9 months ago

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so this is love

pairing: theodore nott x hufflepuff!reader

genre: fluff

w/c: 2.7k

summary: there's a weird feeling that erupts in theo's chest whenever he looks at you and for the first time in his life his mind goes silent.

warnings: none!

a/n: i honestly love this so much and it's so so sooo cute!

Theodore Nott was many things. Quiet, judgmental, emotionless and most importantly handsome. One of the prettiest boys in Hogwarts yet the most unapproachable. No one had ever seen a smile grace his lips and if you had tried to converse with the Slytherin he would only stare at you with blank eyes waiting for you to go away. He spoke little words but it was enough for people to get the point. Unlike his rowdy group of friends, he wouldn’t merrily join in conversation, rather make snarky remarks every now and then, an uninterested look always on his face. A scowl or a smirk always tugged at his lips as he listened to what his friends had to say.

Even though Theo never voiced his thoughts out loud he always knew what to think. His mind was constantly running at a hundred miles per hour. Every little thing he wanted to say flitted through his mind. It was as if his head was a cacophonous symphony.

Yet as he looked at the girl in yellow robes his mind was oddly quiet. He watched her silently as she dropped her ingredients into her cauldron. It was a rare moment. One he had discovered a month ago when he had finished his potion early and looked around to see if anyone else was done. There you were. Eyes scanning the contents of your Potion’s book but it was quite clear you had finished brewing whatever was in your cauldron as you leaned back into your seat.

Theo’s mind was silent.

There were no thoughts, no opinions, no judgments. He stared at you and it made him uneasy. There was something about you that unnerved him. He didn’t recall you from his other classes and it was the first time he had even seen you in Potions. As he felt the comforting silence settle in his head he concluded one thing - you were interesting and he was going to keep an eye on you.

“Nott, mate, what are you doing? I’ve been asking you to pass me a quill for about a century, have you suddenly gone deaf?” Blaise nudged Theo out of his trance and the brunette blinked for a second before passing over a quill. His partner frowned before following where his eyeline previously was and he smirked. “Still obsessing over the little Hufflepuff I see. Who knew you were capable of having feelings.”

“I don’t fancy her.”

“I never said you did.” Blaise’s smirk widened. “You came up with that on your own.”

Theo felt his face heat up. It wasn’t true. He didn’t like you, not in the slightest. He was merely fascinated at how you were able to turn his manic mind into a state of tranquillity. He looked over. You were talking to your partner beside you and Theo assumed she had said something funny because a grin had overtaken your pretty features and a giggle slipped past your lips. Theo didn’t fancy you but he couldn’t deny that you were the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

“He’s staring again.” Hannah said as she poked your side to get your attention. “It’s like he’s drilling holes into your skull. Do you think he wants to hex you?”

You looked up from your cauldron with a frown as you faced your friend. “He doesn’t stare at me, don’t be silly Hannah. I’m sure he has a reason for looking this way.”

“Y/n you’re terrible at finding excuses for anything. It’s so obvious he’s looking at you and his glare is starting to scare me a bit.”

Behind your fellow Hufflepuff was Theodore Nott. Your eyes glaze over his perfectly tousled hair and his dark coloured eyes. He really was handsome. You watch as he says something to Blaise and you see a tint of pink touch his cheeks. Cute. You smiled to yourself. Merlin, he was really cute.

Theodore Nott had been watching you for a few weeks now and you weren’t oblivious enough to not notice the Slytherin’s gaze. At first you didn’t know how to react when you first felt his eyes on you. It was weird. Every time you would turn around he would already be looking down at his piece of parchment, scribbling something down with his quill. You had never caught him staring at you but you could certainly feel it. The piercing feeling of his stare made goosebumps rise on your skin. In a way you found it endearing. Sometimes you would turn around and find him, nose deep in his textbook and you could faintly see the tips of his ears blush red. It was those times you would giggle to yourself.

It was arrogant to assume that Theo felt that way about you but for some reason you couldn’t help but get a little giddy at the thought he might. That someone like him would even think about going out with someone like you. That the cutest guy in your year would fancy you. Then reality came crashing back and you knew that a Slytherin would never be seen with a Hufflepuff much less date one.

“Hello? Earth to Y/n? You still there?” Hannah waved her hand in front of your face. “Merlin, one mention of Nott and you go all dreamy on me. When are you going to ask him out then?”

Your cheeks flared up with heat and you couldn’t help a smile that tugs at your lips. “Shush Hannah.” You try to sound serious but with your blushing face and bright grin it’s hard to do so.

“You’re actually whipped, Y/n.” Hannah let out a laugh and you let a giggle slip past your lips at her statement. You didn’t feel the need to deny it after all, maybe it held some truth.

Theodore Nott always knew what to say and when but as he stood in front of you he found himself speechless. Now as his eyes wandered over your delicate hands and beautiful face he couldn’t find the words that needed to be said. His mind was quiet again. Silence. He opened his mouth to apologise for bumping into you and nearly knocking you over but no words came out. So he did the next best thing, help you grab your books.

You were scrambling to grab scrap pieces of parchment that had escaped the grasps of your books and Theo grabbed the Herbology textbook you had dropped. He watched as you gathered your things before finally meeting his gaze. You smiled and he felt his heart stop. Suddenly it was as if he was being engulfed in a tidal wave. There was a twinkle in your eyes and it set off a spark in his chest that he didn’t know was there. Theo felt himself grow hot as you stared at him and for the first time in his life he felt self conscious.

“Thank you.” You said and he felt his ears ring as your voice echoed through his mind. “I’m really sorry I wasn’t watching where I was going and I was in a rush to get to my next class. I hope you aren’t hurt anywhere.”

A beat passed.

Theo blinked. He watched as your bright expression slowly morphed into one of concern. He watched as you reached out to touch his arm.

“Theodore?”

“It’s Theo.” Is the only thing he can think to say before he realised how it must’ve sounded rude. “But you can call me Theodore. I don't mind.”

Another beat passed.

The two of you were now standing in the middle of the hallway as other students passed by. Theo could hear their whispers as they looked. The curious eyes wondering what a Slytherin could possibly be talking to a Hufflepuff about. For a second Theo thinks he’s upset you and you’re going to storm off but he’s proven wrong. The bright smile returned to your face.

“Well Theo, I’m going to need my Herbology textbook back, I’ve already been late twice this week.”

“O-Oh yes right, sorry I forgot.”

Theodore Nott has never once stumbled over his words. Yet as he stood in front of you he found himself wrapped in a world he had never known before. He felt himself grow even warmer and he reached a hand to loosen the emerald tie around his neck. This was unlike him. He never went speechless, he never struggled to find a smart quip or retort and he most definitely never stuttered. You brought out a side to him that was new and he didn’t know if he liked it or not.

“Thank you for helping me Theo, I’ll see you in Potions.” You waved goodbye as you hurried off down the hallway.

Theo’s eyes remained glued onto your frame as you ran. A rising bubbly feeling began in his chest and he felt his heart quicken. He gulped. You had long disappeared from his view but he still felt a burning sensation on his cheeks and he tried to cool himself down with his hands but it served no use. Giving up, he turned away and marched down the hall determined to figure out whatever he was feeling.

“You know staring at her won’t make her your girlfriend Nott.” Mattheo smirked as he watched his best friend. The others at the Slytherin table tittered with laughter and Theo rolled his eyes. He was now used to his friend’s teasing and even though it was relentless he didn’t pay any attention to it. Why would he? It wasn’t true anyway.

“Very funny Riddle.”

“You know me Theo, always the jokester.” He winked as he sipped the pumpkin juice in his cup.

“But seriously Theo you should ask her out if you like the girl. Salazar, it's better than drilling holes in the back of her head.”

“Pansy’s right Nott, we’re all tired of you mooning over the girl just go ask her out already and then the two of you can go snog in the broom cupboard.” Draco snickered and the other Slytherins erupted into another round of laughter.

“Well you’ve got it all wrong I don’t fancy her.” Theo looked at his friends with a scowl present on his face. “She makes me feel all these things and I hate it. I hate how different it is. I hate how quiet everything gets when I look at her. I hate how she makes me feel and it’s all horrible and downright disgusting. It’s like I’ve got a fever whenever I’m around her and I’ve somehow contracted some life-threatening heart disease. My mouth dries up and I stumble over what I say and it’s not like me at all. So no, you’ve all got it wrong because I don't fancy her.”

With that Theo leaves the table, dinner untouched, with red cheeks and a rapidly beating heart. His friends watched dumbfounded as their friend trudged away. They all exchange knowing glances before shaking their heads at his obliviousness to his own feelings.

“That guy seriously needs to realise that sometimes not being an emotionless prick isn’t going to kill him.” Pansy dug into her beef as she scoffed at her friend’s stupidity.

Unbeknownst to the Slytherins a certain Hufflepuff was watching as their friend stormed off, her eyes never once leaving his ruby red face and the angry glare that accompanied it. She excused herself from her table before slipping away to follow a certain brunette.

Annoyance was the main thing that Theodore Nott felt at the moment. Anger at the persistence that he had a crush on you when he didn’t, he knew he didn’t. You had cast some sort of spell on him. Some sort of hex that made him notice every little bit about you. The way your smile lit up the room, the way your laughter echoed in his mind like the happy tinkering of a bell. Every second he saw you it was as if you overtook his senses. Clouding his sight with your beauty, suffocating him with your sweet scent, muffling his ravenous thoughts until everything was calm.

When Theodore Nott looked at you he felt an overwhelming emotion, one that he couldn’t explain, but it made his hectic thoughts still and as cheesy as it sounded it made time itself stand still. When Theodore Nott looked at you he noticed every fine small detail like the way you like to smile at yourself whenever you get a question right or the way you tap your fingers on the desk when you’re concentrating. When Theodore Nott looked at you he felt his heart soar and he isn’t used to feeling this unnatural emotion that had been brewing inside of him.

He didn’t even notice you were behind him until he heard your voice. Soft and gentle and kind. He spun around. You had a look of concern etched upon your face and you stepped closer towards him and he backed away feeling his heart quicked once again. He glared at you hoping that his stare would force you to go away and would force whatever he was feeling to disappear.

“Are you okay Theo? I saw you leave and you didn’t touch your food, did something happen?”

You were so caring, so nice, so calm. You were so many things and Theo couldn’t take it. Couldn’t take looking at you when he could hear his heart pumping. “What are you doing to me?” He whispered, backing away further.

You frowned. “I haven’t done anything Theo. Are you sure you’re okay you look quite red and-”

“You’re lying.” He seethed. “You’re lying because why are you making me feel these things? Why does my mind go quiet, my thoughts stop, the words fail? There’s no explanation to this. I don’t understand why my heart races and everything suddenly feels hotter around me. I don’t understand this feeling I have inside me, some magnetic force that keeps pulling me to you. You’re everywhere Y/n.”

His glare intensified as he spoke, each word punctuated by a slow, deliberate step forward. “I look at you and I feel things I’ve never felt before, this bubbly warm feeling. Whenever I’m around you I can’t think of what to say. I close my eyes and I see your smile, your eyes. I can hear your laughter even if we’re in the noisiest classroom. You’re everywhere Y/n. So tell me, what have you done to me?”

A beat of silence.

The both of you stare at each other. Your frown had long gone and now you simply looked at the Slytherin in front of you trying to decipher his anger.

“It’s love Theo.” You take a step closer. “All the things you’ve just said - it’s love.”

Theo froze. His expression remained stony yet his eyes betrayed his thoughts as he looked away for a second. He blinked before looking at you once again. Your eyes, the eyes he couldn’t help but notice everywhere he went, looked back at him. His mind was no longer quiet. An outbreak of noise erupted inside his head and he struggled to grasp what was going on. He couldn’t focus. All he could hear was his own voice in his mind, overlapping, shouting, screaming, crying. It all came crashing down and Theo didn’t know what to do.

Then your lips collided with his and he stilled. The noise died down. Chaos ceased. Theo let his eyes flutter shut as he kissed you back with fervour. Your lips were soft and you tasted sweet like strawberries. He wrapped his arm around your waist and you were warm as you leaned into his touch. He felt your arms tangle in his hair and he smiled at the feeling. This felt right. This didn’t feel weird or disgusting. It was something he never thought he would feel.

The both of you broke apart and you blinked looking at Theo with your beautiful eyes. His heart continued to race. You beamed up at him and he couldn’t help but smile back. You were so pretty, so gorgeous and you had just kissed him. His mind was finally quiet again. The strange feeling that filled his body now didn’t feel so foreign at all in fact it felt natural as he gazed at you.

“It’s love Theodore Nott. That’s what you feel.” You give him another kiss. “And it’s what I feel too.”

Theodore Nott was many things but as he closed his eyes to kiss you once again there is only one thing that he wants to be - in love with you.

#theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theo nott imagine #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #slytherin boys #theodore nott imagines #theodore nott smut #theo nott smut

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swordgrace · 5 months ago

Text

& 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐈’𝐌 𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ gwayne hightower x wife!reader.

SYNOPSIS: you and your husband decide to take advantage of the quiet gardens near the red keep.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: drabble — requested by anonymous.

{ WORD COUNT: 4.1K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), porn with little plot, risk of getting caught, semi-public sex, gwayne is a switch, cunt-drunk gwayne, sex in the red keep gardens, teasing, hair-pulling kink, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, groping, making out, dirty talk, mild praise kink, p in v sex (unprotected), mild scratching, soft ending.

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I am on the Gwayne train right now, I just adore writing for him. This is a smaller story, and I think writing some drabbles might do me a bit of good! I hope that you all enjoy! ❤️ Thanks so much for the love & support!

𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐩, 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐚.

The smell was akin to a perfumed dowager, the air thick with roses and honey, petals drifting along in the evening breeze. It was a stark contrast to the pungent scent of the rest of the city — perhaps that is why you favored the gardens.

Orange tendrils of a waning sun spread across the leaves, verdant and bright, turning the gardens all sorts of colors — shades of emerald and gold, intermingling with the many flowers there.

Most souls that had occupied the gardens had made themselves scarce, turning it into a paradise that only you shared with another. You often admired the general splendor even when it was crowded, but now, it gave you a rather unobstructed view.

The various palette of the gardens, particularly any deeper shades of forest-green, matched that of your husband’s doublet, embroidered with golden thread. It was strange to see Gwayne removed from his armor, his silvery vassal that kept him well-protected.

In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, there were days spent in respite, much to your delight. Though, war would steal him away from you again — you intended on making the most out of each moment, beseeching him to remain by your side. He obliged you, fortunately, and you never objected to it.

A golden hour, brightest before dusk, painted you in shades that Gwayne had committed to memory, your features bathed in dying light. You were swathed in gowns of cerulean, a deeper shade of azure that had brought him to heel when you emerged with it on.

Merrily, he often touted that he had the most beautiful wife in all of the realm, and such a sentiment didn’t change nor waver. It was resolute, done with a fondness that made its way to you.

“Perhaps, once this conflict comes to a close, you and I shall return to Oldtown,” Gwayne’s gallant resonance cut through the contented silence, his timbre often filled with regality, the elegant poise of a well-learned Knight. “I’ve grown surfeited by this grisly place.”

If Gwayne had not been so proficient with a blade, you suspected that a quill and his sharp tongue would’ve done him a world of good in another lifetime. His flowery speech had charmed you time and time again, and you were left captivated.

Oldtown had become your home, a sanctuary of which you and Gwayne had built a peaceful life together. With Prince Daeron in your care, it was something of a family — one that you suspected would grow in the near future.

“As have I,” With a gentle sigh, your fingers danced along his velvet-clad forearm, your arm interlaced with his as he led you through the teeming labyrinth. At twilight, it had become wonderfully quiet, a place of solace away from the bustling hum of the Red Keep. “It is a dour place.”

Dour was a mere understatement — Gwayne knew what harm this city could do, crushed beneath the oppressive weight of the Red Keep. Even in its architectural splendor, it remained a shadow, haunting your every step as it loomed above the both of you.

Even in the sanctuary of the Gardens, one could not escape it. He did not envy his sister for being sequestered here for most of her lifetime — he imagined that it likely led to a path of misfortune and frustration. Being in Oldtown, he could afford many liberties, freedoms that weren’t permitted in King’s Landing.

As you continued on your path, a stone terrace opened before you, a comely overlook with a sizable gazebo, marked by dimly-lit torches. Save for the picturesque view of Blackwater Bay, it was surrounded by foliage and flora on all sides.

Gwayne felt your concern in waves, an unspoken sentiment, knowing that he would be called to leave again. Cole’s armies were rallying to march to Harrenhal, and he was summoned to ride alongside him, the second-in-command. You had made your disdain for this known, and Gwayne couldn’t fault you for it.

“I would sorely dislike it if our time together was to be spent in silence,” He watched you through cerulean hues as you rounded the gazebo, moving toward the overlook. Waves gently lapped at the outcropping of rock, breaking upon it, saltwater kisses peppering your cheeks. “I have a duty, dearest.”

A begrudging sigh tore past your lips, and you staved off the sudden onslaught of turmoil. You had come to-terms with the inevitability of his departure — you had dealt with it once before, but the sting never lessened. “I understand. I loathe you and love you for it.” You murmured, your smile threadbare.

Your answer retained a twinge of lightheartedness to it, in the face of a bleak future. Gwayne couldn’t help but scoff, visage dancing with amusement as he stepped toward one of the massive walls of gardenias. Plucking a pale blossom from its stem, he crossed the stone to you, a gesture of affection.

“Loathe me, is that it?” Gwayne wouldn’t have your last moments together spent in melancholy — and you seemed to be in agreement. He placed the blossom behind your ear, carefully tucking it into place. “Have I vexed you so easily?”

Planting a palm against his chest, you allowed your fingertips to trace across plated velvet, dancing toward the Hightower sigil, embroidered into the collar. He was resplendent in noblemen’s garb, painfully handsome and fresh-faced, save for the healing cut upon his lip and bruised brow.

A taut, muscled arm moved to snake around your waist, effortlessly caging you in against him. Your saccharine scent invaded his senses, swarming around his head like a thick haze, one that he delighted in. Beneath the evening sky, he made his ardor for you known, a real and living thing.

“You are swift to credit yourself, husband. I may resort to knocking you from your pedestal.” You teased, tender voice growing softer, a mere purr to his ears. Gods, you were wonderfully divine — Gwayne brazenly squeezed your hip through your gowns, auburn brows lifting in amusement.

Instead of puffing his chest with a playful retort, Gwayne could no longer resist the tempting curve of your lips, craning down to kiss you. It was a sweet mingling of mouths, slow and exploratory, happy to take their time with one another.

The first inklings of an amorous heat crackled between the both of you, a rapturous hunger that hadn’t been sated since he returned from Rook’s Rest. You simply could not get enough of your beloved husband, hands clamoring from his plush doublet to his mane of copper tresses, gripping them tightly.

Even with the thicker material of your dress, Gwayne greedily grasped at your curves, able to feel the pliant swell of your physique beneath. You had already seduced him with your steep necklace and ample bosom — sometimes, you were more of a salacious minx than you were a maiden. He enjoyed you both ways.

Your chambers in the Red Keep seemed so far away, and neediness began to take root, desire flourishing where propriety could not. As you insistently tugged upon his auburn locks, Gwayne felt his cock stir to life within his trousers, twitching as if to remind him of his carnal need for you.

“Incomparable, I must confess,” Gwayne exhaled, hot breath fluttering across your visage. Hints of wine retained their presence upon his tongue, skin smelling of woodland musk and fine soaps. “Not a single wandering eye to find us here.” His timbre dropped into a delectable purr, lips pressing themselves to the curve of your jaw.

Exhilaration struck at the pit of your stomach, coupled with the familiar wave of arousal, its inklings slick and warm between your legs. “What are you implying, husband?” You asked, breathy and wanton, clinging to him like a drowning woman.

A low, teasing hum slipped betwixt his lips, mouth molding to your flesh, gliding across the slender column of your throat. One hand dropped to cup your derrière through the thicker material of your dress, longing to see it around your feet, instead.

A sheepish moan tore past your mouth, unabashedly stoking the fire that simmered between the both of you. Gwayne greedily lapped at your sweet skin, like a thick honey upon his tongue. “It is just you and I, sweetling. Might you indulge me?” He hummed, desperate to have you now that desire had taken hold.

Gods, you wanted him terribly.

It was a fascinating twist, with Gwayne wanting to have you here, given the publicity of the locale. He was often a man to take you to your chambers in the name of chivalry, but this daring, yearning side to him — you quite enjoyed it, his change of heart.

“Gods, I love you.” You sighed, feeling him relocate the both of you towards one of the thick, stone columns that held the gazebo aloft. It was rough against your back, but you cared little for it, hastily unlacing the bodice of your dress. The silken smallclothes you wore beneath would suffice.

A low, stifled groan escaped Gwayne’s mouth, cerulean hues sharp and amatory, roving over you with a thinly-veiled desire. “Seven Hells, you drive me to the brink of madness, wife.” He murmured, swiftly relieving you of that mound of azure velvet.

The simple slip you wore beneath clung to your curves, accentuating your physique in pale shades of ivory, nipples peeking through the thin material. His hand slithered beneath, seeking to find the slick heat of your cunt, pushing your legs apart with his thigh.

Gathering your slip within your hands, you tugged the material up, until it pooled around the swell of your hips, giving him unhindered access. Gwayne careened forward, mouth colliding with yours, lips desperately craving every fiber of your being.

His other hand moved to cup your breast through your gown, thumb languidly swiping over your pebbled nipple, teasing the bud as he rolled it between his fingers. A sharp, noisy gasp escaped you, followed by the unrestrained sound of a moan.

Your hands clamored to perch atop his shoulders, sinking down into the velvet, longing to see him naked. If you closed your eyes, it was easy to imagine, but you desired the real thing. With haste, your digits slipped toward the line of golden clasps along the front, aiming to get it unbuttoned.

“You minx.” Gwayne panted into your mouth, digits beginning to stroke along your slit. Much to his delight, you were already warmed, wet and honey-thick upon his fingers. Lips twined in hot clashes, and he never allowed it to devolve into something sloppy. Each kiss possessed meaning, a fervent love for you.

As you unclasped his doublet, he moved his arms enough to relinquish the stuffy weight of the fabric, musculature lean and taut, his skin pale and glittering in the gentle twilight. It let you squeeze his shoulders, tracing over the freckles there, reveling in his bare flesh.

Gwayne released a few breathy ‘I love you’s’ into your lips, before he relocated to the sensitive column of your throat. He spoke with reverence, as if he had come to worship his goddess, lay himself down at your feet. Your fingers wove themselves against the nape of his neck, tugging on his copper locks.

Practiced, dexterous digits continued to caress along your cunt, before pushing past your folds. He grazed your clit, sending a rush of goosebumps cascading down the length of your spine. “Gwayne,” You moaned, the sweetest melody to his ears as you rocked forward, desperate for any shred of friction. “Please!”

His cock twitched again within his breeches, aching with something powerful, needing to be inside of you. Patience was his virtue and his agony — he still wanted to taste your first. He continued to knead into your breast, evoking another blissful whine from you.

Despite wearing his honor and chivalry like a coat of armor, he cared little for the consequences of potentially being caught. He would ravish his beloved wife here in these gardens — there was no sin in such an act. Kissing along your jugular, he felt you grip and pull on his hair, filling him with an excitable fire.

“Gods, I must taste you,” Gwayne groaned, voice tinged with an alluring husk, palm continuing to caress the plush swell of your breast. The thin, silken strap of your slip began to sag, and he did not fix it, exposed to the unblemished plane of your collarbone. “If you will permit me to do so.”

“You needn’t ask, husband,” A wanton whimper left you when Gwayne’s digits abandoned your cunt, though it would soon be replaced with the fine heat of his greedy tongue. Through a lovesick gaze, you observed in rapturous silence as Gwayne sank to his knees, as if he were preparing to pray. “I belong to you.”

Watching his auburn crown move towards the apex of your thighs was a most tantalizing sight, causing your breath to hitch within your throat. Molten heat surged within your belly, churning with a violent anticipation as you braced one hand atop his shoulder.

A sight to die for, to kill for — Gwayne would’ve fought a thousand battles if it meant that you were the reward at the very end, a resplendent maiden in all of your glory. He would’ve endured torture unimaginable for you, razed down armies, destroyed cities all for you.

The first lap of his tongue caused your knees to buckle, raking hot embers across your cunt. He wedged his way in between your legs, shoulders keeping you apart just enough. Gwayne was quite candid about his enjoyment of tasting you — thoroughly cunt-struck.

A groan stirred within his chest as your fingers grazed through his copper tresses, finding their purchase near the base of his skull. He did not relent, tongue carefully splitting past your folds, greeted by the saccharine onslaught of your arousal.

“Gwayne.” A breathy sigh tore past your parted lips, lulled into subservience from the steady, exploratory laps of his tongue. He was sluggish, allowing the anticipation to mount, nose brushing along your mound.

Your taste was ambrosial, thick and heady, like a haze that he had no desire to escape from. There were many moments where he’d dreamed of this, on the march to Rook’s Rest, sprawled across his cot, fantasizing of you again and again.

He quite enjoyed the way in which you sighed his name, passion bubbling forth from your chest, head rolled back against the stone column. Careworn palms reached for your haunches, delighted to take their fill of you, caressing along the backs of your thighs.

“Exquisite,” Gwayne exhaled, catching his breath to press a string of kisses all along the inside of your thighs. “By the Seven, you taste divine.” He groaned, drunk and dizzy from your cunt. A soft moan escaped you as you coaxed him back, and he willingly obliged.

