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#there's so much ideas runing in my head
a-s-levynn · 28 days
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"A sacred guardian" A Series of Small Offerings - IV/1 - day33
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Spooktober - Day 28 - Hollow
No, you are not fine-
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werecreature-addicted · 7 months
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Hi. I’d like to make a confession. I want a demon boyfriend who bounces me on his cock while I grip his horns for leverage. When he cums, it’s hot and tingly, like a shot of whiskey on a cold day. Then we snuggle as he holds me in his arms with his wings closed around us and his tail wrapped securely around my leg. Alright. I’m going to go sign up for electroshock therapy. Y’all take care now. Love the blog. ✌️
I love the idea of demons having sensitive horns, especially around the base. so when you hold onto his horns it just drives him WILD and he just can't help but fuck up into you harder-which makes you grip his horns tighter- which makes him fuck you harder. it's such a vicious cycle.
I'm also a big fan of demons with glowing cocks/cum. Like UGHHHH a glowing stomach bulge is so fucking hot to me. its never been so easy to watch your lover rearrange your guts! or like with the cum Imagine your demon forcing you to look at him fucking you, watch as his cock goes in and out and in and out then he gives one final sharp trust and suddenly there's something lighting you up from the inside.
and yes of course his cum isn't just warm. it's hot, everything about him is hot. his skin, his breath, his growls, and it's perfect to keep you nice and toasty if your heat ever gives out. Imagine your demon boyfriend jerking off and cumming on a rag then he makes you hump it. even with his cum cooling down it's still warm, and wet and ugh it feels good pressing it between your legs and just the idea of humping his cum rag is so fucking dirty- you're a MESS. also side note but demons cum buckets. I don't make the rules.
as for tails... as much fun as it is to have him fucking you with it I'd like to propose- Demon boyfriend using his tail as a gag. like he's fucking you from behind and his long tail swings around to slip into your mouth, choking you a little bit on the flared head but successfully muffling your moans. just be careful with your teeth. you wouldn't want to get punished, would you? you wouldn't want him to take his tail out of your mouth and use it more like a whip... would you?
and I know demons are usually portrayed with bat wings but I just love feathery angel wings too much. your demon boyfriend leaves feathers every fucking where. as a subtle way to mark your home as his territory. he will also make you wear some of his black feathers in a necklace. Because you're being a bitch and won't let him carve demonic runes in your skin to mark you as his- so the feather will have to do... for now.
anyways we should see if there's a two-for-one deal on electro-shock therapy.
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jayybugg · 2 months
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locker room activities
Draco Malfoy x Reader
Summary: Draco hates you.....or so you thought.
Warning: Language, Slight Time Skips, Kinda Asshole Draco (?), Smut (18+), No Specific House Mentioned, Use of Y/N.
Word Count: 2.6K
Note: Hi, here I am back again with another fic. It's not song-based this time, just my feral thoughts taking over for Draco. As always, thank you @pizzaapeteer for proofreading and @cafekitsune for the banner! Enjoy!
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Draco Malfoy hated you. 
You weren’t sure why, but you also didn't care enough to find out. In fact, you found amusement in seeing the blonde make a fool out of himself to prove his superiority. The glares he shot your way only made you giggle to yourself as you just simply ignored them majority of the time. But seeing him get riled up even more by your unbothered state always made your day.
"Another day of being an idiot, Malfoy?" you smiled lazily down at him sprawled out on the ground, his failed potion covering him.
"This is your fault! You charmed my potion to explode!" Draco shot to his two feet, glaring at you. You raised an eyebrow at him, confused at what he was even talking about. "Charmed your potion? I just got here.” you paused for dramatics. “After it exploded." You rolled your eyes at the stupidity of his accusation
"All you do is get under my skin and annoy me, Y/L/N." Draco snapped at you.
"I don't even do anything to you!" You felt your anger boil. This boy practically borderlines harasses you every day, but somehow, he was the victim? Makes sense coming from Draco.
"You do a lot of things to me!" Draco yelled at you. The chuckles from his table of friends was enough to turn him red and send him storming out of the classroom.
"Bloody hell is his problem?" You muttered to yourself, sitting down at the desk to start your potion.
You didn't see Draco for the rest of the day, figured that he probably skipped class and called his father to complain or try to get you kicked out of school. You soaked up the peace as much as you could.
"Madam Pince? Do you know where this book may be? I need it for my ancient runes class." You handed the woman a piece of paper with the title scribbled across it.
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy checked it out." She returned the paper to you. You groaned softly. Of course, that imbecile had the book that you needed. "Granted, it's overdue, so he needs to return it. Why don't you go get it from him?" Madam Pince asked, looking over her glasses. 
You knew this was her way of getting you to do her job. It was a known fact to everyone that Madam Prince hated to deal with Draco and the rest of his family. 
You sighed, grabbing your stuff to go track down the blonde. You really needed that damn book. "Okay, I got it."
Luna was the first to see you, her smile staying wide. "Hey, Y/N!" she waved at you. Pansy turned at your approach and smiled at you. "Hey, what brings you here?"
"I was looking for you, actually." You leaned against the wall next to the girls. "I hate to interrupt the date, but I need your help, Parkinson."
"With what?" she raised her eyebrow, tilting her head slightly.
"Got any idea where Malfoy is?"
Pansy's eyes widened in surprise. "Why are you looking for Draco?"
"Don't get any ideas, Pans. He has a book that I need and Madam Pince told me to get it from him because it's overdue." You poked the girl's forehead, making Luna laugh and Pansy rolled her eyes. 
"I was just surprised, that's all." Pansy defended herself, "He should be at quidditch practice, but by the time you get to the field, it'll probably be over and you'll have to wait till he comes out of  the locker room." 
"Okay, thanks! Bye, lovebirds." You waved the two girls goodbye, making your way over to the field. 
Just like Pansy had said, by the time you got down to the field the practice was over. You stood by the entrance, hoping to catch Draco when he left and prayed that he had the book on him by any chance. 
"Waiting for a hot date, y/n?" Mattheo asked, walking out with Theo as they exited the locker room first, surprised to see you waiting there. 
"I wish." You rolled your eyes. "Waiting for Malfoy. He has a book that I need and Madam Pince has me doing her dirty work.” 
"Ahhhh." Mattheo and Theo said, simultaneously grinning at you. 
"What?" you raised an eyebrow at them. 
"Oh nothing. This should be the highlight of his day." Theo smiled, patting your head. The two walked off, leaving you confused. 
You continued to wait for Malfoy, watching the rest of the Slytherin team clear out of the locker room. After about another 20 minutes of waiting, you grew tired. 
"What the fuck is he in there doing? His everything shower?" you muttered. You looked around at the empty hallway before sighing and pushing open the locker room door. 
The locker area was completely empty, making you intensely bitter that Draco was probably in the shower. You walked up to his ajar locker to see all the quidditch equipment and no sign of your book. 
"Of course, the asshole doesn't have it on him." You rolled your eyes. You looked around for any sign of him, but you didn't see him. 
You walked closer to the showers, hearing water running. "Malfoy??" you called out, receiving a dead answer. 
He had to be in here. He was the only one who didn't leave the locker room. You moved closer to the entrance of the shower seeing Draco lean against the wall of the shower with water dripping down him. 
You eyed his physique slowly. Sure, the boy was annoying but Merlin, he was fine. 
You couldn't pay too much attention to his physique because your eyes and mind finally registered what he was doing and saying. 
"Fuck, Y/N. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck." Draco cussed, throwing his head back as he jerked himself off. Your eyes widened as you heard your name spill out his mouth. Was Draco getting himself off to the thought of you? 
You cleared your throat loudly. Draco's eyes shot open to see you standing at the entrance and taking in his naked form. 
"Shit! Y/N, what the fuck are you doing in here?" Draco scrambled to turn the shower off and grab his towel. 
"Well, I've been looking for you for probably the past hour or so." You said, your eyes staying trained on him. 
"Looking for me? Why?" Draco asked. He glanced around the showers and out to the locker room, "Is nobody in here?" 
"No, they all left 20 minutes ago. Getting ready for dinner, I assume." You walked closer to Draco, who was unconsciously backing away from you.
You had never seen Draco look scared, almost as if he wasn't sure what to do. 
He looked like prey and you were the predator. 
"W-why were you looking for me?" Draco asked again, as you continued to close the distance between you both. 
You ignored his question, using this advantage to tease him. "How many times have you gotten off to the thought of me?"
Draco gripped his towel tighter, "Don't be foolish, Y/N. I don't get off to you. Never have and never will." 
"I just saw you, Malfoy." You rolled your eyes, looking down at his dick, "And judging by how hard you are, I can guess that maybe this isn't the first time."
"Shit, you can see it through the towel?!" Draco clutched the towel closer to him to cover up the print, "Y/L/N, I'm begging you to just go and never speak about this again." 
"Begging? That's new for you." A devilish smirk took over your features as you took a step closer to him. Draco felt his heart start to pound in his chest. You looked ready to devour him. 
"Is this why you said I do a lot of things to you?" You dragged your finger down his bicep, pushing him against the wall. 
A part of Draco was embarrassed that he got caught like this but the other part of Draco was getting so turned on that if he was given the chance to have his way, then he was going to take it. 
"All this time, you've been so aggravated with me," Your hand fondled with the fabric of the towel that wrapped around his waist, "And it was all because of your dirty little fantasies." 
"Y/N, please...." Draco's voice was soft and desperate. It was music to your ears.
"Please what?" You leaned in to lick softly at his neck, "Come on, use your words. Where's that big voice of yours from earlier?" 
Draco didn't even know what he wanted to say. He couldn't decide if he wanted you to free him or to just have your way with him. 
"Tell me what you want me to do, Malfoy." You whispered into his ear as you continued to tug at his towel.
"Fuck." He was done. Any shred of self-respect or restraint that he had was gone. Demolished. Non-existent. 
"I'm waiting." you said in a sing-song voice. You were enjoying this. 
"Suck me off. Please." Draco said. 
You grinned, tugging his towel down and going to your knees. You licked your lips as you eyed his dick that was harder than you thought it was. 
You coated your hand in spit, pumping him before you licked the length of him slowly. You swirl your tongue around his tip, listening to Draco groaned deeply, his hands finding their way into your hair. 
"Stop teasing." Draco muttered, looking down at you. 
"But it's fun." You batted your eyes up at him. 
That look alone almost made him cum. Draco gave you a grunt in response. You smiled, taking him in your mouth, and quickly got to work. 
The lewd and slobbery sounds you were making with Draco's cock filling your mouth mixed with his moans and grunts caused your pussy to drench your panties. You reached around to the front of your school skirt and played with yourself as you continued to suck him off. 
"Fuck, this is better than any dream. Your mouth is amazing. I just want to fuck your face," Draco said, looking down into your eyes that were already on him, "Can I?” 
You nodded, pulling away to catch your breath as Draco gathered your hair into a makeshift ponytail and shoving his dick further down your throat. Draco wasted no time using your mouth to his pleasure, taking joy in the little gagging that you were doing. The sounds of your gags turning him on even more than he already was. 
"Do you like that? Being treated like my fuck toy?" Draco groaned out, watching your eyes gleam with unknown emotion. You hummed in agreement, keeping your eyes on him. 
"Fuck, I'm about to cum," Draco moaned. His dick was hitting the back of your throat, repeatedly and unforgivingly. The closer Draco was getting to his climax, the sloppier his thrusts got. He let out a groan, releasing his cum deep down your throat. You swallowed it quickly, pulling away and wiping the spit that had drooled down your chin to your chest. 
"I've never cummed from head before." Draco admitted, running a hand through his hair. You smiled, feeling your ego boost from his compliment.
"Well, there's a first time for everything." You stood up, gripping his dick that was still hard, "but I don't think it's fair that you get to cum and I don't." 
Draco's eyes gleamed with excitement and lust. He leaned forward to nip at your ear. "Want to know what another one of my fantasies was?" 
You raised an eyebrow at him, curiosity covering your face. Draco smirked as he turned you around to face the wall. 
"It was to fuck you from behind against this wall." 
He didn't waste time lifting your skirt up and sliding your panties to the side. He dragged his tip up and down your folds, making you whimper. 
"Don't be a tease." You groaned. 
"It's fun, remember?" He grinned, feeling his own cocky self return, "But I want to feel you, so I'm going to cut the fun short." 
Draco slid into you, the action creating loud moans from both of you. He started thrusting fast and hard into you. The sound of your skins slapping together and the sounds of your moans filled the room. Any concern you had about someone walking in or hearing you was quickly thrown out the window.
“Fuck." You moaned. 
"You feel so good. So tight and wet. Just for me, huh?" Draco whispered in your ear. 
"Just for you." You whispered back. Draco continued his thrusts, slapping your ass as he went. His name spilling out of your mouth with a string of curse words. 
You clenched around Draco, making him snake his hand around your neck to pull you up against him. "About to cum, baby? Cum on my dick like the good girl you are." 
His words made your orgasm better than you ever thought it would be. 
Draco spun you around and lifted you up, putting your legs over his shoulders and supporting you against the wall as he slid into you once again. 
"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Yes, right there." You moaned as Draco drilled into you, leaving you no choice but to take all of him.
"You take me so well. So wet and so pretty." Draco covered your neck in kisses and marks before crashing his lips onto yours.
Your tongues explored each other's mouth as Draco continued to thrust into you roughly. It didn't take long for you and Draco to get close to your climax again.
“I’m going to fill you up. Have you walking out of this room full of me, and me only.” Draco grunted in your ear.
“Yes, please.” You whimpered, “Please do it.” 
 Draco groaned, releasing again inside of you. He pulled out of you and dropped you down to the ground softly. You gripped his arm and the wall for balance as your legs were shaking and you couldn't walk properly.
"If someone would've told me this morning that by the end of the day I would've fucked Draco Malfoy, I would've called them insane." You said, regaining your normal breathing patterns.
"I could say the same." Draco chuckled. He quickly wrapped a towel around him, looking down at you. "Your shirt is wet from the shower and the spit. Here, let me get my hoodie for you to wear." 
You blushed as Draco pulled you to the locker area, grabbing his hoodie and pulling it over your head. 
"Thank you." You adjusted the hoodie. "So, you never answered my question."
Draco raised an eyebrow at you, pulling on his clothes quickly. "What question?" 
"How long have you been having dreams about me?"
Draco paused, redness creeping up his neck, "I was hoping I would fuck you hard enough to make you forget." 
"Oh, I'll never forget this." 
Draco rolled his eyes, grabbing his bag, "I don't remember when they started or even when I felt an attraction to you. I just know that every night, upon recently, it's always just been you." 
You nodded, gathering your stuff, "Well, hope it was better than you could've ever imagined."
"Oh, it was," Draco said, "You never answered my question either. Why were you in here in the first place?" A smile took over your face as you looked up at Draco with a mischievous expression.
"You checked out the book for the Ancient Runes homework. Madam Pince said it was overdue and since I need it, she sent me to get it from you." 
"I don't have it on me," Draco said. 
You smiled, walking to the door, "Oh, I know. I'll come around your dorm later and get it from you."
You pushed the door open and threw a wink his way. Draco let out a deep sigh as he leaned against his locker. 
You were going to be the death of him.
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hunny-beann · 3 months
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Worship; Devastation
Loki Laufeyson x f!Reader
Synopsis: Prince Loki gets some ideas regarding worship upon witnessing his lover in the particularly ethereal lighting of his bathing quarters...
And honestly, what is worship if not laying your utterly devastating touch upon your lover just to watch them unfurl before you?
Or, alternatively:
Devotion, reverence, and veneration at the hands of a god in 3,800 words or less
Note: Welcome back to the smut fest! Similarly to my last Loki smut fic, I also wrote a great deal of this one very early in the morning, so my apologies for any errors that I didn't manage to spot and edit out. I hope you enjoy! :)
Warnings: Semi graphic NSFW, vulgarity, fingering, oral sex (f receiving)
She sat, naked as the day she she had been born, upon the edge of the royal bathing pool reserved solely for her beloved, the warm water lapping gently at her ankle as she leaned back on her forearms, right knee bent so one foot rested on the rune etched lip of the younger prince's extravagant bath.
It felt very Loki indeed, to have bathing quarters that seemed far more like a swimming pool than a tub, and she relished in the energy of the space, each detail reminding her of the man who floated gracefully in the waters just beneath her.
If her eyes were not closed at that very moment, she was certain that she would be unable to help but stare at him, not with the distracting way that his hair splayed out upon the surface of the water, or that his skin all but shone in the morning sun that doused the two of them from the skylight above.
This was not her first morning bath with him, far from it in fact, but as she basked in the sunlight, she still felt herself jump when a familiar hand wrapped around the ankle that dangled within the water, her eyes flying open to find his stunning blues already awaiting her gaze.
And oh, what a sight he made.
There he was, Prince Loki of Asgard, God of Mischief, entirely bare within the warm waters of his bath, and submerged to his upper arms, revealing his strong shoulders, angular jaw, and sharp collar bones, all of which dripped almost tantalizingly with slow moving droplets of water, which clung to his skin in a manner that nearly made her jealous of them.
He looked up at her with an earnest curiosity and something that almost bordered on vulnerability, his grip loosening but not quite fading from her ankle as his thumb began to stroke the flesh just above where the water ceased to lap at her.
Eager to find out what had caught the attention of her lover, she leaned forward, placing her hand atop his own as she tilted her head in a silent question that she soon vocalized in spite of her subtle gestures.
"Is there something wrong, dear prince?"
She asked, her voice quiet and with an almost breathless quality that only seemed fitting for such a peaceful morning.
In reply, Loki simply placed his free hand on the lip of the bath and used that as leverage to pull himself ever closer to her, his other detaching from its wrapped position around her ankle so he could move it upward, fingertips craving the feeling of more of her soft skin beneath them.
Meanwhile, she watched him with a curiosity of her own, taking in with a vast gratitude unknown to the man just beneath her the details of his person, from the freckles that dotted his cheeks and nose, to those that rested upon his shoulders, all the way up to the curve of his brow and the way that his black locks looked when slicked back from both the water and the way he had inevitably run his hands through them.
"Not quite."
Loki answered, his voice low and still slightly thickened by his semi-recently halted slumber, though those eyes of his swam with a subtle amusement that betrayed how much he and his lover's conjoined time in the bathing quarters had energized him.
"I simply desired to ensure that I wasn't still dreaming."
He continued, expression remaining slightly awe-filled as he looked up at her from the waters not far below, his once less occupied hand coming to rest upon her previously bent leg, which was now lowered alongside the other into the water as she continued to sit upon the bath's edge, his fingers kissing her damp flesh with a well known gentleness that had her sighing out softly, a small smile finding her lips.
He watched her with such fondness, such peace that not so long ago, she would have thought was entirely unknown to him, and he had believed he would never find nor understand.
How wrong they had been.
And how grateful they were for that fact now that they each knew the touch of the other, the love of them.
And as she looked into her darling prince's eyes she was reminded of that love, even as she could not help but smile at his familiar dramatics, her hand reaching down to curl some of his hair behind his ear, allowing her touch to linger briefly upon his jaw before she moved back once more.
"And why would you think yourself still slumbering, my dear?"
She wondered aloud, half anticipating a peaceful silence to follow, only to find herself pleased when Loki's all consuming voice filled the room shortly afterward.
"Have you ever seen your love illuminated by a halo of morning sunlight?"
He questioned gently, his hands still creeping ever upward, now resting upon her knees as he awaited her response with a patience that felt foreign to her when acted out by him, though she certainly did not complain.
As her reply to her prince's immensely endearing question, she hummed, watching the way that the sun cast its light upon him in an almost ethereal manner, reminding her once more of his nature.
She smiled,
"I believe that I have. Quite often, in fact."
Loki's expression of adoration continued as he watched her fondly, a slight smile finding his perfect lips, curving them upward in that manner his love adored so ceaselessly.
"I see."
He drawled slowly, fingers massaging slow circles into her lower thighs all the while,
"Then surely you can understand why I've been enraptured so."
