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paleepeaches · 14 days

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I'm just writing random smut this month I guess?

Anyway, here's the completed fic from the preview I posted the other day.

Tagging @sallowsswan by request 💖

Summary: Sebastian endures an uncomfortable facet of living with a girl - getting caught with his pants down.

Word count: ~5700

Warning: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT

Headache

A headache - that was Sebastian's story, and he was sticking to it.

While he was eternally grateful his ever-present friend elected to reside with him in Feldcroft since fifth year passed to help combat his loneliness, Sebastian was, at times, less than appreciative of her steadfast loyalty.

Times like earlier that morning while they'd been fishing in the nearby stream to catch something for lunch, and the water splashed up onto her modest white blouse, revealing a fair bit more than she typically chose to show. When his slacks grew too tight for comfort, he'd made the feeble excuse of heading back home to sleep off a sudden headache.

A head was certainly aching, but she didn't need to be privy to which one he was referring to.

As such, he'd left her on the riverbank in a hurry, chucked his muddy boots outside the front door, and draped one filthy sock over the door handle - just in case.

With a relieved sigh, Sebastian finally eased the strain on his groin by unfastening his pants, dropping a trail of clothing all the way to his bed where he sank down into it, hand already wrapped securely around the base of his shaft before the back of his head even hit the pillow.

A few firm pumps, and he'd successfully taken himself from pitifully half-mast to throbbing while he pictured the scene responsible for his erotic shame.

Disregarding the fact that she was his friend, Sebastian let his imagination wander to filthy fantasy - she didn't need to know where his private thoughts strayed, and he sure as hell wasn't going to volunteer that information to his prim housemate even under threat of crucio.

Steering away from the incredibly un-sensual knowledge that he was rubbing one out to the very same witch he'd have to look in the eye later, Sebastian did what any young man in his position would do - he let the blood flow promptly out of his brain to his nethers, forsaking thought and morality in favor of more pleasurable exploits.

Messily braided hair, already frizzy and disasterous from the summer humidity. Her bright, almond eyes staring straight at him, and those teasing lips, plush and curved upward with a laugh while she splashed water at him.

She was just so pretty.

"Fuck..." He groaned out, hips rutting upward to meet his hand, a thumb swiping over the tip of his erection to smear the leaking precum down the rest of him for better lubrication.

And Merlin, it continued beading up from him, providing him better ability to glide his palm over himself, squeezing more insistently each time his steadily paced hand neared the tip, glossing over the top to coat himself further as he brought his hand back down.

So wet, just like her neck and chest when she'd splashed around so carefree with him moments earlier. She'd worn nothing but a simple skirt and plain white blouse for their excursion - and truly nothing else. He'd never been so grateful in his life - the fabric was thick but still not wholly opaque.

Sebastian inwardly rejoiced when the peaks of her nipples showed, only partially obscured, through the cotton, and the fabric clung to the soft outline of her breasts. The stream water and clear, sunny day offered him far more than just a hint of precisely what intriguing assets were hidden under her usual array of long sleeves and high collars.

And she'd been none the wiser of what was on display.

While he normally considered himself more suited to cooler seasons, Sebastian had to admit summer grew on him exponentially thanks to the bountiful gift nature provided him that morning - even moreso as the stifling heat of the cottage helped him better conjure an especially tantalizing daydream of how it might feel to press her slight frame into the mattress beneath him, slick with sweat from their combined efforts and the delicious heat of their bodies competing with the suffocating air.

To better put himself in that inspiring little scenario, Sebastian, with great effort, turned himself onto his stomach to mindlessly rut into the soft, damp sheets, his hand aiding the way to sweet euphoria.

Now this was bliss - the only thing that could have possibly improved the mouthwatering sensations he now felt was if he'd have used his final remaining half a brain cell before he started frantically groping himself to snatch her pillow so he could breathe in her scent while he fucked himself senseless.

Imagining the silky bedding where his cock left a sinful trail of viscous pleasure was instead her plump thighs only made matters better, and before he knew it, Sebastian was biting the corner of the pillow, whimpering her name and doubling his efforts to reach a state of oblivion.

Gods, he'd make any promise to any deity who'd listen if he could simply have her in this bed, fuck her into the creaking mattress, bite her neck bruised and lovely, make her scream until everyone from here to Marunweem knew who she belonged to.

That had done it - the mere thought of his name on those cherry lips was his undoing, and as his stomach tightened, just as swiftly did it unravel, the mess of his release coming out in spurts, soiling the covers and smearing sloppily over his hand, still furiously jerking himself through the orgasm.

The grunts and whines, crawling pathetically from his throat while he rode out the tail end of his perfect little vision of planting that same sticky seed deep in her womb instead of making yet another load of laundry for himself, were impossible to stifle.

But all at once, the blissful state he'd entered shattered and dropped out from under him as Sebastian realized, with sickening, blood-chilling dread that he was, in fact, not alone. His name on her lips had not been a lovely hallucination brought on by his self-induced fucking.

