thecharacterchronicler

[thecharacterchronicler]

Shapes, Shadows & Lines || Xavier Thorpe x Reader || (18+)

Outline: You only meant to help Xavier with his sketches. You didn’t expect to find dozens of portraits of yourself hidden in his shed and you definitely didn’t expect to walk back in and catch him messy, desperate, and too obsessed to stop...

Word Count: 5'527

Warnings: aged up characters. Explicit smut including obsession, voyeurism, masturbation, caught in the act, oral sex, and a messy climax.

Author's note // Quick disclaimer: This is about Xavier Thorpe the character, aka Nevermore’s “sad, obsessive artist” archetype. This is definitely not about the actor, whose actions I don’t support. To keep the separation between the actor and the character clear, I’ll always use generic images when posting about him.

The classroom smelled like ink and parchment and dust. Xavier kept his head down, pencil scratching at the page, pretending to care about the nothing he was sketching, pretending not to notice the way the air shifted when you slid into the seat beside him.

Too close. Closer than anyone usually sat.

His grip tightened on the pencil. He didn’t look at you. He couldn’t. If he did, he’d give himself away in seconds. Better to hunch lower, let his hair fall forward, act like he hadn’t just gone rigid at the sound of your bag hitting the floor.

“Sorry,” you murmured, adjusting your notes. Your voice brushed over him softer than chalk dust.

His throat worked. “No, you’re fine.”

He meant it. God, he meant it. You were fine, too fine, the kind of fine that made his stomach twist itself in knots. But it came out clipped, awkward, and he kept his eyes on the page like if he stared hard enough at the lines, you’d forget he existed.

For ten minutes he held himself still, every muscle wired tight. Every shift you made in your seat sent sparks racing across his nerves. You probably thought he disliked you, most people did, when he got distant and broody. It was easier to believe he didn’t care than that he cared too much.

Then your pen slipped. A clatter against the stone, rolling just out of reach.

Xavier didn’t think, he reacted. Graphite dust swirled under his hand, smudgy lines lifting from the paper, shaping into fingers, a half-finished sketch-hand that darted across the floor. It caught the pen and laid it back on your desk before collapsing into smoke.

Your breath hitched. “Uh… Thanks?”

Heat flared at the back of his neck, crawling up to his ears. He ducked his head lower, shading furiously like he hadn’t just betrayed himself completely. “Sorry,” he muttered, voice rough. “Just… quicker than watching you crawl under the desk.”

Idiot. Stupid thing to say.

But then you looked at him — really looked — and for one heartbeat he dared to meet your gaze. Soft. Curious. A little startled, but not afraid.

The pencil almost slipped from his fingers. He dropped his eyes fast, hiding behind his hair, scratching nonsense shadows onto the page just so he didn’t have to see the way your lips curved when you whispered back:

“Quicker.”

You spun the pen in your fingers and went back to your notes.

But Xavier couldn’t focus on a single word the professor said. He couldn’t stop replaying the sound of your voice, the flash of your eyes, the thought that you’d glanced sideways at him again, like maybe you’d noticed him after all.

The professor’s voice was a dull hum, nothing but background noise. He let his pencil keep moving, lines crossing lines until the paper was nearly black. Better that than look at you, sitting right there, chewing on your pen like you didn’t know what it was doing to him.

“Are you even paying attention?” you whispered.

His grip tightened, but he didn’t stop sketching. “Are you?”

“At least I’m pretending to.”

The corner of his mouth twitched before he could stop it. He hated how easy it was for you to drag that out of him. “Pretending’s a waste of energy.”

You rolled your eyes, shoved your notes closer to him just to annoy him. His chest went tight.

“So is whatever you’re doing instead of learning.”

“Art,” he said flatly. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh please, you’re probably just doodling little skulls and bats in the margins.”

His pencil froze, just for a second. Then he slammed the sketchbook shut so fast it rattled the desk. “Not skulls.”

Your brow lifted, curious, and he felt his stomach sink. He’d given himself away.

The bell saved him. Students scraped their chairs back, the professor’s voice chased them out with reminders about tomorrow’s assignment. Everyone rushed to the door, except him. He gathered his things slowly. But he was tired, distracted, and when he finally slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped away, he left his sketchbook behind.

“Seriously?” your voice murmured, the rustle of paper flipping open stabbing straight through him.

His blood iced. He spun back, lunging for the book, panic choking him. “Don’t…”

Too late.

Your eyes were wide, scanning the pages he’d ruined with you — dozens of you, or almost you—your mouth too sharp, your eyes too dark, hair smudged into shadows. Every failed attempt was laid bare.

“Is this… me?”

Heat burned his face, crawling down his neck. His hand flexed helplessly at his side. “It’s… uh, they’re not good.”

“They’re everywhere.” You turned another page, another face that almost matched yours but not quite. “Why?”

His chest caved inward. All the shame he carried every time he picked up the pencil welled up at once. He dropped his gaze, voice rough. “Because I can never get it right. I see things when I draw, visions, but never of you. Ever. So I try, and it never…” He swallowed hard, frustration twisting the words.

“And… is that bad?”

He forced himself to look up and meet your eyes. His voice was lower, sharper now. “Not bad, just abnormal. I have visions all the time, about everyone, everything… But not you.”

You tried to laugh it off, but it fell thin in the air. “Well, maybe you just can’t have a clear vision of me because you never really look at me.”

Something in him snapped at that. His jaw locked, his hand clenched tighter around the strap of his bag.

“I do look at you.”

The words came out raw. The truth pulled straight out of his chest like it couldn’t be stopped.

And when you blinked, caught off guard, he felt the shift. The weight of it landing between you. For the first time, you believed him. The silence after his words pressed down heavier than the stale classroom air.

You hugged the sketchbook to your chest, pulse racing, and he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t even tried to take it back.

“Well… clearly not enough if you can’t get my nose right.”

His mouth twitched, almost a smile, but it slipped away. He wanted to tell you he’d memorized the slope of your nose, the exact angle of it in different lights, the way it wrinkled when you laughed, but all that came out was: “It’s not your nose.”

“What then?”

His eyes betrayed him, flicking down to your lips, your throat, back up again. He swallowed. “It’s everything. You never come through clear, it’s like you’re… blurred out on purpose.”

He wanted you to laugh, to tease him, to call him dramatic and ridiculous and shove the sketchbook back at him. He didn’t want you to look at him the way you were now, chest tight with something he couldn’t name, because it made hope claw up through his ribs in a way that terrified him.

“Maybe you’re just overthinking it,” you said lightly. “You’re trying too hard. Maybe if you just… ”

“Just what?” His voice came out hoarse, like the words scraped his throat raw.

“Maybe if you drew me while I was really there. Not a memory, not a vision, just me.”

The world tilted.

For a second, he thought he’d misheard you. The look on your face was open, unguarded, like you didn’t understand that you just offered him to let him watch you, study you, capture you in a way his visions never allowed, shamelessly.

It was dangerous. A gift he didn’t deserve.

And yet, when he found his voice, all he could do was nod, breath shaky. “You’d… do that?”

“Sure.” You shrugged like it was nothing, like his heart wasn’t slamming against his ribs. “Why not? Might as well help you get my nose right.”

That twitch of a smile returned, softer now, nervous and fragile. He looked away before you could read too much in his face, before you could see how fast his pulse was hammering, how badly his hands shook.

He told himself he’d wait, that dragging you into his shed straight after class would scream desperation but when you nodded when he suggested you did, when you said “yeah, why not,” it short-circuited something in him. So he brought you here. His place. His sanctuary… His prison.

And now you stood there in the patch of light like you belonged, your hands folded against your chest, your skirt riding just high enough to undo him.

Xavier forced his eyes up, anywhere but the curve of your mouth or the hollow of your throat. He couldn’t let you see it. The walls were covered in sketches, monsters and failed versions of you he hid under black stained cloths.

“What are these?”

His chest seized. Two steps, and he was in front of the wall, tearing a badly hidden portrait of you down, burying it under the stack. His voice came sharper than he meant. 

“Nothing. Just… practice sketches. Ignore them.”

The heat crept up his neck again as you nodded, but he could feel your eyes still on him, like you didn’t quite believe him, like you saw too much already.

“Here,” he muttered, dragging the stool under the light. He didn’t give you a chance to argue. “Sit.”

And you did. That killed him the most; you didn’t even hesitate. You sat like you trusted him, like he wasn’t one breath away from falling apart.

He opened the sketchbook, pencil poised, but his hand didn’t move. He just stared at you, at the way the sunlight caught on your cheekbone, at the line of your throat when you tilted your chin, at the subtle dip of your waist where your blouse folded.

You shifted, fidgeting, breaking the spell. “Well? What do I do?”

“Just… stay still.” His voice was too tight, cracking at the edges. He adjusted the stool an inch, like that mattered, like any angle would make this safer. “And don’t… don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

He shook his head fast, ducking over the page, forcing the pencil down. “Like you’re waiting for me to mess up.”

The scratch of a pencil filled the silence, but it wasn’t enough to cover his pulse hammering in his ears. He couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking up, couldn’t stop them from catching on the soft part of your lips, the edge of your skirt, the rise and fall of your chest. Every time, he dragged them back down to the page, furious with himself.

But you felt it. He knew you did.

You shifted again, and the fabric of your skirt inched higher on your thighs. The air left his lungs in a rush.

Stop staring. Stop staring.

He pressed the pencil harder into the page until the lead nearly broke but still his gaze climbed back up, helpless, caught on the sunlight sliding down your collarbone. And you smiled, just slightly, like you knew… Like you were doing it on purpose. He drew the outline of your lips, your neck, graphite grinding too dark into the paper. His hand twitched lower, sketching toward the line of your skirt before he yanked it back to your face.

“What?” you asked, head tilting.

The words spilled raw, low, dangerous. “Clothes always get in the way of… shapes. Lines. Shadows.”

The second he heard himself, his blood went cold. His grip tightened on the pencil. 

Stupid idiot.

You raised a brow, slow and wicked. “What, you want me to strip for your art?”

Color flooded his face so hot it hurt. “No, I mean… Forget I said that.” He bent hard over the page, scribbling like he could bury the words in graphite, smear them into nothing but the air was ruined now, stretched taut and humming with heat.

You crossed one leg over the other, pretending it was casual. His gaze flickered, quick, guilty, but it was there, the inch of bare skin where your skirt slid.

“Better angle?” you teased.

He choked on his breath. “Y-yeah. That’s fine.”

The pencil trembled. His strokes were too heavy, too dark. He swore, fumbling for another, smudges streaking his knuckles. You rolled your shoulders, blouse slipping just enough to bare more of your throat, more of your chest.

His hand stopped.

When he glanced up, his eyes locked on you, wide… And hungry.

“Should I fix it?” you asked, smug.

His mouth opened, closed. He dragged his eyes back to the page, ears burning scarlet. “No. I mean, it’s fine. It’s good. Just… Stay like that.”

“Sure, whatever helps the shadows and lines.”

The scratch of his pencil came frantic now, his hand jerking like it didn’t know whether to draw or shake. He wasn’t sketching anymore. He was memorizing the slope of your collarbone, the faint rise of your chest, the bare inch of thigh.

Stop staring. Stop…

The pencil snapped in his hand. “Shit.”

He reached for another, and you bent forward, blouse slipping lower. His eyes dragged up before he could stop them, and he froze, swallowing hard.

“You can’t…” His voice cracked, low and strangled. 

You leaned back slow, folding your hands neatly, like you weren’t setting him on fire. “Can’t what?”

His hand clenched the new pencil. He stared at you, tried to pull the words out of his throat, failed.

“Can’t… Expect me to draw anything right when you…” He broke off, shaking his head hard. “Forget it.”

But you wouldn’t. He saw it on your face and he knew he’d already lost, because every time his gaze snapped back to your skin, no matter how hard he fought it, he wanted more.

Every time you shifted on the stool, it was worse. Every inch of skin, every tilt of your head in the light. His pencil wasn’t capturing you, it couldn’t. His hands were shaking too badly, graphite smudging into nonsense while his eyes betrayed him, dragging back to you again and again.

And you knew - of course you knew - the smirk you fought to hide, the way you leaned forward like you were offering yourself up just to watch him fall apart. It was torture, and he couldn’t stop wanting more of it.

Then there was a knock and a voice outside calling your name, reminding you of the next class. The sound shattered him.

You glanced at the door, then back at him. His chest was heaving, fingers tight around the pencil until it cracked again. He didn’t even try to cover it.

“I should go,” you said softly, slipping off the stool.

No. 

The word screamed in his chest, but his throat locked around it. If he opened his mouth, something worse would come out. 

Stay. Please. Don’t leave me like this.

You smoothed your skirt, all innocent again, though the fire you’d lit in him burned too hot to be disguised. You stepped closer, plucking the sketchbook from his lap and setting it on the table.

“I’ll come back later,” you said, voice playful.

His head snapped up. “Later?”

The hope in his voice made him sick, it was too raw and too obvious.

You smiled like you knew exactly what you were doing. “So you can finish drawing me.”

Then you were gone, the door clicking shut behind you. Xavier sat frozen, lungs burning, hands trembling, the echo of your words ringing in his skull.

But how the hell was he supposed to wait?

He pressed his hands over his face, smearing gray dust across his skin, but it didn’t matter. You were burned into him now, the curve of your collarbone, the inch of thigh, the smirk when you caught him staring.

Later. You promised, but he was going to break long before then. The shed was too quiet without you in it.

The stool sat in its patch of sunlight, empty now, and his sketchbook lay closed on the table where you’d put it down. He should’ve picked it up, gone back to work, kept forcing line after line until he got you right. That’s what he always did, but he couldn’t.

His hands still shook, every nerve humming from the way you’d leaned forward, the way your blouse had slipped. You thought it was a joke, a game, and maybe for you it was but for him? He was drowning.

He dragged his fingers back through his hair, pacing once across the room. The air was thick with turpentine, charcoal dust, and you. He swore he could still smell the faint trace of your perfume clinging to him.

This wasn’t new. He’d been here before, in this shed, when the visions wouldn’t come and you were the only thing in his head. He’d fill page after page with you until his hand cramped, until the paper tore, until he was left with nothing but smudges of a face he could never touch.

And then, he’d give up on drawing and close his eyes instead. Let his imagination sketch what his hands couldn’t: the sound of your voice, the tilt of your smile, the way your skirt rode up when you crossed your legs. He’d fisted himself to the thought of you more times than he could admit, guilt and need blurring until he didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

But today had been different.

Today, you were here. You sat in the light for him, all soft skin and cruel smirks, and let him stare like he always wanted.

He wanted you. Not just on paper, not blurred, not half-finished, not slipping away through smudges. He wanted you real, under his hands, against him, until there was no doubt you belonged to him and him alone.

The thought wasn’t new either. It had been there for weeks, months, clawing at him in the dark but now it wasn’t just a thought. Now it was a need burning through every inch of him.

The sketchbook sat there like bait. The page smeared with the half-finished lines of your mouth, your collarbone. Shadows where he’d lingered too long. His hand hovered, shaking, before he started flipping past frantic scribbles, past ruined versions of you, until he found one that was close enough. Not perfect — it never was — but close. Your lips parted, your eyes tilted just so, a faint curve of your body sketched in light strokes before he’d abandoned it. Close enough to fool him when his blood was this hot.

He groaned, slumping back into the chair, sketchbook open across his knee. His other hand shoved down his jeans before he could stop himself. The relief of skin on skin made his eyes slam shut, breath shuddering out of him.

And then it was just you.

His fist worked faster. His hips jerked into it, no rhythm, just need.

“Fuck…” he hissed, jaw clenching. His head tipped back, throat tight.

He pictured you leaning forward like before, smirking when you caught his eyes. Better angle? God, the way you’d said it, like you knew he was burning alive.

His grip tightened, desperate. He could almost hear you teasing him again, that sly voice cutting through the haze: What, you want me to strip for your art?

“Yes,” he groaned, voice cracking, spilling into the empty shed. His chest heaved, shame and lust tangled together, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop imagining you slipping the blouse off your shoulders, baring more and more until you were there in front of him, not lines, not shadows, but real. Flesh and heat and his.

He pumped faster, thighs trembling, knuckles white where they gripped the sketchbook. His eyes locked on the portrait and suddenly it wasn’t enough. He needed more.

With a snarl of frustration, his hand clamped down harder on himself, hips bucking into the motion like he could fuck the air, fuck the ghost of you that hovered everywhere in this shed.

Images blurred behind his eyelids: you in the stool, in his lap, bent over his desk, your skirt hiked up, mouth open around his cock. He wanted to mark you, sketch the aftermath across your skin with his teeth instead of his pencil. It was wild. The kind of desire that scared him when he thought about it too long… But right now it was the only thing that mattered.

He groaned your name, low and broken, pumping harder, chasing the edge like it was oxygen. His body curled forward, hair falling into his face, sweat beading on his brow. He was close, too close. The stool sat empty in the sunlight, and all he could see was you in it, lips parting…

The door creaked.

And there you were, standing in the doorway, watching. 

His hand froze, blood roaring in his ears. He jerked his head up, hair plastered to his forehead, chest heaving. For one fractured second, he thought he’d imagined you, another hallucination, but then you spoke:

“I… uh, I forgot my backpack.”

He followed your line of sight and saw it, propped against the stool where you’d been sitting minutes ago. He hadn’t even noticed.

Now it was real. You were real. And you were looking at him, at his fist still wrapped around himself, at the sketchbook opened on his thigh, your half-finished face staring back in smudged lines. Heat slammed up his throat, flooding his ears. Shame tore through him so hard it almost knocked him sick but his body betrayed him, twitching in his hand, still aching, still desperate.

“Shit…” he rasped, fumbling to yank his shirt down, to cover himself, as if that would undo anything. His voice cracked. “I—I didn’t… Fuck, I didn’t know you would…”

You didn’t slam the door, you didn’t even move, you just stood there staring at him like he was something wild and cornered. The shame should’ve gutted him — it did — but underneath, darker, hotter, was the rush of being seen.

“You weren’t supposed to…” His voice broke, tangled between apology and hunger. “You weren’t supposed to see me like this.”

Something cracked in his chest. He should’ve begged you to forget, promised you this would never happen again. Instead, the words slipped out hoarse, raw, like a confession he’d already whispered in the dark a hundred times.

"I’ve tried to stop. I swear I have. But then you sat there in the light, looking at me like that… ” His hips twitched into his hand, helpless.

His fist flexed, pumping once despite the shame, dragging a broken sound out of him. Your eyes widened, surprise flashing across your face. His free hand dragged through his hair, but his eyes stayed on you, glassy and desperate. 

You shifted, just slightly, weight tilting on your feet and that was all it took. His pulse spiked, hope clawed up through the shame. His hand worked faster, reckless, his whole body shuddering. He should’ve felt ashamed, he should’ve begged you to leave. Instead he wanted you to see, to understand.

“I can’t see you in my visions,” He groaned, head tipping back, voice ragged. “So I make my own.”

You stepped forward. His pulse slammed against his ribs. Then your hand was there, warm and wrapping over his fist, guiding the stroke. His whole body convulsed, a strangled noise breaking from his throat as his hips jerked into your grip.

“Fuck…” His head fell back, hair hiding his eyes, shame and ecstasy colliding. “Don’t… don’t do this unless you mean it.”

You didn’t stop. You stroked him smoother, faster, pulling desperate little whimpers from him he’d never let anyone else hear. His thighs trembled. His chest shook. He’d imagined this a thousand times, but nothing compared to your hand on him.

Then you shifted lower. His eyes flew wide when your mouth replaced your hand, wet heat enveloping him. His whole body arched, a ragged groan tearing from his chest. His thighs shook, his hips stuttering shallowly as your mouth worked over him. He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t think, every flick of your tongue short-circuited him, every hum of your throat made his vision blur.

His hand fisted in your hair, his body shuddering as you swallowed him down. He’d imagined this a thousand times, alone in this shed with nothing but paper and guilt. But the reality — the wet heat of you, the way your lips stretched around him, the sound of you taking him deeper down your throat — it was too much and too good.

His chest heaved, panic and need colliding. At the last second, he pulled back with a broken growl, slipping from your mouth slick and throbbing, his body trembling with the effort not to finish right there. You looked up at him, your lips flushed and wet, and it nearly undid him anyway.

He tried to cover himself, hand pumping in a last frantic blur, but his body betrayed him. His climax hit hard, spilling across the sketchbook he’d left open, white streaks splattering over the blurred lines of your mouth, your eyes, dripping down the paper in messy ruin.

He collapsed back in the chair, panting. His gaze found yours, wild and ashamed, but reverent too, like you were the only thing left tethering him to the world. Your ruined portrait was smeared with the proof of what he couldn’t hold back. He should’ve been horrified. He should’ve begged you not to hate him, but when his eyes lifted and met yours… You weren’t even looking away.

Something inside him snapped again.

“You shouldn’t…” His voice cracked. “You shouldn’t look at me like that.”

But you did. You stepped closer, sliding your blouse off your shoulder, letting it drop forgotten to the floor and suddenly you were in his lap.

The sketchbook slid to the ground with a soft slap of paper, his stained hand instinctively catching your waist, smudging dark graphite on your skin. His other hand trembled, gripping the edge of your thigh like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to push you away or drag you closer.

“This was… It’s wrong. I’ve thought about this too many times… ” he said, eyes squeezed shut, forehead pressing to your collarbone. 

Your fingers tipped his chin up, forcing him to look at you. “So stop thinking.”

His restraint shattered. His mouth crashed into yours, clumsy, desperate, tasting of paper, dust and him. His hands roamed blindly, smearing stains across your skin as he touched everywhere he’d been too afraid to before. Your thighs, your waist, your chest.

When you gasped against him, he swallowed the sound like it was oxygen. His hand slid under your skirt, his streaked fingertips leaving faint black smudges of graphite as they dragged higher. You shifted against him, grinding down, and his strangled groan vibrated into your mouth.

He grabbed your hips, pulling you tight against the bulge still aching between his legs, guiding you to grind against him. His head tipped back, eyes dark, lips parted. Your answer was a kiss, deep and hungry.

If his visions never showed you to him, maybe this was better. Maybe this was the only truth he’d ever needed: you, real and trembling and pressed against him, with pencil dust all over your skin.

He kissed you back — clumsy, desperate, teeth clicking against yours — because he didn’t know how else to keep himself from falling apart completely.

You tugged at his shirt, sliding it up just enough to feel his skin under your palms. He groaned into your mouth, body jerking like every touch was too much after weeks — months— of starving for it. He kissed his way down your throat, sucking just enough to leave a mark, his hair falling in a curtain around his face.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered against your skin, voice cracked and raw. “Not blurred. Not slipping away. You’re real.”

His fingers slid under your panties, slow, shaky at first, then deeper, curling just right. You gasped, clutching at his shoulders, and he groaned, forehead pressing into your collarbone like your voice was pulling him apart. His hand pumped into you, messy and desperate, thumb circling your clit until your hips bucked against him. 

You tugged his head up, kissing him hard, tasting the shame and need all tangled on his lips. When you gasped, he caught it, swallowed it, dragging you higher into his lap until your legs wrapped around his waist.

“Tell me you want me.” you whispered against his mouth.

“I need you.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, begging silently. When you nodded, he pushed into you slow, almost reverent at first, a groan tearing from his chest. His fingers gripped your thigh as he started to move.

“Fuck.” His voice was hoarse, every thrust shaky with months of pent-up need. “You feel… better than anything I ever… Better than I ever imagined… ”

You clung to him, pulling him closer, your body moving with his. Every time he pressed into you, his breath hitched, his mouth finding yours, kissing you like he was drowning.

The stool rocked under you both, creaking against the floor, and he buried his face against your neck, groaning into your skin. Your nails dug into his back, and his hips stuttered, pace quickening, fingers slipping down between you to rub your clit.

You tightened around him, and the sound that tore out of him was raw and guttural. He thrust harder, faster, chasing it with you until the world narrowed to pencil smears, sweat, and the heat of your bodies tangled in a patch of light.

When you came, gasping his name, he followed instantly, shuddering, groaning into your shoulder as he spilled inside you, grinding through it until he was trembling.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, panting and shaking. Finally, he pulled back, eyes flicking down at the black smudges he’d left all over your thighs, your waist, your chest. He groaned, half-guilty, half-awed.

Then, his stomach dropped.

What the hell had he done?

“I…” His voice cracked, breaking under the weight pressing down on his ribs. He ran a shaking hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

You stood up slowly, skirt rumpled, hair mussed, still flushed and you looked at him like he hadn’t just ruined you in every way he could, like you weren’t about to bolt for the door.

“Xavier.” Your voice was soft, steady, pulling his wild pulse down a notch.

He shook his head violently, staring at the floor, shame burning hot through him. “I’ve thought about this too many times. About you. It’s… it’s sick, obsessive. You should hate me for it.”

You slid closer, shoes quiet on the wooden floor, and stepped into his space. His head jerked up, startled, when your hand caught his.

“I don’t hate you.”

The words slammed into him harder than anything. His throat worked, eyes burning as he searched your face. 

“You don’t get it. It’s not normal. I can’t see you in my visions, ever, and it makes me…” He cut himself off, swallowing hard. “You’re all I think about, all I draw, you’re… everything.”

You reached up, brushing his hair back from his forehead and you smiled, soft and real.

“Maybe I want you, even if it’s messy... Even if it’s obsessive.”

His forehead dropped against yours, a shaky laugh breaking out of him, half relief, half disbelief. His hands came up, careful now, cupping your face like you were a sketch he finally didn’t ruin.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

But when you leaned in and kissed him again, slow and certain, he started to believe — just barely — that maybe you didn’t care. Maybe you wanted him just as tortured and stained as he was.

Other stories:

[thecharacterchronicler]

If I Catch You... (3) || Tyler Galpin x Reader || (18+)

Outline: You thought the crowd made you safe. But he’s in the shadows, watching, hunting, waiting to pin you against the wall while your boyfriend is just steps away.

Word Count: 2'890

Warnings: aged up characters. Mild spoilers for season 2A. Stalking, chasing, breath play, spit play, biting, bruises, degradation, and dripping/cum play. Heavy predator/prey dynamic (IICYIFY), with rough sex in a public place. ⚠️ Consent in this part isn’t stated explicitly in the moment, but it is present within the context of the characters and this story. The dynamic is intentionally dark, messy, and obsessive. Read at your own risk (or pleasure).

(( Part 1 - Obsessive )) - (( Part 2 - Possessive )) - (( Masterlist ))

The Harvest Festival glows with lights and noise, laughter and sugar in the air. He doesn’t belong here and he knows it. But you do and you look too sweet in that skirt, walking beside the idiot who thinks you’re giving him a second chance.

Tyler keeps his hood up, hands shoved deep in his pockets. It doesn’t matter how many people brush past him, how many stares slide over him without recognition. His focus is locked on you, on the sway of your hips, on the bite mark he left on your throat, half-hidden by the collar of your blouse, and the knowledge that you’re leaking with him under that pretty skirt.

Every time your ex gets close, his nails bite crescents into his palms. The guy’s hand brushes yours and he sees red, he wants to snap it off at the wrist… But he doesn’t need to, because you’re already his.

You know it. He knows it. And your body proves it with every step.

And still you smile at that other guy, you tilt your head when he speaks, you let him lead you past booths strung with lights, past games and vendors, like you’re just another girl on a date with her high school sweetheart.

Tyler’s jaw clenches so tight it aches. Sweetheart. Fucking joke. 

Your ex-boyfriend buys you a candied apple so he watches you wrap your lips around it, sink your teeth into the glossy sugar shell, and his cock twitches hard in his pants. He imagines ripping it out of your hands, shoving his fingers into your mouth instead, watching you choke on spit while the fairground spins around you.

He shadows you through the stalls, never more than a few bodies away. People laugh, children shriek, fireworks pop in the distance and his heart pounds in a different rhythm. He imagines you pressed up against one of the rickety game booths, his hand shoved up that skirt while stuffed animals and cheap toys rain down. He imagines dragging you into the shadows under the ferris wheel, your legs around his waist, the whole damn fair spinning lights above you while you drip down his thighs.

And every time your date leans closer to whisper something that makes you laugh, he tastes copper, because all he can think about is how he’d like to split that dude’s lip open. Not because he’s a threat, but because he’s a distraction.

Your laughter belongs to him. Your voice belongs to him. Your body already does.

The guy points toward the haunted house. You nod, smiling, brushing sugar from your lips. Tyler’s breath stutters in his chest. Perfect. Dark corners, screams to cover the sound and a maze built for predators.

The line inches forward. You laugh nervously but your eyes dart sideways toward the crowd… Toward his hooded shadow watching. He sees the flicker of heat in your gaze before you force yourself to look away. His lips curl and he wonders how long you’ll keep playing the good girl. How long you’ll pretend to be your date’s sweet, shy librarian while your thighs are slick with the memory of another man’s cock.

The crowd presses into the black mouth of the haunted house. A strobe flickers, painting the world in violent bursts of white and shadow. Inside, the air smells of dust and fake fog, damp plywood and old latex. Animatronic skeletons rattle and groan from hidden speakers. Cobwebs brush across your face and cling to your hair. The screams of festival-goers echo through the maze, bouncing off walls painted with sloppy bloodstains and glow-in-the-dark bones.

Tyler slips in behind you and him, silent as smoke. The strobe catches him once; a hooded figure at the edge of the group, head lowered, hands jammed in his pockets. No one looks twice. The next flash of light erases him again.

You keep walking, your hand brushing against your ex’s, but your shoulders are tense, spine tight. Tyler sees it — feels it — and his grin spreads slow. You can sense him, even when you pretend you can’t. 

A clown lurches from a hidden door. Teenagers scream, laughter bubbling out with the sound. You flinch back into your date’s chest, but your eyes flick right into the shadows, toward him. Always toward him.

Good girl.

The maze twists tighter, corridors narrowing, decorations closing in. A spray of fog curls low to the ground, masking the floor. Plastic bats dangle from strings overhead, brushing your cheeks as you pass. Your ex laughs, tugging you forward. “Come on, it’s just fake.”

He trails both of you through the black-lit hall, close enough now to see the sweat on the back of your neck, the rise and fall of your chest beneath your blouse. Every strobe paints you in white fire, every scream from strangers masking your quick, shallow breaths.

It’s almost too easy on this perfect hunting ground. 

The next turn splits the group, some are pulled left by a shrieking ghoul, others stumbling right into a tunnel of fog. Your ex goes ahead, laughing, oblivious and you, sweet thing, you hesitate for just a second.

The strobe lights flicker again The fog machines hiss. Shadows warp and stretch across the maze, but none of them matter. Only you. Tyler almost laughs. You’re trembling, not from the fake skeletons and rubber bats, but because you know he’s here, somewhere in the dark.

His hood shields his grin as he hangs back and you glance over your shoulder, eyes wide, lips parted. That little flicker of heat betrays you, you want him to chase you. You always did.

His blood roars. His cock aches. He leans close against the wall, waits until the strobe light hits just right then lets you see him, just a flash, a silhouette in the mist and your whole body jolts.

Run.

His mind chants it, claws at it. He needs you to, needs you to scurry through this fake haunted maze, needs to hunt you down like a prey.

The music shifts into shrieks and distorted carnival tunes. Another strobe and you see him again, this time in a mirror. His reflection multiplied, his grin in every panel. You stop breathing, clutching your chest. So he mouths it through the glass: "If I catch you, you’re mine."

Your lips part, screams and strobes blur into white noise as you break into a run. Your date calls after you, worried, his voice snatched by the music but Tyler hears you; every footstep, every gasp, every frantic little sound you make in the dark….

He doesn’t rush. Predators never do. He takes his time, cutting through shortcuts in the maze, slipping past animatronic corpses and dangling cobwebs until he knows exactly where you’ll end up. You always go left when you’re panicked. Always.

And there you are, pressed against a flickering wall of neon skeletons, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath. Alone.

He steps out of the mist. You see him. Your lips part for half a second and you freeze, wide-eyed, caught like prey in headlights.

That’s all he needs.

In two strides he’s on you, slamming you into the wall. The cheap wood rattles, glow-in-the-dark paint flaking onto your skin. His hand clamps your jaw, forcing your head back so he can whisper against your ear.

“Thought you could run?” His breath is hot, his laugh twisted. “The chase just makes it sweeter.”

You squirm, a sharp whimper breaking free, but his grip only tightens. His thigh wedges between yours, grinding up, spreading you open. His other hand hikes up your skirt, greedy and rough. Fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh.

The strobe light flashes again, catching your flushed face, the bite mark on your throat, the mess between your thighs that he already knows is there. The screams and laughter echo through the maze, but here, in this corner dripping with cobwebs and shadows, there’s only you and him.

He lifts you up, your back slamming harder into the wall, his grip iron on your hips. You gasp, nails clawing at his hoodie, but he just grins.

“I caught you,” he snarls, biting your neck. “Now I fuck you.”

He cages you there, teeth bared like an animal that finally cornered its prey. His hand clamps around your throat, thumb pressing just enough to make your head spin. Your nails claw at his arms, not to push him off but to cling, as he frees his cock and presses inside you in one brutal thrust. The wall creaks. You cry out, muffled against his palm when he covers your mouth.

