#Magic lessons

[agreeewrites]

Magic Lessons | B.W.

Part One

feat. Bill Weasley x intern!reader

SUMMARY: Your best friends Fred and George convince their older brother, Bill, to give you a shot at a coveted curse-breaker internship position at Gringott's.

CW: age gap, boss/intern, fem!reader, reader is whip smart and sweet, dark curses and magical artifacts, men being shitty, hurt/comfort, dark academia vibes

AN: inspired by an ask I accidentally deleted (im so sorry) about Bill tutoring Fred & George's best friend. It spiraled into this.

part two | part three | masterlist

“You're going to be fine,” George soothed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Yeah, Bill’s not so bad. You aren't scared of us, are ‘ya? So there's no need to be scared of him,” Fred added, bumping your knee with his.

You were sandwiched between them on a hard wooden bench in Gringott's, just outside their older brothers office, his name emblazoned in gold on the fogged door window. The twins, two of your closest friends from school, had secured you an interview for a coveted internship in the Ancient Artifacts Department, and you hadn't slept in a week leading up to it.

This was your dream job, a real stepping stone to the career you'd always imagined for yourself. You couldn't screw this up.

But that didn't quite explain the bone-deep anxiety clawing through your skin. It felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, one foot hanging into empty space.

Then, a shadow crossed the fogged mirror, tall and broad, and you shivered.

“You've got this,” George murmured at the same moment the door handle turned. It swung open, and your heart fell through the marble floor.

Bill Weasley was, objectively, terrifying. He had none of the softness of the twins, none of the jovial ease of youth. He was dressed in a white button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and charcoal trousers, traces of magic glittering along his forearms.

Standing at least a head taller than the twins, he had long copper hair and sharp cheekbones, deep scars across the left side of his face that only enhanced the striking beauty of his features. His green eyes were arresting, challenging in the way they swept across the hall before settling on you.

“Bill!” Fred said, jumping up, and Bill’s demeanor immediately shifted into something friendlier.

“Freddie,” Bill said, extending a hand to his younger brother with an expression you could almost call warm.

“Bill, this is our friend, y/n,” George said, getting up to shake his brother's hand, and you rose to your feet, hoping he didn't notice the slight tremble in your knees.

“Pleasure, y/n. I'm Bill Weasley, Head of the Ancient Artifacts Department here at Gringott's.” He extended a hand to you, calloused and long-fingered, a golden signet ring on his middle finger.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Weasley,” you said, placing your hand in his for a brief shake. He was gentle, but you could feel the undercurrent of strength in his movement, the intention he had to put towards being soft.

“Fred and George have told me a lot about you,” Bill said, glancing at his brother's. “You’re interested in Blessed Artifacts, correct?”

You nodded. “Yes, primarily magical items created with the intention of offering protection or assistance,” you answered, fighting the nervous heat climbing up your neck.

The corner of his mouth lifted, scrunching the scars across his cheek and eyebrow. “The opposite of what I do, hm?”

You laughed nervously. “Yeah, I suppose. Though I've studied your curse-breaking work extensively. A curse and a blessing are two sides of the same coin, and we can learn a lot about the workings of one from the other.”

Bill’s expression shifted slightly, his eyes narrowing and skimming over your face, and suddenly you knew what it felt like to be one of his artifacts.

No wonder he never crossed a curse he couldn't break.

“Step into my office, I have a few questions before we discuss terms of the internship. I'll see you two this weekend at the Burrow, yeah?”

“Yep!” Fred and George chirped in unison, and Bill slipped back into his office. The twins gave you a big thumbs up and you gave a nervous chuckle, waving them away before following Bill into his office.

It was nothing at all like you expected. Two enormous windows filled the back wall, spilling grey light across the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along the left wall. The shelves were overflowing with tomes and littered with artifacts, more than you'd ever seen outside for a museum or Dumbledore’s office. They perfumed the air with the scent of parchment and sandalwood, the warm musk of incense.

The carpet was plush under your feet, a mesmerizing pattern of deep maroon and teal, and overstuffed furniture rested against the right wall, a couch and two arm chairs framed by more loaded shelves and a gallery wall of shifting art.

But most surprising was his desk. It looked like it belonged in a research tent in the desert, not a gold-plated bank. It was covered in tools and stacks of paper, open books and deconstructed items, half-drank mugs of tea and a spilled ink pot.

“You look surprised,” he mused, following your eye.

“I didn't realize you still did field research,” you admitted sheepishly. “Now that you're head of the department.”

Bill shrugged, grabbing a mug and a stack of papers from the table and gesturing to the furniture against the wall. “I prefer the hands-on approach. Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything?”

“Oh, no thank you,” you answered, sinking into one of the arm chairs. It was so comfortable, you had to force yourself to sit upright. You could smell his cologne on the leather, vetiver and black pepper, and it made your chest warm.

He sat in the other armchair, bracing an ankle on the opposite knee. “So, how did you come to befriend my brother's?” He asked, taking a sip of tea.

“Fred needed some help in Charms,” you said, crossing your legs. “Then George needed help in Potions. And we just worked well together. They're good friends.

“So you're the reason they didn't flunk out, hm?”

You shook your head. “Not at all. They just needed a different perspective. They did the work themselves.”

Bill nodded, shuffling the papers in his lap. “Have you ever worked with curses directly? Beyond Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

You shook your head. “I don't have a lot of experience with curses, but I can read magic well, and have an eye for detail. I know I'm not the most qualified of the candidates you've probably met with, but this is my dream, and it would be such an honor to learn from the best— ”

“It's alright, y/n,” Bill stopped you with a small shake of his head, his low voice demanding acquiescence. “You're clearly bright, and determined to learn. That's more valuable to me than anything else.”

You exhaled in relief. “I appreciate that, Mr. Weasley,” you said, offering a small smile.

“Bill,” he corrected. “Bill is fine.”

Your heart gave an excited thump, and you nodded.

“So, for this internship, you'd be working directly with me, mostly archiving artifacts as they come in and out of the bank. You'll be spending a lot of time here and in the vaults. The pay isn't great, but if you do well over the six months term, there's potential for full-time employment.” He passed a contract to you, a quill floating over from his desk and into your hand. “And you're welcome to conduct supervised independent research whenever there's downtime.”

You blinked, shocked at the employment contract in your lap. “You don't—you don't have any more questions for me?” You asked.

Bill shook his head, giving you an amused smile. “You already showed that your head and heart are in the right place, and I trust my brother’s judgement. If they like you this much, there must be a reason.”

“I—thank you, sir,” you said, a grin breaking through as you signed your name on the line. The ink blazed gold before settling back to black, the contract magically binding.

Bill rose, extending a hand to help you to your feet. “Welcome aboard, y/n.”

The first few days of your internship were spent with members of Bill’s team, taking lengthy tours of Gringotts and the Archives. You quite liked Rumi and Kira, two of the lead archivists, but had a difficult time with Waylan, the Collector, as they called him, who seemed to have it out for you.

You waited with bated breath for your first project with Bill, but you'd barely seen him since you started. You brought it up to Kira at breakfast one morning, and she chuckled.

“He's around, I promise. Hardly goes anywhere else. But we usually only see him if he needs something.”

“Or when we fuck something up,” Rumi added, and you chuckled.

Kira rolled her eyes. “They're being dramatic. Bill's not nearly as scary as he looks.”

“Aren't I?”

The three of you jumped, turning to find Bill leaning against the wall beside Rumi’s seat. He looked exceptionally handsome this morning, his hair tucked behind his ears, a single strand falling over his eyes, dressed in finely pressed white shirt and navy trousers.

“Well you are when you sneak up on people!” Rumi laughed, and Bill cracked a smile.

“Apologies, mate. Y/n, ready for your first assignment?” His eyes met yours, brilliant as polished jade, and your tongue forgot how to function.

“Oh, uh, yes, sir!”

“Sir?” Kira snorted. “Are we supposed to call you ‘sir’?”

Bill shook his head. “I’d rather you didn't, but maybe you could use a lesson in manners from this one,” he teased, stealing Kira’s croissant. “Come along, fledgling,” he said, his deep voice resonant and rough around the edges.

The nickname jolted through you like a lightning strike, heating your blood to a simmer, and you nearly gasped, hiding your reaction by taking a final swig of breakfast tea.

Fuck no, you were not developing a crush on your boss. Get it together, you chastised yourself.

You got to your feet and hurried after him through the dining hall and into the wrought iron elevator. He held the door for you as you scurried in. The grate rolled shut, and the machine heaved off the ground with a metallic groan.

“Glad to you see you're getting along with the team,” he remarked, eyes trained up to watch the pulley system.

“Yes, they've been very welcoming,” you said, resisting the urge to stare at the hard angle of his jaw, the reddish stubble dusting it and spreading down his throat.

“There's a lot they can teach you. They're some of the best in the business,” he said, glancing down at you as the elevator came to stop. The doors rolled open and he strolled out, his long legs taking him a third of the way down the hall before you managed to get your knees to unlock.

You caught up to him at his office door. “What are we working on?” You asked, excitement building as you followed him to his desk.

He moved around it, stopping in front of a black velvet box. Carefully, he lifted the lid. “Waylan brought this back last month, and I hadn't been able to crack it until our meeting.”

“Oh?” Your heart began to beat a little faster, eyes fixed not on the box containing the object, but the way his deft fingers handled it with such a care.

He turned the box around, revealing a stunning necklace, dripping with black sapphires and diamonds, the chain a thick and luscious gold.

You gasped, covering your mouth. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry you'd ever seen.

He smiled at your reaction before catching himself, returning to neutral, if a bit curious, expression. “I hadn't considered that it might be a blessed object until our conversation.” He gingerly lifted the necklace from the box, the luxurious stones creating a stark contrast against his laborers hands. “And if I read the magical signature correctly, it should be a chameleon charm. To make any spectator see what they want to see in the wearer.” He came around behind you and you lost your breath, his closeness overwhelming your senses.

There was something about him that tilted the axis of the world, bending everything to center around him. He had his own gravity, his own magnetic force that you were struggling to resist.

“May I?” He asked, and you nodded, holding your breath as the cool stones kissed your clavicle, his fingertips ghosted the edge of your throat.

With a small click, the necklace was fastened around your neck. You could feel the magic in it, warm and buzzing as it spread through you.

Bill stepped away, moving back around to your front, and his brow furrowed.

“What? Did I grow a horn?” You joked, trying to dispel the tension winding tighter between you.

He shook his head, stepping back to ring a silver bell by his desk, a small plaque reading ‘Kira’ beneath it. There was one for each of you, you noticed.

A moment later, Kira walked in. “What's up, boss? Oh, did you change, y/n? I absolutely love that designer in Hogsmeade. His work is stunning,” Kira praised. “Sorry, can I help with something?” She said, turning to Bill.

Bill’s frown deepened as his eyes skimmed over you. “That'll be all, Kira. Thank you.”

“Oh, uh, okay. Let me know if you want to go shopping sometime, y/n!” She said before stepping back out of the office.

“So, she saw something in common that we didn't have before,” you observed, moving to jot some notes down on a piece of parchment in an attempt to stay on track despite the frustrated look on his face. “What do you see?”

“You can take it off. I need you to decode the magic signature yourself, archive the piece and charm accordingly, and see if you can replicate it on something else,” he directed, turning away and rustling through some pages on his desk.

“Sure, no problem.” Carefully, you unclasped the necklace and set it into its velvet case, confused by his sudden shift in demeanor, both the absence of the necklaces magic and his sudden distance leaving you cold.

What did he see in you?