With another hot, eager lap of his tongue over your core, your knees rattled like leaves in the breeze, feeling his shoulders bully their way between your legs. A brusque, warm breeze fluttered throughout the gazebo, bathed in the waning light of the sunset. Stars began to glisten overhead, unhindered by the clouds.

Gwayne’s eagerness was palpable, able to be felt as he buried his face into your cunt, cerulean eyes fluttering shut in an expression of bliss. A groan stirred within his throat, fluttering throughout his chest as you fisted his auburn tresses, soft beneath your palms.

You could not get enough of him, keeping your hands on him in whatever way you could, chest heaving with wanton sighs. Carnality and desire permeated the air, the atmosphere thick with desperation. You always treated each moment as if it would be your last.

His mouth fervently worked against your slick cunt, sending pleasant shockwaves into the pit of your stomach. Goosebumps danced along your spine, followed by a shiver that made you moan. Your hips rolled forward, shamelessly grinding yourself into your husband’s waiting lips.

With a flick of his tongue, Gwayne sought the pearl of your cunt, lips eagerly kissing their way to your clit. He planted feather-light kisses around that sensitive clutch of nerves, causing you to tremble, digits tightening within his hair. Your grip was ironclad, but it was pleasurable for him, knowing you were enjoying yourself.

“Gods, Gwayne,” You whined, listening to the lewd noises of your chivalrous paramour suckling on your clit. Another onslaught of molten heat swirled within your stomach, seeping into your bones, manifesting as arousal between your thighs. “Do — Do not stop!” The urgency in your voice had increased exponentially.

If there were any evening stragglers in the Royal Gardens, you prayed to the Seven that they would not stumble upon the both of you.

The sight itself was inherently sinful, with you haplessly pressed against the stone column, gallant dress strewn across the ground, slip sagging along your physique. Gwayne’s emerald doublet had joined your garments below. You reveled in the sight of his head between your thighs, causing you to whimper.

Gwayne could detect when you were accelerating towards your release, able to feel the twitches and tremors in your thighs. He soothingly stroked along your silky flesh, interchanging between the greedy suckling of your clit, to long, broad strokes of his tongue.

His lips glistened with a sticky sheen of your nectar, of a finer stout than many, more delectable than any wine that had befallen his mouth. Gwayne worshiped you, kissed the ground you walked upon, and he did not feel an ounce of shame in it.

His cock throbbed with a desperate ache, precum slick around the head as it strained against his trousers. Your own satisfaction spurred him on, and your delightful noises only sent him spiraling into the depths of depravity. You hadn’t a clue of the things you did to him.

In a brazen maneuver, his tongue prodded against your entrance, gingerly thrusting inside of you. You gasped, biting at the inside of your cheek, digits raking through his auburn locks. You let your grip loosen, hips careening forward into his mouth again.

Gwayne ravished you, with the ravenous appetite of a starving dog. He moved back just enough to lap at your cunt, making a blazing trail from your entrance to your clit. “I’m close,” You huffed, issuing some warning to him before the dam had burst altogether. “Gwayne!”

It was the only word you knew in the present, his name — it rolled from your tongue in a delighted cry, laced with ardor and reverence. You reached your peak, shamelessly spilling yourself upon his tongue, and he was enamored with you.

With careful, sluggish strokes of his tongue, he delicately cleaned the mess he made of you, allowing you to bring yourself down from your peak. Even if the intensity had made you burn at a fever pitch, you were far from finished, tugging on Gwayne’s tresses to get his attention.

“Take me, husband,” It wasn’t a request — it was a demand, a command made upon a yearning wife. Desire glistened like a thick sheen within his cerulean eyes, which happened to widen at the sight of you. “Please.” You didn’t have to beg — Gwayne wanted you just as terribly.

He swiftly rose from between your legs, pupils dilated with lust as he steered you toward the stone bannister of the overlook, wide enough to support you. You sat down, hastily fumbling with the leather ties of his trousers. Gwayne parted your legs again, bending over you as he sought your mouth.

The taste of arousal — yours — fell heavy upon your tongue, lips clashing together as you desperately sought to free his cock from its confines. “I need you,” Gwayne husked against your mouth, pearlescent teeth briefly snagging on your lower lip. “Gods, how I’ve missed this, missed you.”

“Gwayne,” A moan escaped you, intermingling with his husky pants and sonorous groans. His forehead nudged against yours, lips hot and needy, and you were more than happy to reciprocate. “I need you, I …” Your voice tapered off when his cock slid against your folds.

He kept you steady, hands caging you against the bannister, the stone biting into your back as he kept you at an angle. Silk gathered around your hips, friction wafting between the both of you as he thrust forward, cock sinking into you.

Hitching a leg around his waist as best as you could, your hands roamed to his chest, nails digging into his collarbone as he began to find an erratic pace. He was loving and passionate, even still, but there was something inherently quick about his rhythm.

Perspiration glittered along his brow from the warm evening, yet it did not stop him from pounding away at you. His cock filled you perfectly, providing a delectable stretch that made your toes curl. It wasn’t an intimidating thing, but it was pretty, just like the rest of him.

Through his clenched teeth, Gwayne sang your praises, savoring the way in which your cunt constricted around him, as if drawing him in. “Seven Hells, your cunt is perfection,” Such lewd, crass words sounded so eloquent coming from his lips, as debonair as a Prince. “I cannot get enough of you, sweet wife.” He groaned.

Despite his crudely-spoken compliment, you were lost within the throes of your own pleasure, body rocked into submission by each snap of his hips. His cock bottomed out within you, movements swift yet punctuated, as if every thrust possessed meaning.

You loved Gwayne unconditionally — perhaps too much, if such a thing were possible. Your chest heaved with sweet, passionate sighs and gentle moans, forehead occasionally brushing against his. His hands kept themselves firm along your waist, curling into the silk of your slip.

His cock battered away at your slick cunt, aided by your mounting arousal. Everything felt so feverishly warm, as if you had been set ablaze, nerves feeling like they were steeped in fire. “More,” You moaned, and it effectively caught Gwayne’s attention. “Gwayne, please.” He was weak to your soft pleas.

Your beloved husband lacked harshness when it came to intimacy, something you adored about him. Even when his thrusts became desperate and erratic, chasing after his release, he never resorted to using you. His lips sought the column of your throat, nose brushing along your jugular.

A string of kisses peppered themselves against your sweet flesh, with the occasional suckling of his lips to your neck. A myriad of throaty whines and whimpers continued to leave you in droves, cunt pathetically clenching around him.

Buckling forward, Gwayne planted one palm against the stone bannister, the other caging in around you as he continued to pound away into your needy cunt. He kissed you wherever he could, dwindling into desperation and the innate desire to taste your sweet flesh.

His lips parted slightly, a strained grunt escaping him as he thrust forward again, until there was nowhere left for him to go. Gwayne pulled back just enough, the head of his cock still inside of you before he moved forward again. The friction made you shiver, fingers grasping at the nape of his neck.

His name continued to slip from your mouth, over and over again, like a whispered prayer. Your nails left behind red crescents upon his skin, sharp brands of your lovemaking. Gwayne groaned against your throat, desiring to kiss you once more, lips laying claim to yours with a fervor.

With another snap of his hips, Gwayne shuddered, nearly collapsing into you as he reached his peak. Hot ropes of seed brazenly spilled inside of you, warming your insides as he attempted to catch his breath. You pressed your forehead to his, breathing with him, allowing your hands to slack.

Gwayne politely removed himself from you, mindful of your garments as he fixed your gown back into place. The slip itself was disheveled, but he ensured its tidiness before you got dressed again.

“How divine you are,” Gwayne hummed, planting gentle kisses along the side of your face before it ended at the curve of your jaw. “Beautiful beyond comprehension.” He murmured, using two digits to delicately place the strap of your slip back upon your shoulder.

“You flatter me, husband,” Your smile was warm and amiable, the brightness of springtime, bringing a rosy flush to his features. “I quite enjoyed your brazen streak.” Through a smitten confession, Gwayne kissed your brow, lips twitching into a debonair smirk.

“I am not ashamed of ravishing my wife, be it in our chambers or in the garden,” He replied, reaching for his velveteen doublet and your azure dress. It was easy for him to slip back into the stuffy material, and he was more than happy to assist you. “I cannot get enough of you.”

His words were tantalizing, as if intended to bring about another string of salacious thoughts. Gwayne stood behind you as you stepped back into your dress, helping to lace your bodice up again. He planted a kiss along your exposed shoulder, and then to the crook of your neck.

You reached for his hand, letting it drape across your shoulder as you pressed a delicate kiss against his bruised knuckles. “You shall have me, Gwayne — for as long as you desire me.” You sighed, feeling his nose brush along your cheek, the warmth of his body pressing in behind you.

With a kiss to your temple, one oozing with such fondness and ardor that you feared you might melt, Gwayne’s lips hovered near the shell of your ear. In the twinkling dusk, he held you close. “Forever, then.”

#house of the dragon #gwayne hightower x reader #gwayne hightower x you #gwayne hightower x y/n #hotd x reader #house of the dragon smut #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd smut #gwayne hightower #gwayne x reader #game of thrones x reader

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ellecdc · 5 months ago

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The Hazards of Hiccoughs

poly!darksun x fem!reader who falls for one of James' pranks by accident

prompts: "anything with dark sun" & "reader gets caught in the crossfire of one of their pranks", scenario by @unstablereader

CW: Barty threatening murder (the usual), descriptions of asthma and asthma attack, reader panics because she can't breathe, hurt/comfort but mostly fluff and humour

One word to describe James Potter would be, without a doubt, brave.

If you asked his friends to find words to describe him, he may get the odd “clever”, “mischievous”, “troublesome”, “annoying git” etcetera; but at the end of the day, no one could deny that James Potter was, in fact, brave.

He was a Gryffindor, afterall.

He spent his spare time flying on an enchanted piece of bark as high as the tallest towers in Hogwarts (and oftentimes then some), and finding many new and creative ways to give his mother a few more grey hairs by performing tricks and stunts at said heights.

He spent an evening every month with the likes of a werewolf, and didn’t even quiver at the prospect of being sent to Azkaban when he became an unregistered animagus.

He’s battled racist gits on the school grounds, found himself facing grounds for detention, suspension, and expulsion all in the name of mischief, and he has made both enemies and the greatest of friendships with the likes of Slytherin’s.

In fact, one of James’ bravest ventures was getting the likes of one Barty Crouch Junior into his bed.

So, yeah….James Potter was brave.

So brave.

Except, maybe not right now.

Except maybe, right now, he was very much decidedly not brave and actually very much afraid.

What was James so afraid of, one might wonder?

Oh, well, you remember that very brave venture James made once upon a brave moment where he won over the affections of one such Barty Crouch Junior?

Yeah, that.

James was afraid of that.

Or, more specifically, James was very much afraid of what Barty was going to do when he found out what James had done (inadvertently!!!) to you.

You see, one of those things James was so well known for? You know? His mischief. Well, he’d had a brilliant pranking idea.

He and Sirius knew that Regulus bought caramel sugar quills every Hogsmeade trip for the Slytherin common room, as it was a crowd favourite.

During one of James and Sirius’ (many) recent detentions, they had the (quite brilliant, if you asked either of them) idea of using the same charm used in hiccough lollies sold at Zonko's on the sugar quills, thus sending the Slytherin gits (affectionate, since one of them was James’ adopted little brother and the other was his boyfriend, and, you know, all of their closest friends) into a hiccoughing fit!

It was hilarious, and James wasn’t ashamed to admit that he and Sirius laughed so hard at the vision of them hiccoughing their way through the castle that they were given another detention for their behaviour during detention.

And it had gone oh so smoothly.

James was often in the Slytherin common room either with or without you on account of both of your relationship with Barty, and was able to place them in their usual spot on a dark stained wooden cabinet beside the fireplace without rousing much suspicion.

It had gone perfectly.

So perfectly, that is, until his poor sweet angel came running to him choking and coughing and wheezing with tear tracks down your pretty face because you had fallen for his (now very obviously) stupid and idiodic prank.

James had been present for a few of your asthma attacks before, but none of them seemed quite as bad as this one. He always had one of your inhalers in his room for emergencies, and you had convinced yourself that the one you had on your person was either faulty or expired, but no sooner would the medication begin to soothe your air-thirsty lungs would you begin hiccoughing again and the cycle would continue.

It didn’t help that you were clearly panicked, and James didn’t think that was completely unreasonable seeing as you couldn’t breathe, so James had worked hard to remain as calm as he possibly could for the both of you.

He’d nicked one of Moony’s calming draught’s for you and brought you and your inhalers up to the top of the astronomy tower for some quiet and fresh air; rubbing circles along your back, taking deep, methodical breaths with you, helping you take another puff when the hiccoughing began to take over, and washed, rinsed, and repeated until the hiccoughing had finally subsided.