“Shhh,” he breathes, grinding deep. “Your little boyfriend’s just around the corner.”

Each slam rattles the plywood walls, the cheap cobwebs sticking to your hair and skin. His hand leaves your throat only to grab your jaw, forcing your mouth open. He spits into it, messy, and groans when you swallow without hesitation.

He pants, fucking you harder, faster, so rough the strobe lights catch every obscene jolt of your body bouncing against the wall. He wants you ruined, wants you wrecked, wants you to walk out of here dripping so much no one can mistake who you belong to.

“I’ll fuck you until you can’t stand,” he promises, biting down on your shoulder hard enough to leave a fresh mark. “And then you’ll still go back out there, leaking me down your thighs while you smile at him like nothing happened.”

The crowd roars on the other side of the wall, another animatronic skeleton screeches, but he only hears you — broken, gasping, clinging — as he fucks you like he’s going to split you in two. The light flickers just as he slams you harder into the wall, his hand clamped tight over your mouth, his hips brutal and merciless. The fake skull behind your head rattles with every thrust. You’re gone, trembling, choking on every ragged cry.

And then a familiar voice calls your name. Your stomach drops. Your ex is just outside the alcove, footsteps crunching closer. Tyler doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even slow. He grins, eyes wild under the hood. His cock drives so deep you see stars, and he presses harder over your mouth, forcing you silent.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your ear, hips snapping, “he’s right there. Do you want him to see you dripping on my cock?”

You shake your head desperately, tears springing to your eyes. Your date calls again, closer this time. His shadow flickers across the wall, distorted by the strobe. Tyler pulls out halfway, then slams back in so hard the wall creaks. You almost scream into his palm. He licks the side of your face in return, his breath hot against your skin.

The curtain to the alcove shifts. A hand pushes it aside an inch. Your ex's voice is so close it’s in your bones. “Hey, are you…”

Tyler doesn’t falter. If anything, his grin twists darker, more animal. He fucks you harder, deeper, grinding until your back scrapes the wall. His palm smothers every sound you try to make. 

The hand lingers on the curtain, then withdraws. Your ex mutters something about teenagers and hormones and his footsteps fade.

“Good girl,” Tyler snarls, fucking you harder, like punishing you for almost giving it away. “You nearly got caught, didn’t you? And you loved it.”

You whimper, clench harder around him, your whole body spasming. He groans low, biting your shoulder to keep himself quiet. The taste of blood, sweat, him, it blurs everything until you’re floating.

“Stay with me,” he commands, hand sliding down to choke you lightly, forcing your head back, eyes rolling. “Don’t pass out yet, I’m not done with you.”

He slams into you so hard your vision whites out. A scream rips up your throat, but his hand clamps tighter over your mouth, stealing it, forcing you to swallow the sound. You break completely, convulsing, your body betraying you, clinging to him with every quivering muscle. You see stars, your ears ring, and you’re seconds from blacking out with how hard you come.

He fucks you through it, through your collapse, through your trembling, until you’re limp in his grip, drooling against his palm, your body useless but still spasming around him. He snarls, teeth sinking into your neck as he spills inside you with a feral growl, pushing so deep you’re certain you’ll never walk straight again.

When he finally pulls back, you’re wrecked, trembling, your vision swimming. You can’t even hold yourself up. He keeps you pinned against the wall by force, watching every twitch of your ruined body.

“Look at you,” he mutters, with pride in his voice. “you nearly passed out on me. God, you’re perfect.”

You slide down the wall when he lets go, legs useless, skirt still rucked up around your hips. Your chest heaves, eyes unfocused, every nerve still crackling with the aftershocks. He doesn’t let you crumple. His hand fists in your hair, forcing your head up so you meet his eyes in the flashing lights. He looks rabid, sweat dripping down his temple, grin twisted. You can’t meet his stare for long, the hunger there is too much, too raw.

He tilts your face up, thumb dragging across your bottom lip. His chest rises hard against yours, every breath ragged. Your lips part, needy and trembling and that’s all it takes. He crashes his mouth to yours.

It’s not gentle. It’s filthy, desperate, his tongue claiming yours. He groans into it, almost dizzy with the flavor, the heat, the wrongness of it. And you kiss him back, hard and greedy like you can’t help yourself either, making his brain short-circuit.

Because you shouldn’t want this. You shouldn’t kiss him like he is oxygen. You shouldn’t claw at his hoodie, pulling him closer like you’ll die if he stops. You shouldn’t moan into his mouth like you belong here, like you’re addicted to the ruin he makes of you.

The realization claws through him, jagged and electric: you want this, not just his body breaking yours, not just the danger, the humiliation, the feral roughness… You want him. 

And he shouldn’t love it… But fuck, he does.

The kiss drags on, messy and consuming. He loves the sting of your teeth when you bite back, like you’re somehow feral too. He loves the way you taste of everything he’s already done to you, everything he’ll do again the second he’ll get you alone again. His chest aches with it, a twisted, ugly ache he wants to spit out but can’t. It coils inside him, hot and sharp and wrong, whispering mine mine mine every time your tongue tangles with his… Until he finally tears himself back with a ragged growl, saliva stringing between your mouths. His forehead rests against yours, his breath hot and uneven. He lingers one heartbeat more, lips brushing yours in something almost soft, almost tender, so wrong it makes his skin crawl with need. Then his grin twists into something dangerous again.

“Now go. Before I break you for good this time.”

He steps back, watches you stumble forward. The taste of you still burns his mouth, making him want to tear his own skin off because it’s not supposed to feel like this. It’s not supposed to feel like you. It’s not supposed to feel like he’ll never get enough. 

You walk out of the haunted house first, skirt rumpled, cheeks flushed, your legs trembling in a way no one else would notice. No one but him. He sees the way you try to smooth your hair, the way your thighs shift awkwardly, as if you can’t quite press them together without remembering how raw he left you.

And then your ex-boyfriend finds you, his arm hovering close, like he’s not sure if he should touch you or not.

“Hey, you okay?” the idiot mutters, worry dripping from his voice.

She’s fine, champ, just stuffed full of me and you didn't even notice.

You nod, force a little smile, but Tyler catches the way your eyes flick, restless, searching the crowd like you know he’s still there. Your body’s humming for him. And when the guy tries to kiss you, you turn your face, his lips brushing your cheek instead. You murmur something. Tyler can’t hear the words over the noise of the festival, but he reads the shape of them, the shrug in your shoulders, the way the guy’s face falls: Second chance was a bad idea.

Good girl.

His chest twists, that dark ache pulsing harder than before. He wants to cut through the crowd, rip you from his side, drag you down some alley and finish what he started until you can’t even stand. He wants to own every second of your night, mark you so deep no one could ever mistake who you belong to… But not tonight. Not again.

The fun is over. He has a plan, some blood to spill and a revenge to take… But he’ll be back. For you. 

Author’s note: This is where I’ll pause the series until season 2B drops so I can continue it more accurately and with fresh inspiration. Don’t worry, the chaos isn’t over yet. In the meantime, expect a few more little one-shots about Tyler… and maybe some other characters. I’m open to requests.

(( Part 1 - Obsessive )) - (( Part 2 - Possessive )) - (( Masterlist ))

[thecharacterchronicler]

Possessive (2) || Tyler Galpin x Reader || (18+)

Outline: You’re supposed to be researching monsters in the safety of your library, but the real monster is already under your desk, feral, filthy, and determined to ruin you while your ex-boyfriend hovers just inches away.

Word Count: 4'052

Warnings: aged up characters. Mild spoilers for season 2A. (This is a fictional continuation to episode 4). Mentions of bullying. Filthy, feral smut that includes oral, unprotected sex, spit play, biting, bruises, marking (and cum marking), drip kink, public risk, humiliation, and obsessive energy. Read at your own risk (or pleasure).

(( Part 1 - Obsessive )) - (( Part 3 - If I catch you... )) - (( Masterlist ))

You wake to the weight of him before you even open your eyes. Tyler’s arm is heavy across your waist, his breath warm against the back of your neck. For one split, disoriented second you forget everything, until the ache between your thighs reminds you exactly what happened.

Your whole body is sore and bruised in places you can’t even see yet. Bite marks burn along your throat, your chest, your thighs. The memory makes your stomach flip with both dread and something far darker.

Then the clock on your nightstand catches your eye. You bolt upright.

“Shit…” you breathe, ignoring the protest of your muscles as you swing your legs off the bed. “I’m late. I’m so late.”

Behind you, Tyler groans lazily and stretches like he’s got nowhere in the world to be. “Late for what?”

“My job,” you snap, rifling through drawers in panic. “The library. If I don’t show up, they’ll definitely know something’s not right.”

That gets his attention. He props himself up on one elbow, watching you with that sharp, predatory amusement you remember from high school, except now it’s worse. Darker. “You can barely walk straight, and you think you’re gonna fool anyone?”

Heat creeps up your face. “Shut up.”

You fumble through your dresser, grabbing the first clean blouse you can find. Your hands are shaking, not from fear but from the ache in your body, the soreness that makes every movement feel like a reminder of him.

He lounges back against your pillows, watching you like it’s a show. His hair is a mess, his chest bare, and he looks completely at ease, like your bed was always his.

“You’re really gonna get dressed in front of me?” he drawls, voice thick with sleep and smugness.

“You’ve already seen everything,” you snap, yanking your blouse over your head.

He hums low in his throat, a sound that makes you falter for just a second. “Yeah. I have.”

You pull your skirt up, wincing as the waistband presses against bruises you know will bloom purple by noon. His eyes darken, just for a heartbeat, that feral flash again, the same one that tore the air apart last night. The same one that made you forget everything.

But it’s gone the second you finish buttoning your blouse. His smirk slides back into place like it never left.

“You actually do look like a librarian.” he says, flicking his gaze down your outfit.

Heat rushes to your face again, and you busy yourself with your bag, ignoring him. “Which is exactly the point, because I am one.”

 “And here I thought librarians were boring. Guess I was wrong.” You swallow hard, fighting not to look at the marks he left on your skin, the ones he’s not bothering to hide the satisfaction of. He swings his legs off the bed and leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, eyes locked on you like you’re still trapped under him. “That’s why I came here to see you anyway.”

Your heart stutters. “What do you mean?”

He smirks, running a hand through his messy hair. “Didn’t expect you to be so… entertaining last night.” His gaze flicks over you, lingering too long. He stands slowly, moving closer until you have to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes, “But what I really need is you letting me into the library.”

Your stomach drops. “Why?”

His smile sharpens, all teeth. “Because I want you to show me some books... about me.”

The library smells the same as always; paper, dust and faint lemon polish from yesterday’s halfhearted cleaning. Usually the mornings are dead quiet, and you count on that silence to ground you. Today, it only makes the echo of your heels on the linoleum louder, sharper. Every step is a reminder of the ache between your thighs.

You unlock the door, flick on the lights, and glance over your shoulder. Tyler is right behind you, hands shoved into the pockets of the hoodie you gave him like he’s out for a stroll, not breaking into the place you work.

“You don’t even look nervous,” you mutter.

He smirks, leaning close as you punch in the alarm code. “That’s because I’m not the one who’s limping.”

Heat floods your cheeks once again, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. You shove the keys back into your bag and move quickly toward the shelves.

“Monsters,” you whisper, scanning spines, pulling a few likely candidates. “That’s what you wanted, right?”

He follows, brushing dust from a volume you hand him, flipping it open with lazy fingers. You’re about to hand him another tome when a flash of movement outside the front window makes you freeze.

Blue and white.

Sheriff’s car.

Your breath catches. “Shit.”

Tyler doesn’t even look panicked. He just closes the book in his hands with a quiet thud. 

“You deal with her. I’ll keep myself entertained.” he whispers on his way past you, as he slips deeper into the rows of shelves, and vanishes like smoke. 

You glance toward the window again, heart pounding, as the sheriff’s boots crunch across the gravel lot. She tips her hat as she climbs the steps, already reaching for the handle. By the time the bell above the door jingles, Tyler is gone, hidden somewhere among the stacks. Watching. Waiting. And you’re alone to face the sheriff, sore and shaking, with secrets written all over your skin.

Sheriff Santiago steps in, her dark hair pulled back tight, her uniform crisp. She looks like someone who notices everything.

Her sharp gaze lands on you immediately. “Morning. You opened late.”

You swallow hard, clutching the shelf like it might keep you steady. “I… overslept.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, scanning your face, your too-flushed cheeks, the faint bite marks you tried to cover with your collar. The air feels suddenly thick, every sound too loud; your own breath, the ticking clock, the faint scuff of Tyler shifting behind the shelves.

“Uh-huh, you sure everything’s alright here?” She lingers by the doorway, hand on her belt. Her gaze flicks across the empty aisles, then settles back on you.

“Of course. Can I help you with anything ?”

“Well, considering all the complaints you filed against him when you both attended Jericho High,” she says, her voice steady but cutting, “I thought you’d want to know that Tyler Galpin’s out there again.”

Your throat goes dry. You glance down quickly, pretending to shuffle papers on the cart. “I’m surprised those complaints still exist. Sheriff Galpin never did anything about them…”

“Well, I’m not him.” Santiago’s boots click as she steps further into the library, each sound making your pulse spike. “And I’m taking this very seriously. This guy is dangerous. He might be out of control, feral…”

Behind the books, just out of her sightline, you can feel his presence like a dark weight. You know he’s crouched low, probably grinning that infuriating grin, taking pleasure in every second of your panic.

Santiago’s eyes fix on you again. “So if he tries to approach you, contact us immediately.”

You force yourself to meet her gaze, even as heat burns up the back of your neck. “I will.”

A beat of silence.

Her eyes narrow, like she’s searching for something beneath your answer. Then she leans one arm on the counter, glancing around the space again. “It’s funny. Thought I heard something when I came in. You sure you’re here alone?”

Your pulse quickens. 

 “Yes.” You manage to smile but it’s brittle and shaky. “It’s just me and the books.”

Her gaze lingers a moment longer, hard and unreadable. Then she exhales slowly, straightening. “Alright. But keep the doors locked after hours, you hear me? The last thing you need is him showing up here.”

She turns and pushes the door open, stepping back into the sunlight. The bell chimes again, painfully loud in the silence she leaves behind.

The moment the cruiser pulls away, a low chuckle breaks out behind the shelves. Tyler rises from his hiding place, his hair a little mussed, his grin wide.

“Feral, huh?” he drawls. “Guess she knows me pretty well.”

Your hands grip the edge of the cart, still trembling. “She almost saw you…”

“But she didn’t.” He prowls closer, slow and deliberate. “Know why?”

You swallow. “Because you got lucky.”

“No.” He shakes his head, smirking. “Because you lied for me. You had your big chance to rat me out, to get me locked up again, and what did you do?” He leans down over you, voice dropping low. “You protected me.”

Your throat works. “I just didn’t want a scene in the library.”

“Bullshit.” He chuckles, a low, dangerous sound. “You didn’t say a word because part of you wants this… Wants me.” His gaze flicks down your body, lingering on the faint stiffness in your walk, the way your skirt shifts over sore thighs. “Hell, maybe you’re even hoping I’ll ruin you again before the day ends.”

Heat floods your face. “That’s not…”

He cuts you off with a raised eyebrow and a laugh. He turns, wandering into the stacks, running a hand along the spines of books like he’s choosing fruit at a market while you stay frozen next to the same shelf for a beat too long, still reeling from the sheriff, and from him.

The morning drags on in tense silence. You move through the aisles, pulling down volumes you’d never thought anyone would bother asking for; dusty psychology texts, old case studies, folklore collections. Tyler follows close behind, too close, brushing your shoulder ever so often as if reminding you he’s still there, still in control.

By the time you both settle at the front desk, the stack between you is high. He slouches in the chair opposite you, flipping a book open with casual ease, while you keep half an eye on the front windows, watching for shadows that might mean another visitor.

Every car that passes outside makes your stomach lurch. Every crunch of gravel has you half-expecting Santiago to return. Tyler notices, of course. He notices everything.

“Relax,” he says without looking up, smirk curling at the edge of his mouth. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

You glare at him across the pile of books. “This isn’t funny.”

“Sure it is,” he says, eyes skimming the page. “You, sitting there all proper, pretending like you’re not covered in my marks under that skirt.” His gaze flicks up briefly before dropping back to the text.

Your cheeks burn. You bend your head toward your own book, hoping the words will drown him out but the line staring back at you is worse than his teasing: Manifestations of the Hyde are often violent, unpredictable, feral in nature.

A shiver runs down your spine. You quickly slide the book across to him. “Here, this one.”

He leans forward, eyes catching yours before he reads aloud:

“Hydes… prone to loss of control, destructive tendencies, consumed by impulses they can’t suppress.” He looks up, grin spreading slow. “Sound familiar?”

You close your eyes for a beat, forcing yourself to breathe. Outside, a truck rumbles past, making you flinch. He chuckles, amused by your nerves.

“Keep reading,” he says, tapping the next page with one long finger. “Tell me what else I am.”

You take the book again, throat dry. The words blur for a moment before you force yourself to focus.

“Hydes are often described as unpredictable. Their shifts can be triggered by extreme emotions like anger, fear…”

“Or lust,” He interrupts smoothly. He leans forward on his elbows, eyes locked on you. “Don’t leave that one out.”

Your cheeks heat. You glance toward the window, anywhere but at him. “It doesn’t say that.”

“Doesn’t need to.” 

You snap the page over, trying to ignore the way your body stirs at the reminder.

“Some believe Hydes are unable to form meaningful relationships due to their violent tendencies.” He chuckles darkly. Your pulse jumps. You read faster, as if rushing might get you through this intact. “Hydes are notorious for their obsession with those they fixate on. Once a bond is formed, it can border on the compulsive…”

You slam the book shut, too loudly. Dust puffs into the air. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stop smiling. “Keep going. I like the way it sounds when you read about me.”

You shake your head, but your hand betrays you, flipping to another volume in the pile, one older, its pages yellowed. You skim quickly and then freeze at a passage. Against your better judgment, you read it aloud:

“Attempts to suppress or deny the Hyde are futile. The more one resists, the more violently the Hyde will break through, often with devastating results.”

The silence afterward is deafening.

Slowly, Tyler rises from his chair and gets close enough that you can smell the faint mix of pines and your own perfume still clinging to him. He sets a hand on the back of your chair, bending down until his mouth is by your ear.

“See?” His whisper is hot, dangerous. “You can’t suppress me, can’t deny me and when you try…” his teeth catch your earlobe, gentle but sharp enough to make you shiver, “I get what I want anyway.”

You squeeze the book shut, heart hammering. Outside, a car door slams somewhere down the street, making you jolt.

“Company,” he whispers, already moving. Before you can react, he crouches low and slides under the desk, his shoulders brushing your knees. You grab at your skirt instinctively, pulling it down, just as your ex-boyfriend enters and his familiar voice fills the space.

“Hey. I thought I’d check on you. Did you hear the news? Tyler escaped…”

Your throat locks up. “I’ve been told, yeah,” you answer quickly.

He studies you, brows furrowing. “Are you okay? What’s that bruise on your neck?”

Under the desk, Tyler’s palm slides up your calf, slow and taunting, fingers tracing the back of your knee. Your lips part but before you can answer, his mouth latches onto your inner thigh, hot and wet. You nearly gasp.

“I… I fell against the shelves in the back,” you stammer, knuckles white on the counter. “You know me, clumsy as ever.”

“That looks pretty bad.”

Teeth sink into your skin and fingers shove your panties aside, slipping between your folds without warning, finding you embarrassingly wet. You choke on a moan, swallowing it so hard it burns your throat.

“It’s alright,” you breathe, smiling a little too wide.

“Is it painful?”

“Barely.” Your voice cracks as Tyler’s tongue flicks higher, dangerously close.

Your ex shifts awkwardly. “I wanted to see if you were still up to go to the Harvest Festival with me tonight?”

Your head jerks, your reply tangling in your mouth as two fingers slip inside you, into slick heat. Your legs twitch violently under the desk.

“Oh right. I… I think I’ll pass,” you force out, your voice strangled. “I’m feeling a bit… I have my period.”

Tyler muffles his laugh against your skin, low and cruel, before sucking a mark into your inner thigh. You almost whimper.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Your nails dig into the wood of the counter. “I’m okay. Just… cramping.”

Two fingers drive into you, rough and relentless. You arch in the chair as he curls them just right, and your whole body shakes enough to make your breath stutter out of you in a half-moaned syllable.

“Maybe some cotton candy could make you feel better, it usually does...”

Tyler’s mouth replaces his hand, his tongue sliding against you while his fingers keep pumping, curling deeper. His teeth graze your clit in a warning: answer him, or else. You’re trembling, every muscle locked against the chair, breath hissing out in broken gasps. You can’t stop it, your hips rock helplessly into his face, chasing the pressure.

“Yes,” you moan before you can stop yourself, clamping your lips shut too late.

His face brightens. “Perfect! Let’s meet up after you close the library. By the ferris wheel? I’m glad you’re still okay to give us a second chance.”

The bell jingles again, and then he’s gone.

Tyler moans into you, obscene and guttural, and you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you so hard you nearly sob, your hands fisting in his hair as he keeps going, keeps licking, keeps claiming.

When you finally collapse back against the chair, trembling, he drags his mouth up your body, until he’s breathing against your ear.

“God, you’re fucking perfect.” He drags your chair back and wipes his chin with the back of his hand, then licks it clean, grinning like the devil. “Smiling at him, lying for me… all while I was under here, ready to eat you alive. Seems like this poor bastard doesn’t even know what sound you make when you’re enjoying yourself.”

You’re still slumped in the chair, your breath ragged and your skin flushed but he isn’t done, not even close. His hand fists in your blouse, hauling you up so fast your knees buckle.

Before you can find your footing, he’s dragging you toward the nearest aisle of shelves, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. Books rattle in their places as he slams you against the stacks, the smell of old paper thick in the air.

“Tyler…” you plead, weakly.

He places himself behind you. His hand shoves your skirt up around your waist and pulls your panties down to your knees, exposing you completely, thighs glistening with his spit. You squeeze your eyes shut. The bell above the door hangs in silence like a threat. He spits in his hand, rubs it along his cock, and without hesitation he’s sliding into you, brutal and claiming. Your cry echoes through the library, muffled by the books around you, but it only spurs him on.

You grip the shelves desperately, spines biting into your palms, as he pounds into you. Every thrust sends books shuddering, a few toppling to the floor with heavy thuds. You’re shaking, overstimulated, wrecked but your body can’t help but yield to him, hungry despite the humiliation.

He bites your shoulder, hard, marking you again, his hips snapping hard. Your voice breaks into a cry as he ruts into you, faster, deeper, animalistic. “Please…”

“Please what?” he sneers, one hand sliding up from behind to grip your throat, squeezing just enough to make you dizzy. “Please stop? Or please never stop?”

You sob out a broken, “Don’t stop,” and his laugh is dark and triumphant.

“Good girl.” he snarls, slamming into you again, your body pressed against the shelves.

His thrusts grow rougher, filthier. The sound of the slap of skin, the creak of the shelves, it’s overwhelming, a desecration of the quiet space. His other hand fists in your skirt, yanking it higher until it’s bunched at your waist. You’re bare, spread, completely exposed to the front doors.

“Look up,” he orders. You hesitate, and he slaps your ass hard enough to sting. “Look up.”

You obey, eyes lifting toward the wide front windows. The sunlight spills across the floor, the street outside calm, the possibility of footsteps always there.

“Now keep your eyes on that door. Imagine someone walking in. Imagine them seeing you bent over, dripping, my cock buried inside you.” 

You whimper, body clenching hard around him. The shelves shake beneath you, every thrust jolting the structures, every impact threatening to knock more books and papers to the floor. You can’t stop glancing at the glass front doors, terrified someone might see.

“What about your boyfriend walking in? What would he say if he saw you like this?”

Your whole body tightens at the thought. He feels it immediately.

“Oh, you like that idea.” He laughs, biting the back of your neck as he pounds into you. “Maybe we should let him see then.”

His teeth sink into your shoulder through your blouse, biting hard enough to leave a bruise that makes your knees buckle. His thrusts get faster, sloppier, the sound of skin on skin echoing off the walls.

"I’m gonna come,” he says, voice raw, hips slamming against yours. “And when I do, I’m not pulling out. I want you leaking with me when you see him tonight. I want him smelling me on you. Every step you take, every word you say, you’ll feel it dripping down your thighs.”

Your breath catches, panic and desire colliding until you’re spiraling. The fear of discovery, the brutal rhythm, the filthy promise, it’s too much. Your orgasm rips through you, violent and uncontrollable, your nails clawing the shelf as you shake and convulse around him.

“Fuck, yes,” he groans, his thrusts losing rhythm as he buries himself deep, spilling into you with a guttural snarl. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place as he pumps every last drop into you, filling you so completely you feel it pulse through every nerve. He doesn’t let go, not even when you sag against the shelves.

You choke on a breath, your whole body burning with shame and want. He holds you there, buried, panting into your ear.

“You’re mine,” he rasps. “Mine in this library. Mine at your house. Mine wherever I want you.”

You can’t answer. You’re wrecked, trembling, still clinging to the shelves like they’ll keep you upright. He pulls back just enough to look down at you, at your ruined state, your skirt bunched around your waist, his cum already dripping down your thighs. His smirk is twisted.

He zips himself up. “Look at you… Fuck, you’re beautiful like this.” You start to reach for your skirt, to fix yourself, but his hand shoots out, catching your wrist. “No, don’t cover up. Stand up, and let me see it first.”

Shaking, you push yourself upright. Your skirt slides down a little, but it’s useless, the mess between your legs is obvious. His cum runs in hot rivulets down your thighs, glistening in the light.

He leans back against the shelves, arms crossed, eyes hungry as he watches a drop slide down your skin. Your cheeks burn. Then his hand snakes down, quick as a whip, grabbing the damp scrap of fabric still dangling around your knees. He crouches and peels your panties the rest of the way down, slow, savoring it, before straightening with them balled in his fist.

“These are mine now.” Your breath catches. He smirks, tucking them into his back pocket like a prize, patting the bulge possessively. “Souvenir. Something to keep me company if I get bored.”

Your mouth falls open, scandalized. “You can’t just…”

“Shhh.” He steps forward, one hand sliding between your thighs. He smears the wet mess higher, dragging it across your skin, up your stomach. You tremble as his fingers trace up your sternum, leaving streaks of him across your blouse. Then he brings his hand to your face, pressing two cum-slick fingers against your lips.

“Open.”

Your lips part, and he pushes them inside, dragging the taste across your tongue. He groans, low and guttural, watching you swallow. When he pulls his fingers free, he wipes the last glistening smear across your cheekbone, like a mark only he can see. His mouth is at your ear a second later, hot and rough.

“You’re gonna go to the Festival tonight,” he growls. “You’re gonna smile at him, maybe even let him buy you cotton candy. But the whole time, you’ll feel me dripping down your thighs. You’ll taste me every time you swallow. And when the lights go out and the crowds thin…” He bites your ear, sharp enough to sting. “I’ll corner you in some dark alley and fuck you all over again, but much harder.”

Links:

(( Part 1 - Obsessive )) - (( Part 3 - If I catch you... )) - (( Masterlist ))

[thecharacterchronicler]

Obsessive || Tyler Galpin x Reader || (18+)

Outline: The guy who made high school hell for you just escaped Willow Hill and now he’s in your home. He’s dangerous, obsessive, and very, very out of control… but maybe you’ve been just as twisted all along.

Word Count: 5005

Warnings: aged up characters. Mild spoilers for season 2A. (This is a fictional continuation to episode 4) Filthy, feral, possessive smut that includes choking, spit play, biting, bruises, degradation, and obsessive “you’re mine” energy. Mentions of bullying. Read at your own risk (or pleasure).

Author's note: This is unhinged. I’ve been reading way too many feral monster romances lately and it shows.

(( Part 2 - Possessive )) - (( Part 3 - If I Catch You )) - (( Masterlist ))

Nights were always the same in your house.

Books stacked in uneven towers around the living room. Quiet music humming from a scratched record in the corner. Tea cooling too quickly in your chipped mug, forgotten while you read the same page for the third time. Outside, only the occasional hoot of an owl or the low hum of wind pushing through brittle trees...

But something feels off. You hear the crash before you hear the door. Something hits it, hard. Once.

You stand up, mug half-raised, eyes flicking to the dark hallway. Your fingers tighten around the ceramic.

A second crash, louder, like whatever’s out there isn’t just knocking… It’s coming in.

The third hit splits the air with a brutal crack and the door gives out completely, slamming against the inside wall with a violent snap of wood and metal. A burst of cold air rushes in with it, slapping your skin, carrying the scent of wet earth and something... sharp.

You don’t move. You can’t. You’re still holding your tea like a shield, your free hand presses instinctively against your chest, like it might hold your heart in place. And then he’s there.

Tyler Galpin.

Soaked by rain, barefoot and shirtless. Blood streaks his skin in clotted half-moons, dirt smudges his collarbones. His chest rises and falls like he’s outrun hell, and maybe he has. Dark hair plastered to his forehead, jaw tight, lips split and bleeding and those eyes, they are haunted, feral, unmistakable... They find you instantly and they don’t let go.

He doesn’t speak, he just leans against the inside of your shattered doorway and turns the lock like he still believes it works, like he’s claimed this space now.

You haven’t seen him in years. Not since you graduated High School, not since he was dragged away, eyes dead and wrists bound, not since the last time he ruined something that mattered to you.

You take a single, cautious step backward.

His body goes taut, something flashes in his expression… Panic? Instinct? It’s gone too fast to catch.

“Don’t,” he growls, his voice low and cracked from disuse — or screaming — you can’t tell. “Just... don’t.”

You want to run. You want to scream until your lungs rip open but you remember how fast he used to be on the field, in the woods, in the halls of Jericho High, where he used to grab your backpack just to unzip it and let the contents spill.

“Oops,” he’d smirk, stepping over your glasses like trash. Once, he crushed a limited edition of Wuthering Heights beneath his boot like it was a joke.

You didn’t know then that he had a monster inside him. You're still not sure of what he is now.

“What… what do you want?” Your voice doesn’t feel like your own.

He licks blood from his lip and gives you a slow, shaky smile, too wide and too familiar. Something twisted and boyish in it, like he’s trying it on after years in storage.

“What do you think, nerd?” The word is a slap, it lands in the hollow of your ribs like it still belongs there. “Let me guess, you still live alone, still read by candlelight, still got all your little rules and rituals…“ he continues, dragging himself away from the door, limping toward your kitchen like he’s done this before. 

You don’t answer. Your eyes are locked on the blood painting his side. His skin glows pale in the low light, broken only by bruises and grit and the faintest shimmer of sweat. He smells like pine needles and violence.

You should run, but you stay rooted to the floor like a frightened animal, spine stiff and limbs too slow to matter.

He flings the fridge open like he owns it, snorts at the contents, then yanks out a Tupperware of leftover pizza. He eats it cold, no hesitation, no questions, no shame. Then he drinks your milk straight from the carton.

You wonder how many people are dead.

You wonder if you’re next.

When he turns back to you, something in his face shifts, softens maybe, though it’s impossible to say where Tyler ends and the Hyde begins. His head tilts, wolf-like. He breathes in.

“You’re scared.” It’s not a question, it’s a delight.

“I should be,” you murmur.

He shrugs, his hand leaving a red smear on the fridge door as he leans against it.

“Yeah.” he smiles. 

And for a second — just a second — you forget how to breathe. Then his legs falter. He catches himself on the counter with a grunt, knuckles white. His ribs seize visibly under the bruises, and suddenly, the shimmer on his skin isn't rain. It’s blood.

“Tyler,” you whisper, your voice thin, too soft, too caring. “You’re…”

“Bleeding?” He huffs, not quite a laugh. “No shit.”

He turns slowly, lifting his arm to inspect the gash across his side. The skin beneath is torn, deep, slick with half-dried blood and something darker.

Then, with unsettling calm, he looks at you. “You're gonna fix it.”

Your stomach knots. “I’m not a nurse.”

“You took a first aid class in High School.”

You hate that he remembers. Your eyes flick toward the bathroom cabinet and he notices. His gaze sharpens, tracking the subtle shift in your body like a predator clocking a twitch in wounded prey.

“You're not gonna make me ask again, are you?” His tone shifts, dangerous and tired all at once. “Because I'm not in the mood to beg, not tonight.”

You nod once, slowly backing toward the hallway. His blood is still wet on the floor, his side is still torn open. He won’t chase you.

He can’t.

You make it halfway to the bathroom before you pivot and run, not toward the cabinet but toward the back door. The deadbolt slams open under your hand but not fast enough… he’s already moving. You hear the hiss of pain in his breath as he lunges, the drag of his foot against the wood. You’re almost through the door when his hand wraps around your arm and yanks.

You crash backward into his chest with a gasp, shoulder slamming into the doorframe. He shoves it closed with the flat of his palm and you jolt at the sound. The lock clicks. He doesn’t let go of your arm.

You twist. “Let me go…”

“I said don’t,” he snaps, dragging you back into the hallway.

You struggle against him, wild, stupid, panicked.

“You’re hurt…” you gasp. “You’re bleeding…”

“Not enough to stop me from breaking every door in this place,” he growls, slamming your back against the wall. His forearm braces your shoulder, not crushing but strong enough that you feel how easy it would be for him to really hurt you. He doesn’t but his face is inches from yours now. His voice is ragged. “You really think you’re gonna outrun me? After everything?”