He reasoned, placing a gentle kiss to the side of her knee as he watched for her reaction, noting the way that she shivered slightly beneath his touch, still not quite used to him, even after years of his hands lovingly caressing her skin at each and every opportunity.
He selfishly hoped, in that moment, that she might not ever come to be, just so he could continue to bear witness to the way that her body, mind, and soul reacted to his affections forevermore.
In response to Loki's gentle words and teasing ministrations, his love sighed contentedly, her flesh reacting as if chilled in spite of the warm water still lapping at her ankles.
She allowed herself a moment to bask in the closeness of him before reaching to cup his jaw again with a smile, tracing the now abandoned path of a droplet of water that had made its way from his hair down to the bridge of his nose, where it had spilled over the side and ran along his cheekbone before ultimately losing momentum and fading to nothingness in the warmth of sunlight, leaving only a faint shimmer of dampness in its wake.
She watched him for a few moments, eyes looking fearlessly and familiarly into those ever softening blues until finally, she spoke up once more, seemingly having gotten her fill of the peaceful silence.
"I suppose that I can, yes."
She replied to his previous statement, fingers moving from his cheek down to his jaw where they traced the sharpness of it gently, as if afraid it might truly cut, or perhaps as a woman in love might do to the object of her affections.
Perhaps so, indeed.
The younger prince hummed happily in response to her touch, something akin to a purr rumbling deep in his chest as he pushed as close as to her as he could manage, both hands moving to her knees in order to place the backs of them upon his muscular shoulders, thus allowing him to them wrap his arms around them from below, his long and lithe fingers finding firm purchase upon her thighs as he did so, pulling her ever closer to the edge of the bathing pool,
closer to him.
And though he was certain that she had noticed, his darling did not complain, simply watching Loki with an amused gleam in her eye as he leaned his head against her thigh, expression almost dreamy as he watched her, taking in the vision of beauty that she was, now doused fully in the morning sunlight.
"Perfection."
He murmured gently, fingers dancing upon her skin as he pressed kiss after kiss to the thigh on which his head rested. And though she felt his smile as he did so, growing almost imperceptibly with each individual graze of his lips, she did not know why until he pulled away from her ever so slightly.
"Although,"
He began to say upon doing just that, eyes finding hers once more, allowing her to see the familiar sparkle of mischief that shone there,
"I do believe this means we have a problem, darling."
His voice was all but a purr now, low and rumbling with a certain level of mock concern to it that made his dearest love flounder slightly, gaze locked with his own as if the two of them were in contest with one another for who could see into the other's soul first.
Not that she could ever stand a chance, not against him.
"You see,"
Loki continued, both sets of his fingers pressing into the supple skin of her thighs as he massaged his way upward, eyes never leaving hers all the while, her body having long since been memorized by his hands.
"Perfection is meant to be worshiped."
He murmured, moving his head slightly to press a kiss to her opposite thigh before he pinched at the former deftly, causing his lover to gasp and jump slightly beneath him, a blush growing evident upon her cheeks.
He chuckled at her reaction, humming low in his throat as he continued to press his soft lips to her flesh, allowing them to linger long enough that there was no question of what his touch was meant to convey.
Gentleness, affection, love, desire, and a constant and heady hunger, one that all but drove him to madness each time he laid eyes upon his beloved.
Her breaths shuddered in response to his persistent touch, and she allowed their locked gazes to break as she leaned her head back upon her shoulders, fingers gripping tightly to the lip of the pool as she did her best to find her voice once more, having lost it upon the very moment his lips had pressed against her, as she always did.
"Are you saying that you wish to worship me, Prince Loki?"
She breathed out after several long seconds of silence, chest heaving slightly as she finally allowed her eyes to open once more, finding his almost immediately as he smirked against her upper thigh, his hands having moved to massage the outsides of them soothingly, keeping them poised atop his shoulders so he could control just how spread they remained for him.
He shook his head in response to her words, tutting slightly before nipping where she had expected him to present her with a kiss, causing her to gasp yet again as he chuckled and lapped gently at her soft flesh with that typically oh so sharp tongue of his.
"Oh no, dear heart."
He purred, spreading her thighs even wider in order to gain a proper view of her arousal, knowing all too well the blush that was no doubt ravaging her cheeks just outside of his view in response.
He leaned in further, ignoring the urge to lay his gaze upon her disastrously beautiful face as he pressed a gentle kiss to her bare heat, smirking to himself as he felt her begin to tremble impatiently as he did so.
He had spoiled her throughout the years, after all, never one to make her wait when she made her desire for him so plainly known. And he was truly quite proud of what a mess he had made of her once so vast patience, because what else did that show if not how wonderfully he'd treated her? How high he'd set her standards simply by virtue of ravaging her at nearly every available opportunity?
She was all but ruined for anyone else, that was for certain.
And if the prince had his way (as he so frequently did), that would never even come close to changing.
He laughed softly against her as he continued, his tongue moving up and down the outsides of her folds as he teased her relentlessly, always so eager to see her squirm at least a little before he gave her what she wanted.
He was not, after all, known for being the kindest nor the most merciful god,
And he could never quite resist the urge to remind his lover of that fact, even if just for a moment or two.
And that he did, ignoring her increasing number of quiet pleas as he pressed onward, spreading her wider before him as he separated her glistening folds to find the treasure that lied just within, which he teased without mercy until her legs shook upon his shoulders and her hands started to scramble for purchase atop the marble adorned floors of his bathing quarters.
Then, and only then, as she so plainly became a quivering mess before him, did he finally meet her gaze once more, relishing the look of her glazed over eyes, heaving chest, and slightly parted lips with a truly immense sense of pride.
The vision of her like this all for him was always so very worth the wait, and he thanked the stars that he had been blessed with enough patience to manage it (at least on occasion).
And then finally, as he saw her eyes begin to focus and felt her body relax ever so slightly beneath the coaxing of his still massaging hands, he spoke up again, answering his darling's long since abandoned question with a taunting amount of ease.
"I do not wish to worship you,"
He began, grinning wolfishly up at her as he pinched at those supple thighs once more, dragging his fingers achingly close to where she no doubt desired them without ever even considering the idea of going easy on her just yet.
No, not when he still had so much left to say.
He let a heavy silence fill the bathing quarters for a moment, broken up only by the sounds of his love's breathing and the dripping of water from behind him, always present and typically soothing in the normal circumstances of his morning bath.
Though today, he paid them no mind,
He had no need to be calmed, after all.
And then finally, just as his dearest love started to bite her lip in an effort to keep from pleading with her prince to give her more, he continued, bringing a finger up to circle her entrance as he did so, allowing him to revel in the sight of her arching her back for him, pressing ever closer in spite of the all too real threat of tumbling into the water alongside him.
She'd had very little desire to get wet that morning according to the excuse she had given him earlier on when asked through pouting lips why she would not join her lover in the bath.
Though, Loki supposed, it seemed as if he had ruined any goal she had of staying dry long ago, so perhaps she cared far less for such trivialities now.
He did not bother to ask, and instead chose to continue his now well drawn out statement from before.
"You see, my dear,"
He started, gathering some of her wetness onto his middle finger as he continued, enjoying the sounds of her whimpering beneath him far too much for his own well-being, let along hers.
"It is much more of a need, I'm afraid."
He purred softly, a false pout finding his lips even as he pushed his finger into her slick entrance, fighting back a groan as she all but sucked him in, always so ready to take whatever it was that he was willing to give her.
He chuckled as she cried out in response, her head falling back to her shoulders once more as he began to pump a single long and dexterous finger in and out of her ceaselessly, adding in a second just as she started to wiggle her hips in that silent request for more.
"What a good girl you are."
He cooed teasingly, watching while she shivered at the sound of his voice, eyes squeezed shut as she fought to stave off an embarrassingly quick orgasm in response to his ministrations.
He had only just taken her this morning, after all, so how could she ever hope to look him in the eye again if she came so quickly even just after he had taken her upon his mattress?
Still, the prince had every intention of showing her exactly how helpless she was to his every touch, and rather than letting up when seeing her obvious attempts to hold back from letting go for him, he increased the speed of his fingers instead and crooked them upward slightly until he heard her gasp and felt her thighs tighten around his head from where they still resided atop his strong shoulders.
"Oh dear,"
He murmured, feigning surprise as he watched his beloved struggle not to simply give into her pleasures.
"Close already?"
He teased, watching her expression as she whined and writhed for him, his fingers never letting up even as he stretched her further upon adding a third, the feeling of which sent her mind reeling.
He was so good at this, too good, and who was she to deny a prince of what he wanted? Could she truly hope to?
Loki evidently thought not, and remained persistent, pacing his thrusts and ensuring that he was constantly hitting just the right spots inside of her, never one to give a lackluster performance, even so very early in the morning and so soon after his last.
Speaking of which...
"Even after this morning?"
He crooned, continuing his recent thought with even more mock surprise,
"Are you truly so sensitive, my love?"
He asked curiously, just barely holding back a groan as he watched the woman he adored so achingly arch her back even further, pressing ever closer to him, body so very eager to submit, and mind evidently not too far behind.
What a darling sight she made for, laid out and bare before him.
Now all that he had to do, Loki thought with a smirk, was strip her of her pride.
And of course, the best way to do that, was to remind her of exactly who it was that she belonged to, and just how helpless she was to his touch.
"Or, perhaps, is it something else?"
He questioned, leaning down to lick teasingly at her clit as she hissed and whined pitifully in reply, thighs trembling upon his shoulders all the while.
It was a telltale sign that she was close, though he chose not to tease her for that quite yet.
"Could it be your courses?"
Loki teased, knowing all too well exactly where his lover was within her cycle in spite of his questioning,
"Or maybe a preference for my fingers?"
He continued, watching as his darling cried out for him, eyes brimming with tears of pleasure as she grew closer and closer to the edge of bliss.
He chuckled, and, after a moment of thought, decided it was high time that he ended his charade for the time being.
"Or, my dear."
He began, groaning slightly as he felt her clench around his fingers in a way that made his engorged cock envious of their position, his mind suddenly filled with thoughts of her strangling his erection with her tight heat, her body always so eager to pull him in further and keep him there, begging for both of their releases.
Still, even with such rapturous visions flooding his mind, he managed to continue speaking, determined to remind her of why it was that she could cum so very quickly even so soon after their last tryst.
"Could it simply be how weak you are to my every touch?"
He purred, his voice devastatingly low and his eyes trained on hers as he spoke,
"How desperate you are,"
He continued, thrusting his fingers harder just to hear her cry out from beneath him,
"To feel my hands upon your flesh, and to hear my voice as I fuck you with whatever I so please into oblivion. Is that what it is?"
He growled, watching with immense pride as she threw her head back one final time upon hearing his words, her walls clenching around his fingers as she came hard only minutes after he had begun, encouraging a chuckle from her lover soon afterward when he finally pulled away, bringing his hand up to his mouth to fully taste her for the first time that morning as he gazed deep into her eyes, a moan of pleasure falling eagerly off of his lips all the while.
She blushed in response to this, but did not look away, her pride still just intact enough that she refused to let him get the better of her once more.
Loki remained like that for several rather long moments, savoring the taste of her until his fingers were clean, finally prompting him to remove them from his mouth so he could speak to her once more, though his words were no less teasing then than they'd been before.
"So, my darling."
He began, smirking as he rested his hand upon her thigh again,
"Do you have any qualms with me continuing to worship my dearest love upon this fine morning?"
He purred, his eyes lighting up eagerly when she swallowed thickly, shaking her head no in response just as he tightened his grip upon her legs.
"Perfect."
Loki replied casually, a glint of mischief entering his gaze once again just as a smirk fell to his lips.
And then, with a gentle tug, his love was falling into the water alongside him, pressed not long after to the wall of the bathing pool as his aching and engorged cock rubbed against her, all too eager to finally settle the score his fingers had recently turned in their favor.
It was no matter of course, they had all morning after all.
And an eternity after that.
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fatesundress · 11 months
Text
⭑ observations ii. tom riddle x reader
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part i here.
summary. two weeks after your last encounter with tom shatters all of your previous observations, tensions are high, and eventually, something's gotta give. (it's tom. he’s giving head)
tags. smut (so. so much. minors BE GONE TO WHENCE YOU CAME!), fem anatomy + reader is referred to as a woman by someone, fingering, cunnilingus, piv, again implied tall!tom or short!reader (take it however you prefer), jealous tom does not understand friendship but then again neither does reader apparently, a little wine is had, the room of requirement is used shamelessly as a plot device, did i mention smut, i’ve lost my mind etc etc.
note. this is a part two, so go ahead and read the first part and come back if you'd like :) obligatory preface: it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also woahh was not expecting the love on my last post so thank you! i'm still trying to figure this whole acc out so support, questions, (requests? never done those before) anything is appreciated ♡
word count. 6.3k
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The next two weeks are agony. You don’t, in fact, stop meeting with Godefrey to study, because you do, in fact, still need a good mark in Ancient Runes and for all his faults he can reach the tallest shelves and he’s a faster writer than you. Also, Tom Riddle is fantastic with his hands but this does not make him God.
You find pureblood politics a bit archaic. You find muggle courting a bit stifling. This leaves very little space for what took place between you and Tom in the middle of a corridor two weeks ago (you can’t stop wincing at how insane that sounds) and very little patience for his utterly original and not-at-all entitled request that you halt your studies with Godefrey. Godefrey doesn’t stick his hands up your skirts while the two of you are studying, doesn’t silence your gasps with a shush and a finger to your mouth, doesn’t — wouldn’t (you’re so imaginative when you want to be) — tell you to keep reading as his thumb draws circles between your legs, tell you to repeat the words that get caught in your throat, tell you how much he likes it when your eyes go dumb and glassy and all you can say is his name. So, really, Tom should have nothing to worry about.
“I swear,” Selwyn says, picking at a plate you don’t think she’s actually eaten anything off with how distracted she is, “he’s looked over here at least three times.”
You don’t dare glance at who you know she’s talking about. “You’re obsessed.”
Pot. Kettle. Whatever.
“Are you sure you didn’t do something to upset him in Potions? Didn’t botch something that might mar his perfect record?”
You flick her forehead and she scowls. “I’m not an idiot, Selwyn. I handle myself just as well in Potions as he does — he wouldn’t —” Wouldn’t have complimented your rapport if that weren’t true, wouldn’t have said you communicate efficiently, make a good pair, probably wouldn’t have — fingered you in the hallway? — yes, that too. Slipped your mind. So easy to forget.
You take a long exhale, and smile impassively at her. “I didn’t botch anything, trust me.”
She finally takes a bite of food. “Maybe I did something…”
And then she’s lost in thought again, eating now, at least, and you shake your head softly as you watch what are likely a million different theories flitting through her head.
“Morning,” Tom says to you when you enter Potions after breakfast, a delicate smile tugging at his lips.
You have, of course, trained for this. 
It’s your fifth — sixth? — time sharing a table with him since that night and it is somehow easier by nature and harder by anticipation (of what, you have no idea) every time. The first was terrible. Unsalvageable and without a silver lining. It had taken almost an hour that morning to charm the violent hues of red and purple spanning the column of your throat, and ultimately, the marks were so persistent you’d forgone the glamours and decided to just wear a turtleneck. You’d been fortunate it was completely inconspicuous to wear such a thing in December, but that was about all there’d been to be grateful for. You hadn’t been able to look at Tom all class and his hand had brushed yours once to take a phial from you and you’d flinched so sharply it would have shattered on the floor if he hadn’t caught it. And he’d smiled, like he’s smiling now, a soft, “Careful,” that honestly, for a short moment, made you want him dead.
Now you could speak just fine, look him in the eyes in practised intervals, and almost, impressively, make articulate conversation with him again. Make stupid comments about Slughorn and Lestrange and bear the weight of his grin knowing it was there for you.
His, he’d called you. A very funny thing.
“Morning,” you answer on a smiling sigh, sleepy but jovial all the same. 
You deserve applause for this.
“Tired?”
“Mhm — Essays for Ancient Runes are due Friday and it’s been keeping us up all night.”
His eyes flash with something you’ve yet to ascertain. Your research has been put temporarily on hold, scattered and splintered by the revelation that your first observation was, admittedly, a little bit off, and you have no means of figuring out a look like that when you can’t even begin to figure out anything else.
“Has it?” he asks, a tinge less friendly.
“Well,” you say, grinding the lacewing flies, “that’s commonplace, isn’t it? You take all sorts of advanced classes, I’m sure you understand the work it takes.”
“...Hm.”
That’s it. That’s all you get from him.
And if Selwyn’s concern over you botching your work in Potions wasn’t already, obviously dispelled, the glee on Slughorn’s face as he assesses your and Tom’s cauldron should do it.
“Brilliant! Just brilliant!” He claps a hand over Tom’s back, regarding you both with pride so thick it clouds his eyes, like he's drifted into a revery of the future (you and Tom, you expect, are his most prized graduates, making history under his name, proving his immense wisdom) before he appears to return to Earth. “Ten points between the two of you, hm? Very, very good — though, of course, no surprises there!”
He chuckles to himself as he evaluates the other students, and you catch a horrified wheeze of Godefrey’s name (bless his heart) as one of the cauldrons in the back begins to sputter and froth.
You look to Tom with some droll little comment at making it to the end of term with top marks, but his gaze is burning into Godefrey’s table in such a way you wouldn’t be surprised if it was what was causing his cauldron to boil.
Well. Perhaps not, then.
You and Godefrey hand in your essay that Friday with more relief than apprehension — you both decide it’s quite good — and you laugh loudly and breathlessly as he picks you up and thanks you a thousand times, spinning you until you’re dizzy. You refrain from making any promises to attend his Quidditch games, but he vows to let you have the snitch he catches.
And Slughorn, you come to find, was not exaggerating his elation at your skill. After trotting after you on your walk back from Ancient Runes to invite you to the last Slug Club dinner of the year, your spirits are high with the blissful satisfaction of a job well done and a night to celebrate it with.
You can breathe, finally, when it’s the last week of school before Christmas break and Selwyn’s zipping the back of a last-minute dress you purchased in Hogsmeade.
“Gorgeous,” Selwyn says with a grin. “Wish this school would have a bloody ball so I could really dress you up.”
“Buy a doll, Selwyn; you can dress them however you like.”
“You are such a —”
You burst into laugher, swatting her wand away as she pokes your side with it. 
“Just — go then, before I hex you.”
“All right, all right!” you concede, arms raised in surrender. “Don’t ruin all your hard work now.”
“Oh,” she calls on your way out the door. You turn and there’s a mischievous look in her eyes as she tucks her wand back in her pocket. “And do tell me before I leave tomorrow if Riddle stares at you all night.”
You groan as if it’s a truly abominable thing to imagine. Riddle, staring with those dark eyes of his? You, the centre of his attention? Ghastly. You daresay you’d never recover from the horror of it.
“Don’t leave before I tell you how remarkably uneventful a night it was,” you say with a sidelong glare, and leave before she can edge in the final word.
You have no idea what a Slug Club supper typically consists of, but you imagine for Christmas he’s gone a little further with his festivities. His office is glittering in hues of green and red and fleecy, snow-dappled gold. The lights overheard (some similar charm to the one in the Great Hall but a tad less complex, you think) drip and then vanish into the air like squeezed berries, and the berries — served with pastries and ice cream — taste like they must be enchanted with something.
Selwyn was right that the standard dress isn’t quite formal enough for a ball, but it’s… formal. The boys are in clean-cut dress robes and the girls are in fine gowns of different lengths. By the overwhelming number of them you recall being archetypes of Slytherin pureblood fanaticism, it makes sense how expensive they all look. You yourself brush up nicely, if not a bit more frugally, but you haven’t been to an event like this at the school yet, and that’s exciting on its own.
It’s another degree of training (is there going to be a marathon? Are you at war?), a step up from your preparations before Potions every other day, to be ready when Tom Riddle enters the room a respectable five minutes late with a gleam about him more captivating than any of the lights.
