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ange1princess · 2 years

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Summary❕Watching p0rn with the demon brothers and what you'd watch.

Characters❕ Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Asmodeus, Satan, Beelzebub, Belphegor

CW❕ Mutual masturbation, general NSFW, blowjobs, mentions of afab genitalia but no pronouns used, the word daddy used like once, thigh riding, blowjobs, male masturbation, semi-public sex (fucking at a party in a bathroom), tbh more suggestive than anything because i got so tired with this piece T_T probably grammar and spelling mistakes, let me know if i missed anything.

A/N ❕ This has taken almost a Month to write GOD ITS FINALLY DONE update ! It took over a month jfc T_T

Masterlist ❕

❕MDNI❕

❕𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑❕

🧷 Age gap porn kinda guy, dilf shit, and thigh riding

❝ He pretends that it isn't his idea, tries to pass it off as yours so that it's less embarassing for him, with a sighs he says "Well if you really want to try it out." Gets the idea from asmo because they were talking one day and he said something along the lines of "It'll add spice in your life~" and Lucifer hopes that's true.

❝ The two of you sit down at his desk, even when he wants a break he can't get one. He has you sitting on his lap as he tries to sign papers, telling you to give him just another minute and how this is the "last" document. You're bored so you go ahead and set up your phone, going to your chats and clicking on one of the many links he's sent you for your special night.

❝ That seems to get his attention as you prop it up against the pile of papers he's been looking over. Soft moans and whispers of "daddy please" and "more" mixed with muffled sobs make you wetter than they should.

❝ Without realising it, you start grinding down on his thigh, as much as he tries to continue working he can't once he sees your face contorted in pleasure as you try to get some relief, clutching onto Lucifers shirt in your balled up fists.

❝ He guides your hips against his thigh, ocassionally moving it to match the rhythm you've set. His eyes are full of lust, focused on the movement of your hips as he leans back on his chair, palming himself through his slacks, a guttural moan escaping his lips.

❝ The videos been long over now, and the only sound is of Lucifer calling you a good human and asking you to please him for the rest of the night.

❕𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐍❕

🧷 POV blowjob vids and dry humping <3

❝ Suggests it while stuttering and blushing, ssaying that it's an honour for you that the great mammon wants to share such an intimate thing with you, but secretly he just wants to make you more comfortable with sharing your interests with him in the process.

❝ When you agree to it, he just asks you if you're free by texting you and if you say yes, he's there barging right in with his DDD in hand and a pillow for some bizarre reason (he's going to spend the night 100%).

❝ He sets up the device against a stack of pillows and gets comfortable, inching closer to you till there's no space left, swinging an arm around your waist as he mindlessly draws circles on the soft skin of your waist. The videos start and although you don't feel too aroused especially at the start, when you see mammon squirm and try to adjust himself "discreetly" you start shifting in your seat, a warmth blooming in the pit of your stomach.

❝ As the people on screen grind against each other fully clothed and you see mammon strain against his jeans, he tries to hide his little pants and sighs, but you being the observant one, you notice.

❝ You take the chance and straddle his lap, doing just as you saw in the video as he straightens his back to help you move your hips as the layers of clothes between you two only add to the friction as you speed up chasing your high, mammon telling you to go faster, his head thrown back and his hair a mess as you grab at it pushing his head to your chest.

❝ He helps you take off your top and leaves marks on your chest as he sucks on your nipples making you cry out in pleasure. It's not long before the both of you are cumming hard and you fall against his chest trying to catch your breath as you hear him say, "Fuck, well that sure made me feel younger."

❕𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍❕

🧷 Ik people want me to say some cosplay stuff, but i truly wholeheartedly believe it's student x teacher roleplay and temperature play for some reason

❝ OKAY SO HEAR ME OUT, initially you'll walk in on him trying to roleplay with an AI bot or a brand new game he purchased from Akuzon, while the p0rn would be playing in the background. He'd just be sitting there, dick out, not even realising that you've been standing there for at least 3 minutes now before you clear your throat, causing him to fall off his chair and scramble to cover himself up.

❝ He'd be convinced that you hate him now, that you think he's gross and pervy, and wouldn't want to be around him anymore, he might cry a little ngl. But before he knows it, you're texting him, asking him to come to your room with whatever device he was watching the videos on and he's more than happy to oblige, almost falls off of his chair but saves himself this time.

❝ When he enters your room, you ask if you can watch with him and he almost passes out because of how red he gets but he agrees almost too enthusiastically. The two of you sit there watching as you move your hand up his thigh and feel him stiffen under you, you turn to him giving him a seductive gaze and he gets where you're going with this, flipping you on your back, towering over you.

❝ He'd look bigger like this, towering over you now, not slouching anymore as he slowly kisses down your jaw, leaving marks down the side of your neck as he asks you to call him "professor" or the likes. He'd want to take control here, his desire as a demon overpowering his shy nature.

❝ He'd be quick to rid himself if his clothes as you underess yourself, bending you over the edge of your bed and asking you why you've been "naughty in his class", the next time he'll remember to bring some candles and ice for the two of you to try~

❕𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐒❕

🧷 SOFT SEX!! SOFT PASSIONATE AMATEUR SEX VIDEOS, PROBABLY SHOWS YOU HOME VIDEOS HE'S MADE!!

❝ You cannot tell me that he doesn't come up to you asking you seductively if it would be okay to film the two of you the next time you have sex, he'd promise it's not for anyone but the two of you and he's able to convince you.

❝ Suggests the two of you watch home videos or amateur ones together to get a "how to" (he just wants to watch them with you, and he'd say it but this is easier and faster).

❝ When he plays the videos initially, the intimacy and passion, the closeness of the people on screen makes you look away. It feels as if you're interrupting or watching something that's not meant for you, but asmo brings you back, his fingers gently guiding your eyes back to the screen as he whispers in your ear to, "watch and learn".

❝ Shows you solo vids too, and you can recognise instantly that one of them is asmo, as he plays with himself, moving his fist along his length at an excruciatingly slow pace, letting out his pretty moans as he keeps edging himself, bringing himself to the precipice of pleasure but not letting himself orgasm.

❝ You turn to him, asking him if the two of you can try to recreate something like that right now and he's more than happy to oblige.

❕𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐍❕

🧷 Pet play, and sex toys

❝ He loves calling you kitten or puppy (it's rare but it happens) and you know he has a thing for pet play even if he doesn't tell you, secretly bought a collar for you with his name on it and is too shy to give it to you, so his next best idea is to suggest the two of you watch some of his favourite p0rn together!

❝ Probably says that he read an article that says it increases intimacy and just wants to try it out with his beloved kitten, and so you agree, not that it takes a lot of convincing.

❝ It starts out with someone on their knees in a cage, as the person on the other side of the camera unlocks it's door, allowing them to crawl out. You hear coos of "good kitty" and "such a good pet" being uttered and it makes your palms sweaty with anticipation.

❝ Satan has a pillow on his lap, a feeble attempt to hide the imprint of his dick that's hard against his pants as he shifts around to try and get more comfortable as the scenes on the screen change and when you look back, you're greeted with the sight of a person tied to the bed with a vibrator against their clit as they try to struggle out of the binds.

❝ Turns to you and asks you how you're feeling, and all you can do is take his hand in yours and move them between your legs as he feels you getting wet, he runs his fingers up and down the soaked patch on your panties as you try to pull away, embarassed.

❝ He turns away for a moment, ruffling through something's in his bedside drawer and pulls out a collar with his name on it, dangling it in front of you, as your eyes widen and you life move closer to him, signalling him to collar you and he does.

❝ He gives it an experimental tug as a whimper tumbles out of you, heat rises to his cheeks but he chuckles nonetheless, you look so sweet like this, he thinks to himself as he leans forward, his fingers sliding your underwear aside, playing with you as he kisses your pretty lips with fervor.

❕𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐙𝐄𝐁𝐔𝐁❕

🧷 Loves oral vids obviously, but also a big fan of wall sex vids, mirror sex and exhibitionism

❝ The both of you have extremely open conversations, Beel never keeps anything from you in terms of his desires and you do the same, the trust the both of you have in each other is what helps him grow bolder with his advances as time goes on.

❝ Comes up to you and tells you he wants to try something out, and you nod without even knowing what it is because of your faith in beel, he'd never do anything that would hurt you and would stop the second you want to.

❝ The two of you enter your room as he sits on the bed with you in his lap, holding his phone for the two of you to watch the video he puts on as both his arms are wrapped around you.

❝ But before you can go further as the guy in the video tries to muffle their partners moan, so that they don't attract any attention in the tiny bathroom stall, a quick knock at the door startled the two of you, causing the both of you two cover yourselves up, keeping the phone aside, faces hot and palms sweaty.

❝ After that little interruption, the both of you got caught up in helping with the preparation of another one of Diavolos balls. It had been 2 weeks since then and you still thought about it, wanting to touch beel and wanting him to show you stars.

❝ You couldn't help but gawk and him as he descended the stairs in his suit, looking like he came right out of a romcom. You waited with baited breath as he whispered, "You look beautiful as always," addressing you, before you linked your arm with his, wanting the night to end so that you can finally have some alone time with your love.

❝ Turns out, for someone extremely patient, Beel was starting to get jittery seeing you in your revealing outfit, he kept stealing glances, letting his hands linger on your waist, pulling you closer everytime someone asked you to dance with them.

❝ Before long, the both of you snuck out to one of Diavolos lavish bathrooms as he bent you over the marbel platform in front of the mirror. The loud music penetrated through the unlocked door, but the thrill of anyone finding you (even though you knew that you were in a more secluded part of the castle), made a shiver run down your spine.

❝ It didn't take long before your clothes were pulled aside as beel kissed you with a ferocity you'd rarely seen before, his hands hot on your skin as he slowly entered you making you squeal, only for your loud moans being swallowed by his lips that danced against yours.

❝ It wouldn't have been your first choice to continue the evening with cum leaking out of you, but fuck was it worth it.

❕𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑❕

🧷 ik everyone will say somnophilia ! So i will not, mutual masturbation, cockwarming and heavy degradation

❝ Man started watching porn in bed next to you when he thought you're asleep, but you weren't as you peeked over his shoulder, his cock in his hand as a low sigh escaped his red lips to the filthy words being muttered on screen.

❝ "You're such a fucking slut for me aren't you?" He said to nobody in particular, but you knew it was you in his mind. You cleared your throat, breaking him out of his trance, but he didn't care enough to cover up , instead letting out a humorless chuckle.

❝ "Aren't you naughty? If you wanted watch, you could've asked sweetheart~", he said, turning over, giving you a better view as your lips watered, you were about to bend over, moving your lips to his head, wanting to lick at the precum coating it but he tutted.

❝ "No touching whore," he said before instructing you to sit back, "It's a bit unfair how you get to see me hot and bothered, but I don't, isn't it? Maybe you can help me out here and play with your pretty self," he suggested and you could no longer ignore the wetness between your thighs as you peeled off your panties.

❝ He let out a moan at the sight, his hand moving faster as you started touching yourself too. It didn't take long before both of you came, trying to chase your own high, you didn't notice when he came mere inches from your face, kissing you gently, pushing your body back onto the bed.

❝ "I need to be inside you right now," he said, his breathing still heavy as you nodded, letting him, it didn't take him long to slip into you, your wetness being enough to let him in without much restriction. The two of you sighed in unison, as he held you close to him, just wanting to go back to bed with the feeling of you around him.

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hallow-witxh · 1 year

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Simple Things Baby Witches Might Miss

I was a baby witch once, and there were tons of small, little things that went over my head until later in my practice. I'm hoping that some of these will ring a bell for those who may need to hear them.

When you're cleansing a room, especially if it's a smoke cleanse, you need to open a window. This gives an 'escape route' for what you're cleansing away and also gives the smoke somewhere to go other than sticking to your walls.

Speaking of smoke cleansing, do not smoke cleanse in a room with pets in it. It can be very, very dangerous to them.

When you're doing research, you should be cross-checking across four to six different sources. If something matches across multiple sources, it's more likely to be solid.

You can incorporate your craft into pretty much anything. Showering? You're washing off the bad energy. Cleaning? You're preparing your space. Gardening? You're encouraging growth and prosperity. And delicious tomatoes!

If you're using a smoke cleanse, you can add the burnt portion to salt to make a beginner's black salt.

Spell jars don't have to go on your altar.

Altars are not completely necessary, especially if you're in the broom closet. Work with what you have.

Every herb has benefits and correspondences. You can utilize these without spell jars, burn spells, etc. Kitchen magic is one of my go-tos - cooking with spices and herbs infuses your food with their benefits.

Ask 'dumb' questions. Reach out to people. If they laugh at you for your questions, you know they are not a reliable source of information. (P.S. - my ask box is always open!)

White wax can replace any other color of wax. Get birthday cake candles for easy, fast burning.

Clear quartz can replace other crystals.

Here's a simple color chart.

Here's a simple moon phase chart.

Here's a simple guide to flowers and their correspondences

Here's a simple guide to cascarilla

As always, do your own research. Take everything you hear with a grain of salt until you do research - yes, even from me, because I make mistakes, too. Blessed be, and good luck, baby witches!

Support your local witch on Ko-Fi or at my store, Hallow Grove!

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mintmatcha · 7 months

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mint you can't just drop this and not expand for ARAN the loml

The door doesn't have a chance to slam behind you.

"Hey." Aran hurries down the sidewalk after you, tugging his jacket on as he jogs. Your jacket is still sitting on his bed with the rest and you already regret leaving it behind. "Hey."

The man manages to skirt around you, blocking your way. His mouth is contorted into a half grin, half grimace with his eyebrows tweaked up and together, as if he couldn't possibly understand why you're in the street right now.

"Atsumu said you were leaving." He smiles with those perfect, white teeth and those pretty brown lips and it makes your blood boil that he dares to be so effortless. "What's wrong?"

He smells like spiced cologne, something expensive and tasteful. You taste a hint of it when you push past. "I can't deal with you right now."

"What did I do?" he matches your stride, breath coiling into the air as he talks, "If there's something I did-"

"You're just so-- so--" You clutch the air, trying to find words to sum up your multitude of feelings and failing. You settle for the first words that tumblr into your mind and out of your mouth. "You're so fucking annoying."

Aran's gait stutters.

"Me?" he asks genuinely, "I'm annoying?

"Yes, you, Mr. Perfect." You slip your thumb into the back of your heel and pop it off, then the other. The city street's ice cold grit digs into the pad of your foot and you grimace. The walk home is going to be disgusting. "You're so sweet and hot and smart-"

"You think I'm hot?"

"Oh, like you don't know that everyone wants you," you seethe, "Add humble on top of everything. God, it's so aggravating! And you don't even try!"

Aran barks out a laugh, then swallows it back.

"Are you kidding?" Aran says, voice the edge of a chuckle again, "I try so// hard."

That puts a pause in your step. Everything about Aran has always been so effortless, from the way he walks to the way he acts. Every rounded edge of who he is always felt so genuine...

"Oh, please," you dismiss.

"I try all the time! I try constantly!" he sighs, "I follow fashion influencers, I work out every day, I haven't had a beer since I was eighteen, even though I really like like beer-- I even threw a party to impress you, and it clearly didn't work-"

"To impress me?" You try to stay angry, but the boiling inside you is fizzling out, "Why would you do that?"

"Do I really need to spell it out for you?" Aran takes a deep breath, stabilizing himself, "I like you! Oh my god, I like you so much that it makes me look stupid!"

What? Your cheeks are suddenly burning from the attention. Aran suddenly starts pacing back and forth across the width of the sidewalk, eyes locked to the ground as he starts to ramble.