“I had to try,” you reply.

His lips curl. “Yeah, you always run when it gets real.”

You open your mouth to spit back something, anything, but the way he’s looking at you makes the words choke in your throat. He’s staring through you like he knows every version of you you’ve tried to build since high school and doesn’t buy a single one.

His hand slides up the door beside your head, not touching you, but blocking any chance you have of slipping past.

“I’m bleeding all over your floor,” he snaps, stepping even closer, his breath grazing your cheek. So you’re gonna patch me up, and you’re gonna do it now.”

You flinch at his tone, but something in your body responds to the command before your mind catches up.

He pulls back a little, just enough to look down at himself and at the red streaks drying over his ribs. You stare at him for a beat too long. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t move, so you nod. You push past him stiffly, heart still racing, and disappear into the hallway. He doesn’t follow but you can feel his eyes on your back the whole way.

You grab the first aid box from beneath the sink with trembling hands and return, half-expecting him to be gone.

He isn’t.

He’s sitting on a chair in the kitchen, slouched but alert, blood still painting his skin in angry smears. Still shirtless, still terrifying… And still waiting for you.

You kneel beside him. He doesn’t speak but watches you unsnap the kit. Your hands still shaking. You reach for the antiseptic, the gauze, the tweezers… the routine familiar and comforting in the worst possible way.

When you press the gauze against the deep slash just under his ribs, he hisses so you pause.

“Keep going,” he demands.

You clean the wound in silence, your breath shallow, his eyes pinned to your face. Not your hands, not the blood, but your face. It makes your skin prickle.

“You always flinched when I touched you,” he says suddenly. You freeze and his voice lowers, almost curious. “Still do.”

You don’t look up. “I was scared of you.”

He leans forward just slightly, voice dark and unreadable. “You still are.”

You tape the bandage down, too rough on purpose. He doesn’t even wince.

“You’re not going to say thank you, are you?”

His smile is slow, crooked and dangerous.

“No,” he replies. “But I’ll let you live.”  And that, apparently, is enough.

Your knees are still weak when you rise, your hands stained with blood — his blood — the sticky warmth drying in smudges across your palms. You don’t look at him when you speak. You can’t.

“I’ll… I’ll get you something to wear,” you say, barely louder than your pulse. “It’s cold.”

You can feel his gaze on your back, heavy and unrelenting, but he says nothing, just lets you walk away.

You move like a sleepwalker down the hall, past the broken front door and the dark smear on the wall where he caught you mid-escape. Up the stairs. Each step is deliberate, slow and quiet, as if noise might remind him to follow.

You shut your bedroom door behind you with a soft click, not quite a lock — you wouldn’t dare — but a boundary... Fragile and pointless. Your back hits the door as you exhale for the first time in what feels like hours. And then you see it. Your phone is right where you left it, on the nightstand. It’s a lifeline, a chance.

You cross the room fast, heartbeat stuttering in your throat as your fingers close around it. The screen lights up instantly, casting your pale face in cold blue. No signal, of course, but maybe a text could send when the bars flicker back. You don’t need much, just one word. You start to type.

HELP. 

The bedroom door creaks open behind you. You freeze. Not because of the sound — soft and slow, not violent — but because you didn’t hear him coming up the stairs. He’s just there. You turn, breath caught halfway in your chest.

Tyler stands in the doorway, his expression unreadable, not angry, just calm... Too calm. He looks at your hand, at the phone glowing in your grip and then, finally, his eyes meet yours.

Your throat goes dry. He takes one step into the room. You don’t move. He takes another. Your spine finds the dresser behind you. You feel the edge of the wood bite into your back.

“Give it to me,” he says, extending his hand like he’s asking for something harmless like a book or a pen.

You hesitate and that’s all it takes. He’s on you before you can blink, not violent but inevitable. He moves with eerie precision, stepping into your space like it belongs to him, like you belong to him. His body presses close, not touching but looming, a solid wall of heat and blood and sweat-slick skin. His hand slides between you and the dresser, his fingers curl around your phone.

You don’t resist. He lifts it between you both, studying it, then, without a word, without effort, he snaps it clean in half. The sound is sharp, a vicious crack of plastic and glass that echoes off the walls.

You flinch. He lets the pieces fall to the floor in a final, careless gesture. Then he looks at you and you don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you start to feel lightheaded.

He doesn’t step back, doesn’t ease the pressure. He just watches you, his eyes dragging over your face, down your throat, to the frantic rise and fall of your chest. He’s drinking in your fear, your submission, your fury. It makes something in him relax, not soften, just… settle, like now, finally, things are exactly how they’re supposed to be.

“Where are the clothes ?” he asks, voice low.

You blink. “What?”

He smiles, darkly. “You came up here to dress me, remember?”

You swallow. Your hand brushes the closet door as if by instinct. You open it and pull a folded hoodie from the shelf. You don’t even look at him when you toss it his way.

He catches it one-handed, lifts it to his face, sniffs and smirks.

“Smells like that asshole who took you to prom and that you let kiss you under the bleachers.”

Your cheeks go hot. “He’s not…”

“You’re still seeing him?”

“No.”

He stares at you a long moment, then pulls the hoodie on slowly, wincing as it stretches over his shoulder. He exhales through his nose, then mutters, low, disgusted: “It reeks like cheap cologne and insecurity”

Your chest is tight. You don’t want to hear him anymore, not his voice, not the memories, not how easily he slips back into your life like a nightmare on repeat. Without a word, you walk across the room, past the bookshelf, straight to your desk.

You grab your perfume from the top shelf and spin around, sharp and quick, before he can get another word out. He raises an eyebrow just as you lift the bottle.

Pshht.

You spray him once, directly across his chest. A quick burst, meant to shut him up. The scent blooms instantly in the warm air, floral, amber and something darker underneath. It’s yours and it’s so familiar that it makes your throat catch.

He inhales, startled and then stills. You turn away without meeting his eyes… But you brought his attention to this side of your room. You see it happen in the mirror, the moment he notices what’s pinned to the wall.

You try to move, to step between him and the view but he’s already stepping closer.

“Wait,” you say, too late.

He limps forward, shoulder brushing past you. You grab the bottle tighter, knuckles white. Your shame, your obsession was there, exposed in cheap printer ink and curling edges. Articles, clippings and handwritten notes, circles around words like “Hyde” and “Willow Hill“ and his mugshot, front and center.

He doesn’t move for a long time but his eyes trail over your shoulder, scanning the fragmented headlines like he’s reading his own eulogy.

“Local Sheriff’s Son Declared Unfit.” “Victim Identified in Woods Near Jericho.”

When he finally turns, his eyes rake over you. You wish he looked angry but he doesn’t. He looks... satisfied.

“It’s not what it looks like, it’s research.” you start, voice thin. 

He laughs, not amused, just sharp. “You think this is research? You think cutting out articles about the guy who made your life hell qualifies as some kind of academic project?”

“I needed answers,” you snap.

His voice drops. “No. You needed me. You thought about me every night, didn’t you?” His voice is quiet, but mocking and dangerous. “You looked me up, imagined how I looked locked in that place, wondered if I’d come back for you.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.” He steps toward you. You don’t move. “You probably sat on this floor reading articles about me, while your sweet little boyfriend thought you were reading some harmless books.”

His gaze drops to his mugshot, lingers there before he looks back at you.

“Do you get off looking at that photo?” Your breath catches… not because it’s true, but because it isn’t a no either. He smiles and there’s no warmth in it. “You were always into those dark romance paperbacks in high school… What was it? Brooding vampires? Abusive fae? Criminals who couldn’t be tamed?”

“Tyler…”

“You spent your nights with your thighs squeezed tight, reading about dangerous monsters and wishing they’d pick you?” He moves again, closer, each step pushes the air from your lungs. “And now, you have me.”

You stumble backward — only one step — and hit the edge of your desk. Your hands land behind you, fingers gripping the wood, grounding yourself in anything that’s not him.

He follows, doesn’t touch you but just looms, close enough that your perfume clings to the space between your bodies.

He nods toward the wall of printouts.

“You made a shrine.” You open your mouth — to deny it, to lie, to scream, you don’t know — but no words come. “Why? Why would you care like this? After everything I did to you? All the names I called you? The pranks I pulled? I ruined your books, your grades, your life…”

You make a sound, wounded, half a sob, half a moan. His hand lifts. He presses two fingers under your chin, tilts your face to his. His eyes are fire. Your breath stutters. The words hit low and they burn.

You should push him away, you should scream, you should run… But instead you rise on your toes and surge forward, your mouth colliding with his, not soft, not tentative, but furious. A slap disguised as a kiss. You pour every unsaid thing into it: the years of confusion, the nightmares, the twisted ache he left behind.

You’re the one who closes the space. You’re the one who grips the front of the hoodie and pulls. You’re the one who opens your mouth first.

For a breath, he doesn’t move. Then his hand fists in your hair and he devours you in return, he growls, low and guttural, and the kiss deepens like something snapping inside him. His hand slides to the back of your neck, holding you there, while the other finds your waist, fingers digging in, claiming, demanding.

“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth. “You have no idea what you just started.”

You break the kiss, panting. “Then shut up and show me.”

Your breath mingles with his, trembling, not with fear anymore, but with something far more dangerous. His thumb brushes your cheek, rough and reverent all at once. He’s breathing hard, chest rising and falling like he’s barely holding something back.

The scent of him hits you again, earthy, wild, tinged with sweat and blood and the ghost of your perfume.

His mouth crashes on yours again, no hesitation this time, all teeth and heat and years of tension snapping like a live wire between you. He lifts you easily, your ass hitting the desk with a dull thud, sending papers fluttering to the floor. You gasp into his mouth, but it’s not from pain. It’s the shock of him — all of him — so real, so solid, after years of being nothing but a nightmare in your mind.

He pulls back just enough to drag his gaze down your body, eyes dark with something primal. He groans low in his throat — a sound like fury and hunger and disbelief all at once — and then his hands are on you again, sliding up beneath the fabric, finding skin, heat, need, his mouth open and ravenous, kissing like it’s not just lust but hunger, like he wants to devour you.

Then his hand slides to your jaw, rough and controlling, and suddenly his fingers are pushing into your mouth, two, maybe three, thick and deep. He watches your eyes blow wide as you gag a little, lashes fluttering, and he groans.You whimper around his fingers, spit already dripping from the corner of your mouth, and he grins, wide and sharp and absolutely unhinged. His thumb drags your jaw open wider, forcing your head back to expose your throat, and he leans in like a predator. His eyes flare dark with something that’s not human.

Then it’s a blur; your clothes being ripped, teeth against skin, your name hissed through clenched teeth as he shoves your legs apart with bruising force.

“You wanted a monster? You fucking got him.”

He fumbles with your pants, desperate and impatient, until you lift your hips to help him, and then they’re gone, kicked away and forgotten, and his hand is right there, sliding between your thighs without hesitation, without apology. His fingers find how ready you are for him and he lets out a vicious little laugh.

“Wet for me already?” he remarks, middle finger sliding through the slick heat. “Didn’t take much, did it?”

His finger thrusts deep, then another, stretching you, and it’s not gentle, it’s frantic, punishing and filthy. You rock against his hand, chasing the friction, and he watches you unravel with something close to awe... Or madness.

He doesn’t finger you gently. He fucks you with his hand, two fingers deep and pumping rough, thumb grinding your clit while his other hand clamps around your throat. He watches you choke on a moan and he smiles before biting your neck hard enough to bruise, hard enough to mark. Then your shoulder. Your chest. Anywhere he can reach. And every sound you make, every gasped whimper, every shattered plea, feeds him.

“You're shaking already?” he sneers, dragging his slick fingers down to slap your pussy once, twice, the sound obscene. “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

He undoes his pants with one hand, the other still gripping your throat like a leash. And when he finally lines himself up, it’s with a dark look that dares you to tell him no but you won’t. You can’t. You want him to ruin you.

He pushes in with a groan so deep it vibrates in your chest, slow just for the stretch, then he slams the rest of the way, burying himself to the hilt. Your cry echoes off the walls, not of pain but relief.

He doesn’t stop. The desk creaks beneath you, the rhythm brutal and raw and perfect. His mouth is on your shoulder, your collarbone, your lips, biting, bruising, like he needs to mark you everywhere, prove you’re real, that this isn’t just another dream that will vanish when the cell door slams shut. You can feel him everywhere. Thick and unrelenting, every inch of him dragging against your walls, pushing you open, fucking you like he doesn’t care who hears or how much the desk rocks beneath you.

“Fuck, yes…” you gasp, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as your body starts to shatter around him, your first orgasm building fast and vicious, like it’s being ripped from you.

He feels the way you tighten, the way your moans break and he loses what little control he had. One hand fists in your hair, the other still choking you, not enough to stop you from breathing, but enough to remind you who owns you now. His rhythm is brutal, savage, the kind of fucking meant to leave bruises on your hips and teeth marks on your collarbone. He fucks you like a man possessed, like he’s trying to burn the past from his skin and bury it in you. 

He grunts as he slams into you again, harder than before, so deep you swear he hits something that makes your vision spark. One of your hands flies to the edge of the desk, gripping hard, the other tangling in his hair as if you can anchor yourself there, like you can survive this without falling apart… But he’s not going to let you survive this intact. He wants to see you undone.

“That’s it,” he snarls, watching your eyes roll back, your mouth falling open with a silent cry. “Take it.”

Your legs tighten around him as he starts to pound into you, no rhythm, no finesse, just need. The desk slams into the wall with every thrust, papers long forgotten, and somewhere in the chaos you register the sting of his nails digging into your hips, dragging you back onto his cock every time he drives forward.

Your moan is wrecked, desperate, and it only drives him further off the rails. He loves it. Loves how ruined you sound, how you’re already trembling around him, clenching like your body’s trying to drag him deeper as if you’re scared he’ll leave before it’s over. Every brutal thrust drags you closer to that cliff’s edge, the pleasure so violent it borders on pain; the best kind. You’re soaked, dripping, a mess beneath him and he’s relentless, fucking you like he wants to leave his mark inside you.

Then his fingers slide between you again, rough and sure, rubbing tight circles against your clit as he slams up into you. Your body jerks, the cry ripped from your throat not even human anymore. You try to hold it, try to stay in control, but when he slaps your clit once, sharp and filthy, you break.

The orgasm crashes into you like a wave hitting stone. Your body arches off the desk, mouth open in a silent scream, muscles clenching so violently you see white. You don’t know what sounds are coming out of you — gasps, sobs, broken little moans — but he doesn’t stop, he fucks you through it, riding every aftershock, chasing his own release now with brutal, desperate thrusts, biting your lip until it bleeds.

He pulls out just in time to fist himself once, twice and groans deep, head thrown back as he comes all over your stomach, your thighs, marking you like it means something, like it’s a claim. He’s panting, shuddering, leaning over you with his arms braced on either side. His eyes are wild, blown wide, and there’s sweat sliding down his temple.

He brings his mouth on your neck again but this time, it doesn’t bite. It lingers, open-mouthed and hot, breathing against the bruises he just made.

“Still breathing?” he asks, voice wrecked, lips dragging along your jaw. You don’t answer. Your voice is a ruined thing, somewhere between a sob and a moan, your body shaking from aftershocks, from the mess, from the sheer violence of how hard he fucked you but your legs shift just slightly, just enough to show you’re still here and he grins with something possessive and feral burning in his eyes. “Good.”

He bends down and licks a drop of sweat from your neck. It’s not sensual, it’s animal, marking you again in the filthiest way he can, like tasting the salt on your skin is another form of possession. He kisses your bruised shoulder, not gently, but deeply, like an oath.

His other hand drags up your stomach still smeared with his cum and he wipes his fingers across your skin, then shoves two of them into your mouth.

“Suck.”

You do, instinctively. Desperately. His eyes roll back for a second. He breathes like he’s holding something dangerous back and pulls your head back with a fist in your hair, forcing you to look up at him. Your lips are red, your eyes glassy, bite marks blooming across your neck, your collarbone, your shoulders.

“Look at you, so pretty like this, ruined for anyone else.” Then — as if that wasn’t enough — he spits into your open mouth and you swallow it without blinking. “Good girl,” he breathes, eyes full of madness and worship.

He grabs your discarded shirt and uses it to wipe between your thighs, slow and deliberate. You flinch.

“Sensitive?” he asks, smug. 

You whimper. It’s the only sound you can make.

He tosses the shirt aside, doesn’t care where it lands. Then, without warning, he pulls you against him, your body still a trembling mess, and wraps his arms around you like a vice. One hand snakes up to grip your jaw again, tilting your head to the side so he can mouth at your throat, tasting skin, sweat, salt and spit.

It’s not a cuddle, it’s a claim.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he murmurs, dragging his teeth down your neck. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

Your voice finally breaks free, hoarse, barely a whisper. “I wasn’t planning to.”

He hums a low, pleased sound and then his hand slides down to your collarbone to touch one of the bite marks he left there.

“You’ll bruise here, and you’ll feel me every time you walk tomorrow.” he says, almost like a promise. Then he kisses that mark slowly, almost reverent.

“You’re mine now,” he murmurs against your lips, quieter than before but just as deadly. “No one else is ever gonna touch you again, I’ll fucking kill them if they try.”

You don’t even question it because you don’t want anyone else to. You swallow hard, still dazed and his grin is slow… And dangerous.

Part 2:

Other stories:

[thecharacterchronicler]

Just dropping in to let you know I'm really enjoying your Sebastian Sallow series - the friends with benefits and a baby series. I've devoured all 5 tales and I hope you have more in the pipeline. No pressure for more if there isn't any, though.

Thank you so much 🥺💛 Honestly, messages like yours mean more than I can say. Knowing that someone took the time not only to read every part but to enjoy it and say so—that’s what keeps me writing. It’s so easy to feel like we’re shouting into the void when posting stories online!

There’s one last part coming very soon for that series, then a little one-shot with both Seb and Ominis (because of course 😌), and maybe even part two of the Rookwood one, just for fun.

[thecharacterchronicler]

Heatstroke, green jumpers and a lavender bath (Part 5) || Sebastian Sallow || (18+)

Outline: After you collapsed during revision, Sebastian sneaks you into the Prefects’ Bathroom to cool off. It was supposed to be innocent but once his hands are on your skin… it becomes impossible to stop. And just when your world is already upside down, he says something that changes everything...

Word Count: 5200

Warnings: aged up characters, friends with benefits, (accidental / secret) pregnancy, body insecurities , explicit smut.

(( Part 1 - Exams, poltergeists & supply closets )) - (( Part 2 - Friends with benefits… & a baby )) - (( Part 3 - Mandrakes, dusty books and an apology )) - (( Part 4 - Tight shirts and short skirts ))

The NEWTs were approaching fast, and you didn’t feel ready. You had been preparing for them since the day you arrived at Hogwarts; studying, revising, working relentlessly with the hope of earning top marks and starting your career on the best possible footing. But the closer the exams crept, the harder it became to focus.

Other things — far more important than Herbology or Divination — were taking over your thoughts. Your future had never felt more uncertain… except for one thing: whoever you became, whatever path you followed, it would include the tiny being who’d taken up residence in your body and spent every night kicking your ribs and squirming whenever you dared to put your revision books down for a moment of rest.

The baby would be here soon, just two more months.

It was unthinkable that you’d managed to hide it this long. Your belly had doubled in size. You waddled now, thrown off balance by your shifted center of gravity. Even your face had puffed up, along with your feet and most of your clothes no longer fit. Luckily, after spending the spring holidays in Feldcroft, Sebastian had given you one of his green wool jumpers. It was large enough to cover half your body, and for a while, it had done the trick.

But May had turned out unusually warm and humid. Revising by the Black Lake while the other students splashed in the water and enjoyed the sunshine had become its own kind of torture. Still, you forced yourself to be there, to show up, afraid that if you skipped too many outings, someone might start asking questions.

You sometimes found yourself missing the stolen freedom you’d tasted in the Sallow household. There, with only Sebastian for company, you didn’t need to hide anything. Quite the opposite actually, he had seemed utterly and shamelessly enamored with the sight of you, round and swollen with his child, your clothes stretched tight across your growing belly.

You slept in his bed every night, his hand always finding its way to the soft swell of your abdomen. He’d massage your aching feet at the end of the day, one of those parenting books he’d borrowed from the library propped open on his thigh. And late at night, when the baby woke you with a well-placed kick to the bladder, you often found him still reading by the light of his wand, eyes dark with focus, muttering softly to himself about spells for pain relief or newborn sleeping patterns. He seemed more invested in the baby’s arrival than in his own NEWTs.

Those two weeks in Feldcroft had been yours, private, indulgent, and brimming with the kind of intimacy no one else was allowed to witness. Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, maybe it was the pressure of the exams, but you had been insatiable, and so had he.

By the end of the holiday, there wasn’t a corner of the little cottage left untouched by your need for each other. He’d bent you over the kitchen sink one morning while the tea boiled behind him, fucking you slow and deep until your legs trembled. You’d fallen asleep together in front of the fire more than once, wrapped in blankets, limbs tangled, skin still flushed from whatever you'd done just moments before. He’d even managed to gently lift you onto the narrow dresser upstairs, kissing your neck as he pushed your skirt up and your thighs apart, whispering how beautiful you looked like this, all his.

There had been no shame in it, no pretending. Just the two of you, starved for each other in the quiet space between who you used to be and what you were becoming.

And then classes had resumed, and once again, you’d had to start hiding. Your belly, your hormones and the closeness you shared with your best friend.

Sebastian had promised to welcome you and the baby into his home, to live with you, help raise this child. He’d already made space in his house, rearranged his future without hesitation. But… was that all it was? A promise of support? A shared responsibility? Because the further along you got, the more the question burned at the back of your mind, impossible to ignore.

Was it enough? Was it really just friendship, held together by circumstance and obligation? Or had it become something more, something you didn’t dare name aloud?

Because lately, when his fingers brushed yours, when he discreetly helped you get up from your chair at the end of class, when his hand lingered a second too long on the curve of your lower back… your body ached in a way that had nothing to do with pregnancy. And when you looked at him—really looked—you weren’t sure what you saw anymore. Not just your best friend, not just the father of your child. You were starting to wonder if what you wanted... was him. 

A bead of sweat rolled from your temple down to your jaw. You stretched, wiped it away with the sleeve of your wool jumper, then tugged your hair off the back of your neck, hoping—futilely—that it might cool you down. It didn’t. The sun was merciless, hammering down from above, its light bouncing off the surface of the Black Lake until it stung your eyes. The air was thick and dry, pressing against your skin like a second suffocating layer. Not even the ghost of a breeze stirred to offer relief.

You could take the jumper off. You should, it was far too warm, too heavy, clinging to your body like guilt. You could kick off your shoes, roll down your stockings, and wade into the lake like the others. Let the water pull away the heat, the weight, the ache in your lower back. Let yourself forget, just for a minute, how much you were hiding.

That’s where Sebastian was now, with his shirt off, hair wet and curling at his forehead, laughter spilling from his mouth as he splashed Leander and dared Garreth to poke at the tentacles drifting lazily near the surface. He looked free and careless in a way you weren’t allowed to be.

You pressed a hand to your belly, feeling the faintest kick in return. No, not free. Not anymore.

“You really should take off that jumper,” Ominis said flatly. “I can hear the sweat dripping onto your textbook.”

You groaned, tugging at the collar. “I can’t. I look enormous.”

“I know, but… ”

“You know?” you snapped, stung. “Even blind you can tell I’m one sneeze away from floating off like a balloon?”

Ominis’s mouth twitched. “I didn’t say balloon.”

You huffed, already regretting your tone. “Sorry.”

He shook his head gently. “I know because you sound... different. Your steps are slower. Heavier. You breathe faster, like your body’s working twice as hard. And your scent… well, it has changed too.”

“Brilliant,” you muttered. “So much for subtle.”

“You were subtle. Until you decided to wrap yourself in a winter jumper under a summer sun. That part is... less subtle.”

“It’s all I’ve got. I can’t just walk around in a sheet.”

“You could stop hiding altogether,” he said softly. “Sooner or later, you’ll need a proper checkup. And frankly, fainting from heatstroke isn’t going to help anyone, especially not the baby.”

“I’ll be fine. I just need to survive one more month until the NEWTs.”

“Surviving isn’t the same as living. You’re exhausted. You’re pretending everything’s normal when it clearly isn’t.”

“I know.” You sighed

But the moment shattered with the sound of wet footsteps in the grass. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was, the sudden tightening of your chest told you.

Sebastian was shirtless, droplets still clinging to his chest, his hair plastered to his forehead. He looked flushed and glowing and maddeningly unaware of the effect he had on you. He flashed you a crooked smile, and just like that, another wave of heat — not sun-induced — settled low in your stomach.

He hadn’t touched you since you’d come back to Hogwarts. Hadn’t kissed you, hadn’t even looked at you the same way. Just a friend. Just a classmate. Just... polite. And it was starting to drive you mad.

“What do you know?” he asked casually, dropping to the grass beside you both, water still dripping from his curls.

“Nothing you’d be interested in,” you replied quickly, your tone sharp, maybe sharper than intended.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. Ominis cleared his throat, quietly amused, and reached over to hand you a bottle of water.

“You should drink,” he murmured. “And maybe take off that jumper before you melt into the lawn.”

A sly grin spread across Sebastian’s face as he leaned in and shook his head like a dog, sending cold droplets flying from his hair straight onto your face.

You yelped, laughing, the shock of it prickling your overheated skin like ice. It was blissfully refreshing… until he pulled away too fast, settling beside you. Your eyes followed the water sliding down his shoulder, trailing along the line of his neck. You knew that skin, the feel of it, the taste…  but you stared at it like it was forbidden. Which, technically… it was.

Garreth flopped onto the grass on your other side, still dripping from the lake. Leander followed, equally shirtless, equally carefree but neither of them were nearly as distracting.

“Did Sebastian hex that jumper onto you?” Garreth asked, already breathless from the heat. “It’s like, a thousand degrees out here.”

“I think it’s quite nice,” you lied, lifting your chin defiantly.

“You’re melting, love. I can see the steam rising off you.”

“Oh, don’t be jealous,” Sebastian cut in smoothly, shooting Garreth a grin. “One day you’ll find someone who steals your clothes too.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Ominis muttered from behind his book.

“Friends don’t count,” Garreth said with a shrug, tone a little too sharp for your liking.

Ouch, that one hit a little harder than expected.

He wasn’t wrong, though. You and Sebastian were just friends. Friends with a massive secret. Friends with an arrangement that looked nothing like friendship. But still… friends.

“Friends definitely count,” Sebastian said, voice dropping with mischief. “Especially when they steal your clothes and let you take off theirs.”

“Sebastian!” you snapped, scandalized.

Ominis groaned. “If he starts talking about spring break again, I’m leaving. Or hexing him. Maybe both.”

Your mouth opened in protest, but nothing came out. Instead, you smacked the back of Sebastian’s head.

“Ouch!”

“Do you really have to share that kind of detail with everyone?” you asked, glaring.

He grinned shamelessly. “Wouldn’t want to waste a perfectly good brag.”

Garreth tilted his head and gave you a slow, exaggerated once-over, playful, but just bold enough to make your heart skip. “Well,” he said, with a wicked grin, “if all it takes is lending you my jumper to earn that kind of... gratitude, I’ve got a whole drawer you can raid.”

Sebastian’s smile dropped. “Cut it out, Garreth,” he said, a little too sharp. “She’s not cold. She's overheating, clearly.”

Garreth chuckled, unfazed. “Sounds like someone’s jealous.”

“We’re not doing this.” Sebastian sat up straighter, jaw tight, his gaze fixed firmly on him now. “You can’t flirt with her.”

You blinked, caught mid-sip of water, heat suddenly flaring for an entirely different reason.

Garreth raised his eyebrows, feigning innocence. “I thought you were just friends, mate. She can flirt with whoever she wants, can’t she?”

Sebastian’s eyes flicked to you, and for a second, something darker passed through them, something possessive, protective and aching. You didn’t answer because technically… Garreth wasn’t wrong. But neither was Sebastian.

The air between them grew thick, not quite hostile, but undeniably charged.

“Right,” Ominis muttered, snapping his book shut. “I’m leaving before this turns into a dueling club demonstration. Again.” He stood, brushing off his trousers with a dramatic sigh. “The smell of testosterone and unspoken feelings is absolutely choking.”

Garreth laughed, Sebastian swore under his breath, and you just… tried not to melt for real this time.

You sighed, defeated, and reached for your things, half to preserve your dignity, half to escape before Sebastian could make another smug comment that would leave your face permanently flushed. With a grunt, you gathered your towering pile of revision books into your arms, shifted your weight forward, and pushed yourself upright.

Too fast.

The sun above seemed to lurch. The ground beneath you turned unsteady, your knees wobbled, and the heat—Merlin, the heat—pressed in like a weight on your chest. Your vision sparkled at the edges, blooming with sharp bursts of white, like stars going supernova. A high ringing sound pulsed in your ears.

You blinked. Once. Twice. Then everything swam.

“Hey… hey, are you alright?” Sebastian’s voice was suddenly too close, too sharp, his hand already gripping your arm before you could even register you were swaying.

You wanted to answer but the words caught somewhere behind your dry tongue and a throat that refused to pull in air properly. And then your balance gave out.

“Shit… catch her!” Sebastian barked, just as your knees gave way.

Strong arms caught you before you hit the grass. Several, actually.

“I’ve got her ! No, I’ve got… bloody hell, move, Garreth!”

“You’re the one in the way!”

“Do either of you even know how to carry someone properly?” Ominis snapped, somewhere behind the chaos, voice sharp with panic.

You found yourself half-limp in Sebastian’s arms, one hand braced against his bare chest as he crouched with you, cradling you close. His breath was ragged. Fast.

“She’s burning up,” he muttered, voice pitched low and anxious. “We need to get her to the infirmary.”

“You think it’s a heatstroke?” Garreth asked, already trying to fan your face with a folded-up bit of parchment.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake ! Stop waving your bloody notes at her like a palm leaf, she’s not a fainting roman heiress,” Ominis snapped again, pushing Garreth aside and crouching beside you, his hand landing on your wrist to feel your pulse.

“I was just trying to help!”

“Help by getting out of the way!”

“I’m fine,” you croaked weakly, though it sounded far less convincing than you'd hoped. Everything still felt slow and distant, like you were underwater. “Just too hot. Too fast.”

Sebastian ignored your protest, tightening his hold as he shifted you more securely against him. “Nope, you’re done pretending. I’m taking you to the nurse. Now.”

“I’ll clear the path,” said Leander, who'd appeared from nowhere with a surprisingly useful idea for once.

“Everyone stop talking and let Sebastian walk,” Ominis muttered, hand still on your wrist. “And someone grab her books before he drops her and her education.”

“I can carry both,” Sebastian growled, shooting him a glare, but there was no real heat in it, just worry.

You let your eyes flutter closed against the chaos, forehead pressing lightly against Sebastian’s shoulder. His heartbeat was thunder in your ear. Familiar. Steady.

“You alright, love?” he asked again, softer this time, for your ears only.

You didn’t answer, just nodded faintly against him.

Because yes. Maybe everything was spinning, your body was overheated and your secrets were threatening to spill over but surrounded by the chaos of them, of him, maybe — just maybe — you weren’t entirely alone.

When you came to, you were lying in an unfamiliar bed, in a room that felt vaguely familiar, with two very familiar faces looming over you.

“She’s waking up,” Sebastian announced, for Ominis’ benefit, and you felt his hand squeeze yours just a little tighter. “How are you feeling?”

“Fuzzy,” you mumbled, trying to gather your thoughts as the edges of the world slowly came back into focus.

Your gaze drifted to Ominis. He was tense, lips pressed into a firm line. And then to Sebastian, looking unusually worried… and unusually clean. His uniform shirt was fresh and buttoned, which was suspicious all on its own.

How long had you been unconscious?

Your hands scrambled under the light blanket, and your heart dropped. You were no longer in your own clothes. You were wearing a hospital gown, thin, pale fabric that clung to your curves and left nothing to the imagination. Your swollen belly was unmistakable now.

“Shit,” you whispered, stomach twisting.

The secret was out.

“I had to tell Blainey,” Sebastian said quickly, his voice low and apologetic. “I panicked. I thought something might be wrong with the baby.”

“The baby is perfectly fine,” came Nurse Blainey’s familiar voice as she swept back the curtain with clinical efficiency. She was followed by someone who instantly made your heart sink further: Professor Weasley.

The head of Gryffindor looked less shocked than you’d hoped. In fact, she looked... resigned.

Nurse Blainey moved to your bedside and took your pulse with brisk, practiced fingers. “Bit of a vasovagal syncope, nothing dramatic, just your body telling you to slow down before it does it for you.”

She handed you a glass of water, which you took gratefully, and gave Sebastian a look that was somewhere between amused and exasperated before moving on to check her charts. Professor Weasley waited silently at the foot of the bed, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable. When Blainey finally swept back behind the curtains, Weasley stepped forward.

“I believe the three of us need to have a conversation,” she said crisply. “Whichever one of you isn’t the father—because it’s clearly one of you—may excuse himself.”