“Ah, Tom!” Slughorn exclaims, and ushers him into a seat you remark before Tom is even in it is discomfitingly near to yours. “We’re all here at last… Supper, then? Hope you aren’t too full already, I’ve got the House Elves running laps!”
You’re spared Tom’s closeness by a Ravenclaw couple sat in the chairs between you, their hands clasped under the table while they sip wine from their goblets, and you only realise the length of your observation when Tom glances at you from the spot over, and you startle yourself into reaching for your own goblet and pretending to enjoy Slughorn’s bitter wine.
You eat. You listen to cluttered, unending tales of Slughorn’s time at school and how he earned his post. You drink, and then you regret not drinking before eating because there’s only a very light, very nice buzz that warms you when you finish your cup, and the Ravenclaw couple is — oh, wait, it isn’t just them — they’re standing up to dance as a gramophone sparks to life and a low, dulcet instrumental begins to play. There are now two notably empty seats separating you from Tom.
What had you said this night would be? Blissful satisfaction? 
You couldn’t blame Selwyn for suggesting you’d blundered Potions — you didn’t feel exceptionally smart right now.
“I didn’t know you would be here tonight,” Tom says, pulling the chair beside you.
Where is the bottle of wine? No. Nevermind. You behave regrettably enough sober.
You manage a simple, “And yet.”
“...And yet.” His lips quirk before he takes a drink from his goblet. 
You lament for a second that you’ve only actually kissed those lips once. They spent a great deal longer on your neck.
“Will you be here over break?” he asks, and it isn’t an unreasonable thing to ask, you suppose.
“I think so. Why?”
“I’d like to know whether to expect you or not.”
Expect you… No, yes — revert to observation two: unusual is not an apt enough word for him.
It takes you a moment to conjure a response befitting polite dinner conversation. That is, after all, still what this is.
“I suppose you can. I’ll be busy, of course.”
Well, you didn’t say you conjured something good. It’s a big fat lie. Placating, vague, empty. And you suspect Tom knows that.
“Pity.”
Yes, he knows. He’s all quiet amusement again.
You stare off, satisfied to be left alone —
"And what is it that'll be taking so much of your time?"
“Well, I'm —” And now you have to build the lie — “I’ve told Godefrey I’ll attend to his Quidditch practise. Since the pitch isn’t in use.”
God, it’s so stupid it’s almost impressive — you don’t even know if Godefrey will be here over break, and you could have chosen any number of excuses that would pique Tom’s interest less than it’s apparently consistently piqued by the mention of your study partner. 
There’s that strange, indecipherable look again. Riddle is a perfect surname for him, you decide then, and you almost laugh at yourself for it, but that would probably not go over well should he ask what’s so funny.
“Have you, now? That’s very kind of you.”
“It’s hardly charity.”
“Hm, it’s kind of you to think so.”
You huff, tipping your goblet back to swallow the last meagre dregs of your wine.
“You look lovely.”
It’s just a little bit — just a tiny, straggling little bit of elderflower that captures your throat — and you cough into your goblet. “Thank — thank you.”
And, well, he looks lovely too. Obviously. Sickeningly so. You know little about his personal life but you’re positive he’s at least a half-blood, if not muggle-born, and it makes you wonder the influence of his renownedly plain black suit in a crowd of neat, long robes.
He manages with little effort to look better than all of them at their best.
His eyes drift over you appreciatively, quick enough not to be rude but — enough. (Enough that you daresay you might never recover from the horror of it.) You adjust under his gaze even when it’s situated on your face, far too heavy a thing for you to carry. “Does Godefrey call you lovely?”
What?
You blink at him, your mouth is probably open and you probably look stupid but he’s so… irritating. Yes, of course Godefrey calls you lovely. Godefrey tells you you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met (after his mother), and he drowns you with sherbet lemons at no cost, and he writes at the speed of light to match the quickness with which you recite your textbook, and none of it means anything. Tom is just —
“Unbelievable…”
He quirks a brow. “What was that?”
“I said you’re unbelievable, Riddle. Is it impossible for you to comprehend that I might have friends? That Godefrey is my friend?”
“Well, memory serves me right that you seemed a bit confused on the conventions of friendship last you mentioned it. Do forgive my uncertainty.”
He — that was —
“Well, that’s because we are not friends.”
“No.” He leans in. “We are not.”
You push your chair from the table with all the grace you can manage for such an abrupt thing: a tight, impersonal smile on your face as you walk away and approach Slughorn, only realising when you get there that your empty goblet is clutched in your hand like you’re trying to strangle it.
Whatever he sees on your face, he isn’t drunk enough not to frown at. “Ah, our newest gem — hardly seen you all night! Not leaving already, are we?”
You glance at the clock. It isn’t as though you’re being impolite by abandoning his party in the middle of the event. It’s quite late, the servers are stuck to the walls with little to do, and most of the room has divided into waltzing pairs.
“I’m taking my friend to the train station tomorrow, sir. Unfortunately I need to be up quite early.”
Yes, yes, it’s all so tragic. You’re depressed to go.
“Such a shame,” Slughorn frets, wobbling a tad and balancing himself on the wall. “You’ll be all right getting back? Not at all dizzy, are you?” His laugh is cleaved by a loud hiccough, and then he laughs even more. “My, well, I myself will need to be carried!”
“...I’ll be fine, sir. Thank you.”
“Oh, no trouble at all — there’s — hm… ah, Tom!”
No, no — is it bad you almost reach over and slap your palm over your professor’s mouth? Is it at all impressive that you don’t? You should look on the bright side in moments like these. You should admire your restraint.
But of course, Slughorn’s eyes don’t fall upon Tom for nothing. He's halfway across the room already, and Slughorn must have spotted him approaching to achieve this brilliant solution. “Tom can escort you back, no?”
Tom (unforgivably) is beside you now, a very mean, very pretty smile on his face.
“Not too much to ask, I should think? You know the castle best. Head Boy — sometimes I still can’t believe it!”
You look up at Tom and your jaw is clenched where you’ve since put down your goblet. There is too much tension in you to know what to do with, and he looks positively thrilled.
“It’s hardly charity, sir.” He holds out his arm.
You wonder what spell would catch him most off-guard if you were to blast him in the face right now.
Slughorn claps his hands together. “Ha! Yes, well… perfect, then! Off now, the two of you, off now. Do have a good — ” He hiccoughs again — “rest!”
You don’t even bother the diplomacy of smiling at Slughorn as your arm loops through Tom’s and you’re exiting the party. 
Neither of you say a word on the journey, and that’s very well.
If you could just get back to bed without speaking to him you may still consider it a good night. You may be able to push his strangeness and his entitlement and the annoying way his hair falls to another day, when he pesters you about Godefrey’s nonexistent Quidditch practise, which — come to think of it — you do think he told you he'd be headed home for the holidays. You really fumbled that one.
And then Tom’s thumb is brushing the bare skin of your arm and your walk stutters a bit. But he doesn’t mention it, and so neither do you.
And then he’s drawing down your elbow to your forearm so softly it almost feels like he isn’t touching you at all. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you.
And then your arm, without really meaning for it to, is slipping from his and his hand is holding yours instead, feather-light as his fingers clasp yours and your breath is not the same as it was when you left.
He doesn’t mention it. He just keeps going.
His fingers work back up your arm and you shiver as they drag across your shoulder, gaze searing your neck as the soft digits find their way to your jaw, and you get the sense he’s remembering just how much he liked the taste of it, and you’re… you’re allowing it all again. You’re leaning in, you’re seeking him out, you want him flush against you and even that might not be satisfactory.
You are, in the end, a half-decent observer and a terrible liar.
You’re grabbing his hand with a small amount of direction and a great deal of meaning. You suppose it's because, historically, you’ve proven to have trouble with words in moments like these, and you don’t really know where you’re taking him but god, you know where you want him. Somewhere soft, this time, thick enough that you can fist your hands around it and melt. Somewhere he can hover over you, maybe hold you down a little, just until — maybe, miraculously — you might make him break a little too. Clamber over his lap. Make him yours.
“Tom,” you mouth, some question in the way your eyebrows knit.
The moment you say his name — the instant — he’s pulling you in, crushing his mouth against yours. And, ah, right, that’s what his lips feel like. You’d almost forgotten. 
This kiss is not chaste, hardly tender. It resists in that it asks you to push, to plead, to take this for yourself to prove how badly you want it, and he smiles into it when you do. And then, sated by your efforts, he lets you have him. You’re gripping the collar of his suit in your hands as his wander appreciatively over the back of your dress, pulling you into him as the kiss deepens. He’s savouring you like you’re something religious that’s been offered to him, and there’s the taste of wine on his tongue and you’re still here, aware enough that the symbolism isn’t lost on you.
“I've been thinking," he says between kisses, “about the way you felt when I touched you. I've been thinking about how long it might take before you need it again." 
You gasp at the sensation, and god, god, you've been wondering too, haven't you?
You’re pulling him impossibly closer and something hard is pressing into your hip and you clutch tighter onto his shirt as you moan into his mouth. You need it off, you think, and — has your dress been clinging to you like this all night? You need that off too. You need skin on skin. You careen him backwards without aim, your mind a muddled mess of all the many things your body is screaming it needs, like this is fucking imperative; to give it up would be catastrophic.
You suppose, based on what you’ve read, that that’s how the Room of Requirement works, but it’s still funny to think it would apply to this.
It hurts to remove yourself from him to watch in dumb awe as the door forms in the stone (to see the dark, languid shape of his eyes bearing down on you, the wet, stained pink of his lips), and Tom seems to recover from the revelation much faster than you.
His mouth is on yours once more, a hungry kiss; his free hand at your waist, guiding you through the door and shutting it carelessly behind him. 
He’s like fire against you, radiating as he presses down on you, his hand tangled in your hair and his hips flush against yours. You shiver as his mouth starts to move down (a cheap trick — he hasn’t forgotten how much you liked it the last time) from your jaw to your throat, as his lips trail down your chest and you're shivering into the warmth of him.
You’ve heard it said before, in some romantic sense, that it’s sometimes hard to tell where you end and someone else begins. 
This is not like that.
You've never been more aware of anything than the point where you and him meet.
You’re tugging at him blindly again, trusting in the nature of the Room like this isn't the first time you've been in it, and then you're stumbling down onto a bed you're quite sure wasn't there a moment ago (people say magic is a neutral force but evidently this is not the fucking case), fingers carding through Tom's hair as his body pins you into the mattress.
His mouth is molten hot as you squirm and pant beneath him, your breath coming faster than it ever has. Everything feels sharper and deeper and more intense under his touch, every sensation heightened until it's almost impossible to tell pleasure from pain, his tongue from his teeth.
How did it take you this long to do this again? To need him like this?
And his — you should really have the mind to see the mistake in all of this but perhaps that's for later — his fingers are pulling your sleeves down, propping your back to arch as he reaches under you to unzip your dress, apparently too impatient to sit you up and take it off properly so he just bunches it around your waist instead. There’s a moment where he stops to look at you, your chest exposed to him in the dim sconce-light, and then his mouth returns to circle your breast and you're biting down on a pillow to hold back the whimpering gasp that seeks to escape you. He hums around your flesh, and then he’s at your sternum, kissing a stripe to your belly button before pushing past the dress he's left ringed around your abdomen.
You shimmy under the weight of him to prop your head up — to see past the mass of silk that obscures his face from you as moves lower and lower, hands spanning your hips to keep you still.
His face hovers above your thighs, and he doesn’t move.
“Did you enjoy my fingers?" he asks. 
At that you freeze, thighs pressing together to bury the hand that's rising between them. 
Tom smiles. “Hm, you did." 
And then he spreads your legs apart, one hand pushing your underwear aside and regarding you with delicate, shameless appetite — something that might even be adoration: like this is all he ever wanted you to want.
“Do you think you'd enjoy my mouth, too?"
Words are gone. There's nothing left in you.
His head moves happily between your knees, holding them apart, pressing kisses to the base of your thighs. Your hands flail from the sheets, desperate to grip something else and you hold back a sound that feels like irritation and need at the same time. You need him closer, higher than this. He knows. You can feel his smile biting into your skin.
And then you manage a nod though you're not even sure he's looking at your face anymore (and what a picture to imagine he is) and you worry momentarily it won’t be enough for him — that he’ll ask you to be nice and say it out loud for him — but he hums with something merciful, and — his chin dips. You catch the smallest glimpse of his tongue before it’s on you, wet and slow and unrelenting and you say his name, but it’s a mewl; you choke on it. It sounds like a cry.
Pitiful, needy, undone. Just how he wants you.
You think all efforts to remain even remotely composed are thrown to the wind as soon as his tongue is lapping at you, fast and then slow, everything you want and not even remotely close. He sinks all his weight down as if he can predict the moment you'll writhe before you do — and you do. And with his grip he tells you to endure it. You only need him to say it with his hands and his mouth but he breathes back, licking his lips and he actually says it. “Be good.”
That makes your breath hitch and your cheeks swell impossibly hotter, and reality is a small glint in your peripheral where everything else is burning red. “Y-you’re—”
His mouth returns to you, tongue catching your clit in a drawn-out, agonising motion, and you gasp and lurch forward to inch through the sensation, craving more, more, more. Reason is lost on you, a throbbing familiarity forcing you to grind your teeth down on the pillow to stop yourself from telling him to — you don’t even know. Finish you. Abandon all reluctance. Just let you come as hard as you know he wants you to.
But he pauses, observant as he starts to work his fingers against you. Watching how your slick coats them like it’s the most enthralling sight he’s ever witnessed. Slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to push one inside of you, hearing your breath catch above him and the moan that comes tumbling out of your throat, pillow be damned.
You do your best to breathe through it, and you know he knows how to make you unfold like this, so the meticulous lightness of his ministrations tells you he’s trying to keep it from you now. You’re almost embarrassed about the fact that you’re dripping onto his hand regardless; his lips puffy, his gaze unnervingly, dizzyingly carving you in two.
“Just,” you rasp, clutching desperately at his wrist. “Tom, please.” 
Your begging must be music to his ears. (It’s a rare, unplanned fifth observation: that you think he’ll never get tired of hearing you say his name like that.)
He adds a finger. It’s encircling you, first, and no amount of restraint can stop the harsh gasp that leaves you, but then it’s his tongue and two fingers and he’s pushing into you how you wanted, and he makes a pleased sound against you, gripping you tighter with his free hand, still not allowing you movement and fuck, are you trying. What you're feeling now — the need, the want, everything —  is more than rational thought. Your mind goes blank, and all that matters is this, him, right here and now; nothing else exists, not even for a second. You moan, a low, throaty noise that's a little too loud, a little too intense; you can't recall if anything has ever come from you quite like it and Tom devours you at the sound.
More, you agree; it's almost an obsession in you now; more, more, please, anything and everything.
It’s the precision of his touch — not some bored, hurried transgression — that brings your hands helplessly to his hair.
“Tom,” you whine, holding him tight, and the purr of his mouth finding you again is something destructive.
As soon as you feel another swell of something deep down, your mouth is dropping open.
His tongue is sliding through you, fingers curling, and then your clit is in his mouth, and he’s watching you between your thighs as your eyes clench shut, and you’re coming.
Your voice breaks somewhere in the catastrophe of it. Your body spasms, electric down to every atom, and he pins you down through it. He doesn’t grant you the reprieve of escaping the frenzied, glorious torture of it. His mouth still lingers. His tongue moves thankful and unrelenting. 
He takes all of you, and you think this is destruction — creation — both. How terrifyingly similar they suddenly feel.
His lips are swollen and slick when he finally detaches them from you and you want to kiss him, but he’s leaning back to admire his work. You swallow, unable to blame him for it because you look down at yourself and — this is something else. You’re dripping down his chin. You're shaking. Your legs are still clenching around his torso. They’re holding him so tight you can’t imagine it doesn’t hurt.
But he just rolls off of you. Adjusts his trousers and your abdomen flutters and you think, don’t.
You don’t even realise you’re reaching for him until your hand is around his wrist and you’re still fucking sighing through the come-down, panting into the hot air.
He presses a kiss to your forehead, fingers damp on your chin as he holds you. You make a note that that’s the second time he’s done that. That you thought it was strangely intimate the first time and nothing’s changed other than how much more you like it.
And it doesn’t really feel like you can help it but crawl with gooey, trembling legs onto his lap. Doesn’t feel like you can help it when you lean in and capture his lips with yours, moan unabashedly into his mouth at the stiffness that presses against your core when you do, steal his tongue and the taste of you on it.
When he pulls away he’s looking at you like he doesn’t think you can actually do this. Like you’d just crumble the moment you tried.
A low, determined protest rises in your throat and you’re kissing him again. You’re unbuttoning his dress shirt, you’re trembling to reach for his trousers. 
When you can finally shrug his shirt off, press yourself against him, feel that skin on skin you wanted so badly, you find it somehow even more suffocating than its absence. You’re left wanting a more you aren’t able to even conceptualise, but you’re grinding involuntarily against him and his teeth are scraping your neck and he's hissing at the sensation, and — yes, there’s more.
Your breath is staggered when your hips stutter into a roll and you — fuck. You’re tugging desperately to remove his belt and he smiles against your throat as he takes your hands and guides them to him. You can feel his bulge against your thigh and you’re spreading your legs to usher him where you want, clawing at his chest without even meaning to.
Tom’s taking off his belt, and he’s pulling down his trousers just enough to bare himself to you, and maybe he’s right that you can’t manage it yourself but he stops his assistance like the intrigue of finding out is too good to resist. There's something both intimate and imperious, in a way, about the way he's looking at you now; it's a kind of focus and intensity and withheld hunger just for you; and you're more than happy to give yourself over to it, to let his hands and his eyes and his mouth claim you for his own. To claim him for yours, at last.
You do. You struggle for it. He’s very patient. 
But then it’s there — more — as you finally sink down on him and bite his shoulder and he shudders a low, pained exhale, his hands clutching your waist.
There’s a silent, suspended moment where neither of you move. The room feels entirely still. 
Your lips quiver over his pulse, and your stomach flips at the intensity of it, the undeniable rate of his desire beneath you. You smile against him now, like he always does to you, conscious enough to mumble into his neck, “Mine.”
Tom stutters inside you, fingers gripping you impossible tighter as you dare to think he even gasps. You dare to think he likes it.
And then one of his hands grabs your jaw and his kiss is searing. He thrusts upward and you cry into his mouth, searching to match his pace in a way that you appreciate, for once, he seems unlearned in. 
It’s all a bit messy, a bit new, palms in fists, in skin, in hair, digging for every part they haven’t already taken from. The sound in the back of Tom’s throat is divine, the feeling of him inside you as he slips his hand back between your legs — like he needs everything, like he knows you do too — it’s ineffable. It coils somewhere deep, touches something you didn’t know existed. Your hips are rotating, thighs still soft and slack from coming apart on his tongue, but you’re determined. It feels like finding even ground. It feels like something you deserve: to make him feel how you did.
Your head rolls back, eyes pinching shut in bliss, but Tom is there at your jaw again, forcing your blurry gaze back to him.
His hips are inching even further, the intensity of his pace as he adjusts to you making you dizzy. You think, realistically, there’s sound coming out of you, but you aren’t entirely sure when it’s so close to him, when your mouth is between his fingers and your ears are ringing and he’s looking at you like you’re made for him. 
“Mine.” And it isn’t a dismissal of your own claim but a confirmation that one will not be without the other. His voice is raw and breathy and something about the way he says it makes you contract inadvertently around him, hands swatting his chest like they don’t know what else to do. There’s just too much.
You recognize you’re trying to say something. Some plea, a moan, his name (is there anything else left?), but you’re just babbling into his mouth and he holds you there. He doesn’t kiss you. It’s your failing words against his lips. He swallows whatever syllables try to shape them.
It’s there again when you need it most; the heavy, swirling feeling inside you as he snaps his hips, his fingers returning to your waist with punishing firmness. His breathing accelerates, low in his throat, and you push harder against him. Your vision is gone again, head held in his hands to keep from rolling back so that, you suspect, he can watch defeat split you down the middle again — not over your shoulder, not with his head between your legs — with his eyes on yours, with every broken moan you let out so close to his face he can feel the breath of each one.