Reluctantly, he turned his head on the drool-spot of his pillow to see the very worst sight imaginable in all his years -

There in the entry, dirty sock in-hand and a small bottle in the other, door still wide open, stood the star of his dirty daydreams.

Her shocked expression was a far cry from the look of unbridled passion he'd just been conjuring, however. Lips parted in silent surprise, eyes wide, and pale face rapidly darkening, she remained rooted to the spot.

Neither one of them made a peep for what very well could have been an eternity, instead choosing to fix each other with twinned horrified silence.

She was first to break it.

"T-the neighbor had a h-headache tonic -" She choked out, pitifully jostling the small, yellow vial in the hand that did not hold his -

"S-sock! Did you not see the damn sock?!" He asked, weakly indignant and wanting and failing to muster any sort of true anger in the face of what he'd been caught up in.

Sebastian attempted to adjust himself on the bed to provide better coverage and hopefully leave something to the imagination - not that she'd ever imagine such a thing - he visibly grimaced when the come-coated sheet actually clung to his abdomen.

And for all the galleons in the world, he wanted nothing more than for the ancient floorboards to swallow him whole when she gagged at the sight.

At least she finally found the good sense to avert her gaze, glaring petulantly at the far wall and yelling indirectly at him.

"What the bloody hell do you mean the sock? What's your dirty laundry have to do with your... er, other dirty laundry?" She asked harshly, face burning as hot as his own.

He balked at her, aghast, finally tugging the ruined sheet over him like he was the one to have just been scandalized, which he had!

"The universal symbol for do not disturb as the occupant is likely...?" He made a crude jerking gesture with his hand in his lap.

She'd chosen that unfortunate moment to let her eyes flicker back over to him, only to shriek and turn to fully face the opposite wall, covering her ears with her hands.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

There'd been no salvaging the situation after that catastrophic mime show, and thus the pair remained on opposite sides of Feldcroft for the remainder of the day - Sebastian took to fishing on the bank behind the cottage with the dim hope that a nice catch might mend things by way of satisfying her stomach.

Unfortunately, he'd fumbled his first several bites, zoning out as his thoughts drifted back to the look on her face. They'd witnessed all manner of things over the years, but he'd never seen her look quite like that.

The rest of his now-miserable afternoon was spent sitting on the grassy knoll alternating between groaning so loudly it startled the fish, and swearing at said fish when they'd pilfer his bait rather than offering themselves as a meal.

With the sun high enough in the sky that he could no longer delay his inevitable return home, Sebastian reluctantly stood and brushed off his hands on his pants and hoisted his pitiful stringer of a whopping two small trout before trudging back to the cottage.

Fortunately, they still had more than enough food to tide them over until dinner, but it was the principle of the matter - he couldn't stand the humiliation of being seen as pathetic twice in one day.

His feet felt like they were wading through ankle-deep mud the whole brief walk to his inevitable death by shame.

Once more, Sebastian cringed and nearly threw up right there in the front yard when he saw both their bedding freshly washed and hung on the line to dry.

Why hadn't he thought to clean that before he sulked off? She'd touched it! Either she would hex him into oblivion, or he would simply need to chuck himself off the side of a cliff at this point because there was no coming back from such ungodly mortification.

Dwelling on how her face must have scrunched in revulsion while she peeled away his soiled sheets to clean, he mirrored the action by dropping off his boots on the porch and shedding his socks.

For the longest time, Sebastian let his hand uselessly rest on the doorknob, knowing he'd have to face the proverbial music on the other side at some point, though he briefly considered just hurling the fish inside and bolting for the next continent.

With a sigh, he shut his eyes and forced his body to move, entering as his feet padded onto the wooden interior, a death knell to his ears.

"Polishing your broom handle, milking your flobberworm, burping the basilisk..." Her voice rang out painfully clear.

Sebastian winced at the crude terminology she rattled off, looking up at her in speechless horror while she carried on with an unexpected air of humor. This was not the cold shoulder or screaming match he'd anticipated.

She continued ticking off her fingers while carrying on with her recitation of euphemisms. "Charming the one-eyed ashwinder, choking the diricawl -"

Such vulgarity spilled from her normally overly-polite lips.

"Stop! What the hell are you doing?!" He cried out, scandalized.

She simply chuckled and shrugged, unfolding a piece of parchment from her pocket and waving it at him - Sebastian took a few rapid steps forward and snatched it from her to see dozens of lewd phrases.

"There's so many, though. It's incredible how many are related to Quidditch, though I'm not surprised." Her smirk growing as his cheeks blazed. "Fumbling your quaffles is most apt for what I caught you doing, though. It was quite the fumble - oh, are those your catch for the day?"

Her eyes trailed to the two fish limply dangling from his belt, and he was painfully reminded of what else she'd seen dangling by his legs earlier.