The silence that followed was almost comical. Ominis’s lips parted in quiet indignation, but whatever protest he had died on his tongue. He straightened, his jaw tight, and gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod before following the nurse out, his departure silent… but sharp.

You barely had time to sit up before the panic flooded in.

“Please, Professor, don’t tell Headmaster Black. Or my parents. Please…”

Weasley raised one hand. “ I’m not in the habit of running to the Headmaster every time a student makes a mistake.” Her tone was dry. “Especially not when the student in question has managed to keep up with coursework, maintain good marks in several advanced subjects, and has apparently been carrying an extra load—quite literally—all year.“

Your cheeks flushed with shame, but she continued, her expression softening just slightly.

“You’re not the first witch to end up in a difficult situation, and you certainly won’t be the last. What matters is what you choose to do now. Hiding it wasn’t wise, but I understand why you tried. You're both adults, legally and magically, that doesn't make this less complicated, but it does mean the responsibility is yours to carry. And I expect you to carry it wisely.”

You opened your mouth to apologize, but she waved you off.

“Nurse Blainey will monitor your health more closely from now on. You’ll be excused from certain physical assignments, and if necessary, your exam schedule can be adjusted. But I will not be sending you home, and I will not be punishing you unless you give me a reason to.”

Your breath hitched. “So I can… stay?”

Weasley’s eyes narrowed, but not unkindly. “You are still a student of Hogwarts. And a rather bright one, despite certain questionable decisions.” She gave a pointed glance at Sebastian, who looked like he might melt into the floor. 

Sebastian opened his mouth. “In my defense… ”

“No defenses, Mr. Sallow. Just better choices.”

He shut his mouth.

Professor Weasley gave you one last look, a mixture of sternness and, surprisingly, encouragement, before turning on her heel. “I’ll speak with Professor Fig about adjustments to your schedule. In the meantime, rest.”

And with that, she swept out.

A moment passed. 

Then another.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, raking a hand through his hair. “Well. That went better than expected.”

You gave him a look. “You faint next time, then.”

He grinned, just a little. “If it gets me into bed with you, I just might.”

You groaned and threw a pillow at him.

Nurse Blainey returned a few minutes later, brisk but calm, her expression softening slightly as she gave your arm a gentle squeeze.

"You’re stable, and the baby’s perfectly fine. No sign of complications for now," she said, though her tone carried just enough weight to imply it wasn’t the time to be careless. "But I want to see you here once a week until the end of term. No excuses, no exceptions."

You nodded quickly. "Yes, ma’am."

She folded her arms, eyeing you with the sharp, perceptive look she was known for. "You're lucky Professor Black is away from the castle for the next few weeks. He doesn’t need to know… yet. Let’s keep it that way, agreed?"

Relief rushed through you. "Agreed. Thank you."

Her lips twitched, just barely. "Don’t thank me. Just take care of yourself, and keep your stress down. That includes no longer sneaking off for midnight duels or broom races… yes, I know how you lot are." Her gaze flicked briefly to Sebastian, who managed to look sheepish and smug at the same time.

“Oh,” She added over her shoulder, almost as an afterthought, “and come back here together next time. There might be... details worth discussing.”

You blinked. "What kind of details?"

But she just waved a hand. “Let’s not stress you out more. You’re free to go for now.”

Sebastian helped you off the bed, his hand steady at your back. You were still a little lightheaded, but the worst had passed. As the two of you walked quietly toward the infirmary door, you could feel his eyes on you, not worried anymore, but something softer.

"I’m fine," you said, without looking at him.

"You're not allowed to lie to me anymore," he said, his voice low. "Not about this."

You glanced at him, and this time, you didn't hide your smile. «  Alright, but only if you promise the same."

He bumped your shoulder gently.

« Deal. Now come on," he said suddenly, catching your hand in his. "I have an idea. You need to cool off."

You blinked. “Cool off?”

He didn’t answer, just tugged you gently down a long, quiet corridor. You followed, still moving slowly after everything that had happened, but warmed by the feel of his fingers laced with yours.

It wasn’t until he stopped in front of a wide carved oak door that you realized where you were. You stared at it, surprised.

“The Prefects’ Bathroom?” you asked, glancing around. “Sebastian, we just barely avoided getting expelled. I don’t think breaking another rule is going to help our case if Weasley changes her mind.”

“Technically,” he said, with that smug tilt to his mouth, “we're not breaking anything. I have access.”

You raised a brow. “Since when are you a Prefect?”

“I’m not.” He pushed open the door anyway. “But Imelda owes me a favor. I borrowed her password.”

“That seems like a very Imelda way to settle a debt.”

He grinned. “Exactly.”

The moment he stepped inside, the heavy steam and gentle sound of trickling water wrapped around you like a spell.

The Prefects' Bathroom was unlike anything you’d imagined and far from anything Hogwarts offered elsewhere. The floor was marble, polished and warm underfoot. The enormous bathtub, more a swimming pool than anything else, stretched the entire length of the room, surrounded by intricately carved faucets, each inlaid with jeweled handles of gold, silver, and copper. When Sebastian turned one of them, a stream of shimmering, lavender-scented water cascaded in, sparkling with soft foam.

Candles floated gently through the air, casting golden reflections off the water’s surface. Stained-glass windows let in the soft evening light, refracting rainbows across the tiled walls, which were decorated with sea creatures that shifted and moved as though swimming just under the surface.

You stared. “This… is excessive.”

“It’s perfect,” he countered. “And private.”

You hesitated in the doorway, one hand still resting on the handle, your other pressed protectively against your belly. “Isn’t this supposed to be sacred territory for actual Prefects?”

“It’s barely used outside curfew,” he shrugged, stepping behind you. His voice softened. “And I promise, no one’s going to come in. You need this.”

You sighed, then nodded, allowing him to guide you further inside. “Alright, but if we get caught, I’m blaming you entirely.”

He flashed you a wicked grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it any other way.”

He turned back to the tub, adjusting a few of the taps until the temperature was just right, warm, not hot, with just enough bubbles to obscure your shape. The scent of lavender and vanilla filled the air.

You watched him as he moved. For once, he didn’t look like the Sebastian who always had a reckless comeback ready or a smirk cocked at the edge of his mouth. He looked calm and focused entirely on you.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” you murmured.

“I know,” he said quietly, glancing over his shoulder. “But I wanted to.”

And somehow, that was even more dangerous than the rule-breaking.

He helped you sit on the edge of the giant tub, careful and attentive. He rolled up his sleeves as he tested the temperature again, dipping his hand into the softly steaming water.

“Perfect,” he said under his breath, then looked at you. “Let me help you undress.”

You hesitated, but only for a second. His voice was too gentle, too steady. Not teasing, not demanding, just… him.

With slow, reverent fingers, he slid your borrowed infirmary robe off your shoulders. Your belly strained against the fabric, and the weight of it had become a quiet ache, one you’d gotten used to ignoring.

He noticed.

“Here,” he murmured. “Turn around.”

You did.

He settled behind you, kneeling on the warm marble, and pressed his hands, warm and sure, to your shoulders. His thumbs dug into the tight spots beneath your neck, coaxing little sighs from your lips as he worked his way down your spine. You felt the tension bleed out of your muscles, replaced by a slow-spreading relief that was almost dizzying.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for weeks,” he said softly, hands drifting lower to support the small of your back, where the worst of the pressure had settled.

“Feels like heaven,” you whispered, head tipping forward.

“I should’ve insisted you rest more,” he added, guilt laced through his voice. “You’ve been doing too much.”

“I had to. No one else was going to carry this.”

His hands paused. You turned your head, and his mouth was already close.

“I would have,” he said quietly. “I still will.”

Your breath caught.

“Come here,” he murmured, and helped you step down into the water.

It was just above hip-deep, bubbles swirling around your legs as the warmth cradled your body. You sank in slowly, grateful for the way the weight lifted off your spine. When you let out a long breath, it trembled at the edges.

Sebastian joined you moments later. You barely had time to turn around before he was behind you again, in the water this time, his knees bracketing your hips as he pulled you gently back against his chest. His hands moved with aching tenderness, cupping your belly, then sliding up to your ribs, brushing the undersides of your breasts.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said into your ear, voice low and rough.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Never.” His mouth was at your neck now, kissing lightly just beneath your ear. “Even if you weren’t driving me mad, I’d still say it. You should see the way you look in this light…”

His hand slid down, fingers trailing lower beneath the water, until your hips tilted without meaning to.

“Sebastian…” you whispered, a warning and an invitation.

He helped you shift, so you could straddle his lap,  the water sloshing gently against the sides of the tub as he guided you onto him, inch by inch. His hands never left your body. One on your hip. One flat over your belly, steady. Protective. Possessive.

You bit your lip, head falling back, and he groaned as you sank down fully. “Fuck… you feel…”

His voice broke. 

Your fingers tangled in his damp hair as he began to move, slowly, carefully, his hips rising to meet yours. The heat of the bath, the slickness of your skin, the sheer overwhelming pressure of him inside you while his hands never stopped holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world… It was too much.

You leaned forward and kissed him hard, teeth scraping his lower lip. He groaned into your mouth, hands digging into your hips as he thrust up harder, deeper. The water splashed over the edge of the tub with every roll of your hips. Candlelight flickered wildly against the marble tiles as you broke the kiss with a gasp when he hit that perfect spot that made your thighs tremble.

“Right there,” you whimpered.

You moved together, slick skin on slick skin, his cock dragging along that perfect spot with every thrust. He cursed under his breath, eyes locked to yours like he couldn’t look away. Your nails raked down his chest, your mouth falling open as the pressure inside you built and twisted, molten and unstoppable. His name left your lips like a prayer, again and again, until you shattered.

Your whole body clenched, your head dropping to his shoulder as you came, pulsing tight around him, breath broken by little sobs of pleasure.

“Fuck, yes…” You felt him lose it. He wrapped his arms around you like he could keep you from ever slipping away, buried himself deep and held you there, trembling. And then, in a voice low and desperate, he gasped against your neck: “Damn, I love you.”

Everything stopped.

You pulled back just enough to see his face. “Wait… You… What?”

His jaw clenched. “Nothing. Shit. I didn’t mean to… It just slipped out.”

You blinked. “That wasn’t nothing!”

“I know,” he exhaled, frustrated. “But I don’t want it to ruin things so just pretend you didn’t hear it, alright?”

You stared at him, heart pounding for a whole different reason now. “Ruin things? Sebastian, I’ve been waiting for you to say that for months.”

He stared back at you, stunned. “What? You’re the one who said you didn’t want to ruin our friendship! That night in the closet, it was you who said it was a one time thing. And then in the bathroom, you suggested we could be friends with benefits, nothing more.”

“Don’t act like you weren’t scared either.”

He gripped your face, wet hands cradling your cheeks. “I would’ve thrown our whole damn friendship away the second I laid eyes on you if it meant I could have this, have you.”

Silence fell between you, thick and heavy, only broken by the drip of water and the thud of your heart.

“So…” you whispered, breathless. “What do we do now?”

Sebastian kissed you again, slower this time, like he was sealing something sacred between your lips.

“Now,” he murmured, “I finally get to call you mine.”

Other stories:

[thecharacterchronicler]

Captive || Victor Rookwood || (18+)

Outline: Five years post-Hogwarts, you work in the shadows, recovering stolen relics for the Ministry. But when a mission goes wrong, you end up captured, blindfolded and at the mercy of Victor Rookwood, seductive, cruel, and far too amused by your defiance. Tied, exposed, and forced to obey, you're about to learn what it truly means to be owned by the enemy.

Word count: ~ 4’480

Warnings: Dubcon (consent is blurred but present within the context.), power imbalance, bondage and blindfold, degradation, villain x heroine dynamic (dark romance style), very explicit content (NSFW / 18+), all characters are adults.

Author’s note: This story was inspired by an incredible piece of artwork (Poipiku) by @tamayula-hl. The image has been living rent-free in my brain for ages, and I finally gave in to the urge to turn it into a full scene. I hope I did it justice! 🎶 Dangerous || Sleep Token 🎶

You pressed the carved case tighter against your chest, heart thudding as you ducked through the crumbling doorway of the manor. Smoke and dust hung in the air, thick enough to sting your throat, but you’d made it. You had the relic, you just had to…  A gloved hand caught your wrist as you turned the corner.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t have time. You twisted, wand already raised, spell on your lips. 

“Easy,” came the voice, low, confident and maddeningly calm. “If I wanted to kill you, I’d have done it before you saw me.”

You froze.

“Rookwood.” He gave a small, almost theatrical bow in answer, eyes gleaming under the brim of that ridiculous hat. You didn’t lower your wand. “You’re alone?”

“Today,” he replied smoothly, circling around you like a predator that wasn’t quite hungry yet. “It’s just me and you. Again.”

You clenched your jaw. “Then you know how this ends.”

“Oh, do I?” He chuckled, soft and amused, like this was a game he’d already won. “Last time, you blew up a bridge just to stop me from following you. I must say I rather enjoyed that little chase.”

You ignored the heat rising to your face. “You were trying to destroy a village.”

“Semantics.” His eyes drifted lazily down your figure, unapologetic. “Tell me, do you always fight this hard when you’re scared ?”

“You don’t scare me.”

“You should be terrified.”

He was close now. Too close. Your wand was still up, but you weren’t sure if you’d actually fire because there was something in the way he looked at you, some quiet promise of danger, that made your pulse do complicated things.

“Are you always this chatty with the people trying to stop you?” you snapped.

“No.” He smiled, slow and smug. “Only the ones I’d rather see on their knees than in a grave.”

You blinked. Did he just…? 

“I should hex you.”

“You should,” he agreed, unbothered. “But you won’t.”

Your wand faltered. You hated how your breath caught. He leaned in just a little, voice low against your ear. 

“You want to win, little witch. But a part of you wonders what it’d feel like to lose to me, just once.”

You felt it before you saw it, the shift in the air, the sudden draw of magic snapping around your feet like a trap.

You spun just as Rookwood raised his wand.

“Protego!”

Your shield flared to life just in time to block a curse. It sparked on impact, blue and violent.

His grin widened. “You’re holding something that belongs to me.”

You backed toward the ruined hearth, wand still raised, artifact clutched to your chest.

“Finders keepers, asshole.”

He fired again.

You dropped, rolled, cursed through your teeth as bricks exploded over your shoulder. The manor trembled. He was toying with you, not missing out of failure, but out of restraint.

“I’ll admit,” he drawled, circling again, “you’re better than I expected. Resourceful and clever.”

You fired a hex toward his knee. “And done listening.”

He blocked it lazily, then sent something darker your way, a low curse that grazed your leg and made your skin sizzle just long enough to stagger you.

You grimaced and flung a stunning spell straight at his chest. It hit. He reeled backward, coat flaring, and for a heartbeat you thought that you had him.

But then he twisted, recovered, and slammed you with a Disarming Charm so hard your wand flew across the room and skittered beneath a broken chair.

Shit.

You turned, tried to run but he was faster. The next moment, you were pinned down on the ground. One arm trapped above your head and back pressed into the cold stone floor, his weight straddling your hips. His wand was gone now, he didn’t need it anymore.

“You’re very gentle for someone who claims to hate me,” he murmured, voice like velvet soaked in poison. His free hand skimmed your cheek, not cruelly, just … like he wanted to remember the shape of you.

You struggled, kicked his leg. “Get. Off.”

He laughed. Actually laughed. “Now, now. You don’t really want that.”

“I do.”

“Then why,” he said, tilting his head, “are you looking at me like that?”

You froze, because he was right. You didn’t look afraid. You looked furious, flushed… And hungry. 

And he knew it.

“You’re disgusting,” you hissed.

“I’ve been called worse.”

His hand slid lower, teasing the edge of your collarbone where your shirt had torn slightly. “I wonder if you’ll moan when I’ll have you tied to my bed instead of this floor.”

You arched upward, furious. “I will never…” 

He pressed his thumb gently against your lips.

“You will,” he whispered. “And I won’t need to take it. You’ll give it.”

Your breath caught. His thumb moved in a slow circle over your bottom lip, and the worst part — the worst part — was that your body didn’t pull away. It leaned in.

He leaned closer, his mouth almost brushing your ear.

“See you soon, little witch.”

And this time, he vanished, leaving you panting, furious, and very much alone… with your heart racing and your thighs pressed tight together, trying to ignore the ache he’d left behind.

The smoke was thicker than expected.

You crept through the back corridor of the smuggler’s hideout, boots silent against the stone, wand already drawn. The stolen shipment of magical artifacts had to be here. Illegal portkeys, cursed jewelry, maybe even relics from the Founders era. Dangerous in the wrong hands. Lethal in the Ashwinders’.

And if the rumors were true, Rookwood himself had ordered this shipment moved.

Which meant it had to be stopped.

You slipped through a doorway into a cavernous chamber, low-lit by enchanted sconces and full of crates stamped with Ministry seals, all broken and looted. You bit back a curse.

A sound, too deliberate, cut through the silence. You ducked just as a bolt of green light hissed past your head and shattered a crate behind you.

“Fucking finally,” someone snarled. “I was getting bored.”

Four of them stepped into view. Ashwinders, in worn leathers and serpent-pinned cloaks. Their eyes glittered with glee, like they’d been waiting for a fight.

You didn’t disappoint.

“Confringo!”

The nearest one barely had time to raise a shield before the explosion rocked the room, sending him flying into a stack of crates.

You spun, deflected a stunning spell with a flick of your wrist, and sent another curse ricocheting across the floor. It hit one of them square in the legs and she crumpled, screaming.

Another spell came at you from the right. “Petrificus Totalus!” 

You dropped into a roll, wand up as you came to your knees.

“Expulso!”

The floor beneath your attacker exploded, sending shards of stone into the air and knocking him flat. That meant three of them were down, momentarily. But the fourth? He was fast. And cocky.

He grinned as he approached, wand spinning between his fingers. 

“You’re good,” he said, voice low and mocking. “Almost a shame we’re gonna drag you back in pieces.”

“I’m not the one who should be worried about pieces,” you growled, stepping forward, wand burning in your grip.

He sent three spells in rapid succession, forcing you to backpedal, shielding, absorbing, calculating. He was quick, unpredictable, good… But not better than you.

You parried the last curse with a brutal upward sweep and closed the distance, shoving your wand to his chest and firing a silent hex.

He gasped and collapsed, muscles locking as if he’d been hit by a taser. You didn’t wait for him to hit the ground. You pivoted back toward the crates.

Heartbeat slamming. Sweat on your forehead. You’d taken hits, a burn on your shoulder, a slice across your arm, but the adrenaline masked the pain. You were trained and focused.

You stepped over the bodies and knelt by the largest crate, forcing the lock open with a whispered spell. Inside, you found a magical artifact linked to blood magic, long outlawed and thought lost. A single mistake using it could strip a wizard of their soul.

This was why you were here. Why the Ashwinders had to be stopped.

You reached for it… And heard the soft, unmistakable sound of boots behind you.

You didn’t turn.

The moment your hand closed around your wand, you felt a sharp magical pain hit you square in the back. You hit the ground hard, wand skidding out of reach. Before you could roll over, something heavy slammed into your spine, knocking the breath from your lungs.

A weight pinned you down. Strong hands gripped your wrists, binding them quickly with enchanted rope that burned faintly as it locked itself tight.

“Let me go !” you shouted, kicking and twisting but another spell hit your legs, paralyzing everything from the knees down. You screamed in frustration, thrashing as a heavy boot pressed to your hip to keep you still.

Then a voice you didn’t know, mocking and male resounded.

“Now, now, let’s not make a mess before the boss gets to play.”

You froze, heart pounding. It wasn’t Rookwood but someone worse, in a different way, one of his lackeys. Loyal enough to be trusted with you.

You heard rustling cloth, a sharp tug and a strip of fabric was tightened around your eyes, tying behind your head in a firm knot. The world went black. You couldn’t see a thing.

The man chuckled low in his throat. 

“You know,” he said, leaning down, voice close to your ear, “when I told him you were poking around again, he didn’t believe me. He said that you’d learned your lesson last time.”

You spat in his direction. “Tell him to go to hell.”

“Oh, you’ll tell him yourself. He asked that I bring you to him, untouched. That last part was very specific. Wanna know what I think?” he whispered, breath hot against your cheek. “I think he’s had a few… ideas about how to make you behave.”

You tried to pull away, but his hand was on your throat now, not choking, just reminding you who had the power. For now.

You screamed something wordless and furious, but he was already pulling you up roughly by the arms, hauling you to your feet.

“You’re lucky he wants you in one piece,” the man said. “Me? I’d already have you begging for your life.”

He dragged you deeper into the Ashwinder hideout, not through the cells or the usual dungeons, but upstairs. Into what felt like a drawing room once, long ago. A grand manor gone dark.

You could hear boots, creaks and murmurs of voices you couldn’t place. Your wrists still burned where the ropes bit in. Your legs and your pride were both bruised.

Your heart was slamming against your ribs as the sound of a door opened somewhere ahead of you. Cold air, quiet footsteps and then the unmistakable, velvet-smooth voice you’d been dreading… and craving. Familiar in the worst way.

“Leave us.”

“Sir?” said the man who’d captured you, his hand still clamped around your arm.

“I said, leave us.” Rookwood repeated, calmly. 

The silence stretched a beat too long. Then you heard shuffling, boots retreating, the creak of a door and a soft click as it shut behind them.

You were alone.

The room went still. Even the air shifted like the space itself had exhaled now that no one else was watching. You felt it before you heard him move: that slow, calculated pace of leather soles crossing old wood.

He didn’t speak. He circled you, Once. Twice. Like a predator surveying a wounded prey. Finally, his voice floated behind you, closer than you expected.

“I thought I told you to stay out of my affairs.”

You lifted your chin, defiant despite the trembling in your limbs. “I wasn’t in your affairs. I was cleaning up your mess.”

You expected a blow, a hex or another restraint. Instead, you felt his fingers — bare or gloved, you weren’t sure — brush lightly against your cheek. The touch was maddeningly gentle.

“You always talk like that when you’re tied up?” he asked.

You flinched, hating how warm your skin felt where he touched it. He moved again, behind you now, and you could feel his eyes on your body, on the way your breathing had picked up, on the sweat at your temples, on the curve of your thighs still pressed tightly together.

“You should be grateful,” he said, pouring himself a drink you could hear but not see. “My men wanted to break your wand, chain you in the basement. I told them to bring you here instead.” 

You swallowed hard. “How generous.”

He came closer, you felt it in the air. His voice dropped lower.

“You don’t get it, do you? This… is me being merciful.” His fingers ghosted over your jaw, then your throat, tracing lightly as if mapping where he’d touch you if he wasn’t showing restraint.

He could kill you, break you, but instead… He touched your face like it was sacred, like he owned it.

“I warned you, I gave you a chance to walk away but you’re stubborn.” A pause… Then, a chuckle. “And so incredibly tempting.”

You jerked your head away. “You think tying me up makes you powerful?”

“No.” He leaned in, his breath brushing your ear. “The fact that you’re wet already? That’s what makes me powerful.”

You gasped. Heat crawling up your neck, traitorous and cruel. He laughed again, smug, satisfied, and just the tiniest bit fascinated.

“You can’t see yourself,” he said softly. “You should. The way your legs are trembling. The way your chest rises when I speak. The way your thighs squeeze together when I touch your neck.” His fingers trailed over your shoulders, slow, possessive. “You want to hate me but you want something more than that.”

You were shaking with rage, fear but also… need.

He sat down somewhere in front of you. You could hear the weight on a couch shift, feel his leg brush your knee as he pulled you forward, gently but firmly, until you were sitting in his lap. 

You tried to shift, to lean back, but his arm was already around your waist, holding you there, firm and effortless. Then you felt a tug. Not rough, not rushed, just deliberate. One hand brushing the top of your bodice. A fingertip tracing the line of your neckline.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice,” he continued, “how easy this dress is to undo?”

You stiffened but it was already happening. He found the first clasp and undid it. Your breath hitched. The second gave way beneath his touch, metal sliding free of fabric. The air touched your skin, cool and exposing.

“There we are,” he whispered, voice rich and low. “Much better.”

You couldn’t see what he saw, couldn’t cover yourself, couldn’t even move your arms but you felt the heat of his gaze. Your nipples tightened in the open air, painfully aware of their exposure.

“So responsive,” he added, and this time you could hear the smirk in his voice. “And I haven’t even touched you yet.”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him a sound. He chuckled, quiet and wicked. The wine glass clinked softly beside you. A sip and a pause. Then his voice, again, closer this time.

“Now be a good girl and sit still,” he said calmly, “You’ve earned my attention. Let’s see what else you’ll give me.”

His hand trailed up your arm, over your shoulder, settling just below the swell of your throat. His thumb stroked slowly across your collarbone, lazy and thoughtful. You were shaking, your thighs pressed together like you could squeeze the heat away. Your skin burned everywhere his voice lingered.

“I wonder,” he said, voice low in your ear, “how long you’ll pretend this doesn’t excite you.”

You turned your face away, but the blindfold made it useless. You were still exposed, still trapped in his arms and when he shifted beneath you, you felt it: the unmistakable press of his cock against your thigh, hard and heavy through his trousers. Your pulse stuttered. Your breath hitched. You hated the way your body responded to him, hated how it craved him.

He chuckled, deep and satisfied. His hand moved lower, fingers brushing the curve of your waist, then slowly slipping between your thighs. Not pressing yet. Just hovering, letting you feel the heat of him. You didn’t speak, you couldn’t. Your mouth was dry, your nerves electric.

“You’re not denying me,” he remarked. “Not begging me to stop and do you know what that tells me?” His hand pressed lightly against your inner thigh, pushing your legs apart an inch at a time, until he had access to everything you were trying so desperately to hide. “It tells me you’re not afraid of me at all. You’re just afraid of how much you want me.”

His fingers found the soaked heat between your legs, dragging slowly over your underwear. You gasped, hips twitching, instinctive and betraying.

He rubbed slow, torturous circles, just enough pressure to tease, not satisfy. You writhed, breath breaking in your throat, hips lifting into his touch without permission.

“Look at you,” he growled, voice darker now. “Trying to grind against my hand like a needy little witch.”

Your cheeks flamed instantly, not just from the vulgarity of his words, but from the humiliating truth behind them. You were moving, hips tilting of their own accord, instinct overriding pride, seeking friction, contact, relief. Your arms were still tied behind your back, stiff and aching now, chest bared to the cool air and to him, every breath pulling your breasts higher, nipples peaked from exposure and shame and he was watching, you knew it. Even without sight, blindfold still fixed securely over your eyes, you could feel the weight of his gaze like a physical thing, dragging down your sternum, lingering on the curve of your breasts, the trembling of your thighs.

His fingers slipped beneath your dress again. No warning this time, no slow teasing, just the heat of his touch against your bare core, two fingers slicking through your folds, his thumb brushing lightly over your clit, just enough to make you gasp, to make your whole body jolt.

And then he stopped.

No withdrawal, no scolding, just stillness. His fingers hovering where you needed them most, maddeningly present but unmoving. You bit back a sound, something desperate, aching, and your body trembled. He sat back, leaving you straddling him, vulnerable, exposed, knees braced to either side of his thighs, but with nothing to hold on to. Nothing but yourself.

Your hips moved, slowly at first, tentative, as if your body couldn’t quite believe this was happening. You shifted forward, blindly seeking the warmth of his hand, your inner thighs trembling with effort. You found the edge of his palm resting casually against his thigh and rubbed yourself against it, your slickness meeting his skin with an obscene wet sound that made you flinch.

“That’s it,” he smiled. “Show me how greedy you are.”

You ground your cunt against his hand, harder now, helpless, panting, the rope digging into your wrists, your breasts bouncing slightly with each movement. Your nipples grazed the fabric of his shirt as you leaned forward and he didn’t stop you. He didn’t touch you. He didn’t need to.

“You should see yourself,” he continued, voice lower, heavier. “Bare and soaked and riding my hand like it’s the only thing in the fucking world that matters. I could leave you like this, tied, blushing, your dress undone, legs wide and your cunt dripping. I should, just to let the next man who walks through that door know who you belong to.”

You whimpered. Your legs burned from the tension, from the effort. Every movement drew a wave of heat through your core, building higher, faster. Your breath hitched. You stilled for half a second and then you moved again, faster and harder. Chasing it. Needing it.

“You want to come like this?” he asked. “Blindfolded and tied on my lap ?”

You whimpered, biting your lip.

“Say it.”

You shook your head, shame and lust clashing violently under your skin.

“Say it,” he repeated, more forcefully now, his free hand gripping your throat, just enough to hold. “Or I stop.”

You gasped, back arching.

“…yes,” you whispered. “Fuck, yes. Please.”

“There’s my good girl.” He groaned.

He curled his fingers inside you, rhythm hard and deep now, thumb relentless on your clit. Your body broke under him, trembling, grinding, chasing the edge with no shame left to shield you.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Come on my hand, sweetheart. Show me how shameless you really are.”

The orgasm ripped through you with brutal force, raw and humiliating, your whole body shuddering as a moan escaped despite your best effort. You collapsed against him, chest heaving, slick thighs trembling, the ropes biting into your skin.

And all he did was sit there. Still clothed. Still calm. Still holding the wine glass.

“One,” he said softly, setting the glass down. “That was one, don’t think I’m finished with you yet.”

You barely had time to breathe before he stood up, lifting you with him like you weighed nothing. You gasped, instinctively trying to cling to him despite the ropes digging into your wrists. He laid you down face first on the couch. Chest to velvet, hips angled up, arms pinned behind you by the rope and by his hand, now gripping the bindings with deliberate, possessive force.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice calm and dangerous as he slid your underwear down your thighs with maddening slowness. “All tied up, dripping and shaking for me.”

You felt the heat of him behind you, the shift of his coat, the rasp of his belt sliding free. A low, dark grunt as he stroked himself once, twice. His grip on your tied wrists tightened and he pulled just enough to arch your back perfectly, just enough to make you gasp.

His fingers gripped your hips. You barely had time to brace yourself and then he pushed in. Hard.  You cried out, body jolting forward, thighs trembling at the sudden stretch. He didn’t give you time to adjust. He gripped tighter and pulled you back against him, burying himself to the hilt.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “You feel like sin.”

Your cheek pressed to the cushions, lips parted, a broken moan spilling out of you as he began to move in deep, punishing thrusts that had you gasping into the fabric. You were shaking, so close, the blindfold making everything sharper, every sound, every breath, every filthy word he poured into your ear.

You’d never felt so exposed, bound and pinned under him like a prize he was claiming. He fucked you like he was angry, like he’d waited too long, like he wanted to leave his mark inside you.

“You think you can fight me out there, and then come like that on my fucking fingers?” he growled, pace brutal now.

You sobbed a moan in a mix of pain, pleasure, and surrender. His hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to hear your voice.

“You’re mine now,” he growled against your ear. “Say it.”

Your mouth opened but no sound came. Your thighs were quaking. Your body clenched around him, every thrust dragging you closer to that terrifying edge.

“Say it.”

You were falling apart again, already close, gods, too close, how could you be this close again?

“I’m… fuck…” you gasped. “Yours. I’m yours.”

He groaned low, hips slamming into you, every thrust making your toes curl and your vision explode behind the fabric. And then it hit you again. Another orgasm tore through you, violent and unrelenting, as he fucked you through it, one hand gripping your hip like a handle, the other pressed to your lower back to keep you pinned.

He spilled inside you with a guttural noise, hips stuttering, breath ragged. He stayed there, cock twitching, panting against your spine like he wanted to fill you from the inside out.

You were breathless, boneless, barely coherent and still, he didn’t moved. You felt the weight of him pressed flush against your ass, cock still sheathed deep inside you. His hand was in your hair again, not pulling, not restraining, just resting there, possessively. Like he wanted to feel your pulse through your scalp. Like he owned the rhythm of it.

The blindfold stayed on. The ropes stayed tight. The air around you shifted, heavy with magic and sweat and something darker. Something final. Then he moved slowly rolling his hips once, dragging himself just barely out of you before sinking back in with agonizing ease.

You moaned helplessly, thighs still twitching.

“Still so responsive,” he remarked, lips brushing your ear. “Even now, after everything.” 

You tried to speak some desperate curse or command but your throat was raw and the words didn’t come.

“You know, I wasn’t sure at first,” he went on, slow and cruelly gentle, still buried inside you, “if I wanted to keep you. But now? Oh, now I know.”

His fingers trailed down your back, pausing just above the curve of your ass, then slipping between your thighs to press, lightly, against your swollen clit. Just a whisper of touch, a reminder. You jolted. He chuckled. Then he thrust again, deep and slow, just once. Just for emphasis.

“You’re going to stay with me. Not as a prisoner, not as a threat.” Another shallow thrust. Another ripple of pressure between your legs. “You’re going to stay because I’m going to make you want to. Over and over again.”

You whimpered. Gods, your body still wanted him. His teeth grazed your earlobe, the edge of his voice fraying now with heat.

“But next time, I’ll make you look at me while I fuck you. While you beg.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut beneath the blindfold like that would stop the words from sinking in but it was useless. You could feel his smirk against your skin. He moved inside you again, this time sharper, enough to make you gasp.

“And if you try to escape, I’ll tie you to my bed and I’ll make you come so many times you’ll forget why you ever tried.”