He conjured another chair for you and sank into his own, turning his attention to what appeared to be a wooden horse.

Uncertain, you sat down and pulled the necklace towards you, along with the parchment and a quill, and got to work.

The uncertainty dissolved as the minutes turned to hours, both of you working quietly side by side to solve your own puzzles. The only sounds were the rustling of papers and scratch of quills, the soft music playing from a record player in the corner, and you felt a wave of peace settle over you.

Being able to work at your own pace, in a quiet, peaceful environment was all you'd ever wanted. And finally, you felt like you found a place that allowed that.

You glanced over at Bill, finding him scribbling something with his black feather quill, completely zeroed in on his task, and you felt a rush of gratitude for him, and a determination to ensure he didn't regret his decision to take a chance on you.

You turned back to the necklace, eager to uncover it's secrets.

The rest of your first two weeks passed the same way, you and Bill with your heads bowed, working on separate projects. He'd come over periodically to check your work, but mostly left you to your own devices unless you needed help, which he provided without judgement or reservation.

You and Bill seemed to work together well, both of you preferring the quiet so you could focus, with the occasional conversation about your findings during your lunch break or afternoon tea.

Despite yourself, your ill-advised attraction to him only grew as he loosened up around you. But that's all it was, you told yourself over and over again. An attraction to a handsome, accomplished man.

You were only human, after all. Who could blame you?

On Friday, Bill had a meeting with the Board and left you in his office to work. You were more than happy to occupy his space, enjoying the comfortable quiet as you reviewed your notes on the artifact you were working on.

A knock pulled you from your work. Waylan walked through the door, a long, thin wooden box in his arms.

“Oh, hey Waylan,” you said, getting up. “Bill is in a meeting—”

“I know, but this can't wait.” He dropped the long box onto the desk with a thud, scattering your meticulously organized notes, and a prickle of irritation climbed the back of your neck.

“What is it?” You asked, already sensing the dark energy permeating off of the box.

With a pry bar, Waylan cracked open the box, a putrid smell wafting out of it.

“Are you sure we should be doing this here? Surely a vault would be safer—”

“It's fine,” he snapped, and you cracked your jaw shut, irritation growing to full on anger. “This is a cursed executioners axe,” he said. “And the curse needs to be broken now.”

“Waylan, surely—”

“I thought you were qualified?” He bit. “Isn't that why you got the job? Or was it because your friends with his brothers?”

You grit your teeth. “What's the nature of the curse?”

“You tell me.”

You moved to look at the axe, it's blade dark and stained with gore, the handle black wood. Tiny notches decorated it's expanse, and your stomach turned imagining what each notch represented.

Carefully, you held your hand over it, coaxing the magic to reveal itself, but couldn't focus properly with Waylan breathing down your neck, the magic slithering through your fingers like a sieve.

Suddenly the room went dark, all the light and air sucked from the world around you until you were staring into the void, cold dread dripping down your spine.

“Waylan?” You called, fighting the urge to panic. You tried to lift your arms to feel around, but found that you couldn't move. “Waylan?!” You cried, a little louder.

Something white, a delicate, vaguely human shaped mist floated by you and you screamed, unable to move away from it. Then another appeared, slightly more formed like a person, then another, until you were surrounded by spirits. Terror split your skull, your heart pounding so hard it made your vision shake.

“No, please,” you croaked, fighting your body to move even an inch away from them. “Let me go!” You shouted, but they only moved closer. “Let me go!”

Suddenly you slammed back into your body, the bright light of the room blinding you. You were on your back, staring up at the ceiling. Bill was leaning over you, his mouth moving like he was speaking.

“—m’right here, you're alright. It was just a trick, just a little curse. Wake up, love. Come back to me,” he murmured. “There we are, that's it,” he shushed when you began to shake, his grip tightening on your shoulders when you tried to sit up.

Your body was still tingling with numbness, nerves prickling painfully back to life. “Bill,” you gasped, clinging to him as you came fully back to consciousness.

“Are you alright? Does anything hurt?” He asked, helping you sit up slowly, one hand braced on the slope of your ribcage, the other supporting your head.

“No, no. I--what happened?” you asked, looking around the room. You noticed Waylan then, also prone on the floor, eyes staring wide at the ceiling. It seemed Bill made no effort to wake him up.

Bill glanced at Waylan as well, shaking his head. “He was trying to scare you. Prove you didn't deserve the position. And apparently was too stupid to realize the curse would affect him too.”

“Will he—”

“He'll be fine. Are you okay?” He repeated, catching your eye so you'd look at him.

You nodded. “I think so.”

Waylan groaned, stirring on the carpet, and you saw a flicker of anger in Bill’s eyes.

“Wait for me in the lobby,” he said, helping you to your feet. “I'll deal with him.” There was no question in his words, and you obeyed without thought, collecting your things and slipping out of the room.

As the elevator doors started to close, you heard Bill shout, “I should have you sent to fucking Azkaban for pulling—” The groan of the machine cut off the rest of his words.

You did as you were told and waited in the lobby for Bill, busying yourself with people watching and admiring the expansive marble floors.

Twenty minutes later, Bill appeared from one of the elevators, holding Waylan by the scruff of his neck, a box of his stuff in his arms. You jumped up, alarmed when a few security guards rushed over to them.

“Waylan is no longer permitted on the premises, my orders. I discovered him tampering with curses,” Bill directed. “He's a threat to Gringott’s security.”

Your jaw dropped when the security guards nodded and dragged Waylan away without question, effectively tossing him out onto the street of Diagon Alley.

Bill stepped up beside you, concern over your frowning face drawing his brows together. “What is it?” He asked.

“Did you—you fired him?” you stammered.

“Absolutely. I can't have someone on my staff that doesn't take curses seriously. It puts us all at risk,” he said, without an ounce of hesitation.

You nodded, you supposed that made sense.

He started walking, beckoning you to follow with two fingers, and you fell into step beside him. “Come on, I'm going to teach you how to dispel that curse.”

You froze. “What?”

He turned to look at at you. “You heard me, fledgling. I need to make sure something like this won't happen again.” His voice was firm, but not unkind, and you found yourself yielding despite your trepidation. “I'll be with you the entire time, okay?” He said, a bit softer when you returned to his side.

“And if we both get knocked out?” You scowled.

He smirked at your pout. “Do you doubt me?”

A pulse of heat curled around your spine, warming your lower belly. “No, sir,” you replied, intending it to come across as teasing, but you saw something dark flash in his eyes, something hungry, and your heart began to race.

Surely you imagined it, you told yourself as the two of you descended into the vaults. There was no way you could be affecting Bill the same way he was affecting you. He was Bill Weasley, and you were just some intern that got a lucky break. He would never be interested in you, not to mention how wrong it would be for a boss to be romantically involved with his subordinate.

So, why did that thought make your pulse spike?

He guided you to a private vault, the heavy door unlocking with a wave of his hand. The inside was dank and poorly lit, permeated with that same rotten smell as before. The axe rested on a table at the center of the room, encased in glass.

You hesitated at the door, that cold, deathly sensation crawling over your skin again.

Bill paused, sensing your fear. “You can do this,” he said, offering you his hand. “I'll walk you through it.”

You placed your hand on his, focusing on his warmth, his steadiness, as he led you into the vault.

“You can feel it, right? The energy of the void clinging to it?” He asked, his voice low.

You nodded. “Feels like death,” you murmured.

“That's what this curse does, makes you feel like you died. It was used by an old Ministry executioner to subdue prisoners before their deaths. Kept them from trying to escape.” He cast his eyes to the axe, a somber look on his face. “Waylan was supposed to leave it here until after my meeting. They just unearthed it this morning.”

“That's awful,” you said, finding yourself counting the notches along the handle. There had to be at least two hundred, maybe even five hundred.

“With every kill, it got stronger, until it eventually took the executioner himself. It was buried with him, until some unfortunate muggle grave robber dug it up and nearly killed himself.”

“So, how do we dispel it?” You asked, hating the tremble in your voice.

“Take your wand out,” he instructed, and you obeyed. “I'm going to open the box. Stay focused on your breathing, the ground beneath your feet. When I open the box, you'll feel it start to pull at you, to drag you under.”

You nodded, lifting your wand and squaring your shoulders, forcing your lungs to take big, deep breaths despite the rotten smell.

“Good, when you feel it pull at you, imagine your wand is an axe itself, okay? You're going to cut the tether of the curse reaching towards you. It will resist, but I promise you can do it. Ready?”

You grit your teeth. “Ready.”

With a wave of his wand, he opened the box. The curse spilled out of it, clawing and twisted, and you immediately felt the blackness start to tug at the edge of your vision, its cold talons digging into your flesh.

“You can do it, fledgling. I know you can. Fight it,” Bill encouraged, somewhere to your left.

You pushed back against the darkness, refocusing on your breathing, the stone beneath your feet, your wand at the tips of your fingers. You slashed through the air with it, imagining an axe cutting through thick, black tendrils, and suddenly the tugging sensation vanished, the blackness receding from your vision.

“Yes, good girl! Keep going, push it all the way back into the axe.”

You did, pushing with all your might against the dark magic until it began to retreat, sinking back into the blade of the axe. But it wouldn't go all the way in, resisting your quickly depleting energy, when you felt something akin to a warm breeze blow over you: Bill’s magic. It joined your efforts, making the final push to force the curse back into the axe.

“Now hold it for me. Just like that,” Bill said, moving around the room. “I'm going to try a counter curse, but it may not take. Are you ready?”

“Ready.” You nodded, a rush of excitement pulsing through you. You were actually doing it. And doing it well.

With a flourish of wand movements and a string of words you don't understand, a beam of white light blasted from the end of Bill's wand and towards the axe, blinding you.

Something gave a godawful shriek, echoing off the walls until rubble rained over your head, and you heard a thunderous snap, followed by a whoosh of screaming air.

The light suddenly vanished, leaving you and Bill alone in the dark room, silent besides your ragged breathing.

“Lumos,” Bill muttered, and the torches along the walls relit, revealing the room around you. The axe lay on its side on the table, splintered in half. The rotten smell, and the curse, were gone. The handle was now just smooth wood, no notches in sight.

You exhaled, a giddy laugh bubbling up, and Bill smiled, crossing the room to you.

“Let me see you, you alright?” He asked, taking your hands to inspect your trembling fingers. The touch sent a zing of energy under your skin. “It didn't hurt you?”

You shook your head, dizzy from his unexpected tenderness and the after effects of using so much magic. “I'm okay,” you murmured, a little breathless.

“Okay,” he said, releasing your hands, though for a second, he seemed reluctant to. “I'll clean up here. Go home and get some rest, yeah?”

“Yes, sir,” you said, dipping your chin obediently.

His eyes searched your face for a moment longer, his jaw flexing, before he nodded once and turned back to the axe, dismissing you.

You slipped out of the vault and returned to the surface, reckless hope burning in your chest.

>Part Two

Thanks for reading! 🫶🏻

[theinvitedrider]

[elphabaathropppp]

Magic Lessons

The week after Elphaba bought the sorcery book for Galinda they decided on their study schedule. They’d use their free periods Mondays Wednesdays and Fridays to work on new things. Elphaba read the first few chapters then asked Galinda to summarize them for her. She felt a bit weird assigning her friend homework, but Galinda insisted she would do anything Elphaba thought would help and in this case Elphaba had to see how much of the theory and concept Galinda understood so she could try and teach her. So Elphaba asked that Galinda have her paper ready for her on Wednesday morning so they could start their lessons after breakfast. 