"I went to buy you flowers because that's what guys do, they buy flowers, but one bouquet didn't seem like enough, so I panicked! I panicked! I bought two-- but then I realized I was walking around with two bouquets of flowers like a weirdo and then you made that face-" he finally pauses to take a breath, "That face! Right there! And I couldn't tell you the truth, so I told you they were for my mom and Mrs. Miya! Because I was embarrassed!"

A smile creeps up at the corner of your lips and Aran immediately notices.

"Don't laugh at me!" He points, even though a matching smile is sneaking onto his face, "I'm just a little anxious!"

"You're full-blown neurotic!" You pop into a full-blown guffaw and he follows suit. In the empty city street, the echo of the train carried through the alleys, you both laugh, much, much, harder than you should. By the time you both simmer down, Aran is much closer, the tails of his coat brushing against your leg.

"I'm sorry," he says, soft.

"No, it's-- I'm sorry." You have to try and figure out how you're feeling right now, "Honestly, this side of you is really charming."

"You think that's charming?"

"It's... it's human," you shrug, "I like that."

He reaches out and then hesitates, hand barely past his side. You, despite yourself, despite everything, reach out at loop your pointer around his. Surprise sets into his features, then a hint of joy.

"And here I thought you were hard to impress," he says, "Why don't we...? Can we start again? From the beginning?"

You nod.

"Hey, my name's Aran, nice to meet you." He squeezes your finger lightly, "It's freezing out here, do you want to head inside?"

"I don't usually go home with strangers." Aran squeezes harder at your teasing, "But I'll make an exception if you'll share a beer with me."

"My nutritionist says I really shouldn't-" he smiles and you notice his teeth aren't as perfect as you originally thought. There's a sliver of a gap between his front teeth, "But I can make an acception."

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blackleatherjacketz · 5 months

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Mine

Eric Northman x Female Reader

Summary: Eric shows you what it means to be his.

Warnings: 18+ Only!, Explicit Smut, Alcohol, Bachelorette Parties, Glamoring, Kissing, Hair-Pulling, Biting, Blood Sucking, Vampirism, Blood Contracts, Possessive Behavior, Body Worship, Teasing, Taunting, Orgasm Deny/Delay, Vaginal Fingering, Finger Sucking, Vaginal Sex, Nipple Play, Nipple Biting, Size Kink, Size Difference, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Mirror Sex

Word Count: 2.6k+

Tags: @differentcatcat @jessicafangirl @spice-honey

Read more Eric!

You aren’t entirely sure how you ended here with him like this, but you aren’t exactly complaining, either. What started out as a raucous bachelorette party at Fangtasia turned into a deeply provocative conversation about your innermost desires with its handsome owner. He’d singled you out in front of everyone, bringing you onstage before convincing you to let him drink from you in exchange for a night of pleasure you ‘would never forget’. You’d gone home with strangers before, sure, but you’d never even met a vampire before, let alone let one bite you. But he assured you that he’d make it worth your while. And with a face like that and a voice like his, well… who could say no?

You now lay on his bed opposite a wall full of mirrors, propped on your side as he traces his fingertips up your calf, leaving a trail of goosebumps up the bend just behind your knee up into your thigh. You watch him slip two fingers beneath the hem of your underwear before pulling it taught and snapping it against your skin, forcing you to gasp.

“Are you sure you still want this, sweetheart?” He taunts with a smirk. “Last chance to go back to your drunk friend and listen to how much she hates that fiancé of hers.”

“I’m sure.” You’ve never wanted anything more in your entire life. Your long dry spell leading up to tonight left you desperate for an excuse to get out of the house, to break your mundane pattern of solitude, leading you straight to him. The way he looked at you from across the room made you feel like you were the only woman in the world, the only one for him. He was unlike anyone else you’ve ever met before; elegant and mysterious, sensual and alluring. No one you’d ever met had paid this much attention to you before, had captivated you long enough to agree to a binding physical contract you would normally reject. You’ve never been more sure of anything than you are right now.

Your breath quickens as that sting spreads into the deeper layers of your skin, that needy heat building up inside as he calmly sits down on the bed beside you, pushing the fabric of your dress up around your waist to get a better view. You watch him take his time gently grazing his palms over your hips and thighs, worshiping your body by tracing invisible designs into your skin. Your quiet moans shift that grin of his into a satisfied smile, visible only from the mirrors in front of you before he presses a few soft kisses into your shoulders. He hums an old Norse tune into your ear as he continues to caress you, making every inch of your skin tingle in anticipation as he brushes the hair away from your neck.

“Good girl,” he purrs into the sensitive spot just behind your ear, forcing your body to tense as he curls his fingers beneath your underwear again, pulling it forcefully down your hips before ripping it off. “Then you agree to be mine.”

“Yes,” you barely breathe out, his bold words making your cheeks flush a warmer hue.

He laughs to himself before swiftly sliding his fingers between your cheeks, gliding them over your folds to spread the moisture that’s collected there up and down your seam. “Because I already had someone drive them home. It’s just you and me now.”

You nod in silence, letting his electric touch send sparks up into your core as he continues kissing your neck, glancing up every now and again to watch your reaction as he slowly pushes his chilly fingers inside your entrance.

“Eric!” You moan as they expand your slick, inner walls with practiced restraint, feeling nearly every inch of you before pulling out just far enough to push back in again, causing you to rock your hips along with his steady rhythm. You close your eyes as he delves his digits even deeper into you at just the right angle, finally finding that bundle of nerves tucked up inside you with a curl of his finger.

Sweet Jesus, he’s so good at that.

His frigid pace grows faster, your internal heat warming him up as he starts to nip desperately at the nape of your neck. The muscles in your abdomen can’t help but tighten as the sound of his fingers inside you echoes against the walls, nearly drowning out the sound of his shallow breathing and your needy moans.

“Yes?” He pulls his fingers out of you slowly, leaving a clear coat of your arousal over your ass and hips as he brings them up to your mouth before pressing them against your lips.

Instead of answering him, you take the hint and open your mouth to suck on his fingers, savoring your own tangy flavor as he pushes them past your tongue, practically gagging you in the process. You control your breathing and run your tongue in between them, being sure to look at him in the mirror as you siphon off every last bit of your juices, your spit now pooling at the corner of your mouth, dripping down onto the mattress.

“See how good you taste?” He praises with darkened eyes, a pleased smirk gracing his features just before he pushes you onto your back. “And that’s just your pussy.”

He kisses your mouth before you have a chance to react, tasting the remainder of your essence on your lips and tongue as he breathes you in, letting your scent mix in with the way you taste as he greedily explores your mouth. He has a flavor of copper and iron with a salty aftertaste as he settles on top of you, slowly shedding that cold hard exterior he presented you with onstage. He lets out a series of breathy moans in between each desperate kiss, licking and sucking your lips into his mouth as if they tasted of milk and honey. Groaning as your hands instinctively find their way up onto his chest, he allows them to move across the thin fabric of his tank top and down to his waist as he grinds his hips against your nearly naked body.

He twists the fabric of your dress in his hands and rips it right off, grinning like a schoolboy as he takes in the sight of your naked breasts devoid of any undergarment before hungrily pressing his mouth against them. He nips at your chest and clavicle, teasing the imminent threat of his painful bite at any time as your chest heaves with desire, perking your nipples right into his mouth. He sucks on each of them, lingering on one a little longer than the other, pulling it into his mouth and twisting that sensitive tissue in between his teeth. That mixture of pain and pleasure forces your back to arch and your eyes to roll back into your head, triggering that fire deep within you. It melts its way down to your core, sizzling through every nerve on its way down as he places his palm between your shoulder blades to keep you near.

“Ooh, so that’s the spot, huh?” He looks up at you with lust blown eyes, his pupils nearly taking up all the space within them as he licks a slow, tantalizing circle around it.

“Uh-huh,” you whine with a nod, looking down at him hopefully as you run your fingers through his hair.

He grins just in time to reveal his fangs, biting into the fatty tissue just above your nipple with a sharp twinge of pain, forcing you to inhale quickly. Your mouth falls open as you watch your own blood fill his mouth, staining his lips a dark crimson as he closes his eyes, allowing himself to get lost deep within you. He moans against your skin as he sucks on your nipple even harder, swallowing his first gulp as it floods his taste buds with the sweet fruity flavor of the wine you’ve been sipping on all night.

You tug on his hair as he bites down even harder, threatening to gnaw your nipple right off as the pain from his teeth blends with the pleasure of his tongue, forcing you to wrap your legs around his hips in order to get some sort of friction between them. That delicious, tingling sensation starts to burn brighter, faster within you as it spreads like wildfire throughout the rest of your body. You can feel his erection growing beneath his jeans as he grinds his hips between your thighs. Each drink he takes from you engorges it with more of your blood, stoking that internal flame as it presses harder between them, begging to be released. You pull him in even closer as he nearly sends you over the edge, that wildfire on the brink of igniting into a raging inferno before he pulls his fangs out of you and halts the movement of his hips.

“Eric,” you’re breathlessly disappointed as he pulls his mouth off of you, a sly look crossing his ruby red lips.

“Eric, what?” He repeats mockingly, licking the excess blood off the middle of your chest, purposefully avoiding your nipple as it drips from his lips and chin.

“But I was about to…” You run your hand through his hair as he cleans you up, licking your skin like a cat with its milk.

“About to what?” He grabs onto your wrist and pulls it away from his hair, holding it next to his mouth as he looks up at you with a stern glare. “About to come? Just from that?”

You nod as that dreaded feeling of shame washes over you, forcing you to look away from him. You can’t quite explain it, but something about his touch alone is more arousing than actual sex with half the people you’ve been with before. Now you feel stupid for saying anything at all.

“You think I should let you?” He keeps his eyes on you with a chuckle, kissing the inside of your wrist before placing it back into his hair. “You sound awfully ungrateful.”

You sigh in defeat as he denies your pleasure, that cruel nature of his floating back up to the surface as he pulls away from you, leaning back and standing up at the edge of the bed.

“Look at yourself,” he instructs, nodding over to the mirror that you’d nearly forgotten was there. “How many of your other lovers have done this for you? Drank your blood, tasted every inch of you from the inside out?”

“None of them.” You turn your head and look at your own reflection, streaks of your blood still glistening in the dim lamplight of the room as they branch out from where he’s bitten you. The evidence is clear that you’re already on your way to becoming his. The spots where he attempted to clean you up had smeared and already dried, cracking against your skin as you hear him unbuckle his belt.

“That’s what I thought.” He tosses his shirt off and steps out of his shoes before pulling his pants down, revealing the prize beneath as you finally look back at him, trying not to gasp.

Sweet Jesus, he’s gorgeous.

His size is even more massive than you originally guessed as you admire him for what seems like ages. Your mouth falls agape as he spreads that drop of precum up and down his shaft for your visual pleasure, the muscles in his abdomen rippling in anticipation as he makes himself even harder just by looking at you.

“Don’t worry, it’ll fit,” he reassures you as he gratuitously strokes himself with a confident grin. “I want to make sure you feel good.” He whispers, pressing his knees into the mattress.

“Yeah?” You ask, exasperated as you sit up onto your elbows to watch him get closer. You try to convince yourself that this is real and not just some sort of wild dream as you spread your legs for him until he’s bobbing in between your thighs, but your brain’s having trouble making that distinction.

“You’ll taste better that way.” He brushes your clit with the tip of his cock, rushing your body with bursts of bliss each time he passes over it until he’s good and sure you’re wet enough to take him in.

You hold your breath as he pushes inside, watching intently as he slowly stretches your viscera in an achingly hypnotic thrust upward. That internal heat stirs up again as you envelop him completely, the feeling of his pelvis more than welcome against the bottom of your thighs as he holds himself there for a second. Instead of pulling out and speeding back up again, he just stares longingly into your eyes, giving you time to adjust to his enormous girth as his stifled breath warms your face. His mouth falls open into a kiss as he pushes in even deeper, the tip of his head tapping against your cervix as you begin to shudder around him.

“Oh my god, Eric,” you moan into his mouth, feeling his thumb rub tiny little circles into your clit as he runs his other hand through your hair. You can’t believe how amazing he feels, how every neural pathway in your body is set ablaze, singed by the very fire of his touch that no other man alive was even able to spark.

“I told you it’d fit,” he whispers, tugging on your hair before pulling his hips back and violently thrusting them back inside you. He kisses your lips more aggressively this time, his tongue tasting every gasp he’s able to draw out of you with each thrust of his pelvis, his own breath faltering as he cries out your name.

You can feel his grip on your hair tighten as he drives himself inside you again and again, stretching your smooth muscle to capacity as he glides in and out of you repeatedly, tingling the breadth of your insides. Kisses quickly turn into bites as the rhythm of his hips becomes more frantic, his fangs emerging just as his thumb pushes you over the edge of ecstasy, sending you into the unknown depths of your euphoria. Your body doesn’t know how to handle it, doesn’t know how to react to such an intense sensation as he mercilessly crashes into you, his desperate pace forcing you to descend deeper into that dark, delicious state until your entire body convulses, completely overwhelmed by it. You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him buried inside as your muscles spasm around him, a loud chorus of your moans echoing off the mirrored walls as your pleasure wreaks havoc on your body.

You barely notice when he sinks his fangs into you again, this time groaning into your throat like a wild animal as your body milks him for all he’s worth, gulping down that intoxicating serum as it oozes from your throat past his lips. His hips speed up to an inhuman rate, those groans of his shifting into feral growls as he releases his thumb from your bud just to hold your hips in place as he loses himself in the feeling of your body, in the flavor of your blood.

Red hot crimson blood drips down your neck as his white hot fluid shoots up inside you, both of them eventually spilling out despite his best efforts to consume and contain as much as he can between the both of you. He mewls against your neck as he sputters a few more times between your inner walls, still pulling tightly on your scalp as you both ride out the aftershock of your orgasm.

“You’re mine now.” He whispers into your ear, smearing your blood into your hair as he shakily kisses your neck and jawline. “No one else can have you, drink from you, or harm you in any way.” He pulls back to look at you adoringly, your blood smattered across his chin like war paint before he bites down on his own wrist to carefully seal your wound. “If they do, they’ll have to answer to me.”

#eric northman #alexander skarsgard #eric northman smut #eric northman x reader #eric northman x female reader #eric northman fan fiction #true blood #vampires #vampire

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ask-whitepearl-and-steven · 1 year

Note

would you have any small writing tips to share with others who are attempting to write their own stories?

Sure.

Disclaimer: This is not a full on tutorial on how to write. These are just tiny, tiny little grains of wisdom of things I realized here and there. Do not eat this advice like a full course meal. It isn't one. It's just a dusting of some spices, and I am salt bae-ing them over you, but they are not calorically relevant without a story.

1. Help your readers read your story.

AKA: If you want your readers to build a house, you better take them to a Home Depot and teach them how to use a screwdriver first.

You want your readers to read your story easily? You gotta make your story easy to read. That means learning how to make sentences easier to understand. That means breaking up walls of text into smaller bites. That means - yes - spelling words consistently and using accessible (not Correct, necessarily, but ACCESSIBLE) grammar!

You want your readers to understand your world? You gotta give your readers tools to understand it with. That means explaining new concepts! That means describing stuff a lot! That means using visual language if you don't have actual visuals!

Your readers will not read your mind to know what you MEANT to say. You have to say what you mean. You have to mean what you write. Learn to write clearly. Learn to help your readers.

2. Something that takes you a month to make will take your audience ten minutes to read.

You want to spend an hour drawing one comic panel? Great. You wanna spend an hour writing a single paragraph? Fantastic. You wanna use up a week perfecting a script? Amazing!