You were undoubtedly exhausted after the emotional ordeal, and James opted to bring you down to his dorm so you could sleep it off (and so that he could keep an eye on you).

He watched your form almost obsessively where you were curled up in his bed in one of his quidditch jumpers from his desk chair; watching your chest rise and fall evenly, without restriction as he fought to bring his own panic down.

“Merlin that could have been bad.” Sirius let out with a breath from his own bed, joining James in watching you breathe as if he too needed convincing that you still were.

“Don’t.” James bit out sharply. “Don’t even go there.”

“How’d she even get to them before anyone else did?” He continued, agreeing with James that wondering what might have happened if you hadn’t found James was too scary.

“Because we had the brilliant idea of going during Slytherin's quidditch practice.” James sneered, still never removing his gaze from your chest.

“What are you going to tell Junior?” He asked then, causing James’ stomach to lurch not at all pleasantly.

One of the things James loved so much about Barty was how much he loved. Barty loved everything with all the intensity of a fiendfyre explosion; he dedicated himself mind, body, and soul 110% to those he cherished.

And one thing Barty cherished perhaps most in the whole wide world was you.

“Do I have to tell him?” James groaned then, finally moving his gaze from you to the face of his thoroughly bemused best friend.

“Will she not tell him?”

James responded with a noncommittal sound as Peter walked in the door.

“Tell who what?” He asked as he let his book bag fall to the ground with a thud, earning him a hasty “shhhh” from James and “Tell Barty we almost killed his Treasure” from Sirius.

“Oh, well I just let him into the common room.” Peter offered simply as he laid back casually on his four poster bed.

“You what!?” James beseeched, earning him a hasty “sshhh” from Sirius.

“He said he was coming to find you. Stopped to ask Remus about a book they were talking about last week first.” Peter responded with a shrug.

“No! No. Nonononono.” James began chanting as he took off in a sprint towards the common room.

James nearly ricocheted off of Barty from how fast he’d been going down the stairs that both of them winced as they took the other in.

“Salazar, Jamie. I’m happy to see you too but you didn’t have to tackle me like some muggle American footballer.” He groaned as he massaged his ribs.

“Sorry! Sorry. Hi! Hi, bubs. How are you? How was practice!?” James rapid-fired with faux cheer.

So along with being brave, mischievous, and perhaps more than a little bit afraid of his boyfriend, James was also a terrible liar.

“What’s going on?” Barty asked suspiciously after scanning James’ face for only 0.7 seconds.

“Nothing! What? What do you mean!? Nothing, of course!”

“What did you do?” He deadpanned; his question poised more like a demand of honesty than it was an inquiry.

James forced out his most disbelieving scoff. “Wha- what do you mean? Nothing, of course! Why, why would I have done anything?”

“You’re literally always up to no good which is usually why I like you so much, but this-” Barty paused to wave a hand over James rather generally, “is freaking me out. Spill.”

“Okay, listen, she’s alright, but-”

“Where is she?” Barty demanded - any levity quickly seeping from his face and tone as he stood up straighter.

“I just said she was okay, Barty-”

“Which means she wasn’t okay at some point.”

“There….may have been an incident.” James offered slowly.

“For fucks sa- get out of my way.” Barty grumbled as he shoved his way past James and took the stairs two at a time to get to James’ dorm room.

“How’d he know she was up there?” James wondered aloud, surprised when Remus answered him.

“I told him the two of you were upstairs.” He said as he fell into step with James.

“You told him!?”

Remus rolled his eyes so hard James was actually certain that this would be the time they finally got stuck like that. “Of course I didn’t, you prat. Why would I waste the chance to watch the theatrics.”

James groaned as they rounded the corner to their shared dorm, emotionally (and physically) bracing himself for said theatrics, only to find Barty kneeling on the floor beside James’ bed as he brushed your hair away from your face.

“That must’ve been really scary.” Barty murmured quietly; a divot between his eyebrows as he scanned your face as if looking to see any lingering signs of distress.

“M’okay; Jamie took care of me.” You responded quietly; words stretched out by the exhaustion still clearly weighing you down.

Barty hummed noncommittally and continued scanning your face. “Do you still want me to kill him for you though? You know I will, yeah?” He offered, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your (what James was sure was still overheated) face.

You chuckled and turned your face to him so he could press a kiss to your lips.

“No, I like him too much.” You offered softly as you nuzzled back into James’ pillow. “So do you.”

“Do not.” Barty argued petulantly, causing you to swing your arm out at him.

He caught it quickly and brought your knuckles to his lips. “Don’t exert yourself.”

“Don’t tell lies.” You countered.

Barty groaned dramatically and threw his head back. “Fine; I’m crazy about him. But I’d still kill him, you know?”

“You’re all bark.”

“He doesn’t need to know that.” Barty hissed back in faux chiding as he locked his now narrowed eyes onto James, and even though James had been privy to the conversation that just took place, he couldn’t help the nervous gulp he took.

“Seems like we might’ve gone scot-free for this one.” Sirius stage whispered at James, causing Barty’s somewhat dark glare at James to turn into something downright murderous when it moved to Sirius.

“You might want to run.” Remus stage whispered at Sirius who then took his own nervous gulp.

“It was nice knowing you, Moons.” Sirius offered solemnly with a head nod. “Pete, take care of our boy, yeah?”

Peter, for his part, offered Sirius nothing more than a thumbs up from his bed as he and James began backing slowly out of the dorm room.

“Barty - my love - I just want you to remember how much you love and care for me, yeah? And also that sweet angel over there, who would definitely not like to have me dead or for you to spend time in prison for murdering my best friend- NOW, PADS!”

And like two characters on a muggle cartoon show, the two Gryffindors went scrambling from the doorway.

And if James had perhaps stuck around even a single moment longer, he would have heard Barty ask you if he could “at least scare them a little?” to which you simply replied “be my guest.”

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fandomlit · 5 months ago

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gif cred belongs to @larryluvz

requested by anon "SOMETHING WITH YOUNG!REMUS LUPIN CRUSHING ON FEM!READER PLEASEEE"

imagine catching remus lupin staring at you

"don't look now," your friend whispered in your ear. you jumped slightly, turning to her with a warning look. she paid no mind to your glare, "but remus lupin is staring at you like you're his last meal."

your face erupted into flames. "you're a wicked woman," you muttered, turning back to the notes you were jotting down.

"i'm not kidding!" she whispered harshly. "he seriously can't takes his eyes off of you!"

you looked up at her again with a huff. "he's probably just zoning out-" but when you turned your gaze toward the brunette it was clear he wasn't just staring into space--no, his gaze was laser focused on you. your eyes connected for the briefest of shocking moments before remus cleared his throat lightly and hunched back over his parchment, quill scratching away like he had never paused. your mouth hung open slightly, but you were snapped back to reality when your friend started snickering in your ear.

"don't look now," james whispered in remus's ear, but the boy was determinedly keeping his gaze and burning face down, "but i think y/n caught you staring."

#harry potter #marauders era #maruaders era fanfic #marauders x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fanfic #marauders fanfic #marauders imagine #remus lupin imagine #harry potter fanfic #james potter #hp x reader #hp imagine #hp fanfic #harry potter world x reader

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quill-and-again · 10 days ago

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A Moment - Marco the Phoenix

[Moments are interactions between Quill and other One Piece characters/OCs that may not ever make it into the more canonical long-form stories. They can be angsty, spicy, smutty, or feature "bad ends". It's a way for me to play with Quill without the weighty commitment of "canon".]

Summary: Confession.

Warning: While Quill is an OC, I write them in the "reader" perspective, because they're a reincarnator and their first life was this Earth/Reality. As a fan of One Piece, they are almost more "reader" than OC. This can be jarring for folks, hence the warning. (this may change the more I develop Quill)

Warning: Uh, this might actually be in the canon story XD so possible fic spoilers??

"You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen." You blurt out the words without thinking. Well, no, that wasn't right, it was all you had been thinking since you woke up this morning.

Marco's eyes go wide, and so do yours. Heat rushes into your face and you look away covering your mouth.

"Oh-my-goooooods, I'm so sorry, I just... I just said that, didn't I?" You turn away from him entirely, mortification gripping you.

Running off would be worthless, you were both on the Moby right now, and while you could swim, you probably couldn't reach the next island. Besides, you weren't going to be leaving the crew unless you got kicked off, so it was better to face the fallout now.

"You think so, huh?" Marco says, a tone in his voice that sends relief and a sweet thrill up your spine.

"Yeah," you swallow thickly, trying to calm your nerves, your pounding heart, and the small, dense, heavy, ball of fear in your stomach. You take a deep breath to calm yourself a little bit more, and turn back toward him.

A dozen lives. Centuries worth of years lived. You'd known love, pleasure, joy, fear, hatred, anger - all of them, in all ways and contexts. There wasn't anything you hadn't experienced at this point.

But somehow.

For some reason.

You were nervous. You were scared. There wasn't anything that was going to happen that wasn't either reciprocation, or rejection, and no matter which you'd survive. It wasn't anything you hadn't experienced before.

But when you manage to face him again, heat and blood flushed into your face, making your ears burn, you can't deny that you want desperately for things to work out. For you to connect, to learn about one another in ways that only time and devotion can provide.

"Right now, yoi," he hums softly, reaching out and taking the length of hair that frames your face between his fingers. "I think you have me beat." He admits, kissing the strands curled between his fingers.

#excuse me while I just scream into my pillow #quill oc #one piece oc #x reader #reader insert #quill and again moments #marco the phoenix #A Moment - Marco the Phoenix #side blog

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schoenpepper · 4 months ago

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Sensory Overload (Housewardens)

Intro: It's him, it's him, it's all so him. Like the perfect happy ending to your fairytale, there's always a confession and a kiss.

Warnings: bad grammar, awful writing, not proofread, loser Idia but that's normal right, kinda suggestive but nothing nuts

A/N: Never making the mistake of asking what people want for a follower milestone celebration again :( So this is my happy 200 followers to you, and to myself.

Too many weeks of yearning, and pining, and unbirthday invitations; too many hours of sleep lost when you haunt him even in his dreams. Riddle finally cracks when he sees you one too many times with the ADeuce combo (he wants you to smile with him, laugh with him like that too). He pulls you to an empty classroom, and he’s bright red as he stammers out his feelings for you.

“Y/N, I really like you.”

What can you do but respond in kind when he’s so cute and shy like this?

“Riddle,” you say with a smile, “I like you too.”

He takes one of your hands into his own, pressing a small kiss on the back of your knuckles. His pretty gray eyes, like storm clouds above the sea, a raging tempest making its way to your heart and tearing down all the walls you’d built for yourself. Most of all, you see love swirling within them. Enough to ignore the school bell that had just rung. Enough to get ‘indecently’ close to you. Enough to drown you. He smells like roses and lemon tea, sweet and citrusy and floral, and his lips, you barely feel the moment they’re on yours.

He’s looking away in embarrassment.

You tug him back to you. “I think we need a redo.”

The moment Leona realizes he likes you (no way he’s saying love this early, try again), he’s knocking on the door of your dorm. You wake up to find a handsome lion beastman, emerald green eyes staring right at you and it’s, admittedly, a very rude wake up call. Sure he’s hot, but getting kabedon’d to the front door at 5 in the morning was definitely not in your plans for a casual Saturday.

You can’t complain.

Mostly because he’s already kissing you before you’re even awake enough to register that Leona Kingscholar is kissing you while keeping you pinned against the door, one hand on your waist and the other on the back of your neck to keep you from escaping. He smells like cedarwood and the slightest hint of smoke, his lips are slightly chapped but so soft, and his tongue sweeps over your lip. You deny his silent ask for entry and pull away.

“Good…morning…?” You say in a daze.

“Herbivore,” Leona drawls slowly, leaning back in again, “I like you. Be mine.”

You’re kidnapped right after your Magic History exam, and really, you’re just thankful that Floyd and Jade decided to wait until after your exam before taking you against your will. You feel like a tourist attraction, slung over Floyd’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You’re dropped off in front of the Mostro Lounge VIP room. Azul is waiting for you with a contract, and you read it with a laugh. “Party A is to be in a formal relationship with Party B, of romantic nature which indicates—Azul, this is stupid.”

You watch the man, almost uncharacteristically, curl in on himself at your words.

Even though you did just kind of mock it, you still pick up the fishbone quill and sign your name on the dotted line. You toss the contract to the side and stand up, bending over his fancy wood table to pull him by the collar and look him in his pretty eyes you can never understand the color of. Maybe you just need some more time to stare at them.

“Azul,” you whisper softly, “I like you too.”

He smells like expensive cologne, sea salt and vanilla and something else. His lips are so soft and sweet when you tug him in to meet yours, he’s awkward and inexperienced and everything about this mafioso wannabe is adorable to you right now.