Elphaba knew Galinda was excited, she was too honestly. It was a great way for her to spend more time with her friend and help her achieve something she’s always wanted. She hoped if she could get some physical magic out of Galinda, however small. So that Madame Morrible would see the benefit of adding her to the seminar.

Elphaba also found that reading the book from a different author than Morrible’s books seemed to help her steady her magic a bit which was great. She’d only had one class since reading it but her magic seemed a bit stronger that day, a little more sure.

Elphaba was usually waiting for Galinda to finish getting ready so they could go to breakfast together, but when she came out do the bathroom Galinda was practically bouncing in the middle of the room. “Excited?” She asked with an adoring smile. “I’ve never seen you ready so early” she teased as she went to her desk to get her bag and put her things for the first half of the day inside.

[kalihoffs]

I'm trying to make a book cover for every book I read this year. Here's the first three :)

[wormwoodandhoney]

books read in 2023: alice hoffman's practical magic series

All the same, there were some things they needed to learn. Do not drink milk after a thunderstorm, for it will certainly be sour. Always leave out seed for the birds when the first snow falls. Wash your hair with rosemary. Drink lavender tea when you cannot sleep. Know that the only remedy for love is to love more.

[howifeltabouthim]

'Do you want me to teach you magic? Destroy your enemies? Show you how to become a god?'

Jenn Lyons, from The Ruin of Kings

[tongueofcat]

Magic Lessons

Chapter Thirteen: Morning

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human

Pairing: Connor RK800/F!Human Reader

Tags: Innocent Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Eventual Smut, Father-Son Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human)

Word Count: 6,782

Masterlist | Link to Ao3

Notes: Guess who’s back with the longest chapter (so far) that contains practically nothing?? Me!! It’s pure fluff, I’m so sorry. Also some like… set up for later, but nothing too serious. I think. Anyways, enjoy!

Morning is just dawning when you begin to wake; you can tell because dim light is filtering through your semi-sheer curtains beside your bed. The first thing you notice is your nose is freezing, so naturally you move to rub it. This motion is blocked by the second thing you realize: you’re being held. Connor’s arm is curled around your form and his face is nuzzled into your hair. You have no problem with this, but your nose is an icicle, so you try to move his arm. It won’t budge. You frown and come to the disappointing conclusion that you will have to wake your boyfriend. Is wake the right word? You aren’t entirely sure, to be honest.

“Connor…” You whisper, squeezing the arm you attempted to move earlier.

You can feel his muscles tense in his arm, then relax; his face stirs from atop your head, then lifts away. He squeezes you with the arm that’s draped over your body.

“Good morning…” Damn, even his voice sounds like he just woke up; it’s a delicious mix of his normal tone and soft huskiness. You feel your face heat up a little, but press on.

“My nose is cold.” You manage to turn your body around to look at him. His LED is cycling a calm blue as he blearily smiles down at you. Does he have some sort of sleepy morning protocol? Before you can ask that, however, he lifts his arm to gently rub at your nose with his hand.

His skin isn’t as warm as a human’s, but because it was in contact with you throughout the night and under the covers, it wasn’t exactly cold, either. You lift your own hand to join his, feeling more relief with the two of you working together.

“Alright, I think we’ve got it. Thank you for your assistance.” You giggle and he nods, smiling and retracting his hand. His arm falls gently across your waist and then he closes his eyes.m

“Um… are you still sleepy?” You ask, curious at his behavior: usually he’s very alert. He doesn’t open his eyes, but he does reward your question with a soft huff of amusement.

“I suppose you could translate my current state to being fatigued, yes,” Connor replies, voice soft and husky still, “I was not originally designed for the amount of stimuli that needs to be processed during sexual intercourse. A lot of data is created and it becomes overwhelming, but not in a negative way.”

Worry bubbles up in the pit of your stomach; it feels like a black hole is sucking the contents of your body into the abyss. Was Connor damaged in some way? He must notice your concern, for he leans in and presses his forehead to yours, his eyes still closed.

“Your heart rate is elevated and you’re secreting trace amounts of cortisol… what’s wrong?” He murmurs, his cool breath serving to calm your nerves a little.

“Should we not have sex?” You ask gently. He shakes his head, and by doing so, rubs his forehead gently against yours.

“No. Unless you do not want to engage in sexual activities any further,” He sighs softly, adding, “I just need to find a more efficient way to process incoming stimuli during sexual intercourse. Perhaps I should look into more sophisticated software when it comes to sex… I just have the base programs that came with my installed sex organ.”

“So… you overwhelmed your processors last night? Because you were taking in too much information?” You ask, trying to confirm if you’re understanding him correctly.

He nods, “Yes. I did not go into full stasis until I was done organizing all the data that was created last night.”

“I could ask my friends at work who are androids, if you’d like?” You offer and he pulls away to look at you.

“That… might be a good start. I will check online and do some research as well.” Connor leans back into the pillows and his eyelashes flutter close. You smile down at him before sitting up and sliding out of bed.

You yawn and stretch, lifting your arms over your head and shaking the sleep off of you. The faux-wood laminate floor is cold, and you shiver as you pad over to your bathroom and flick on the light. You mindlessly go about your morning routine, only pausing to get a good look in the mirror when you’re brushing your teeth. There’s several hickeys on either side of your throat, serving almost as bookends for the now-healing swaths of bruises going down the column of your neck from the hostage assault. Good thing you didn’t need to go to work and just focus on recovery for a week… otherwise you’d be having a bitch of a time covering one of them in particular.

With your free hand you gingerly prod at one of the hickeys near the top of your throat, just a hair or two under your jawline. You anxiously poke at the reddish-purple mottled skin and hiss a little at its tenderness; you can even see teeth marks from Connor if you squint hard enough. It’s nothing you can’t handle, you just didn’t expect this sort of behavior from him. In fact, if you were completely honest with yourself, you liked it, even if it meant for roughly a week or so you’ll be dabbing concealer and foundation on your neck whenever you want to leave the apartment.

Then you hear your name, soft and sleepy from the main room. You pop your head out of the bathroom, “Yeah?”

“I am reasonably certain I am experiencing a bout of loneliness…” The android whines, still sounding gravely and tired. You snort and spit your toothpaste out and wash your toothbrush and return it to its charger. Then you turn off the bathroom light and walk back over to the bed, plopping down beside Connor’s resting form.

“Not that I don’t adore your company, Connor, but don’t you have to go to work?” You ask. He shakes his head into the pillow, eyes still closed.

“No. Well, not exactly. I am on call this weekend.” He explains. You perk up at this knowledge, “Oh, neat! I’m off this weekend as well — the entire week, actually! Except for, you know, college stuff.”

Connor pries open one eye to look up at you, “You don’t have work for a week?”

You nod, smiling sheepishly, “My manager gave me the week off to rest and recuperate. She even sent me some contact information of therapists in the area I can afford… which I should look at now.”

“That’s nice and very good for you. I am glad.” He closes his one open eye and you stand up to go searching for your phone. You find it on the coffee table within a few minutes and look through your notifications and messages.

The first message you see is from Diana. You press the message log tab with your thumb, willing it to open.

Diana (Snow): No worries. I’m glad you’re feeling better.

Diana (Snow): Do you still live in that apartment complex near downtown? I want to bring you some ukha - it’s like a fish stew.

Diana (Snow): I will not take no for an answer, Crybaby. Just tell me a good time and day to bring it over. Preferably give me a day in advance; I do not work miracles.

You smile at the messages and work on a reply

You: How does Monday sound? I don’t know your schedule, but maybe noonish? Does that work?

Then you go back to your messages to finally look at Dawn’s messages.

Dawn: Here’s the list of potential counselors that provide sliding-scale therapy in the downtown Detroit-area…

- Marina Mansoor: Clinical Social Worker/Therapist LMSW (she/her)

- Arthur Baird: Licensed Professional Counselor MEd, LPC (he/him)

- Augusta Blink-Wilde: Psychologist PhD (they/them)

Each name was followed by a link to their prospective page. With your current educational route being psychology with the aim to become a therapist, you were familiar with the degrees and titles behind their name and professions. You decide to go through the pages in order they were provided.

First was Marina Mansoor. The website lists her key specialities as: Trauma/PTSD, Stress, and Veterans. She’s only accepting online patients at the moment, which was perfectly fine. Your eyes gloss over the site, noting just how pretty she is: probably in her late 30s or early 40s with beautiful straight black hair, brown eyes, and flawless light brown skin. In her picture she’s offering up a gentle smile, which gives her points in the approachable category. You note this and continue to the next linked professional.

Arthur Baird was next. His picture is the first thing you notice: a pale, ruddy-cheeked plump man with hair so blonde it appears almost white, along with piercing blue-green eyes, circular prescription glasses, and a well-manicured beard. He reminds you slightly of Santa Claus, but you can’t tell exactly how old he is — he could be either in his late 30s or early 50s, you had no earthly idea. The website lists his key expertise as: Anxiety, Sexual Abuse, and Trauma/PTSD. He is accepting patients in person and online. He seems very sweet, but you continue on to the last person listed.

The last page is devoted to Augusta Blink-Wilde’s practice. They are the youngest-looking of the three so far, you note, just glancing at their bright-eyed and bushy-tailed picture makes you smile. They are in their early 30s at maximum. They have amberesque eyes, some sort of hazel, maybe; clear, smooth brown skin with a smattering of freckles, and textured hair that’s dyed a beautiful ombre purple-to-blue and styled in chunky box braids. Their speciality is listed as LGBTQIA2S+, Trauma/PTSD, and Self Esteem. They have a little quote underneath their picture: ‘dum spiro spero - while I breathe, I hope.’ You assume it’s Latin, and appreciate the sentiment it holds.

You spend a few moments considering your choices: all three take sliding-scale payments, all three specialize in Trauma/PTSD (which you would classify your situation to best represent), and they all seem nice enough. You bite your thumb in thought as you look over the pages some more.

“You know,” Connor murmurs, halfway into his pillow from the bed, ”The lieutenant has this turn of phrase: you are thinking too loud; I can hear your brain’s gears grinding from all the way over here. I used to think it was purely hyperbolic, but I swear I can hear them… the gears.”

You snort, turning off your phone and letting your arm fall to your side, still grasping it. You join him on the bed and run an affectionate hand through his hair, “If anyone has gears in their head, it’s you, dork.”

“We have been through this: I am not a dork; I am a highly socially adept individual,” He muses, obviously enjoying the physical attention of head scritches, “Also, I don’t have gears. My anatomy and physiology is more advanced than that.”

“Hmm, that’s just what I’d say if I had gears in my head, Connor. You’re not going to convince me so easily…” You smile, taking your hand away and moving to lay down beside him. It doesn’t take long for him to realize what you’re doing and accept your attempts at snuggles.

“I could append the part of my Administrator’s Manual that goes over my general anatomy, if you would like.” His head eases into the snuggling by resting his chin on your head. You sigh, the sound amused as you close your eyes and say, “No, Connor, I guess I’ll just have to believe you.”

“Good, I’m a valuable source on my own body…”

“Nerd…” You whisper, letting yourself relax and drift off.

…

You’re mildly awoken to a buzzing coming from around your middle. It’s annoying, so you grumble a little until it stops… only for it to start back up a few minutes later, fully waking you up. You groan softly, groping blindly at the source of your displeasure, eventually finding it and bringing it to be inspected by your judging eyes.

Oh, it’s just your phone. It lights up at your touch, it’s only been a couple of hours since you last checked the time. You unlock your phone and scan the updates: a lot of advertisements from apps, some social media notifications you’re going to continue to ignore, then a few text messages. You pull the first one up from Allison, which surprises you: you haven’t spoken to her since you found her unconscious in one of the VIP rooms at work looking like a puffed-up stress doll.