You’re grappling desperately at skin that doesn’t feel like enough, even though he’s rocking inside you, and you see the insanity of it, you see that it isn’t logical. Too much and not enough at once — you’re smart enough to know that doesn’t work, but it just is.
“Please,” you manage in a voice you don’t recognize. “Please, Tom, pleasepleaseplease —”
Had you said before it was foolish to call him forgiving? You take it back. He’s very eager to oblige you.
He finds some place inside of you and you don’t know quite what it is that he changes but it's new, uncharted, and you break there. You dissolve. You’re liquid in his hands as you sob, stuttering around him, trembling like you didn’t know was possible, and you swear — you swear you’re going to take him there with you. It isn’t that you could stop yourself if you tried but your body is gripping around him, fingers carving halved spheres into his skin, and you’re pushing down on him through the ecstasy — you’re forcing your eyes open so he can see you break, watch them flutter back all soft and pretty.
And you're sated by your ruin when it ruins him too.
The sound he makes is ragged. Undone. He can only bury it halfway with a kiss you think is actually more of a bite, twitching inside you as he fucks you through it.
You’re both lost in each other for a moment that feels detached from time, feeling his hips stutter to a halt, feeling your body soften. And he’s pulling out of you like it hurts, mouth falling open as he does. You wince at the loss, the sweet soreness between your legs, and you’re held only by the weight of him. You think — and you actually sway like the mere idea is too strong — that if it weren’t for his hands, you’d fall flat off the bed.
But he sort of lifts you off him, lays you down and watches you for a long time as if to decide something important before he's laying down beside you. You watch him too. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, and when there’s not a single curl left clinging to the sweat on your skin, he continues anyway. You let him trace your lips, your jaw, your nose, and somehow, a bit terrifyingly, your final observation: nothing about it feels unusual at all.
You did say he was yours.
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shadowtriovibes · 10 months
Note
can you write one where f!MC is being pursued by an annoying guy she doesn’t like who won’t take no for an answer. it annoys sebastian just as much as it annoys her, so next time it happens he pretends to be her boyfriend and suggests they start fake dating for good measure. eventually they make it for real.
thank you! i love the fake relationship trope sooo much and i’ve yet to see anyone write one with sebastian.
of course, lovely anon!! i haven't seen any fake relationship fic either so i'm happy to contribute a lil something! tbh i sincerely thought this would be a short ficlet but it ended up being just over 2.5k fluffy words of dummies in love 🤩
Title: rumor has it
Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC
Summary: Eric Northcott is relentlessly pursuing you, so Sebastian offers to act as your heroic boyfriend to get him off your back.
"Northcott," Sebastian greets him, leaning against your potions station and resting a hand possessively on the small of your back. "Is there something my girlfriend can help you with?" "Your girlfriend?" Eric asks skeptically. "That's new." "I suppose it is," Sebastian agrees, nonplussed. "Been a long time coming, though." Across the room, Ominis laughs under his breath.
Sebastian Sallow is an excellent young wizard. Clever, well-read, focused – by all accounts, he should be a brilliant strategist.
But sometimes he comes up with the worst ideas you’ve ever heard.
“You musn’t be serious, Sebastian,” you laugh, closing your potions textbook to appreciate the actual madness of what he’d just suggested.
“Why not?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
You roll your eyes as you tell him, “You can’t just pretend to be my boyfriend.”
Earlier that afternoon, the two of you had met up with Ominis in the Undercroft to study after staging a quick exit from the library. While Sebastian was hunting down a book on ancient runes, Eric Northcott had cornered you in the stacks and tried for the second time to convince you to have a Butterbeer with him at the Three Broomsticks instead of “hiding that gorgeous face behind those dusty books like you always do.”
When Sebastian had returned, you were shoving the Gryffindor boy away from you with a tense look on your face, and if he hadn’t just finished a stint of evening detentions for slipping a Puffskein into Duncan Hobhouse’s schoolbag, he would have hexed the amorous git himself.
Since then, he’d been suggesting ways to make him pay, with each idea more fantastical than the last.
“Sure I can, and we can even make a real show of it,” he says with a charming grin. “If you want to get Northcott off your back for good, let’s allow him to think your handsome, roguish boyfriend is the type who would challenge him to a duel if he tries anything untoward.”
“That is a terrible plan,” you deadpan.
“It’s actually not a bad idea,” Ominis chimes in.
You glare at him, because Ominis never thinks that Sebastian’s ideas are any good – even the ones that aren’t completely bonkers.
“What are you playing at, Gaunt?” you accuse him.
“I’m merely suggesting that Northcott may actually accept your contempt for him if it’s for a reason that allows him to save face,” he explains with a secretive smile. “Simply telling him that you’re not interested hasn’t seemed to work thus far, so why not be creative?”
“Creative?” you snort. “Wouldn’t ‘creative’ be blasting him myself the next time he lays a hand on me?”
“As if you need any worse of a reputation,” Ominis drawls, and he has a point.
“Come on, let’s really mess with him,” Sebastian pleads. “You know he deserves to be taken down a peg or two.”
You’re not surprised that Sebastian is able to get you on board so quickly. Truthfully, you think you’d follow him on his harebrained schemes just about anywhere.
“Fine,” you cautiously agree. “But just to scare him off, alright?”
You swear you can see the gears in Sebastian’s head start to turn immediately.
He kicks off his brilliant plan the next day during your N.E.W.T.-level potions class. You’re supposed to be brewing an antidote to Veritaserum, and while the draught itself isn’t necessarily difficult, some of the ingredients are a little tricky to prepare.
You’re focused on trying to carefully slit open some Sopophorous beans when you felt a presence behind you, and then Eric Northcott is draping his arm across your shoulders.
“Need a hand with those?” he offers, trying to sound congenial.
“I’m fine, Eric,” you insist.
“I’m really quite good at potions, you know,” he reminds you, grabbing one of the paring knives off the table and haphazardly slicing one of the beans you’d laid out. “I’d be happy to give you some hands-on lessons if you’d like, one-on-one of course.”
“Sebastian,” Ominis hisses from across the room, having picked up on the conversation while the other boy poured over his notes on wormwood. “Now might be a good time to offer some gentlemanly assistance.”
His eyes narrow when he spots Northcott leaning over your cauldron, clearly trying to sneak a look down your top.
“Don’t let my antidote burn,” Sebastian mumbles as he storms across the room, as if Ominis would ever spare a thought for Sebastian’s cauldron when the show is about to begin.
You bite the inside of your cheek as you watch him notice your predicament, silently pleading him with your eyes to do something to get you out of it.
“Northcott,” Sebastian greets him, leaning against your potions station and resting a hand possessively on the small of your back. “Is there something my girlfriend can help you with?”
“Your girlfriend?” Eric asks skeptically. “That’s new.”
“I suppose it is,” Sebastian agrees, nonplussed. “Been a long time coming, though.”
Across the room, Ominous laughs under his breath.
“Really?” Eric asks dubiously, briefly glancing at your expression. “I was under the impression that the two of you were just ‘best friends.’”
“Well, shouldn’t a good relationship start out as a friendship?” you counter, though you don’t sound entirely convincing.
“Right,” he says slowly.
“Mate, you know how tough she is,” Sebastian says with a charming grin. “Took me ages to convince her to give me a chance, she strung me right along for months.”
You jump slightly when Sebastian slides his hand across your back to your waist, tugging you closer to his side – and out from under Eric’s arm.
“But she finally took pity on me,” he says with a lovelorn sigh, and you narrow your eyes at his dramatics.
“Oh, Sebastian,” you reply, laughing nervously. “You’re hopeless.”
“Hopelessly in love with you,” he says, quickly leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth.
Before you can react, Professor Sharp wanders by and instructs you all to stop your dallying and focus on your draughts. Eric spares one more skeptical look at the two of you before returning to his cauldron.
Sebastian’s hand on your waist lingers for a moment even after he’s gone, but then he lets it fall.
“Sorry about that,” he says under his breath. “Had to sell it, you’re really a bad liar, you know.”
You think Sebastian doesn’t know the half of it.
(Sebastian’s just glad you avoided his gaze long enough to miss his deep red blush.)
As it turns out, the kiss wasn’t enough to convince Northcott that you were properly off the market.
The rumor mill quickly focuses on you and Sebastian – specifically whether or not it’s true that your platonic friendship has become something more.
“I don’t really believe it,” Nerida claims whenever the subject comes up. “Sebastian has always seemed like the bachelor type.”
“He could have had a girlfriend all this time and never has,” Violet agrees, trying to hide her bitterness. “I don’t think he really wants to be in a relationship.”
“Are you joking?” Imelda scoffs. “Sallow’s been a lovesick puppy over that girl for years, I’m just glad she finally came around.”
“She is very protective of him,” Grace speculates. “I remember when Samantha Dale asked him out last fall, I thought she was going to Depulso the poor girl clear across the courtyard!”
You do your best to ignore it, but Ominis stubbornly insists on telling you everything he’s heard.
“I would have thought that the two of you would be better at pulling off a ruse as simple as this,” he says, disappointment dripping from his words. “How hard can it be to pretend to like Sebastian? I don’t have to see him to know that the whole school thinks he’s handsome.”
“You don’t understand,” you sigh, walking alongside him on the way to arithmancy. “It’s… I don’t have to pretend, if you know what I mean.”
“Come now,” he says quietly. “I’m blind, not dim.”
“Then you do understand!” you whine. “How am I supposed to just let him pretend to be my boyfriend to ward off Eric and not go mad from knowing that it’s all a lie?”
“I suppose me telling you to be honest with him about how you feel would go in one ear and right out the other,” Ominis suggests, smirking to himself when you curse at him under your breath.
“Buck up, then,” he says simply. “I’m sure this whole thing will blow up in some spectacular way sooner than later – it is Sebastian, after all.”
As per usual, Ominis is correct.
Not even a full day goes by before Sebastian corners you outside the Hufflepuff common room and asks to walk you to dinner, taking your hand in his as soon as he notices some fifth-years studiously watching the two of you as you make your way to the Great Hall.
“I missed you this afternoon,” he tells you as he walks you upstairs, putting on a good show. “How come you didn’t want to study with Ominis and me after class?”
“I just needed to lie down for a little while,” you tell him, not wanting to admit to avoiding the way he’s been so unbearably charming lately.
“Feeling alright?” he asks concernedly.
“Yes,” you tell him. “Just… I don’t know. Out of sorts, I guess.”
“Anything I can do to help?” he asks.
You get distracted by the feeling of him stroking his thumb along your wristbone reassuringly.
“Um… n-no, I don’t think so,” you stutter.
“Surely there’s something I can do to help,” he says, and you wonder if you’re imagining the way his eyes look a little darker than usual, as if his pupils have entirely taken over.
“Like what?” you breathe.
Then he gets that look on his face that he always gets when he’s about to do something stupid.
“Come with me,” he says, tugging you over to a spot along the wall in the reception hall, next to one of those empty cabinets you’d looted for Nellie Oggspire back in your fifth year.
“Sebastian, w-what–” you stammer.
He presses you against the wall, one hand pressed to your waist and the other flat against the stone behind you, boxing you in. He glances around again and clearly spots whatever it was he was looking for, grinning mischievously before he leans in and traces his nose across your cheek.
“Don’t hex me for this,” he murmurs against your lips, and then he’s kissing you.
You melt against the cool stone wall, tipping your head back so Sebastian can tilt his head against yours and completely overtake your senses with his demanding kisses. Without consciously deciding to, you wrap your arms around his shoulders to hold him close to you, desperate to ensure he stays right where he is.
He kisses you well, you think. You know he’s always been a huge flirt, and that he has taken some girls in your year on dates to Hogsmeade over the years, but you’ve desperately avoided any post-date conversations with him because you did not want to know what he and those girls had gotten up to afterward.
Now you know, you think bitterly, but just as quickly you realize you don’t actually care. He’s skilled at this – nipping at your bottom lip to get you to open up for him, sliding his hand between your robes and your dress shirt so he can feel the curve of your waist, nudging a knee between your thighs to pin you even further to the wall.
“Bastian,” you murmur, tangling your fingers in his hair.
He groans against your mouth like he can’t help himself, and you whine a touch too loudly when he grinds his hips against yours.
Then you hear Eric’s voice call out, “Sallow!”
Sebastian looks like sin when he pulls away from you, and not just because his hair is a little mussed from your helpless tugging and his lips are red and swollen.
It’s because he’s smirking, and you quickly realize he’d planned this entire thing.
He’d pulled you to a spot where the Gryffindors on their way to dinner could easily see you being ravished, and it’s not just Eric he’s caught up in it – it’s Leander and Cressida too, some of the worst gossips in the entire castle.
…You are absolutely going to hex him for this, you think.
“Northcott,” Sebastian drawls as he turns around. “Can I help you?”
Eric looks furious, but at least he doesn’t look skeptical anymore.
“You might want to consider someplace a bit more private,” he offers, seething. “I am a prefect, after all. Could send you to detention for being so lewd in public.”
“Fair point,” Sebastian says easily. “In fact, maybe you ought to send us both. Hardly anywhere’s as private as the dungeons.”
You quickly smack Sebastian in the chest with the back of your hand, wordlessly begging him to stop before you actually do have to report to detention.
Mercifully, Eric simply throws a few choice words at Sebastian and stomps off to the Great Hall, Leander and Cressida on his heels to undoubtedly tell the entire school what just happened.
“You’re evil,” you hiss, still catching your breath. “You arranged all that just to embarrass Eric? To embarrass me like that?”
He frowns, confused. “No I didn’t, and I would never embarrass you.”
“You did!” you whine, shoving at his shoulders so he’ll step back. “They’re going to tell everyone and it’s going to make me sound like – like some pathetic girl who’s so desperate to avoid Eric’s attention that she’ll let her best friend feel her up in a busy hallway.”
“That’s not what they’ll think,” Sebastian argues. “And if anyone’s pathetic, love, it’s me.”
You scoff and wrap your arms around yourself, ashamed at how badly you wish you were still wrapped up in his arms instead despite everything you’re saying.
“You think I’m lying?” he asks derisively. “I’m a fool for you, and I would never hurt you. I kissed you like that because I wanted to, and if it happened to embarrass Northcott in the process, that’s even better.”
“Y-you wanted to?” you ask softly.
“I’ve wanted to for so long,” he finally admits.
His hands twitch at his sides like he wants to reach out for you, but he forces himself to behave.
“It’s the reason I came up with this stupid plan in the first place,” he sighs. “So that if anyone at this damn school gets to have the pleasure of walking you to class, or taking you to the Three Broomsticks or – or even kissing you senseless somewhere everyone could see, it would be me.”
You don’t have any words. But even if you did, there’s nothing you’d want to say to him that you couldn’t communicate by tugging him in by his collar and kissing him like you can’t think straight without his touch, so you do just that.
When you both break away to breathe, Sebastian quickly asks, “Are you actually hungry?”
“Not anymore,” you admit, your gaze still on his lips.
Sebastian barely manages to utter the words “Undercroft” and “hurry” in between kisses, but while he determinedly works a claiming bruise into the side of your neck, you whine, “Your common room’s closer.”
Once Ominis overhears Cressida waxing poetic about Sebastian Sallow practically mounting his new girlfriend in the hallway by the Grand Staircase, he doesn’t wonder why the two of you never show up for dinner.
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papercorgiworld · 3 months
Text
Boyfriend material: Blaise Zabini
Blaise tries to get your attention with a cheap trick. It doesn’t go as planned. Smut alarm!
This is part two. Read part one here.
Warning: piv, no protection.
Feedback is always very welcome.
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You leave the warmth of Hogwarts castle in search of a quiet study spot somewhere on the Hogwarts grounds. “Aren’t you a little too pretty to be walking alone.” Some guy you’ve never met slings his arm around you. “I wanna study. It’s something I best do alone.” You push his arm off of your shoulder. “You sure? I bet I could make it interesting.” You scoff, but chose to entertain the guy. “And how would you turn ancient runes into something interesting?” He again swings his arms around your shoulder, pushing you a little closer than comfortable. “For starters, no clothes.” You roll your eyes and push his arm off of you once more. “Zero charm.” You drily state. He wants to say something, but you turn your back and walk away.
It’s only then that you notice Blaise was watching everything. As you’re about to pass him on your way to your favorite study spot you can’t help but ask. “What are you lurking about?” His lips curl into a smile. “Not lurking, darling. I’m on my way to the quidditch pitch to make some rounds before training starts. But I’ll admit I stopped for a moment to make sure that dude wasn’t bordering you.” You smile at his honest concern for you. Only now noticing that he is indeed wearing a sports outfit. “That’s incredibly sweet.” He smiles a bright smile at your compliment, but it drops as soon as he sees you’re starting to move again. “How about you play it safe and join me. You can study in the stands.” You think about it for a moment and then agree to go along with him.
You study. He flies around. It’s peaceful, maybe too peaceful. You don’t show that much interest in Blaise and it frustrates him. He knows he has to make his move before someone else asks you out. I need to come up with something good, a way to swoop her off her feet. When he lands you see him stumble and fall sloppily on the grass. You hurry down, worried he might have injured himself. “You alright?” He’s already standing up again and looks at you with an exhausted smile. “Fine.” But his hand reaches for his ribs. “You’re hurt aren’t you?” He drops his hand acting cool and walks to the locker room. You follow him. “Don’t act all tough with me. Where does it hurt? Does it feel bruised? Did you break something?” Without a word he pulled his shirt over his head revealing a most lovely sight. You purse your lips to make sure you don’t make a sound. He steps closer to you and reaches for your hand, holding it in his and bringing it to his ribs. “I think it’s just a bruise. Right?” He asks as if you’re supposed to know by just laying your hand down. You look up into his eyes and he licks his lips as he watches your soft ones.
Unfortunately for Zabini you see right through him. “You’re playing me aren’t you? You’re not hurt! Did you even really fall?” You snatch your hand back and cross your arms as you see his face fill with panic. I took a calculated risk, but damn am I bad at math. He chuckles nervously, not knowing what to do now that he’s been busted.
“You’ve probably used this trick a million times on other girls?” What was Pansy thinking he’s no boyfriend material! Since he’s not saying anything you might as well leave. How cheap does he think I am? “(Y/n), please don’t go. I was only trying to get your attention. No harm done, right?” You turn back to him, arms still crossed and eyebrows in sassy mode. “Look, I wanted to spend some time with you, so I could ask you out on a date. I just didn’t want to be one of those lame guys who walks up to you and just asks. But I guess my approach wasn’t any better…”
His sheepish composure and the idea of a date makes you soften up. You uncross your arms and take a step closer. “Ask me on a date?” You wonder out loud, hinting at your curiosity. He chuckles in an adorable way as he relaxes knowing he’s winning you over. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask for a while, but now I was in a hurry. Since your sudden change in wardrobe everyone’s talking about you. I would hate to see you with some other dude.” You take another step towards him. “I guess you’re in luck then, ‘cause I would hate to see you with some other girl.” “Lucky me.” He whispers, while he pulls you into his embrace. You immediately heat up as you make contact with his bare chest. You put a hand on his chest to give yourself some space. “No need to be shy.” He brushes his nose against yours and you relax. You know you’re safe with him.
You rest your hand on his shoulder and go in for the kiss. Your kiss is met with an equal amount of enthusiasm and intensity. When you try to pull away to catch your breath he bites your lip playfully, gently begging for more. But all you give him is a quick peck on the lips. He growls in frustration and you laugh at his boyish attitude. “So needy.” You say as his nose brushes yours again, signaling he wants your kisses and love. “You have no idea.” He blurts with a cheeky smile before giving you a soft peck on the lips. “But don’t worry, I’m a patient man.” He assures you and he lays a hand on your hand resting on his chest. You huff. “What if I told you I’m not patient?” Your teasing smile immediately sparks every nerve in his body. You slowly push him to sit on the nearest bench. He doesn’t protest, instead he looks at you with hungry eyes as you saddle yourself on his lap.