Better hope the door is locked.

Every Scarabia party is usually punctuated with you passing out in your bed. This one is different. Just as the music is dying down and the number of people are dwindling, a nervous Kalim asks you to go on a carpet ride with him. So. You’re alone, up in the skies, with the guy you like. Yay. You hold onto the tassels for dear life.

“Y/N, I have to tell you something.”

You look at Kalim. His eyes look like rubies crystallized from blood, but his gaze is innocent, sweet, and it reminds you more of strawberry flavored lollipops than it does a crime scene. He moves closer to you, and you can’t back off or you’ll fall off the carpet.

So you fall for Kalim instead.

He smells woody, and like a mix of different spices that probably shouldn’t smell as good in combination as they do on him. “I like you,” he says softly, cupping your cheek. You don’t stop him when he leans in for a slow kiss, tender and gentle as if any rough and sudden movement could cause you to break. His lips are chapped, but he tastes faintly of the fruit juice you’d seen him drink earlier.

“I like you too.”

Valentines’. Lovely. The best holiday ever. The perfect day to spill all your romantic feelings to someone who could so very easily crush it under his five inch stilettos.

You hold onto your flowers and try to smell your breath. You’re not optimistic enough to think your confession will end in a kiss, but it’s okay to dream, right? You knock on the door. It opens to reveal the person you’ve been hopelessly in love with for a while, and you meet lilac irises reminiscent of lavender fields in the Shaftlands. Vil glances down at your bouquet with a knowing smile.

You offer it to him. He takes it.

“Happy Valentines’ day.”

“Thank you, spudling.”

Awkward silence. This is the part where you confess. “Vil, I like you. A lot.”

This is the part you get rejected. Luckily for you, you don’t. Soft, sweet lips meet yours in a haphazard kiss as you’re pulled into his room, with the slightest taste of grapes, probably from his lip gloss. He smells like the bouquet of flowers you’d brought him, and like the patch of herbs you pass by everyday by the greenhouse.

“Darling, I’ve waited for far too long to hear you say that.”

You wake up in Idia’s bed after a day-long gaming session, meeting a pair of eyes that look like liquid gold. He's staring at your face like a cat. “Hi, Idia,” you murmur sleepily, “what time is it?”

“Uh,” he looks at his phone, “like, 6 p.m.?”

“Have you been staring at me while I slept?”

He blinks. “No?”

You roll around on the bed and take him down with you, your hands on either side of him as you hovered above him. You lean down closer and closer and closer, until he’s squealing and whimpering. He smells musty, to be honest, and it’s probably the sweatshirt he’s wearing that he hasn’t changed out of in two days, with the slightest whiff of cheese puffs. “What are you doing?!”

“Idia,” you say with a yawn, before grinning mischievously, “I like you.”

“Are you for real…?”

You close the distance, and he doesn’t fight you off, so you call that a success. His lips are dry as hell, so you do him a favor and lick them for him.

Tastes like cheese puffs too.

Malleus saw you as a friend. That’s it. He saw you as someone to trust and spend time with, a mortal who held no fear towards him or his powers that could easily send the entire island underwater. You don’t think there’s anything special enough about you that could make the Malleus Draconia fall in love with you the way you’ve fallen hopelessly, irredeemably, in love with him. So no, you don’t have the highest hopes when you look into his stunning green eyes, so vibrant and lovely that no forest could ever compare. Not when you cup his cheeks with your hands.

Not when you kiss him.

He tastes like the milk candy you’d just given him minutes before, and smells vaguely of smoke and vetiver. You take his passivity as a sign to go further (in any case, you don’t think this’ll ever happen again). Your kiss is more desperate, chasing after his lips and your hands move to tangle themselves in his hair.

You pull away to see the Prince of Briar Valley blushing.

“What…is the meaning of this…?”

“I’m sorry Malleus, I just—” you messed up, now you can’t even be friends anymore, “—I like you, Malleus. I’m sorry, I understand if you never want to see me again.”

He doesn’t reply. He only smiles and pulls you back in for another.

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puffleyia · 8 months ago

Text

After Hours || Theodore Nott

Theodore Nott x fem!reader || 2.3k words

Warnings: Unprotected & clothed sex, p-in-v, Theo speaking some Italian (hope the translations are accurate..) yeah, i'm a sucker for that.

Summary: Exams are two weeks time from now. You've made a deliberate effort to steer clear of your boyfriend, Theo. One unfortunate night, he ends up dragging you into an empty classroom and teaches you a lesson worth remembering.

Author's notes: Hellooo, requests are open ! It's a blast writing ab Theo !! I've only gotten back into writing recently after not writing fics for a good while. sorry if i'm slow at churning out fics. I'm busy!

It was roughly two weeks before examinations, and professors have even stopped giving out homework as to focus students’ time on reviewing for their respective subjects. You’ve been studying your ass off in the library day and night, sometimes offering your friends to join in as well. Though, they quickly get bored as they soon offer to do much more interesting things than studying such as having a go at wizard chess, or exploding snap.

It took a lot of self control not to join them, and it took even more not to just put down your book and see Theo. You had been purposely avoiding him because he would always end up distracting you, one way or another. You always catch him stealing a glance at you, and you would almost squirm at the way he looked at you; severely in discomfort as the tension between you two only continued to rise due to the lack of interaction.

It felt suffocating to say the least, so you even began trying not to even breathe in his direction. Needless to say, the bastard still had his ways. He would sometimes sneak up behind you in the library, as you pore over the shelves, inviting himself in as he grabbed your waist and buried his face in your neck. Another is when he would attempt to ensnare you right after your classes.

In the end, you always found yourself ending up hiding away in your common room. You would get past him just by the skin of your teeth each time, as he used his cunning words and a dangerous tone that was like poisoned honey.

You thought, or, more like hoped it would be a quiet night tonight, staying up past curfew hours at the library and praying none of the professors nor prefects would catch you. Though perhaps you were too engrossed in Advanced Potion Making to notice the echo of footsteps that slowly grew louder as it drew nearer to you. Your ears simply blanked it out as mere white noise.

It had not even registered yet in your head until you felt an arm wrap around your shoulder, as someone sat beside you. You didn’t need to look to know who it was, as you could see him faintly through your peripherals. “You’ve been so distant lately, amore,” he says, his tone unhappy and laced with a hint of something else you couldn’t quite make out underneath it.

“Sorry, Theo, I-I’m only trying to focus on the exams at the moment. I mean, not in a bad way but, if I spend time with you, I’ll only end up distracted,” you say, trying to clarify yourself to him. Maybe it would’ve been a good idea to tell him sooner. He sighs, “I guess I’ll just have to–” he gets cut off as you both stiffen at the sound of someone approaching.

He hastily places a firm hand over your mouth, silencing your protests, and shoves your book, notes, and quill into your arms. Before you could object, he then relocates you two into an empty classroom, hastily and skillfully sneaking around the halls to get there. It looked unkempt, and it seemed as if it were not used regularly either. He finally released you from his grasp as you gasped for air. “Theo! What the he–” you say, as he quickly covers your mouth again. “Shh, you’re gonna get us caught, principessa.” He says in a low voice, in a near-whisper before he lets go again. “Ahem,” you clear up your throat before you speak, “I-I believe I should get going, Theo.” He furrows his brows at that, frowning slightly. You head towards the classroom’s door, before he grabs you by the waist from behind and pulls you in.

“Who said you were leaving, hm? Are you trying to avoid me again?” He says, as he moved the both of you to sit on one of the chairs. You remain in his arms, unable to get out despite your attempts to wiggle out and you end up on his lap. “Theo.” You say firmly, trying to assert yourself to let him know you really are serious about studying. “Mm, fine, since you’re so stubborn. Tell you what, how about I study with you?” He says suggestively, his voice making you feel things you were not supposed to. Not right now at least.

“Really?” You say skeptically, raising an eyebrow. You place your stuff down, with a dull thud as it is placed on the table. Sounding slightly annoyed, he says, “What's with the attitude, hm? Are you doubting me?” “F-fine, then,” you hesitantly agree, knowing he’s got you exactly where he wants to be. Alone with him.

“Brava ragazza,” he says, as he rests his head on your shoulder whilst flipping open your book. You can not help but faintly squeeze your thighs together, you didn’t know most of the time what he was saying when he spoke to you in Italian, but you found it incredibly hot when he did. Your actions do not go unnoticed by him, though he was not going to do anything yet. You pick up your quill, your eyebrows knitting together as you attempt to focus on taking your notes.

“Tell you what, I’ll ask you a few questions to help you. If you get it right, I won’t do anything. If you don't…” He says, his voice trailing off as he does not continue what he was going to say, though the timbre in his voice gave enough implication. You gulp and nod, your throat bobbing as you swallow. You knew you did not really have much of a say, Theo’s done a good job of cornering you. Not to mention the fact he knew you were slightly struggling with potions, too.

“Right then, amore, can you tell me how Golpalott’s Third Law influences the effectiveness and stability of potions?” He asked amusedly, his foot tapping the floor rhythmically. “Uhm,” you say, muttering in an attempt to answer, “Uh, well, it’s... um, when you have a potion with, uh, lots of different poisons, right? So, um, the antidote... it's not just, um, the sum of... wait, no, it's more than that! Yeah, um…” You begin feeling your mouth go dry as the tension in the room fills the air. You feel your heart thump loudly against your ribcage.

“It’s when you have multiple poisons mixed together in a potion, the antidote needs to be more potent or comprehensive to counteract their combined effects.” He says, cockily smirking as he corrects you. Your breath hitches as he takes off your robes and his, tossing it aside as he hikes up your skirt and gropes you. “Theo!” You gasp at his actions. He buries his face on the crook of your neck, as he breathed in your scent before he began kissing it.

“Cazzo,” he mumbles before he spat out another question, “What are the common ingredients and methods used to counteract the effects of different poisons?” You feel the tent in his pants growing, his cock pressing against your clothed cunt. “I–” You manage to get out before biting your lip, stifling a moan. You had reviewed this, but lust simply clouded your mind for you to formulate a cohesive answer.

“Um, er.. D-dittany, for uhm, venom,” you say, as Theo continued teasing you, grinding his hips upwards so that you could feel his dick. You moan at the friction on your pussy, feeling your panties get wet. “I..” You slur, unable to say anything further. “Cockdrunk already, cara mia?” He lets out a guttural laugh, bending you over the table and grabbing your hips roughly as he continues grinding his cock on your pussy.

“Don’t forget, Bezoar, for example–” he grunts, “–is a stone found in the stomach of certain magical creatures like goats. It's known for its ability to neutralise many poisons when ingested. Then there's the Antidote to Common Poisons…” He corrects you, adding more strings of information you probably needed. Though, it was not as if you were paying attention, as you were moving your hips hungrily back onto his dick, only being separated by thin fabric.

“Merda, might as well just fuck you if you keep getting my questions wrong, principessa.” He says, his voice dangerously low as you hear the clink of his belt unbuckling and the distinct sound of his fly unzipping. You look over your shoulder, watching him intently as he pulls down his dark grey boxers and frees his cock. “Theo, please,” you whine, as he smacks your ass and pushes your panties aside. “I thought you were too busy studying? Maybe I should just leave you to that,” he teases you, tapping his dick on your cunt and rubbing it in between your folds.

“No, please,” you plead, and desperately you pressed yourself onto his cock. “Beg, cara mia,” he husked condescendingly, enjoying humiliating you as he continued teasing your wet pussy. “Please, mmhn–” you moan, “I’m sorry, Theo. I-I need it, please, need your cock,” you whimper, flushed from embarrassment as he finally slipped the tip inside you. He pressed inside, at a gruellingly slow pace.

“Cazzo, una puttana così sporca, aren’t you huh?” You could not place your finger on a single word he said in Italian, but your pussy definitely could. He groaned loudly as he grew impatient, shoving the rest of his dick into you. His groin pressed flush against your ass. You moaned loudly at that, and with a swift motion, he reached out and clamped his hand over your mouth. “Shh, cara mia,” he whispers sultrily in your ear as he quickly silences you, unwilling for the both of you to get caught.

You let out a few muffled sounds against his hand as he began thrusting into you, slowly drawing out his cock as he slammed it back into you with such force that the table beneath you shook. “Such a slut aren’t you? Merda,” He rasped as he uncovers your mouth, “yes!” you say, as he’s eliciting vulgar moans from you each time he fucked his dick back in.

He slithered his hand down onto your pussy, rubbing your clit. He leans in, grunting, as he kisses your nape. He sucks on your neck, trailing down to your back, leaving red marks as he sealed each one afterwards with a kiss. “Ti senti così maledettamente bene, amore,” he groaned, only setting his pace rougher as he hit a particularly deep spot inside you, hitting your cervix.