Your readers will still glance at that panel for a second before moving on. Your readers will still eat that paragraph in a bite. Your readers will skim that script. If you're lucky.

You cannot control how much your work is appreciated. But you CAN control how much of your time you sacrifice to make it.

Balance the scales.

3. You are not talented.

Neither am I. Nor are any of us.

Listen to me. Listen.

Talent is a beautiful, useful word. But it often lies to us. It suggests that we are born better than others.

This is not often accurate. What talent hides within itself is not pre-ordained inherent skill. It is not something you are birthed being. It is not a statistical difference of physicality.

Talent starts with passion.

Maybe you have passion for stories - so you beg your grandfather to read to you before you can recognize words, and you write a lot in every school assignment, and you pay attention to EVERY story you watch in school plays, and you observe all the characters you see in movies, and you CARE. So. Much. And this moves you to try to write, and then to try again, and then to try harder.

Talent does not exist, because no amount of 'you were made for running' can make you run. No amount of 'you were the son of great authors' can make you write.

But inherent curiosity can push you forward. Inherent curiosity can make you watch, and observe, even before you understand you are observing. Inherent curiosity for your personal interests makes you a fan of writing, of drawing, of world-building. It makes you research how to be a great author before you even know what research is. It auto-tunes you to what you know is good about these things, and it gives you the necessary tools to know what will work and what won't.

So when you think you are talented, understand that this is not something that was done to you in the womb. It was something you raised, and watered like a seed, before you even knew what you were growing.

Don't rely on talent. Understand that you got this far because you CARE about this thing. And don't forget to care. Because that's what has carried you this far, and it is the only thing that can carry you even farther.

also, cringe is dead.

#chekhov answers

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frenchkisstheabyss · 8 months

Text

✶ Pendulum ✶

✶ Pairing: model!hyunjin x model!chubby!fem!reader

✶ Genre: fluff, angst, smut

✶ Summary: You visit Hyunjin on the night of his big art exhibit intent on closing this chapter of your life but he's not willing to let go that easily.

✶ Word Count: 1.2k-ish

✶ Warnings: Hyunjin's a lil bit possessive, fingering, nibbling, marking, and that's about it my loves

✶ A/N: This is part two of a Hyunjin/Minho love triangle fic that has come to emotionally wreck me but I love it and fingers crossed you will too! 🖤 part three is here 🖤

It’s been three weeks since Paris Fashion Week. Three weeks since you fell in love with Minho. Three weeks of falling asleep on FaceTime and sneaking little moments in with each other between your busy schedules. There was no way to anticipate that you’d come to mean this much to each other, your feelings deepening as the days go on.

Saying yes to that date with Minho opened the door to a new way of being cherished that only he can offer. But there remains a thread tied to the corner of your heart, tugging you back to your past. If you’re to step through the door that lies before you, you must first shut the one that lies behind...

And that’s what brings you here...

to an upscale art gallery a half hour before Hyunjin’s first exhibit. Crisp autumn leaves dance along the pavement, a ballet of deep reds and vibrant yellows, as you flee the chilly night air for the warmth of the sleek, rustic gallery. Matte black walls combine with polished cherry wood accents to give you the sense that you’re somewhere you can be comfortable. But not too comfortable.

You can already smell his cologne, cedar and spice, coasting through the air to greet you before he appears at the top of the stairs to your left. “You came,” he says, feigning indifference as he takes his time descending the stairs. After he broke your heart you insisted that he no longer held any power over you. The spell had been broken, or so you thought. So you hoped. But no such thing is true.

Hyunjin moves like a gazelle, his limbs long and graceful. He somehow manages to make the simple act of walking feel like a performance art piece. Tonight he’s pulled his hair back into a high ponytail, a few delicate strands left hanging to frame his now smiling face. Standing before you, he extends an arm, his hand patiently at your service. You slip out of your jacket, tossing it over his arm.

“Well, you said you wanted to talk so I’m here.” Hyunjin laughs, finding amusement in the way you’ve turned the tables. Pretending not to care when you both know you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. “I was going to take your hand—” he starts, his gaze trailing behind you as you journey deeper into the gallery.

You always thought it a shame that people could never seem to get past his physical appearance long enough to see what’s truly special about him. Surrounded by his art, drawings and paintings he’d once only been brave enough to reveal to you, you can’t help but feel proud of him. “Hwang Hyunjin, jack of all trades” you sigh, stopping to get a closer look at a watercolor painting of butterflies whose wings seemingly melt down the canvas.

Hyunjin joins you, ignoring the painting to admire your silk black dress.

“Jack of all trades, master of none, but I’m still, I guess, better than a master of one.”

“Mmm, I don’t know about that. What’s so bad about a master of one? Maybe the master of one just knows where his heart is.”

The back of his hand strokes your arm, sending an electric current through your body. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that he’s moved closer. Close enough for the sensation of his breath on your neck to give you shivers when he asks, “Where’s yours?” “Where’s my what?” Your head snaps toward him, the accusatory tone of his voice triggering your defenses.

“Your heart. Do you know where it is?”

“You have no right to ask me that. Not when you broke it.” Every fiber of your being is telling you to run away and Hyunjin must sense it because his arms are around you before you can make your grand escape. “Don’t run from me” he pleads, “Just tell me what I can do to fix it.” You’ve never seen Hyunjin cry before but the moisture pooling in the corners of his eyes is a sure sign that you might.

Nothing can erase the pain that he made you feel yet you can’t deny what he’s done since to ease it. Showing up to Paris Fashion Week alone, refusing to arrive with any woman who wasn't you. Admitting where he went wrong when it came to being honest with you. Apologizing in every language he knows and in a few he doesn't. Professing his love for you openly among your social circle without a care for how sensitive they may think he is.

He’s stepped so far outside of his character that occasionally you had to pinch yourself to make sure his efforts weren’t all in your head. To ask more of him feels almost sadistic. “It’s not you” you admit, lifting some of the pressure from his shoulders, “I’m just, I don’t know. Afraid?”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“Of the piece of my heart that’s still here with you.” You love him still. And you can’t outrun it any more than you could the way your heart ached for Minho when he first touched your hand, comforting you before the red carpet all those nights ago. You hate yourself for it, wishing that you could make these feelings disappear, all the while surrendering to Hyunjin’s kiss.

He sweeps you into it without warning, no longer able to control the need to feel your tongue against his. Kissing him is that first bite of your favorite food after you’ve been deprived of it for far too long. Your senses are aflame, moisture creeping between your thighs as he presses your back to the wall. Hyunjin buries his face between your breasts, his tongue lashing and nibbling as they rise and fall with each bated breath you take.

Your fingers tangle with his hair, the tie that keeps his ponytail secure quickly slipping to the floor. “You have to be mine again,” he says, not asking but telling. Demanding. He raises one of your legs to straddle his hip, pushing a hand between you to knead your pillow soft thighs. “He can’t have you. I won’t let him.” Hyunjin kisses you all over, suckling at your sensitive skin to mark his territory.

Pushing his hips further between your legs, he teases the wetness of your panties, your clit already stiff enough to feel through the thin cotton. “Hyunjin, please—” you beg, not quite knowing what you’re begging for. Less? More? The arch of your back as his fingers dive into your core decides it’s ‘more’. He pulls back, his free hand reaching up to cup your cheek, “Say my name again.”

His fingers pick up speed, your walls spasming with each unforgiving twist of his wrist. “Hyunjin” you whine, gripping his shoulders to keep yourself from crumbling to the ground. He missed seeing you this way. Dressed up all pretty, lipstick smeared across your face, moaning his name. Your juices stream down his wrist, leaving tiny drops of your arousal on his sleeve. He welcomes it. Welcomes anything that’ll leave your scent behind for later. “Mine. Always mine” he repeats, circling your clit with his thumb.

You should’ve never come here. You should’ve stayed as far away from this man as possible. But there’s no use crying over spilled milk. The reality is that you didn’t stay away. Hyunjin called and you came now you’re coming around his fingers, allowing yourself to be claimed once more by the lust filled demons of your past. And, oh, what a glorious one he is.

#hyunjin x you #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #hyunjin angst #chubby reader #stray kids x female reader #stray kids x chubby reader #stray kids x you #plus size reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut

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itsjustrosee · 1 month

Note

hiii love, not sure if you’re taking requests for Minho (maze runner) but if you are, could you write one where shy fem reader gets caught in a situation where her shirt accidentally rips up in front of everyone in the glade (you can choose the interesting situation of how that occurs lol) and she is bare, then feels vulnerable cause the gladers start whistling and stuff but Minho immediately takes his shirt off and covers her to protect her.

She feels safe with him and he is protective of her even though they haven’t talk much as she hardly sees him cause he’s a runner- mutual pining ig 🥰. And maybe it could end in some spice hehehe

stop it this is literally such a cute prompt I squealed when I read this. And spice is my specialty so I'm glad you asked me to include that😜. I hope I've done your idea justice!! And yes I am always taking requests and looking for new things to write so honestly ask away!!

PROTECTIVE (Minho x fem!reader (one-shot))

Context: Pre Thomas, look for summary above ^

Warnings: Cursing and spice

Word count: 2.8k (sorry this one was a bit short)

! I proof read but there might still be spelling mistakes !

Being the only girl in the glade was definitely a struggle at times. Obviously Alby had set up rules and regulations for all of the other gladers to follow to try and make you feel as comfortable and welcomed in the glade as possible, but there was only so much he could do. Though no one had tried anything physical with you, you always found a way to overhear hushed conversations regarding you and your body.

However, during your time in the glade you were able to become close with Chuck, Newt, and a few other boys. You could always find yourself laughing and hanging out with them the way they did with everyone else. They never treated you differently just because you were a girl, which is what you had grown to greatly appreciate.

You had been in the glade for a little while. In fact, today had been the 4th month since your arrival, and you knew this because a new greenie ascended from the box this morning.

His reaction getting out of the box was to be expected. He gave the normal theatrics, looking like he was about to have a panic attack, asking question after question, and then actually having a panic attack. But unfortunately he was harder to calm down then most. And being keeper of the medjacks, and baring the title of, 'the caring one' around the glade, it was up to you to calm him down. You didn't mind it though, he was a really sweet kid and he didn't even look to be much older then Chuck.

"I feel bad for the poor greenie." Newt sighed before continuing. "I mean, I feel bad for everyone who has to come down here and deal with the whole 'trapped in a maze' bit, but he's just really young." Newt explained while he plucked a blade of grass from the ground and held it in his hand. You and Newt always tended to come and hang out by the garden whenever neither of you were out working. And because you were finally able to get the new guy to calm down, he was taking a nap on one of the beds in the medhut, and since the medhut had been particularly slow otherwise, you and Newt were able to talk a bit before dinner and the bonfire.

"Yeah, I get what you're saying." You say with an exhale. "It's still difficult to come to terms with this whole thing, even after being here for a few months." Newt gave you a silent nod after you said that and neither of you said anything afterwards.

Newt was always good company. Neither of you had to talk and fill the air with conversation because being silent around each other was almost comforting in a way.

The silence between the both of you had been broken though, when you both saw Minho and the rest of the runners run out of the maze and begin jogging towards you both, probably heading to the maze room. The maze doors began to close, incasing you in glade for yet another night.

As Minho passed you and Newt, he greeted both of you with a wave and continued to jog past you.

Though you have been in the glade for a bit, you and Minho had never really spoken to each other before. Your schedules definitely didn't allow for you guys to talk to each other, considering he was always in the maze and you were always in the medhut. However, there was something about him that totally drew you in, you just didn't know what it was.

"Someone has a crush, huh?" Newt said with a smirk as he turned his head to look at yours. Immediately you turned your attention back to Newt.

Shit you were totally staring at Minho just then.

"A crush? Your talking like a child right now Newt." You say with a bit of an attitude.

"Well it's not like you're denying it." Newt says with a chuckle as he begins to stand up from his sitting position on the ground.

"Oh slim it." You say while rolling your eyes and taking Newts hand as he helped you up so you can both start heading to dinner.

Both you and Newt woke up the greenie and took him to dinner, and the evening continued like any other. Everyone was welcoming of him and it was good to see him laughing and actually talking to people.

Eventually, Gally and a couple others began to set up for the bonfire, so you took the quick opportunity to freshen up in your hut. It was honestly really nice of Alby to force Gally and the other builders to make you one just so you felt like you had enough privacy.

You changed into a pair of shorts and changed out of your tank top. You put on one of your favorite/ only shirts, which was the perfect balance of baggy yet tight on you. It was going to get colder throughout the night so you wanted to have a bit more clothing on, and you also couldn't stand the idea of being in your tank top for another second. Definitely not after sweating your ass off in it the entire day.

You joined up with everyone else and soon the festivities began. Everyone, including yourself, was drinking Gally's very shity brew and of course the greenie almost puked after one sip. Needless to say, the drink was a bit of an acquired taste, but he would get used to it. Gally was playing that stupid wrestling game with the rest of the gladers and everything was going as per usual.

You had found yourself a seat on a bench next to Newt, and you allowed your back to rest on the bench, letting out a sigh as you began to relax. You sat closer to everyone else than where you would normally sit, because you were still trying to keep your eye on the greenie. Minho, Chuck, and a group of about 10 others were sat down with you on surrounding benches. Voices and jokes filled the air and your stomach began to hurt from laughing so much.

It was times like these that mattered most when you were in the glade. It reminded you that though you were all trapped here, at least you were making the best of it. Without this type of structure, you'd bet that even Alby would've gone mad by now.

"Hey I'm going to get another drink, do you mind coming with?" Newt asked me, already up out of his seat and in front of me.

"Yeah sure, I could use another glass anyways." You explained while taking his hand.

All of this would've been fine if your shirt hadn't snagged on a loose nail from the bench.

As newt pulled you up from your seat neither of you had realized what had happened until way too late, the damage was already done by that point. Your shirt wasn't made out of the best material, so the entire thing had completely ripped off of you.

So there you were. Stood in front of an enormous group of boys wearing nothing but your bra, which only provided the bare minimum amount of coverage.

Apparently the rip from your shirt was loud enough to earn the attention of everyone, even Gally's group who was stood further away from you. It took you, along with everyone else, a moment to fully comprehend the situation. And in that moment you would've been more then happy if a griever showed up and swallowed you whole. Nothing compared to the amount of embarrassment you were feeling in that moment. Especially not when you began to hear whistles and laughs from some of the boys.

By this point you had both of your hands covering your chest, and your mind was completely blank. What the hell were you even supposed to do in a situation like this? It would take you ages to live this down, and of course something like this had to happen right when you thought everyone was getting over the fact you were a girl.

Newt stood there staring at you along with everyone else in the group of people who were sitting with you. You could see a couple guys in front of you let out laugh a laugh, which only caused your eyes to well up with tears.

You had never cried in the glade. Not once. You couldn't let yourself.

You didn't cry when you arrived from the box, or even when you were ostracized for being the only girl. But still you couldn't help but feel so utterly humiliated.

Even though it had felt like you stood there on display for hours, it had only been at least five seconds since your shirt had ripped off. Before anyone else could turn their heads to look at you, Minho got up suddenly.

He took his shirt off quickly while walking over to you, and you took your arms away from your chest, allowing him to pull his shirt onto you so you were no longer stood half naked in front of anyone. You were shocked by his gesture. Out of all the people in the glade, you had never thought he would be the one to protect you like this, but you were thanking god he did.

As he stood towering over you for a couple more seconds you couldn't help but take in what he looked like shirtless. And jeez, lets just say all this running he does pays off. He looked like he had been carved out of stone by the gods. His abs looked chiseled on, and you were going absolutely feral for it. In the most respectful way possible though of course.