"Y-you can't just spout all that filth and then casually discuss lunch!" He choked out, clutching the now crumpled list in his sweaty palm.

A small part of him, however, struggled valiantly to contain a laugh - hearing such atrocious phrases spill from those innocent lips was ludicrous.

"Well, it is lunchtime, Sebastian. But if you'd rather discuss the fact that you were too busy sodomizing your poor mattress to help catch us a proper meal, I'm all ears." She replied, voice chiding but with an unmistakable mirth to it. "But don't worry, I had a more productive morning - fetching your unnecessary medicine, catching and cleaning an actual haul of fish, preparing this rather charming list with which to mock you..."

"You... you're actually enjoying this, aren't you?" He asked slowly, taking a step back.

"Enjoying scrubbing your crusty old bedding so that the cottage doesn't reek of your sordid secretions in this summer heat? Bold claim, Sallow. Let's try again." She replied, cocking her head to the side.

There were a million and one thoughts swarming his mind for how best to proceed - apologizing was the obvious next step, followed by groveling, and likely finished with an offer to sleep outside in the sheep pen.

None of those were what tumbled out of him, though.

"You know all those nasty phrases, but you don't know about the sock?!" He sputtered.

She snorted.

"Well, I'm not exactly aware of boy dorm etiquette - the fairer sex tends to be more reserved with such hobbies rather than boldly declaring to the world we've got a hand stuffed up our skirts." She explained with a nonchalance not-at-all befitting the situation. "I am, however, familiar with chit-chat outside the Quidditch locker rooms. Garreth uses the most colorful phrases - I tried to recall the best ones for you."

The thought of her, exiting the locker rooms chatting with her teammates only to overhear Weasley and whoever else prattle on about their genitals sent him into a spiral - she was delicate and polite and innocent. Subjecting her to the kind of filth he and the others discussed was akin to defiling something sacred. She was a hero and a pure girl. Wasn't she?

"Why exactly are you repeating the vile things you've heard from your teammates?" He asked, dumbfounded.

Surely, he was missing a motive here.

"Well, because it's funny." She replied simply.

Sebastian blinked a few times.

He croaked out, "Funny?"

Again, she chortled softly, a far too demure sound for the lewd things she'd been spewing a moment ago.

"Well, sure. Once I overcame the indignity of catching you with your pants down, I took some time to consider our predicament."

Again, Sebastian choked. The thought of her reflecting on his private moment was possibly worse than the initial revelation.

She continued speaking, to his horror.

"And I realized I have no business scolding you for enjoying the same damn thing the rest of us do. I... may have overreacted a tad." She grew a bit sheepish and rubbed the back of her head. "Sometimes I forget you're a boy, and it doesn't cross my mind that you do these sorts of things just like the others."

That stopped him in his tracks.

Sebastian finally groaned out a sigh and took a seat opposite her at the table, crumbling the list and pelting her in the forehead with it as he spoke. "You forget I'm a boy? What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

A large part of him bristled that this lovely girl who he thought of quite frequently did not view him as anything more than a piece of furniture in her life.

"I didn't mean to offend you - I only meant that you're... well, Sebastian Sallow. My friend, my walking encyclopedia, my companion. You're basically just an extension of myself at this point." She explained, growing more embarrassed as she fumbled her words. "Today, while shocking, was a much-needed reminder that you are, in fact, a man my age, and that needs to be... considered."

Defensiveness melted away slowly. She was handling this disaster with far more grace and humor than he'd expected.

"You're right. It should be taken into consideration." He agreed hesitantly, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

There was simply no way she wasn't going to chop his manhood off while he slept to avoid another incident.

So, he said as much. "You know, you're handling this remarkably well... you even cleaned the sheets? That was generous."

"Well, I'm partially responsible for the mess, so I may as well help clean up." She shrugged simply.

"P-pardon?" He croaked out, once again thrown for a loop.

Finally, that smug grin slid off her face, and in its place, a more appropriate blush and matching bashful smile appeared.

"Well, you were, um, saying my name while you were..."

She mirrored the hand gesture he'd shown her before, and Sebastian wanted to laugh, scream, and burst into hellfire all at once.

Fuck's sake - she'd heard.

"Thus, I am responsible for some of the mess." She finished, ignoring his horror. She glanced up sharply, though, and his slack jaw snapped back into place. "Some of the mess, let me emphasize. I expect you to be a bit more honest about disappearing for your... urges in the future. No more headaches. And I'll mind the sock."

"Oh, you'll mind the sock? How fortunate for me." He said weakly, all will to live having left his body entirely.

She'd caught him red-handed, masturbating to a fantasy of her and whimpering out her name. And now she was just casually discussing it at the kitchen table.