He doesn’t waste any time grabbing your face and battling your tongue for dominance. Instinctively your hips move searching for more pleasure. “Fuck” he breathes as he moves to pepper your jaw and neck with kisses. His growing bulge forms the ideal spot for you to roll your hips. Entertaining yourself as he groans against your shoulder, obviously feeling constrained in his pants. He lets his head fall against the wall behind him as you mercilessly continue to ride him. The view of Blaise underneath you like this teasing and pleasing him at the same time had your pussy getting wetter with the second. Like you weren’t having enough fun by yourself he starts kneading your breast. Hearing you moan in reaction leads him to undo the buttons of your shirt, slipping your shirt and the straps of your bra down. His shameless staring at your perked nipples turns your pussy into a soaking wet mess. “So pretty.” He breathes as his thumb wanders over your breast.
When his tongue starts working on your sensitive nipple his name escapes your mouth between moans. This makes him go feral. “Fuck. What are you doing with me, looking all beautiful and sounding so desperate.” With one hand he unzips his pants and pulls out his cock dripping with precum. He pushes your panties to the side and pushes a finger in to confirm his suspicions: you were so ready for his dick. “You need me to fuck you. You know you want this, darling.” You stare at his length for a moment with your mouth slightly agape before nodding dumbly and lifting yourself up. He removes his finger and holds onto your hips as you lower yourself onto him. A soft cry escapes you as his cock stretches deep inside of you. You both cling to one another for support. “You alright there?” He asked, concerned about your stretched cunt. A sloppy kiss is the only answer he gets from you before you start moving, working him and pleasing yourself.
You feel selfish using his cock to chase your orgasm, but when you look at him, you see his eyes filled with pleasure as he watches you move. Blaise’s eyes flick from your boobs beautifully moving to your pussy taking all of him. As he sees you get closer he offers more support, guiding your hips and pushing his dick deeper inside of you. Again and again, pushing your body to its limits. “I’m close.” Is the only thing you manage to say between moans. “I know. Come for me, baby.” His last words push you over the edge and you allow yourself to fall into him. Your head resting on his shoulder as he rides out his own high. After a moment of staying still in each other's arms he pulls up the straps of your bra and breaks the silence. “We should clean up before the whole Slytherin quidditch team sees us. I mean, I want them to know you’re mine but they don’t need to see everything.” You raise an eyebrow. “Yours?” He kisses you before saying “Yeah, definitely not letting you go.”
269 notes · View notes
zodiyack · 7 months
Text
Little Loner
Pairing(s): Jace Wayland x fem!reader
Warnings: clary being jealous but then cupid??, I wrote this while sleep deprived, fluff at the end, Clary x Simon if you squint.
Words: 1,743
Author's Note: I finally finished the requests. Now have some drafts while I work on sequels and stuff <3
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Masterlist | The Mortal Instruments Masterlist
Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read it,  @simonsbluee,  @thewarriorprincessxo,  @sebastianstanslefteyebrow,  @livlaughquinn,  @bubsonnobx,  @bunnyweasley23
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Jace leads Clary to Hodge, but hesitates when he sees an open door. He finds himself pausing to admire the scene, leaning on the door frame with a crooked smile. Clary moves to get a better view and is confused.
A girl sits in a windowsill, her pencil hitting the paper lightly as she sketches out the scenery outside the window. The light appears to angle just right, giving her an almost angelic presence. Black runes cover her skin, some disappearing to hide under her clothes.
Clary leans over to Alec and whispers. "Who is that?"
Alec simply nods a little. "Y/N. Jace has a thing for her, but he's never acted on it." Clary feels her heart break a little. "Shame, really. She likes him too, but they're both too stubborn to be the one to confess."
"Oh..."
"My advice," Alec looks between her and the room, "stay away from Jace."
He moves on before she can ask much else, walking along the halls and calling to Jace quietly. Jace is brought back to reality as he gives one last look into the room before venturing on.
"So, Y/N..." Clary tries.
She doesn't miss when Jace blushes slightly, "another Shadowhunter. She's been here a long time, however she really only talks to me."
"Why's that?"
He chuckles a little but shakes his head. "That's none of my business to tell. She's a great person when you get to know her though." That's all the information he gives before they reach their destination. He opens the door and gestures inside with a nod.
His expression stays neutral, stoic as he explains, "You may find Hodge a little eccentric, but he's one of the greatest Shadowhunters that's ever lived." He looks down at the cloth in her hand and his brows furrow. "Here, give me that."
She walks inside of the giant room, her body and eyes exploring. The two boys walk in after her. They watch her carefully. Despite her distance, Clary can still hear Jace and Alec by the door.
"Don't lead this one on while you pursue your little loner. You'll get her hopes up, and if she decides to stay...the rune to fix a broken heart is the most painful one." She could practically feel Jace roll his eyes.
"I'm not leading her on."
"Oh? Is that so? Because I don't normally go around flirting and being handsy with random people, Jace." Alec warned. "It's obvious, the way Clary looks at you. I'd tone down your 'lack of leading her on' before she gets the wrong idea."
The doors shut suddenly, causing Clary to flinch, and Alec storms off down the hall, leaving Jace to think over his words. The more he thought about it, the more he tried to deny it.
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Jace opens the door, "The Silent Brothers are ready for her."
When Clary and Jace set off for their next location, she noticed a new companion had replaced Alec. It was the girl from before. The girl that Jace liked.
"I didn't expect you to be joining us..." She tries to make conversation, but Y/N barely acknowledges her.
"I admire your attempt, but she won't talk. Not unless she's comfortable with you." Jace smiles at the girl in question, who smiles to herself but stays quiet.
"How long would that take?"
"Patience is a virtue, Clary." Jokes Jace. "I suppose I was the first person who ever really tried, so there's not much to go off of. She's coming with us because I asked her too."
The redheaded girl can't help but glance between the two every now and then. She isn't sure whether she feels jealous or wants them to be together, but she can say one thing for sure; The tension was nauseatingly strong.
"Why didn't Hodge come with us?"
"He hasn't left the institute in years." Jace shrugs as he continues walking. "Some say it's a spell."
"He's agoraphobic." Y/N giggles at Clary's bluntness, leading to the ginger giving her a small smile. One she returned. They stop and turn, Jace crossing his arms while he waits.
"Is that him?" Clary asks.
Jace follows her gaze and shakes his head. "No, that's Harold, the groundskeeper." He tilts his head, leaning in a bit, "that's him."
She looks up a little and feels a small shiver of unease crawl up her spine. A comforting hand is felt on her shoulder, and she's met with Y/N's smile when she turns her head. The action leaves her wondering how obvious her discomfort was, but she still is thankful.
"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Clary looks to the two as though asking for help, but nods regardless. "We will help you to remember."
The trio follow the tall robed man, Clary a little more hesitant. Y/N turns, kind smile still standing, and lifts a finger to the middle of her lips. Clary nods and follows behind.
Along the way she trips, "Ow!"
Jace turns his head instantly, shushing her. "You'll wake the dead."
Clary rolls her eyes. She catches Y/N giving her an apologetic shrug, the girl nodding with her head to continue.
"I can't believe this place is just outside of the city..."
She follows the duo to the window like ledge they looked through. Jace's voice catches her off guard, "Welcome to the City of Bones." His breath is right next to her ear, sending her hairs to stand on their ends.
"This is where the Silent Brothers draw their power, from the bones and ashes of Shadowhunters."
"All of them are buried here?"
"Yes." Jace looks to the wall, "One day," he taps a skull, making Y/N giggle, the sound eliciting a smile to slide upon his pink lips, "that's gonna be me."
Clary stops to look at the skeleton. Sensing her unease, Y/N urges her forward with a light touch. Clary stops a few steps forward, inspecting the room from entryway.
"This is as far as we go." She looks at Jace, and he assures her, "You'll be fine."
"So you've done this before?"
Y/N and Jace exchange a glance. She dawns an apologetic look as shakes her head and Jace replies, "No."
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Clary decides to continue to try and talk to Y/N, "Have you ever met Magnus Bane?"
The girl only shakes her head.
"You know... I'm quite jealous of you." Clary admits with a laugh. Y/N tilts her head in confusion, prompting Clary to continue. "I thought Jace was into me, and if I'm being honest, I'm really into him but... I'd be stupid to stand in your guys' way."
Her brows furrow, even more confused than before. Clary's hopes range from high to doubtful, there's a chance Alec was wrong, that she didn't have feelings for him, but she saw the way the two looked at each other. She might've been naïve and clouded in her conflicting feelings, but she wasn't blind.
"Jace likes you too. And honestly...you should go for it." She looks away, ashamed of her own assistance in helping the guy she liked be with someone else. However, she doesn't have time to mope, when a voice she hasn't heard before causes her to snap her eyes back to Y/N's face.
"Is it that obvious?" A shy expression, laced with a little embarrassment, greets her.
"You-"
"I talk, yes." She chuckles. "Jace wasn't lying. I mostly talk to him, but after I realized my feelings for him, I started to confide in Alec. My only problem was that I didn't realize Alec also had feelings for Jace... But, Alec saw how much I love Jace, and told me that he had found interest in someone else. Whether that's true or not, I don't know, but, my feelings for Jace have always been around since then. I'm just...not too sure what to do about it."
Clary nods understandingly, and places her hand atop Y/N's. "Talk to him."
Y/N thinks about it for moment, and then nods. "Thank you."
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"Hey. Can we talk?" Jace turns, nodding when he realizes it's Y/N. The blond looks around the infirmary, making sure Simon and Clary are accounted for one more time before he returns to facing her. He follows her to the study, sitting beside her on the piano seat.
"What's wrong?"
Her fingers press into the keys, a slow recollection of a piece by Bach. "It's nothing... I spoke to Clary-'
"You talked to Clary?" Y/N giggles at his dumbfounded expression. "M'sorry, that just caught me a little off-guard, you don't normally talk to anyone else."
"That's fair. Basically, she gave me some advice to a problem I have, not that I asked her for it- she actually noticed it- anyways, after Simon and the vampires and everything- I guess- my point is, Jace..."
"Yes?" His eyes were laced with concern, no longer amused by her sudden socializing.
"I like you. Like, really really like like you." She bit her lip. "Like...I'm in love with you."
Y/N stared at Jace, waiting for his answer. She grew nervous as time started to feel slower. The seconds felt like they were snail's paced, so close yet so far away. Sweat dripped down her forehead and her heartbeat rang in her ears. It was all so overwhelming until-
"I'm in love with you too."
"You what?"
Jace smiled shyly. "I'm in love with you too. I've been for a long time now." His eyes trace over her lips, the distance between them closing gradually. He hovers above her lips when his eyes meet hers again.
It's all in slow motion and superspeed at the same time. She lets go of control and lets her instincts take the reigns. Her lips crash into his and he lets out a surprised groan. Their eyes both close as they kiss one another, their lips partaking in a dance they somehow know. By the time they pull apart, they're out of breath and their eyes are blown.
"How long?"
She blinks. "Pardon?"
"How long have you been waiting to do that?"
"If I'm being honest, a month or so after we met. What about you?" Y/N giggles.
"Since we first met."
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Clary leans against the door, heart half broken and half full, yet content with herself. Maybe she should look into what Simon's benefits are.
498 notes · View notes
celestialwhoree · 24 days
Note
to celebrate cancer free, how about a picnic with simon? but he’s letting his paranoia get to him and you have to comfort him that the man feeding the ducks aren’t spying on them and simply…living?
Katz my baby 💕 giving me all the good ideas🎀
AFAB Reader💕🩰
It's impossible not to laugh at Simon as he lugs the overfilled picnic basket across the park, his hulking form and grumpy demenour so at odds with you and your floral sundress, the pink gingham picnic blanket you carry.
The park bustles pleasantly with those stepping out to celebrate the first real days of the English summertime; groups of mothers with their children and couples with the same idea as you, bottles of fizz poured into paper cups and packs of buscuits shared between them. You manage to find a spot with sunlight dappled perfectly by the leaves of an old oak, setting down your picnic blanket, followed by Simon setting down the wicker basket you'd insisted on bringing despite the inconvenience of it. You're perfectly content as you lay in your little quiet place, listening absently to birdsong and laughter, breathing in the fresh air, cut grass and daisies wafting up and making you sigh with bliss.
Unlike you, Simon doesn't have the capability to relax. He doesn't have an off switch. He's very much aware of the lows to which men like him will stoop - seen them firsthand with his family. It's impossible to shake that residual stress, that fear of being out in the open, (relatively) unarmed, with the person he loves more than life itself. "You're all," You snap Simon from his reverie as you attempt to mimic his edginess, bunching your shoulders to your ears and straightening your spine. "Sorry." He mutters apologetically, perpetually worried about runing your sunny days with the inevitable dark cloud that is his paranioa. "Don't apologise." You hum, shifting so your knees press into the blanketed ground, hands coming around his shoulders, ear resting against the centre of his back where you listen to the steady thumping of his heart. The way he settles into your arms doesn't go unnoticed, lets you guide him gently back intil you're both laying beside one another, his head settled on your stomach, letting your fingers card softly through his hair. He allows himself to relax until his breathing matches the soft flutter of your inhales, looping his fingers through yours as he remembers how to shed his armour - to push Ghost down into the far deep crevaces of his brain, refusing his request to make an appearance on such a lovely day. Ghost doesn't get to feel the sun on his skin and the touch of a beautiful woman. That's for Simon. You're for Simon.
Once you're sure he's suitably relaxed, you shimmy from Simon's grip, not missing the frustrated grunt he gives from the loss of his favourite pillow. You soon halt his grumbling when you unwrap some scones from a cloth napkin, procuring little tubs of jam and cream from your basket too.
You spend the afternoon pink cheeked and happy, sipping at little glass bottles of lemonade and snacking on punnets of fruit or little baked treats you'd whipped up the evening before, revelling in domestic bliss and wondering if perhaps one day you'd be doing this not only with you and Simon, maybe a sweet rescue dog too, and a baby on your hip. You have been feeling a little nauseous lately.
𐦍༘⋆
I love babies and cute domestic shit!!! lovelovelove!! this page is not safe for pregancy trope haters!!! this is a domestic bliss safezone!!
173 notes · View notes
demonbanger · 1 year
Text
𝔇𝔬𝔫’𝔱 𝔣𝔯𝔢𝔱 𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 ℑ’𝔪 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 |
ft. sex demon ! 𝗘𝗨𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗦𝗦 𝗞𝗜𝗗 | 🌶 🔞 MDI
“𝙄𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙖𝙣’𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙡𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙩, 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙤𝙤𝙩𝙮 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙡.” — E. Kid, to you
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synopsis: on a lonely night you decide to get a bit buzzed and think, fuck it, why not try to summon a sex demon? Turns out to be either the biggest blessing, or biggest mistake you’ve made in a while.
♫: click for inspo song
pairing: Incubus! Kid x Fem! Reader (no physical description of reader, except hair that can be pulled)
cw: *inhales* demon summoning, bully Eustass, brat taming, blood + pain play, cunnilingus, drinking mention, predator x prey, breeding, dacryphilia, dumbification, belly bulge, overstimulation, praise + degradation, size kink af with our 6’7 king, use of pet names, insane stamina, gets softer at the end
tags: @goshitshardtohaveagoodname @nikos-a-clown @pinkcrystal-rose
© Writing & Imagery in this is my intellectual property. Do not plagiarize or repost to other platforms without my permission. Love, DemonBanger
______
You stuff your fingers in your dribbling pussy, but just could not get yourself full enough. You felt like such a horny bastard tonight, with so much sexual desperation, and finally decided you wanted to start masturbating again. But nothing worked like when you first started; you’ve just been single for too long and miss the feeling of real cock.
Even a dildo couldn’t do the trick anymore. You needed the real thing, with pumping veins and harsh thrusts, attached to a heavy man that pressed you into the mattress, with low grunts and dirty words moaned lowly into your ear.
You sigh in frustration and set the toys down, taking a swig out of some whiskey to let it take over more of your senses. The liquor burns so beautifully going down your throat…too bad there wasn’t another hot liquid also sinking down your oral cavity.
The familiar floaty headspace seeps in like an old friend that you keep away at arm’s length, as your heartbeat drums in your warm chest. Buzzed you feels like a dragon waking from a slumber, with old runes in the form of dumb ideas filling your brain.
“Might as well fucking summon a sex demon at this point,” you mutter. The idea rolls over in your head for a few minutes, and the curiosity of trying something crazy and reckless like this gets more and more appealing to your buzzed brain, until eventually you think: Wait. Fuck it, what if I tried it at least? You laugh to yourself.
What would you have to lose anyways? Just your soul? You don’t even feel like you have one these days until you drink good old caffeine.
You tap the safari icon on your phone, to research how one would even go about summoning an incubus, and take another swig to invite the madness more.
A few forums say the same thing. People asking if you actually want to invite such a thing into your life, some dude talking about how his wife cheated on him with one of those entities and was never the same after that. Hahah…cuck.
You scoff. You have existential crises every day, no sex demon can fuck your life up like you feel you can. Demons, where you at? It’s ya boi. You think about the meme and cackle way too hard for something so unfunny and possibly life-threatening.
Then you scroll over a comment that is long with a lot of upvotes on it. It looks serious. Seems legitimate. There are no comments underneath, but it reads like a serious spell book.
Eh, why not? You laugh again. The comment warned against masturbating beforehand to make sure your sexual energy was at its peak to really invite any sexual spirits. Welp, already fucked that up, so if this doesn’t work at least you could have something fun to do and then tire yourself out and call it a night.
Then you read how it involves extracting blood from a few…sources such as the tongue and pussy and you wonder if there’s a better way. A paper cut on any of those things sounds gross. Eek.
You look over YouTube and find the first video that pops up. The speaker sounds experienced, and says that it’s much simpler than any methods. Just make a request to the demon Asmodeus by reaching a meditative state, and adamantly focusing on his name.
Simple enough. You try and make sure your room is a little tidy, burn a couple of cutesy candles, and dress in a black spiked collar and a cute, lacey red lingerie set you got yourself a little while back. Scarlet garters hold up soft thigh highs that bring out your thighs and make your lower body look extra luscious. You take in this moment of feminine confidence. What are you? You’re a bad bitch. And what are you about do? Get fucked.
You sit prettily on your bed, take another swig of the burning drink, shake your hips in excitement, close your eyes, and make the signature meditation pose. You even put the sigil of Asmodeus on your laptop to better reach him. Look at you, doing the most. Then, you bite your lip in concentration and your buzzed brain is slow enough to focus on one thing slowly.
Asmodeus. Asmodeus. Asmodeus, are you with me? You think with intention.
Just as you thought. No answer. You continue.
Asmodeus, I know I never spoke to you in my life. I’m Y/n, I know this is silly but I don’t mind giving up some of my energy to get fucked voraciously by a demon boy. An incubus please. Is that ok?
You wait for an answer, peep at the candles. They’re just flickering normally. You try not to psych yourself into micro analyzing the movement of the little flames. Drunk you could do that all night. But you need to keep focused. Then you continue.
Hopefully it is ok, Mr. Asmodeus. I don’t know if I need to give up my blood n shit. I’m just a little drunk girl and honestly I’ve given up so much life energy to toxic exes at this point, you don’t need to warn me,, I know I’m rambling, but uh, yeah. I don’t give a fuck. But also, respectfully, make sure he wants me too. That shit’s hot. Do you even hear me at this point?
A chill up your spine stops you from thinking further. It’s such a chill that you shiver. It’s the same sensation in your nerves that you’d feel if someone ran a finger along your entire sensitive spine. Your window isn’t open.
There’s no way.
Good talk, you think. Don’t know what the fuck that was.
You sigh, keeping yourself open for answers. Maybe he’s thinking? Who knows. For a second you almost feel a little silly for getting all dressed and stuff.
Then you feel a chill up your spine, only more intense. Your hairs stand on end. It’s kind of spooky. You’re drunk though so you’re in more of a relaxed, “oh no!!! anyways” sort of mindset. But none of your windows are open and you haven’t turned on the AC all day.