Half of the glade looked just as shocked as you, and the rest looked disappointed. You heard groans and curses from Gally's group, as if they were annoyed with Minho.

"Oh come on Minho, you really had to ruin it for everyone, huh?" Gally said, and it was obvious that he was already through multiple glasses of his moonshine. His snarky comment was warranted by a couple of snickers and laughs from the other boys sitting with him. Minho turned around to face him and at this point they were stood with a bit of distance between each other, but still not much. And it was safe to say that Minho looked like he was about to maul Gally.

"What did you just say?" Minho questioned, his voice dark and menacing as he began taking steps towards Gally.

"Oh what, you going to defend your girlfriend?" Gally contested while slurring and hiccupping between words, getting in Minho's face as he said it.

"She doesn't have to be my girlfriend for me to treat her like a normal shucking person, Gally." Minho said while firmly standing his ground.

It was quiet for a moment before any other response was made. You and the rest of the glade were just staring at them, and honestly you were thankful that the attention was finally off of you.

If it wasn't for Alby pulling the two boys apart, the night would've ended with someone bloody and bruised, and someone, or both of them, ending up in the pit.

Alby pushed Gally away and grabbed onto Minho's shoulder as he led Minho back over to me. "Minho take (Y/N) back to her hut and get her situated. I'll deal with Gally." Alby says, clearly annoyed with what the night had turned into.

You and Minho both silently began walking back to your hut. You wanted to thank him, you needed to thank him, but you just didn't know how you were going to. As he opened the door to your hut and both of you stepped in, he closed the door and you just stood looking at him. You were still flustered from him being, you know, without a shirt, but you had to compose yourself.

"Thank you Minho. For um- you know, giving me your shirt and stuff." You say while looking at the ground, your cheeks red from embarrassment as you painfully recall the whole situation.

"It was no problem really." Minho said as you looked back up at him.

"Yeah it's just- I don't know what I would've done without you-" And although it sounded cliché, you meant it. Your voice began to break after trying to continue, your words getting caught in your throat. Before you could compose yourself enough to say anything else, Minho brought you into his arms gently, and hugged you. His warm embrace made you feel safe and secure, and immediately your worries washed away as you hugged him harder. You buried your head into his chest and wrapped your arms around his waist and he wrapped his around yours.

You could've stayed like that for hours, but you forced your head away from his chest and looked up at him, staring deep into his eyes and he did the same. There was a thick tension in the air as you felt the temperature in your hut increase.

Minho tucked a piece of your hair back behind your ear, "I'll always be here to protect you." Minho says while giving you a genuine smile, your stomach doing somersaults as you completely folded under his gaze. As your eyes followed his for a moment longer, you noticed them glance at your lips and before you could even process it, he kissed you.

You stood there shocked and bewildered, this night had been an absolute rollercoaster of fucking emotions and you were not prepared for it once so ever.

After not reciprocating the kiss Minho pulled away, "I'm sorry I didn't mean to- I don't want it to seem like I'm taking advantage of you or something- I-" But before he could finish his sentence you kissed him back, your lips merging into his completely, as if you were two magnets that were completely drawn together naturally.

The kiss was passionate yet gentle, and you practically melted into him. You let his tongue explore the inside of your mouth and your lips worked against his in unison. For all you knew, Minho was the first boy you had ever kissed, and you were totally fine with that. You didn't even need to kiss any other boy to know that Minho did it best.

You took one of your hands and kept it on his back, caressing his muscles on his upper back. While your other hand found it's way to his nape and you began to take his hair between your fingers, tugging at them more whenever he kissed you harder.

He kept one of his hands by your waist and the other at your back, trying to bring you as close to him as he possibly could. He held you as if you were the only thing worth holding onto, and he was never willing to let you go.

You could feel the heat radiating off of Minho as he pinned you against one of the walls in your hut next to the door. You were left completely breathless once Minho pulled away, biting at your bottom lip as he then continued to kiss you down your jaw. You could feel him begin to suck at the sensitive part part of skin between your neck and collar bone, causing a small whimper to escape your mouth.

Minho continued to kiss down your collar bone and as low as your shirt's neck line would let him. You could feel his kisses become more sloppy and desperate. It was as if he couldn't wait to get his hands on more of you, and you couldn't wait to give yourself in to him.

You pushed him off and quickly took off your shirt, tossing it to the ground as Minho stared at you. He put his arms around you again and smirked as he began to kiss you, more hungrily this time.

"I'll never let anyone else in the glade see you like this again. I promise." He said between kisses. The sincerity in his voice was prominent.

You could tell that all of what Minho had said was true. If any other boy tried to touch you, or even look at you in the wrong way, he would be there to protect you.

In that moment you had realized that no one would be able to make you feel the way Minho made you feel. He satisfied all of your desires and he fulfilled you in ways you didn't even know were possible. You were everything he wanted, and he was everything you wanted. But more importantly, he made you feel safe, like as long as you were in his arms he would never let anything bad happen to you.

Then suddenly, there was a nock on the door. Then it swung open abruptly.

"Hey um (Y/N), I really wanted to apologize for earlier-" But before Gally could say anything else, he turned his head and saw you and Minho, half naked and pressed against each other.

"Oh shuck- I didn't mean to- I'll leave now." And with that, he was out of the door as quickly as he entered it.

ok guys heres another!! I really hoped that yall liked it. I had quite the fun time writing this and I think it turned out pretty well!

btw I'm going to start working on pt.2 to stranded, and I should have it finished relatively soon, but I've never written smut before so that's going to be quite interesting. But seriously thank you to everyone who wrote nice things under that post you have no idea how much it means to me ❤️❤️

#the maze runner #tmr #minho tmr x reader #minho the maze runner #minho tmr #x reader #tmr fandom #tmr fanfic #minho fic

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safarigirlsp · 2 months

Text

Forbidden

Hogwarts Professor Jacques Le Gris x Reader

Word Count: 8.4k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Aggressive and Dominant Jacques. Chasing. Implied Age Gap. Student/Professor Dynamics. Professor/Professor Dynamics. Everyone is over 18, as All Readers Must Be.

AO3 Link

Author’s Note: Based on a special request for a sexy Christmas party with Professor Le Gris from my beautiful friend @kyloremus ! She does the absolute best edits around and keeps me absolutely rabid! Edits by her, of course!

More Hogwarts Professor Jacques fics for anyone hooked:

Where There’s Smoke, There’s Fire

Dashing Through The Snow

I Put A Spell On You

A Duel to Remember

Fog hung heavily in the winter air, snaking through the cobblestone streets and the serpentine twists of Diagon Alley. Fat snowflakes danced lazily down from swirling carbon clouds and the cobblestones were icy and slick beneath the fresh powder snow. Shop windows glowed with a kaleidoscope of lights and buttered rum and spiced wine could be scented on the frosted air. Christmas Eve was a glittering evening, the kind filled with beauty and wonder and promise. A gust of wind blew down the alley toward you, twirling a flurry of snow up from the ground. You pulled your coat tighter around your body and trotted toward your destination a few businesses ahead.

Ducking inside the welcoming doors of the Leaky Cauldron, you were instantly enveloped by warmth and the smell of drinks and fried food. The bar was more crowded than you had ever seen it, packed to standing room only with patrons out for Christmas Eve. Festive music, a mix of cherry and clubby, almost made you want to dance as you weaved your way through the crowd. The edges of the bar were obscured in that murky shadow that liked to linger on the sidelines, like wallflower shades watching from the wings. You could see figures of people sitting in the shadows, but couldn’t make out any discerning features. You could almost feel a pair of eyes on you, watching you from the shadows.

A wave from the crowded bar caught your eye. A group of four people pressed together at the bar, two couples, waiting for you. Your friends. It wasn’t uncommon for you to be the third wheel in your group, still single after your closest friends had paired up with men during their school years and shortly thereafter. Zelda was now married and Dina, more protective of her freedom, was with a man she had been dating for years. It was easy to see that the man who was supposed to meet you tonight was absent. You expected to hear whatever excuse he had for that from your friends. It was no bother, really. Blind dates were always something of a disaster.

Zelda waved at you more animatedly, fitting for your bubbly blonde friend. Beside her Dina, a stately brunette, must have told their men to clear some space for you because both men moved to the edge of the bar under the guise of having some conversation amongst themselves.

“I can’t believe Gaston stood you up!” Zelda huffed indignantly when you joined them, referring to your absentee blind date. “What an asshole! I wouldn’t have thought it of him.”

“It’s best for the assholes to weed themselves out early,” you said nonchalantly. It was hardly an upset. You were beginning a new job soon anyway, one that would have you sequestered away from the world for most of the year. Starting a relationship now was impractical.

“I agree,” Dina added. “At least you hadn’t invested any energy in him or wasted any time. Besides, now if we see him out and about, we have every reason to be as nasty as possible to him, which is always fun.”

“To hell with him,” you said and took the beer the bartender slid in front of you. The three of you raised your glasses and clinked them together to a round of, “Merry Christmas!”

“There’s more to celebrate on top of the holidays,” Dina said with a coy smile.

“Yes!” Zelda added excitedly. She clinked your glass again with too much vigor, spilling beer over both your hands. “Cheers to the newest professor at Hogwarts!”

Elation and slight embarrassment rushed through you at her toast. You were proud and excited, and still a bit in disbelief that you had secured such a coveted position. After all, it hadn’t been too long ago that you had graduated from Hogwarts yourself.

“To the new History of Magic Professor!” Dina added and took a drink. “Leave it to you to make that class interesting at last. I must admit I’m shocked the Headmaster liked your pitch.”

“Not nearly as shocked as I am.” A wide grin spread across your lips. “I figured that since I had no real chance of getting the job anyway, I might as well shoot my shot and lay all my aspirations out on the table. In my wildest dreams, I never suspected the Headmaster would actually want a course that teaches both the history of magic and the added practice of the arcane spells we lost to history.”

“Another toast! To no lost limbs or dismembered students in your first term!” Zelda teased.

“At least, to no one I like,” you laughed.

“Just think,” Dina mused with a rosy blush on her cheeks. “Now you’ll be on equal standing with our old professors.”

“Ooo, yes!” Zelda said conspiratorially. “Maybe it’s best you’re going into this job single.”

Nearly every teenage girl at Hogwarts had a crush on one professor or other. You and your friends were no exception. It didn’t help matters that several professors were men in their prime, in their thirties and forties, at the peak of their attractiveness. Zelda had charmed her journal to explode with pink hearts whenever she wrote a certain name in its pages. The hearts smelled like roses and would flutter around her like butterflies. Of course, the name belonged to their charms professor, a dashing man with chic mahogany hair, masculine chest hair that peeked through the buttons in his shirt, and eyes as richly green as the forest after a rain. Dina had been so enamored of their quidditch coach, a tall athlete with golden hair, sky blue eyes and a movie-star smile, that she engineered a few nasty falls from her broom just so he would rush to rescue her and carry her to the hospital wing in his burly arms.

It was undeniable that both professors were attractive, but your interest had never been piqued by nerds or jocks. Bad boys appealed to you, or rather, tall, dark and handsome men. Byronic men with a hint of darkness who would be right at home in a gothic Victorian novel. The sort of man who exuded danger and vigor, the kind who had a predatory presence and a devil-may-care glint in his eye. The kind of man who, when he looked at you, he looked ravenously, leaving you wondering if he was going to steal you away to a dark tower or ravage you against the wall at the ball where you could be discovered at any moment.

As schoolgirls, the three of you spent countless hours in the library and common room discussing your favorite literary men, debating which men were the best. Fortunately, there was never any competition between you for your favorites. Zelda could have gallant Mr. Darcy and Gatsby and Atticus Finch. Dina could claim lively Cpt. Wentworth and Beowulf and Jean Valjean. So long as they left roguish Mr. Rochester and Heathcliff and Edmund Dantes for you. The dark antiheroes and villains who you weren’t really supposed to love. The forbidden kind of man. Prince Charming was so boring compared to the Beast, and what prissy prince could eat you better than the Big Bad Wolf? Naturally, the literary epitome of this was Count Dracula, but until he crossed oceans of time to find you, you were left with a sadly more mortal selection of men.

And if there was ever a man who epitomized tall, dark, handsome, and Byronic, it was Jacques Le Gris. When he stalked down the halls, he looked as if he were roaming his family’s century’s old gothic mansion. When he strolled across the grounds in the evening, it was easy to picture him roaming a Scottish moor. Adding to this imagery was the fact that he often undid the top two buttons of his shirt when taking his evening stroll, revealing the thick cleft of his chest. You thought you were suffering a heart attack one morning when you saw him running shirtless near the lake through the mist before dawn.

In coffee and in men, your tastes ran dark, robust, and strong. It was the Head of Slytherin House and Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor who had captivated you from the moment you first saw him. The year he came to Hogwarts as the new defense against the dark arts professor was your last year in school, and despite the number of candles on your birthday cake, there was nothing childish about you at seventeen. The memory of that first day was still as vivid in your mind as the present moment you were living. Professor Le Gris all but storming down the hall in his long purposeful stride, unruly ebony hair dusting his impossibly broad shoulders, his cape swirling in his wake as though it were a living thing. Heat flooded you at the mere memory. Some girls had their sexual awakening in some bumbling experiment with a pimpled teenage boy under the quidditch stands. For you, it was imagining Professor Le Gris’s huge hands running over your body, gripping you so hard in his passion that the bruises he left lingered for days; his long hair falling around his face in sweaty tendrils as he looked down at you, caged beneath his enormous body, running your hands over his broad back and feeling his muscles flex with every thrust into you.

Memories of your darkest fantasies flooded your mind with an almost dizzying intensity. It was unsettling, you had never experienced such vivid, intrusive visions. The feeling of Professor Le Gris’s hands on your body felt as real as the wooden bar you leaned against. The sound of him growling your name in your ear rang deeper than the cheery music in the bar. The rich masculine scent of him overrode the smells around you, and the taste of beer on your tongue was overshadowed by the taste of his skin and arousal.

“Hello?” Zelda snapped her fingers in front of your nose playfully. “Were you listening at all? I asked if you still have a crush on our old defense against the dark arts professor?”

“Oh, Professor Le Gris?” you feigned ignorance, hoping your friends didn’t see the way your pupils had dilated at the thought of him. “I haven’t thought of him in years.”

“Perhaps you can seduce Professor Le Gris and put in a good word for me with Professor Wren and we can have an awkward double date together,” Zelda laughed. “Best we not tell my husband.”

You rolled your eyes and took a drink in an attempt to open your throat back up, since it had closed at the thought of him.

“You’re not a student anymore,” Dina said suggestively. “And rumor has it Professor Le Gris is newly single again after some tawdry fling with one of those jezebels teaching at Beauxbatons. You’re rather lucky, you know? I was devastated to hear that Coach Baldr had married.” She nodded toward her boyfriend at the end of the bar and snickered. “Poor Albert has no clue how precarious a position he has. I would leave him in a moment if that Norse god wanted to take me to Valhalla.”

“Speaking of rumors,” Zelda said, lowering her voice to the quiet tone they once used to gossip in the library. “I still wonder if Le Gris is a werewolf. He has the look, doesn’t he? Those amber eyes, all that bushy hair, and those teeth. The way he looks at you a little too intensely. Can’t you just picture him howling at the moon?”

“My money is still on him being an animagi,” Dina argued. “I agree that he would be a wolf though, like his patronus is. A big black wolf with yellow eyes.”

Unbidden, the image came to you of a big black wolf chasing after you as you ran through a misty forest. Your heart pounded in your ears, almost as loud as the wolf thundering behind you. You inhaled sharply as the wolf lunged at you, sinking his teeth into your neck, pleasurably painful. Your wide eyes shot up as if the bite was real. And met a pair of amber eyes across the room, watching you from a shadowy corner of the bar.