"I guess I'm not the only one who got complacent with our living arrangement. I need to keep in mind that I have a lady here as well. That wasn't right of me to lie." He said dumbly, but something she'd mentioned earlier came back to him, and as always, curiousity won out over common sense, and he simply blurted it out. "Hang on, you said you won't scold me for something everyone does. You're included in that statement?"

After all, he'd already dug his gave, why not keep going?

Now it was her turn to turn beet red and narrow her eyes. "Why? Are you going to fantasize about that during your next headache?"

Fuck it.

"Yeah, maybe I will." He retorted defensively, and she looked like she'd been struck.

She floundered a moment, grasping for words and finding absolutely none.

"Well, at least pick a more suitable time than the middle of the day to do it!" She snapped back. "I'm at least courteous enough to wait until my bath -"

"Your bath? Is that why it takes you an entire bloody hour to take your turn in there each night?" Sebastian barked out a laugh, disbelieving, but growing more amused by the second as she did not refute his statement.

He was also growing a bit warmer as his thoughts strayed from his own humiliation to the image of her in the tub, head thrown back against the edge she she worked herself into a frenzy while he read just on the other side of the wall -

"I can practically see you thinking up something filthy!" She scolded him, throwing the crumpled list back for good measure.

"Hardly." Sebastian grinned, leaning forward on the table. "If it's in the bath, it's clean."

Was he still mortified? Absolutely. In fact, he still considered throwing himself into the deepest part of the river later on. The fact that she was equally guilty of enjoying her fair share of carnal pleasure in their communal space was far more entertaining to dwell on, though.

"Maybe I'll ask to join you in the tub?" He offered helpfully.

She shut it down in an instant. "Oh, Sebastian, I didn't realize you favored death by drowning."

"Oh, come on, it's not like I'm suggesting something outlandish here." He decided to press the issue, coax her out of her shell a bit and maybe find out what made her tick - clearly it was something from the day if she was needing to pleasure herself nightly.

Wishful thinking that he was the common denominator? Perhaps. But he'd staked it all on slimmer odds, and her blush right now was particularly telling.

"You think of me while you're in there, don't you?"

She nearly fell out of her chair for how quickly she scooted back, the legs scraping the floor before toppling to the ground as she stood, startled, and flushed.

"N-no, of course not." She stuttered out, looking anywhere but him.

So uncharacteristically shy.

It was adorable.

Sebastian stood as well, more smoothly, and took a step toward her. "Admit it - you've just found out my dirty little secret. There's nothing you need to hide now. You can't tell me there's not a part of you that doesn't wish I'd have been the one to stumble in on you some evening while you were in there."

They'd endured their fair share of awkward flirtation over the course of their friendship and consequent living arrangement - things innocent enough of their own, but when compiled, added up to make this gamble worth it.

Hopefully.

A few evenings falling asleep on each other while reading, a shared, chaste kiss under the mistletoe in the castle over winter, those increasingly frequent, comfortable touches, and affectionate words.

He didn't take another step, not wanting her to combust entirely, but didn't back off either even after she'd backed herself into the wall.

"It... might have crossed my mind once or twice." She begrudgingly admitted.

"Only once or twice?" He pressed with an increasingly smug grin.

"...each night." She grumbled, still refusing to look at him.

There it was.

"Ah, you little deviant." Sebastian smiled wolfishly before crossing the room until he was close enough to feel the body heat he'd wanted under him earlier, before this surprisingly-fortuitous debacle. He grabbed her chin and tilted her head up to look at him.

Cheeks as flaming red as her house colors, she forced herself to hold his stare, challenging him to say or do something else, and he was reminded all at once of just who he was playing with.

The witch was a walking contradiction.

Prim and delicate, yet still capable of incredible feats in combat and bravery. Polite and shy, but fiercely holding his gaze even amidst such a heinous discussion. Woefully inexperienced, yet able to admit she touches herself to thoughts of him each night.

While he was still unsure how to navigate this entire unholy situation, he knew no better approach to life than simply barreling ahead.

So, he leaned down and kissed her.

Far different from their obligatory Christmas kiss under that heaven-sent sprig at Hogwarts, this one he delivered with intent.

Hand still commanding her attention under her chin, he held her still and pressed his lips firmly against hers, earning a startled squeak and a moment of pause as he briefly wondered whether or not this would earn him an, admittedly deserved, slap to the face.

But then her own hands trailed up to pull him closer, one resting on the wrist he was using to steer her further back against the wall, and the other snaking up his shoulder and behind his head, tugging him tighter.

As if her reciprocation wasn't enough, she opted to be the one to deepen things when her tongue slid across the crease of his lips, pushing past insistently and lathing across his own.

He moaned shamelessly at her taste.

His hand dropped from her chin, caressing her slender throat all the way to her collarbone where his fingers delved down under the top of her blouse - that damn white blouse still - and he let his fingers ghost across the rise of her breasts, testing the waters.

When she let out an airy little gasp into his mouth, leaning up and pressing into his touch, all bets were off.