Silence fell. Just your ragged breath and his slow, satisfied exhale. Then, finally, he pulled out of you. You trembled as he stood, letting your body slump forward onto the cushions, still aching for more.

“Sleep well, little witch. I’ll be back for you soon.”

The door opened. Closed. And you were alone, wrecked, ruined and remembering every word.

Other stories:

[thecharacterchronicler]

Tight shirts and short skirts (Part 4) || Sebastian Sallow || (18+)

Outline: Spring break at Feldcroft wasn’t supposed to change everything, just a quiet escape with Sebastian. But between too-tight school uniforms, a baby you’re not supposed to have, and the terrifying question of what comes next… hiding how you feel is becoming impossible.

Warnings: aged up characters, friends with benefits, (accidental / secret) pregnancy, body insecurities , explicit smut.

(( Part 1 - Exams, poltergeists & supply closets )) - (( Part 2 - Friends with benefits… & a baby )) - (( Part 3 - Mandrakes, dusty books and an apology )) - (( Part 5 - Heatstroke, green jumpers and a lavender bath ))

Spring break had finally arrived, and you had agreed to spend it in Feldcroft with Sebastian. But when you stepped up to Solomon’s front door, seeing the mix of regret and sorrow etched on Sebastian’s face, you questioned whether this was really a good idea. He hadn’t returned since his uncle’s death and his sister’s departure. Every corner of this house was drenched in painful memories for him, yet he was willing to face them, for you.

He pushed the door open and offered you to enter first, placing your bag by the coat rack in the entryway. The house was small, cluttered, but cozy. You slowly circled the main room, noticing dusty dishes on the shelves and a fireplace that clearly hadn’t been used in quite a while. Absentmindedly, you ran a hand along the hem of your cloak and realized you didn’t need to keep it on, not here, not when it was only the two of you. So you removed it, revealing the rounded belly straining the buttons of your shirt. It was still subtle enough to hide under a shawl or cardigan, but not for long.

Sebastian watched you for a moment too long. Every day, he was more stunned by how strong — and undeniable — his feelings for you had become. Just seeing your chest, tight and strained in your shirt, already tested his will. He tried to be a gentleman, avoiding staring, keeping his mouth shut, but it was getting harder by the minute. Especially since the other day, when he overheard Duncan talking about you with Garreth. Those two idiots had absolutely no clue what was really going on, they assumed you’d taken a potion to enlarge your breasts, or that you were trying to seduce one of the professors before exams. Maybe even trying to earn one of the guys’ attention. And when Sebastian heard that… he saw red. He challenged Duncan to a duel and beat him so the message was clear: don’t ever speak of her like that again; no degrading insinuations, no lust-filled comments… because you belonged to him. And the little being responsible for your new, wicked curves belonged to him too.

He softened his gaze as you moved through the kitchen. There, too, the buttons of your shirt were taut and he realized how rarely he had the chance to see your belly. You had to hide it constantly at school, worried someone might notice during classes or in the dorms.

You felt his gaze on you: heavy and warm, making you blush, so you ignored it. You examined the kitchen, its chipped mugs and wooden chairs around a round table until your eyes landed on a stack of books.

"What to expect when you’re expecting a magical baby. The first years of the baby wizard. Potions and mixtures for a painless delivery. The 28 essential spells for future parents… "

Your heart tightened at the sight of those titles. You knew your best friend devoured books on every subject that interested him but you never dreamed future parenthood would become one of his new passions.

“You’re studying all this on top of NEWTs prep?” you asked, a small smile on your lips at his sudden embarrassment.

“Well… I like to be prepared.”

“You’re more organized than I am. I don’t even know how I’ll manage with exams… Not to mention raising this baby.”

“I can help you study for your exams, there’s still some time. And for the baby…” he said, extending his hand to lead you upstairs. At the top of the staircase was a small space turned into bedroom. A double bed took up most of the space, along with a large wardrobe, and there, beside the lamp, you noticed a small wooden cradle. “I thought he could sleep here in the beginning, close to us. And once he’s older, we can give him his own room downstairs…”

“I…” you began, but the words didn’t come. Emotion caught at your throat at the sight of the tiny cradle, still missing blankets and pillows, but it existed. A place for your baby — his baby — and it was the most beautiful gift he could have given you.

“I made space in the wardrobe too. I sorted through Anne and Solomon’s things, there should be enough room for baby clothes, and yours too.”

“You really thought of everything,” you whispered, moved.

“I tried.”

You ran your hand over the soft covers on the bed, then sat to take in your possible future bedroom, your home. Sebastian watched quietly for a moment, tension etched on his face, as if bracing for rejection but it was beautiful. Perfect, even. Except for one detail:

“And you? Where will you sleep?”

Sebastian looked away for a moment, visibly uncomfortable. He fingered his dark hair nervously before daring to answer, with the honesty you knew him for:

“Well, I thought I’d sleep in the big bed… with you.”

“So you plan to keep this friends‑with‑benefits thing going until our child turns eighteen?” you asked, half-joking, but your heart wasn’t in it.

There were worse fates than having an accidental baby with your best friend—but you hadn’t imagined this was how it would look. Not ever, even when you let yourself fantasize about someday being with him. You’d imagined him asking you on a Hogsmeade date, taking you to the Yule Ball, maybe even meeting your parents. But this… this fitted none of the scenarios you’d imagined since fifth year.

“Honestly, I’d have no problem with that,” he admitted, matching your tone, and you smiled, choosing to ignore the growing sorrow in your chest. It was an accident, after all, he was already doing everything he could to help you. You couldn’t ask him for more.

He moved closer and sat beside you. You both gazed around in silence for a long moment. You could only guess at all the happy and painful memories Sebastian had in this house. And now he was ready to create new ones here, with you and your baby. Your hand found his on the covers, and you squeezed gently.

“Thank you, Sebastian. For everything you do…”

He smiled shyly, relief flickering in his eyes, he was happy it pleased you. He’d feared overstepping, since he had no real chance of ever being with you given the strict family you came from and the fact you’d always seen him as just a friend. This baby was the best thing that could have happened, even if it changed your whole dynamic, because it meant that, no matter what happened, you and him would be connected forever.

Despite all the tenderness he felt for you, sitting so close, smelling your scent, feeling your warmth and with such a clear view down into your too-tight neckline, he was brutally reminded that he was only a man. A man crazy about you. His dark eyes traced the path between your breasts, disappearing under the fabric of your uniform shirt where the buttons gaped. That was all it took: heat rising between his legs, his trousers tightening instantly, thinking about anything coherent faded, and there was nothing left but you, your curves, your hypnotic glow.

He told himself he’d have to be smooth, find an excuse to stand before you noticed what the sight of you had done to him, or maybe make a light, funny comment to suggest taking advantage of your friends‑with‑benefits agreement again. But to his surprise, it was you who leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips first.

It was a kiss full of gratitude and softness. You were still close to tears, realizing how much he was willing to commit for you and your unborn child. You wanted him to know it mattered, that it moved you… And the only way to show him felt like a kiss.

Perhaps due to the hormones, or maybe simply because you felt finally free to exist, to be seen, to be pregnant here, alone with him, the kiss deepened into something more fervent and passionate. In no time, he’d undone your top and freed your overburdened chest from its usual cage. His hands roamed over you, making your skin feel aflame.

You pulled him closer, your hands exploring his body until they found his obvious erection. You touched him too, moaning softly against his lips, as he gently pushed you back until your head rested on the pillow… But when he tried to position himself above you, you both realized your belly was in the way.

“I guess we’ll have to get creative…” you sighed, amused.

“I think we’re more than capable,” he smiled. “We’ve hooked up in a closet, in a bathroom, and in the library… a bed seems almost too boring for us.”

You laughed softly. He stood at the edge of the bed, his eyes on you and your finally bare chest. Only your school skirt remained.

“You know this skirt drives me crazy?” he asked, hands tracing along your thighs before yanking you to the edge of the bed in a sharp motion that made you gasp. “Leander and Garreth bet on who can get behind you in the stairs to enjoy the view. It’s so short, and you are so… perfect. They’d do anything just to catch a glimpse of what you’ve been giving me for six months.”

“It’s true that my skirt has been shorter since my belly got so round, I can’t cover much anymore,” you admitted.

“No, it’s nothing to do with your belly. We’ve been making those dumb bets for more than a year, the fact that it’s getting shorter is just a bonus.”

“You mean those two idiots have been trying to stare at my butt for all this time and I never noticed?”

“You never noticed because most of the time I win. I start a conversation with you so I have an excuse to walk right behind you and enjoy the view,” he replied, a sly smile curving his lips as he lifted your skirt to your hips.

“I’m mostly just surprised that you’ve been in on it…”

He paused in mid-motion, looking at you like you’d said something unbelievable.

“Just because we agreed to be friends doesn’t mean I’m blind,” he said, without hesitation. “Even Ominis knows you’re the most beautiful girl in all of Hogwarts, and he’s actually blind.”

You giggled, though your cheeks heated and the way Sebastian roughly undid his trousers, freeing his already glistening erection, didn’t help.

He stepped between your thighs, the bulge of his cock pressing hot and heavy against the inside of your leg. One of his hands slid beneath your skirt to grip the soft underside of your thigh, and the other ran reverently up your belly, over the curve that separated your bodies, claiming it, cherishing it.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful like this,” he breathed. “Round, glowing, aching for me…”

You let your head fall back against the mattress, breath catching as his fingers hooked under the waistband of your underwear. He peeled them down slowly, dragging the soaked fabric along your thighs. When he dropped them to the floor, he stepped out of his own trousers and kicked them aside, his cock already thick and flushed, heavy against his abdomen, the tip glistening with need.

“I need to be inside you,” he said, voice low and frayed. “I’ve been trying to be patient, but Merlin, I can’t look at you like this and not want to lose myself in you.”

You parted your thighs further and reached for him. “Then do it."

He hissed when your fingers wrapped around him, stroking his length just enough to make his hips twitch. But he gently pushed your hand away, gripping himself instead and guiding his swollen tip to your entrance. He bent slightly, one hand braced on the bed beside your waist, the other wrapped tightly around the back of your thigh as he aligned with you.

The first push was slow, dragging the head of his cock through your slick folds before pressing inside, hot, thick, stretching you perfectly. You gasped, gripping the blanket beneath you as he filled you inch by inch.

“Shit,” he groaned, jaw clenched, watching your body take him. “So fucking tight… You feel like heaven.”

You moaned, arching slightly, one leg hooked around his hip, the other bent up against his chest as he began to move in deep, steady strokes that rocked your body up the bed with every thrust. Your belly rose between you, the evidence of everything you’d done together, everything you were becoming. And gods, he fucked you like he worshipped it.

He kept one hand planted firmly on your thigh, holding it high so he could thrust deeper, the other finding your breast, full, sensitive, heavy from the pregnancy. He cupped it, thumb brushing over your nipple until you whimpered beneath him.

“Look at you,” he growled, voice half-broken, half-reverent. “I’m not gonna last long like this.”

“Don’t stop,” you panted, hips pushing into his thrusts. “Sebastian, please, don’t stop.”

His rhythm faltered for a second at the sound of your voice saying his name like that. He let out a low curse, then picked up speed, his cock slamming into you harder now, deeper, angled just right. You cried out, thighs trembling, fingernails digging into the sheets. You could feel him everywhere, his hands, his cock, his breath, everything focused on you.

“Fuck, I can feel you clenching,” he groaned, eyes locked on your face. “Are you close?”

You nodded, barely able to form words. “Yes… please, Sebastian…”

He reached between your legs, fingers slick and sure as he found your clit and rubbed it in tight, perfect circles. That was all it took.

Your orgasm hit you hard, sudden and overwhelming. Your whole body tensed, back arching, moans caught in your throat as you pulsed around him. And that was it. He growled your name, buried deep inside you with one final thrust, and came hard, his cock twitching as he spilled into you, his head bowed low, forehead resting against your thigh.

You lay there panting, your body still trembling from the intensity of it. Sebastian stayed where he was for a moment, breathing ragged, before slowly pulling out and lowering your leg back onto the bed.

He looked up at you then, hair messy, cheeks flushed, eyes full of something soft and raw.

“You alright?” he asked, voice rough.

You smiled faintly, eyes lidded, utterly undone.

“I am now.”

You were still catching your breath when Sebastian climbed up onto the bed beside you, careful not to jostle your belly, still flushed and a little sweaty, and curled around you without hesitation. One of his arms draped across your waist, hand splaying over the gentle curve he’d just worshipped like it was sacred. His lips found your shoulder, then your collarbone, leaving slow, tender kisses in the afterglow.

“Merlin,” he murmured, voice gravelly against your skin. “If this is what spring break’s going to be like, I never want to go back.”

You gave a breathy laugh, nestling your cheek against his chest. “Don’t tempt me.”

He was quiet for a while, just holding you, thumb stroking slow circles over the bump between you. But you could feel it, the thoughts ticking behind his silence.

“Is there a slight chance your parents would agree to actually let you stay here… with me?” he finally asked, softly.

The question hung in the air, heavy and fragile.

You closed your eyes. “I wish I could say yes. But knowing them… no.”

You felt him tense ever so slightly.

“If they find out I’m pregnant, they’ll get me home before I can graduate. I’ll be stuck with them forever.” You paused. “They’ll probably find me a husband, someone ‘respectable.’ And I’ll have to spend the rest of my life pretending that’s what I wanted.”

Sebastian said nothing at first, but his grip on you tightened just slightly. You could feel how much he hated that idea, how it gnawed at him.

“I won’t let them take you,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You kissed his chest gently, trying to ease the tension before it took hold. “That’s sweet. But they’d probably hit you with a disowning curse just for touching me.”

“They can try.” His tone was sharper than before. “You think I wouldn’t fight for you?”

You reached up and traced your fingers over his jaw, smiling softly. “I know you would. That’s why I have to be careful. If they find out too soon…”

He sighed, leaning into your touch. “Then we keep hiding it. For now.”

Silence again. A long beat. Then, just when the mood threatened to sink too far into the serious…

“At the end of spring break,” he said, voice lighter, more teasing, “We’ll check the wardrobe. See if we can find some clothes I can give you for school, something bigger.”

You blinked, half-laughing. “Why not right now?”

Sebastian leaned back just enough to smirk at you, his brown eyes wicked.

“Because we have two whole weeks ahead of us. Just the two of us. And I fully intend to enjoy the view your too-tight school uniform gives me for as long as I can.”

You let out an incredulous laugh, swatting his chest. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet…” he drawled, inching down to press his lips to your stomach, “you’re still here, in my bed, carrying my child and wearing a skirt I might never let you take off again.”

“Two weeks,” you repeated, amused. “You think you can survive two weeks alone with me, full of hormones, unpredictable cravings, and a baby pressing on my bladder?”

He grinned against your skin. “Two weeks of you walking around in those skirts and those shirts that barely button? I’ll die happy.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was full of something terrifying and real. You didn’t know what would happen at the end of those two weeks. But right now? You were safe. Wanted. Held.

And for the moment, that was enough.

Other stories:

https://www.tumblr.com/thecharacterchronicler/752221385449947136/bloodline-part-1-ominis-gaunt-x-reader

Masterlist:

[thecharacterchronicler]

Plot twist: I didn’t die.

When I first started posting my stories, I didn’t think anyone would actually care. Clearly, I was wrong.

I figured writing smut about Sebastian Sallow might earn me a few haters (he’s everywhere, after all) but nope, wrong again. Turns out, the real chaos came from Ominis Gaunt.

My story Bloodline / Heirloom got more notes, comments, and shares than anything I’ve ever written. Most people were lovely. But a few ? Unhinged.

Apparently, writing smut about Ominis was a crime so unforgivable, it justified sending hate and death threats.

It got to me. I backed off from Hogwarts Legacy content for a while.

So why didn’t I just keep writing about other characters? Finish my 150 Coriolanus Snow fics? I don’t know. Maybe I was scared of the next meltdown.

And now here I am, but with no idea where to start.

I don’t know what “communities” are, I don’t know half the buttons on this app. I haven’t finished Sunrise on the Reaping (I need to, especially with filming starting in September), and I haven’t touched Hogwarts Legacy in months.

What I have done though, is spiral into a hyperfixation on Fourth Wing and Sleep Token. But that’s about it.

So… I don’t know what I’m going to write. What wild, unhinged ideas will show up when I sit down at this again. But I do know I want to write. And I want it messy, spicy and unapologetically smutty.

To everyone who’s been kind, supportive, and patient, thank you, truly.

And to the one(s) losing their mind over a fictional video game character and sending death threats like that’s a normal adult reaction:

Take a deep breath. Because I’ve still got an obscene amount of spicy Ominis content in mind, and you’re going to absolutely hate it. 🖤

[thecharacterchronicler]

Mandrakes, dusty books & an apology (Part 3) || Sebastian Sallow || Smut

Outline: You’re still managing to hide your pregnancy, but jealousy and mood swings are complicating everything.

Warnings: aged up characters, friends with benefits, (accidental / secret) pregnancy, body insecurities/self deprecation, explicit smut

(( Part 1 - Exams, poltergeists & supply closets )) - (( Part 2 - Friends with benefits… & a baby )) - (( Part 4 - Tight shirts and short skirts )) - (( Part 5 - Heatstroke, green jumpers and a lavender bath ))

Your bad mood reached an all time high when you sat down at your station in Professor Garlick’s greenhouse, feeling far too exhausted to be gardening and the constant hunger you felt made you overly grumpy. Even Ominis knew better than to sit next to you, preferring a seat closer to where the teacher stood, next to Sebastian.

You couldn’t care less about your teacher’s monologue about mandrakes today, the enthousiasm and passion in her speech you usually loved was grating on your nerves lately, even more so when you noticed how Sebastian was very attentive to her .

It wasn’t a secret that that idiot had a big crush on your herbology professor, he had been very vocal about it for the past three years actually, always whispering inappropriate comments in Ominis’s ear or cracking vulgar jokes about it with Garreth. Habitually, you didn’t mind, knowing it was just harmless banter between him and the other guys. But with his baby growing inside you, you suddenly felt a bit too possesive to let him shamelessly stare at Professor Garlick’s beautiful face without feeling jealous.

It didn’t help that, as Sebastian so diplomatically put it this morning, you were becoming pretty huge. He wasn’t wrong, but a bit of tact would have been nice, especially considering the mood swings you had been dealing with since you entered your fourth month of pregnancy. He needed to be careful because the murderous rage you felt at times might as well backfire against him one day.

You caught yourself resting your hand over your round belly, an habit you couldn’t help but that unmistakably brought people’s attention to it. You didn’t expect your stomach to look like a basketball so early on, confident that you would be able to hide it under large clothes for at least until your last trimester but that baby sure seemed too big and too strong to go along with your plan. You knew it was now just a matter of time until one of your professors noticed and sent you to the headmaster’s office for a talk. For now, your winter clothes still did the trick, concealing your curves and making it seem reasonable to simply assume that you might have gone crazy on chocolates and sweets after Valentines’ day but in a short few weeks, it would be spring and then summer, and covering yourself up with thick wool shirts would no longer be an option.

“Now I’d like you to pair up and care for the plants.” Professor Garlick demanded and you sighed, louder than you meant to.

Sebastian still had his eyes glued to your lovely looking herbology teacher. No wonder it was one of the rare classes in which he struggled to keep his grades up, he was constantly distracted by the young professor instead. Maybe he was hoping to pair up with her for a special lesson, but it was Ominis who was chosen to change the mandrakes’ pots with her. You weren’t sure that it was a really fun task, but the boy who knocked you up sure looked disappointed to be missing out on this opportunity.

He walked to where you were sitting, resigned to pair up with you and you could not help but feel upset that you weren’t his first choice. You saw his warm brown eyes momentarily trace the curve of your belly, the panic you saw in his gaze when you had told him that you were pregnant always present on his face since then.

“What’s wrong ?” He asked you. Oh, how annoying that he was capable of reading the expressions on your face like an open book. “Is it the baby ?”

“No. The baby’s fine.” You answered, and the amount of relief that softened his features took you by surprise, making you realize how much he cared for your unborn child. His child.

“Then what is it ?”

“Nothing.” You shook your head, focusing on the hungry Chinese chomping cabbages sprouts in front of you. Those were tricky to feed and required your full attention.

“By Merlin, what did I do this time ?” He asked, rolling his eyes. You glared at him for a moment, uncertain of how to feel. A part of you felt truly emotional from realizing how well he knew you but another part of you wanted to slap him in frustration. How could he be so unaware of his annoying behavior ?

“I’m just upset because you’ve been avoiding me lately.”

“I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have ! You didn’t even want to be paired up with me right now.” You snapped back, cautiously feeding one of the cabbages.

“I didn’t want to have to take care of these annoying little things, they are the worse…” He explained, not paying enough attention to the sprout next to him, visibly too eager to eat out of his hand to wait for Sebastian to focus on it, so he chomped down on his fingers. “Ouch !”

You looked away to hide your grin, the satisfaction you felt from the cabbage’s vicious attack was a nice reprieve for your bottled up anger and frustration.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Professor Garlick will take good care of you.” You eventually said, your tone so bitter that it spoke volumes of what the reason for your bad mood really was. You stood up and excused yourself, leaving the class early.

Sebastian stared at you in confusion as you walked out of the greenhouse, holding his bitten hand to his chest with a grimace of pain still lingering on his face.

“I messed up.” Sebastian declared, burying his face in his hands for a moment, unable to focus on the open book in front of him.

“That you did.” Ominis confirmed, his voice low enough to not be heard by anyone else.

“No, I mean today.” He clarified, trying to remember what he felt was important to write down in his notebook just a minute ago. “She’s clearly upset with me, she’s been avoiding me since our Herbology class this morning and I have no idea why.”

“I may have a few ideas, I can make you a list if you’d like.” Ominis retorted. Sebastian was about to counter with a witty comment but no words came out of his mouth when he saw you walk in the Great Hall with two large books in your arms.

He met your gaze and attempted to smile at you but you remained stoic and cold as you made your way to their table, sitting in front of both of your friends but only smiling at Ominis. Which wasn’t even fair since he couldn’t even enjoy such a lovely sight…

“Hey, Ominis.”

“Good afternoon.” He greeted you back, letting a moment of silence go by before leaning in towards Sebastian. “You’re right, she’s upset.”

“Oh, thanks for the heads up.” He groaned, sarcastically.

“My pleasure.”

You opened your books to study without paying them any attention, already rapidly writing down some notes on a parchement. Sebastian couldn’t help but stare at you, frustrated with your obvious disappointment in him but also hypnotized by your shirt, so tight over your voluminous breast that it left a gap between the buttons where the fabric was as stretched out as it could be.

“Is everything alright ?” He finally had the courage to ask you, struggling to peel his eyes away from the new curves of your body.

“Fantastic.” You replied coldly, without even bothering to look at him.

“I can tell that you are upset. Just tell me what’s wrong.” He insisted.

“Nothing.” You said, in a tone that suggested the total opposite.

“Please, I’d love to hear what this idiot did to upset you… Again.” Ominis pleaded, which was an odd way of supporting his best - and only - friend but Sebastian decided to let it slide.

“This idiot told me that I was becoming pretty huge this morning.” You snapped, glaring daggers in his direction. “And then, he proceeded to flirt with Professor Garlick during the whole class.”

“Have you ever heard of something called tact, Sebastian ?” Ominis sighed, shaking his head.

“I may have said that but it was just an observation, because your belly is showing more than what I thought it would in the beginning of your second trimester, that’s it.” Sebastian justified, but by the way your jaw clenched, it wasn’t helping diffuse the tension much. “And I did not flirt with Garlick.”

“You always flirt with Garlick.” Ominis stated, without hesitation.

“All the other guys do it, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Maybe, but you’re the one who turned it into a competition.”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Ominis ?” Sebastian asked, through clenched teeth.

“No, my schedule is cleared for the rest of the day.” He responded, smugly.

“You’re such a…” Sebastian started but stopped himself when he noticed that you had left while he was arguing with Ominis. “Crap.”

“A… Crap ? I’ve heard more creative insults than that.” Ominis reacted but he ignored him, jumping to his feet to try to find you. He needed to make things right again because he couldn’t stand knowing that you were upset, especially not when it was because of him.

He found you in the library, of course, hidden in an empty aisle with your books abandoned on the floor and an expression of hurt on your face that made his heart sink in his chest.

You slightly jumped when you saw him approaching, briefly meeting his gaze before pretending to look at a book on the shelf in front of you.

“Is Garlick really the problem ? Are you jealous of her ?” He asked, trying to be gentle but still managing to sound as if it was the most ridiculous thing he ever heard. “ It’s just a silly game between me and the other guys, nobody takes it seriously… Except Leander maybe.”

“Well, Garlick doesn’t have a big belly and swollen ankles, does she ? And even if she did, she’d probably still be pretty. Unlike me.”

“Oh please, you’re the prettiest girl in this school and you know it.” Sebastian snapped back, without hesitation but you still felt too bad to accept the compliment and move on. Your feelings were so confusing that you couldn’t help but need to pick up a fight, if only to let out some of your pant up anxiety and anger out.

“You told me I was huge !”

“Yeah, cause my baby is growing inside of you.” He justified, slightly too loud. He glanced around, making sure no one heard him before continuing with a lower voice. “Trust me, there’s nothing more glorious to me than the way your shirt barely fits your chest anymore. Your whole body is changing, getting rounder and plump and it’s driving me crazy, I can barely focus on my homework and I can barely focus on my work because all I can think about is how badly I want to touch you, all the time.”

His gaze wandered down your uniform, as if to mark his point, while his eyes dangerously darkened at the sight of the very curves he was talking about. Something warm and fuzzy bloomed in your heart at his words, knowing from the way he looked at you - like he could devour you - that he was saying the truth.

He reached out to place a hand on your belly for the first time, his thumb gently stroking it over the fabric of your shirt. He stepped closer - a lot closer - and his eyes moved downwards to your chest, where your shirt was indeed stretched out by the impressive new size of your breasts.

In the dimly lit corner of the library, nestled between the towering shelves of dusty tomes, a sense of forbidden excitement began to swirl around you. With Scribner’s desk out of sight, and the occasional cough from a nearby student serving as the only reminder of your surroundings, the tension between you grew thick enough to slice with a knife.

Sebastian’s eyes raked over your body, lingering on your round belly. His hand ghosted over the curve of your waist and he noticed how your cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson in reaction, your eyes filling with a hunger that probably mirrored his own.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, the scent of old books mingling with your sweet perfume. His fingers danced over your swollen breasts, teasing the sensitive tips of your nipples through the fabric of your shirt until they stood at attention.

He felt your hands on his body, leaving a trail of electricity in their wake as they found their way to the very noticeable bulge in his pants. You firmly pressed your palm against it and it pulsed beneath your touch. The air grew heavy with desire, and the sound of his ragged breaths filled the otherwise quiet space.

He knew you both had to be careful; the risk of getting caught was part of the thrill. Scribner was known to patrol the aisles with the vigilance of a hawk, and the occasional rustle of pages or the squeak of a chair was enough to make his heart skip a beat.

He guided you between the dusty shelves, into the shadows of a more isolated corner, your bodies touching as he finally dared to press a kiss on your lips.

With a grin that was half mischief and half pure, unadulterated need, Sebastian knelt before you, your pregnant belly a gentle curve that led him down to the sweet promised land between your legs. He lifted your skirt up and pushed aside the damp fabric of your panties. His tongue darted out, tracing a path up your slit, teasing your clit with a flick that made you gasp. Your thighs trembled, and you leaned back against the cold wooden shelf behind you, your homework forgotten as he feasted on you. His mouth worked you in a symphony of pleasure, his tongue swirling around your swollen nub with an expertise that had your hips bucking towards him. Your hands tangled in his hair, urging him closer, your breath coming in sharp gasps.

He slid his fingers into your welcoming heat, stretching your walls and curling in a way that visibly sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body. He could tell that you were close from the tension in your muscles and the warmth coating his tongue… But he suddenly heard Scribner’s footsteps growing closer, the sound of the rubber soles of her shoes a reminder of the world outside this bubble of lust.

Yet, rather than deterring him, it only spurred him on, encouraging him to drive you closer to the edge before someone might interrupt him and he’d lose his chance to redeem himself.

With a few more movements of his fingers and hungry flicks of his tongue, your orgasm crashed over you, your pussy convulsing around his digits. You bit your lower lip to keep quiet, but a soft moan still reached his ears, a satisfying sound that often haunted his sleepless nights.

He looked up at you, a smirk playing on his lips as he licked his fingers clean, leaving you breathless. He stood up, his hair tousled from the way you had tugged on it, wiping his mouth and chin, still glistening under the faint light of this corner of the library. Then, he helped you adjust your skirt and the thick shirt over your belly, trying to conceal it.

“Do I deserve forgiveness now ?” He asked you, a smug grin on his lips.

“You do. But frankly, I’m not even sure I was allowed to be upset about it in the first place. It’s not like we’re together or anything. You have every right to avoid me if you want to…”

“I’m not avoiding you. I just put all of my free time to good use and run errands for people, I’m hoping to have enough money aside by summer to provide for the three of us until I can get a real job.”

“Oh.” Was all you managed to say at first, visibly surprised by his response. “I didn’t know that you were planning on helping out.”

“Of course I am.” He said, somewhat vexed. “Our baby will be the most spoiled kid in Feldcroft.”

“You want us to live in Feldcroft ?”

“Well I figured it was a good starting point since Solomon’s house is mine now. But we can settle anywhere you want.”

“I like Feldcroft, I always thought it looked like a nice place to live in...”

Sebastian instantly felt relieved. He didn’t have much to offer, but he was glad you weren’t opposed to the one thing he could provide.

“I was thinking that maybe we could stay there for spring break in a few weeks, so that we might be able to keep the secret from your parents a bit longer and you could see if you’re comfortable in the house. We could get started on the nursery as well… Are you crying ? Did I say something wrong ?”

He leaned closer to brush a teardrop off of your cheek and you smiled at him through your tears.

“It just… the hormones.” You justified, but he clearly didn’t believe you and neither did you, your throat tight and your heart bursting with joy at his words. But before you could manage to tell him how much it meant to you that he wanted to take care of you and your baby, a student approached to look at the books on the shelf next to where you were standing, making it impossible to keep talking about the secret you shared with your best friend.

You both tried to pretend like nothing had happened as you walked out of the library, but Sebastian couldn’t seem to fully conceal the cocky smile on his face, he felt slightly too proud of himself at the sight of your still slightly shaking legs and your adorably flushed cheeks, some lovely consequences of the intense pleasure he had managed to give you between the shelves.

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[thecharacterchronicler]

Fair Play || Sebastian Sallow || Smut

Outline: You duel Sebastian but things quickly take another turn. You both decide to give in to the desires that have been complicating your friendship, just this once.

Word count: ???

Warnings: friends with benefits, aged up characters, explicit smut.

Sebastian was late. So late.

He rushed up the stairs leading to the clock tower, hoping he’d still make it on time to see the duel that had been talked about all day long among other students but his heart dropped when the doors opened in front of him, an excited crowd leaving the room now that the main entertainment was over.

Crap.

He pushed through the crowd of students to get inside, his eyes immediately finding you, standing in the middle of the room with your hair disheveled and your tie losened around your neck. His heart jumped in his chest, the way your cheeks were still colored pink from the effort of your fight making him wonder if that was what you looked like when you were overwhelmed with pleasure too... Because that surely was how he had been imagining it.

What was wrong with him ? You were his friend, he shouldn’t be picturing such things in his mind. The feelings he had developed for you were nothing more than his hormones acting up, turning his inappropriate thoughts about you into a full blown obsession only because he was trying to forbid himself from thinking them.

The thing was that Sebastian Sallow hadn’t been sorted in Slytherin for nothing, he was ambitious and determined, when something tortured his mind in the same way you did, he usually made sure to give into it fully, if only to get rid of the nagging feeling. If he wanted something, not only did he do everything in his power to have it but he would make sure to have it immediately. Following this logic, he often wondered if the best way to get rid of the forbidden thoughts he had about you would be to give in to his curiosity and experience what it was like to fuck you - just once - so that he’d be able to go back to being your friend without obsessing over something he wasn’t allowed to do.

“Where were you ? You missed my duel against Leander.” You said, taking a few steps in his direction as soon as you spotted him, a smug smile on your lips making his heart skip a beat.

Merlin, that must have been such a sight to see, his girl showing the whole school what she was capable of, beating that annoying gryffindor’s ass. ..

“I was stuck in detention.” He replied. Usually, he didn’t care all that much about it but the fact that he had missed the opportunity to watch you duel seemed like an unfairly cruel punishment for taking a nap during Professor Bins’ class. “Did you win ?”

“Of course I won !” You exclaimed, your face scrunching up at the offense you felt from such a question. “Do I have to remind you that I’m one of the best duelists of Hogwarts ?”

“No, I’m very aware that you are.” He answered, also very aware of the drop of sweat that was slowly rolling on your skin from your clavicle before disappearing down the crease between your breasts. It must have been a pretty intense duel for you to end up with your shirt opened - not just one or two buttons but three ! - offering him a new perspective on the curves and shapes he had been fantasizing about more than he would dare to admit.