Shock froze you in place, made your muscles seize as though it was Medusa’s eyes you had looked into and been instantly turned to stone. It was lucky actually. Otherwise, you would surely have dropped your beer and made a much more outward spectacle. As it was, you managed to keep a modicum of decorum and show no obvious displays of surprise. Or arousal, even as old fantasies again played in your mind like a song on repeat. You met those eyes steadily, eyes you hadn’t seen in person since your last day as a student at Hogwarts.

Professor Jacques Le Gris watched you intently. The way a wolf watches a fox frolicking unaware. Even the way he leaned casually back in his chair, one long leg crossed over the other, was lupine. A predator at ease, waiting for the opportune moment to seize his prey. Though he reclined in his chair, he still dwarfed the small round table for two. He was dressed all in black, the way you had most often seen him. Only tonight, his jacket was off and his sleeves rolled up to expose muscular forearms. His cravat was undone, the tails hanging down on either side of his shirt, framing the vee of chest that was exposed by the top two open buttons. He looked every bit the swarthy rake, a bodice-ripping libertine straight out of a Victorian penny dreadful. A half-smoked cigar was pinched between his index and middle fingers, a tendril of smoke spiraling from its glowing end toward the ceiling as he casually circled the rim of his glass with his forefinger. His eyes had a fiery glint to match the cigar.

Instantly, you wondered how long he had been there. How long he had been watching you. If he had heard you. Judging by the level of his drink and the length of his cigar, he had been there some time before you arrived. His plush lips twitched in a lopsided smirk as he raised his glass to them, watching you over the rim as he took a drink. Another image intruded into your thoughts. Professor Le Gris striding down one of the many long, dark hallways of Hogwarts. He was behind you, stalking you. And of course he caught you. Grabbing your shoulder, he roughly turned you around and pushed you back against the nearest wall. He crowded against you, towered over you. His hips pinned you to the wall and his arms caged you in, his huge hands planted on either side of your head. He leaned in, his lips hot on your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. Every part of him was huge and hard; his thick chest under your hands, his iron fingers gripping you, his massive cock digging into you through his pants. The thought was too real, utterly taking command of your mind, and your body responded. A deep throb rocked through your core along with a melting heat, dripping through you slowly and deliberately like candle wax.

“I need some air,” you told your friends. They looked at you concerned, so you added convincingly. “It’s nothing. Really. It’s just stuffy in here with the Christmas party crowd. You know how I hate being packed in with the unwashed masses.”

You pushed through the crowded bar and all but bolted outside, hoping the cool winter air would have a chilling effect on your rampant imagination. Outside, you walked briskly, feeling the icy snowflakes land on your cheeks. And the way they steamed on your hotly flushed skin. Thankfully, there were few people outside on Christmas Eve. They were all either home with family or inside at a party like the Leaky Cauldron. Diagon Alley itself was nearly vacant, the shops darkened. Darker still and more vacant was Knockturn Alley. You were counting on it as you rounded the corner into the literal darker alley and trotted past a few darkened storefronts.

In the privacy of a shadowy doorway you leaned against the locked door and let out a heavy breath. You sounded lewd even to your own ears. The overhand of the doorway blocked the snow from falling on you and your skin felt instantly hot again. Another image flooded your mind, and you began to wonder if this was what madness felt like. This vision was different than any you had ever had before, but just as vivid. In your mind’s eye you saw Professor Le Gris standing shirtless in a gothic bedchamber with tall arched windows and a grand king bed, perhaps his chambers at Hogwarts or his home, wherever that was. In that omniscient way you know the thoughts of every character in dreams, you knew the thoughts that plagued him. How he had been consumed by the desire for a particular woman for years. A forbidden woman. Jacques would never seduce a student, fuck a student. No matter how beautiful and enticing, and blatantly responsible for his wolfish hunger you were. In nearly forty years, he had never been so captivated. So enchanted. So cursed.

Clear as a florid memory, you saw Jacques lean against the wall, pressing his head to the cool stone. Here, in private, he could imagine all the things he could never do in reality. Like fuck his favorite student. He knew how wrong it was even to think such disturbing things. The thought made him grin to himself, an indulgent, devilishly handsome grin. He pictured your luscious body. He wondered how sweet you smell. He imagined how delicious you taste. When he focused hard enough, he could feel the tight hot squeeze of you around his cock when he fucked his fist. Stroking his cock, he imagined thrusting into you, over and over and over, feeling you strain and flutter when he stretched you around him. The way he groaned was absolutely filthy when he came, imagining he was filling you until it was leaking out of you. He all but banged his forehead on the stone wall when he finally rested his head there, his hair falling around his face in a disheveled ebony curtain, his bare chest heaving and glistening with sweat.

There in the snowy alley, you watched it all happen in your mind’s eye as though it were your own memory. No, less like a memory and more like watching it happen through a window, like a voyeur. Your friend’s statement flashed in your mind. An exciting, enticing thought.

I am no longer a student.

As you felt a slick heat ruining your panties, you sobered for a moment. Just long enough for one lucid thought that was both thrilling and frightening. You remembered another rumor about Professor Le Gris. He was rumored to be a master of occlumency and legilimency. A legilimens could access another’s mind, see their thoughts and feel their feelings. No one could keep any secrets from a legilimens. Not only could a man with such a skill read your thoughts, he could influence them. He could plant any thought, any feeling, any image into your head as though it was your own. He could make you fantasize about him and remember your most forbidden desires. He could make you see what he felt for you, what he always had. He could make all those thoughts and feelings boil to the surface of your mind, make your desires simmer. He could even make you drip for him, almost on command.

“I’ve known your secrets for some time,” his voice sounded from the alley corner. Real this time, deep and hoarse with desire of his own. Jacques Le Gris leaned against the brick wall of the shop whose doorway you had hidden in. “The way you wanted me to corner you in the halls, pin you there against the wall where you couldn’t escape. Take whatever I want.” His pose was casual, his shoulder leaning against the wall, his legs crossed at the ankle. But his eyes were the opposite, watching you with a burning intensity that all but crackled through the air. “Now, you know my secret, too.” His voice was a growl when he added, “I’ve always wanted you. To ruin you for any other man. To make you mine and keep you all to myself.” He pushed away from the wall and stalked toward you in that predatory way of his. “And now, there’s not a damn thing stopping me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied, a feeble attempt to cling to some dignity. A thought flitted through your mind – he was prostrating himself before you. In his own way, he was making himself just as exposed as you were. He was pursuing you, taking the greater risk.

“Don’t you, now?” he teased in a gravelly voice. “I’ll never believe you didn’t know how you tormented me. Seeing you in those little skirts, thinking about those fumble-fucking schoolboys laying their clumsy hands on you. Knowing how much more a man could give you. What I could give you.”

“And what exactly is it that you could give me?” You tilted your chin up defiantly to add, “Professor?”

“Knowledge.” He walked to you until he stood so close that you could feel the heat radiating off him, grinning wickedly at the way his proximity affected you. “Regardless of what else I may be, I’m a very good professor. There is a loophole in the Hogwarts Code of Conduct that you might find interesting. Relevant.” He placed his hand on the door next to your head and leaned in close, his body only inches from yours. “Would you like to learn it?”

“If it saves me the time reading through the Code myself,” you tried to sound nonchalant, certain you failed. In fact, you did need to read those exact Codes before assuming your role as a new professor, but you had until the start of term to do it.

“Still a procrastinator through and through,” Jacques tisked you and leaned closer, his entire forearm now resting on the door next to your head, his face very close to yours. “You should know that relations between fellow Hogwarts professors are forbidden. A fireable offense.” He dropped his head and brought his prominent nose near your neck, and you thought he was going to kiss you there. Instead, he inhaled deeply through his nose, savoring the scent of you like some exotic perfume he had long been denied. “But forbidden only when the relationship postdates the beginning of a professor’s tenure.”

His words seemed to echo in your thoughts, needing a moment to take root. Looking up, you met his eyes. Eyes that glimmered like gold in the snowy night. “Relationships that predate the beginning of a professor’s term are allowed?”

“Clever girl,” Jacques said, his lips still near your neck, his breath steaming hot on your skin. “You always were a quick study. The very best and brightest. Did you think I only wanted you for that luscious ass?”

You tried to detect a note of sarcasm, but found none. You took a steadying breath and put a tentative hand on his chest. It was hard as granite beneath your hand. Jacques placed his free hand over yours, trapping your hand over his heart. You fixed your eyes on his, watching for a flicker of doubt when you asked, “What is it you want with me, Professor? Exactly?”

“Everything,” he growled the single word. It was more than an affirmation. His eyes told you it was a promise.

“We shouldn’t waste a moment, then,” you told him confidently. Fortune favors the bold, as they say.

“You read my mind.” He smiled genuinely, one of the very few you had ever seen on his lips. His toothy smile could have looked gawky, but right now, he was the most handsome man you had ever seen. His chest rose and fell under your hand as he leaned in to kiss you. Before his lips consummated your first kiss, he whispered, “My name is Jacques, not ‘professor.’”

“I’ll save professor for when I want you to teach me something, then,” you made your voice as seductive as possible now that you had decided on your course of action. It was easy now that you were confident he felt the same, that he desired you as fiercely as you did him. You eased your hips toward him, arching your back away from the door. Your lips were already parted when they met his, eager to finally taste the man you had dreamed of for so long.

The taste of him when he kissed you, the feel of him when his powerful body pressed against you, the strength of his hands on you was so much better than anything your imagination had ever conjured. It must have been the same for Jacques because he groaned into your mouth, his free hand dropped to your waist and he pulled you against him almost brutally. You wanted to feel every inch of your body pressed to his. Lifting a leg, you hooked it over his hip and wrapped your arms around his neck, using your entire body to pull him closer. His hand caressed your thigh from your knee up to your ass then squeezed you there. It would be so easy for him to hoist you up off the ground, for you to wrap your legs around him, for him to fuck you right now against the lonely door in Knockturn Alley, while snowflakes gathered in your hair.

“I know what you want. I’ve seen your fantasies,” Jacques purred, pulling back from your lips just enough to speak. “I know them so well they might as well be my own. Tell me which is your favorite and it will no longer be just a fantasy. I’ll enact it for you right now, down to every last detail.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing already?” you teased. You were on fire from his touch and you ached with desire. Thinking of him as you had been was its own kind of foreplay, and now it was torment to prolong it. He was hard and his cock rubbed against you through both your clothing, teasing you erotically in the perfect place. But then, he knew right where your perfect places were. And dear god, he was huge.

“This is too tame for your fantasies,” he laughed darkly. “Tell me your favorite. Although, I think I know it.” He kissed your neck, teasing your skin with his teeth and a light nip. “You want to run from me, pretend you have a chance of escaping. You want me to chase you down, catch you, rip your clothes off and fuck you like an animal. Or is that what the girls call being ravaged these days?” He pressed more weight against you, almost crushing you against the door, but the feel of his body and his weight was wonderful. “You’d pound your fists on my chest and tell me to stop, but you wouldn’t mean a word of it. You want me to take from you what has always been forbidden to give me.” Pulling back just enough to let you breathe, he brought his hand to your throat. His hand easily circled your neck, making you feel small and vulnerable, trapped in his grip. He squeezed. Gently, just enough for you to feel how easy it would be for him to truly take whatever he wanted. His voice sounded dangerous when he told you, “I can do that.”

“Yes,” you said at once without even taking a moment to think. This is what you had wanted for as long as you could remember wanting anything from a man. And Jacques Le Gris was offering to give it to. “I want our first night together to be like a fantasy. But I have a counteroffer.” He kissed you before you could make it, leaving you breathless when he pulled away. You took a breath and finished, “I say we play out my favorite fantasy first and your favorite second.” You cocked an eyebrow at him in a challenge. “If you’re game.”

“Darling, I was born game and I intend to go out that way.” When Jacques grinned at you now, sideways and wicked, the wolf practically jumped out of him. You knew he was telling the truth, that he shared your desires in full. That he wanted you just as desperately as you did him, and that he possibly had for just as long.

“Wait, I can’t just run off.” You stalled him with your hand on his chest. “What will my friends think?”

“What do you want them to think?” He slyly tapped a finger to his temple, his message clear.

“It’s enough for them to think I went home with a handsome man and not to worry about me,” you said coyly. “And it had better be true.”

“So long as you think me handsome, it’s true.” His grin widened and he pushed your arms back up around his neck. “Hold on tight.”

You knew what he was about to do before he did it and asked, “Where are you taking me?”

“The perfect place to give you what you want,” he laughed, a throaty rumbling laugh, and held you so tight you couldn’t have escaped his arms if you wanted.

Suddenly, the world blurred around you and spun as if you stood at the center of a cyclone. Your stomach swooped with the unnerving feeling of falling and a boom like thunder rang in your ears. When the world stopped spinning, your head took another moment to catch up. You swayed against Jacques in what could rightly be described as a swoon. For a few seconds, his hard body against you felt like the only solid thing in the world. He held you as you regained your balance and composure, his arms comforting and secure.

You were no longer in Knockturn Alley, or the city at all. You were surrounded by thick pine trees with snow drifting lazily down around you and leaving a light blanket on the ground. The light was diffused softly from the light of the bright full moon filtered through a thin layer of cloud. It looked like a dream and you wondered if Jacques could possibly be such a powerful legilimens that he could be crafting this world all inside your head. But you knew this was real, and you knew precisely where he had apparated with you. Although it had been years, you had been here many times before.

You shook your head at him fondly, appreciating his humor in the moment. He had taken you to the Forbidden Forest.

Jacques was game indeed. He fully intended to give you exactly what you had always wanted– a man of action instead of those of lesser fortitude who hid behind pretty words. Now that the onus was on you to accept his offer, you found it difficult to keep from trembling with nerves. He was so big, so powerful, so predatory. It was more than a little intimidating to think of him chasing you, catching you, manhandling you. It was almost frightening. But then, that was the point, wasn’t it? It was always a fine line between fear and excitement, between a fright and a thrill.

“What shall it be, beautiful?” Jacques asked. The devious bastard had probably read your mind again. Or your trepidation was that plainly written on your face. “Do you want me to play naughty or nice with you?”

“You brought me here,” you said with as much conviction as you could, making up your mind. “Carpe nocturne.”

“I’ll seize something alright.” Jacques sucked his teeth and bared his canines in a wolfish grin. Moonlight glinted off his teeth and glazed his black hair with silver, giving him a wild look. A beast, at home in these woods. He lowered his chin and fixed his lupine eyes on you, looking ravenous and dangerous. His voice rumbled through you when you told you, “I’ll give you ten seconds to run before I hunt you down and sink my teeth into that delicious ass of yours.”

“Ten seconds, huh?” you teased as you took a few tentative steps away from him deeper into the woods, exaggerating the sway of your hips seductively.

“One.” He cut off your flouncing, deadly serious, and took an ominous step toward you. He rolled one sleeve back up to his elbow where it had slipped down, somehow making that gesture look aggressive.

Smiling, you began lightly trotting through the dense trees. The forest glittered all around you in white snow, silver moonlight, and deep pine trees. The air was crisply-scented and cool, but your skin was so flushed the chill was welcome.

“Two,” he huffed behind you. “Better run a lot faster than that.”

Deciding on a path through the trees, you quickly picked up speed as adrenaline flooded your bloodstream. The idea of the chase, of running from a looming hunter, was exhilarating. You found a small game trail snaking through the forest, a pristine white laceration between the snowy trees, narrower than a footpath. The trees themselves reached their twisted branches out to you, as if to offer their help to hide you from the beast at your heels. A light mist lingered in the forest, dancing around your knees and swirling in your wake as you ran ahead.