You take another swig out of the bottle and your face burns. You’re sure your eyes are a bit bloodshot, face flushed. You think about what a male demon would say if he saw you. Probably something like—Put the bottle down, sweetheart.
You cackle in your mind. Sorry about that, daddy, gotta have fun.
Keep calling me that, I like it, the thought says a bit louder in your mind, purring more sexily than you’ve ever imagined a man sounding. Wait, did you make that up or are you tripping?
Dumbass.
You open your eyes again. So that was your imagination…or was it? There’s a little bit of doubt in your mind. Either way your imagination is vivid and you crack yourself up.
Damn it, you play too much, now your drunk ass can’t even tell what’s someone telepathically communicating to you and what’s you imagining someone telepathically communicating to you.
You clear your throat a little.
“Oi, am I wasting my time? Am I making this up? Give me a sign or show yourself , but don’t like scare me, or else I’m just going to sleep.” You try to speak clearly and confidently.
Your head whips around to the wall at something suddenly in your peripheral, and you notice a little area starts to glow, brighter and brighter. It’s a sigil. The same one you put on your computer moments ago. It’s very slow. Your heart feels like it’s in your fucking throat as you blink extra hard. Nope, still there. Holy fuck??
You swallow, slightly nervous besides your sense of fear being dulled down.
A gasp leaves your throat at a sudden tapping noise coming straight from the sigil. A fist punches through your wall, except not actually punching through its material. The glowing sigl must be some sort of portal. You let out a shocked squeal as the fist shakes around the air of your room. The clawed hand opens and the body attached steps out.
“The fuck was that?”
Oh lord. He’s huge. And above all else, irresistibly sexy.
The demon stands before you, towering over most of your room proudly, a wild crown of red hot hair adorning his head. The candlelight flickers wildly as he looks directly at you. His handsome features complete with sharp eyes like glowing amber surrounded by darkness, almost dragon-like. Is that…lipstick? And guyliner. Another shiver runs through you at how attracted you are to this creature from hell. You must’ve made Asmodeus laugh and scored the jackpot in return. That sharp nose.. with the pretty bumps on the side…you wonder how it would feel riding it.
He’s wearing a coat trimmed with maroon fur, that still leaves little to the imagination as his entire muscular, giant torso is bare with a sheen that accentuates carved abs, perhaps sweat because hell is hot. Black pants with chains hang low on his hips. You don’t see visible wings but are sure he can make them appear if he wanted.
Just, holy shit.
Dark maroon lips smirk. His voice is raspy, a little tired, a little indifferent, but the look in his eyes says otherwise. “So…you gonna just keep staring at me all night and get off that way, or?”
You bite your lip. He’s so fucking smug. Your pussy starts pooling more wetness than already built up.
“I-well, yeah, you just appeared through my fucking wall,” you roll your eyes, not submitting so easily. “The hell did you expect?”
The demon flashes a mouth full of beautiful, dangerous teeth.
“Pretty little minx, and a smart mouth on ya too. I guess he was right it’d be worth bothering the admiral of the legions, can’t wait to fuck the brattiness out of you.”
Black, ornate trousers that appear punk and shredded to bits sway as he steps closer to your bed.
“Oh, Careful—” you warn but one of his beautiful, tall, twisty horns hits your ceiling fan, and you find it comical how a 7 foot tall demon is cursing at hitting his left horn in your room.
His eyes squint at you. “Fucking brat. Laughing at me, not even telling me your name. I could drag a rude little mortal like you to hell and eat you alive for lack of manners,” he drawls, little to no venom in his words, his voice so deep and rich you almost get lost in it for a moment. Little does he know you want him to eat you alive.
“Oh—, I mean you’re right, sorry sir,” you spit out the sorry as sarcastically as possible, “I’m Y/n, what’s your name?”
He eyes your thighs clenching together and a mocking chuckle bubbles in his chest. “Name’s Kid. But you, little thing, can call me Eustass for tonight when I’m impaling you on my cock.”
A little whimper is forced out of you at how dirtily he spoke, like he made an incantation to turn you on instantly. “Eustass,” you try out, making precum drip out of him more than he’d like to admit. Your eyes flit down to his cock that he mentioned, then back up. He knows you were staring. And he’s so damn smug about it too, because the big guy’s bulge looks absolutely huge.
He looks over at the toys on your bed and scoffs, picking up your dildo, and eyeing it snarkily. Your face burns in indignation at his wolfish, leering smirk.
“Oh princess. Might as well throw these—“ he locates your trash bin, “right here. Because I’m gonna fucking ruin them for you. And you can kiss any man’s dick goodbye.” He drops your sex toys into the trash like a mic drop.
And you’re not even mad. Your thighs shift against the fabric of your bodysuit to gain any sort of friction, so turned on from imagining what’s to come.
“Yeah? You like that? I can just smell how much that turned you on. Such a pathetic, needy, desperate slut. You in heat or something?”
You can only nod your head.
He makes his way back to the bed, walking like he has all the time in the world, and you eye him for how beautiful and dangerous he is, oozing sex appeal. He also eyes you hungrily, like a starved carnivore eyeing its new living meal. Heat from hell radiates off of him, and he smells otherworldly; almost sweet; with notes of pure musk, steel, blood, leather, sweat, and desire.
(You don’t know that the pheromones you’re releasing have a similar effect on him, but he wants to make you beg and whimper; mewl, cry, break).
You take in shaky breaths, not because those fangs could rip chunks out of you if he wanted to…well, that’s hot too.
Kid grabs your bottle of whiskey from your mattress, eyeing you with pure hunger as he gets so close to you, and sets it on the floor. “That’s gonna break if it stays on your bed.” He dips his head closer to you, inhales again to smell your arousal, and his eyes roll shut.
“A-are we gonna have a safeword? I’m not paying any hospital bills if you break my body,” you finally speak up, voice pitch heightened from horniness.
He scoffs. “How fucking adorable, such a needy stupid baby, you didn’t even think before making a contract with someone who could do whatever he wants with you no?” the redhead strokes your thigh as he sounds so mean and condescending, large clawed hand gripping your upper leg, squeezing your supple flesh. His breathing is heavy. Fiery eyes peer down into your soul as he pauses.
“Spikes.” He feels your collar, humming in approval. “But just know, you signed up to be fucked. And drained.” His blackened thumb traces over your bottom lip as he holds your chin. “If you can’t handle the heat, you should know better than to booty call hell.”
“Mhmm,” you say, nodding in his hold, tongue darting out to caress his finger. Kid snarls.
Just like that, a large palm presses on your sternum and shoves you down onto the bed. He yanks you by the hips to the edge of the mattress with a bruising grip, and bucks his clothed hips into yours sharply, trouser-covered bulge slapping your pussy roughly, eliciting a whine from your throat.
“Gonna keep your neighbors up with us all night just like this,” he growls, bucking onto you, hands tracing your hips, fingers dipping under your bodysuit to caress your soaking core.
“Wet kitty, so fucking sinful.” He pulls out his fingers, separating them and admiring how your slick strings up and drips down his hand. Then, glowing eyes gaze into yours as a long, sharp, forked tongue licks your essence up, cleaning them in one stroke. You throb. He tosses his trench coat to the floor and you admire his giant, muscular body. Thick neck you want to scratch up. Giant muscles carved of porcelain and littered with scars that you want to bite and paint even prettier. A fallen angel of vermillion, ready to stab you in the dark, drag you down in lust and weeping to your personal circle of heavenly hell.
Without another word, he dips his head down and snaps the crotch of your bodysuit open leaving you with no room to think. He flattens his large, forked tongue and licks a broad, wet stripe over your sopping cunt.
“ ‘s cunny’s mine,” he breathes, and begins his attack on you with his mouth, squeezing your thighs, large tongue teasing into you.
“Yes it’s all—, ohhhh~” He pulls out and shoves two huge fingers with painted fingernails into your entrance, stretching you out and making you arch your back from the sudden stimulation, pussy smushing into his face further. He growls again, feral in nature, the vibrations going straight to your clit as he intently watches your reactions. Wide tongue lapping at your clit, swirling, making you speak in tongues and whimper at how full you are. You do not regret summoning a demon at all.
He adds a third impossibly thick finger and scissors them in and out of you, then impatiently thrusts his tongue back in to fuck you, massaging every little nook and cranny of your textured walls. Swirling up, and up, and up until your brain rots inside your skull and you’re roughly grabbing handfuls of his hair.
You hear him groan a prideful, muffled “Good girl,” as his nose bumps into your clit so snugly. Your eyes roll back at the praise. It’s too much, all of it is too much. And yet, you need more, more, more, please, please, please. His tongue hits a tender spot that makes you jolt and begins to attack it in a full-fledged assault, causing you to snap your gaze back to him and buck your hips greedily into him.
Greedy. He likes that. He likes how greedy your cunt is, because he’s just as greedy for you. Your thighs clench around his head when he shakes his face, soaked in your juices, side to side to rub your clit with his nose pressed tightly to you. “E-Eustass!” you call out for him, all strangled, and a purr rumbles in his thick chest.
In response, he only clenches your thighs tighter around his face, continuing to torture you with his pink tongue that’s long and mobile like a fucking tentacle.
You cry out as talonesque nails dig into your thighs and little pricks of blood come out, but he doesn’t care. And neither do you. You grind on him, head swimming in lust, probably only worsening the pinprick wounds. He leans back with you and completely sits down on the floor beneath, holding the entire weight of your body on top of his face with the strength of a powerful war demon.
He slides you up and down, and you tremble, spots of white flecking your vision as you ride his face, smearing your never ending slick to his insatiable delight.
His amber eyes glare at you, urging you to let go and come undone on top of him. Yet mocking you for needing to cum so soon.
And that’s what you do, shaking violently, curling over him, death grip on his scarlet tresses, as he groans at how delicious you taste. The orgasm washes over you so hard you almost fall slack, almost, as your moans fall silent from your circuits sparking. He drinks up all the essence you have to offer, lips smacking at how delicious you are, deep “Mmmhfuck” causing your nipples to perk.
He stands back up and sets you back down on the bed, unzipping his pants.
You’re lightheaded from the most amazing orgasm of your entire life, gazing at the ceiling as static fills your brain in ocean waves of dumbified pleasure.
Then your mouth gapes open at the sight in front of you. Beautifully red pubes trail right over his giant hand, fisting the biggest cock you’ve seen.
“Ngh, t-too big,” you whimper.
“Oh, I’m shocked you can speak,” he laughs darkly.
“Barely,” you try to prop yourself up on your elbows, but it’s so difficult and you fall back down.
He laughs at you, humiliating you in his stare. “Such a weak kitten,” the demon mocks you in faux sympathy.
You feel as though you nutting just now made you so insanely tired.
“Just lay back, dollface, you’re giving daddy life energy as a snack. Gonna make you even prettier, so dumb you can’t even speak.”
Before you can protest, he’s spearing you with his cockhead, ripping a loud moan from your throat.
He’s merciless, as no god has shown him, a fallen angel, any mercy. So why should he, an incubus leeching off of your sexual energy, show any mercy to a cunt that’s all his and swallows him in just right.
He continues to sink into you, and your nails pay him back by digging into him now, in his meaty forearms.
Kid’s tongue darts out over his crimson lips.
“Keep,” he thrusts out slightly, admiring the way you grip him, “fucking,” he thrusts back in all the way, making you shriek, “taking it.” The pain is so much, too much, the stretch fucking burns at how large of a cock is intruding you, but he hammers into you without regards to your comfort or pleasure. He’s the one using you, fucking you like you’re his breathing flesh light, like you’re the one working for him though he’s the escort demon. Ramming in, threatening to fuck right into your cervix, overload. You’re clamping down, your walls are rejecting him. It makes him curse loudly at how hard it is for him to move, but he’s stronger than a mere human, so ever the sadist, Kid pumps in regardless.
The pain of his unrelenting, selfish thrusts starts to turn slowly into pleasure, and the fullness and overwhelming stretch feels delicious. Your mind turns dumb and you start to whine.
“M-more,” you moan, and he grabs your tit harshly, twisting your nipple painfully, making tears rush to your eyes. He does so to the other tit, then slaps them roughly. You whimper his name, back arching like an exorcism in progress. Except exiting you, this demon is not.
“Yeah? You need some more, you selfish brat?” He growls, pace deepening and quickening. “Don’t you worry, I’m not going anywhere, not until the sun is up.” His hips snap against yours, and his nails rake down your body to fold your thighs against your chest, his crushing weight pinning you to the bed. Your mattress hitting the wall. You struggle to catch the breath that’s knocked out of you in this position.
“Fucking look at me,” he suddenly jibes, and you obediently make eye contact with him. “Now don’t you dare fucking look away or quiet those pretty noises. I want to make you scream.”
He’s going at an inhuman speed, and so fucking deep in this mating press, and hits the spot that made you cum before. His balls slapping against your ass, making you scream.
“Eustass! Eustass! Please, please, please, yes, Nnnn! Please!” You beg him to keep going, as he growls, “fuck yes, beg, princess, beg for this fucking cock,” his thrusts getting sloppier as your cunt tightens around him. Your eyes roll back a little, as he’s fucking you dumb.
“Ah!!!” You yelp, as he roughly slaps your ass.
“What did I fucking tell you?” Eustass snarls, and you bite your lip, face flushed as he glowers at you.
“T-to, to uh, look at you,” you say dumbly, gasping for air.
“That’s a smart girl,” he rubs your clit, making you squirm, and he condescendingly coos down at you, “so why don’t you look at me as I wreck you, hmm?”
His body is so big, so hot, he’s so heavy and wide as your poor legs stretch to accommodate his wide shoulders while he opens you like a flower and pounds into you. He smells so fucking good, you think, and you want him to cum inside of you and claim you as his, and you struggle but do your best to keep looking into his wild eyes. He’s absolutely feral, so intimidating, and your body rocks at his severity so you grasp the base of his horns. A little moan leaves him, and if he wasn’t pressed up so close to you, flooding up all of your thoughts and walls and senses, it would have gone undetected.
A darkness takes over his eyes. “Now you’ve fucking done it,” his voice drops ever lower, and he pulls out. Flips you over onto your hands and knees, pulls your hips to face the ceiling, and bottoms back in in one thrust. The new angle has you screaming and moaning his name, “EU—fuck!!!!” You whimper loudly, and he pushes your head down into the covers.
“Yeah—this pussy—is all—fucking mine—you hear that?” he rumbles in between thrusts, slapping your ass again as he arches your back impossibly, balls slapping your cunt. You’re too dumb to understand what he’s saying and he knows that. Your slick is everywhere between the two of you and it’s making him absolutely drunk and feral.
You’re unable to speak real words, you’re babbling and you claw the sheets as he batters your insides over and over like a battering ram. Tears and drool are soaking the covers beneath you, as you moan while you let him use you. He kneads and slaps your ass again. “Look at me.” He reminds you harshly.
You weakly turn your head to look back at him, blubbering, and his pointy, evil grin sends a jolt straight to your core again.
“You’re my fucking pet, and any man you let have this,” he makes a slicing movement with his finger over his throat. “Got it?”
You’re so gorgeous, hair plastered to your forehead and all wild, face flushed and teary, eyelashes fluttering up at him, gasping, as you whimper, “y-yes, Eustass, I belong to you,” and his deep thrusts slow luxuriously.
“Good girl,” he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you up until your back meets his sweaty inferno of a chest. He rubs more circles on your puffy, abused clit and you squirm from the buzzing overstimulation of another impending orgasm. He eats up how you clench around him, and as your head spins dizzily from him still thrusting up into you deeply, he sinks his teeth into your right shoulder, claiming you.
You cry out weakly from the pain, and spasm around him like a voodoo victim and he lazily fucks you through your second orgasm, enjoying how you make a mess all over his hand.
“Oh, that’s so sexy,” he groans, lapping at the blood on your shoulder, as you squirt all over his arm, and his cock is absolutely drenched, dripping down to his balls. He moans and with a few more thrusts, stills. He fills you up with hot cum.
The giant incubus turns you both around, you still out of breath, dumb, on his cock. “Look here.” He says, like Virgil from Dante’s Inferno showing the writer the lustful circle of hell.
You peer at your reflection in the mirror. You, so fucked out, almost unrecognizable, crying, glowing, lips plump from biting them. A huge bite mark on your shoulder. Bruised hips. Both of you scratched up with a little bit of blood. Legs shaking as you’re sitting pretty on his cock, a bulge evident in your tummy. His huge hands encircling you, him, possessively overshadowing you. He’s so much bigger than you, his width eclipsing you in the reflection.
You lean your head back tiredly. He whispers lowly into your ear. “ ‘M only just getting started with you, but look at how pretty you are as my pet, yeah? This is what I’m gonna see every single night, aren’t you excited?”
You tiredly turn your head to smoosh into his pillowy chest, his smell overpowering your senses, and you look up to him. “This is all I need,” you whisper back.
He sets you down on wobbly legs and holds you up a little. He cups your jaw in his giant hand, and the white of his canines shines. His lipstick is slightly smeared. He looks gorgeous, sinister, a glowing star of red, black, amber, and pale skin.
Then he kisses you, in a way that’s startlingly soft and passionate, in his ferocious way because Eustass is, well, Eustass. He pulls away, eyes glittering darkly.
“That’s the right response, darling.”
———————————————————————-
TO BE CONTINUED 🏴‍☠️ -> part 2!
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Spooktober - Day 4 - Moon
When are you going to tell him what you know?
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amnesique · 9 months
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Hey I love your Nick work could you do one where reader and him are cuddling and Thro wants in and they go for a drive 🥰
stupidly in love — nicholas leister
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i'm not sure if that's what you meant by going for a drive, but i hope you like it either way. also, thank u so much, i'm glad you enjoyed my work <33 (wasn't proofread)
you and nick were watching a movie, in his room, with the door closed, in case the movie would end up being the one watching you.
you sat on his bed, in his arms, resting on his chest while he wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you so close to him so that he can inhale your perfume and place small kisses on your bare shoulders from time to time, which distracted you from to the action of the movie.
“stop,” you scolded him in a whisper, between weak giggles, as you pulled back a little to stop his lips from making direct contact with your skin.
the voices of the characters could be heard in the background, but nick hadn't been paying attention to the action for several minutes. being so close to you was a distraction.
"stop what?" he whispered in your ear and you felt a thrill of excitement runing up your spine, as he managed to kiss you, despite your fake resistance.
"that," you replied, as he kissed you once more, and you sighed on the one hand disappointed that the movie you put on wasn't being taken seriously, and on the other hand because you were trying to hold back so you wouldn't be the one who takes the situation to the next level.
he turned your head towards him with one of his hands, continuing to hold your waist with the other, and asked you, with his lips very close to yours, "something wrong?"
a faint sound, that was at first meant to say that everything was fine, leaves your lips over his, and he grins, being pleased with the effect he had on you.
when, from beyond the door, a dog's voice was repeatedly heard, asking to be let inside.
"is that thor?" you whispered to nick, just as he pushed your hair back to get closer to your neck area.
you were both silent for a few seconds, seconds of that sound repeating, and then he hastened to approach your neck, and you had to bite your lip to keep quiet. "he can wait," nick said, then started to place kisses on your neck.
but the dog didn't stop.
"nick," you murmured weakly and pulled away, trying to make it harder for him to reach your neck. "nick," you repeated a little louder when you saw that he wasn't giving up.
he pulled back, acting as he was mad and he stared at the door with unreadable eyes.
"go open the door for him,” you encouraged your boyfriend and you got off of him so he could get off the bed, but his gaze was back on you. "nick," you whispered his name once again, in a bit louder tone.
he grumbled, but stood up eventually and opened the door for thor, who immediately changed his mood and started looking around the room, wagging his tail when he saw you.
"he'll have to make it up to me," nick told you referring to thor, but you knew he wasn't being serious so you laughed as you called the dog over to you. he came to the edge of the bed and let himself be caressed by you.
nick moved closer to you, running his palm over his dog's ridge as well and then he kissed you chastely on the lips, sitting down next to you and watching you with a smile on his face as you looked at him with raised eyebrows.