“Maybe it’ll change though, if one day you manage to beat me in a duel and take my spot at the top of the rankings.” You continued, a proud grin on your lips that he instantly felt the urge to kiss away.

“I would if you played fair.” He retorted, deciding to distract his dangerously wandering thoughts by provoking you, if only to see how cute you looked whenever he got you too flustered.

“I always play fair, Sallow.” You stated, sounding even more offended by that allegation than you were by the idea of losing to Leander.

“You don’t, and you know it.”

You stared at him, defiantly and he felt a rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins, his blood flowing straight to his cock as he couldn’t help but think about all the ways he could teach you to not defy him.

“Very well, so tell me whatever it is that you don’t think is fair on my part.” You told him, as you stepped back and pointed your wand at him, ready to duel.

He knew it wasn’t reasonable to accept a match. Not now when it was close to curefew, you’d both risk detention if you were caught roaming the corridors that late afterwards. You also still looked pretty disheveled from your fight with Leander, it would be nicer of him to let you rest and recover before forcing you into another duel… However, he couldn’t help but want to seize the opportunity to see just how much more disheveled you could get. Could he get a few more buttons on your shirt to pop open ? Get enough sweat to roll down your chest so that he could hope to see through the white fabric ?

With a smug smile, he took place at the opposite side of the room and readied himself for your duel.

“I’ll go easy on you.” He promised, as he dropped his cloak on the stone ground and rolled up his sleeves.

“Don’t, I like it rough.”

Your words went straight to his cock, making it hard in record time, desperate to give you exactly what you liked .

Sebastian tugged on his pants, hoping you wouldn’t notice his erection but your eyes drifted down instinctively and he had no choice but to cast a spell in your direction to distract you from the pathetic desire his body felt for yours.

You managed to protect yourself before the red beam of magic could hit you, making you groan in frustration.

“See ? You’re the one not playing fair, we didn’t count down before starting the duel !” You shouted at him, sending an offensive spell in his direction, quickly enough to get his wand flying out of his hand. He dived before you could hit him with another, retrieving his wand and countering your spells with one of his that sent you flying backwards.

You landed on your ass, a cry of pain mixed with surprise escaping your lips. He heard it loud and clear, vibrating in his whole body. He just knew that this would be the exact sound he’d get out of you if you ever let him shove his cock deep enough inside of you. And that’s exactly what he meant when he said you never played fair, you always made those sounds that fueled the daydreams he had about you. And when he did his best to not pay attention, then he’d notice how your skirt hugged your hips or how it went all the way up to your thighs when he put enough power in his spells to get your body flying across the room. There was always a silver of your skin showing, something he wasn’t meant to see right there for him to notice and he simply couldn’t focus on anything else.

“Accio !”

You left out a surprised gasp as your body was dragged across the room to Sebastian, held up in the air in front of him. You were free to move but not to touch the floor again unless he allowed it, a realization that flooded his mind with many more inappropriate scenarios.

“Let me down.” You demanded, after a moment of fighting against the air.

“Accio only works on clothes so if you don’t want to be at my mercy, maybe you should consider taking them off.” He responded, smugly and you rolled your eyes at him, finally finding enough balance to rise your wand up and aim it at him.

He reached quickly enough to protect himself with a shield of magic, causing you to drop from a few meters above ground with a thud. Your wand slipped from your fingers and you dived to get it back but not fast enough to avoid another attraction spell, pulling you all the way into Sebastian’s arms.

Your body crashed against his, causing him to fall down with you on top of him. His heart skipped a beat when he took the full measure of you, your warmth above him, your chest squeezed against his, and the heat between your legs undeniably pressed up against the erection he had tried to distract you from noticing. He saw your eyes widen, meaning you probably felt it, twitching and growing even harder in his pants now that you were so achingly close to it.

You placed your hands on his chest to help yourself sit up, the shift in position adding even more weight and friction to where he was so desperate to feel you. If he let you sat up with your legs on each side of his hips, than assuredly you’d feel his hard cock pushing between your legs, begging for more. He knew there then would only be the fabric of your underwear and his pants to keep him from shoving himself inside you like he so desperately wanted to and he wasn’t sure it would be enough to stop him… So he reached out and held you with his hand on the back of your neck, stopping you from fully sitting up at first, but when your confused eyes met his, he couldn’t stop himself from tugging you back down until your lips crashed against his in a sloppy kiss.

He didn’t feel any pressure beneath his grip, you didn’t shift on top of him and most importantly, you kissed him back, which suggested that you didn’t mind the unexpected kiss. He meant it to be a distraction, to stop you from unmistakably feeling the intensity of the unhinged lust he felt for you, but with the way his blood seemed to suddenly have caught fire in his veins the very moment he felt you kissing him back, he knew he had fucked up. Monumentally.

There was no going back from this kiss either. He had yearned to feel your mouth on his for so long, he was ready to devour you until your lips would be too sore to continue, and even then he might keep going, probably suffocating you in the process. You simply felt too good for him to stop. Your lips were soft and welcoming, tasting exactly how he imagined they would, like your favorite pastry and a hint of mint on your breath.

Without breaking the connection, he moved to roll you over so that he could be on top, trapping your body between his and the cold stone floor, his full weight pressing into you, not even trying to conceal the hard buldge in his pants anymore. He even rolled his hips against yours, scrunching up the fabric of your skirt in his fist until it was pulled all the way up to your stomach. His hand slowly moved up from your knee to your thigh, spreading it open wider so that he could give another thrust forward and make you feel how hard he was for you, and how desperate he was to bury his erection inside you for relief.

“Sebastian…” You gasped, feeling dizzy from the duel, the kiss, everything.

“Let’s do it just this once.” He pleaded, breathless because of the feverish kisses he kept pressing on your lips. “No one has to know, even we can forget about it afterwards… I just need to get it out of my head.”

He managed to give you a break from his burning kisses, slightly lifting himself up to look at you, waiting for an answer. He was hoping you’d say yes, in fact, he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t survive the embarrassment and despair he’d feel all at once if you refused, he was too far gone to pretend it was just a mistake.

His gaze wandered down to your chest, panting breaths shaking the tender breasts hiding underneath the soft fabric of your school uniform. His hand instinctively made its way to the object of his desire, unable to resist the urge to touch them any longer but he did remember to look up at your face first, hoping you’d agree to his proposal.

When you shyly nodded at him, your cheeks pink and your eyes wide, it felt like a dam instantly broke inside of him. The last of his restraint flying out of the window. Nothing was forbidden anymore, just this once, he was allowed to do whatever he wanted with your body and the thought almost made him dizzy.

He felt your leg brush against his hip, angling yourself to give him better access so he focused his attention where you required it, his hand sliding down between both of your bodies until it was pressed against your damp underwear.

A silent proof that you wanted this as much as he did.

The pressure of his palm against your clit drew a moan out of your mouth so he covered it with his again, ready to swallow the few more that rolled over your tongue when he massaged you through your panties so thoroughly that the fabric quickly became drenched, your wetness even coating his fingertips.

He was planning to finally free his erection from his pants next, and push it past your entrance to finally know what it really felt like. Eager to know if his nighttime fantasies did it any justice but you interrupted him before he managed to fully unbutton his pants, shifting your position to roll back on top of him.

You straddled his hips, your skirt still all the way up and his eyes immediately noticed that your blouse was now fully open, the lace of your bra visible. His face heated, his brown eyes taking in every detail.

You finished undoing his pants and pulled his hard cock out of his underwear which drew a sharp inhale out of him, he enjoyed the way you roughly had seized his erection but you weren’t planning on using your hands to give him what he wanted, needy for some relief for yourself.

You shifted your weight to your knees so that you could reach down and hold the fabric of your panties aside and line his cock with your entrance before finally sinking down on it, feeling it entering your core and stretching out your walls as you slowly lowered yourself on top of him.

You cried out, holding your eyes shut and he groaned, the pleasure blooming inside him even more intense than what he expected. He pushed down on his arms to sit up, needing to kiss you once more as you carefully took him in. He placed his hands on your hips and pressed down on them, making you whimper as he slided even deeper inside you, until he was fully buried in and you were both panting with satisfaction.

Instead of in and out thrusts, he guided your hips back and forth in wide circles that brought some deep moans to his ears, his cock twitching in response to each one, swallowed by your tight walls. You held yourself to his shoulders, bringing his face closer to your chest where he gladly kissed and licked the skin he could reach, even running his lips over the lace of your bra. It was a good way for him to distract himself from the pleasure that was close to overtaking him, he wanted you to come too, so that you’d both have a good memory of this broken rule in your friendship. Just this once.

Your breathing became more ragged, your nails digging in his shoulders as he added a few thrusts forward to your movements, making sure his tip hit deep inside you each time it had the opportunity to do so. You cried out, the way your walls tightened around him indicating that you had reached your climax so he finally allowed himself to give in to the pleasure he felt, his release exploding inside you without hesitation.

You stayed breathing quickly and loudly against each other for a moment, trying to put your thoughts back in order until the clock tower’s bells resounded, reminding you that you weren’t supposed to be out of your dorms this late. You quickly adjusted your clothes and retrieved your wand from the floor as Sebastian admired your flushed face and slightly trembling fingers.

He felt an intense satisfaction at the thought that his fantasies were no longer all in his mind, that he had been able to experience what it felt like to kiss you, to touch you and to fuck you until you collapsed into his arms. It was a one time exception in your friendship, now that it was done, you’d both go back to the way you were before, with no ambiguity. At least, that was what he’d try to do… But, with how his thoughts were obsessing over how his release was probably dripping out of your sore core onto your drenched panties, now that you were standing up, proved it wouldn’t be as easy as he hoped. 

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[thecharacterchronicler]

Craving (Part 5) || Coriolanus Snow || Smut

Outline: After many attempts, you’re finally pregnant but you need Coriolanus’ help to induce labor.

Word count: ~ 4’000

Warnings: marriage of convenience, pregnancy, explicit smut.

Author’s note: I finally felt like continuing this series but I’m a bit rusty, it’s been a while since I wrote anything, especially in English, so my apologies if I missed some mistakes while editing this.

(( Part 1 - There Will Come A Ruler )) - (( Part 2 - Snow Lands On Top )) - ((Part 3 - Insatiable )) - (( Part 4 - The Bitter Taste Of My Fury )) - (( Masterlist ))

He still remembered how you told him the news, so casually, standing in his office and interrupting his work. He didn’t mind, the moment you had walked in, all his senses went wild, his body alert and ready like you had somehow managed to train him to react that way to the infernal curves of your body. It was a day like any other day, he imagined you were visiting him in hopes to put the small amount of time he spent home to good use. Especially with how nice you looked in that dress, the fabric highlighting all the curves and dips he so enjoyed to touch… But, instead of approaching him. Instead of sitting on his lap or bending over his desk with your dress pulled up for a quick - but efficient - hookup, you remained on the other side of his desk, a nervous expression on your face that he noticed right away.

“I’m pregnant.” You told him, dropping it like a bomb. If his blood had rushed down straight to his cock the moment he saw you, it took another turn as he heard your words, making his veins buzz with adrenaline. And maybe a bit of fear too.

But what was there to be scared about ? He was Coriolanus Snow, future president of Panem, youngest - and most brilliant - head gamemaker of the Hunger Games and a wealthy and powerful man, nothing scared him… Especially not a baby. Yet, he felt his hands tremble slightly as he ran his fingers in his hair, trying to process your words and figure out a proper way to react to them but he felt lost and probably a bit dumbstruck too.

The fact that you seemed to be waiting for his approval, his congratulations or something - anything - only made it worse. He was a charming, charismatic politician, able to play with words to his advantage, he always knew exactly what to say and when to say it… But the news had rendered him silent. Or maybe it wasn’t the news, but the fear that seized him at the throat when he had heard it.

His voice was gone. His lips were sealed. But he found a bit of strength to nod at you, quietly. You gave him a cold nod back and turned around, your high heels clicking against the wood flooring of his office before your mesmerizing silhouette disappeared behind a closed door.

And that was when he realized… That was exactly what he was so scared about. Not the pregnancy, not the baby itself but you, returning to your life as if he no longer existed in your eyes now that you had fulfilled your part of the contract.

He knew it was a selfish fear, coming from a man who barely knew anything about you a few months prior. But now, he knew how to make your body react to his touch, he knew that you liked it when he was rough when fucking you and he knew exactly what to do to get you to cry out in bliss. And he dreaded the idea of never putting all that knowledge to good use ever again.

A few months later and he almost was used to the distance between you both again. His political duties were consuming the most of his time and energy so, even if you still haunted his every thought, he barely had the opportunity to feel miserable about it, too busy having to put up a show of perfection for his electors.

Every once in a while, he met you for lunch or supper at the manor, always surprised by how round your belly was getting. It seemed to him that it kept inflating like a balloon day after day. The bump you carried with you was a constant reminder that you were about to give him an heir yet, he never felt so feral at the idea of fucking you and breeding you. The way all your outfits always seemed too tight around your chest, your breasts so swollen that they seemed desperate to spill out of the fabric of your clothes, how your hips looked larger and wider than before, enhancing the shape of your body and making you resemble a work of art… All of that was close to making him lose his mind with the intense desire he felt for you.

But, despite his desperate need for you, he was determined to respect your wishes. If you no longer wanted him to touch you, now that you were about to give him what he had asked of you, then he wouldn’t force you to accept him, even though he knew very well that he could. He didn’t even try to take his frustration out on another woman, because none of them compared to you. All he had left was his hand and the blurry memories of your body and how it felt when he was buried inside you.

“Mrs Snow.” He greeted you, casually, as he always did so that there was no way for you to be able to tell what effect the sight of you had on him.

“Mister Snow.” You replied, taking your seat at the end of the table.

He liked when you called him like this, even if it sounded cold and distant. In the intricacies of his mind, he firmly believed that it was your way of calling each other pet names.

“The pond you wanted to add to the greenhouse is finished.” He told you, hoping that small talk would help him focus on something other than the plumpness of your lips.

You didn’t say anything, simply nodding, as two of your house employees placed a plate of fuming food in front of each of you. Coriolanus found it odd to see you react with such little enthusiasm, considering that the pond was one of the few things you had asked in exchange of giving him an heir.

“Is everything alright ?” He asked you, as unpleasant images of your body in a hospital bed and thick smoke danced in his mind.

“Absolutely.” You replied, in a tone that meant the opposite.

He watched as you shoved a huge piece of filet mignon in your mouth, chewing with determination. He decided to do the same, carefully cutting his meat in small cubes before bringing one to his lips. His tongue instantly tingled in reaction, his tastebuds catching fire as he struggled to chew and swallow the overly spicy piece of meat. He tried to put out the fire in his mouth and throat with a big gulp of water but the numbness that the burn left in its wake almost felt worse.

Coriolanus looked at the avox standing by the door, wondering if somehow, one of his servants had attempted to poison him but then, his gaze landed on you, chewing on your meal as if the spice barely affected you.

“What is going on with the chef ? It’s the third time this week that we’re served spicy food.”

“It was a request of mine… I was hoping for something stronger, I’m a bit disappointed.” You replied, placing a slice of pepper directly on your tongue.

“Why would you want to eat… This ?” He asked, unable to conceal the expression of disgust that appeared on his face.

“I read that it helps to induce labor.”

Coriolanus almost choked on his water at your words, he wiped his mouth with the luxurious napkin placed on his lap before looking back at you, skeptically.

“Isn’t it a bit early for such experiments ?”

“Early ? I’m over forty weeks pregnant and there are no signs of the baby coming out anytime soon.” What ? Forty weeks ? How was this possible ? If the time he spent longing after you felt like an eternity, surely his daily life didn’t seem to be passing by as quickly. “I want this baby out, I won’t be able to stand being pregnant much longer.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, finding your distress a bit amusing but, judging from the way you were glaring daggers at him, you did not agree with him.

“It’s not so bad, is it ?”

Your eyes darkened for a moment and he wondered if you were plotting his demise.

“Are you kidding me ? My whole body aches constantly, I’m hideous and our baby won’t let me sleep because he or she is too busy kicking my bladder from midnight to morning.”

“I’m sorry.” He said, hiding his smile by taking another sip from his glass because he knew you might kill him if you caught it. “I wish I could help.”

“Well, you can.” You answered, a spark of something unusual in your eyes. Coriolanus raised an eyebrow at you, wondering what he could possibly do to take away a bit of your discomfort. Whatever it was, he was willing to give it a try and that made him realize that, maybe, sex wasn’t the only thing he cared about after all.

You winced and before he could ask you what was wrong, you stood up to join him by the opposite end of the dining table, placing his hand on your belly, where your skin was stretching out under your baby’s ferocious kicks.

“See, I swear he does it on purpose.”

Coriolanus didn’t answer anything, amazed but what he felt under his palm. Life he had helped create, moving and stretching, right there inside you. It was unbelievable.

“It must be… Uncomfortable.” He finally managed to say, keeping his hand there for a moment longer.

“Very.” You confirmed and, when he looked at you again, he noticed the soft blush coloring your cheeks. “I was told that orgasms are another good way to induce labor.”

He took his hand off of your belly like it had burned him. He wasn’t used to you being so… Blunt. The proposition was tempting, extremely tempting, especially since he hadn’t touched you since the moment you had told him your efforts had paid off and you were finally pregnant. Even if, most nights, he couldn’t sleep, thinking about how he missed fucking you. He missed how you moaned his name and how you cried out in pleasure. How your pussy perfectly fitted his cock each time. How good it felt to be inside you and how much he loved the fact that everyone in Panem knew that you were his.

It was impossible to refuse what you were asking of him now, not when all he had been thinking about for the past 40 weeks was how different your body must feel now, with your breast so much bigger and tender looking, your hips wider, and that round stomach that would bounce with each of his thrusts. But if the goal was to get you in labor faster, then he couldn’t do it. Not if it meant taking the risk to shorten his time with you, if anything went wrong and he lost you… If he could never see your beautiful face again, fuck your perfect body until he was satisfied and hear the way you laughed at other politicians’ bad jokes, he wasn’t sure he’d ever recover from such heartbreak. Because that was what it was, even though he fought against it with all his might.

He loved you.

“I think you should rest, the baby will be here soon enough.” He told you, his chest tight with the realization of his feelings for you and his body begging for him to change his mind.

“Please.” You pleaded, taking a step closer to play with a button of the burgundy vest he was wearing. “Don’t make me beg, Mister Snow.”

He would do anything for you and you knew it, didn’t you ? All you ever had to do was ask nicely and it was yours. This request was no exception, he couldn’t say no. Not when his cock was throbbing with desire in his pants and his body was calling for yours like a magnet desperate to connect with its rivaling force.

There was no guarantee that this old wives’ tale would work and provoke the birth after all. And he couldn’t pass up on this opportunity to be inside you once again, fill you up with his cum, one last time before he’d avoid it at all cost after that. He was determined to not get you pregnant again, not if it wasn’t necessary, the risk of losing his most valuable possession - you - in childbirth was far too high to take.

His heart skipped a beat as his eyes scanned your voluptuous body with hunger. The sight of your lush curves and the scent of your perfume filled the room, a heady aphrodisiac that made his cock throb painfully in his pants. With a low growl, he stood from his seat, grabbed you by the hips, pulling you closer, and pressed his thickening erection against the soft mound of your belly.

Without a word, he scooped you up and sat you down gently on the polished mahogany table gleaming under the soft glow of the pendant light. He kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands roamed over your body, caressing your swollen breasts and tracing the curve of your hips. His fingertips grazed your clit, and you gasped, arching your back.

Your pussy was a wet, already soaking the crotch of your silky panties, leaving a damp spot on the fabric that grew darker by the second. He slid his hand down to feel the heat emanating from your core, and his cock grew even harder at the thought of plunging into your tight, wet warmth for the first time in such a long time.

He took his time, tugging your dress off and unhooking your bra, revealing your swollen breasts in all their glory. He took one in his mouth, sucking your nipple with a hunger that only a man who hadn't tasted his wife's flesh in weeks could muster.

You reached down to unbuckle his pants, your eyes never leaving his as you freed his cock. It sprang forth, thick and veiny, the head a dark, angry shade of purple. You stroked it gently, your thumb circling the precum that had gathered at the tip, smearing it along his shaft and making it glisten. He groaned, his hips bucking involuntarily at your touch.

The tension grew as you stood before each other, naked and wanting. Your belly, a testament to the love and lust he felt for you, served as a tantalizing reminder of the passionate moments you shared. He stepped between your legs, his cock standing at attention as he leaned in to kiss your pussy, his tongue sliding along your slit and teasing your clit. You threw your head back, your hair cascading over the edge of the table. His tongue delved further into your depths, savoring your taste, while his thumb played with your clit in slow, deliberate circles. Your moans grew louder, your body tightening around his mouth as you approached your climax.

He glanced at you, mesmerized by how your breasts heaved with each ragged breath you took, the sensation of his mouth on your most sensitive flesh driving you wild. Your hands clutched the edges of the table, your knuckles white with the effort of holding on as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. Finally, your climax crashed down on you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as you cried out in ecstasy. He didn't stop, though, his tongue lapping up your sweet release as you rode out the aftershocks of your orgasm.

With a smug smile, he straightened up and positioned his cock at the entrance of your slick pussy. He paused for a moment, your eyes locked in a silent challenge, before he thrust into you with a force that sent shockwaves through both of your bodies. You were tight, tighter than ever before, and the sensation was both painful and exquisite. You both gasped as he buried himself to the hilt, his cock stretching you to the limits of your new capacity. Your walls clamped down around him, a velvety vice that seemed to pulse with every beat of your racing heart.

His hips slammed into you, his cock plunging deep inside you with each powerful stroke, while you met him thrust for thrust, your heels digging into his backside. The friction of your skin was electric, sending sparks of pleasure along every nerve ending as you pushed each other closer and closer to the brink.

You could feel your orgasm building again, a slow burn that started in your toes and worked its way up your body. You reached down to rub your clit, your fingers slick with your juices, and your pussy contracted around his shaft, urging him deeper. He groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head, as he felt you tighten around him. He knew you were close, and the thought of you coming again was almost too much for him to bear. He gripped your hips and drove into you with renewed vigor, his own orgasm fast approaching.

Your bodies moved as one, your hearts racing in sync. With each thrust, he grew more desperate, more frenzied, his breath coming in gasps and moans. And then, with a final, guttural cry, he erupted inside you, filling you with his hot, sticky seed. He felt your pussy clamp down around him, milking every last drop as you shuddered through your own climax, your walls pulsing with the force of your pleasure.

You stayed like that for a moment, panting and spent, your bodies entwined and your hearts racing. Then, with a sly grin, Coriolanus whispered in your ear, “I’m willing to help you out like this whenever you want.”

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[thecharacterchronicler]

Snakebite || (Peacekeeper) Coriolanus Snow x Reader ||

Outline: Coriolanus has his eye on the new nurse of the caserne and he’d do anything to have her.

Word count: 5’593

Warnings: Peacekeeper Coryo is a warning in itself, blood, virgin/first time sex (and it’s not gentle), breeding/marking, pain, possessive behavior, rough sex, explicit smut.

Author’s note: If you’ve read my other stories, you know my way of writing peacekeeper Coryo is pretty wild. If not, please take the warnings seriously before reading this one. This is prompt # 4. (sorry I didn’t feel like writing another arranged marriage one for now but I hope this will be good enough.)

“Good to see you back on your feet !” Smiley said, as a greeting when Beanpole entered the cafeteria and joined them at their table.

“We were worried, you hit your head pretty badly on the ground when you fainted today.” Bug added.

Coriolanus watched as his comrade took place in front of him, his tray overly filled with an array of different foods. He was still pale and had a bruise on his forehead from where he had hit the ground but despite all that, he seemed happy. So happy in fact, that Coriolanus wondered if they had drugged him at the infirmary to put him in such a state.

“I’m honestly starting to wonder if you don’t do that on purpose each time we train outside, just so the new nurse gets to take care of you.”

“There’s a new nurse ?” Coriolanus inquired, his curiosity piqued by something finally remotely interesting.

“I think she’s an apprentice.” Beanpole corrected.

“Didn’t you notice the amount of guys lining up in front of the infirmary door these days ? I heard everyone talk about how beautiful that girl is.” Smiley added.

Coriolanus thought about it for a moment but couldn’t really recall noticing anything out of the ordinary. Not that he paid much attention to life in the barracks anyway. Or in District 12 in general. He missed the Capitol and his thoughts often drifted back to his old life rather than focusing on his current situation.

“She really is beautiful.” Beanpole commented, to answer Smiley, with a stupid smile on his face. He may as well have heart shaped eyes from how obvious his crush on the girl in question was.

The other soldiers at the table laughed of their friend’s amorous daze and everyone soon focused their attention back on their meal, knowing that they needed to gain some strength for what the commander had planned for them on the next day.

Smiley and Bug stood up as soon as their trays were empty, but Coriolanus lingered a moment at the table, watching Beanpole stuff his face with green beans and spinach leaves. He wondered how someone who lacked basic knowledge of table etiquette could be from the Capitol too. People there, even poor, were more refined and elegant usually. Was District 12 slowly turning him into some kind of feral animal ? What if it was happening to Coriolanus too ? What if he didn’t remember how to behave properly once he’ll be back in the Capitol ? The thought terrified him, the one thing he had promised himself was that he refused to let District 12 change him.

“Crap, I forgot to ask for painkillers.” Beanpole managed to say, despite his still full mouth.

“Didn’t you have a whole tablet of those in your trunk from the last time you hit your head against a tree ?” Coriolanus asked him, unable to conceal his sucpicious tone. He was wondering if, indeed, the young soldier was faking being of such fragile composure and in weak condition just to be granted extra trips to the nurse’s office. Not that he cared about his friend’s whereabouts, he just cared to know if Beanpole was this good of an actor, able to hurt himself just to get something he wanted.

“I used a few after I burned my fingers when I was on cooking duty and sold the rest on the black market.” He answered, totally and foolishly honest with Coriolanus. He attempted to stand up, his tray still half full but almost lost balance, barely able to catch himself.

“Are you alright ?” Coriolanus asked him, standing up to help steady him, even though he really didn’t want to.

“Yeah, it’s just the concussion.” Beanpole assured him. “I need to go back for some pills and then I’ll go to bed.”

“I’ll walk you there.” He offered, not out of the goodness of his heart but by sheer curiosity for the apparently very pleasant new nurse. He wanted to judge for himself, even though he didn’t expect her to be anything special, his comrades were so sex deprived that their standard barely reached the floor.

With a hand gripping his arm to help him walk steadily, the two peacekeepers made their way to the infirmary, Coriolanus almost dragging Beanpole behind him from how impatient he was to see what was really going on there.

At first glance, it seemed that Smiley told the truth, there were a line of more or less injured soldiers waiting for their turn behind the door, even skipping supper in hopes to be cared for here.

“It might take a while.” Beanpole sighed, ready to join the back of the line.

The door opened and a peacekeeper walked out with his arm in a cast, his face visibly upset but not because of the pain he had endured but because he was escorted out by Flavia, the old nurse instead of the new one. She gestured to the next man in line to enter her office and he shamelessly sighed in disappointment.

Beanpole and Coriolanus barely had time to take a step in direction of the end of the line when the door in front of them opened again, revealing you, wearing a white blouse and your hair tied up in a messy updo.

“Next please !” You called, and a soldier excitedly sauntered in your direction. But your gaze landed on Coriolanus for an instant, before noticing Beanpole leaning onto him for support. “Oh, is the concussion getting worse ?”

Coriolanus had to admit that you were very pretty indeed. Even with the worry that suddenly appeared on your face, you reminded him of the expensive dolls Tigris used to play dress up and hold tea parties for.

“I just need something for the pain.” Beanpole told you, trying to sound self assured but the sight of you made him smile stupidly again.

“He’s barely able to stand.” Coriolanus said because, as time went by, he kept leaning his weight more and more on him and at this point, he was starting to worry that he might have to carry him back to their dorm.

“Come in.” You said, standing aside to let them in the infirmary. There were a few whispers of indignation and protest as they passed by the line of eager soldiers, the one who almost got in taking his place back at the front while glaring daggers at them.

Coriolanus helped Beanpole to the bed placed in the middle of a small room, of which you closed the door and searched a shelf for a file, before stepping to the counter to retrieve some medical tools. He watched you as you carefully shone a light into Beanpole’s eyes, observing his pupils with attention before turning the small flashlight off and on in his face. You scribbled something in the file you had placed on the bed next to him, and exchanged the light for a stethoscope.

As you leaned forward slightly to reach his heart, your blouse hunched up, revealing some of the curves of your body to Coriolanus, who had a very privileged view of it all as he leaned against the wall behind you, his arms crossed over his chest.

He observed you carefully, starting to understand why all the young soldiers in the building were interested in you. There was something about you that was particularly enticing, maybe it was the alluring curves of your body, or maybe it was your pretty face and the way you made sure to be gentle as you examined your patients ? Whatever it was, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to forget it. And, as you turned around to take one more tool from the counter, you glanced at him in a way that made his whole body buzz with electricity, he could tell that you were disturbed by him, by his presence and by his appearance, the same hint of curiosity in your eyes than the one he felt for you.

————-

The sun was shining bright in the sky, yet it still did very little to ease the humidity that saturated the air. Coriolanus was assigned to patrol the borders of the District in the heat, while forced to wear his peacekeeper uniform and helmet, hand on his gun, always prepared. However, for once, it didn’t seem so bad. He knew that if he had a heatstroke and fainted, he might have the chance to see you again and the idea oddly excited him.

Actually, he had been thinking about you for most of the night, reminiscing of the perfection of your body underneath your white blouse and how you had looked at him, even smiled at him once when you had cleared Beanpole to go back to his dorm. He had seen with his own eyes the impressive amount of soldiers lining up by the door with the hope to spend a few minutes in your company and, this morning during breakfast, he had heard a group of them talking about how each of them was planning to attempt to ask you out before the weekend. You truly were the talk of the caserne.

He didn’t like that you had so many admirers, but what claim did he have on you ? He hadn’t even spoke more than a few words to you… And yet, he felt extremely possessive of you. Like you were some kind of precious treasure that should only belong to him. And maybe he had good chances to make everyone else jealous if he convinced you to give yourself to him, judging by the way you had looked at him, all he had to do was ask…

And, just for the sake of not waking up with a very painful and frustrating erection again - after dreaming of you, naked on your exam table for him - he was determined to shoot his shot at you. He knew it only was a matter of time until you’d agree to go out with one of the idiots who probably pestered you about it on a daily basis, so he had to act quickly.

He wasn’t sure of how he could fake a convincing heatstroke. And if he pretended to have fainted, he might stay there on his own all day until someone eventually found him and helped him. So he needed a better idea, something that wouldn’t require him too much theatrics to be convincing. In fact, being in real pain would probably help to coerce you into taking care of him before everyone else.

His fingers danced on the handle of his gun as he tried to imagine how bad the pain could get if he shot himself in the foot or in the knee. It would make him a pretty useless peacekeeper which might grant him a few weeks of forced vacation to recover but he was worried of where he might be sent to next if he wasn’t fit to be a soldier anymore…

He looked around him, seeing nothing but tall grass swaying in the wind and a rocky dirt road leading to a row of delabrated shacks that people from this District called homes. Not much to help with his plan.

Suddenly, something slowly undulating further down the road, moving the peebles on its way caught his attention. He approached carefully, realizing that it was a green snake trying to go back to the tall grass that it could use as shelter.

Coriolanus didn’t know much about snakes. Actually, his knowledge in the matter was so limited that he never would be able to tell the difference between a venomous snake and an inoffensive one. However, it seemed to him that this one was very similar to the one that had bit another peacekeeper’s ankle when they were running laps around the barracks. As far as he knew, the guy was still alive so it might be his best chance to get to see you again.

He kneeled down on the road and tugged the sleeve of his shirt up, offering his entire arm for the nervous snake to bite into. But it wasn’t aggressive enough to gratuitously attack a human being it seemed so Coriolanus picked the reptile up, feeling the cold scales under his fingertips before letting it fall on his bare arm. Nothing happened, except that the animal was now terrified and tried to slither away in the grass, at a surprisingly fast speed.

He barely managed to catch it before it vanished in the grass the same color as it was. He pulled it back to him and the reptile’s head snapped back to dig its sharp fangs inside the soldier’s exposed wrist.

Coriolanus grimaced, immediately pulling on the snake until he was able to pull his fangs out of his skin. He sent it flying across the road, not seeing where it landed as he focused his attention on his now aching wrist and the two dots of blood rapidly bubbling at the surface of his skin.

“Shit.” He breathed, the pain in his arm sharply stinging. It was almost as if he could feel the venom, slowly invading the blood in his veins.

He stood up, applying pressure to the bite so that he wouldn’t bleed too much despite the pain it provoked, and took off in direction of the casern. He was hoping that his plan would work and that he wouldn’t end up being treated by Flavia instead of you but, above all things, he hoped that he wouldn’t die from such a stupid action. You may be absolutely gorgeous but he wasn’t ready to die for that. Not yet.

When he knocked on the infirmary door, blatantly ignoring the queue in front of it, his main concern became reality as Flavia opened. The old nurse’s gaze was strict and unwelcoming, the polar opposite of your warmth and beauty.

“Another heatstroke ? Go wait in line for your turn.” She said, authoritatively.