You felt it when Jacques gave chase. You couldn’t see him now through the trees and brush that separated you, you certainly couldn’t hear him, but you felt him somehow like an electric shudder through your body, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. It was as if the forest itself felt him too, the atmosphere changing around you now that you were actively being hunted.

A thick pine tree was close ahead of you, its lush low-hanging branches inviting you near, offering you a place to hide from your pursuer. Ducking under its branches, you pressed your back to the trunk on the opposite side of the trail. Snow dusted down on you from the branches you rustled, pleasantly cool on your skin. The fragrant smell of pine and sap surrounded you as you breathed heavily through your nose, trying to slow the hammering in your chest.

Snap.

The sound of a breaking branch reverberated through the trees, making your entire body jolt. You strained your ears to divulge more sounds, but there were none to be heard. The silence around you was so complete it was oppressive after the sounds of your running. It seemed as though the forest itself had gone quiet, and the snow offered more insulation on top of it. The trees surrounding you had become an audience waiting with bated breath to see if you would make your escape. Or if you would fall victim to the hunter at your heels.

Surely, Jacques could have caught up to you by now. You expected him to charge past your hiding spot behind the pine tree only seconds after you and run ahead down the game trail.

Slowly and as quietly as you could, you turned to look around the trunk of the tree that shielded you, daring to breach the side of the tree with only one eye as you checked your backtrail. Nothing. No big bad man in sight. Even the fog had settled again.

You returned your back to the tree and rested your head back against it, still scanning the trail. As you returned to face front, you caught movement from the corner of your eye. You snapped your head around to meet Jacques’s unnerving eyes and hulking body looming right at your shoulder. You almost jumped out of your skin as a pathetic yelp left your throat. Jacques growled as his arm shot around your waist, pulling you roughly against him. He wasted no time in sinking his teeth into your neck in a biting kiss, ensuring he left a bruise to mark the presence of his lips.

“Jacques!” You jumped away from him, fueled by reflexes alone. Jacques let you. You took a moment to steady yourself, filling your lungs with air too slowly for your spinning head and rubbing the fresh mark on your neck. It stung, but sensually so.

“I’ll only count to five this time.” Jacques told you as he stepped toward you with a hint of menace and a devilish grin curling his lips.

Hungry lust radiated off Jacques in waves, so thick you could feel it on the air like a spectral presence. And it was all for you. He indeed thrilled you and also frightened you just a little, just enough for that rush of adrenaline to make you giddy. He certainly knew what he was doing, playing this little game of yours, or he had read your desires as clearly as a script and played his role to perfection. Sweat shone on his chest through the open vee in his shirt, a blush tinting his chest and neck. He looked voracious, driven mad by his desire. Jacques awakened the animal part of your brain that civilized society had tried for millennia to tame away, the part of you that wanted to be captured, taken, and utterly ravaged. Jacques was enjoying this even more, his huge chest heaving from the thrill of the hunt. You could see how it sparked a primal urge deep inside of him, probably even more poignant that it did in you. You could also see the evidence of his aching arousal tenting his pants. You were no better off. You had been melting inside all night, it seemed.

Backing away from him, you took a few deep breaths as you prepared to run again, unable to rein your pulse back down from a gallop. He registered your excitement and winked at you, enjoying your game. Laughing, you bounded away then skipped into a run that carried you further along the trail and deeper into the welcoming mystery of the woods.

The trail narrowed and became overgrown as the forest closed in around you. Deeper inside the forest, the woods grew wilder, much as the man chasing you was growing wilder with every pursuing step. You knew he was closing in on you swiftly. You slowed enough to look behind you. You were just in time to see Jacques lowering his massive body as he lunged at you with a growl. His shoulder connected with your waist as his strong arms gripped you, tackling you to the ground beneath him. He was careful with you. He’d never actually tackle you with his full force or risk hurting you. His arm hit the ground hard beneath you, cushioning your body when you met the cold wet snow. His heavy body covered you with enough weight to pin you but not quite enough to crush you.

Laying on your back beneath his sweaty body, your arms flew around him. One hand fisted harshly into his damp hair and one hand dug sharp nails into his muscular shoulder, earning a groan in response. Jacques crashed his lips down against yours in a hard, desperate kiss, his hot tongue twining with yours, stealing the breath from your lungs. He kissed you hungrily, licking into your mouth and catching your lips between his teeth. He brought an enormous hand to your neck, again wrapping around your throat easily, squeezing just enough to make your pulse quicken and pound against his palm, adding to the effect of being captured.

“Do you like making me chase after you?” he asked into your mouth. “You must, since you’ve teased me for years. The torment was almost more than I could stand. Do you know how hard it was for me to resist taking what I know you wanted to give me?”

“I like being chased,” you whispered back. Feeling his weight press down upon you as you kissed, your legs fell open to invite him to settle between them. “But I like being caught by you even more.”

A low moan rumbled in his chest and he grinned against your mouth. The hand at your neck smoothed down to your breast, kneading you and making you gasp.

Moving his hand lower, Jacques’s fingers dipped inside your pants, inside your panties, discovering how hot and wet you were already. You were powerless to resist succumbing to him, your body not allowing you to maintain any coy pretenses. Jacques’s mouth moved down to your neck as he plunged two thick fingers into you, curling them firmly against that spot he knew could make you scream. His fingers worked you into a frenzy as his teeth and lips attended to your neck and throat. He began rutting against you, his cock digging into the back of his own hand, which was still making you writhe on his fingers. Even that light movement caused your body to shift on the ground. The snow beneath you had melted, the ground now soupy under your back.

“This is about to get messy if you want me to take you here, fuck you on the ground like an animal,” he said huskily, pulling back from your lips. “Do you want that? The beast from your fantasy? Or I can show you what I’ve always fantasized about doing to you instead. It’s much simpler, I’m afraid.” He kissed you again. “But you’ll like it.”

“You’ve already proven better than my fantasies,” you said, running your hands over the breadth of his back. “I trust your judgment.”

“Hold on,” he told you as he pulled his fingers from you. He collapsed on you and gripped you in a strong bear hug, but you barely had time to feel the heavy weight of him.

The ground fell away beneath you and you squeezed your eyes shut as your stomach swooped in that familiar way. Thunder boomed around you and the whole world seemed to shake from it. The cool air whisked away from you, replaced by a welcoming warmth. The snow and ice of the forest was replaced by the golden glow of a fire dancing inside a marble fireplace. The sky above you was replaced by an arched cathedral ceiling, and the ground beneath you exchanged for crisp sheets on a king bed. The only things that remained from the forest were the silver moonlight peeking in through the tall, arched windows, and Jacques above you, grinning down at you, the feeling of his powerful body covering you. He traced hot kisses down your throat and chest as he rose back off the bed to roughly shrug off his shirt and work his belt free.

The sight of him shirtless was breathtaking, you felt yourself growing wetter just from that sight alone. His chest was glorious. You had never seen a chest so thick and expansive. His shoulders were absurdly broad and made even more impressive by his fit abdomen. The taper of his waist, the lines of muscle along his hips, even the trail of hair descending from his navel, all worked in conjunction to practically drag your eyes down toward his cock. After pulling your shirt off, you centered yourself on the bed and arched your back seductively. Jacques reached for your pants and yanked them the rest of the way off, tossing them aside as he stood over you at the side of the bed. His eyes glistened like whiskey on ice as his gaze caressed your body.

“As many times as I’ve imagined you like this, you’re better,” he said reverently in a voice that was all smoke and gravel.

You watched the muscles in his arms flex as he undid his belt and pants. Without taking his eyes from you, he unceremoniously shoved his pants down, stepping out of them quickly. Towering above you, standing totally naked, he palmed his enormous erection and let you admire the sight of him, the cocky bastard, watching you with his molten gaze. You expected Jacques to have a nice cock, as big as he was everywhere else. You had imagined it embarrassingly often, but the sight of him still made your breath hitch. It was practically monstrous, and deliciously thick. He would have injured you as a schoolgirl, and you couldn’t be entirely certain he wouldn’t now. Another bit of danger he offered. There would be a limit to how rough he could be with you, and you were thankful that he was seasoned enough to know it.

“If you can’t handle me, tell me now.” Of course, he couldn’t resist teasing you.

In response, you held his eyes firmly as you reached to undo your bra, slinging it across the room to be lost with your other discarded clothing. You raised one eyebrow at him, meeting his challenge. Jacques walked to the edge of the bed, pausing briefly to absorb the sight of you as you lay spread before him, the best Christmas gift he had ever received, before he lowered himself to the mattress and crawled over your body.

Eagerly, your legs spread for him again and he settled between them. Jacques caged you in with his impressive arms on either side of your body as he bent over you, a predator over his prey, and kissed at your navel. His kisses were open mouthed and he lavished you with his tongue. He trailed his mouth down until he placed a wet kiss at the top of your pussy, still covered by the lace of your thong. Bringing a hand down to the thin line of fabric at your hip, he yanked it roughly, ripping your thong away from you and tearing it apart with one motion. His aggressive lust had you aching with the need to be filled. Jacques paused and just admired you, the way you glistened with desire. He lowered himself, wanting to kiss you there, taste you, make you cum on his tongue. But you stopped him.

“The first time you make me cum, I want it to be with your cock,” you told him huskily. “I want to feel you inside of me when I cum.”

Jacques grinned up at you before trailing his nose and lips slowly back up the center of your body as he crawled up into position above you. He paused to inhale deeply at your throat, taking in the scent of you and exhaling in a low heady groan. He kissed you passionately and deep. His taste was smokey and lush, making you shiver. His weight was resting on you now, pushing you down into the mattress. You could feel the muscles in his back and shoulders tense and flex under your hands as he moved, and his heavy chest pressed against yours, a sharp contrast to his soft lips. The unduly thick head of his cock nudged into you, teasing at your entrance. When you bucked your hips against him, he plunged into you in one fluid stroke. He rolled his hips against you gently, giving you time to adjust to his size. Your nails raked his back as a pornographic moan escaped your lips at the pleasure of being so completely full of him. Jacques’s mouth returned to diligently kiss you as the rolling of his hips became shallow thrusts. When your hips started moving to meet his own in time with his thrusts, he began thrusting into you more passionately.

Jacques propped himself up with his hands on either side of your head. Groaning again at an unabashed volume, he pulled back and slammed his entire length into you. It skirted the line of painful pleasure, but he felt so good. He saw your features rendered beautifully distraught by pleasure and kept that angle and rhythm that he knew was driving you in exactly the direction you wanted. You fluttered and tightened around him, your orgasm imminent. Jacques could feel it. Losing control himself, he fucked you harder, pistoning into you roughly. His whole body tensed when he felt the pulsing orgasm surge through you, shooting through him like a current of pleasure connected the two of you. Jacques’s thrusts grew erratic, his shoulders and arms quivered, and he came moments after you on a deep thrust. You reached to his thick, damp hair, tangling your fingers in it and pulling him down to settle over you. He looked down at you adoringly then kissed you lovingly. Though it was unspoken, the emotion was unmistakable.

After lavishing you slowly and indulgently, he rolled onto his back and pulled you down against his enormous chest. Wrapping the arm beneath you around your waist tightly, he held you in something between a cuddle and a bear hug and caressed you with his free hand. His huge body was hot beneath you, his arms radiating warmth around you, and his lips searing as they gently kissed along your hairline. The man was an absolute fever dream. He could keep you in an erotic stupor for hours if he wanted.

“Where are we?” you asked lazily, drunk on the rush he had given you.

“Normandy,” he purred, his hands gentle and warm on your skin. “My home, precisely speaking.”

“This looks like the inside of a castle,” you said of the bedroom with its stone walls and arched windows.

“You could call it that.” He smirked. “Regardless of the descriptor, it will accommodate us well until the start of term.” He brought his fingers under your chin, tipping your face up to look at him. “Provided you’ll accept my invitation to stay with me until then.”

“I’ll need a change of clothes,” you laughed.

“Not for what I have planned,” he laughed too, and rolled back over you again.

Briefly you wondered at the stir you would cause when the pair of you returned to Hogwarts in January. Together. Gossip spread through those enchanted halls like wildfire and you knew a professorial couple would be a source of it for a long time to come. You had no time to dwell on the thought now. Jacques demanded all of your attention elsewhere.

************************************************************************

Tagging some bewitching beauties 🖤

@babbushka @mrs-gucci @mrs-zimmerman @gabesprincess @maybe-your-left @rynwritesstuff @candycanes19 @caillea @cas-backwards-tie @queeniebee @mythrielofsolitude @ghoulian13 @icarusinthesea @reyloaddict55 @heartlight-starlight @clydesfavoritegirl @celiholland @reveluving @reylokisses @queen-of-elves @kyloremus @looking4mymagicshop @lumberjack00fantasies

#my stuff!#my writing #hogwarts!jacques le gris #jacques le gris x reader #Jacques le gris x you #halloween #winter #best #fic #werewolf

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guyfieriii · 1 year

Text

Sad Girl

This piece is dedicated to the lovely @randomchick546 for this ask. Thank you so so much for patiently waiting! This is so long overdue, I just hope its worth the wait and I did your prompt justice!

Be prepared for a bucket full of angst and then some.

Pairing: John Price x f!Reader Warnings: Explicit Sexual Scenes

You’re embossed with memories of his touch, his lips.

It’s jarring — just how often your mind hurtles to a place, a moment, a memory you’ve shared. You walk by the smoke shop, half a mile out of your usual route to campus just to breathe it in. Wafts of tobacco, spice, and a lingering sweetness — you’re right back there with him.

“Something on your mind, love?”

Fuck.

He sounds so genuine in his concern, the truth almost slips out.

You’re leaving tomorrow, John.

“I — Nothing.” There’s this constant pressure that’s settled deep within your chest — it tightens ever so slightly. It coils around and travels upwards, burning your throat like bile. Unspoken truths, veiled emotions. It obturates your mind and you bite back the impulse to succumb to the cacoethes. The strain of it makes you ache.

It’s better than the alternative.

You wonder if you’ve left as much of a lasting effect on him, as he has on you. You must have. Why else would he come back?

He’s gone, often for months at a time, but every time he comes back home, he goes searching for you.

It’s always the same.

Can I see you? Let me see you.

You make the obligatory half-assed attempt at resisting his call. It’s a pasquinade. A pitiful farce you undergo to make yourself feel better. Make you feel less desperate. Which you are.

Desperate to stay away for self-preservation and yet desperate for another moment back in his arms.

You’re pulled taut, being ushered by the opacity of pure need and want. It’s thick and it clings.

So you dither for a moment, pretend to pause before saying yes.

As if you haven’t been counting the days.

He must, too. Why else would he come back?

In all likelihood, it’s just another form of casuistry you’ve contrived as a balm for that ache.

Wishful thinking.

Laughable. Arbitrary.

Yes, John.

Always, John.

You think back to the moment you met him. It wasn’t happenstance. Not the kind of meet-cute you see in films and hear about in songs.

This isn’t that kind of story.

It was utterly manufactured. From the second you laid eyes on him. He was seated at the far end of the bar, staring into a half-empty glass clasped firmly in his grip. He looked at it as though it was his only place of solace.

Until he met you.

He seemed lost, but his posture betrayed him — rigid, attentive, in absolute cognizance of his surroundings.

It’s a fragmentary attempt, then, to try and find relief.

You stare. You assess. You memorize. For a moment too long, perhaps.

There’s a pulse in his shoulder, as he lifts his glass to his lips. As though he notices you out of peripherals.