Allison (Candy): Hey, just got discharged from the hospital this morning. I heard he hurt you, too. How are you doing?

You frown; you should have messaged her first, shame on you. But, you’ve been distracted, so you’ll just have to make it up to her somehow.

You: Hey!! How are you? Are you in pain?

You: Don’t worry about me!! I’m fine and dandy. What are you doing?

You see the little typing bubble pop up and Allison responds fast.

Allison (Candy): Yeah, but they gave me the good shit. Had to have surgery on my face, which apparently they did immediately because the swelling wasn’t that bad. I can’t imagine it being worse from the pictures I saw, but I’m not a doctor. He fucked up my face… but the doctors are confident I’ll look normal, not disfigured or whatever. Which is a plus, I guess.

Allison (Candy): I’m just glad I’m alive. Last thing I remember before blacking out is thinking wow, I’m going to die at 23. Anyway, Mama Dawn gave me as much time off as I need for physical and mental recovery — maybe we could meet up and commiserate?

Allison (Candy): Or rather, if it’s ok, could you come visit me? I don’t want to be a walking source of entertainment for strangers… I’m staying with my parents, but they’re nice and supportive. I love them, haha, I’m so glad they’re here to take care of me.

You wonder if your parents would take you in if you were rendered ill or needed help recuperating from a physical ailment or even became disabled. You frown because you’re honestly unsure — your parents didn’t know what you did for a living for a reason: they would not support it in the slightest. Hell, they didn’t even support you going to college to become a therapist. You’re glad Allison has the support she needs, but feel bittersweet all the same.

You: I’m glad you have a good support system in your parents. I’m also glad you’re still with us! I can visit this week, what day and time would be good for you?

You exit the chat log and navigate to Hannah’s messages, composing a new text.

You: Hey, remember when you told me you were seeing someone and you were trying out some new program or something? The spicy program? Do you have a link to that…? I promise it’s for a good cause!

The chat ‘…’ bubble appears immediately, followed by a message from Hannah.

Hannah (Pearl): Yeah, sure!

Hannah (Pearl): Optimized Sexual Stimulation Delegation, or OSSD? Funny because OSSD also stands for Output Signal Switching Device, which is kind of what this prevents in androids… well, not exactly, but it’s close enough that I find it funny!

Hannah (Pearl): Wait, do you need it for an installed penis attachment or installed vagina attachment? I have the latter.

Hannah (Pearl): Also, why would you need it? Ooo, are you seeing an android? My preferred payment is dirty little details, Magic!

You groan, but respond all the same.

You: Fine. I’ll tell you, but I need the goods first. I need the one for androids with an installed penis attachment.

Hannah sends you a message back in record time.

Hannah (Pearl): I think I’m the one who gets to make the rules here, since I have the so-called ‘goods’ you require. Details or no spicy OSSD program for you!

You groan again, causing Connor to squeeze his hand on your hip, a wordless check-in with you. You nuzzle your forehead affectionately into his neck, soothing him before typing back.

You: This is entirely unfair and you know it!

You: Ugh, okay but I haven’t even told Seth/Sunset yet, really. He will have my head if I don’t tell him first…

Hannah wastes no time.

Hannah (Pearl): Then tell him!

You force yourself not to groan for the third time in a row and drag your metaphorical feet over to Seth’s chat log and type out the message.

You: Don’t freak out.

You: I’ve started dating the android we talked about.

Then you maneuver yourself back over to Hannah’s chat log.

You: Did it, are you happy?

You: I’m dating the android detective that was there the night Allison/Candy got assaulted and I was made a hostage. He’s really sweet… his name is Connor.

The chat bubble pops up so fast you stop typing out your next message.

Hannah (Pearl): You’re dating the Deviant Hunter????

The Deviant Hunter. Connor had referred to himself once as that at Pandora’s Box. Before you can respond, she adds.

Hannah (Pearl): Not that he goes by that anymore, but Magic he’s super infamous for that within android society. Most say he redeemed himself for his actions during the tail-end of the revolution, but some androids say he’s still a dog of the human police state since he works for the DPD.

You take in that information. Connor had previously confessed to sins against his people and humans before, when you first got intimate at the club in the VIP room. He seemed, at the time, really torn between what he wanted and what he thought he deserved because of his past. Connor’s soliloquy from that mind comes to the forefront of your mind:

‘I was created to inflict pain and manifest horror within the souls of my victims, the enemy of my creators. I was called the ’Deviant Hunter’… I’ve killed people, my own kind while I was an unthinking machine. I… am not sure I am able to properly please you; I am not sure I’m worthy of your touch, let alone your affection.’

Your brow creases in thought, letting his past words wash over you. He seemed so sad…

You snuggle closer into Connor, garnering a nuzzle to your head and another squeeze on your hip. You continue to text with Hannah.

You: He’s definitely not the Deviant Hunter anymore. Connor is sweet and incredibly empathetic. I think he regrets his past and is actively trying to atone for his actions.

Hannah responds within a minute.

Hannah (Pearl): Good. When I became deviant after escaping my owner, I was absolutely terrified of him finding me. Thankfully, I found shelter quickly and was able to wait it out until after the revolution.

The idea that Hannah had to endure all that, even if she was summarizing her experience down for you… made you feel absolutely awful. You wanted to know more, but ultimately decided now is not the time.

You: That’s awful. I’m glad you’re here with us and safe now. I promise, Connor isn’t scary once you meet him.

Then you get a pop-up message from Seth. You thumb at it and pull up his chat log.

Seth (Sunset): PARDON MOI? DATING? GIRL…

Seth (Sunset): Didn’t you just get frisky with this guy? Hasn’t it only been, like, a few days since y’all met?

Seth (Sunset): What’s the rush, sugar lumps?

You frown and stamp out a quick response.

You: I said not to freak out!

You: He asked me out and I said yes! Sorry at the speed at which my life story progresses?

You: Also the last bit is sarcasm.

Then you navigate back to Hannah’s page just in time for her to send a link.

Hannah (Pearl): I was able to find the installed penis version of the OSSD program files for download from an android-run online community. It’s where I downloaded the corresponding installed vagina one. Hopefully it is what you guys are looking for!

As you’re reading that, she then adds.

Hannah (Pearl): Sorry if I came across as rude. I’m sure he’s fine, but I cannot help the image my psyche has created of him. Knowing he’s kind and sweet does soften it, though…

You quickly reply.

You: Thank you, Hannah. I understand and appreciate you!

Then you send the link to Connor via text. Before popping back over to Seth.

Seth (Sunset): Whatever, girlie-pop. Just be safe.

You send him a heart emoji and lock your phone, letting it fall from your hands to rest on the small slice of mattress between you and Connor.

“Thank you for the OSSD download link. This appears to be what I need to run optimally during and after sexual intercourse.” He whispers into your scalp, his breath tickling you a little. He sounds much better, more awake now.

“You sound better.” You point out.

“Did I sound bad before?” He chuckles, pressing a kiss onto the top of your head.

“No, you sounded sexy, honestly. Like a tired teddy bear.”

“How is that image you described sexy? Are you attracted to ursine stuffed toys?” Connor says.

“No! That’s stupid!” You blurt, causing him to laugh more.

“Sure. Have you eaten yet?” He asks and you shake your head against him, “We should feed you.”

“But I’m cozy!” You whine, pulling him flush against you. You snuggle into his neck and you can feel the vibrations of his laughter through his synthetic skin.

“Come on, I need to feed my human. I do not want you to become malnourished.” Your stomach feels like a bunch of butterflies are swarming around when he says ‘my human.’ You pull back to look at his face, and he opens his eyes to look at you in response to your moment. He smiles at you and you smile back.

“Maybe I can be convinced…” You divert your eyes from his and he breathes an amused breath through his nose.

“How can I convince you?” He leans in a little and you giggle.

“Guess!” You look back at him and he sighs fondly before closing the gap between the two of you. He presses a sweet kiss to your lips and you make a happy, muffled sound of contentment. Then he pulls back and begins to sit up, stretching his arms and bending and unbending his fingers to recalibrate. You follow suit, sitting up beside him. He gets up first, plucking his briefs and trousers from the floor and pulling them on; he zips and buttons up, but ultimately decides to stay shirtless… which is distracting.

The skin of his neck is littered with little love bites, little blueish-purple marks. When he turns to make his way to the kitchen you can see the angry little nail scratches you’ve left behind, the same color as the hickeys. Okay, maybe he’s extremely distracting without a shirt on. You’re not going to complain though. Instead, you hop up and join him in the kitchen.

Connor moves to open your refrigerator, but then turns sheepishly to you, “May I look at what you have?”

“Oh, yeah, sure!” You blink and nod. He smiles and turns back to the fridge, opening it and peering into its contents. He takes a quick scan of it, then closes the fridge, padding to the nearest cabinet and opening it. This continues with every drawer and the pantry closet. Then you watch him curiously from the entrance of the kitchen, his LED whirring yellow.

“Is there anything you would prefer for breakfast?” He finally asks and you shake your head and laugh gently, “No. Also, you don’t have to cook for me, Connor.”

He flashes you those puppy eyes, “But I would enjoy it…”

You sigh, “Jeez, alright then, Connor… but I’m helping, okay?”

“I am perfectly capable of cooking on my own, you know.” He chuckles, but you detect a hint of defensiveness in his voice. So you press, “Never said you couldn’t cook, but I am curious: how long have you been cooking, Connor?”

He frowns at you.

“Oh come on, tell me!” You smile sweetly at him. He rolls his eyes, something you’ve never seen before, and crosses his arms.

“Since December 2038. So, approximately as long as I’ve been active. I started cooking for the lieutenant to help with house chores and hope to improve his overall health.”

Oh, that’s precious. You smile sweetly at him, “That’s very sweet, Connor.”

“I care about the lieutenant. It seemed like the least I could do.” He offers you a lop-sided smile in response to your compliment.

“Alright then, Chef Connor, what’s on the menu, today?”

His smile brightens and he turns to the refrigerator.

“I was thinking of a standard American breakfast: eggs, bacon, and toast. Unless you want something sweeter as your main carbohydrate; we could make pancakes… you have the ingredients.”

“Ooh, pancakes! I haven’t had pancakes in a while…” You muse behind him, walking further into the kitchen to peek curiously from behind him, into the fridge as he opens it. You had just gone grocery shopping, so you’re pretty well-stocked.

“You have a sweet tooth, don’t you?” He smirks at you and you pout, but keep your mouth shut. But then he turns back to the fridge and starts to pull out butter, the egg carton, the milk jug, and the package of thick-cut smoked bacon. He sets them down on the counter and you follow him around the kitchen like a duckling; Connor finds your skillet and places it on the stovetop. You watch as he turns on the archaic oven, letting the gas-light click three times before the flame fires up. He goes to the sink and washes his hands and returns to the counter after drying them on a paper towel.

He then opens the sealed package of bacon, cutting it with a pair of kitchen shears he finds in the utensil caddy by the stove. He glances back at you, as if he’s gauging something, before gingerly peeling a piece of bacon from within its packaging. The android makes fast work of adding a total of four strips of bacon to the already hot skillet; with each new addition there’s the start of a satisfying sizzle from the bacon. With a steeled focus, Connor watches over the bacon as they pan-fry in their own grease, taking care to flip them over when they are ready with a pair of tongs. You manage to peel your eyes away from the shirtless chef and retrieve a paper towel and plate, placing the paper towel on top of the plate and setting it beside the stove, near Connor.