Without another moment of hesitation, Sebastian's other hand flew to tangle in her hair, tilting her head roughly to better access every possible inch of her mouth, the kiss certainly bruising those pretty lips, before he moved on to trail a series of searing kisses down her throat.

His other hand continued its increasingly bold exploration of her chest, haphazardly tugging at the fabric and not caring whether the buttons came undone by force or by luck. As alluring as the top was, it would look far better on the floor.

The gasps and little mewls he drew from her while working countless bites and bruises into her neck only spurred Sebastian on, memorizing each and every sound his efforts earned like her body was the most fascinating book he'd ever laid eyes on.

Moving by instinct alone in a frantic bid to ensure she never spent another night alone in that bath, he pressed his body firmly against hers, his knee sliding between her legs, their height difference providing the most delectable angle for him to find precisely where he wanted to be.

She moaned his name the moment he made contact with her core, and his thoughts went blank when she shamelessly ground against his leg. He could feel how wet she already was through the thin fabric separating them, providing both a frustrating barrier as well as tantalizing friction. Merlin help him, if she actually got off just from riding his leg, he'd never recover.

But she was just so hot when she moaned like that, dripping over him before they'd even done anything.

"So responsive." He purred, bringing his knee up further to give her better purchase. "I'm barely touching you. Are you going to come already? Just from this?"

She wanted to yell at him for the sheer impudence of the comment, he could practically feel it, but arousal won out over pride and she simply whined out a pathetic response, wrapping both her arms around his shoulders to keep her balance while she rutted against him like a goddamn cat in heat.

"Y-yes." She barely managed, gasping when he reached a hand down and pushed her further by the hip.

"Then come."

A simple command, encouraging.

And she obeyed.

"S-shit!" She cried out, and he guided her hip with his hand rested against it, keeping her pace as her mind emptied, holding her up and in place while he aided her to help her ride it out.

A small part of Sebastian wanted to tease that shit didn't sound very much like his name, and she ought to be calling out for the one who gave her pleasure, but he refrained.

Her teeth sank into his neck, stifling her continued chorus of audible lust. Not that he minded, of course, considering the sting of delicious pain she left at the nape of his neck was as much a gift as her sounds.

He held her there against the wall, kissing her neck and head and muttering praise for being so good while she regained her breath. Slowly, he removed his knee and braced her hip as she wavered slightly, still clinging to him to keep upright.

Flushed, skirt hiked up revealing glistening thighs, blouse wrinkled and partly torn halfway to her stomach, and a lovely reminder of what he'd just helped her accomplish right there on his pantleg, the vision truly was a work of art.

And proving, once again, that she loved nothing more than to contradict everything he thought he knew about her, his sensual witch reminded him that she also could be incredibly prickly.

Her pleased features turned to a slight scowl as she glanced down between them, and at first Sebastian expected her to complain about his rather obvious erection, to which he would have pointed out that even a eunuch wouldn't be immune to watching her get off like that.

But then she spoke.

"You've still got a pair of dead fish dangling from your trousers, you know."

Fish now long-since discarded along with his pants and the rest of their intrusive clothing, Sebastian idly wondered if he ought to remove anything else distracting from the cottage so that she kept focus in the days to come during the remainder of their summer together.

"Come for me again, love." He coaxed breathlessly, wanting nothing more than to feel those tight walls clenching around him once more.

He'd fucked her against the wall already, thoroughly screwing any thoughts of fish and lunch right out of her. Then, of course, the kitchen table, where he'd pressed her sweat-slick shoulderblades with a broad hand, pushing her further against the wood while he enjoyed a perfect view of her raised ass.

Now, cock sliding between those slick folds at a lazy, deep pace, he wasn't through with her yet. Not when she was so fucking incredible.

Her undoing had been when she got sidetracked once more and mentioned those fucking fish.

"If you're so keen to talk about the local river dwellers with my cock inside you, shall I take you to them?"

Which was why he was now presently railing her on the bank of the stream with one hand on her throat to keep her blissfully lightheaded enough to no longer even think of trout, and the other roughly pulling her hips down to meet his own, spearing her deeply onto him with each thrust.

She'd shrieked indignantly when he slung her over his shoulder and proudly carried her, bare ass still bright with the distinct print of his hand, out in broad daylight and all but tossed her into the water behind the cottage.

This was so much better than his spittle-covered hand and recalling a few peeks of cleavage in a river. Now, she was on full display for him, soaked in every way, practically screaming his name while her greedy cunt tightened around him once more.

"You're so fucking easy -" He grunted out, fucking her through her orgasm, eagerly chasing his own. "I'm hardly trying. You think I'm ever letting you have another moment's peace in this house when you fall apart on my cock like this? Fuck!"

"Sebastian, fuck, please! I can't!"