A revelation that doesn’t come to you quickly enough, and suddenly you’re caught. He looks at you, brow raised in a silent question. Shame and embarrassment creep up your chest and you’re left speechless, caught red-handed in your voyeuristic tendencies.

What he does next, is unexpected.

He raises his glass to you, a whisper of a smile beneath his moustache. It’s a gesture you reciprocate.

Moments pass and neither of you looks away. It’s unnerving, being the subject of unremitting attention. A pharisaic thought coming from you, regardless, it’s somehow agitating and euphoric in equal measures.

You’re hyperaware of his gaze on you, everything else in the background seems to meld into a kaleidoscope of cobalt and azure.

Neither of you makes an attempt to move and eventually the spell breaks and he turns away.

You have no right to feel as disappointed as you do.

A precursor, really, for what’s to come.

You see him again, the two of you still seated at opposite ends of the bar. A sea of people between you, painfully present yet quite inconsequential. There are friends commemorating something or the other, couples locked in intimate conversations, some closer than others, and a few singles, out on the prowl. Then there’s you and him.

Your silent exchange resumes. You raise your glasses in unspoken cheers, locked eyes, fighting the urge to stand and cross this trodden path to the other side.

You try and imagine it — his voice.

The way it would eclipse you, weighted, full of husk and honeyed, it would cling to your memory. The way it would carry through the room, cut through the sea of noise in succinct clarity. It would set you alight, much like his gaze.

You don’t mind it.

You’d prefer it. The burn — a similar way to the scotch he just bought you.

The bartender had placed the glass down promptly just as you took your seat.

“From the gentleman down the bar.” He said.

Somehow, without looking, you knew.

You couldn’t know for certain, of course. Not unless you crossed the distance between you and him. It’s an enticing prospect, but you hold back.

So does he.

A week goes by, the two of you are locked in a battle for consistency. The only meaningful exchange that happens, is the swap of your drinks. A scotch for you, a gin and tonic for him. You almost laughed at the near-comical look he pulled when you bought him one, but he drank it all, nevertheless.

It started out as engaging, almost tantalizing, given that both of you were clearly holding back. A little tease. Some back and forth. No words are spoken, yet a conversation is held. His measured cadences are all conveyed in a single look, and you’re left wanting for more.

A clear sign, if there ever was one.

Eventually, you’ve had enough. Your impatience gets the better of you, however, you can’t be the one to make the first move. So you wait. You wait at the threshold of the pub, unwilling to cross it, watching him from afar. Trying to find that same impatience that one could wring out of you within him.

Wishful thinking.

You walk around the block once, twice, before taking another quick glance to see him still at the bar. You watch the late-night traffic pass by in a haze of taillights just to pass the time.

An hour goes by, and you’re worried you’ve miscalculated. By the looks of it, he seems to be leisurely enjoying a drink, and you’re the fool who’s freezing out in the cold to prove a point. The late autumn chill sets deep within your bones and you almost cave in just for the warmth but you persevere, and your tenacity is rewarded.

“I missed you in there.” His voice is just as you had imagined it.

It does burn.

You wait a breath before turning around to see him, nonchalant, leaning against the brick wall of the pub. He has a knowing smile on his face like he’s known what you’ve been up to all this time.

“Been waiting out here for long, love?” He deftly lights a cigar, taking in a short puff, smoke wafting out from the cusp of his lips in quick bursts.

“I—” You had words planned. Intricately thought out, in an effort to be clever. In an effort to impress. You blame the academic in you, you’re always out to galvanize your way onto someone’s memory through the sheer virtuosity of your intellect. So, you prepare and agonize over every interaction.

He did it without even trying.

“Yes.” There’s something about him, something within the way he looks at you that you don’t even bother with a lie.

“Like to make a man wait, do you?” He takes a step forward, unyielding in his gaze.

“In some cases. It’s not like you were itching to make a move.” You challenge back, your heart thrumming in your chest, your breath quickening as he takes another step forth.

“I was biding my time.” He says, simply.

“For what?” You counter.

“Wanted to see if I—” He’s inches away from you now, the scent of him engulfs you — firewood smoke, vanilla, and spice. You wonder if he tastes the same.

“Yes?” You rasp, mouth suddenly dry. You run your tongue across your bottom lip, as your gaze falls on his, the cigar still clutched between his teeth.

“Does it matter?” He asks in a way that seems redundant. Like he already knows the answer.

“Not really.” You whisper and he smiles.

“Can I see you, darling?”

A year has passed. His effect on you remains the same. Some kind of trance in a form of limbo. Forever stuck between the rapture that comes with having captured John’s attention the way you have, and the longing in the time that holds in between. There is no moderation, only extremes.

“Can I see you, darling?” He asks again.

No, John. I don’t like it when you go away.

“Yes, John.”

It’s a prison of your own making, because he was nothing if not upfront about his situation. The moment the two of you realized you wanted this to be more than a one-night thing he had been straightforward about his circumstances.

“I’ll be gone for long stretches, darling. Is that something—”

“You worry too much, John. What’s that they say about absences and hearts?”

He looks pleased and you’re elated.

The longest he had been away at a stretch was eight weeks. The first two went by fairly quickly.

You were still in a state of bliss after an entire week spent with him. All your time was split evenly in between classes and John. You’d often go to a class with his shirt on, the smell of him clinging to you.

The same shirt now hangs in your closet. It doesn’t smell like him anymore.

Your limbs ached and your mind was left reeling after a week of sleep deprivation and sex, but you revelled in it. All that remained was lasting proof of your time with him — something to cling on to.

The third and fourth week, that feeling had subsided and your memory of him faltered. Late at night you’d lay in bed, hands nestled between your thighs as you desperately rummaged through memories of your time with him. If your imagination did its work right, his hands would replace yours. You could feel the weight of his body, the shape of him, the warmth. His voice in your ear, breathless, wanting.

“Tell me how bad you want it, darling. Fuckin’ tell me an’ I’ll give it to ya.”

It still burned.

Even when he’s not there.

The last stretch of the time spent in his absence was pure agony. You try find a substitute, nothing perfect but something to pass the time.

All in vain.

Any hands that aren’t his just make the lack of them all the more apparent. John’s hands, you feel, were made for you — to mold and shape and caress. Ruin, even.

His absence transforms the ruin into absolution.

Any seeming imitation just adds insult to injury, no matter who it is. You’re left desiring, more than you were before. A feeling that once simmered beneath the surface would surge through, impossible to ignore.

Your skin itches, trying its hardest to grasp at the remnants of his touch, but the slate is practically wiped clean. All you can do is wait. Patiently, as far as outward expressions go. You’re composed for John’s benefit. Indifferent, almost.

Cool. Calm. Collected.

Or perhaps—

“Do you think about me when you’re away?”

There’s a pause. A slight hitch in his breath. His cock still sheathed deep within you, brows furrowing in confusion as though he might have misheard what you said.

You instantly wish you could take it back. It’s a meaningless question anyway, one uttered in a moment of mind-numbing bliss as walls crumbled down and you faltered. You forgot the carefully constructed façade you maintained. Just long enough for a transitory spill of some truth.

It’s freeing — you want to keep going, but you can’t. You feel it bubble beneath the surface, pressing outward and up. You turn away — you have to. The prying look that shadows his expression threatens to wring you out of every thought you’ve ever had. You’d spill them all. Open, like a faucet. What would flow through is months of hunger, ache. Enduring an itch that never fucking subsides. You’d confess to it all — on your knees. Every sin. Every passing iniquity.

And hope for absolution.

Wishful fucking thinking.

His fingers grasp your chin in a firm hold. Not bruising, not even one that ushers you to look back at him. Just firm. Like he’s allowing you to continue, asking for more rather than demand it.

You’re a creature of habit.

You concede.

You’re met with a fierce look, accusation lay plain like a chrisom shading his eyes. It doesn’t frighten you. You’re exhilarated, now that the shame has passed.

What you said, it cannot be undone. You’ve forced his hand, drawn out a reaction.

He must confess as well.

He must—

“What do you want me to tell you?” He whispers harshly.

“John—“ You begin,

His hips jerk forward — forceful, emphatic. Like he’s trying to make his question sink in deeper.

“Fuck— John, I—” You barely gasp out, lungs burning under the pressure of this sudden change. You’re breathless, quivering, and oh so ready. You’re primed — because this is it. It takes every ounce of self-control you have not to make your gratification too apparent.

You sense it. His confession. It’s what you’ve spent months wondering, finally coming to light.

His thrusts are unforgivable, deep and hard. The kind that reverberate up your spine and make your teeth shatter.

“Think about nothin’ else but you, my darling.” His chuckle is humourless and disbelieving like he can’t fathom how you’ve managed to yield this confession out of him.

Makes it feel like an accomplishment all the more.

You don’t even bother to hide your grin.

“You’re a fuckin’ menace, y’know that?” His lips are at your ear, your entire frame now eclipsed by his. Your hands find purchase across his shoulders, wide, rippling with tense musculature as he presses himself into you, every inch of skin between the two of you aligned. The warmth that rolls off him has you nearly feverish.

Your fingers trace constellations of gunshot wounds that embellish the broad expanse of his back. Had you more timed you’d have counted them all, asked for the story behind each one. Ease the memory, perhaps with a kiss. He’d indulge you, you’re sure of it.

You might not have been before, but now—

“Get off on it, don’t ya?” The timing of his words is immaculate — your cunt spasming around his cock in synchronicity with every twitch his as he spills himself into you. You come undone, once again with a shivered moan and a breathy chorus of ‘Yes, John’.

“That’s fucking right. Just like that.“ He murmurs appreciatively, tracing your collarbone with a delicate swipe of his tongue. “So good for me.”

He’s showered you with praise before, even with repetition. He’s told you how well you take him. He’s confessed to how good he feels buried in you. It’s evident with how he remains within — till he softens, just encased in your warmth like he’s meant to be there. He’ll taste you like a man starved and declare he’d die a happy man buried between your legs. You’ve heard it before.

For a little while, it had lost its novelty.

But now—

You’re invigorated in this new achievement of yours, in this latest revelation. You’re not the only one who suffers.

He aches, too.

There is something to be said about this feeling of solidarity. Knowing you’re not alone somehow serves as a balm. You’re apart and it’s torturous, but he feels it too.

Or—

Or maybe it’s just your ego that likes being stroked.

If you were to go off of the near perverse triumph you feel right now, you’d bet on the latter.

“I’ll send you off with a little present.” You say. “Since you miss me so much.”

“Mm? What’s that?” He husks lazily, placid oases gleaming back at you. It’s painfully intimate — this moment. You want to let the time still, with the two of you under this canopy of bliss and deepened confessions. You want to let the words sink in and let the seconds pass slower.

They don’t.

“Get your phone, John.”

“Sending a soldier off with a little photo, are you?”

“Not a photo. No.”

That gets this attention.

He fucks you again as a way of thanks, and as the hours dwindle to the early morning and you lay enveloped in each other's arms, you remind him of it.

It’s not how you expect it to go. It’s gentle, almost loving. He takes his time with you, prolongs every action, savours every response. He treats this gift like a genuine one, unwrapping you with care and precision.

Or maybe that’s just the army man in him.

He follows your lead for most of it, save for one request he makes at the end.

“Say it.”

“What, John?”

“Say you’ll miss me.”

You pause. He falters for a moment, unsure.

But still--

“I’ll miss you.”

It hurts that he looks surprised.

You see him again, two months later. He says it’s different. He says he’s staying longer this time.

“Spend it with me?” He asks.

He asks.

You’d think after all this time he’d know better.

You brace yourself not to answer too quickly and give yourself away. Barring the one time, there haven’t been any clandestine confessions made between the two of you.

It’s a gift — more time. A thing that only existed in the confines of your imagination now dares to turn into a reality.

You almost don’t believe it. It’s too good to be true.

You’re too used to missing him, it’s made you wary of the alternative.

You just can’t help yourself.

“Don’t you have other people to see, John?”

There’s an unmistakable clench in his jaw when he sharply turns away as if you slapped him. You wait with bated breath for the pin to drop, for a crack in the armour. You’d spend all this added time just trying to chisel at fissures that form — they have in the past only to close too soon.

And now—

You hurt him. If only he’d admit it.

“Rather see you, is all.”

It’s a statement. Blank. Matter of fact. It might assuage most people, but you aren’t most people. They aren’t the ones who get attached in an untenable situation. They don’t keep a distance as a form of self-preservation, definitely not as unsuccessfully as yourself at any rate. They would see Captain Price for the man he is — dutiful. Unattainable. Larger than life, even. They’d be pleased with his unvarnished reasoning and take what they are given with a smile.

So do you.

It’s just not real.

You’re a glutton for agony. It’s like you’re hardwired to seek it. Persistence is second nature — even when you set yourself up for circumstances that are less than ideal, you’ll see your way through to the end.

You fuck. Relentlessly. Despite having the extra time on hand, both you and he act like it’s a dwindling commodity.

You try to find your chance in between the heated touches, the whines, and the moans. Your name is a song perpetually at the cusp of his lips — at times a form of supplication in a chorale of many others.

“Please, love.”

“Jus’ like that. Fuckin’ take it.”

“So pretty. So perfect.”

“That’s it, darling.”

His touch remains impenitent — hard, rough, relentless.

His voice is a take dragging across a pebbled path — textured, heavy. It travels down your skin in a shroud of his warm breath.

The words caress, but his voice—

Burns.

It’s only his words that at the outlier. The striking contrast of white along a canvas of red.

That’s how you picture it.

They never cease, even when it’s you and him, breathless, coming down from a high. You’re spent, covered in a sheen of sweat. Limbs tingling from the exertion. Your eyes are heavy with sleep. The slight movement of his chest, the even timed up and down of his breathing are practically soporific.

However, you maintain your wits long enough to find a moment’s interlude, just to say—

“John, I’m—”

Sorry.

Too late. There’s nothing to chisel at, no gap slither past.

“Shhh. Don’t.”

You know better than to make another attempt.

Feigned apathy, then. For the remainder of the time.

It’s somehow harder now and you’re not sure why. It’s not as if you haven’t perfected the art of quiet disappointment. Perhaps it’s because you’ve seen past the rubble, and into the man. You’ve experienced a slice of that torturous ‘what if?’. Maybe now, the evident reality of your situation isn’t that easy to ignore.

When he leaves, as he always does you come to a decision. Since you can’t possibly ask for more, it’s the to cut your losses. You move on. You’ve memorized and cataloged enough of him to simmer the pain. You won’t be sad. It’ll be fine. You’ll be good.

You’ll be—

“Can I see you, love? Just tonight.”

“Yes, John.”