“Thank you, that will help collect the grease.” He breathes, unable to stop himself from explaining the use of the equipment you provided him with. You snort and nod, “Yeah, that’s why I did it. It’s almost as if this isn’t my first rodeo.”

He sighs, shaking his head as he starts to transfer the cooked bacon strips to the plate. You take a big inhale through your nose and exhale dreamily: it smells wonderful in the apartment and it’s only going to get better. Connor looks down at the skillet and frowns.

“Do you have another pan? I would like to continue cooking, but I cannot dispose of the excess grease per city guidelines until it solidifies and can be scraped out and thrown away.”

“You can use the bacon grease to cook the eggs, too. Instead of using butter as a pan lube.” You grin and he raises an eyebrow.

“Pan lube. The usage isn’t incorrect per say, but I’m still somehow offended. Impressive.”

“Oh hush. Here, I’ll crack the eggs for you!” You turn your attention to the carton of eggs and pluck two out from the container, placing them in a bowl before returning the carton to the fridge. Then you take the eggs out of said bowl and tap each egg firmly on the edge of the counter. In one swift motion you dump the contents of both eggs in the bowl. You then toss the shells in the trash bin.

“Do you want them scrambled?” You ask. Connor smiles at you, his eyes crinkling fondly with the expression, “That depends: what is your preference?”

You flush, feeling dumb and manage to mumble, “Scrambled.”

“Good choice.” He moves around you, grabbing the milk jug and uncapping it, then he pours a very precise splash of milk into the eggs before returning the jug to the fridge. He retrieves a whisk from the utensil caddy and whips at the eggs, turning the yellow yolks and whites into a coherent mix. He salts and peppers the liquid before slowly pouring it into the skillet. The egg sizzles in the hot pan, almost immediately puffing up and cooking through. He takes a heat-safe rubber spatula from the utensil caddy and works the mixture around the greased pan.

“I think I’ll just have toast,” You say suddenly, previously mesmerized by your android boyfriend cooking shirtless for you, “I don’t really feel like cleaning up sticky syrupy shit… plus, I’m not sure I’m hungry enough for a stack of pancakes. Two slices of buttered cinnamon toast, though, now we’re talking.”

Connor doesn’t look away from his task, but speaks up, “If you are concerned with cleaning, I would be happy to handle dishes after you eat; I don’t mind it, I do the dishes at home for the lieutenant often. If I don’t he just puts all the dishes and silverware unwashed, caked with food matter, into the dishwasher…”

You shake your head, “I appreciate it, Connor, but no. I’m not going to let you make breakfast and clean up, too. That would be rude.”

Connor simply nods, accepting your answer. You pick up the bowl with egg residue and place it in the sink. Then you go to the closet pantry and proquire the foretold cinnamon bread loaf. You unwrap it and take out two pieces, plopping them in your toaster and pressing down on the trigger that starts the toasting process, before wrapping the bread up again and returning it to its home in the pantry. When you make your way back to Connor’s side he’s folding over the greasy paper towel on the bacon plate to plate the scrambled eggs. He scrapes them gently out of the pan before placing the skillet in the sink and pouring water on and into it. The pan hisses at the contact of cold water, steam rising to meet him briefly before it settles down. Once Connor is satisfied with the soaking pan, he moves to stand behind you before hugging you from behind. He rests his chin on your head.

You reach up to grasp onto his arms encircling you and begin to shift your weight from foot to foot, starting to sway the two of you as you both idly wait for the toast to finish. There’s a toothless smile plastered on your face; it’s been a while since you’ve been in such a domestic scenario with someone.

It feels nice.

Then the toast pops up and you squeeze his arms and he releases you without a word. Carefully, you take each slice of toast out and slather butter on each slice with a butter knife. Once the cinnamon toast is buttered to your standards, you put up the butter in the refrigerator and hold up the plate of food triumphantly.

“Behold! A joint-effort breakfast!”

Connor laughs and you set the plate down and busy yourself by pouring a glass of orange juice. Then you take your breakfast to the couch, since you don’t have an actual kitchen table you usually eat in front of the coffee table or on your bed. You sit and then realize you forgot a fork… you frown uselessly at your plate of delicious food.

“Forgetting something?” Connor asks, holding out a fork for you.

“Oh, my hero! Thank you.” You gladly accept the utensil and begin to dig into your meal. The android comes to sit beside you and leans back into the couch, resting his eyes. You glance over at him, concerned, “Still tired?”

He shakes his head, “I’m focusing on downloading the OSSD executable now.”

“Do you want the WiFi? Would that help?”

He opens an eye to look at you, “Yes, if you are offering. That might allow the download to finish faster.”

You relay your WiFi information to Connor and he takes it all in, his LED spinning a soft yellow as he plugs in the WiFi name and password. Then he smiles, “Thank you.”

You continue eating, savoring the fluffiness of the scrambled eggs and how the salt in pepper is actually inside the eggs, not just sprinkled on top. They’re also slightly creamier, probably due to the addition of a little bit of milk. Then you’re munching on bacon and watching Connor out of the corner of your eye. He seems so zen as he relaxes back into the couch, his arms splayed up on the top of the cushions, one arm even behind yourself. He breathes in and out evenly, LED spinning yellow as he does so. If you weren’t informed of what he was doing you would maybe guess mediation.

You finish your breakfast and set your plate down on the coffee table in front of you. You yawn and lay down on the couch, setting your head squarely in Connor’s lap, causing him to open his eyes and peer down at you.

“Are you comfortable down there?” He gives you a small, amused smile. You nod, closing your eyes, “Yup.” One of Connor’s hands lifts off the couch to stroke your head soothingly.

The two of you enjoy some quiet time, just appreciating each other’s company. You don’t exactly fall asleep, but your consciousness does drift through your week so far and what you’re going to be doing on your week off work as well as college assignments coming up. Then you hear your name and it eases you out of your thoughts.

“Yes?” You haven't even opened your eyes yet.

“Your body heat is dropping. I suggest either getting more dressed or a blanket.” Connor’s voice comes from above and you giggle softly.

“I’m fine, sweetheart. I’m not going to get hypothermia.”

“There is, in fact, a non-zero chance of it.” He quips and you groan, slowly getting up.

“You just want to watch me undress… then get dressed. Weird kink, Connor.” You mock grumble, getting up off the couch to pilfer through your closet. The android chuckles from the couch, “If caring about your wellbeing is a kink, then yes, I have that kink.”

“That’s not—“ You pull the green, chunky-knit sweater dress over your head and throw it into the hamper, “—what I said, and you know it!”

You look through your closet, standing there naked practically frigid in the cold air of your apartment. A shiver runs through you, coaxing you forward. You open the dresser that you’ve shoved in there, behind the hung clothing, and proceed to slip on a random pair of cotton panties. Then you force the old wooden thing to close before stepping back and selecting a black spaghetti-strap tank, a red hoodie and a pair of black leggings. Then you close your closet and begin to put your clothes on.

“Maybe you are onto something, I am invested in your outfit getting on your body.” Connor smirks from the couch. You roll your eyes and refuse to honor his silliness with a response. You hop into your leggings first, then put on the tank, before finally pulling the hoodie over your head.

You make a lackluster pose for Connor’s amusement, “Tada!”

He claps his hands for you four times, standing up and walking over to you. Mind you, he’s still shirtless and distracting as all get-out. You look up at him, raising an eyebrow at his yellow LED.

“What are you scheming?” You ask.

”Why do you assume that I am up to something?” Connor’s LED settles back to blue and he winks at you; your heart does a little somersault at that. He lets out an amused exhale through his nose before pulling you into a hug. He squeezes you around the middle fondly and you reciprocate the hug, snuggling your face into his synthetic skin.

“Today has been nice.” His voice comes from above you. You make a small sound of agreement at his sentiment.

“Sometimes it’s nice to just do nothing with someone you care about.” You pull away to look up at him and he looks down at you. His hair is still messy, tousled primarily from your sexual encounter last night; his eyes are warm and brown, crinkling with affection and he’s smiling serenely down at you. Wordlessly, the two of you lean forward, your foreheads pressing together affectionately.

You close your eyes and take a deep, calming breath through your nose. You can feel Connor’s cool breathing fan over your lips before you let out your exhale through your mouth.

“I like you… a lot.” You find yourself saying. From your close proximity you can hear the soft movement of Connor’s mouth pulling up in a smile.

“I like you a lot, too.” He replies and now you’re smiling, too.

The two of you stay like that, holding each other in the middle of your studio apartment. It feels so nice to feel like this… but eventually you do pull back, but not before giving Connor a peck on his cheek. He smiles at that and releases you. You sit down on the edge of your bed, grabbing your phone and unlocking it. He joins you, looking curiously over your shoulder.

“Unsurprising, you are popular.” He points out, probably talking about the bubbles holding the amount of messages, emails, and notifications various apps have. You snort, shaking your head, “Not really… nosey!”

He chuckles. You look at your messages, most of it is promotional texts from a few brands you follow. You navigate back to the list of counselors in the downtown area. The three counselors had been in the back of your mind this morning… and the more you thought about it, Augusta Blink-Wilde stood out to you the most. They may be new in their practice, but you didn’t mind. You compose a new patient email, asking for an in-person appointment. You send the message off and lock your phone, leaning against Connor.

“Connor…” You whine, “I’m bored. Entertain me!”

He chuckles beside you, about to say something when his body freezes. You look up at him and his LED is spinning yellow. Then he relaxes and begins to speak, “Yes, lieutenant, I am still at her apartment. Oh, I apologize, I forgot to message you before going into stasis last night.”

Ah, he got a phone call. You snuggle into his side and let him focus.

“Like I stated, I meant to message you. I am sorry I caused you to worry about me, but I am fine. Uh, let me check…” Connor turns to you, looking a little sheepish, “Would you like to go to the dog park with the lieutenant, Sumo, and I?”

You perk up, interested, “Uh, sure! But, won’t it be muddy?”

“It is always muddy. Sumo gets a bath after playing.” He smiles back at you. You nod, “Sure, lemme grab my boots.”

“She said yes to joining us. We will not be long, I’ll call an automated cab. See you soon, lieutenant.” You hear the rest of Connor’s conversation. You snatch your black leather boots from beside the door and then rustle through your sock drawer for some thick boot socks. You sit on the couch as your android boyfriend plays ‘where are my clothes’ around your apartment, picking up each discarded article of clothing and putting it back on, sans the chest gun holster. He slides on his dress shoes as you’re tapping the tip of your boots to fill them snuggly. Then you both make your way to the door.

“I called a cab, it should be here in two minutes.” He slides on his blazer, glancing at you for confirmation that his actions were ok. You nod, “Sounds good! It’s puppy time!!”

He smiles warmly at you.

“Yes, puppy time.”

[thepunktheory]

Quote of the Day #306

But what you give up you can learn to live without, even if it causes you heartbreak at the start. ― Alice Hoffman, Magic Lessons

[witch-of-fanart]

A Royal Crush page 7-10 First Prev< >Next

BOOM she asked for a prince and got a KING!

[sesame-sim]

Books I'm considering next

I mentioned before I add a new book every 5 sim years in my bookish save.. I'm torn about what book to add in next for Year 55. I know It seems too soon to be thinking about it bc I'm posting Year 50 right now, but in actuality I'm halfway through playing Year 53 so I need to give myself some time to finish reading and do prep like take notes, make a timeline.