He eased his grip on her throat, and she gasped in air through the nonsense whimpered words, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes from the sheer pleasure. Never in his wildest dreams would Sebastian have guessed his spitfire companion would get off by being manhandled in such a way, but every time he'd back off, she demanded he go harder.

So, he did.

And Merlin that was just what he needed - pulling her hair to feel her clench around him even tighter with the slight pain, slapping her ass when he took her from behind, and the throat - fuck, when she'd placed his hand there and eased his fingers to squeeze just right, pretty lips opening slightly in sheer bliss, he nearly came then and there.

And that was precisely what he intended to do now that she'd had her fill.

Digging his toes into the sandy beach, water sloshing slightly as he adjusted, he looped his arms under her knees and lifted, hitting so deep inside her he was certain they were both seeing stars, if her reckless screams of yes were anything to go by. His own movements became less about precision and more about burying himself into her as deeply as he could get.

Sebastian pumped into her brutally, searing the image of her beneath him, arms raised above her head and grasping desperately to the tall grass, her hair splayed out around her...

And then she met his eyes and cried out his name, and there was no holding back as he spilled inside of her with a hoarse whine, fingers digging into her calves. Her body tightened gloriously around his length, helping him milk everything he had to give and accepting it in turn.

A few more stuttering ruts of his hips and Sebastian began to finally regain lucidity, slowly pulling out of her with a matching groan. His member throbbed pleasantly, sensitive and still-twitching, as he gingerly set her legs down and curled up next to her on the sun-heated bank.

Gently, he coaxed her spent form over to lay across his heaving chest, smoothing out her hair and pressing affectionate kisses to her temple and cheeks - a far cry from the harsh bites and filthy praise he'd delivered all afternoon.

They remained there together until long after their heart rates settled and their bodies dried, simply lounging in the slowly setting sun.

This was peace.

The rigors of their spontaneous afternoon little more than an ache in their bodies now, they spent their time idly chatting, peppering a few sweet kisses to ease their bruises here and there.

The air grew chill - comfortable for Sebastian, but his sensitive companion shivered and burrowed herself tighter into him.

He chuckled and wrapped his arms tightly around her before hoisting her up to her feet, both groaning slightly from their sore bodies.

"That'll be my cue to get you indoors and into your warm bath. We'll wash up, and I'll turn that fish into a stew for you." He said, cheerful despite the fatigue weighing down his every move.

By a bath, he meant it in the most basic terms - there was no way he could take her again so soon, not when her step was so unsteady on the short, slow walk home.

She leaned against him and sighed contentedly, clinging to his arm for both balance and warmth.

"Thank you. I am feeling a bit peckish, now that my innards are no longer being fucked into my ribcage."

Sebastian barked out a laugh and shook his head. The improper statements she'd uttered since this all began would be enough to make the quidditch teammates responsible for her stupid list earlier blush.

He pulled her closer to kiss the top of her head once more as they neared the cottage, swiping the bedding off the line on their way in.

"And don't worry about laundry - I'll tackle the bedding tomorrow." He assured her, giving her ass a fond pat as he playfully pushed her toward the bathroom.

She turned to look over her should at him with a confused smile and asked, "Sebastian, but I've already done the laundry just earlier today?"

Maybe she was still a bit innocent - no matter, he'd drill the point into her.

Literally.

Sebastian simply fixed her with a grin he hoped was more charming than half-asleep.

"Well, it's certainly not going to stay clean, is it?"

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paleepeaches · 15 days

Text

Happy Valentines Day

(Connor Rk800 x Fem Reader)

Warnings: Idk NSFW so 18+

Word count: 2422

Summary: It's Valentine's Day and instead of making Connor dinner you let him fuck your brains out.

A/N: This took way longer than it should have. It's pretty mid.

Tags: If you're still interested @joelsfavoritegirl

You were a festive person. Always have and always will be. Valentine's was your favorite holiday not only because of the pink and red strewn across supermarkets and stores but because it was a day of love: a reason to celebrate you and Connor’s union. You were sentimental. Sensitive and a bit of a sappy girl when it came to things like that. Connor was fully aware of it. He made note of it when you first got together. How you pouted up at him. Your bottom lip jutting out slightly covered in your lipgloss. When things didn’t go your way your pretty doe eyes would water with tears and coat your spiky lashes. Seeing you so whiney and needy all the time was an adorable sight. Especially when it came to him. You’d pout every time he had to leave for the DPD every morning. Today was no different.

“Do you have to go?” You fluttered your lashes up at him.

Connor turned his head to look at you while he did his tie. His hands skilfully mastered it. He felt his resolve waver seeing you so like that. You’d just gotten up. Hair was a bit messy, eyes a bit tired but what you wore got him. It was the babydoll nightdress. Baby pink in color and the cups on it hugged your tits so nicely. It was sheer and cut off at the top of your plush thighs. He had to resist throwing you on the bed and just fucking your brains out. Poor baby girl didn’t know what you were doing to him.