“Oh fuck, Theo,” you whine, as you tried to remain as quiet as you could. Your hands firmly grip onto the edges of the table, your nails digging into it, as he fucks you into oblivion. Tears brim at your eyes, as close them shut. Some teardrops cling onto your pretty lashes, and some flow down your cheek, falling down, staining the pages of your book. He loved watching you cry in pleasure, observing your expressions as he drove himself into you.

He loomed over you, using a hand to cup your jaw to force your head to look up at his face. “Open your mouth, cara mia.” He said, an authoritative tone that rolled off his tongue like butter. You oblige, parting your lips, your tongue lolling out as you do. He spits in your mouth, the hand holding your chin clamping your jaw shut afterwards . “Swallow.”

You do as he says, swallowing his spit as he lets go of your jaw and your head hangs down soon after. With that, he fucks you rougher, his pace frantic. You become nothing short of a moaning mess, he returns his hand to your clit and strokes it rhythmically in time with his thrusts. You let out small whimpers and whines as you feel hazy and drunk on his cock.

Theo, in an intoxicated trance, mutters a string of curses and praises in Italian. You cry out his name in ecstasy with every jab at your sweet spot as he ploughs into you. You feel a familiar warmth pooling at your stomach, only feeling more pleasurable by the second. “Theo, m’gonna cum, T-Theo,” you babble almost incoherently. He leans in briefly, and in a gravelly tone, “Cum on my cock, cara mia.” He says, letting his breath trickle down your neck.

Spasming around him, you dissolve into pleasure as you see stars. You selfishly clench around his dick, as if you wanted to milk him dry. Cumming all over his cock, you quite literally bury your face into your book, in an attempt to muffle the loud moan you let out as you do.

His thrusts grow languid and sloppy, hips stuttering unrhythmically as his climax nears. “Want me to cum inside you, principessa?” He husked, now digging his fingers into your hips as he chased his high. “Yes, yes, mhn–” you chant, unable to think straight. “Theo, please,” you pleaded.

With one final thrust, he groans loudly and buries himself fully inside you and stuffs your pussy with his cum. You felt his cock pulsing inside you, both of you panting as he rode out his orgasm. “Fuck, atta girl,” he says breathily, praising you as he pulls out of your cunt. He watches as you softly moan as you feel white globs of cum trickle out of your folds, dripping down your thighs.

He hastily tucks his cock back into his pants, pulling your skirt back in place as he walks (more like carries) you back to your common room that night before he headed back to his. Well, it was safe to say you definitely got nothing done that night, though he makes it up to you the following afternoon by actually helping you study with potions.

#slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys smut #thedore nott x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott smut #theodore nott x reader smut #theo nott #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #harry potter universe #harry potter fanfiction #hp smut #theodore nott x reader

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entitled-fangirl · 1 month ago

Note

I feel like Cregan and his wife do a TON of simple intimacies. Wolfmans love language is all of them. He is stupidly whipped for his lovely and EVERYONE knows. Wife taking a bath? Cregan is in the bath with her just because he loves the intimacy of it (even if it doesn’t turn into spicy time which it definitely has) Wife getting undressed for the day? Cregan is on his knees undoing her boots and will help with her dress strings just because he loves to touch her. Mention something she likes at the market? It’s wrapped in a pretty bow that night on her dresser. Cregan feels his lovely getting insecure? Not on his watch! That man worships the ground his wife walks on and you cannot say otherwise.

PREACH!!! 🗣️

.......................................................

Cregan finished the last letter, happy to throw his quill on the desk and be done with his work. His eyes trailed over to his wife.

He had talked her into bathing in his solar so the two could spend time together, even if completing different tasks. It was not the first time they had done so, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

He stood up and stretched, carefully following along with the story she was telling, her head leaned back against the copper rim of the tub and her eyes closed.

He shrugged off his clothing, piece by piece, throwing it all over his desk with no care.

"-And then?" He hummed when she went quiet.

Her head tilted, but her eyes stayed closed. "Mmm, there was something else. Can't remember."

"Strange to forget the middle of a nightmare, hm?" He asked as he pulled the last of his clothing off.

"Well, only the end of it was bad," she said with a hushed tone. Cregan's hand came to her shoulder, and she naturally sat up, leaning forward on instinct. He'd wash her on occasion, and she assumed he'd do so again.

"Move forward," he muttered lightly as she continued to speak about her nightmare. She did so without much thought.

"And it was Winterfell, but it didn't look like it. It had the same stones and the snow but-" she paused, her eyes finally opening and her head turning to the side. "-What are you doing?"

His leg had entered the tub, the other one following. He said nothing as he lowered his body into the tub behind his wife.

She turned her body just enough to see him. "Cregan! There's not enough room!" She giggled.

As he settled into the tub, he pulled her up onto his lap. He held her close and let his hands run up and down her sides. "Seems to be enough room," his low voice murmured into her ear.

She got comfortable against him. A content sigh escaping her.

"Now," he said with a kiss to her head, "continue telling me about this nightmare of yours."

…

The moment she began to tug at the laces of her dress, Cregan watched. His eyes stayed on her, looking for a way to assist her.

He made a quick decision, the mighty northern lord dropping to his knees in front of her and unlacing his wife's boots.

She held her skirt up for him. "Cregan, you don't have t-"

"-Quiet," he softly reprimanded. He made no motion to stop. His hand occasionally came up to brush his hair back when it fell into his face.

With the boots unlaced, he ran a hand up her left leg, forcing her to bend at the knee and lift her leg up. He gently pulled the boot off, leaving a kiss on her shin once he had done so, then repeated it all with the other leg.

Her skirt fell back into place, but Cregan stayed. His head tipped back to admire the woman in front of him. His hands now came to her hips and he leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on her stomach.

…

She entered their chamber, feeling exhausted from their day travels. They had spent hours outside of Winterfell at the market, connecting with the people of the north.

Now it was all setting in, the exhaustion, the weariness. She groaned lightly as she shut the door, going to the bed without undressing.

On the furs laid a small package, wrapped carefully with a parchment. It was unmarked but clearly placed with intention. She hesitated but decided to discover the contents of such a mysterious thing.

Taking extra caution to no tear the paper, she unwrapped it with anticipation. The last fold of paper was lifted.

The beads from the market.

The two Starks moved down the pathway of the busy market road. Across from them was an older woman, the vendor of a small collection. On her table laid various ribbons and beads, all created by her.

Most walked by without much thought. The beads were carved by shaky hands and the art showed it.

But it caught the attention of the Lady of Winterfell. As if pulled to it, she crossed the busy walkway, going to the table.

She had fallen in love with a few of the beads, admiring them fully and telling the woman how wonderful she thought them.

Cregan soon stepped behind her. "You like them?" He whispered to her.

She looked at him, a hopeful look in her eye. "They're beautiful."

Cregan didn't know much about the commodities of women, but he followed along with what he could. "Aye," he agreed along with her. "You can have them."

A smile pulled at her lips, but the look in her eyes died down quickly. "I have enough," she remarked.

He had high doubts that that was the reason for her sudden decision. He sighed, "But you seem to like them."

"I do-"

Cregan pulled a few coins out and forced them into her hand. "Then get them," he smiled at her, hoping to encourage her.

She looked down at the coins and stepped around the table to speak closely to the woman.

Cregan gave them privacy, standing as a guard dog amidst the crowd.

She soon returned with a small smile, not nearly the one he was hoping she'd have.

"Well?" He asked, ready to see her decision on which beads she had chosen.

"I have enough," she repeated, giving one last small smile and moving to the next table.

It wasn't hard for Cregan to piece together that she had given the older woman the money with nothing in return, and it made his heart swell.

Her fingers brushed over the beads, overjoyed that he had managed to get the ones she had loved so dearly.

And though he had done something so kind, he never mentioned it. Only once did he even acknowledge it and it was the first time she had worn them in her hair. He remarked a soft, "how pretty," and twirled the strand in his fingers, before moving on like nothing happened.

That's just the kind of man Cregan was.

................................................

#fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfiction #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #game of thrones imagine #cregan stark x y/n #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones x y/n #game of thrones x reader #cregan stark imagine #cregan fanfiction #cregan x reader #cregan stark #cregan stark fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fic #hotd fanfic

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w4ndal0ver · 28 days ago

Text

teacher's pet (professor!agatha x student!reader)

W4NDALOVER'S KINKMAS | 2024

dec 6: teachers pet (professor!agatha x student!reader)

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

KINKMAS MASTERLIST | 2024

summary: Professor Harkness has always wanted you, but when you don't give into her advances she decides to use an enchanted quill in order to sway you in her direction.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, dubcon, enchanted quill, strap-on, begging, choking, mommy kink (used cautiously), slight breeding kink, kind of edging if you squint hard enough

teachers pet.

Agatha sat at her desk, a carefully measured distance between herself and the papers that lay before her. She had long since learned to enjoy the quiet moments alone in her office, the brief respite between the chaos of the outside world and the controlled environment she had created here. It was a sanctuary, a place where she could indulge in her thoughts. Thoughts of you.

She’d noticed you from the very first day you stepped into her office and over time, the quiet ache of her desire had only grown. Your eagerness, the way you were always the first to arrive at class, sitting at the front with a notebook in hand, always eager to ask questions, always searching for her approval. You were the perfect student, disciplined, careful - but there was something in the way you looked at her, something that went past mere respect.

She watched as you entered her office, just as you always did - tentative, but eager. Your hand, delicately rested against the doorframe for a moment before you stepped inside, a slight hesitation hanging in the air. Your gaze flickered toward her before quickly looking down at the floor, and Agatha’s lips curled into the smallest of smiles.

You were still shy, still so innocent, but there was something undeniably captivating about you. The way you moved, so aware of your body, and yet, you couldn’t help but draw attention to yourself. The tightness of your skirts that gripped so perfectly to your ass, and she couldn’t deny that she’d caught a glimpse of you more and more. Your carefully chosen attire, always polished and proper, but undeniably teasing.

“Professor, you wanted to discuss my project?” You say, your voice soft, a little hesitant, as though you weren’t entirely sure how to be in her presence. Agatha had heard that tone before. It was the sound of someone trying too hard to act professional, to hold onto some semblance of control, when in reality, they were anything but composed.

She tilted her head, letting her eyes linger on you a moment longer than necessary, taking in the way your fingers nervously played with the hem of your skirt, how your lips pressed together just a little too slightly.

“Of course, come in darling.” Agatha responded, her voice smooth. She gestured for you to sit, and as you settled into the chair across from her, she couldn’t help but notice how you shifted slightly, tugging your skirt down as though it might betray you. She bit back a laugh and how you were so unaware of how you made her feel.

Your hands rested on your lap, fingers curled slightly, the faint tremble just noticeable enough for Agatha to catch it. She knew what you were trying to do, trying to appear professional, trying to act as if this meeting was no different from any other. But she had seen you enough times to know the difference between what you showed and what you truly felt. The way your gaze lingered on her when you thought she wasn’t looking, the slight quiver of your lip when you asked a question that was a little too personal, a little too loaded.

Her gaze drifted to your face, watching as you shifted again, glancing down at your notes, a lock of hair falling across your forehead. Agatha could feel the pull between you both, an invisible thread that kept drawing her attention to you, to the way your lips parted slightly when you spoke, as though you were unsure of the words coming out, unsure of yourself.

“Everything seems to be progressing well with your project,” Agatha said, her voice smooth, but her mind already elsewhere. The light in your eyes, the way your shoulders were just a bit too stiff for someone so young, so open. You wanted something more. She was sure of it. You didn’t have to say it, Agatha could see it in every small gesture, every fleeting glance.

You were so careful, always so careful, never pushing beyond the boundary you had drawn around yourself. But Agatha knew, in her quietest moments, that you wanted to. She had seen it in the way you looked at her when you thought she wasn’t paying attention, the way your eyes lingered on her just a fraction longer than was appropriate.

Her eyes fell to the desk, where the enchanted quill sat waiting. It had been in her possession for years, a relic of a past she tried to leave behind, and yet it called to her now, with an intensity she couldn’t ignore. With just a flick of her fingers, she could make this moment more than what it was, more than just a professor and her student. She could make you feel things, things that neither of you had ever allowed yourselves to feel before.

Agatha’s fingers brushed the edge of the quill, her gaze flickering over to you again. You were so beautiful in your innocence, so unaware of the depth of your own desire. But tonight, that would change.

“You’ll need to sign this for me,” Agatha said, breaking the silence, her voice suddenly sharper, more purposeful. She reached for the parchment, her fingers brushing against the edge of the quill as she pushed the document toward you. Your eyes followed her every movement, and she couldn’t miss the way you shifted in your seat, your chest rising and falling just a little faster than before.

You reached for the quill, your fingers brushing against the smooth, cool surface. Agatha’s heart skipped a beat. There it was. The magic would begin, slowly at first, unnoticed. But it would build, and when it did, you would have no choice but to acknowledge what you both had been avoiding for far too long.