Below are the ones I'm currently considering. They each have things about them that I really want to play and things about them that would be difficult to show with sims. Opinions welcome! I would love if somebody just tells me they have a clear favorite and then I don't have to decide lol.

In alphabetical order (info on each after the cut)

Clothes, Clothes, Clothes, Music, Music, Music, Boys, Boys, Boys (memoir)

Dust Child (historical fic)

Magic Lessons and the Practical Magic trilogy (fantasy)

Refugee High (nonfic)

Salvage the Bones ; Sing, Unburied Sing (fic)

She's Not There (memoir)

The Glass Castle ; Half Broke Horses (memoir)

To Kill A Kingdom (fantasy)

War and Speech (YA)

Clothes, Clothes, Clothes, Music, Music, Music, Boys, Boys, Boys (memoir of Viv Albertine, member of British female punk rock group The Slits. I'm interested in the aesthetics of this. She's also dated Mick from The Clash, has been friends with various ppl like Sid Vicous. But should I hold out for the possibility of a bands EP or GP in the future? And there's another memoir of hers I could also read before playing. It's more focused on her family rather than her music career)

Dust Child (historical fiction about a half Vietnamese half black man who is trying to find out who his father is in the present time intertwined with the story of two sisters who leave their small town to become bar girls in Saigon in past time. I actually haven't read this yet but I became interested in playing something with a Vietnamese storyline because of the tumblr @biplusco . Their Indochine cc collection made me want to play something set in Southeast Asia.

Magic Lessons; The Book of Magic; The Rules of Magic; Practical Magic (trilogy and a prequel following the Owens family of witches since the 1600s. You may know the movie Practical Magic. Of these books I've read Practical Magic and half of Magic Lessons but haven't read The Book of Magic or The Rules of Magic yet. The main issue here is 4 books is a lot to take notes about and make timelines for before playing through. Plus, starting from the late 1600s all the way to more current times at the speed I play will mean I never finish! But maybe I could JUST play the prequel.)

Refugee High (nonfiction about the high school in the U.S. with the highest percentage of refugees. The author chose some students, each from a different country, to delve into the lives of. Could be interesting depicting each one's past in sims before they end up together in Copperdale High School. But I've only just started reading this one.)

Salvage the Bones; Sing, Unburied, Sing (fictions both by Jesmyn Ward and they take place in the same town. The characters even cross paths at one point. I love her writing so much but a key part of one book is a hurricane and the other book mostly takes place in a car so I don't know if I can do this well in Sims 4 as the game is rn)

She's Not There (memoir, gender transition. I might want to read her other book called Good Boy about every dog she's had in her life first so I can play both together and have each of the pets join the family at the right times)

The Glass Castle; Half Broke Horses (both by Jeannette Walls. The Glass Castle is a really popular memoir about the author's nomadic upbringing with parents who eventually choose to be homeless. Half Broke Horses is her biography of her maternal grandmother. That one mostly takes place on ranches. What happens in The Glass Castle basically picks up right after what happens in Half Broke Horses.)

To Kill A Kingdom (fiction, fantasy, mermaids and princes. This one I'm worried about my lack of cc for. I want to play out a fantasy book at some point but I haven't done any collecting of fantasy cc whatsoever yet so it might take a while to accumulate it )

War and Speech (a humorous YA book about a high school girl, new to a school, who joins the super snobby speech team just to try to bring them down from the inside.)

[agreeewrites]

Magic Lessons p.3 | B.W.

feat. Bill Weasley x intern!reader

SUMMARY: Bill returns from Cairo, but doubt began to creep into your mind during his absence, dredging up old wounds for the both of you.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, mischievious twins, pleasuredom!Bill, angst angst angst angst, mentions of Fenrir’s attack and the war, mentions of divorce, some rough oral and piv, slight breeding kink, possessive!Bill, fluffy HEA

AN: this is now a completed series! yay!

part one | part two | masterlist

It was strange sitting in Bill’s office without him, curled up in the armchair he devoured you in, book open in your lap. You'd been trying for an hour to decipher his notes on a particular curse, tracing the small, angular letters with tired eyes, but your mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of its writer to absorb any of it.

Bill had been in Cairo for 12 days, six hours, and nine minutes, every tick of the clock like a barb in your skin, leeching black, poisonous doubt into your blood.

Would he still want you when he returned? Will the time away give him clarity to how insane you both were acting? Would you be reduced to a fling? No longer desirable now that you've been flung?

The time, the space, was making you second guess yourself, second guess him. What you were doing was reckless. Stupid, even. Risking the future you'd imagined for yourself since you were a first year at Hogwarts. You’d be a stain on Bill’s impressive career, and the thought of him eventually coming to resent you, regret you, for possibly ruining a decade of hard work…it made you physically ill.

Could you do that to him? To yourself?

But fuck, you wanted him desperately, the ache for him like a hole in your lungs. You found yourself spending longer and longer hours in his office, craving his presence, his aura, and the sanctuary of his space was the closest you could come to replicating that.

You sighed and set the notes aside for the night, the sun having set some hours before. With unhurried movements, you packed up your belongings and tidied his office on the off chance he returned the following day. You wanted it to be presentable for him, leaving no evidence that you'd been holed up there for nearly two weeks, besides the stack of completed work.

You took the Floo Station to the nearest one by your flat like you always did, ready to wash off your makeup, get into your pajamas, and order some Chinese food. Rain was coming down in sheets, wind buffeting against your coat, but when you rounded the corner towards your flat, the bulk of a man standing in the rain in front of your door stopped you in your tracks.

It took less than a heartbeat for you to realize who it was.

“Bill?” You gasped, and he lifted his head, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion, copper hair pulled back in a messy bun.

He took a step towards you. “Sorry, I—”

You launched yourself at him, completely overcome with relief, and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “You're home,” you whispered, relaxing fully when his arm looped around your waist, holding you tightly against his chest under the safety of the umbrella.

“I'm home,” he sighed, nuzzling into the top of your head. He smelled of train cars and petrichor, with lingering traces of cologne applied hours earlier, and you wanted to breathe it like air. “Can we go inside?” He asked, settling his hand on your hip with a soft squeeze.

“Yes! Merlin, sorry,” you giggled, a twinge of nerves in your stomach at the thought of having Bill inside your little flat.

You reluctantly pulled away and riffled through your bag for your keys. Bill's arm slid around you from behind, pulling you back against his chest as he nosed into the curve of your shoulder. Butterflies rioted in your stomach, your hands growing so clumsy to nearly dropped your key while you inserted it into the lock.

“Missed you, little bird,” he mumbled, pressing a tender kiss to your pulse.

“I missed you too,” you said, leaning your head against his. You managed to get the door open and Bill released you so you could move inside, and he closed the door behind you both, collapsing the umbrella and setting it by the door. “So, how were things in Egypt?” You asked, hanging your bag on the hook.

Bill slid your rain-soaked jacket off your shoulders, down your arms, his touch feather light, and hung it up as well. “You really want to talk about work? That's where you just came from, isn't it?” He said while shirking his own coat.

You flushed, embarrassed that he saw through you so easily. “It is,” you admitted. “And as long as you're alright, I don't want to talk about work.”

He smirked, reaching out to cradle your face in his hand, the other settling on your hip. “I'm perfect now, love. Although, we’re going to have a discussion about your work-life balance.”

You snorted. “Really? William ‘Never-Takes-A-Day-Off’ Weasley is going to lecture me on working too much?”

“Backtalk, too? Have you forgotten your manners while I was away?” He backed you against your kitchen island, lips a breath away from yours.

“No, sir,” you hummed, barely suppressing a grin as days worth of pent up desire came surging forth, your pulse racing between your legs.

He sighed, breath fanning against your cheek. “Merlin, you sound so pretty.” His hand on your hip moved around your back, pressing your bodies together. “Haven't felt anything soft in days,” he mumbled, almost to himself.

“Take me to bed?” You asked, brushing an escaped strand of hair from his face and tucking it behind his ear.

“Thought you'd never ask,” he chuckled and scooped you up into his arms—

Knock knock!

“Open up! We brought pizza!” The twins serenaded through the door, and Bill swiveled his head to look at you.

“Oh fuck, I completely forgot.” You squirmed and Bill set you back on your feet, though he didn't relinquish his hold. “We planned a movie night.”

“Tell them to bugger off,” he huffed, bending down to kiss your neck.

“Bill, that's rude!”

“Don't care,” he muttered, lapping at your pulse, and your mind began to drift, lost in the feeling of him.

“We’re getting soaked out here!” George called.

“Don't make me break in!” Fred warned, knocking with a little more force. “I'd hate to do it again!”

“Again?” Bill's head snapped towards the door.

“Just—fuck, get in the closet!” You tried to push Bill towards your bedroom, but only managed to move him a few steps.

“Why did he break in before?” He asked, fighting a smile at your helpless attempt to move him.

“I locked myself out! I'll get rid of them, just, please get in there!” You pushed your shoulder into his sternum, peddling your legs like cartoon character.

He sighed, taking a step back and nearly sending your sprawling onto the floor. “Ten minutes.”

“Thank you!”

Bill chuckled and walked the rest of the way into your bedroom at the same moment you heard George cast alohomora.

The twins barged in, wands raised as if you were in peril.

“What took you so bloody long?”

“Why are you just standing there?”

“Whose coat is that?”

“I, actually, um—” you wracked your brain for an excuse.

“Darling, is there a man in this flat?” George asked, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

“Uh—yes!” you whispered back. “I met him at work and we hit it off. I'm sorry, I forgot about our plans.”

George scoffed, a teasing smirk on his face. “So you'd rather have a shag then hang out with us?”

“Y’know, if you needed to blow off a little steam—” Fred started when something crashed in your closet, making the three of you jump.

“Is he…in your closet?” George raised an eyebrow.

“No, no! That's, uh—”

Fred pushed past you, striding into your room.

“Fred!” You snapped, trying to grab him, but he batted your hand away. “Just please, go.”

“You sure you know this bloke well enough to be here alone with him?” Fred asked, moving closer to the closet, the humor having drained from his voice.

“What's his name?” George asked. “Maybe Bill’s mentioned him?”

“It’s, uh—”

“You don't even know his name?” Fred whisper-shouted, glaring at you with a strange mix of pride and concern.

“No, I do! He, uh—”

“Are you okay?” George asked, his brothers concern reflected in his face. He placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. “You're shaking, love.”

“Did this prick scare you?” Fred asked, turning his attention back to the closet door.

“No! Merlin’s sake, please just go! I'm fine!”

“Hey, fuckface, what are you doing in her closet?” Fred banged on the door, and you died a little inside.

Silence echoed around the flat.

“Open the door, mate,” Fred ordered, and George pulled you a little closer to his chest.

More silence. You had no doubt Bill had apparated, and the twins were about to think you were insane.

“Three, two—” Fred yanked open the door, revealing his older brother standing in the middle of your closet, his arms crossed over his chest. “B-Bill?” Fred stammered, taking a step back.

“You two have some fucking nerve,” Bill growled, and the twins scattered as he dashed out of the closet after them.

“We're sorry! We didn't know!” George called, vaulting over your couch.

“What the fuck, y/n?” Fred shouted, diving under your bed.

“Would it kill you two to mind your own fucking business?” Bill dragged Fred out by his ankles, his little brother desperately clawing at the ground.

You'd find it funny if it weren't for your secret being out, the very thing that kept you up every night for the last two weeks.

“You're the one fucking our friend!” George shouted, effectively diverting attention from his twin.

Bill turned on him, throwing one of your pillows at his head. “I'm not fucking her!”