“I have to. Hank needs me for another case. Plus who’s gonna make enough money to take care of you?” He cooed down at you with his signature smirk.

You huffed out a sigh nodding in understanding. “Okay but are you gonna be home on time to celebrate? To eat dinner and do….other activities?” You blushed at the hint you threw out. Connor had been balls deep inside of you, lapped viciously at your pussy, and had you whining and calling him daddy yet you were still so timid. He nodded his head trying to hide his amusement at your shyness.

“Of course,” He smoothed out his jacket and reached a hand out to you. He cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek and relishing in its softness. “I’ll never keep you waiting. You know that.” He leaned down and placed a peck on your lips. He could taste that lingering lip balm on you. Cherry. You always had to have it cherry-flavored. He licked his lips tasting it and hummed. He reluctantly let you go as soon as he felt his cock begin to throb to life. Just kissing you was enough to send him into a feral mood.

“I’ll see you tonight.” He promised you and grabbed his car keys leaving you wanting and yearning for him.

You filled your day with meaningful tasks despite the growing ache of Connor leaving you high and dry. You were dedicated to making this Valentine’s Day one he would remember.

You had decorated your shared home in heart-shaped garlands and had a few scented candles going. If it was any other Valentine’s Day involving a human with functioning organs then you would have made a delicious meal and set wine out. However, this was Connor an RK800 model who didn’t need food or water to keep functioning. So you had to get creative which was why when he came home he was happy to see the festive decor, the soft glow of the candles around the living room, and the trail of petals leading to the bedroom.

You knew it was a bit cheesy of a tactic and overused but what other things could you have possibly used as a romantic trial? Connor had come home with flowers and of course, a gift for you held in the other hand. “Y/N…” He called out softly as he pushed open the bedroom door. If he had lungs they would have surely strained and stopped his breathing. He’d seen you in proactive wear before but this was the cherry on top.

You sat knelt on the plush soft bed with each leg under you. You wore a babydoll lingerie top that cupped your breasts, making them sit so pretty on your chest. The top was thin, sheer, and baby pink bringing out the color of your skin. A pretty bow sat in the middle between the valley of your breast effectively accentuating your body. A thong was keeping your pretty puffy lips in place from falling out. Connor could see you went all out this year. He set the gifts for you on the dresser and walked meaningfully towards you.

“You like it?” You giggled softly a playful smirk on your pouty lips. Connor sat down next to you, the bed dipping in the process. “Of course I do sweetie.” He moved your hair aside with his hand and leaned in kissing you on the exposed skin of your neck. You inhaled sharply your eyes softening and body feeling like putty.

Connor was programmed to analyze and interrogate deviants. So, naturally, he was able to figure out what aroused you and what didn’t. He knew of all the special spots on your lovely skin. His lips skilfully kissed your neck leaving hot wet kisses. You mewled delightfully for him making his cock harden.

He leaned into your ear whispering, “You sound so fucking pretty.”

It caused a pink shade to cover your supple cheeks. He never ceased to make you blush even when he wasn’t trying to fuck you.

“Lay down, I wanna taste you.” He lightly pushed you down to lay on the bed. Your hair was sprawled across the sheets and your arms were at your side. Connor spread your legs and dragged you towards the edge of the bed. He kneeled before you, slipping your thong off. His fingers skillfully spread your puffy folds revealing your wet slick cunt.

“I haven’t even touched you and you're already soaking.” He smiled cruelly at you.

“Connor…” You whined out, hips bucking up to get him to taste you, finger you, anything.

He laughed at your desperation, “Always so needy.” Connor didn’t want to give in to you just yet. He wanted to draw it out, have you begging for him to touch you. His plans quickly changed when he saw your pleading eyes and fluttering lashes. You looked so docile and cute that he couldn’t help but give in.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” He spread your pussy folds further getting a good look at how drenched you were before giving you a long lick. He was hungry for you, tongue swirling around your clit and lapping at your puffy folds.

“Fuck C-Connor-” Your moans were broken and rough as he continued his assault. Your eyes rolled back and your hands immediately tugged on his hair.

“You taste so good.” He muttered the vibrations of his voice over your clit caused you to throw your head back.

He took your whines as fuel and dipped his tongue deep inside your hole. He groaned feeling it grip and clench, greedy for anything to fill it. He retracted his tongue humming and relishing in the sweet taste of your juices.

“Shh baby you’re doing so good for me.” He cooed to you and before you could reply he plunged two long and slender fingers into you. You gasped for air, body squirming under him. He had to hold you in place to keep you from moving.

“Connor I-I think I’m gonna cum-” You choked out, voice cut off by his fingers slipping out with a loud squelch. He smirked down at you and you knew he’d refuse to give you an orgasm. At least not with his fingers.

“Connor, please.” You whined out for him desperately clawing at his trousers and tugging his belt. You wanted to see him, stop this torture, and have him fuck you raw.