“No, I was bitten.” He told her, showing her the mark on his now inflamed skin. Even if he was hoping to see you, his bite still needed urgent medical attention and he wasn’t sure he would survive if he had to wait in line before treating it.

Thankfully, as if on cue, your face appeared behind Flavia, eyes wide in surprise.

“I can take care of that, I just finished treating Armstrong’s heat rash.” You suggested and he could tell that you were hoping to see him as badly as he was hoping to see you.

“Alright. I was planning on taking a coffee break after this one, anyway.” Flavia nodded, before disappearing in her own office where a distressed soldier waited for her.

Coriolanus followed into the room where you had taken care of Beanpole the day before, but this time it was his turn to sit on the examination table. You repeated the same gestures as he had observed last time, fetching his file from the overflowing shelf before approaching to examinate his bite.

“Did you see what the snake that bit you looked like ?” You asked, as you ran your gloved fingers over the two deep holes in his skin. He noticed the worry that instantly showed on your face, making him wonder if you truly cared this much about your patients.

“It was green, and pretty small.” He recalled, momentarily forgetting about the pain in his arm because of how close you were to him. He could smell your perfume and see the subtle variations of the specks of color in your eyes from here.

“Mmh, I don’t think it’s a venomous one but it’s probably going to hurt for a few days.” You announced, going back to the counter to take a small glass jar in your hands. Then, you carefully applied an herbal salve to his wound, instantly giving him some relief from the stinging pain that lingered there. “But I only have one jar of this salve so you’ll have to come here so I can apply some to the wound and change the bandages every day.”

“Alright.” He answered, struggling to contain his excitement at your words.

You gently wrapped his wrist up in an immaculately white bandage, soothing the last bit of pain he still felt from the bite. He saw it as the perfect opportunity to ask you what every soldier in this building was dying to.

“I was wondering if you’d like to get a drink with me sometime ?” He suggested, trying to sound as confident as he usually was but his heart was racing in his chest.

You lifted your eyes up to meet his, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“That sounds nice but unfortunately I’m not allowed to do that. The only time I can be seen with peacekeepers without risking my job is here, in the infirmary.” You replied and he silently stared at you for a moment, trying to determine if it was an excuse or if you really would have accepted if your position allowed you to. “But maybe you could spend more time here ? With me ?”

Your voice was hesitant and a lovely blush creeped to your cheeks as you said that, a risk you seemingly were ready to take for him.

“I could.” He smiled, charming as ever. “But how would we pass the time ?”

“Maybe we could get to know each other ?”

His smile grew wider as the vivid images of last night’s dream filled his mind again, visions of you naked for him, begging for his dick, that he was determined to make come true right now. He stood up, stepping closer to you, his hands already tugging at your blouse to get it to slide down your arms.

“I’d love to get to know you more… Intimately.” He whispered, his lips brushing over yours. And, since you didn’t step back or push him away, he finally pressed his mouth to yours, in a chaste kiss that still managed to get his whole body buzzing with adrenaline.

Your professional blouse dropped to the floor and his arms closed around your waist, pulling you into him, where you could very obviously feel the hard bulge that had formed in his pants pressing against your stomach.

His lips moved to your neck, peppering it with wet kisses as he eagerly tried to find the hem of your shirt so that he could pull it off of you and see what was hidden underneath. You let him, even though your heart was about to implode inside of your chest.

He only stopped kissing you to be able to take a good look at your now bare chest in front of him, the sight worth a thousand snake bites.

“Oh gosh.” You whimpered, as he roughly squeezed your boob in his hand, taking a bite at your lower lip to shut you up because you could say anything else.

He probably should have taken his time to enjoy every inch of you as he uncovered them one by one, giving attention to your very appetizing breast before attempting to remove your pants but he was never one to be patient, nor could he possibly renounce to something that he so ardently desired.

“Wait, wait.” You pleaded against his mouth, your hands on his chest to gently push him away but even like this, he had trouble to let go of you.

“What’s wrong ?”

“It’s just that… I wasn’t expecting this. I… I never did this before.” You stuttered, your eyes fixed to his with a bit of panic on your face.

“Well, it’s not that uncomfortable in here.” He remarked, briefly looking around before focusing his attention back to you. You were shorter than him and almost naked, chest bare and pants tugged down to your thighs. All he had to do was reach between your legs and he’d be able to catch a feel of your panties, see if you were already wet for him or if he’d have to work for it. As for him, he was already rock hard, his cock begging to be released out of his pants so that it could be shoved inside you. But he enjoyed being in his uniform in front of you, while you were about to be naked and vulnerable, at his entire mercy…

“No, I mean… I never did it” Your words had the effect of a cold shower over his head, pulling him out of his hungry contemplation of your body and getting his full attention on you. For the second time, he stared at you while trying to decide if he believed you or not, the idea of you still being a virgin making no sense in his mind, how could you be ? You were far too gorgeous to not have had many opportunities to lose your virginity to someone in the past, even here, soldiers lined up at your door every day, desperate for your attention. Surely one of them would have convinced you to do it by now. Or at least, if you were so concerned about the rules, some coal miner from your district or a free spirited muscician would have done it.

“You… How come ?” Was all he managed to say, the question burning his lips since it seemed entirely impossible to him that you’d still be so innocent and unaware of the pleasure you were missing out on.

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “I guess I wasn’t interested enough in anyone to go this far…”

Coriolanus couldn’t help but smile at your answer. He felt insanely pleased imagining you refusing all these filthy miners and weak soldiers. You had standards. And you definitely were the only person that he had met in District 12 who was this reasonable.

“I can show you what it’s like if you want me to.” He suggested, trying to sound detached but the idea of being the one to take your virginity, the one to corrupt your innocent body, was making his cock ache in his pants.

You seemed hesitant, looking around at the office. He could understand that it probably wasn’t how you had imagined your first time would happen, not here, not with him. Yet, when your pretty eyes landed on him again, you quietly nodded.

He had to be cool about, appear as if it was a regular thing for him, like he had done it before many times and would be doing it again with other girls, but his blood was boiling with excitement. When he had asked you out for a drink, he was expecting to have to work for it. He would have been proud of being seen with you at The Hob by all the recruits lining up for your attention, and he would have made sure to charm you into taking things further, probably in a dark alley outside where no one would have seen your perfect body except for him, but where surely some people would have heard how good he was making you feel.

Unable to wait any longer, he reached down to open up his pants and free his hard erection from his underwear, stroking it in his hand, enough to get it to develop to its full length but not too much, in case he might cum just from the way you were staring at it, with wide eyes and shock on your face.

“You’re so big, I’m not sure I’ll be able to do this.” You told him, worried.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to take it.” He assured you, with a proud smile on his face. He always liked when women noticed how well endowed he was. Even better when it made them nervous. “Sit down on the table.”

You obeyed, even though you still seemed very uncertain. He pulled your pants and panties down your legs, discarding them on the floor so that you really were completely naked now, beautiful and vulnerable.

“Maybe it’ll work if you enter just the tip.” You suggested, and an amused chuckle left his lips.

“Alright.” He agreed, but only to reassure you. He had no intention of depriving the rest of his length from entering you so you would have to take it fully eventually.

“Okay.” You sighed in relief but your body remained tense as he approached and forced your legs open. He held his cock in his hand and gently stroked your exposed folds with the tip, groaning from the pleasant warmth and wetness that instantly coated his sensitive skin.

He knew he should have been a gentleman about this and made sure that you were ready for him but he simply couldn’t wait. His desire for you was consuming him, he needed to have you and that instantly made him forget how cautious he should be to make sure the experience would be enjoyable for you too. So he lined himself up to your entrance and pushed forward.

“Just the tip.” You reminded him, your entrance stretching out for his wide dick, causing a sharp burn in your lower stomach.

“Right.” He said, with a smile, as he kept increasing the pressure that already felt unbearable inside you, very slowly but surely pressing his hips further against you.

“That’s too much.” You cried out, tears welling in your eyes.

“You can take it.” He said again, because one way or another, he was going to break that dam inside you and then, he’ll fuck you until he’ll be close enough to mark you as his with his cum.

“No, I really can’t.” You replied, your voice breaking. Coriolanus felt a pang of guilt in front of your distress, the grimace of pain on your face and the tears silently rolling down your cheeks weren’t exactly what he had imagined when he had fantasized about taking you on this examination table.

“Just try to relax.” He instructed, momentarily putting his eagerness and need for relief aside to focus on you. He pressed his hand between your legs, his thumb finding your sensitive spot and gently massaging it to ease you into it, mixing the pain of his intrusion inside you with the pleasure of his caresses.

With two fingers, he opened up your folds so that he could see his big cock shoved halfway inside your tight and aching pussy. He could see it sliding further inside inch by inch, his way of teasing your clit seemingly helping your body accept him.

And then, suddenly and without any warning, your pussy engulfed him. You cried out once more, as something inside you was teared apart to allow him to finally be completely buried in your tight warmth. Your arms instantly closing around his neck for support. He almost came from this alone, the force with which you clenched around him from the pain you felt almost making him dizzy.

“What’s going on ?” You asked, panicking. “Why did that hurt so bad ?”

“Your pussy just swallowed my cock on its own accord. Because despite the pain, you want me to fuck you, right ?” You want to feel me inside you, want me to show you what real pleasure is.” He explained, breathless, doing his best to calm down before his ejaculation might end this all too soon. “Say it, tell me what you want.”

“I want to feel you…” You told him, wincing when he started pulling away.

“And ?”

“I want to have an orgasm. I want to be fucked until you have one too.”

“Fuck.” He groaned, realizing that his plan to calm himself down by getting you to talk to him was failing miserably. He almost entirely pulled his cock out of you, only to shove it back inside slowly. As eager as he was for relief, he now wanted you to enjoy it too.

The more he gently slided back and forth inside you, the more your face eased back into a peaceful expression, the pain visibly fading as he tried his best to replace it with pleasure.

“Look how well you’re taking me now.” He told you, and you both looked down to his impressive cock, his length coated in your arousal and faint traces of blood as it went back and forth at a peacefully steady rythym. As tight as your entrance was, he still fitted inside you, managing to hit deep.

“Am I bleeding ?”

“Yes, but that’s normal, that’s how we know you’re no longer a virgin.” He explained, even if you probably knew that already.

“Is it going to be like this every time ?”

“No, now that I broke you in, you’re going to enjoy it when someone fucks you like this. You’ll be able to take it fast and rough with a little bit of practice.”

“Is this how you like it ? Fast and rough ?” You asked him, curious.

“Most people do.”

“Will you help me get used to it then ?”

“I already am, sweetheart.” He replied, his hands gripping your thighs to bring them up against his hips and give him better access to you. His movements amplified as his rocked his hips more rapidly now and you pressed your forehead against his, still fascinated by the way you could see his hard cock disappearing inside your folds and slamming deep inside you.

You closed your eyes, feeling something powerful building inside of you. A loud sound that carried the whole intensity of the pleasure that he was giving you escaped your lips. Your eyes widened and you covered your mouth with your hand, embarassed.

“Don’t, I want to hear you.” He told you, moving your hand away and pinning your wrist to the table. “And I want everyone outside to hear you too. Let them know I’m the one taking your virginity.”

“But… Flavia.” You warned him, breathlessly.

“She said she was going to take a break, she’s probably at the cafeteria.” He replied, trying to reassure you but in reality, he had no idea of what the other nurse was up to. He knew that you were risking your career if you got caught by anyone in such a compromising position but it didn’t really matter to him, not now, because he was pretty sure that if anyone bursted inside the room in hopes to interrupted him, he’d still keep fucking you until you truly belonged to him. Now that he had started, nobody would be able to stop him.

You didn’t object. You couldn’t. He could tell from the way you arched your back and rolled your eyes that there wasn’t a single reasonable thought in your head anymore. You needed relief as badly as he needed it too and that was exactly what he intended to give you.

“Oh… It’s starting to feel really good.” You panted, your nails digging in his shoulder to steady yourself as his thrusts grew a bit more brutal.

“Good.” He groaned, making sure to slam himself as deeply as he could inside you. Damnit you felt too good, he wasn’t going to be able to restrain himself much longer, the tightness of your virgin pussy around him and the knowledge that he was the first one to ever penetrate you so deeply was too much and relief instantly washed over him as warm cum spilled from his cock into you.

Fuck.

“Oh !” You exclaimed in surprise, not because he had climaxed without giving you a warning but because his twitching cock unexpectedly pushed you over the edge too. You were shocked by the strength of the orgasm that hit you, imploding in your core like a firework and washing over your entire body, ensnaring him inside you in reaction.

You moaned again, the pressure around him caused by your own climax felt unbearable. He was trapped in you and the contractions of your body were so intense that he groaned and felt his cock shoot another load of his seed inside you.

A moment went by during which only the sound of your panting breaths filled the room. Then, you relaxed and he was able to pull himself out, both of you watching as his soaked length dropped out of you. He adjusted his uniform, making sure he was presentable again as you did the same, putting your white blouse back on as if nothing had happened.

“I… I’ll need to take care of that bite again tomorrow.” You told him, still a bit breathless as you walked him to the door.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.” He promised, with a grin.

Everyone stared at him as he walked out of the office. He smugly smiled at the line of soldiers and stood straighter, feeling extremely proud of himself. Not only had he managed to fuck the new nurse everyone was after but he had also taken your virginity and marked you as his. Of course, the soldiers waiting in line had no way of knowing that your blood was still on his cock and that his cum was probably dripping down in your panties by now but, if they were observant enough, they might notice how you were leaning against the door for support because your body was sore, or the trace of faint lipstick you had left on the collar of his peacekeeper uniform.

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[thecharacterchronicler]

Muse || Benedict Bridgerton x reader || Smut

GIF credits: @vengerb3rg

Outline: Your husband wants to paint your portrait but you feel a bit insecure about yourself.

Word count: 2’939

Warnings: parenthood with a newborn baby, insecurities/self deprecation about post-partum body, explicit smut.

Author’s note: this is prompt # 25 as requested. It gave me a whole new obsession for Benedict Bridgerton. Yikes.

You sat on the sofa, trying to focus on the book you were reading but couldn’t help but glance in Benedict’s direction instead. You were always eager to see what beautiful paintings he may be working on but tonight, it felt all the more special as his model was sound asleep in the crib next to him. A little over a year ago, when you had said your vows and became Mrs Bridgerton, you were absolutely certain that it wouldn’t be possible for you to love him more than you already did, you were head over heels for him, in admiration in front of his artistic talents, in adoration of his personality and unconditionally in love with every part of his soul… Yet, watching him so focused on his task, as he carefully observed his son before painting his traits on the canvas in front of him, eyes so full of tenderness for the sleeping infant and a smile that told the world how incredibly proud he felt to be a father was making your heart melt.

Even if you didn’t want to disturb him in his work, you couldn’t help but stand and saunter up behind him, to take a look at the progressing portrait. Your husband was blessed with a rare talent for art, his paintings always captured a beauty overlooked by most and displayed emotions in the most poetical ways, the first portrait of his son was no exception, already a masterpiece in your eyes.

“Perhaps it was preposterous of me to think myself capable of painting his portrait, I fear that, no matter how much time I spend on it, I’ll never do justice to how angelic our baby looks.” He said, as he added some pink hues to the image.

“I think you are doing well, it looks beautiful.” You reassured him, your arms coming around his shoulders to hug him from behind. He placed his palette on his lap to bring a hand up to touch yours, his thumb stroking your wrist as he leaned back against you.

“But look at him, no one could possibly paint such beauty accurately.”

You both turned to look at your baby, both of you sighing in admiration in unison as your son yawned in his sleep.

“It is true that he is particularly gorgeous.” You admitted, still having trouble to believe how blessed you had been to bring such a healthy and beautiful child into this world.

“It’s because he looks like you.” Benedict replied, without hesitation. “Ethereal beauty just like his mother.”

You blushed and hugged him a bit more tightly.

“He takes after you too.” You added, because it was the truth. If Benedict found your son beautiful because of the features you had passed on to him, you thought your baby was extremely handsome because of how much he resembled the love of your life too. “He has your eyes and your smile. The ton better be prepared for such a devastatingly handsome gentleman.”

Benedict huffed a laugh and planted a kiss on the back of your hand. He tilted his head up to look at you, with a familiar spark of mischief in his eyes.

“How about we bless the ton with a few more of our divine offsprings ?” He suggested, his fingers already trailing up your arm in a tantalizing caress. “Or perhaps I could paint another nude portrait of you tonight ?”

“Wouldn’t that lead to the same result ?” You playfully replied, which made him laugh loud enough to cause the baby to grimace and stir in his small crib. “I don’t think we need another portrait of me - especially naked - there are already too many in this house, and if anyone sees them I’ll be mortified.”

“Don’t worry about that, darling, the nude ones are for my personal enjoyement only.” He said, standing up from the stool and turning around to plant a feverish kiss on your lips.

You kissed him back, arms around his neck as he stepped forward with the intention of guiding you to the couch. But you stopped him with a hand on his chest, turning your head before he could press his mouth to yours again.

“He is sleeping like an angel, I do not want to wake him.” You told your husband, glancing in direction of the crib.

“You are right, we do not want him to wake up to the sound of his mother’s screams.” Benedict nodded, leaving you to go back to his son.

“Excuse me ? I do not scream.” You retorted, crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to look vexed by his remark.

“Oh you do scream, my darling. I don’t think you realize but you are very loud when you’re enjoying yourself, it’s my favorite thing.” He confirmed, a laugh escaping his lips when he noticed how you blushed at his words. “So I’m going to bring little mister Bridgerton back to his room, where he hopefully won’t hear you and then I’ll make you shout louder than ever.”

You exchanged a smile with him, your heart melting once more as you watched him carefully and gently pick up the baby from the small crib, cradling him in his arms with tenderness. He walked in your direction so that you could place a kiss goodnight on your baby’s forehead before he left the living room with him, already humming a soft lullaby to keep him sound asleep.

Once he got back, he stopped on the threshold to speak to one of the employees of your estate, requesting to not be disturbed for the rest of the night. You felt yourself blushing yet again at how painfully obvious what he was up to might be for your staff.

He closed the living room doors behind him with a satisfied smile but it instantly disappeared as his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened at the sight of you, waiting for him with your dress already off.

He sat back on the stool in front of his easel, carefully placing the portrait of your son next to him as he switched it for a blank canvas. He looked over at you with attention, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips and a slight blush coloring his cheeks.

You did your best to pose, not daring to do it as suggestively as you used to back when you were newlyweds. Benedict had painted some filthy scenes involving you, and sometimes him too, and kept those paintings locked up in his office upstairs, making it a gallery devoted to his passion for you.

However, despite him being very clear on how much he loved every part of you, you couldn’t help but feel self conscious since the birth of your child. Your body had changed in ways you weren’t prepared for and, if your husband had seen you without garments on since, he had not painted your portrait in a while. The way his eyes were scrutinizing you, tracing round curves and long lines on the canvas, made you feel increasingly uncomfortable.

“Could you rest your arm over the edge of the sofa ? And perhaps part your legs slightly ?” Your husband asked, his brows furrowed in concentration.

You positioned yourself as requested, unable to silence the trembling breath that escaped your lips.

“Is something wrong, darling ? You seem tense.” He remarked, letting go of his pencil to fully focus his attention on you.

“It’s nothing to worry about.” You assured him, forcing a smile but he looked at you as if he could see straight through you.

“Mrs Bridgerton,” his tone was playfully severe, but hearing him call you by your new last name - his last name - sent a wave of emotion through your body. “If something - or someone - is bothering you, I must know immediately. I will not tolerate for my wife to be upset about anything as I vowed to care for you, always.”

“And you do it perfectly.”

“Then tell me, so I can take care of this issue too, whatever it is.” He pleaded.

“It’s nothing, really. I just don’t feel comfortable with the way I look lately.”

“The way you look ?” He repeated, standing up to keep the canvas from stealing his attention away from you. “What do you mean ?”

“I mean this.” You placed your hand on your belly, the skin not as firm and elastic as it used to be. Then, you moved it to your chest to point at your breasts, swollen and hanging lower than they used to. “And this.”

“But these are some of the best things about your body!” He exclaimed, clearly shocked that you could be so rude to yourself.

He walked to you with determination, getting down on his knees next to the sofa to level his face with yours, looking at you with a concerned expression on his face and heartbreak in his eyes, as if he was hurt about your own feelings about yourself.

He brought his hand to your belly, gently caressing it like he used to do when it was round and stretched out by your baby’s kicks..

“You grew a healthy and particularly gorgeous son in here.” He told you, tenderly. Then he moved his hand upwards, until he could caress the tender flesh of your breast. “And these are even bigger and softer than before, there is really no reason to feel so bad about yourself, you are a goddess, darling, you created life within your body.”

“So you’re not disappointed that I don’t look like I used to anymore ?”

“Absolutely not, how could I be ? I adored your body then, I still adore it now. I could fill a museum with my paintings of you, you obsess my every thoughts, you’re the only one I want to worship, for the rest of my life.”

“Benedict…” You breathed, your heart swelling with the intensity of your love for him.

“If you don’t believe me, darling, then I can show you exactly what the sight of your perfect body does to mine.” He suggested, his familiar somewhat mischievous grin returning to his face. He approached the couch on which you were lying down and began undoing his trousers, an eager expression on his face.

“Did you not want to paint me ?” You playfully asked him, with a knowing smirk.

“Always, darling. You know there is nothing I enjoy more than to look at the alluring curves of your body for hours but right now, I believe I’ll do a better job if I get my muse to relax a bit first.”

He pushed his pants down, his erection gloriously swinging up in your direction, hard and ready. It always amazed you how, knowing some of the promiscuous things he did in the past, the mere sight of your bare skin could get him in such a state. Sometimes, it happened during dinner, when you’d lean over the table slightly too far and he’d catch a glimpse of your décolletage. Sometimes, it was more inconveniencing, like when you shared your carriage with someone and the simple proximity of your body pressed up against his caused the blood to flow down to his shaft, always so alert and ready to take you, no matter if alone or not.

You knew he wasn’t lying when he said he loved your body as it was now, his puppy eyes and his gentle smile told you everything you needed to know when it came to his sincerity. Yet, you still felt slightly uncomfortable.

“Maybe I’d feel better if you were naked too.” You suggested, and he didn’t hesitate an instant, popping the buttons of his shirt one by one and letting it fall down to the luxurious carpet that covered the living room floor.

He dropped back on his knees next to the couch, his hands careful and gentle as they caressed your thighs, very subtly positioning you so that he could have access to the most intimate part of you. When, finally, your last bit of restraint faded underneath the warm kisses he pressed against your thighs, you allowed him to spread your legs apart and bury his face between them.

You instantly felt his tongue swirling around your clit and hungrily sucking on it until a moan fell from your lips. The tip of his tongue then continued its downward slide between your folds, tasting your arousal and mixing it with his saliva. Once he was as far down as the couch allowed him to go, you felt his tongue tentatively exploring your entrance, as if he was waiting for another moan to confirm that he was on the right track.

He placed his hand over your center, pressing down on your lower abdomen and flicking your clit with his thumb as he pushed his tongue past your tight walls, gently penetrating you with delight. His other hand went up to your chest, finding hold of your boob and squeezing it between his fingers as he increased the speed of his movements to follow the rythym of your whimpers that now were filling the room and his ears.

When you looked down at him, your head swimming from the intense jolts of pleasure he kept provoking inside you, you saw his gaze fixed to you, attentive to your reactions and sounds to tailor his next actions. They were filled with lust and adoration, as if you, writhing in front of him while he relished in your taste, was the most beautiful image he had ever had the privilege to witness.

You couldn’t help but buck your hips up in tune with his tongue, trying to get him in deeper. Since it still wasn’t enough to give you some relief from the intense pressure building in your core, you reached down to him, your hands pushing his head against you, probably suffocating him but you couldn’t help it, you needed to feel the bliss only he knew how to give you immediately.

Your orgasm suddenly washed over you, your entire body becoming oversensitive to eveything as it trembled and tensed. You squeezed his head between your thighs to stop him from continuing, unable to take it anymore, your chest heaving and your sounds of contentment still resounding in the room.

“Look at you, my darling. You’re absolutely bewitching when your pleasure makes you blush and your eyes shine with grateful tears.” Your husband said, freeing himself from the snare of your thighs around him. “There’s only one thing missing.”

You opened your mouth to ask what but you still were panting too rapidly to say a word. He rose to his feet, stroking his impressive cock in his hands a few times and you noticed how the pink tip glistened with precum, his thumb gently spreading its wetness along his entire length.

Then, he pressed his tip at your entrance and thrusted his hips forward, making you gasp from the sudden sensation. He buried himself entirely inside you, effortlessly, thanks to how soaked he had made you.

His rythym started out slow and gentle, giving him the opportunity to lean down to lovingly kiss your lips. But his speed progressively increased. You were already close again, the sensitivity between your legs still persisting, intensifying every sensation.

When his thrusts grew deeper and brutal, you had to hold yourself to the couch, your finger digging into the expensive fabric for support as you cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure. His mouth was still on yours, tugging at your lower lip and swallowing your moans each time they uncontrollably dripped from your mouth.

His eyes were still on you, intense and focused, as if he was trying to memorize every single inch of you so that he could paint it later on his canvas. You reached another orgasm, mouth wide open as you gasped but no sound made it to his ears. You squeezed your eyes shut, trembling from the power of your climax, wondering if such extreme pleasure could kill you, because sometimes it sure felt like it.

“There it is, the way your mouth hangs open when you come for me, with your lips dark and swollen from how hard I kissed you… You are a masterpiece, my love.”

As soon as he said those words, he groaned and released himself deeply inside you, his body suddenly growing weak and numb.

With one more kiss to your lips, he pulled out of you with a satisfied sigh and a tender smile.

As if on cue, the cries of your newborn son suddenly pierced the brief moment of silence in the house.

“He probably misses us.” You said, and attempted to get up but Benedict stopped you, desperate.

“No, no, no! Don’t move, you’re perfect like this, that’s exactly what I want to immortalize on my canvas.” He pleaded, quickly putting his clothes back on. “I’ll go see him and make sure that he is okay. But please, stay exactly like this.”

He left the living room with his shirt roughly tucked in his pants and his hair disheveled, a sight making what you both had been up to pretty clear to all the employees he may meet on the way.

Eventually, the cries came to a stop, meaning that Benedict had probably reached your son and managed to soothe him back to sleep like only he knew how to. So you relaxed on the couch, still naked and ready to shamelessly pose for your adoring husband, already wondering if it would lead to another passionate moment of lovemaking later on.

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[thecharacterchronicler]

He’s All That I’ve Got || William H. Bonney x Reader || Smut

Outline: Your lover is on the run but he pays you a heated visit.

Word Count: 1’925

Warnings: Explicit smut.

Author’s note: this is Prompt # 25, sorry if it’s totally off, I just started the show.

You woke up to the sound of birds in the trees surrounding the small shack you lived in, stirring in your bed. The other side of the matress was cold, which was a regular occurrence lately, reminding you that you were about to spend another day on your own.

You got up and got dressed, not putting many efforts in fixing your appearance since no one - apart from the few animals you kept - was going to see it. You put your boots on under your dress and tied an apron around your hips before you stepped outside, the fresh morning dew covering the high grass surrounding the shack tickling your ankles as you walked to the chicken coop.

You opened the door and greeted your two chickens, finding it oddly comforting to have at least them to keep you company on the isolated land you had settled on. You gathered some of the eggs they laid, carefully placing them in the pocket of your apron. Then, you inspected a hole in the fence around their enclosure, adding repairing it to your long list of chores.

After you ate your breakfast on the porch, you washed your clothes in a bucket of cold water, struggling to take out some of the grass stains from your skirts. It’s only once most of your outfits were back to having an acceptable appearance that you carried them to the long clothesline that hung between two pillars behind the house. You methodically placed each item over it, knowing that the warm summer breeze will have them dry in no time.

You picked your empty basket back up, a sigh escaping your lips as the stray cat that relied on you for food came to rub its fur against your legs, a clear attempt at charming you into giving him an extra meal today.

You probably would have gave in, unable to resist its big green eyes and its soft meows, but something in the distance called for your attention. A moving form was quickly approaching, a horse not even following the dirt road but galloping straight through the meadow of tall grass, mounted by a dark silhouette you weren’t sure you recognized that far off in the horizon.

You quickly retreated back inside the small house, grabbing your Lancaster pistol from its place on your nightstand. You went back out on the porch, awaiting your mysterious visitor prepared to fend for yourself if you had to… But all your mistrust vanished like snow in the sun when you finally were able to distinguish the traits of the man. He was a wanted man, a notorious criminal, always on the run… But still, you ran to him, holding your skirt up high as you rushed through tall grass and wildflowers.

When he saw you, he stopped his horse and jumped down to meet you halfway, catching you in his arms as soon as you collided against him.

“You’re back !” You exclaimed, emotion seizing you at the throat as you buried your face against his chest, wondering if it was yet another dream or if it was really him, returning home.

“Told you I’d always come back to you.” He said, his arms tightly holding your body against his.

“I know, but I’m always so afraid that something might happen and I wouldn’t see you ever again…”

His fingers gently caressed your cheek before lifting your chin up to him, so that he could kiss your lips. He smiled at you reassuringly and, for a moment, you got so profoundly lost into his blue eyes that you didn’t immediately notice all the cuts and injuries on his face.

“You’re hurt !”

“Just a few scratches.” He retorted, but still winced when you traced a particularly deep cut above his eyebrow with your thumb.

“Come inside, I’ll patch you up.”

You walked together to the shack and he led his horse to the small shelter he had built for it. He spread hay for him and you filled a bucket with fresh water for the animal to drink before you went back inside, followed closely by Billy.

You pulled your pistol out of your apron’s pocket and placed it on the kitchen table as he took a seat on the chair next to it. You heard him chuckle as you rummaged through the kitchen cabinets, in search of what you needed to take care of his wounds.

“I see you were ready to welcome some unwanted visitors.” He remarked, his eyes on your weapon.

“Always.” You replied and he smiled at you with a spark of approval in his eyes. After all, he had been the one to teach you to shoot a gun, and he had been particularly adamant that you had one with you at all times, instructing you to not hesitate to shoot first and ask questions later.

You poured some liquor on a napkin and dabbed it on his forehead, making him wince in pain. He grabbed the bottle from the table and took a big sip out of it, in search of a bit of courage to endure the pain as you carefully disinfected each wound on his face.

Then, he began unbuttoning his shirt and you tended to a few more cuts on his chest, shaking your head at the amount of injuries he had came back with.

“I guess I shouldn’t ask you what happened.”

“Better not.” He replied, his hand clenching on the table as you took care of the last wound.

Once you were done, you threw the napkin and his shirt in the corner of the room, as a reminder to wash them and add them to the clothesline. He sighed in relief, glad that you were done, and took one more sip out of the bottle before you put it away in the cabinet.

“You must be starving. I have a few eggs left, I can boil them or fry them…” You suggested, rushing back to the kitchen to get your stove started but he stood up and came to place his arms around you from behind.

You could feel the warmth of his bare chest pressing against your back as you leaned back into him and you both watched the lonely meadow swaying in the wind, through the window.

“I’m hungry for something else.” He whispered in your ear and you felt yourself blushing, his calloused hands travelling up to your chest.

You allowed him to feel your breast, kneading them tenderly before turning in his arms to face him. You stood on your tiptoes to kiss him, desperate to show him just how much you had missed him.

He kissed you back eagerly, hungry for your lips, for your body, for you. He dropped to his knees in front of you and slowly brought your skirt up your legs, one of his hand caressed its way from your ankle to your knee before getting you to place your leg over his shoulder. His head disappeared under the fabric of your skirt, only allowing you to feel him tugging and pulling to move your underwear out of his way. You leaned back against the stove for support, both hands clutching the edge behind you.

You felt the warmth of his tongue slide between your folds and gasped in surprise, not so used to the sensation anymore. He lapped at your core, his tongue dancing around your clit before plunging inside you, repeating the tantalizing movements over and over again until your legs felt weak. Your body contracted and you slightly lost your balance, merely able to catch yourself before collapsing from the intensity building in the pit of your stomach. He showed you no mercy, hungrily tasting you until you loudly moaned with pleasure as it rushed like a tidal wave through your entire body, your arousal coating his tongue.

He kissed the side of your knee that was hooked over his shoulder, bringing his head back to look at you with his pretty blue eyes, satisfaction on his face.

When he stood up, he kissed you once more, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips. Then, he placed his hands on his hips and turned you around, peppering your neck with wet kisses as he once again tugged your skirt up.

Now facing the calm meadow behind the window, you pressed most of your weight on the stove for support, your legs still trembling from your previous orgasm. He didn’t allow you much time to recover, his hard cock slamming inside you as deeply as possible, your soaked core welcoming the intrusion with ease.

You whimpered, your body still so sensitive to each touch, from the way he kept kissing your skin to the way his front hit against your ass, the tip of his erection bumping into a heavenly pleasant spot deep in you.

You started feeling weak again and, this time, he seemed to notice, his arms coming around you to support you as he increased the rythym of his thrusts, barely letting you catch your breath between each loud moan that escaped your lips.