Fred scurried behind your bedroom door. “Then why are you here so late!”

“And hiding in like a ghoul in the closet!”

“Can we just calm down—” You tried.

“I just got back from—come here, you little shit! I just got back from Cairo and needed to check in with her—George!”

“Bullshit!” Fred countered. “You're fucking our girl!”

“Hey!”

Bill froze, turning his head to peer at Fred, pillow aloft.

“Your girl?” Bill challenged, and you groaned.

“See! I knew it! Oh fuck—” Bill chucked the pillow at Fred and he apparated at the same instant, the pillow flying right through where he was standing and landing on your bed.

“Fucker,” Bill bit.

“Congratulations on your boning! Bye!” George chirped, apparating too.

Bill sighed, turning to you.

“Couldn't keep your cool, huh?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“They won't say anything,” he said, smoothing back his hair.

“I know, it's just—” Tendrils of anxiety wrapped around your throat, tightening until you were silenced.

“What, love?” He asked, taking a careful step towards you, sensing your mounting anxiety.

“What are we doing? This is—”

Bill was quiet for a moment. “You said you wanted this,” he murmured, a sharpness around the edges of his words.

“I do!” You cried, frustrated with yourself. “But that doesn't mean we should be doing it. Bill, if it got out that you were screwing your intern, your career would be over. And so would mine, before it even started. I mean, hiding from our coworkers, from your family, it’s just…”

His jaw flexed, shoulders squaring. “So you want to end things here? Go back to before we—” he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Is that what you really want?”

Tears burned your eyes, nausea churning in your stomach. “I don't know—”

“I don't believe you,” he growled. “The way you look at me, the way you were holding me not even ten minutes ago—” his voice cracked. “I don't believe that you want to end this.”

“Maybe it isn't what I want, but it's what we should do. You know that, Bill,” you said through the lump in your throat, voice pinched and small. “We need to stop before this goes too far.”

He looked like you'd slapped him. “What do you mean ‘too far’?”

You turned away from him, tears coming in earnest now. He stalked into your bedroom and caught your elbow, spinning you back around.

“Tell me what you meant,” he pleaded, pulling your hands away from you face, your eyes wet and puffy with tears.

“You know what I meant!” You shouted, yanking your hands out of his grip.

“So even with the potential for…that, you’re still going to end this?” He asked, his voice low. “That isn't worth it to you?”

You couldn't answer him, you arms wrapped around yourself as you trembled, biting back the sob on the tip of your tongue.

“Answer me,” he repeated, softening his voice.

“What if you resent me? What if you—” your voice fractured, brittle with shame and fear. “What if you regret me?”

He leaned down, forcing you to meet his eye. “There's a lot of things I regret on my life,” he said, barely above a whisper. “But I never thought I would get the chance to love someone again, not after Fenrir. Not after the war, not after the divorce—” he drew a shaky inhale.

Guilt dogged at you, and you opened your mouth to speak, but he pressed on.

“There's nothing I wouldn't risk to have that chance again. I would give up everything, my career, my house, all of it. And regardless of what happens between us, I'll never regret you.” He cupped your face again, and this time you allowed him, eyes swimming with unshed tears, your heart mending and breaking all at once.

“Bill, I—”

“Don’t say anything else. I want you to sleep on it,” he said, straightening. “Take the day off tomorrow, too. Then you can tell me what you want to do, and we'll do it.” His voice was firm, but not unkind, a tone of finality that had you nodding in acceptance. “Goodnight, love.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, then released you, apparating away before you could blink.

You were left stunned and alone in your torn apart bedroom, reeling from Bill’s words. Growing weak, your knees folded beneath you and you collapsed onto the floor, a sob bursting from your chest.

Such a coward, you scolded yourself. Of course he's worth the risk.

You wanted or rush over to Shell Cottage and tell him, beg him to forgive you for being so stupid, but he told you to sleep on it. To be sure of whatever answer you gave him. So you shirked your work wear and climbed into bed, squeezing your eyes shut, and prayed for sleep to take you swiftly.

It didn't. You laid awake for hours, until finally, at two o’clock in the morning, you couldn't stand it any longer.

You pulled on your lucky pair of jeans and jumper, washed away your smudged makeup, and apparated to Shell Cottage.

When you landed sprawled in his yard instead of standing on his front porch, it occurred to you that surprising the Curse-breaker in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm was a stupid idea, but it was too late now.

Bill wrenched open the door, hair rumpled and dressed only in sweatpants, his wand aimed at you, green wisps of magic dancing at the end of it. Thunder rolled overhead, a crack of lightning making you jump.

“Bill,” you gasped, stepping into the light of his front porch, and he nearly dropped his wand.

“Y/n? What the fuck are you—”

“I'm sorry about what I said.” You jumped headfirst into your apology, needing to get it out before it drowned you. “I was scared and stupid and I didn't mean it. I want you, no matter the risks. I can't let you—I can't let this go by without trying.” Tears will spilling down your cheeks again, mixing with the rain, your words coming out in hiccuping gasps. “I'd never forgive myself for being too cowardly to try.”

Bill bound down the steps, grabbing you by the throat and silencing you with a savage, bruising kiss. He kissed you the way a drunkard takes to a keg, ravenous and greedy. You could taste whisky on his tongue, smoke on his breath, but it only made you kiss him harder, open yourself wider for him to devour.

“Inside,” he gruffed when you broke the kiss to breathe. “Now.”

You obliged, hurrying up the slick steps with him on your tail. The cottage was cozy and dimly lit, a fireplace roaring in the corner and the moon serving as the only illumination. There were books everywhere, piles of blankets and shelves lined with trinkets, art hung on every wall.

Taking advantage of your distraction, Bill scooped you up bridal-style, one arm notched under your knees, the other around your mid-back. You gasped in surprise, but quickly settled into the warmth of his chest, leaning your head against his bare shoulder to kiss along his rain-damp clavicle.

“I told you to sleep on it,” he murmured, carrying you across the living room and up a set of stairs.

“Couldn't,” you hummed, licking a jagged scar on his shoulder. “Not without fixing things.”

“Neither could I,” he said, nudging open a door with his foot and carrying you across the threshold. It was his bedroom, decorated with even more of his findings and a giant four-poster bed made of solid wood, the quilt a thick woven masterpiece that you only got to admire for a second before he was dropping you onto it and shirking your wet clothes.

He paused, muttering an incendio to light the fire place, and you sat up, head level with his sternum. Hesitantly, you kissed a long his abdomen, tracing the dips and swells of his muscles, his scars with your lips.

He hummed low in his chest, petting a hand over your damp hair. “Whatcha doin’, pretty girl?” he asked, his voice silken.

“Nothin’,” you mumbled, licking along one his scars, growing bolder as he placated you with scalp scratches. “Wanted to touch you.”

He chuckled. “Been wanting you to touch me—” he groaned when you shifted your body to lay down on the bed, kissing along the grooves of his hips, teasing the edge of his waistband with your fingers. “Baby, you don't have to—”

You cut him by licking a stripe over the hard bulge of his cock, feeling it twitch and swell through the fabric. You nearly moaned at the feel of him, thick and long and warm, and your pussy purred, fluttering around nothing.

“You want my cock, darling?” He asked, gently sweeping your hair into a ponytail, the strands held together by his fist.

You nodded, looking up at him through your lashes.

He tsked, smirking. “I suppose I could indulge you for a bit.” With his free hand, he reached into the front his pants, freeing himself. He wrapped his hand around the base, a pearl of precum squeezing from the swollen tip.

You caught the salty morsel with your tongue, kitten licking the underside of him. He tasted fucking divine, velvety smooth and masculine, and your jaw fell open on its own accord, eager to take more of him.

“Such a good girl,” he cooed, feeding the first few inches into your mouth before retreating, patting your tongue with his cockhead when it chased him past your lips. “Fuck, look at you. So eager to please.”

He eased himself back into your mouth, holding still so you could move at your own pace, bobbing your head in slow, sloppy movements, savoring the heavy feel of him on your tongue.

Soft, breathy moans spilled from his lips, his hand tugging a bit harder at your roots. He started moving you up and down his length, his hips rocking forward, thrusting gently into your mouth. You moaned around him, fisting the sheets below you as a flood of arousal made you pussy throb.

“Oh, darling. You want me to be rough, don't you?” He hummed, pulling his hips back until just the tip rested on your tongue.

Your eyes lifted to his and you nodded the best you could. Please, please use me.

“Your safe word is ‘hex’, okay?”

You nodded again, pleading with your eyes.

He thrust back into your mouth, his fist keeping your head in place as he forced his cock as deep as it could go. He set a punishing pace, fucking your face with every ounce of the brutality you knew he kept locked up right in his chest, hidden from the world.

Now, hidden from everyone but you.

You both needed to let go of control, to surrender to the truth in your heart, and with each other, it was starting to seem not only possible, but safe.

“Such a good fucking slut, gagging on my cock—this what you wanted? To be pushed to your limits?” Bill clutched your jaw with his other hand, feeling the strain in your muscles, the force of him stretching your mouth wider, and he groaned, head tipping back on his shoulders. “I'm gonna mold that pretty little throat in the shape of my cock, yeah? You're mine. This throat is mine.”

You could only whimper, taking every savage thrust like it was a gift from god. More than happy to worship at the altar of Bill Weasley.

He withdrew suddenly, leaving you gasping for air, a thread of drool connecting you. He craned your head back, lifting you until your hands left the mattress, back bent like a doll.

“This is it now, you understand? I won't go back.” His voice was rough with intensity, eyes shining with sincerity, vulnerability despite his hold on you.

“This is it,” you repeated, shuffling your knees underneath you and reaching for him. He loosened his hold so you could wrap your arms around his neck, molding your tender mouth against his in an attempt to convey what your were feeling, how much you needed him.

He kissed you back harder as thunder boomed above you, tongue twining with yours, and low groan loosened from his chest. He released you fully, sliding his hands down your back and scooping you up by your thighs, guiding your legs around his waist.

He held you aloft for a few moments, basking in the heat of the kiss, but it wasn't long until you were squirming in his hold, trying to create more friction between your bodies as desire blazed under your skin, raging like the storm outside.

In a quick movement, he broke the kiss and dropped you back onto the bed, sprawled on your back. Before you had time to process what happened, his rough hands forced your thighs apart, revealing the puffy, drippy state of you. One of his hands slid up to part your folds, exposing your sensitive bundle of nerves to the cool air of the room.

Again, you had the echo of the feeling that you were an artifact under his jurisdiction, being examined with the utmost attention, like the code to cracking you open was written on your skin.

Bill saw you down to the soul, and it terrified and exhilarated you in equal measure.

“You're perfect,” he murmured, moving to ease his middle finger inside of you, curling his knuckle to prod that gooey spot inside you and draw a moan from your lips. “The most beautiful curse I've ever had to break.”

“Bill,” you whined, hands grabbing at the sheets, hips trying to rock against his hand, needing more.

He smirked. “Seems I've already broken you, needy little thing. Haven't even gotten started.” He leaned down, laving his tongue over your clit before sucking it between his teeth, and you keened, vision tunneling as bliss washed over you. The relief so palpable it brought tears to your eyes.

He added a second finger, setting a slow but intense pace, stretching and molding you with his fingers, his mouth messily slurping on your clit to keep you loose and moaning beneath him. Pleasure singed every nerve, burning through your muscles like lactic acid, eating into your bones until they were gelatinous, a puddle of simpering goo on Bill’s bed. He was doing just enough to elicit pleasure but not enough to make you cum, and it was starting to make you desperate again, bucking your hips against him in search of more.