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applesaucethatsme · 2 months

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i think none of the octotrio has a spice tolerance... zero, 1 red pepper is a no-go 💀

they would quite literally die if they ever decided to eat some buldak ramen noodles, they're from the sea and have only (i think) eaten RAW SEAFOOD their entire lives, no seasoning as far as i know (you can correct me on this though 😭)

yes, they most likely can handle a little bit but if it comes to a point that the food is spicier than a jalapeño, then HELL NO

just jade unknowingly eating a spicy ass meal, the pepper his kicks in the back of his throat making him clear his throat and that's when the pain in his tongue, throat, lips and possibly lungs (it happens to me for some reason 💀)... the only thing he really does is to sit and stare blankly at the table or food, while possibly a small tear runs down his cheek... (get some yogurt for this man 😞)

azul, maybe tolerates it the best tbh. i've seen one headcanon that he can spit ink in spicy meals to make them less spicy and it has been stuck on my mind ever since. low-key, it might be a little frightening to see his once red meal turn black-ish... anyways, he probably has some milk on hand and just drinks it normally while his tongue and lips are tingling

now, i don't even know where to start with floyd. he may or may not complain that its super spicy while scarfing down some ice cream... he most likely tolerates it, but sure as hell doesnt like the tingling/burning sensation it leaves in his mouth. bro probably has some sensory issues regarding that 😭

maybe the spiciness of the dish can help with his mood swings? like when he goes into a more irritated/bored mood he just orders something spicy (not something too spicy of course) and eats it to feel something or to calm down? sounds like floyd tbh 🧍

my bad for any spelling mistakes its like 1AM and i'm tired 😞

#charlie rambles about stupid shit #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twst headcanons #twst imagines #twst x reader #azul ashengrotto #octavinelle #floyd leech #jade leech #twst azul #twst azul ashengrotto #twst floyd #twst floyd leech #twst jade #twst jade leech #twst octavinelle #octotrio

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boykissr · 8 months

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myrrh / lavender and sage

asra x reader x muriel

contents : comfort smut, pwp, praise, sub reader, dom characters, ooc, grammar/spelling mistakes probably, super indulgent

a.n. : um.. sorry for disappearing for god knows how long <333 heres a snippet of a smutfic in writing for my bf to make up for it ! i'll probably post the rest when i finish it if this is received well <3

the night is still young, and you sigh as you relax into the many furs adorning muriel's worn mattress, limbs aching after a busy day at the shop.

asra saunters over to your relaxed form, smelling of herbs and spices and holding a steaming cup of tea, grinning when you open an eye to peek at his admittedly revealing silk lavender robe; it was a gift from nadia, handed over with a knowing glint in her eye.

"like what you see?" he teases, soothing voice almost gliding over you like butter. he looks gorgeous with the crackling fire illuminating his already-ethereal features. you blink and he's seated on your left, his free hand guiding your pliant head to rest on his chest, before taking a sip of the tea and placing it on the nightstand. "rough day?" he coos, adjusting his tune as you nod and he reclines back, your head still resting on his bare chest; still listening to the steady beat of your hearts.

just then, the door swings open as muriel hobbles in, shoulders sagging as he beelines it for the mattress, front door swinging shut behind him. the large frame of your shared lover looms over you and asra before he climbs into bed on your other side, relaxation visibly washing over him as he reaches a beefy arm around your waist and softly kisses the crook of your neck. now, it was your turn to ask; "long day, love?" returned only with a grunt from the man tracing his slightly chapped lips along the most sensitive spots of your throat.

you shudder, and you feel muriel's lips turn up against your skin, beginning to leave open-mouthed kisses against your hot skin as you keen lightly into your loves' hold. asra strokes your hair softly, scratching and massaging your scalp and leaning down to whisper sweet praises in your ear as muriel's arm tightens, hand sliding down to grip your hip.

asra coos, voice breathy in your ear, before capturing your shuddering lips in a deep kiss. when he pulls back, the hand tangled in your hair pauses and grips the locks as he gazes half-lidded into your eyes, even as you let out a soft moan at the stimulation. "do you want to keep going?" he asks, and even muriel pauses in his ministrations for your answer.

you bob your head rapidly as his words finally breach your hazy mind. you're so tired and all you want tonight is for your two favorite people to help you relax. "use your words, baby," asra tries again, honeyed tone never faltering.

"yes--" you rush out, squirming in your lovers' hold. "please." you add, desperation laced in your tone; a soft moan erupting as muriel bites down on the meaty part of your neck.

asra surges into you, slotting his pillowy lips to join with yours and smiling into the kiss. he only pulls away when you can't go a second more without a breath of air, slowly slipping off your uncomfortable garments with deft fingers. he focuses his attention on your now-bare front, trailing lips from your own, down your neck, and suckling on the soft flesh of your chest, while looking into your eyes the entire time.

you shudder as muriel busies himself with marking your shoulders and back, grinding deeply into the mattress as he lets out near-audible groans of pleasure.

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#also i am starting to work on some old asks #so sorry to everyone who requested just b4 my burnout lmao #the arcana x reader #the arcana smut #asra x reader #asra smut #asra alnazar x reader #muriel x reader #muriel smut #muriel the arcana #asra the arcana #asra alzanar #boykissr.fics #sorry to my normal followers also #the arcana

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in-class-daydreams · 10 months

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Oh Yeah, Baby! (Sebastian Sallow x Reader)

Pairing: Auror!Sebastian Sallow x Pregnant!Fem!Reader Synopsis: You visit your husband at work, where you meet some of the new junior Aurors he's helping train. You're beyond pregnant by now, but some things never change. Alternatively: Just Because You’re Pregnant Doesn't Mean You Can't Throw Hands TW: On the spice scale, mayonnaise with a dash of paprika.

Hogwarts would always be the most beautiful piece of architecture you’ve ever witnessed, considering the hidden rooms you’ve become privy to and how the school brought you and your beloved husband together. That said, the Ministry of Magic was a close second with its tall, domelike structure with talented witches and wizards scurrying about making sure wizard society was on the up and up.

You tug at the waistband of your skirt. The bulk of your belly is at an angle where your skirt always rides up to accommodate and you are tired of it. You're due to pop any day now and no matter what anyone says, pregnancy is not a wonderland and you want this baby out now. You put a lot of thought into your coordinated work outfits with Sebastian, and Baby Sallow makes it impossible for you to wear half of them. Sure, you didn’t have to wear that particular skirt, but it’s easy to hitch up, and no matter what Sebastian says, it can’t hurt to be prepared.

On your way through the gates, you hear a voice call out to you. You turn to find a familiar face bouncing up to you. Venusia Crickerly is a tall, lithe woman with dark brown hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose. She has a thick Irish accent and is both a talented Auror and your husband’s boss, your own job making it easy for you and her to become fast friends. Though, you think, Venusia was the type of person who could make a friend out of a boggart, if she were so inclined.

“Look at you, you’re positively glowing!” she exclaims, pulling you into a big hug, conscious of your protruding stomach. “How are you?”

“I feel like a whale, but otherwise I’m quite well.”

She laughs. “Understood.”

The two of you proceed through the gate, chatting about work and the baby and Ve nusia’s new giant plant, Smashley.

“So, you’re bringing your doting husband lunch?” She points at the cloth wrapped parcel in your hands.

“Yes, but,” you wave your hand and a glass bottle of peach juice appears and floats over to her. “I had a feeling I’d see you today.”

Venusia squeals with delight and snatches the bottle out of the air to down half of it in one gulp. Peach juice was a bit hard to track down these days, but you’ve always been good at finding things, and your friend’s enthusiasm made it worth it.

“You’re a gem! I don’t know what Sallow did to make you fall for him, but it must’ve been magnificent!” she says.

Both of you flash your badges at the security checkpoint. The guard glances at them and lets you pass through the glamour-deactivating mist, which clears you without a hitch.

You smile at the memory. “The short of it is, we were at Hogwarts and I needed to get into the Restricted Section of the library. Sebastian helped me because he tended to do that kind of thing often.”

“Sounds like him.”

“Sebastian got caught first and instead of giving me up to secure himself a lesser punishment, he took the fall for me.” Even after all this time, you still feel giddy and shy thinking about it. How it felt to be protected by someone for a change. “Then all of a sudden I was head over heels.”

Venusia claps a hand over her heart. “How sweet! He’s been all in on you since the beginning, hasn’t he?”

You rest a hand on your bump. “He really has.”

Upon entry to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, you don’t see your husband anywhere in the bullpen. Venusia gestures for you to follow her down the leftmost hallway, which you remember from a tour with Sebastian leading towards the training arena.

As you pass the individual rooms with enchanted glass, you see various witches and wizards practicing spells on dummies or dueling with each other.

“State-of-the-art facilities, are they not?” Venusia says with pride.

“They really are,” you reply.

“You could have access to them, too, if you came to work for me.” She’s only half-teasing.

Admittedly, the thought had crossed your mind more than once. The Department of Mysteries gave you a substantial maternity leave considering your line of work was already hard on your own body. Exposing your unborn child to it could prove detrimental. That said, when you originally applied for the job, you were still the ‘live fast, die young’ type. You fought Ranrok and Victor Rookwood for three reasons: for Fig’s sake, for the greater good, and because you couldn’t just let them kill you because it’s the principle of the thing. If you were to fall, you’d want to fall in battle, but not to either of those two, because they were disgusting little mole men that needed to be put down. Suffice to say, starting a family didn’t really cross your mind.

Now, though, perhaps it was time to find an easier line of work so you could, you know, actually get to raise your child. The concept of Sebastian being a househusband was more than tempting. You’d come home from a long day, covered in soot and blood. Your husband would be home making dinner, a babe on his hip while a toddler clung to his legs.

Yes, the prodigal Auror, son of two professors, Master of the Dark Arts, doing housework for his beloved wife. You bite your lip at the delicious thought.

“-ello? Anyone home!” Venusia’s voice snaps you out of your daydream. When you come to, she’s eyeing you warily. “What’s gotten into you? Is it the babe?”

You shake your head. “It’s alright, I’m fine.”

She doesn’t seem to believe you, but doesn’t pry. There’s not much time, anyhow, since you come upon a larger gym where you know Sebastian and the other Aurors that go out in the field more often tend to train.

Venusia says her goodbyes and drops you off at the door. Your timing is impeccable, and you just manage to catch the unmistakable figure of your husband launching his opponent clear across the padded floor. You smile to yourself, thinking that if you weren’t viciously pregnant, you’d challenge Sebastian right now and thrash him soundly in front of his coworkers. One would think that would be a bit embarrassing as a husband, but the ever-surprising Sebastian quite enjoys getting schooled by you. After all, he originally fell for you while on his ass in Hecat’s classroom, your wand still hot and glowing.

Sebastian helps his coworker, whom you recognize, to his feet, another one sitting on the bench catches his attention and nods their head towards you. Your husband’s head snaps around like an owl and the goofiest grin spreads across his face. He drops his coworker on his ass and bounds up to you.

As he wraps you in a gentle hug, he doesn’t even bother to wipe the sweat off his brow and his forearms are glistening and peeking out of his rolled up sleeves. You inhale deeply, basking in your husband’s scent and thinking about how you’d love to make him sweat in a different capacity.

Sebastian pulls back. “Brought me lunch, did you? Can’t seem to keep away from me, can you?”

You hum contentedly and rest your hands on your baby bump (definitely more than a bump).

“If I could keep away from you, Sallow, I wouldn’t be here growing your child,” you reply.

Your husband smiles boyishly at you, his hands on your hips.

“Best learn to call me by my name. There’s about to be three of us living under one roof soon enough,” he counters.

From across the room, his sparring partner calls out to him. You recognize most of the group from a number of work functions you’ve accompanied Sebastian to, but not him.

“Oi, Bastian!” called his coworker with a thick Scottish accent. He and a few of the others - the ones you don’t recognize - jog over. “This your wife?”

“My favorite one, anyway,” Sebastian says and grins cheekily. You swat him in the shoulder. “Love, these are some of the rookies. They’re getting some hands-on learning from us today.”

You greet Sebastian’s juniors and shake all of their hands. Part of you feels old now that you’ve met new Aurors when yours and Sebastian’s N.E.W.T.s feel like yesterday, but you ignore it and decide to feel old once your child goes off to Hogwarts.

“You’re the Unspeakable, then?” A young woman in the back asks. She looks like she should still be in secondary school, but you have been noticing that the young people have begun to look younger.

“The one with Ancient Magic?” someone gasps in awe.

“Ancient Magic! I heard she can damn well chuck lightning at someone!” exclaims another.

You laugh and shake your head. “Something like that.”

“You should spar with Reilly!”

“Yeah!”

The junior Aurors clamor, eager to see your skills in action. You open your mouth to gently decline, but are interrupted by the entrance of the one junior who didn’t come running up to you.

The young man is tall, about Sebastian’s height with dark blond hair and blue eyes. He has a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. In fact, something about him reminds you of your husband when you first met him.

Oh. Now you remembered. Your husband had mentioned him more than a few times in passing. He stated that the boy was ‘quite good for a cheeky bastard,’ which meant that you were right on the money and the lad reminds Sebastian of himself.

“You called for me?” Reilly asks, hand in his pockets.

His peers clamor and urge him to spar with you. How it’s a great opportunity and not every new Auror gets to practice with an Unspeakable, much less one of your caliber.

“Now, really, I can’t,” Reilly insists. “Not against a witch with a record such as hers.”

Flatterer.

Reilly places his hands behind his back. “Not pregnant, anyway. I’ll wait to earn my victory fair and square when she’s at full power.”

Never fucking mind.

Sebastian lets out a tired sigh and rests a hand on your arm. “My love, you don’t have to–”

“Here are the terms, then, boy,” you say, smiling, hands clasped in front of you. “Obviously, you can’t attack me, but if you can evade me for thirty seconds, you win. Actually, that’s unreasonable. I’ll say twenty.”

Reilly scowls. “Thirty.”

You shrug and gesture for him to lead the way.

“Please don’t injure him too badly,” Sebastian implores you. “This could be a learning experience for him, but not if you slam him into the ground.”

You wave him off. “Experience is the best teacher!” you insist.

“Experiencing broken ribs and a shattered ego is not,” Sebastian sighs, but pulls out his watch to time you. "Remember what the doctor said!"

"That I'd be just fine performing magic?" you say dryly.

"That your powers make your body unpredictable. Just be careful." Sebastian goes to take his place.

You and Reilly draw your wands and stand on opposite sides of the padded floor. His peers watch eagerly from the sidelines and you even see some money change hands between them.

“Ready?” Sebastian asks from a platform overlooking the arena.

You remind yourself to honor Sebastian's wishes and not overdo it. The doctor said you were free to perform magic and the baby would be just fine, but you ought to keep in moderation.

You and Reilly nod and Sebastian starts the duel.

Feeling generous, you cast a few basic spells at the young Auror to test him out. He deflects them easily. A few times, he simply dodges instead of casting protego. When he dodges one of your other attacks, he takes a moment to wink at the group of his peers.

Just like Sebastian indeed. Extraordinarily gifted and all too aware of it. Your guess is that, like Sebastian, he learns best when he faces someone far better than himself.

You feel the familiar crackling of electricity coursing through your veins. You feint and telegraph the movement to ensure your opponent puts up a defensive shield. Thunder roars and you bring down a particularly gentle beam of lightning crashing into his shield, which holds, but the force of impact sends him slamming into the floor, where he lays winded.

Above you, Sebastian calls the match, then gazes down at you fondly. He bites his lip and you just know his heart is racing from your display of power. It never fails. You feel warmth pool between your legs.

Reilly has struggled to his feet and declined his peers’ attempts to help him walk. You frown at the slight bruise forming on his cheek but he gives you a weak smile. He holds his hand out for you to shake, which you do. Then you frown at the growing wet feeling between your legs. You’d only ever felt that way about your husband.

As the wetness grows, you look down and see the front of your skirt is wet and it’s seeping into your socks and shoes. Then it clicks. Who knew all it took was a bit of lightning?

“Ah. The baby’s coming,” you say.

Reilly looks horrified. "What? Are you sure?" he shouts.

You nod. "Quite sure. Seb!" You call up to your husband. "We need to go to the hospital!"

Sebastian quickly makes his way to you. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"Oh, no." You wave a hand. "The baby's coming, so we should head over before I get more fluids on the floor."

Sebastian pales. "The baby's coming??! Lead with that next time!"

You wrinkle your nose. "Next time? I'm not sure if I'm letting you do this to me again, this was not a fun experience."

"Just--!" Sebastian groans in frustration. "Let's go!" Sebastian ushers you to the nearest exit before you can say another word.

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy imagines #sebastian x mc #sebastian sallow x reader

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