"i was a little jealous of him," he shrugged, "but it's gone now."
you rolled your eyes, laughing, and continued to gently carres thor, taking advantage of the opportunity he had given you.
as usual, this occasion didn't last long as the dog walked past you, rushing towards the exit to the balcony and looking out, while barking to get both of your attention.
"i think he got bored of staying in the house," you said out loud what you were both thinking and nick approved, placing his hand over your thigh, because of his instinct to always touch you. "maybe we should take him for a drive," you came up with the idea and put your hand over your boyfriend's hand, smiling innocently at him. you knew you could easily convince him.
"a drive?" he repeated after you, looking at the dog, that continued to bark at what he saw through the window. "as in driving him with my car?" he continued, his over-the-top car lover side taking over.
"oh, please," you said and squeezed his palm between yours, looking at him with pleading eyes. "you always see puppies sticking their heads out the window, while accompanying their owners in the car."
"ok," he gave in, overwhelmed by your plea and his desire to please you being somehow bigger than his love for his car.
"for real?" you asked, looking at him in shock and with a not-so-subtle smile, knowing you got what you wanted so quickly.
he nodded his approval, stood up from beside you, and took his keys from the bedside table, holding out his hand to you as he spoke to thor, "let's go, boy," he said as you stood up and caught his hand, "we'll please your beautiful co-owner and we'll take you out for a drive," he added as he called the dog to follow you out of his room, into the hall of the house.
you couldn't be happier than that, being with nick leister and having the opportunity not only to be loved by him, but also to spend time with his wonderful large staffordshire terrier dog, thor.
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Emma to Cristina
Dear Cristina!
Sorry to startle you, I just wrote “Dear Cristina” with the comma first and it seemed a little down. Thought I would try to spice it up a little. And I want to hear from you because I miss you and it’s highly annoying that you couldn’t be in New York. 
Why did Nene have to pick this exact time to visit you guys? Is it because she has faerie intuition and carefully decided to keep us apart? I mean, no, probably not, she seems like a pretty good person. But still! Show up a week later, Nene! Also disappointed to hear that she didn’t spill anything about what the heck is up in the Seelie Court. I guess if she had given up the court’s secrets to Kieran — who is, technically, the King of the Unseelie Court — the Seelie Queen would consider that “bad” and Nene to be a “traitor,” but that’s nothing compared to how much we want to know what’s up.
Anyway. We’re back from New York, where the weather was much worse than in London, but whatever. We’d sent that picture of the candlesticks from the church to Alec, and he showed them to his mom, who recognized them. She said Robert had brought them along with a bunch of other inherited Lightwood stuff when they left Idris for NYC, and she had no idea what had happened to them since, but they were probably in the NY Institute somewhere. Well, we’ve got the Ghost Sensor, so we said goodbye to Rupert and headed over. (Julian wondered whether Rupert misses us when we’re gone, but it’s hard to tell if ghosts can tell the passage of time. In any case we didn’t find sad faces drawn in the dust when we came back, or anything like that.)
So we saw Jace and Clary, of course, and Alec came to help. I think he was really curious since it’s his family’s stuff. (We were hoping to see Simon and Isabelle but they were off recruiting for Shadowhunter Academy. And Magnus stayed home with the kids. He texted us a video from their apartment where he asked Max and Rafe, “Are we going to help our friends?” and they both shouted, “No!” It was cute. I mean, Max and Rafe were cute. Magnus was maybe milking it a little.)
Finding the candlesticks was…pretty easy, actually, kind of anticlimactic. They were hiding in plain sight in the church’s nave among all the other candlesticks and candelabras and other candle-related things. And the Sensor led us right to them. So maybe they weren’t removed in the Blitz but instead the Lightwoods took them back? Or maybe they were removed and then brought back and sometime after that Robert’s parents took them out of the church? We’ll probably never know, but it also probably doesn’t matter since, whatever, we have them, mystery solved.
In celebration we ordered a pizza and ate it by the light of the candlesticks. New York pizza! It is the best. It hurts to say that a little, as an LA girl, but the truth is the truth. I’d missed it so. Pizza in London is…well, best not to speak of it.
So while we were eating Jace asked Alec if there was any news from Idris, and Julian and I kind of looked at each other because there’s never news from Idris, the Cohort have all shut themselves in there and refuse to come out or let anyone in, you know the deal.
Alec revealed that they had been working on some new variation on fire-messages that would be able to get through the wards around Idris. Mostly using Clary’s power to invent new runes. They’ve been sending them for a while, trying different things, but hadn’t gotten any responses until very recently when they heard from one of my least favorite people, Manuel.
So Alec and Manuel have apparently been sending messages back and forth. Zara refuses to respond and Manuel implied that she didn’t like that he and Alec were talking. Alec thinks he might be lying and Zara might not even know. But Alec also thinks Manuel is tired of being stuck there and might be their way in, since (as we all know) Manuel cares about Manuel above everything else, certainly way more than he cares about the Cohort’s supposed mission. Like Jace said, Zara is a true believer, but Manuel is just an opportunist.
This was all super-interesting, of course, but Julian and I started to feel bad remembering that Alec is, you know, the Consul. Julian said he knew Alec had important Consul stuff to do and it was great that he had come to help find the candlesticks anyway. And then Alec said a really nice thing! He said that their New York crew had always had to work in secret, that they’d always thought of the Clave as the enemy. Well, maybe not the enemy, but not their ally. The Clave they grew up with, you know, locked Jace in the Silent City and refused to believe that Valentine was returning. They would never have thought of going to them for help. So Alec said it was really important to him as Consul to actually be there for the Shadowhunters, to be someone they could know and talk to and bring problems to, rather than hiding. And I guess we did know Alec personally before, and they are his family’s candlesticks, but still, it was nice that he thought of it as part of his Consul duties to help us out, rather than thinking of it as something taking time away from his Real Work. He said this was his Real Work, and we’d better not stop coming to him and Magnus for help.
So then after a while Clary announced that she and I needed to have some girl talk and whisked me off to Taki’s for coffee. Julian she left with Jace and Alec. When last I saw him Jace was guiding him towards the weapons room to take a look at the collection of 17th-century Spanish military swords he’d recently found in one of the church weapons caches somewhere in New York. Julian watched me leave like a puppy being taken to the vet for shots, but I think he had a good time. So he says, anyway.
Clary and I settled into a booth at Taki’s. She wanted to ask me how I was doing, and I started telling her, but she seemed distracted, and I realized that maybe she needed to talk to me about how she was doing. Which turned out to be true. She’s worried because Alec likes to believe the best of people, and he’s really optimistic about the progress they’ve made getting in touch with Manuel, but Clary thinks Zara is a manipulative psycho. On which topic we agree.
“You think it’s a trick?” I said. “Or a trap?”
She said she didn’t know. But then she kind of argued with herself and said she understood how important it was to open up Idris, that she knew the Clave couldn’t survive forever split in two like this.
I said it seemed like it was really weighing heavily on them, and she kind of sighed and gave me the big news, or rather the lack of big news, which is that she and Jace have decided they don’t want to get married until the Clave is reunited. And Simon and Isabelle feel the same way.
“It’s not like there’s any reason to rush,” she said. She was looking out the window as she said it, though, and she sounded kind of sad. “But we don’t want a wedding where all anyone is thinking about is how Idris is off-limits and the Clave is broken.”
She kept looking out the window, so I asked if she saw someone out there, and she kind of looked guilty and turned back to me. “Oh, no, I thought I saw Jace for a minute, but it wasn’t him.”
Finally we got around to how I’m doing and I got to tell her the thing I’m worried about, which you and I have talked about a little. Which is that Julian and I are fixing up this house and I guess…we’re going to move here? Like, move to London. And out of Los Angeles for good. And I haven’t really gotten to think about what that would be like. I was thinking of it as a kind of temporary thing where we would fix up the house and then go home. And it’s easy to feel that way because of all the stuff going on with the Clave.
But for Julian, this will be our new home. And I can’t blame him for wanting that. I mean, for one thing, he’s a Blackthorn and it’s Blackthorn Hall. But we grew up in Los Angeles. I’m an LA girl, all my memories of my parents are of them in Los Angeles. But then we both do have many hard memories from the LA Institute, and it would be nice to put them behind us and get a fresh start. I don’t know. Do you ever find it strange, that you live in New York now? And Faerie? Do you miss the D.F.?
Maybe it’s Idris being out of reach that makes it feel so strange. I grew up always knowing that however spread out the Shadowhunters might be we all had a home together in Idris. It held the Clave together all over the world. But what if Idris is really gone for us, Cristina?
What if it’s gone forever?
Xoxox
Emma
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cherryslyce · 1 year
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Second Son (XVI) | Regulus Black
Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.
— Chapter Synopsis: The soul-tracking ritual ensues, and Anders has a precarious idea.
Part XV / Part XVII / Series Masterlist
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Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader
Notes: I hope you guys enjoy this chapter :). Sincerely hoping this chapter doesn't glitch again.
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The excitement of performing the soul-tracking ritual wore off rather quickly when you realized that you had to draw out all of the runes since Anders was unable to crouch down. It was an extensive process and each character had to be extremely precise, causing your fingers to cramp up rather quickly. 
Your feet were feeling fuzzy as the circulation in your legs started to suffer from your position, your knees cracking noisily with every shuffle you took to continue mapping out the ritual circle. 
“I can’t feel my legs anymore.” You whined, upper body flopping down as you braced yourself with your palms. 
Anders grunts from in front of you, “You’re not even halfway there yet, and careful you almost smudged the Dagaz.” His drawl has you huffing, head instinctually snapping to the side to make sure you didn’t actually smear anything. 
“Easy for you to say, you’re sitting on a bloody stool while I’m hunched over, practically shining your boots!” Your exasperation was painted across your face, words spewing out in a mixture of annoyance and jest. 
The man rolls his eyes and rubs a hand over his knee, the joint no doubt aching, “Careful loyal vassal of mine, I am graciously offering you my help after all,” his tone of amusement melts away and he suddenly grows serious, “but it is imperative that we do this quickly.” 
You huff and adjust your position, swinging your head up to look at the man in curiosity, “Why’s that?” 
Anders’ face is darkened with a grim frown, and he peers down at the papers on his laps, “You said that those buddies of yours were going to kill Tom, right?” 
“Yes…” Your uncertain tone has you fidgeting with your wand habitually, eyes flickering between the window of the room and the man in front of you. 
“Well he’s puppeting the inferis with his magic, so they’ll undoubtedly be reduced to husks once he’s gone. So we need to hurry,” Anders elucidates, mouth set into a firm line as he delved deeper into his thoughts. 
Putting a hand up, you blink owlishly at the man, “This is too much information. So, not only are inferis still housing their original souls – but you’re saying that it's Voldemort’s magic that’s tying these souls down to the land of the living?” 
You didn’t know whether you wanted to curse the detestable man into oblivion or begrudgingly allow yourself to be grateful that his existence meant Regulus’ soul was still with you. 
Well, he was chaining down hundreds of souls for his own selfish desires – so you were leaning towards wanting to stick your hand through his head. 
“Only the inferis of his own creation, but yes, in theory.” The man looks mildly impressed at your quick thinking. 
“Would it be a bad idea to owl Harry and ask him to raincheck on his plans to eviscerate the Dark Lord?” You draw a hand to rub at your forehead, a newfound migraine blooming from the back of your neck and straining across your occiput. 
Anders gives you an unimpressed eyebrow raise before waving his hand towards the abandoned quarter-circle behind you, “A terrible idea. Now, let’s continue.” 
You finish drawing the ritual circle an hour after sunset. 
Your hand was shaking uncontrollably, jerking with every cramp that tugged at your muscles. You had begun sweating at one point, causing Anders to limp over and slide both of the windows open. The cool air bristled through the room and circled around all the loose papers, the sounds of rustling and quiet cruising from the older man flowing around the atmosphere. 
As you step back to survey your hard work, you can’t help the smile that plays at your lips: the intricacies of the circle was alluring, practically glowing under the yellow light fixtures above you. The wind began to whistle, and Anders took that as a cue to interrupt your little reprieve, “Looks decent enough.” 
“Decent? Have you gone senile since the last time we chatted? This bloody thing is the embodiment of perfection!” You cry out in incredulity, pondering all the ways you could attach the nifty piece of work to your academic portfolio.
Anders rolls his eyes and organizes his papers, “Yes, yes, you’re practically a Runes Master. Take a picture of it, why don’t ya?” 
Playfully narrowing your eyes at his back, you go to retort, but a knock at the door has you pausing just as you open your mouth. Sharing a look with Anders, you carefully move to investigate, only cracking the door open marginally in order to hide your work. 
It wouldn’t do you much good to have the neighbors thinking you were summoning something. 
“Luna?” Your squawk of surprise only causes the girl to smile, eyes darting over your head as her gaze seems to fade in and out of fixation. 
Bouncing on her heels, she reaches into her pocket, “So, you’re done?” 
“Yeah, I finished drawing up the circle. I think the old man wants to perform the actual ritual tonight though, so I won’t see you until tomorrow.” You exhale tiredly and murmur to yourself, “If I wake up, that is.” 
Luna nods quickly and pulls out a few items from her coat, “I see. Well, I’ve brought some things. I was told that you were in need of this as well by the Humdingers” In her outstretched hands, you see a couple of wrapped sandwiches and a small camera. 
“What?” You gape and slowly reach forwards, “Where did you get a camera from, little moon?” 
The girl smiles brightly and fiddles with her coat buttons, “I asked Asger.” You nod in appreciation and smile at the girl, waving with your full hands as she gracefully skips away towards the house. 
You retreat back into the room and brandish the camera at the expectant man with a victorious smirk, “I have great friends.” 
Anders grunts and reaches for one of the sandwiches, “That’s my camera, kid.” 
You examine the device with your oh so supple fingers, and ignore the urge to stick your tongue out at him, your sensibility winning out for once. As you both eat in silence, your eyes run over the respectable pile of papers in front of Anders, realizing that the man was absolutely serious about publishing your findings. 
“What have you got so far?” You nod towards his papers. 
His eyes quickly flicker beside him, “Magical essences and the imbuing work your boy did, and now I’m drafting up some pages about inferis and their souls.” 
You hum quietly and dust off your hands as you finish the last scraps of your food, feeling more vigilant as your aching stomach settles. The camera was smaller than the jarring flash bulb that Rita Skeeter always had around, and if anything, seemed way more practical. 
It was a bit blocky and had a round lens in the center with a small depression that you could only assume was for the flash. The bottom of the camera had a small rectangular slit — an output. 
“Polaroid 600. Film is as expensive as it gets, so don’t you go and waste it.” Anders’ quietly mumbles as he gets up from his spot, hands reaching for the camera. As he fiddles around with it for a few moments, the top suddenly seems to prop up and he hands it back to you with a satisfied nod, “Think you know how to operate a camera?” 
“I’m not a dunce, thank you very much.” Your riposte causes him to roll his eyes as he gestures for you to move towards the circle. Despite your initial indignance, it took you a few moments of consideration and blind thumbing until you were confident enough to snap the photo. As you (luckily) manage to get a good shot, you conceal your surprise as the photo immediately begins to peek out of the bottom slit, slowly being spat out. 
How convenient.
You nimbly pull the photo out once it seems to stop sputtering, and hand the camera over to Anders before peering at the developing square film. Slowly, you watch as the outlines of the ritual circle bloom into visibility. 
You take a couple more moments to run your eyes over the photo before placing it in Anders’ awaiting palm. The man hobbles over to his table and clips the photo to one of the pages, placing the camera on the stack of papers afterwards. 
“Okay, now put your boy’s photo in the center—next to the Uruz symbol.” 
You wordlessly comply with Anders’ words, and slowly tiptoe out of the circle, eyes never straying from Regulus’ face. The man moves to the opposite side of the circle, and pats at the air, gesturing for you to sit down. 
Watching from your position on the floor, Anders begins to chant evenly, eyes closed as you feel him begin to gather his magic to pool across the symbols. The faint steely nature of his magical signature washes over you, and you clasp your hands together in your lap as you feel an immense pressure begin to weigh on the room. Regulus’ photo gives a faint jolt, then another, and then another, until the whole paper begins to vibrate. 
You watch in awe as the photo slowly rises into the air, the Uruz symbol glowing brightly with a faint red hue. In the blink of an eye, the photo jerks sideways and falls onto the Hic symbol to your left just as Anders’ chanting ceases. 
“Hic? Here? What does it mean, here?” Your questions seem to spill out uncontrollably, and you see the older man give the photo a look of consideration. 
“I’m not quite sure. Usually, souls still in the realm of the living are classified as Vivus,” Anders mutters, hand coming up to rub at his chin, “Kid, is that ring of yours imbued with his magic?” 
You nod and reach for your ring, fingers running over the two snakes that you’ve grown accustomed to. Anders sighs before slapping his hand over his entire face, dragging it down as he seems to wage an internal war with himself. 
“You said your boy was in a cave?” 
You raise an eyebrow at him, and nod slowly, “Yes…and so are hundreds of other inferis, why?” 
The man meets you gaze with a determined look as you slowly stand up, hands fiddling with your ring. 
“Well, let’s go fetch your boy.” 
The journey back to the cave was bittersweet, and you almost lost your footing as you apparated to the very spot you had before, except this time with a rather grumpy presence by your side. Water batted against the rock you were rooted to, droplets of water flying into your face periodically. You could barely make out the view in front of you as the moon faintly illuminated the waves.
As you apparate with Anders to the shore, you feel a lump grow in your throat. Your heart was beating violently against your chest, and a cold sweat started to break through the surface of your skin. 
The muted crunching of sand and rocks under your shoes grounded you to reality as the void of the cave engulfed you, washing away the sea of stars that had been beaming at you from above.
“Lumos.” 
As you extended your wand in front of you, you had half the mind to be cautious of potential bloodthirsty death eaters or one psychotic dark lord, realizing that perhaps the certifiable man would be on the upkeep for his horcruxes. 
Soon, you both reached the rounded end of the cave, and Anders shoots you an unimpressed look. Holding a hand up at him, you extinguish your lumos and bring your wand to your palm, “Secare.”
Dragging the tip of your wand against your palm, the spell slowly cuts your skin enough to draw blood. Satisfied with your work, you swipe your bloodied cut against the damp rocks behind you. 
“Lumos.” 
The wall of charcoal stone crumbles away like you remembered, and you’re immediately met with a wave of faint heat. 
Remnants of your fire storm from last time?
“Bloody hell,” Anders croaks from behind you, eyes glimmering at the sight of the sumptuous crystal clusters. The milky geodes sent a shiver down your spine as you started to draw a resemblance between their geometric planes and the cloudy skin of the inferis. 
Making your way through the dark ventricle of minerals, you slowly emerge into the belly of the cave, the familiar void of water just meters away from you. 
“We’re here. They’re in there,” your voice falls into a whisper, “he’s in there.”
Anders steps out from behind you and pulls out his own wand, the worn ashen wood barely visible in the light of your lumos. Tilting his head towards you, he looks at you with a solemn gaze before asking, “His full name?” 
“Regulus Arcturus Black.” 
Nodding, the man turns towards the lake and moves his wand counterclockwise, “Prodire Regulus Arcturus Black.” 
Nothing happens for a few seconds, until abruptly — something breaks through the surface of the water and flies towards your awaiting figures, stilling to a stop in front of Anders as if colliding with an invisible wall. Your hand swings to cover your mouth as your eyes trail along the spindly creature: its body was slack in the air, arms stiff like milky needles, chest unnaturally thin with a protruding rib cage that threatened to burst through bruised skin, and a rawboned face veiled by the darkness. 
This thing was Regulus?
You felt your world begin to tip and spin, eyes burning then blurring rapidly. Shivers wracked through your chest as sobs seemed to well in your throat. Closing your eyes, you try to steady your breathing, but the flashing image of Regulus’ face and then the sight of the horrid creature infiltrate your head. 
It feels as though a millennia of your discombobulation passes by before you feel a firm grip on your shoulder, the gesture helping to keep you upright on your feet. 