“Hush,” he scolded, swatting at your inner thigh when you opened your mouth to beg. “You'll be begging me to stop coming soon enough.”

You couldn't tell if it was a promise or a threat, but either way, you snapped your mouth shut, a fresh wave of arousal making your pussy clench around his fingers.

He took some mercy on you though, and picked up the pace with his fingers fucking you with his hand while he kissed up your stomach, leaving a trail of slick from his chin over your stomach to your tits. He guided a pert nipple into his mouth, lashing it with his tongue before sucking hard, and your back bowed off the bed as you cried out for him.

You tangled your fingers into his hair, urging him closer, and he obliged, bathing your tits with his lips and tongue, using his teeth to elicit sharp gasps of pain before soothing the sting with pleasure. Your orgasm began to build, winding like a gear in your low belly until you were barely able to breathe, every scrap of energy drawn to the apex of your thighs.

“Merlin, your tight, love,” he murmured against the side of your tit, kissing his way back down between your legs. “Ready to come for me?”

“Please, Bill—fuck, please,” you mewled, dragging him by the hair to your needy clit.

“So pretty when you beg,” he purred, swirling his tongue just around your clit, careful to avoid direct contact. “Who does this pussy belong to?”

“You,” you immediately answered, trying to chase his tongue with your pelvis. “I'm yours, Bill.”

He grinned. “That's right. Mine.” With that, he fastened his lips around your clit and sucked hard, curling his fingers against your g-spot at the same moment, and something inside you gave way. You came with a scream, bliss bursting through like a tsunami and dragging you under.

It filled your mind and soul, an endless torrent of bliss drowning you in its bottomless depth. When if finally spit you back out, gasping and overwrought on the shore of Bill's bed, he was still lapping at you, his face and shirt soaked with your release.

“Good fucking girl, well done,” he cooed, withdrawing his fingers to massage the ache from your trembling thighs, his tongue dipping down to drink at the pool of your pleasure. “Twice more, now. That's my girl.”

You shook your head, feeling like a wrung out sponge, but sure enough, Bill has to ratcheted back up in no time, screaming his name, clenching around his fingers as you came a second and third time. It was like magic, the way he coaxed your body into doing what he wanted, even when you thought you couldn't. Playing you like an instrument, drawing whatever song he wanted from your body.

When you came down from the third, twitching and raw, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, he finally relented.

“Did so well, darling,” he cooed, easing his fingers from you and licking them clean. “Are you alright?” He asked, resting his cheek on your thigh as you caught your breath.

You nodded, grasping at his hair again to pull him up your body. He obliged with a chuckle, letting you crash your mouth to his in a desperate, messy kiss, your essence on his tongue making your head spin even more.

“Fuck me, please,” you mumbled into his mouth, wrapping your legs around his waist and tugging him fully onto the bed.

“Insatiable,” he purred with approval, shifting to slide down his sweatpants fully and kicking them off. He grasped himself, sawing through your drenched slit with a groan. “This was all I could think about in Cairo,” he rasped. “Being balls deep in this fucking pussy, feeling your wrapped around me, squeezing my cock the way you do my fingers.”

“Please, baby. Need you so bad,” you whined, rocking your hips in time with his.

“Need doesn't begin to cover what I'm feeling.” His voice was a strained growl, a primal sort of plea, and it drew another whimper from your chest. “You remember your safe word?” He asked, nearly trembling with effort of not burying himself to the hilt.

You nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He shuddered, a breathy moan fanning against your neck, as his control severed. He slammed his cock into you, sheathing himself completely in your depths, and you both cried out, clinging to one another as he dragged his hips back, then slammed them forward again and again. Rutting into you like a feral beast. Brutalizing every inch of your overworked pussy, your overworked mind, until you were brainless, boneless, his to claim entirely.

“Feels even fucking better—shit, baby. So fucking tight and hot, so wet f’me. My perfect little cunt takin’ me so well.”

You could only moan and nod, eager as a bobblehead. “Yours,” you parroted, digging your nails into his shoulders.

“Mine,” he gruffed, yanking your head back by your hair so he could ravish your neck with his teeth and tongue.

You were so sensitive from before that you could already feel that knot tightening a fourth time, making you flutter and clench around him as he railed you.

“Come for me, love. Give it to me,” he growled, his free hand dipping down to work your clit, his thrusts growing rougher by the second. Tearing you apart on his cock.

Nothing else would ever satisfy you the way he was, he was molding you into the shape of him, ruining you for anyone else. No one could please you the way he did, understand your body so viscerally, so completely, that it bowed to him before it did you.

He owned you mind, body, and soul, and you wouldn't have it any other way, because you knew that you owned him too. Like a lion on a leash.

“Come with me, come with me,” you cried, your trembling body trying to meet him thrust for thrust.

“Fuck yes,” he huffed, breath hot and heavy against your neck. “Gonna paint this cunt white. Make you mine.”

“Yes, yes! Fuck, Bill, I’m—” You came so hard you couldn't even scream, your mouth falling open as pleasure exploded from your center, a bomb detonating in the depths of your soul.

Bill sank in his teeth into your neck, bottoming out while his cock kicked inside of you, fulfilling his promise and painting your insides with his release. You collapsed onto the bed, scattered pieces in the swallow of space, half-there with Bill as he fucked you both through it, kissing at your neck and muttering praise, and half-gone, a disembodied soul floating on a river of bliss.

Slowly, you returned piece by piece until air slammed back into your lungs and you were gasping, shivering, clinging desperately to him.

“Sh, sh I’ve got you. You're alright,” he shushed, shifting on the bed to fold you into his chest, raining kisses over your forehead and temple. “You did so well, my love. I'm so proud of you.”

“That was—” you panted, feeling the race of his heart under his skin, in perfect synchronicity with yours.

“I've never felt anything like that,” he murmured, nosing into your hair and taking a deep breath. “Like you.”

“Me neither.” You wrapped your arms around his middle snuggling closer. “You're a madman,” you chuckled, and you felt him smile.

“Only for you.”

You were quiet for awhile, the room filled with the sounds of your laborers breathing, the onslaught of rain on the roof, the pop and crackle of the fire.

“I'm sorry for leaving like that before,” Bill whispered, breaking the drowsy quiet. “I didn't trust myself to not lash out…” his voice trailed off, his hands tightening a bit around your body, like he was scared you'd pull away from him at the reminder of before.

“Thank you for trying to protect me,” you responded, lightly tracing the scars along his back, and tension in his body melted.

“Nothing’s going to hurt you, especially not me,” he said, lifting his head to look into your eyes, his dark irises so soft and sincere. “You really think you could fall for me?” He asked, bumping your nose with his.

“I think I've already started,” you whispered, bashful, and he beamed, catching your lips in a light, languid kiss.

“I know I was supposed to be the one teaching you…” he murmured against your mouth, kissing along your jaw, down your neck. “But you've opened my eyes so much, helped me learn the lessons I was avoiding—” his voice caught, and he buried his face in your neck, holding your naked body pressed against his, not even air separating you. “I feel like I can be the man I want to be with you,” he confessed, pressing a kiss to the bite mark he'd left along the curve of your throat. “Like I don't have to hide anymore.”

“You're mine too,” you whispered, and he loosed a breathy sound, almost like a whine, and held you even tighter. “And I want you exactly as wild and stubborn and clever and complex as you are.”

Bill shifted upwards, catching your final words with his mouth, moving purposefully, indulgently, against yours. Saying everything he couldn't express with words, and your heart was so full it started leaking from your eyes, tears snaking down your cheeks and getting caught in the kiss.

He moved his lips to catch your tears, shushing you softly. “I'm yours,” he said, pecking your lips again. “And I have those good-for-nothing jackasses to thank for it.”

You burst out laughing, flopping back onto his pillows. “They're going to be so damn smug.”

Bill groaned, burying his face in your tits. “Worth it when I get to show you off and crush their dreams.”

“They'll live,” you giggled, combing your fingers through his hair.

Bill's alarm suddenly blared from the side table. “Silencio,” he barked, and the clock fell silent once again. “We're calling out,” he mumbled.

You nodded, sleep already starting to tug at you, your limbs going heavy on the mattress. “As long as the boss says it's okay.”

He huffed a laugh. “Good thing he's a pretty laid back guy.”

You rolled your eyes behind closed lids, and hummed in agreement. That was a lesson for another day.

Thank you so much for reading and supporting this series! This is the last part of the core series, but I'm considering doing a few extra drabbles that go along with it (let me know if there's anything in particular you want to see!)

taglist: @itisjustwhatitis, @carmenschemtrails, @karina-v20, @acourtofexiles, @meteora-fc, @l1nd3n, @just-some-random-blogger, @astralissas, @novausstuff, @babyearthquakementality, @slytherin-min99, @buendiabebeta, @littlemadamred, @nislame, @mother-homunculus, @dreamyassasin, @lottalove4evelyn, @mmmunson, @th0tformikasa, @katie-tibo, @comicalivy, @polireader

[halloweenrules]

Books to Read in Autumn

Book Recs for the autumn lovers

Murder Your Employer: The McMasters Guide to Homicide

by Rupert Holmes

Mystery, Action, Thriller, Suspense

Enola Holmes and the Case of the Missing Marquess

by Nancy Springer

Mystery, Adventure, Female Lead

An Affair of Poisons

by Addie Thorley

Fantasy, Historical Fiction, Romance, Historical Fantasy, Magic

New Moon

by Stephenie Meyer

Romance, Werewolves, Fantasy, YA Fiction, Vampires

Magic Lessons

by Alice Hoffman

Fantasy, Historical Fiction, Magic, Witches, Romance

[gullydanumbahkruncha]

Dealing With Dragons by Patricia C. Wrede is close if you're looking for something to read. First in a four book series. Highly recommend.

Dragongirl kidnaps a maid instead of a princess by mistake; comes back to her lair after a hunt to find the coins and gems in her hoard have been organized into neat piles sorted by type, value, and kingdom of origin.

[wallflowerglitter]

Cute books I saw at Target a while back

[tempesttrade]

INTO THE CAVE - Episode 05: Exploring Eldership and Modes of Healing

BEing Xiana sits down with Suné and Mama Scoti to explore the wisdom of Eldership, and the Beauty of Healing through movement.

#ancientwisdom #transformation #outcast #ifa #alchemist #intothecave #podcast #spirituality #SpiritualJourney #practice

[internutter]

Challenge #04417-L033: Subject of Attention

It's been nearly six months since they found hir student. When she realized just how badly she'd been mangling things, she almost got upset, until Wraithvine sat her down to explain that, that had been a GOOD thing, fate had been kind. Now, the young woman was showing real progress, but needed to learn moderation.

https://peakd.com/fiction/@internutter/challenge-04371-k353-itinerant-educator -- Anon Guest

[AN: I can plausibly fit this between the first story and this one: https://peakd.com/fiction/@internutter/challenge-04405-l021-where-you-learn-the-most ]

Wraithvine had done this literally thousands of times. Possibly millions. To be honest, ze had lost count. Assuming ze had ever started counting at all. Therefore, ze knew the patterns that every possible student of magic could follow.

Right now, this butterfly was flapping her wings and learning she could cause cyclones. If allowed to continue, she could get drunk on power and initiate an entirely different variety of chaos. Yes, her Ancient Elven was good enough to control her spellwork reliably. Now she was flexing her skills and realising how easy magic could make things for her.

No number of cautionary tales could prevent her from taking that power and using it to assert her dominance. She had control of her power, so there was no fear of it going wild.

[Check the source for the rest of the story]