The moment your fingers brushed the enchanted quill, a shift occurred in the room—subtle, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable. Agatha’s pulse quickened, her gaze locked on you with a quiet intensity as you signed your name on the parchment, the ink swirling a little too smoothly beneath your hand. She watched, savoring the way your shoulders tensed, the slight shift in your posture, as if something deep inside of you had stirred to life.

You didn’t know it yet, of course, but Agatha could already feel the subtle change in the air. The magic was working its way through your system, slow and steady, like a gentle tide pulling you under. You were still unaware, still looking down at the paper with a furrowed brow, your expression unreadable. But Agatha saw the smallest signs, the flush creeping up your neck, the way your breath seemed to catch in your throat.

“I also wanted to ask you about this part of your essay. It's a really interesting take.” Agatha says, wanting to confuse you even more as your head becomes fuzzy with the lust enchantment, knowing that the more you think about what to say, the more sensitive and desperate you’d become.

You placed the quill back on the desk, the delicate tip still glimmering in the dim light of the office. Agatha leaned back in her chair, her fingers tapping the edge of her pen, watching you closely. She could hear the soft rustle of your skirt as you shifted in the chair, the sound of your breath growing just a touch heavier with each passing moment. It was subtle, but it was there. The tension. The pull.

“You seem restless,” Agatha said, her voice low, almost a purr. She watched as your eyes flickered toward her, a brief hesitation before you met her gaze. The flush on your cheeks had deepened now, and Agatha couldn’t help but revel in the shift she had caused. She had always been so good at reading people, at sensing the smallest changes, and now she could see the effects of her subtle manipulation working its way through you.

You shifted again, this time more noticeable, a shift of your legs that made your skirt rise slightly, just enough for Agatha to catch a glimpse of the delicate skin beneath. She bit her lip, but only for a moment, as she kept her focus entirely on you. The way you crossed and uncrossed your legs, the way your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve, each motion a sign of the growing discomfort building within you. You weren’t just restless anymore; you were beginning to feel the weight of something unspoken, something you couldn’t quite name.

"Is everything alright?" Agatha asked, her voice soft, but her eyes sharp, taking in every little detail. She could see the way your eyes darted to her lips for the briefest of moments before you quickly looked away. The way you swallowed, throat bobbing, as though trying to push down something you didn’t know how to acknowledge.

"I - I think so," you murmured, but your voice was different now. The words came slower, as though you were struggling to keep your thoughts in order. Agatha saw it. The way your hands gripped the edge of your chair a little too tightly, the way your legs shifted restlessly beneath the table. There was no denying it now, the magic was working.

She leaned forward, just enough for her presence to feel closer, more palpable. She could see your chest rise and fall more quickly, your pupils dilating ever so slightly as she made the smallest movement, as though testing the waters.

"Are you sure?" Agatha's question hung in the air, almost teasing, but never fully pushing. She wanted to see just how far you would go, how much you would reveal before you could no longer control it. She had always watched you, watched you closely. She knew you were waiting for something, something that only she could give you.

You shifted again, a slight tremor in your hand as you placed it on the table, as if trying to steady yourself, but it only betrayed you. Agatha saw the way your fingers twitched, the way your eyes refused to meet hers, no matter how hard you tried to regain some semblance of control. You couldn’t hide it.

The air between you both was thick now, taut with something neither of you could name, but both of you could feel. The silence stretched for a moment before Agatha broke it with a soft, knowing smile.

"You don’t have to pretend with me," she said, the words laced with an almost untraceable sweetness. She could see the way your breath caught at the sound of her voice, the way your eyes flickered to her lips again, only this time, you didn’t look away.

You were slipping, Agatha realized, and she couldn’t help the small thrill that coursed through her. This was it. She had waited so long to see you like this, to watch you come undone before her eyes, and now, the anticipation of it was nearly unbearable.

You shifted in your seat once more, and Agatha’s eyes followed the movement, the way your body reacted to the growing heat between you both. She could see the slight sheen of sweat forming at the back of your neck, the way your breath was becoming more shallow, more labored. The quill had done its job, heightened your awareness, your sensitivity to every small movement, every fleeting touch.

"I- I think I need a moment," you whispered, your voice trembling now, no longer the calm, collected student she was used to.

Agatha’s lips curved upward, a slow, deliberate smile spreading across her face. She could feel the weight of your desire, could almost taste it in the air between you. She knew exactly what you needed, even if you didn’t yet understand it yourself.

"You can have all the time you need," she said softly, her voice a mere breath of sound, knowing full well that the moment had already passed. The spell had already begun its work. And there was no turning back now.

Agatha lets her gaze drop to your hands, noting the way your fingers curl just slightly, as though the movement is automatic, as if you’re trying to hold onto something—anything—to stop the flood of feelings threatening to overwhelm you. You’re so close now, so close to giving in, and Agatha relishes in the control she holds over you, the way every little gesture of yours betrays your struggle.

“Are you feeling... uncomfortable?” Agatha asks, her voice soft, like silk. She leans forward ever so slightly, just enough to see the way you flinch, the way your breath catches in your throat, like you’re suddenly hyper-aware of the way she’s watching you. Her eyes linger on your lips, and she can feel the subtle tension in your body as you fight not to follow her gaze, not to let the heat between you both become too obvious.

Your breath comes in shallow bursts now, faster than before. You shift in your seat again, a little more urgently this time, and Agatha watches as your legs move restlessly, the hem of your skirt inching higher, revealing the delicate curve of your calf. It’s an innocent movement, a natural shift, but Agatha’s eyes track it like a predator eyeing its prey. The magic of the quill hums in the air around you both, thickening the space between you, and she can feel the way it pulls at your resolve, making every small motion feel more intense, more charged with that irresistible pull.

“I, I don’t know what’s happening,” you whisper, your voice barely audible now, strained with the effort of trying to hold onto whatever control you have left. Your eyes flicker to hers for a fleeting moment, then quickly dart away, like a moth too afraid to fly too close to the flame.

Agatha feels her lips part in the smallest of smiles. You think you’re losing control, but she knows better. You’ve been wanting this, she tells herself, even as she watches you struggle against the tide. You want this. You just don’t have the courage to admit it yet.. Your hands clench tighter, your body swaying just slightly in your seat as though you can’t quite decide whether to move closer to her or flee. But Agatha knows. She knows you’ll stay.

You’ve never felt like this before. You’ve had moments of embarrassment, the familiar flutter of nerves when speaking with Agatha, but this? This is something else entirely. It’s not just your heart racing; it’s something deep inside you, something primal that you can’t name. You feel hungry, in a way that’s foreign, unrecognizable, and yet you know it’s her. Her presence, the way she watches you, the way her eyes seem to follow your every move.

It’s all too much.

Agatha, on the other hand, remains completely oblivious to the chaos she’s unwittingly caused. Her fingers continue their idle drumming on the desk, her posture relaxed, as though nothing is out of the ordinary. She’s staring at the pile of papers in front of her, her attention seemingly elsewhere.

It should be comforting, the way she remains so calm, so controlled, but it only seems to fuel the fire within you. The longer she remains unaware, the more your body betrays you, the more desperate you become for her. You can’t think straight anymore, can’t focus on anything except the ache between your legs, the burning need that has taken root deep inside you.

Finally, you can’t take it any longer. You stand abruptly, your hands trembling as you push the chair back from the desk. Agatha doesn’t notice, her eyes still focused on her notes, still completely absorbed in whatever she’s reading. The sight of her so composed, so calm, is the final straw. You take a shaky step forward, the distance between you and her now feeling insurmountable, like something invisible but real is keeping you apart.

Your voice cracks when you speak, the words escaping before you can stop them. “Professor, I- I need you.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you freeze. You hadn’t meant to say it. You hadn’t meant for it to sound so desperate, so raw, but the confession is out there now, hanging in the air between you. You swallow hard, your throat dry, as you dare to look up at her.

Agatha blinks, her brow furrowing slightly as she looks at you. For a moment, you wonder if she didn’t hear you properly, if she’s just playing it cool, trying to maintain the authority she always does. But then, slowly, her eyes shift from the papers on the desk to you, and she seems to take in the way you’re standing, how tense you are, how your breathing has changed. She pauses, her lips parting slightly, as though she’s unsure what to make of your admission.

“I-" she begins, her voice soft but still steady. "I’m not sure what you mean. Is something wrong with your project? I thought we were making good progress.”

You shake your head, your chest tightening with each passing second. This isn’t about the project. Not anymore. You can’t seem to form a coherent sentence, your mind clouded by the sensation of wanting her, of needing her. Your body is practically shaking with the intensity of it, your fingers curling into fists at your sides to keep from reaching for her, to keep from pulling her closer.

“No,” you whisper, the word slipping out like a plea. “I need you. I don’t, I don’t know what’s happening, but I can’t- I can’t control it anymore.”

Agatha’s eyes widen slightly, the confusion in her gaze evident, and for a moment, you think she might laugh it off, dismiss it as some odd outburst. But the longer she stares at you, the more she seems to realize that you’re not joking. That this isn’t some fleeting moment of embarrassment or an impulsive comment. This is real. And the realization crashes into her like a wave.

For the briefest of moments, there’s a flicker of something in her expression—something unreadable. Her lips part, but no words come out, as though she’s unsure of how to respond, unsure of whether she should push you away or give in to the pull that seems to be growing between you both.

You take a step closer, the sound of your shoes echoing in the silence. Your body is drawn to her as if it’s not your own anymore, each movement an involuntary reaction to the desire swelling inside you. You’re so close now, so close you can feel the heat radiating from her body, see the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. It feels like there’s an invisible force pulling you both together, and you’re powerless to stop it.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to me,” you say, your voice trembling now, the words tumbling out in a rush. “But I can’t think. I can’t think of anything but you.”

Agatha is silent for a long moment, her gaze flickering over your face as if searching for any sign that this might be a trick. But there’s no mistaking it now. She can see it, the desperation in your eyes, the way your body is trembling with the weight of your own need. She can feel it too, the way the air between you has shifted, charged with something neither of you can deny.

And still, she remains quiet, her fingers resting on the desk in front of her, her expression unreadable. For a brief, agonizing moment, you wonder if she will reject you, if she will turn away and pretend this never happened. But then, finally, she speaks.

“I see,” Agatha says, her voice almost too soft to hear, but there’s no mistaking the authority in it. “And what is it that you want from me?”

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy, the tension palpable as Agatha stands still, her gaze unwavering. You can feel the heat pooling in your chest and between your legs, crawling up your neck, suffocating you. Every part of your body aches, an unfamiliar hunger gnawing at your insides, growing with each second that passes. You can’t think straight anymore. You can’t stand it.

You swallow hard, your throat dry, and your hands shake as you finally break the silence. “Please, Agatha,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I can’t take it anymore. I need you. It hurts. Please, make it stop.” Your words spill out in a rush, a frantic plea, and you take a step forward, drawn to her as though you have no control over your body. “Please I don’t know what’s happening, but it hurts. I can’t think straight, I don’t know what to do, I don’t.”

You’re rambling now, desperation clear in your voice, your entire being trembling with the weight of your need. You’ve never felt like this before,so lost, so vulnerable, so exposed. You don’t know how much longer you can stand this unbearable pressure, this overwhelming heat, this need for her.

Agatha’s gaze softens slightly, and you see something flicker in her eyes, a flicker of understanding, maybe even something else. But her expression remains controlled, her facade still intact. She was corrupting you and it felt so sweet.

“Sit,” she commands, her voice calm but firm, her fingers tapping lightly on the top of her desk. The sound echoes through the room, and for a brief moment, you think she’s testing you, waiting to see if you’ll obey, if you’ll listen to her.

Without thinking, your body moves before your mind can even catch up. You move quickly, too quickly, as if your limbs are not entirely your own, and you sit on the edge of the desk in front of her chair. The surface is cool beneath you, but it does nothing to quell the burning ache inside.

“I need you,” you say again, your voice barely more than a broken whisper. “It hurts so much, I can’t take it. Please, Agatha, please, I need you to, to make it stop.”

Your words are frantic now, desperate, each one laced with an urgency that makes your breath catch in your throat. You can’t think. You can only feel. Your body is on fire, your pulse pounding in your ears, and all you can do is beg.

Agatha leans back in her chair, her eyes still fixed on you, and for a long moment, she says nothing. Her fingers rest lightly on the arms of her chair, but the way she holds herself now is different, less rigid, less controlled. Her gaze moves slowly over you, and you feel it like a physical touch, every inch of her attention focused on your trembling form. She’s watching how your skirt has rode up your thighs, your dampened underwear on show to her, this is exactly how she wanted you.

“I don’t think you understand,” she murmurs, her voice low and tender. But there’s no mistaking the edge to her tone, the quiet power behind her words. “You’re asking for something you don’t fully grasp. Something you won’t be able to walk away from.”

“I don’t care,” you say, the words coming out before you can stop them. “I don’t care. I just I need you to touch me. I need to feel something, anything, to stop this burning inside me.”