You felt dizzy as again, pleasure exploded inside you, making your whole body go numb and weak as you cried out his name. He groaned against your ear, stopping his frenetic movements to fill you up with his own relief, his cock buried inside you as deeply as you could take it.

You turned your face to kiss him, feeling his hands exploring your body, now tugging on your shirt to take it off. He got you naked in front of him in no time, your thighs glistening with a mix of his cum and your own arousal. His eyes roamed your body, his lips and fingers touching you everywhere in an almost desperate manner.

You traced the wounds on his chest, reddened and inflamed in reaction to the liquor you had applied to his skin as a disinfectant but he was still too blissfully spent to feel any pain this time. He lifted you in his arms, carrying your naked body to the bed where he laid you down. You saw him take his pants completely off before he climbed on top of you, his cock already hard again, pressing against your stomach as he hungrily sucked on your lower lip.

“I don’t think I can take more…” You panted, in reaction to him already positioning your leg over his hip.

“But I’m not done with you yet, sweet girl.” He said, looking at your heaving chest and flushed face. The hunger in his eyes still nowhere near satiated.

Your heart sunk a little in your chest. You knew that when he was this eager to have you, keeping you awake all night long and making sure that you’d barely be able to walk on the next day, it usually meant that he was planning on leaving you again… For a long time. He needed to get his fix of you and you desperately needed yours too, the idea of being without him again, not knowing where he was or what he was doing wasn’t pleasant but it was the life you had chosen, out of love and devotion for him.

You took a deep breath and hooked your other leg over his back, his cock entering you once more and immediately sliding in and out of your already sore pussy at an intensive pace. You focused your attention on his face, his eyes fixed to yours as he rocked his hips on top of you. You gave him a tired smile, already feeling the intensity of another explosive orgasm bubbling inside your core. You closed your eyes, getting ready to embrace the violent climax he was about to provoke yet again, determined to enjoy the warmth of his body in the bed next to yours for as long as it lasted.

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[thecharacterchronicler]

Playing With Fire (Part 2) || Coriolanus Snow || Smut

Outline: After working together on an assignment, Coriolanus still can’t seem to get along with her, but that doesn’t stop them from enjoying each other’s company.

Word count: 2’526

Warnings: Mostly unhinged and explicit shameless smut ✨

Author’s note: Here is the 2nd part of this story. It’s also my attempt at writing the requested prompt # 12, hope it’s a good one!

He stood in front of the metallic door leading to the lab, no stranger to the scientific department of the university. He was used to having private conversations with Dr Gaul, benefiting from her reputation and expertise when it came to university matters and his part time involvement in the Hunger Games. This time though, he wouldn’t be facing her alone. He was patiently waiting for her to show up, knowing she had been told the head gamemaker requested to talk to both of them immediately… However, it was taking her a while to get there, a proof that she had no idea what kind of lunatic she was about to speak to.

He anxiously looked around, wondering if the fact that she was running late was going to cost him some points on their assignment, or worst, cause Dr Gaul to lose the hard earned respect she now had for him.

When finally the sound of some heels clicking against the marble floor at the end of the corridor reached his ears, he slightly relaxed his posture. It didn’t take long for him to see a familiar face around the corner, cheeks flushed from rushing up the stairs and hair in a mess. Their eyes met and it served as a greeting, the girl silently taking place next to him in front of the door while adjusting her clothes.

With his hands behind his back, he risked a glance at her, just in time to catch a glimpse of her chest as she fixed the collar of her shirt, instantly giving him flashbacks of their study session and the way she had demonstrated exactly what she liked to him. He remembered how she had squeezed her own boobs, in a way that probably elicited a bit of pain, and how he would have been ready to beg to be the one to touch her like that. He had spent the last few nights thinking about it - about her - to the point that he barely was able to cum in his hand anymore, milking his erection while thinking about her way too often for it to be healthy.

Just seeing her again, feeling her presence next to him was enough to make him hard, a physiological response of his body that he simply couldn’t fight off… Even if the moment definitely wasn���t right.

“You were wrong, it seems our professors and Dr Gaul herself are more interested in my ideas than what you thought.” She said, without looking at him, with a victorious tone that amused him.

He didn’t have time to reply anything, the door opening for them.

Without anyone to welcome them, they stepped inside a large room, where glass cages were on display, filled with the most interesting creatures. Coriolanus was used to it by now, he even had had the privilege to care and learn about some of Gaul’s mutts as part of his training and had his mind set on creating his own muttation to add a bit of action in the next Hunger Games.

But his classmate had no idea what to expect. She surely thought that the creatures on display were some kind of monsters and maybe she was right in a way. But her opinion on the matter wasn’t important, the only thing that Coriolanus really cared about was how she had inched closer to him for reassurance, her arm brushing against his and following his lead with wide eyes observing their surroundings. He stood taller, enjoying the way she was visibly relying on him for protection.

When Dr Gaul appeared from behind a big aquarium filled with flesh eating insects, she jumped in surprise and almost hid behind Coriolanus as the impressive head gamemaker walked up to them.

“Well, well, I must say I wasn’t surprised to see another brilliant idea for my Games signed by Mister Snow but you never seemed very passionate about the subject.” Dr Gaul declared, eyeing her in a way that caused a cold shiver to run down Coriolanus’ spine.

He still remembered what she had done to Clemensia when she suspected that she took advantage of his ideas, was she planning on doing the same to her ? As much as he hated her way of seeing things, he wasn’t sure that he wanted her to get hurt.

“I’m passionate about changing things for the better.“ she said, smartly.

Dr Gaul made a sound but Coriolanus wasn’t sure if she approved or suspected she wasn’t being honest.

“I want another paper on how you’re planning to make your idea work, then my team will take it from there.” She demanded, still busy observing the young woman like some kind of predator. “If we provide better care to those kids, I still want them to be on display somehow for people to place their bets before they enter the arena.”

“Kids ?” She repeated, turning to look at him with a panicked expression. But when she saw him staring right back at the gamemaker, unwavering, she understood.

“I know it’s hard to consider them as children, some of them are so different from us.” Gaul shrugged. “But there’s no better representation of innocence for my games.”

Coriolanus glanced at her, wondering if she was going to protest and attempt to defend her original idea of putting notorious criminals from each district in the arena instead of innocent children but she proved to be smart enough to keep her mouth shut.

“Now chop chop, I’ve got work to do.” The influent woman suddenly exclaimed, waving them out of her lab.

They both turned around and left, a heavy silence settling between them. When finally the door closed behind them, she left out a sigh of relief. But the relief didn’t last long, as soon as she seemed to have put her thoughts back in order, she turned to Coriolanus, glaring at him with fury.

“You said we would go with my idea of sending criminals into the arena for our assignement but you didn’t keep your word!” She accused. She crossed her arms over her chest, visibly upset but all he was able to see was the way it brought her breast up, making them look even more voluminous.

“I still took what you said in consideration by suggesting we give them decent living conditions.” He retorted, which was the truth. He had only presented different points than hers to support this idea.

“Only because you think it’ll make a better show!” She exclaimed, a bit too loudly. Coriolanus nervously glanced in direction of both ends of the corridor before answering.

“And so what ? It’s still an improvement for them, it means 23 of them will experience a comfortable bed, good food and care before dying In the arena, it’s an honorable reward for their sacrifice.”

“It’s not and you know it!”

After taking another look around, weary that they might be spied on, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her in direction of a door further away.

“What are you…” She started, trying to free herself from his grip but his time as a peacekeeper clearly gave him an advantage on her. “Don’t touch me…”

He only let go of her once he had shoved her inside the bathroom and closed the door behind them. He took a look at the three stalls, making sure none were occupied before focusing his attention back on the young woman, still fuming with rage in front of him.

“I don’t think this is the kind of conversation you want to have so close to Dr Gaul’s office. In fact, I don’t think this is the kind of conversation we should have at all.” He explained, standing tall in front of her, blocking her inside.

“Why ? Because pleading for the Capitol to stop sacrificing children is an act of treason ?” She snapped, shaking her head.

“It should be.” He retorted, feeling the little patience he had left fading away.

“I don’t understand why someone like you, who has so much power and the ability to charm anyone, refuses to stand up for what is right. You really are a coward.”

“A coward ?” He repeated, taking a step closer so that his threatening silhouette could tower over her as a warning for her to shut up before taking it too far. “You had the opportunity to tell Gaul exactly what you think of her games and yet you stayed quiet, nodding and smiling like a good girl. So who’s really a coward between the two of us ?”

Coriolanus always believed that he had fairly good reflexes, however he didn’t see it coming when she slammed her hand across his face, a stinging pain immediately setting his cheek on fire. He huffed, fixing his pale blue eyes to her and trying to suppress his primal instinct to defend himself.

Her face suddenly shifted from pure and uncontrolled rage to a saddened guilt, eyes desperately searching his before she launched herself into his arms and crashed her lips on his, hungrily kissing him as a way to let out all her pant up emotions.

Even if it took him by surprise, he didn’t push her away, his hands finding her hips and pulling her even closer against his body as he reciprocated the feverish kiss.

She placed her hand on the back of his neck, tugging his face closer and he felt the bit of restraint he still managed to keep on himself melt away. Was she giving him an opportunity to show her that he could do better than her toy ? Or maybe she had been as haunted by their study session as he still was ? Regardless of what it was, he was determined to not let such a chance slip away from him.

He guided her to the sink until the back of her legs pressed against it. Then, he momentarily broke their hungry kiss to lean down and grip her thighs, lifting her up and placing her on the edge of the sink in front of him. His hands disappeared under her skirt and she shivered in reaction to his gentle but cold touch. Once he felt the lace fabric of her panties under his fingertips, he tugged it down her legs, helping her take one leg out and carelessly letting the delicate piece of lingerie hang over her other ankle.

He forced her to pull her legs back slightly, pushing them against her chest because that’s how he had imagined he would fuck her if he ever had the chance to. It was how she had positioned herself while using her toy, a scene that has been playing through his head day and night since. Even if there were many different ways he wanted to thrust his cock inside her, he knew that for the sake of his sanity, this was the best place to start.

He looked down at the bulge in his pants, this time determined to let it free instead of enduring the irritation of constricted fabric over his growing erection. His pants dropped to his knees, his cock gloriously standing up, rigid and throbbing with desire.

He smiled at the way she stared at his length, with wide eyes and mouth slightly hung open.

“Does it look familiar ?” He chuckled, pumping his cock a few times in his hand to help it grow even harder and bigger.

She didn’t say anything, simply spreading her legs wide open in front of him, as a silent invitation to do with her as he pleased. He still felt amused by the mix of emotions that passed on her face as he stepped closer, as if she couldn’t believe that she was about to take his cock inside her already wet and needy pussy.

She leaned back, pressing her back against the mirror behind her as he gently pushed his tip into her, his gaze focused on what he was doing. She gasped and he kept slowly pushing himself in, the feeling of her warm folds engulfing his erection even better than what he had imagined it would be.

He buried himself all the way in, both of them gasping at the sensation. He knew she would take him in easily - after all, she was already trained to perfectly accommodate his size - but he never thought it would be this intense for him.

He slowly rocked his hips to get his cock sliding back and forth inside her, causing her to gasp a few more times as he already tensed and fought the urge to cum right away. He didn’t want this to be over, not this quickly, and especially not before proving her that he was capable of giving her more pleasure than her toy ever could. Who knew, maybe she’d like it so much that she’d use him as her new toy whenever she was in need of relief ?

When he finally felt able to peel his eyes away from the spectacle of his cock repeatedly plunging inside her, he reached for her shirt, popping a few buttons open with one habile hand so that he could have a better view of how her boobs were moving in synch with his thrusts.

“Maybe we should move to the stall, what if someone walks in on us ?” She said, breathless from how much the force of his thrusts had increased.

“Didn’t you say you liked the idea of strangers watching you getting mercilessly fucked ?” He replied, a smirk on his lips as her body tensed in reaction to his words, proving that she enjoyed the possibility so much that it was about to push her over the edge. “I wouldn’t mind either, as long as I’m the only person allowed to shove my cock inside you.”

She moaned, louder than what she ever did, feeling herself slipping away into bliss. She closed her eyes, completely losing control over how loudly she enjoyed herself, reaching the peak of her pleasure so violently that her whole body shook.

Her walls tightened around his shaft, so tightly that it forced him to stop his thrusts and immobilize his body as hers contracted around him and she cried out his name once again except that, this time, he really was the reason why she felt so good. His cock instantly reacted by shooting loads of warm cum inside her, until his balls were left empty.

He tried to catch his breath, suddenly feeling dizzy from the intensity of the orgasm that seized him. He held himself to the sink under her still shaking body, and gently pulled his spent cock out of her, a ribbon of his sticky seed still connecting his tip to her glistening folds.

“You could have had the curtesy to pull out.” She complained, her chest still heaving and her legs still numb.

“Sorry.” Was all he managed to say, even though he wasn’t sorry at all. There was something utterly satisfying in knowing that he had filled her up with his load, marking her as his, if only for a moment.

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[thecharacterchronicler]

Playing With Fire (Part 1) || Coriolanus Snow || Smut

Outline: Coriolanus is forced to work on an assignment with a classmate but, while alone in her bedroom, he finds something interesting in her drawers and requests a demo.

Word count: 4’700

Warnings: mostly unhinged, explicit and shameless smut.

Author’s note: this is prompt 20 from my list, it was meant to be written as a one shot but not only am I not capable of writing short stories when it comes to Coriolanus Snow, I also happen to be absolutely incapable of not making it a series so there is a part 2 to this! 🖤

(( Part 2 ))

It had to be her.

Their professor had decided to pair up his students himself for once, forcing Coriolanus to work with her instead of Clemensia, like he usually did. He was fairly certain that it was a provocation from his professor, a way of getting him to drop from his position as top of his class, or maybe just a twisted experiment meant to amuse him, who knew ? But one thing Coriolanus knew for sure was that he wasn’t amused at all to be walking through the city to go to her house after class, there wasn’t many people he didn’t get along with but she was a rare exception.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like her, if anything, he didn’t care much about her at all, they didn’t hang out with the same people, nor did they have anything in common to discuss so they basically were strangers to each other.

No, what actually made him despite the fact that he had been paired up with her was that she was one of those self righteous people who had strong opinions when it came to the morality of the Hunger Games. Maybe it was because she used to live in the districts before her wealthy parents moved back to the Capitol ?

For some reason, she couldn’t help but be very vocal about the way the Capitol treated the districts, as if they hadn’t attacked them first and caused such chaos! For Coriolanus, the things she sometimes said in class were close to being considered treason and he couldn’t understand how such a wealthy and powerful heiress could ruin her reputation for a question of dubious morales…

Coriolanus stopped in front of the imposing gates of a luxurious manor, in the nicest part of the city. The garden surrounding the modern building was lush and green, contrasting with the gray of the city in the horizon and the burnt grass of less cared for gardens in the neighborhood. He shook his head, still finding it quite unfair that she had been blessed with such wealth and luxury when he had spent so many years having barely anything to eat on his plate.

He rang at the gate and announced himself through a microphone. For a moment, he wasn’t even sure he’d be allowed in, the security around the manor seemingly high and strict. But the gates finally opened for him and he walked towards the main doors, ready to press another button to announce his arrival but they opened before he was able to, revealing a middle aged woman, in designer clothes, excitedly smiling at him.

“Coriolanus Snow, is it ?” She purred, eyeing the university student from head to toe, punctuating her analysis with a discreet nod of approval. “I was told you’re here to see my daughter ? What does the son of the legendary Crassus Snow wants from her ?”

“I’m here to work on a project with her. For class.” He clarified, with a charming smile that seemed to make her melt.

If at first he thought she was interrogating him on his intentions because she was worried, he now realized that the disappointment on her face could only mean that she was hoping for another answer. Perhaps she believed that he was here to court her daughter ? …What a ridiculous idea.

“Oh, of course, my sweet girl is such a dedicated student.” She replied, nodding at herself. “She’s brilliant isn’t she ? So outspoken and smart. I’m often told that she’ll make a wonderful wife when the times comes…”

She looked at him, waiting for some kind of response but he wasn’t sure of what to say.

“You’re late.” The familiar voice of his classmate stated, coming from the imposing double staircase in the hallway behind the silhouette of her mother, still blocking Coriolanus at the door.

He would have almost felt relieved to hear her if he didn’t hate everything about her.

“My apologies, our driver was sick and needed to go home so I walked.” He lied, making the mother gasp in horror while the daughter simply rolled her eyes.

“My goodness, you walked ?! In such scorching heat ?” She exclaimed, looking as if she was about to pass out from shock. “Oh please, don’t hesitate to let me know when you are done with your project so our driver can take you home, perhaps you could even dine with us tonight ? I’m sure my husband would love to meet you, our daughter needs…”

“Needs to work on her project, mother.” She interrupted, visibly annoyed.

“I’d hate to make her wait any longer.” Coriolanus told the lady, as an excuse to finally enter the house and join his classmate inside, although he surely couldn’t care less about her and the disapproving glance she was throwing at him.

“Of course, of course…” The mother moved out of the way and he slipped inside, hurriedly climbing the stairs as if he was running away from the talktative lady of the house, straight to the brooding heiress.

“I told you to be here at 5 because she would still have been shopping in town and wouldn’t even have known that you had been here.” She whispered, once he was just a few steps away from her.

“I’m sorry but what else was I supposed to do ? Don’t tell me the advocate of less fortunate citizens that you are would have wanted me to force our sick driver to still do his job and get me here on time…”

She looked at him and he couldn’t help but smile. He had her there, stunning her enough with his remark to leave her speechless.

Silently, she led him upstairs and walked down a long corridor to a door at the very end of it. She pushed it open, revealing a bedroom bigger than the apartment Coriolanus and his family used to live in. There was a bed larger and with more pillows and sheets than she could possibly need, a desk and modern bookshelves lining the walls, and a large window displaying the nicest view of the Capitol he had ever seen, even the president probably didn’t get to see such a magnificent scenery from his bedroom.

“What are you gaping at ?” She asked him, her tone still annoyingly upset. “Do I have to remind you - again - that we have an assignment to work on ?”

Coriolanus resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her and instead, decided to smile in a way he knew usually won everyone over to his cause. But she, as always, didn’t seem very receptive to it. She didn’t even bother to politely smirk back at him, sitting down at her desk and taking out her studying material with a loud, obnoxious, sigh.

He sat next to her and fix his gaze to the white paper in front of her, on which she only had written the title of their project for now. It was no surprise that the assignment they had been given revolved around the Hunger Games. Coriolanus knew that Dr Gaul and her team liked to get the opinions of university and academy students alike from time to times, in hopes of finding new ideas to improve the games. All they had to do was write down a few suggestions, detail why they believed it could work and then it would be done, they’d never have to speak to each other ever again… Except that their point of view on the Hunger Games were completely opposed to each other, and that was the very reason why Coriolanus believed their professor wanted to mess with him by pairing him up with her.

“I think the tributes shouldn’t be on display for all to see at the zoo, they are not animals.” She started. And once again, he had to resist his urge to roll his eyes at her.

“Having them there is a good way to get people to be interested in them.” He countered, wondering if all her ideas would be as counterproductive as this one.

“Maybe but they deserve some dignity… The Capitol could have them stay in comfortable bedrooms, give them some privacy and not mix them all together to avoid accidents…” She continued, and maybe she had a point when it came to that last argument. “Imagine being treated like an animal when you are already tired, starving and afraid! People were talking about you being a great mentor a few years ago, they said you brought them food so you know that it’s not right...”

“Feeding them would give them enough strength to fight and in turns, it might give us a better show.” He thought, out loud.

“That’s not what I’m suggesting.” She protested, clearly upset that the only thing he seemed to care about was making the games even worst.

“No, indeed, you are suggesting we treat rebels who have no shame and no hesitation when attacking us and killing our people, with more honor than what they deserve.”

“Because they still are human beings! And the tributes are just children, they didn’t do anything wrong…”

“The districts attacked the Capitol!” He exclaimed, unable to understand why she defended people who perpetuated such cruel acts.

“But children have no say in politics, they are innocents! If we put some notorious criminals in there instead, then maybe it’ll be more fair, especially if the idea is to punish the rebels for their crimes.”

“Children are sent into the arena to represent all the innocent lives we lost during the war, changing that wouldn’t make sense…”

“But it’s barbaric !” She protested, clearly disgusted by his point of view.

“It’s fair!” He riposted, determined to not let her point of view on the matter affect the quality of their assignment.

She opened her mouth, ready to counter with something but the voice of her mother, calling her name from behind the door interrupted her. She was fuming, her brows furrowed in disapproval and her knuckles white with frustration as she got up and excused herself to go open her bedroom door for her intrusive mother.

“Did you think about offering your friend some tea and scones ? Or maybe a saltier snack ? It’s not every day that you get such an opportunity to make a good impression on a man of his rank, did you remember to mention that your father is studying some marriage arrangements for you?” The mother said, whispering but he still heard every word of it. She glanced over her shoulder with embarrassment, fully aware that her mother wasn’t exactly being discreet so she stepped out of her room and closed the door behind her, hoping to make their conversation more private.

Coriolanus chuckled and moved the piece of paper in front of him, pondering which of his ideas he should present first. Surely, he couldn’t let her write her own, it would cost him his position as top of the class and might even flag him as a potential traitor if he showed this much mercy to the districts and their tributes.

He shook his head as he thought about the things she said, wondering how she could possibly think that she could get away with such ideas on their assignment. Even if the Hunger Games were revolting and barbaric in her eyes, it would have been smarter on her part to simply comply to what the university expected of her… But Coriolanus guessed she had nothing to worry about with a family as wealthy and powerful as hers, she could go on and protest against the Games, defend criminals and rebels and get away with it with a single word from her all mighty father… In many ways she reminded him of a certain boy he used to know, back during his Academy days. The kind to do foolish things and end up hanging from a tree in a public place.

Lost in his thoughts, unwanted memories filling his head, his pencil ripped on the page, a sharp line ruining the neat start of his presentation. He sighed and looked around, in search of an eraser to try and fix his unaesthetic mistake. He foraged through the compartiments of the desk, finding an exaggerated amount of study supplies and notebooks in each one but not a single item he could use to fix the page.

He sighed again as he moved to open the last drawer, forcing it a bit as it seemed blocked by a plastic box. Intrigued, he pulled it out and opened it, peeking inside despite knowing full well that he surely wouldn’t find what he was looking for in there. But his curiosity simply got the best of him, after all, he wanted - no, needed - to know what kind of dirty secret a woman like her may hide. Because if there was something he had learned in the past few years, it was that he was better off knowing everybody’s secrets in case he found himself in need of leverage.

He wasn’t disappointed when he saw what was inside the box, his eyes growing wide and his mouth hanging open as he took a closer look at the toy hidden in the box. It was shaped like a penis, making its purpose pretty clear. He felt his whole body tingle at the sight of such an unexpected discovery, his mind going blank when he realized that the toy was roughly the same size as his own cock. Even the veins on the shaft and the soft pink head resembled his, a realization that caused his imagination to run wild with images of her using this toy to pleasure herself. Did she like the feel of the veins rubbing against her walls ? Did her pussy have to stretch to accommodate for such a big toy or was she so used to it that it fitted her like a glove by now ? And if it did, did it mean that his own cock would fit effortlessly inside her too ? There was no way she could know what his cock was like, yet with an ego like his, he couldn’t help but wonder if she had chosen this toy in particular because it was almost a perfect replica of him, a device to train herself to take his whole size in, perfectly.

Her footsteps and the door opening pulled him out of his contemplation. He shoved the toy back in its box and threw the plastic container across the room. It landed on the bed, next to a pillow that slightly concealed it.

She walked through her bedroom and sat back down at the desk without noticing the blush on her classmate’s cheeks or the bulge in his pants.

“My mother insists that you stay to have dinner with us, she wants you to meet my father. I said you had other plans but she won’t listen.” She sighed, grabbing a pen from one of the drawers he had explored. “But before thinking about dinner, maybe we should at least get started on this assignment.”

He watched her, his perception of her completely altered by what he had discovered hidden in her desk. Now all he could think about was her, using her replica of his cock to pleasure herself multiple times a day.

“Well, I thought about your idea of sending criminals into the arena, I don’t think it will be good enough for our professors but if it’s important to you, we can write it down…” He offered, deciding that being in her good graces might help his cause.

She raised an eyebrow, sucpiciously glaring back at him.

“And what exactly would this great act of generosity on your part cost me ?” She demanded, crossing her arms over her chest in a way that made her cleavage even more voluminous.

“What makes you think I’ll ask for something in exchange ?” Coriolanus asked her, really struggling to look at her beautiful eyes and not lower below her neck.

“My father’s a businessman, I know nothing is ever free.” She stated and he couldn’t help but grin at her answer, it was the first smart thing he had ever heard her say and it happened to align perfectly with the way he viewed the world too.

Instead of answering, he leaned down, his hand brushing over the last drawer of her desk, causing the young woman to jump off her seat in panic.

“Don’t!” She warned, ready to throw herself between him and the content of her secret box to keep him from seeing what was inside… Buf from the amused smirk that instantly appeared on his face, she understood that somehow, he already knew. “Did you go through my stuff ?!”

“I was looking for an eraser.” He justified, which was the truth after all.

“Then you should have asked, not rummaged around in my bedroom !” She fumed. She opened the drawer in question herself, instantly blanching as she found it empty.

“So here’s the deal, I’ll write down your idea on our paper but in exchange, I want to see how you use your big toy to make yourself feel good.”

She stayed silent for a moment, looking at him with a mix of mortification and anger.

“You can’t be serious.” She finally said, hesitating between a scoff or a slap across his face.

“Oh I’m very serious when it comes to making deals.” He assured her, leaning back on his chair in a victorious stance.

“Alright… What do you want to know ?” She asked, still slightly hesitant.

“I don’t want you to tell me about it, I want a demo.”

“You…” She started, but the embarrassment that she felt stopped her from finishing her sentence, her cheeks turning crimson when she finally spotted her precious box on her bedsheet. “You’ll put my idea on our assignment and defend it in front of our professors ? In front of Dr Gaul if it’s considered worth being transferred to her ?”

“I will.” He promised, doing his best to not scoff at how naive she was. There was no way Dr Gaul would ever be interested in her ridiculous ideas to care for the tributes, all the head game maker wanted was more blood and gore to serve as an example for years to come.

She nodded and took a deep breath, standing straighter and holding her head high like a true lady of the high society of Panem as she walked to her bed. She sat on the edge, gulping down her anxiety as she reached for the plastic box and retrieved her very realistic looking toy.

Coriolanus sat straighter on his chair in anticipation of the show that he was about to witness, all the blood in his veins suddenly changing course and rushing to his cock instead, making it even harder and bigger as it strained against the fabric of his white pants.

It took her another couple of minutes to start moving again, very visibly at war with herself about it all. When she finally moved to tug her pants off and closed her eyes as she brought the toy to her lips, Coriolanus already felt on the edge of bursting into his pants.

He shuddered as he watched her suck on the pink tip with hunger, giving him a clear picture of what it would look like if he ever had the opportunity to fuck her pretty mouth. Drops of saliva escaped from her lips, rolling down the veiny length she tightly held in her fist. He was watching so attentively, he could almost feel everything on his own cock, begging to replace the toy already. But he behaved, not interrupting her until she stopped licking the toy, satisfied with the amount of saliva she had coated it in.

He saw her fingers caressing their way down her stomach with still a bit of uncertainty. Then, she tugged her panties aside, revealing her perfect pussy to him. Once again, his mind went blank with shock as he observed the shiny sheen that coated her skin, a clear sign that, despite exceptionally having a spectator this time, she still was pretty aroused at the thought of fucking herself with her big toy.

She pushed the tip of the fake cock between her folds, moving it up and down a few times to spread her arousal and the saliva still coating the silicone further. It seemed pleasurable already, making her close her eyes again and lean back down on her bed, her legs folded against her stomach, giving her attentive onlooker the best view possible of her wet pussy.

Finally, she pushed the soft tip inside her, gasping as her hole stretched to welcome it in. Coriolanus shuddered again, the urge to touch himself in front of such a delightful show becoming almost unbearable. He dug his nails into the armrests of his chair, focusing his pale gaze on the length of the toy slowly disappearing as it entered her and stretched her out wider and wider.

Her breathing was loud and sharp, her belly rising and falling almost in synch with the movements of her hand, pulling the toy in and out of her, agonizingly slowly at first. Did she like to be teased ? Or was she simply the kind of girl that needed to take it slow ? Coriolanus couldn’t quite decide but the one thing he knew without the shadow of a doubt was that, if it had been him and not some kind of silicone replica that she had full control over, he wouldn’t have been as patient and gentle with her.

Eventually, her toes curled and she sounded like she was struggling to be silent, biting down on her lower lip as she arched her back and came with a desperate whimper.

Even if it had been a bit too slow and soft for his taste, it still had been a lovely demonstration. She knew her body so well that it didn’t take long for her to climax, but he was still curious to see more. So much more.

She sat back straight on her bed, after pulling the toy out of her. A shiny layer of her arousal still covered the pink synthetic material. Her face was flushed and she didn’t dare to look at Coriolanus right away, awkwardly pulling her panties back in place instead.

“I’m not sure if you fully held your end of the deal.” He stated and she glanced at him, still lightly panting.

“What else did you expect me to do ?” She asked, her tone frustrated and breathless.

“Well, I’m sure you know better ways to put that suction cup in good use.” He remarked, pointing at the round end of the toy. She looked at it, as if she needed to make sure it was indeed a thing and blushed, her face turning a few shades darker, making his imagination run wild with possibilities, surely if that was her reaction, she must have been doing some even filthier things with the help of that suction cup to hold her toy in place. “Show me.”

His voice was low and commanding which didn’t leave her any opportunity to protest. Or maybe it was just because she actually enjoyed being the center of his attention, showing him her body and the delicious things it could do in a controlled way.

She stood up, bringing her hand to her mouth and spitting in her palm. She used her saliva to prepare the suction cup to stick, but Coriolanus’s body was reacting in a whole different way to such a suggestive gesture.

He had expected her to stick her toy up in the shower, or maybe on the shiny surface of her desk, but never had he imagined she would glue it to the large window behind which the sun was setting on the Capitol.

He admired the curves of her body, her ass still cupped by her wet panties and his need for relief became almost painful. His cock was begging to cum inside her warm pussy and yet, she preferred to be fucked by a plastic toy mimicking his size.

This time, she pushed her panties down to her knees and turned her back to the window. She took a few careful steps backwards and impaled herself on her toy, her gasp of pleasure loudly resounding through her bedroom, making his cock twitch with despair still constricted inside his pants.

She seemed to enjoy herself even more this way, getting fucked from behind with her legs closed and the whole city to witness how her dripping cunt swallowed the replica, over and over again as she rocked her hips back and forth.

“Are you not concerned someone might see you ?” Coriolanus couldn’t help but ask, wondering if - if he managed to sneak into her street at night - he might be able to watch her from the sidewalk across the street as she used her window as a prop for pleasuring herself.

“Not really, the possibility of being watched by strangers always sounded pretty exciting to me.” She admitted, so caught up in the intensity of the pleasure she was giving herself that she didn’t care about being embarassed anymore, shamelessly pleasuring herself as she even held his gaze with defiance.

She squeezed her round boobs with each of her hands, leaning slightly forward as her legs started trembling from her efforts. She was so close to him, it would have been easy for him to pull his erection out and force her to take it into her mouth as she’d keep rocking herself against her toy. They both would have enjoyed it immensely, but Coriolanus Snow was a gentleman and, as his request had only been about watching and not touching, he made sure to respect it, even if it pretty much equaled torture.

A few desperate cries escaped her lips as they still kept their gaze glued to each other and the sticky sounds of the toy thrusting inside her soaked pussy filling the room were enough to make his cock unload itself inside his pants, the warmth spreading over the fabric as it kept coming out like an erupting volcano, making him feel pretty miserable about it all. She hadn’t even touched him after all.

It didn’t take long for her to follow him into a blissful climax, her breathing becoming so erratic that it almost sounded like she was suffocating until she fully pushed herself back, fully leaning her body against the window, the toy completely buried inside her as she whimpered even louder, shaking with pleasure and relief.

“Coriolanus.” She breathed, as she shook with violent spasms of pleasure and another load of wasted cum pooled in his pants at the sound of his name on her lips. Was she thinking about him ? Imagining that it was him who was fucking her from behind ? Or was she just attempting to speak to him and tell him that the demo was over now ? Whatever it may be, he was pretty sure that he’d never forget such a lovely sound, a melody to his ears.

“Can we… Get back to… Our assignment now ?” She asked, breathlessly as she once again pulled the toy out of her and put her panties back on.

“Of course.” He nodded, glad that she didn’t notice the wet spot on his pants. He didn’t want to seem pathetic for coming undone without any help.

She put her pants back on and abandoned her wet toy on top of her bed and, despite the relief he got, it took Coriolanus all his willpower to not attempt to fuck his classmate on top of her desk for good measure. But, charming as always, he behaved, even letting her believe that the show she had given him didn’t have much of an effect on him and only served to satisfy his curiosity… Little did she know that, as soon as he got back home that evening and after he rewrote their entire paper, he spent hours pumping his cock and milking every last drop of cum out of his body while thinking about her perfect curves and the delightful sounds she made when she was getting fucked by what could have been his own cock.

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