“Come on, kid,” Anders’ face comes into view and you see his eyes soften uncharacteristically, his mouth set into a hard frown. Your eyes stray to the side and you see that the man had summoned a cloth to cover the inferi during your small episode, the lumpy bundle now floating in the air nearby. 
Nodding quickly, you swallow harshly before spinning around, “Right. Sorry.” Your whisper is met with a comforting silence, and you appreciated more than ever, Anders’ ability to know when words weren’t needed. 
As you both stiffly trek back through the cave, you begin to feel a weight of foreboding blanket your body. Picking up the pace, you step out of the mouth of the cave with sweaty hands, eyes darting around wildly. 
“Hurry,” your choked whisper confuses the older man, but he abides nonetheless. As you grab his forearm and hesitantly grab a part of the covered inferi, you hear a faint warping echo from off to the side. 
Gasping quietly into the chilly air, you barely catch a glimpse of the familiar figure before you’re tugged away by the distortion of apparition. You can barely breathe as your heart seems to stutter uncontrollably. 
You land back inside the research room with Anders and Regulus’ inferi, not even noticing how cramped the space now was as you tried to quell your panic. 
“Kid? What’s wrong?” Anders floats the clothed figure down into the center of the circle as you buckle to the ground, blood flushing cold. 
“Voldemort. He was there.” You gasp out. 
The man jolts to a paralyzed freeze as his eyes widen comically, his heart no doubt beginning to race as fast as yours. You shake your head jerkily and wave your hand aimlessly, “He didn’t see you. Or well, you were covered by the cloth, but he definitely noticed me.” 
The dryness of your mouth was beginning to prickle and itch, your skin suddenly feeling too tight on your body. You were sure he recognized you, after all, he was always in Harry’s head. 
“Then we just have to hurry a bit.” Anders' steady words have you snapping your attention over to him, confused as to why he was so calm now. Seeing your distraught gaze, he sighs, “He won’t come for you for now, I’m sure he is focused on your other friends. Besides, even if he were, he has no idea where to even look.” 
Nodding with an unconvinced frown, you feel your fear melt away into a stony resolve, eyes flickering over to look at the figure laying in the circle. 
“Thank you, Anders.” Your dry whisper has him cracking a small smile. 
“Thank me when your boy is back up and running.” 
You were robotically drawing more rune characters, eyes unfocused as you were too entranced by your thoughts. You weren’t sure what the older man was planning as he hadn’t explained to you what this additional ritual entailed, but you were determined to make it work. 
As you complete the last etching, head rising up to look at the concentrated man, he finally breaks the tense atmosphere, “I don’t know if it’ll work, but the combination of his soul and your ring might just do the trick.”
Tilting your head to the side, you try not to sound too hopeful, “So, he’ll be completely recovered if it works?” 
“Not completely, he’ll need time to rejuvenate his magical core. This would be unprecedented, kid. I don’t have all the answers, and I can’t promise that it will work, but I am going to do my best.” His eyes are unwavering, back straightened with coiled tension. 
You nod hastily, knowing that you were both pretty much running on wishes. As Anders double checks your rune work, you slowly slip your ring off your finger, cringing as the cold air brushes against your naked finger. 
You hadn’t ever taken it off before. 
Placing the cool band next to the covered figure, you step out of the circle and clench your hands. Anders nods in confirmation before stepping out as well, slowly hobbling over to stand on the opposite side of the circle. 
“Let your magic funnel out into the circle as well. You won’t need to chant.” Anders' brief words have you nodding, and you slowly shuffle from leg to leg, fatigue starting to seep into your veins. 
The chanting begins soon after, and you allow the metaphorical valves of your magical core to open, feeling the coolness of your magic sweeping to tangle with Anders’ metallic magic. Both of your magical signatures dance around the circle and collect in the center, flexing together above the figure. The entire rune circle seems to radiate in shades of reds and stormy greys before blazing into an endless black.  
Suddenly, you feel magic seep from the clothed figure — a deep, harrowing magic that roused with a small rumble before erupting into a suffocating cloud that could only be described as numbing. 
It was nothing like Regulus’ magic, which meant that this corrupted energy belonged to Voldemort. You grit your teeth as you flush out more of your magic to try and drive away Voldemort’s lingering signature, the psychopath’s magic seeming to screech violently at your attempt. 
The prolonged battle with the stifling magic finally ends as the dark cloud is ripped away from you, pulled in all directions towards the additional runes you drew, the characters radiating in almost a blinding way before ripping apart the corrupted magic. 
The once dark circle stews into a cool grey before disintegrating into a pale green, the light beating melodically. You watch in wonderment as the magic in the ring bubbles into your magic, intertwining with yours before slowly clutching at Anders’ as well. Your potent whirl of combined magic slowly descends towards the clothed figure, causing it to jerk wildly. 
The cloth shuffles with the movements and you see it begin to pull upwards as if the inferi was arching towards your magic. Suddenly, the strings of magic slam into the clothed figure, sending shockwaves throughout the room. 
As you hear a few books tumble to the ground at the energy, the figure twitches once more before falling still again. Anders continues to chant for a few more moments as the circle flares into a blinding white light before it, too, simmered into nothingness. 
You nearly topple over in exhaustion as the energy draws back into your body, the synergies of magic in the room evaporating almost instantaneously. Anders wipes his forehead with his sleeve, and shakily stumbles over to his table for stability. 
“Did it work?” Your voice is crackly as a sharp, sticky pain climbs up your neck. 
The man huffs and glances at you before slowly making his way towards the figure, grunting as he tries to crouch down. He tugs the cloth upward and peers inside, expression unreadable. 
“Well?” 
Anders looks up at you, eyebrows drawn, “I have a lot more to write about.” 
Leaping forward at his words, you rip away the cloth slightly to expose the figure’s head, and you nearly pass out on the spot. 
“It worked. It worked. It worked.” Your quiet chants spurs on a wave of tears as you slowly run your fingers over Regulus’ face. The boy looked picturesque in his sleeping state, face no longer emaciated and bruised, but now mirroring his appearance from when he was just a portrait in your pocket. 
You brush his curls aside and resist the urge to just keel over and fall asleep on him, your magical exhaustion echoing through your bones. 
“Do you have something else on you that’s imbued with his magic?” Anders’ quiet words have you snapping out of your euphoric state, eyes drawn up in confusion. Seeing your perplexity, he clarifies, “He might not remember you, this ritual simply revitalized him and unchained his soul. He might only remember the events before his death.” 
You pause at the revelation and sit up straighter, hands dropping to your sides. Gaping for a few moments, your mind whirs as you try and grasp for the right words, “Uh, wait, yes. I have these.” Your hands fish into your pockets and you pull out the tattered pieces of the golden portrait frame, outstretching them for the man to see. 
“His portrait frame?” Anders’ eyebrows shoot up in stupefaction. 
Nodding, you slowly drop the pieces into his rough palm, “It doesn’t matter.” The man frowns, puzzled, so you continue, “As long as he’s okay, it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t remember me.” 
Straightening up from his position, he stares at the pieces of wood in his hand, “He just might remember… if these are truly imbued with his magic.” Looking up, you see skepticism flicker in his eyes, “Are you too beat for another ritual?” 
“You should be asking yourself that, old man.”
You don’t remember much that happens afterwards. 
As you crack your eyes open, lingering fatigue weighing on your eyelids, you are keenly aware of a hand running across your shoulders. 
“Reg?” Your voice comes out as a strained whisper. 
A familiar face pops into your line of sight, “He’s okay, just resting upstairs.” Luna’s smile warms your chest, and you resist the urge to turn over and bury yourself into the warmth of her arms. 
Your body was incredibly sore from the activities of the previous day, and you were sure that your magical core was rolling about, emptily inside of you. The longer you laid, the more groggy you grew as the air started to warm against your skin. 
Gently pushing up from the mattress underneath you, you run a hand down your place as Luna shifts to stand up. The girl helps you shuffle upstairs and towards the bathroom, quietly insisting that you wash up as she prepares tea for you. 
Sluggishly washing up, you take a moment to peer into the cloudy mirror, raising an eyebrow at the sight of heavy bags under your eyes. Your shoulders sagged from exhaustion, and the sound of your grumbling stomach prompted you to make your way towards the kitchen. 
As you slowly trudged into the room, eyes squinting from the beams of sunlight that flitted through the window, you see Asger approach you with a plate in hand. 
“Good afternoon. Dad’s in his research shed right now.” The man extends the plate to you, and your mouth waters at the sight of the hearty lunch. You nod in thanks and drop down onto an awaiting chair, gaze straying towards one of the closed doors down the hall. 
Asger, seeing your restless ministrations, chuckles before answering your unvoiced question, “He’s in there. Hasn’t awakened yet, but Dad said it’s only a matter of time. He's recovering quite fast.” 
Right, your rituals worked. Both of them. It was starting to come back now, and you could feel the weight of the frame pieces and your ring in your pocket, both now depleted of Regulus’ magic. 
Scarfing down your meal, and ignoring Asger’s cringe, you start to mentally debate on whether you should visit Anders first, or Regulus. Luna places a mug in front of you, and plops down into the seat next to yours, fingers fiddling with a few strings of yarn. 
Regulus won out, of course. 
As you dismiss yourself with endless words of gratitude to your two friends, you slowly make your way into the room Regulus was resting in. You cross through the threshold, mug in hand, and immediately surrender yourself to the comforting wave of magic that envelops you. 
The warm magic — Regulus’ magic, brings tears to your eyes, and you have to take a few moments to compose yourself. The aching hollowness in your heart, the one you had grown accustomed to in the following months after the destruction of his portrait, seems to sing with inklings of joy. 
You were still in a state of disbelief, mind reeling from the fact that you not only discovered uncharted branches of magic, but also that you got Regulus back. No, not only you — Sirius was going to get Regulus back, too. 
The boy in question was laid on a makeshift bed, covered by a fleece blanket. Anders took up the great responsibility of clothing him after your flustered realization that he was nude, the man murmuring tidbits about how he did the same for Asger when the younger man fractured his hip years ago. 
You walk over and sit down by his side, brushing your hand over his hair. 
Things would change now. They would be better. 
You spend a long while just sitting by the boy’s side, mind still unconvinced that he wasn’t just a figment of your imagination. 
After a long thread of thoughts that devolved into heart wrenching what if’s, you decide to pay a visit to Anders, immensely grateful for his help and wisdom. The sunny skies slowly dimmed as clouds drifted by, the air chilling to sooth the faint migraine that still sunk its claws into your head. 
As you make your way into the research room, you can’t mask the smile that stretches across your lips. Anders was hunched over his table, hand moving furiously across a sea of pages as he tried to document every droplet of theory and fact on the papers. Not wanting to interrupt the man’s train of thought, you linger by the doorway before slowly teetering towards a fallen stack of books. 
You organize the endless towers of tomes for a few minutes before Anders takes note of your presence as he goes to stretch his back. 
“Finally awake?” His voice is light, and you could see the remnants of engrossment creeping in his eyes. He truly did have a passion for this branch of research.  
You nod and grin brightly at the man, “Sure am. Now, are you going to accept my thank you?” 
Anders grunts and waves you off with an amused eye roll — the closest thing to a “you’re welcome” in his language, and turns back to his papers, “Anyway, another owl came for you this morning. The letter should be on your stool.” 
As the man resumes his writing, you peer around to try and find the envelope, clicking your tongue when you find the paper beaming at you from across the room. 
Dear Padfoot’s pup, 
We hope you are well. At first, we weren’t going to accept the offer, but some unexpected events happened that forced us away. We are safe now with the frightening widow. We’ve gotten two more, but now the Goblins hate us. 
Stay safe. We are going to remain here until we are forced to confront the darkness. Unfortunately, we fear that it will be soon. 
We miss you. Padfoot keeps whining, we think he misses you most. 
-Prongslet and co. 
You laugh lightly at the contents of the letter, and you fold the paper back up. Good to know that Harry and the others were safe with the Contessa at the very least. As you stuff the paper back in the envelope, you see another folded paper sidled against the wall of the envelope. 
Hello lost friend of mine, 
A certain dragon of ours is growing restless, we fear that his blood father is in trouble with a certain man. The Carrows are a nightmare, and it appears that many students are disappearing with every passing day. Theodore keeps shooting down my (entirely plausible) theory that those twin professors of ours are hiding their bodies in a dark closet somewhere. 
I’ve received a letter from my mother informing me of the rearrangements at home, and I must say, it was quite a surprise. I haven’t heard back from you since you’ve departed, and I almost thought you were dead for a while. Glad to hear that you aren’t. 
Theodore says hi, and he wants to know all the research you’ve done. Our dragon also says hi and that he hopes you received his last letter. 
I hope to hear from you soon. 
(Reply to me.)
-B
“Was it a tawny owl?” Your question rings out into the quiet atmosphere, drawing Anders out of his work. 
The man gives you a grunt of confirmation and you nod in satisfaction. It would appear that Harry is corresponding to you via Contessa Zabini, the woman no doubt telling Blaise to forward the letter to you along with his. 
Merlin, what a strange web of dynamics.
As you tuck away the papers into your pockets, a knock has you spinning on your heel in curiosity. Anders barely even looks up from his work as you make your way to the door, a wave of deja vu slamming into you. 
Opening the door, you see Luna smiling brightly at you, similar to her airy demeanor from the night before.
Before you can get a word out, the girl quickly supplies you with news that has air fleeing from your lungs, “He’s awake.” 
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hiddenhearthwitch · 18 days
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📚 Small Intro To Polytheism📚
One of the most frequent asks I receive is how and where to get started when it comes to polytheism. This is a fairly broad subject and I’ll try to be as general as I can for advice but I will include specific references for Norse polytheists as that’s my shit. This information can be used to help you find a pantheon or to help you pick deities to work with it. If you’d like to use it to pick a patron deity that’s super, if you want to worship 20 gods and not have a patron deity that’s cool too. You do you dude. Please keep in mind this is all reflective of my research and personal practice. 🌻
Picking A Pantheon/Deity
This really boils down to personal preference. You’ll read a lot of posts and books that tell you many different ways and it’s entirely up to you because it is your practice.  That being said, there’s a couple of different ways to go about it. 
Research! This is one of my favorite ways to delve in. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with reading the stories of multiple pantheons and picking on that calls to you. You can also talk to other devotees and see what they have to say about deities and their religions. It is important to keep in mind that some religions are closed so please do proper research!
For example, I wasn’t originally a Norse pagan. I read some stories and thought the Hellenic pantheon would best suit me. I reached out to Eros for a while but after feeling no real connection to the pantheon I continued my research! After reading up on the Norse pantheon I decided to reach out to them out. Obviously, I fucking loved it because here I am. Point being, you can pick a pantheon based on research and not some divine message or whatever. You are also more than welcome to try out a religion, decide it doesn’t suit you, and move on. 
Divination! You can use runes, a pendulum, tarot, etc.This can go a few different ways. You can write pantheon/deity names on separate pieces of paper, mix them up, and place them face down then ask the pendulum to pick. You can assign a deity/pantheon to each suit of cards or major arcana card or even do the same thing with runes. 
For example, this is how I found a devotion to Frigg and Hel. I asked if there were any deities who were interested in working with me and pulled the runes Hagalaz and Berkana which read as Hel and Frigg to me. I followed up with tarot cards and pulled Death(Hel) plus the Queen of Pentacles(Frigg).
Asking/waiting for a sign. This isn’t something I’ve personally done so I don’t have much to say on the subject. You can go about meditating, praying, doing a ritual, or whatever and essentially wait for a sign after. It can come via a dream, something you experience, symbols you see in your daily life, it’s pretty much up to your intuition to decipher it. If anyone has information they’d like me to add in here please let me know!
If there’s a god you’re curious about and don’t want to do any of the above it’s totally cool to just reach out and ask if they want to work with you. 
Idk How To Research
Same, tbh my keyword search game is weak. Anyways, good portion of us are looking up dead religions with little reliable resources. To give those curious about the Norse an easy head start here’s a compiled list of  books by yours truly(click me!!) . It’s important to take everything with a grain a salt of salt when doing research. In my experience a lot of the retold Norse sagas have been Christianized or written under heavy Wiccan influences. It’s a good idea to do research on the author before reading one of their books.
Other blogs! There are tons of great witches and pagans on tumblr that have information waiting for you. 💗 You can search their blog/tags for good references for books, websites, podcasts, etc. Plus lots of blogs are open to answer asks. If you don’t know where to start for searching it’s best to try things based around your interest like: “norse polytheist”, “hellenic witch”, “gaelic polytheism”, etc.
Media! How lucky are we that we live in the age of technology? Knowledge is right at our fingertips! There are countless documentaries, podcasts, and audiobooks on youtube full of information for different cultures and religions. I’d personally recommend almost anything by BBC, Myths & Legends, and World Mythology!
Books! I love starting on goodreads to find good books and trust worthy authors. They’ve had almost every book I looked up with bunches of different reviews so you can get varying perspectives. Check out your local library as well! A lot of city libraries have online databases now of all of their books so you can “check it out” online and read the PDF(personal fave). 
Feeling Lost Still?
That’s completely reasonable and your feelings are more than valid. It can be overwhelming and lot of information to soak up. Just do your best and take it at your own pace, there’s no rush to find a deity or pantheon. 💞 Below are a few other general concerns I hear a lot that I was hoping to address.
“I’m leaving a monotheistic(Christian, Catholic, Jewish, etc) religion and it’s giving me anxiety.” This is entirely common and almost expected in my opinion. I was raised Roman Catholic and my first year to two looking into polytheism riddled me with anxiety. I was constantly concerned that god would smite me down or I’d face an eternity in hell for worshiping false gods. While I can’t speak for everyone that fear was entirely erased for me when I found my gods. I’ve never felt so safe and strong and hopefully with time you can find the same in your gods!
It’s okay to want to learn more or to seek something more. I can’t tell you how to handle your anxiety but please know you’re not alone in that fear. There’s whole communities out there willing to support you and help you find your safe space(including me)!
“What’s UPG?” You’ll see a lot of posts, mine included, that mention UPG - UPG is Unverified Personal Gnosis. This is essentially someone’s personal thoughts and beliefs about a deity. For example, I associate Sif with hazelnuts. There’s nothing in the lore or any book that says that she likes hazelnuts; that’s just a personal opinion(aka a UPG).
“How do I reach out to the gods?” I have a lot of information on my blog about this topic although a lot of it is Norse specific. You can check out my beginner polytheist tag here and my beginner norse post/ask here.
Altar! This is my go to typically. Altars aren’t limited to the cookie cutter image that comes to mind(no hate though I have a few); one thing you can make a side blog dedicated to your pantheon/deity, make a small one in a tin can, or even make one in a video game like Minecraft or some shit. You can be as creative or as to the book as you want. It’s up to you.
Prayer! You can totally just sit down and be like, “Hey man wanna work on some shit together?”. While I’m not 100% that all gods would be down with you being that casual it’s still something you can try.😂 You can reach out to them by sitting down in a quiet space and meditating into prayer, praying in the car or in the shower, or just pray at the altar you set up if you did. Again, I can not reiterate this enough, it’s your practice, reach out to them as you please.
Do something personal! This is more like devotional work in my opinion. Let’s say you knit and you want to reach out to a creative or domestic deity, you can knit something as a devotional act to them and as a way to reach out. For example I pick up litter in honor of the Vanir and Jörð, or I play Skyrim for Thor and Týr.
Most importantly just be honest and up front with the god that you’re reaching out too. Considering that statement be honest with yourself as well. There’s no point going into a relationship with a god if you can’t be upfront, it’ll end up in nothing but grief.
“Can deities reach out through gods/signs?” They totally can. However, it is up to you and your intuition if a deity has and it’s not likely another witch will decipher that for you. Sounds, experiences, images, all have different meanings to each of us - they may show you something that’s very personal to you but would be mundane to someone else. Trust your instincts. However, please remember that not everything is magical, sometimes a raven is just a raven and not Odin.
✨Take everything you learn with a grain of salt. Including this post.✨
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