You’re on the edge of breaking, and it’s almost too much. Every nerve in your body is on fire, and the ache between your legs is unbearable. You need her. You need her so badly that the thought of being without her, of not feeling her, is enough to make you feel dizzy, lightheaded.

Agatha stands suddenly, her movement fluid and deliberate. You barely register it before she’s right in front of you, so close that you can feel the heat radiating from her body. Her fingers graze your knee as she steps closer, and the touch is electric, sending a jolt of sensation straight through you.

Her lips part slightly, and she leans in, her breath warm against your ear. “Tell me what you need,” she says softly, almost coaxing, but there’s an undeniable authority in her voice now, one that sends a shiver down your spine.

You don’t hesitate. You can’t. “I need you to fuck me.” you gasp, the words slipping out as though they were the only thing holding you together.

There’s a moment of silence, just a beat, a breath, before Agatha’s fingers press lightly against your chin, tilting your head up so that you’re forced to meet her gaze. Her eyes are dark now, and there’s something predatory in them, something that makes your heart race even faster, makes your body ache even more.

Without a word, she leans in, her lips brushing against your forehead, soft at first, gentle, before she pulls back slightly, her eyes still locked on yours. “You’re sure this is what you want?” she asks, her voice low, almost a whisper, but the weight behind the question makes it impossible to ignore.

You nod fervently, your voice barely a whisper, trembling with desperation. “Yes, yes, Agatha. I need this. I need you.”

Agatha’s eyes flicker with something unreadable, and for a moment, you wonder if she’s reconsidering, if she’s going to push you away, make you leave. But then, slowly, her lips curl into the faintest of smiles—something dark, something knowing.

“Good,” she murmurs, her voice almost satisfied. “Then I’ll give you what you need.”

With that, she steps closer, her hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer to her, the closeness nearly overwhelming. She doesn’t speak as she moves, doesn’t need to. There’s no need for words now. Her actions say everything. And you, desperate, trembling with need, can’t help but give in completely.

You reach for her neck, unable to contain yourself anymore, pulling her face closer to yours, trying to connect your lips together in a desperate scramble to feel her on your body. Agatha complied, that same smirk she always wore not once leaving her face as she finally had you sat on her desk, your legs spread round her body, doing anything you could to get her to touch you.

She doesn’t dare resist your scrambling, instead letting you pull her into a deep kiss, her lips sliding against yours in a messy rhythm, not able to find any relief in how you were feeling. Agatha was anything but gentle with you but you were not complaining, her tongue started to trace your bottom lip and you opened up immediately, letting her explore you with her tongue. You groaned loudly into her mouth, your legs wrapping around her waist, trapping your professor between your legs. She took this opportunity to test your waters, her teeth scraping against your bottom lip before pulling it away from your face, her teeth digging into your skin. When she was met with a muffled moan, it was the prettiest sound Agatha had ever heard and she was thankful for how much rougher you were going to be able to take her now she’d enchanted your emotions and more importantly your body.

You start to grind your hips up against Agatha’s crotch, you couldn’t work out what was making you feel like this, you’d never acted like this with anyone, and even though you’d imagined it with your professor, you never thought you’d be in this position. The harder you grinded against her, it became more apparent that she was packing something underneath her trousers and the thought of your professor wearing a strap beneath that suit was making you feral.

“You found something you’re looking for?” Agatha teased as you reached your hand to grab the bulge that lay underneath, a moan tumbling from your lips, your legs wrapping around her tighter to feel her cock against you.

“Do you always wear that?” You ask breathlessly, confused momentarily for why your professor would be wearing a strap to just sit and grade papers in her office. Before you could question it further, Agatha snaked her hand around to touch you through your soaked underwear, hiking your skirt further up your legs and you couldn’t pass out at the feeling.

“Fuck you’re soaked.” Agatha groaned, the sound of your breathy moans something that she couldn’t ignore, she wanted to devour you, but there was something about leaving you in this state, so whiny and desperate that was particularly appealing, but when she looked at your pleading eyes she realised she couldn’t ever do that to you. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing?” Agatha cooed as she pushed your underwear to the side, looking in awe at your pussy dripping in arousal. You looked so pure and untouched, everything about how your folds trembled in the anticipation to be touched was drawing Agatha in more than she thought she could be.

“Professor please I need you to fill me up.” You whine, the cold air hitting your arousal making you realise just how worked up you’d become. You must’ve said something right, because Agatha let out a breathy grunt before working her index finger towards your entrance, her other hand coming up to grasp at your throat before she pushed her entire digit inside of you. Your strangled moan was even prettier than Agatha expected and when you pushed your neck further into her grip and started to lift your hips to slide her finger in and out of you, she shook her head in genuine disbelief at how pathetic you looked like this.

You start whining when Agatha doesn’t match your thrusts, wanting nothing more than for her to start pounding her fingers into you, but instead she just slips another finger inside you with ease, stretching your tight pussy around her fingers instead of thrusting into you. You were squirming up against her touch, your clit burning at how it was being ignored by her. Your doe eyes looking up at her as her grip tightened around your neck. “You’re just too tight, I need to warm you up doll.” You groan at her words, knowing for a fact that you could take her.

“Professor I can take you, I need to take all of you now.” You say desperately, thighs shaking around her waist. You take it into your own hands, unbuckling Agatha’s belt in a chaotic scramble to see her strap that was waiting to be buried inside of you. Normally Agatha wouldn’t tolerate this desperate behaviour, but considering she was the one that put the spell on you, she let it slide, watching in awe as you undressed her bottom half, waiting for the cock to spring out and when it did your eyes widened. “It’s huge.” You gasp, not expecting the sheer girth and length of the purple cock to take you this much by surprise.

“Yeah and you’re gonna take it.” Agatha grins at the scarlet flush on your cheeks, expecting some level of protest, but instead she is met with your hands scrambling at her hips, trying to push her towards you. Agatha chuckled with a low hum at the familiar eagerness that first drew her to you. She doesn’t waste any more time, spitting down onto her hand before rubbing it up and down her strap a few times before slapping the head against your pussy, drawing out a string of desperate whines, your hips bucking wildly at the feeling. “Keep still princess.” She whispers, holding your thighs down onto the desk as she slightly pushes into you, careful not to hurt you.

You didn’t care, you needed to feel your Professor's cock deep inside you and when she can feel the tremble of your thighs trying to get yourself further onto her strap, she does it for you. She enters you with one single thrust and your fingernails dig hard into her back as she starts to pound harder into you, her hands now gripping your waist, pulling you harder onto her to meet each movement.

Agatha could see how swollen your clit had become, it was basically begging to be touched, but she knew if she did so much as swipe her finger across it, you’d come and be way too sensitive to go again. The enchantment usually had that effect, but you weren’t letting this end here. You were way too shy to ever come back to her after you remember how pathetic you were asking, so she was going to drag this out for as long as she could.

She kept pounding into you, your pretty moans had turned into guttural gasps and grunts as you felt the burning in your clit, wanting nothing but to reach down and touch yourself, but you knew better than that, even with the intense feelings you were having, you weren’t about to mess this up.

You could feel something building inside of you, you’d never come without clitoral stimulation, it was different, but you were craving some sort of relief. Agatha could feel you trembling beneath her, and before you knew it you were empty again. You felt like crying, but before you had a chance to react, her hands were gripping at your scalp, pulling you off the desk and hitting the ground with a thump. Your knees were aching from the drop, but when Agatha turned to look at you, her strap eye level with you, you couldn’t feel it anymore, the only thing you could focus on was the fire in your core begging to be put out.

“Come on doll, you know you want to.” Agatha smirks at the way your eyes were gleaming at the strap that was glistening in your arousal. Her hand was gripping around the base, guiding it towards your closed mouth, moving the head against your lips until you gave in and your mouth fell open, your tongue immediately attacking Agatha’s cock.

You wanted nothing more than for her to grab your head and force her cock down your throat, so you tried to do just that. Taking as much of the length into your mouth as you could and Agatha groaned as if she could feel it, her head tilted back as she grabbed the back of your head, helping you as you desperately tried to take the entire thing down your throat. You started to choke as she thrusted into your mouth, she tried to pull out but you gripped the back of her thighs. You suddenly had an intense desire to have your throat fucked raw, something that you’d never even really been into before, but this felt so different.

“God you’re such a whore,” Agatha spluttered at how keen you were to please her, “You’d do anything as long as I’m pounding into you.” With each word she thrusted harder into your mouth as you nodded at her assumption, moaning and spluttering around her cock, saliva dripping down your chin.

This time she pulled out of you, sitting back onto her desk chair leaving you on your knees, your brain fuzzy and your face covered in saliva. “Come sit on my lap, you can do the rest of the work if you’re that desperate.” Agatha said casually and she’d never seen someone scramble to get up so quickly. You were dripping down your thighs, your mascara running down your cheeks and combining with the saliva dripping from your chin.

Agatha couldn’t help but put her hand on your face as you straddled her lap, lowering yourself down onto her strap. She wiped the saliva from your chin, her eyes not leaving your cunt as you finally took the entire thing and before you could even adjust you started bouncing up and down on it, chasing the orgasm that had been ripped from you. Agatha would’ve usually sat back and watched you struggle, but there was something so endearing about your primal desperation to be fucked that she decided to help you out, thrusting her hips back into you as you moved down against her.

“Fuck Momm-” You stopped yourself, “Professor sorry that’s what I meant.” That did it, Agatha moaned at your words, picking you up off of her cock and slamming you against the desk, forcefully bending you over and spreading you open before thrusting her cock back into you as you moaned gutterally against the desk.

“You take Mommy’s cock so well princess.” Agatha growls, spreading you further so she could watch her strap disappear inside of you. She grabbed both of your hands, pinning them behind your back to give her some leverage as she thrusted harder into you than before. You could barely see, the pleasure overwhelming you to the point of no return.

“Mommy my clit, please I need to cum all over your cock, please let me.” You whine, your words barely forming as each time you spoke your body was being shoved hard into her desk, her ungraded papers getting crumpled beneath you, but neither of you seemed to care.

Agatha obliged, letting go of your hands, slipping one of hers between your legs to harshly brush circles against your clit, her other hand grabbing a fistful of your hair, tugging on your neck so she could see the faint reflection of your fucked out face in the black screen of her computer.

It wasn’t going to take much more, Agatha was sure she could feel you clenching around her strap and the moans that were leaving your mouth were scratchy and tired, your throat burning from where she was thrusting into you.

“Mommy, i-’

“Come now pretty girl or you won’t be coming tonight.” Agatha insisted and like magic, you felt every single muscle stand on the edge, your entire body freezing in pleasure as your head went completely blurry. It was like you were in that space forever, before it all came crashing down, every movement, every touch, built upon the last, your rhythm synchronized, bodies attuned to one another. Your breath hitched, a tremor coursing through her frame as the sensation intensified.

Suddenly, it was as if your body had given in completely to the waves of pleasure, an uncontrollable release coursing through you. A warm surge followed, unexpected and thrilling, but it came washing all over you and Agatha’s desk. You fell against the surface, your body soaked with your own arousal. Your professor scoffed at how you’d just squirted all over your fellow students' papers, finding it nothing but amusing.

“Feel better?” Agatha asks as you nod hard enough to break your neck, the enchantment beginning to wear off as you felt the embarrassment reach your cheeks.

“I am so sorry, I’ve ruined all these papers.” You say in genuine panic, lifting yourself up and trying to stack all the papers together before a hand touches your wrist, stilling your hands.

“The only thing ruined here is you.” Agatha smiles, her hand reaching for your chin, her thumb pressing into your cheek as she tries to get you to calm down a little bit.

“I didn’t know I could do that.” You laugh nervously, your usual demeanor falling back into place and Agatha smirks at how the familiar shyness build back up into your voice.

“I have my ways.” Agatha smiles, placing a kiss against your forehead as you tug back at your skirt, trying to stop it from riding up your soaked thighs.

“What like using enchanted quills on your favourite student?” It was your turn to smirk, watching as Agatha’s smile dropped, her brows furrowed in confusion to how you could even know what she had done.

“How did you-”

“I think you forget how good of a student I am.” You grin, knowing that you’d done your research on witchcraft heavily for your final project, you basically knew every trick Agatha had up her sleeve, “I knew from the moment I picked it up.” You blush, your eyes dropping, almost ashamed to be admitting that you liked the thought of your professor being so desperate to fuck you that she’d go as far as using centuries old enchantments just to be able to do it.

Agatha smiled at you, her own cheeks slightly flushed pink at being found out, but delighted in the fact that you let the spell take over you, knowing exactly what you were going to get if you did. “God you’d really do anything wouldn’t you.” You nod in response, both of you smiling widely at each other.

“I think I need another meeting about my project.”

“Tomorrow, 6pm, I’ll be waiting.”

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