He smiled down at you, tilting his head slightly to the side. “You’re so needy Y/N.” Connor slapped his hand down on your cunt making you yelp. It came out breathy and far from painful. His hand smacked you again, hitting deliciously against your throbbing clit.

Connor engrained your reaction into his hardware, studying, and learning. He yanked off your babydoll lingerie, pulling it over your head and leaving you in nothing but your bare skin.

Connor was quick, fingers deftly opening each button of his shirt. His belt was next, his hands deftly moving to unbuckle it. He threw it on the floor, making it clang against the hardwood. He pushed down his trousers and underwear down and his face fell in relief. His cock sprang free, the head was swollen and leaking pre cum.

At the sight of it, you felt your hole flutter and clench around nothing. You squirmed on the bed, withering in need. “Connor please, please, I’ve been a good. girl” You mewled out, batting your sweet lashes up at him.

There was something so thrilling and almost primal about you laying before him so vulnerable. The way you begged for his cock had him hardening even more. You never ceased to make his heart clench and cock jump from how sweet you were.“Shh, baby it's okay. I’ll give this pussy what it needs.” He cooed to you so softly.

Connor pumped his cock a few times, his pre cum seeping from the tip and spreading over his shaft. He pushed your legs up to your chest and lined his cock up to your hole. He could see your pretty pussy tighten up in anticipation. An amused exhale left his nose as he looked up into your eyes. They were foggy, glassy with lust and pure need.

Connor pushed the head of his cock in and he groaned, hand coming down to the side of your head to brace himself. He gripped the bedsheets below you two and his face scrunched up in restraint. He knew first penetration was always hard for you. Your poor pussy couldn’t take so much cock so he had to take his time. He struggled to keep his composure and just thrust his full length into you. He knew if he did you'd cry out, sob, and claw at him. It was thrilling.

He sighed out and smoothed the skin on your hip with his palm. "Relax baby." With each second that passed he slipped in further and further in taking his time to stretch you out.

You were a mess below him, clawing at his shoulders and back. If he were human you would be sure he'd have red claw marks on his porcelain skin.

You panted like a bitch in heat, cunt clamping hard on him. “M-more, more Connor, I can take it.” You pouted up to him.

Connor chuckled at your bold statement. “You can take it huh?”

“Y-yeah I can take it-”

Connor slammed his cock into you causing a yelp to escape your throat. The big stretch was painful as his tip bumped your cervix. Your body jolted upwards away from him but he just pulled his cock out and shoved it in again.

“Thought you could take it, princess. This is what you’ve been whining about?” Connor smiled down at you cruelly. He folded you in half, pushing your legs farther up to your chest. His cock slipped further in, making a lewd squelching sound.

“Y-yes!” You cried out in response.

“Then stop fucking complaining and take my cock like a good girl.” Connor leaned down and kissed you roughly, tongue slipping into your mouth. His hand gripped your chin as he pumped his cock into you.

His heavy balls slapped against the plump flesh of your ass. The noise echoed around the room, bouncing off the walls and into your ear. Your juices leaked out of your cunt, coating his cock and dripping down his balls. He could feel it warm them and groaned into your mouth. He pulled back from the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours. “That’s my good princess, fuck clench down just like that.”

You blushed, your pussy clamping down on him just from the compliment. “Ahh! Mphm! Fuck…Connor!” You were loud letting high-pitched moans fall from your pouty lips. Your eyes rolled back and you bit down on your lip relishing in the sweet bliss of his cock.

“Don’t do that. I wanna hear you.” Connor smacked your face lightly and you released your bottom lip from your teeth.

“C-Connor I’m not gonna- I can’t-” Your words were chopped up, as you struggled to speak. They came out in whiney babbles and Connor couldn’t help but become amused. He thought you looked so cute like that. Your face controted into pleasure, words not even forming sentences just sounds. He loved seeing you completely drunk on his cock.

“Good girl, just like that.” He praised you. He pressed the pad of his thumb to your swollen clit, rubbing slow and tight circles around it. You cried out, clawing at his back. Your bambi eyes brimmed with tears. You blinked, lashes fluttering and coated in the wetness. Fat tears rolled down your pink cheeks as you came.

Connor noticed but didn't fret. You would cry often due to the pure delight of cumming. He leaned down, cooing to you and licking them up with his tongue. He could taste the bitter and salty flavor of your tears.

That simple act made your walls clench down on his throbbing cock. Your legs locked him in place, wrapped around his waist and not letting him retract further than he should. He pounded into your soaking wet heat. “Fuck!” He cursed as you milked his cock. One final thrust into your spongy sweet spot had Connor spilling ropes of cum deep into your pussy. He gave a few sloppy thrusts helping you both ride out your orgasms. Your cream and his cum oozed out as he pushed his cock deep in, making it overflow and spill. You poor pussy was a mess. All fucked out and painted white.

Connor panted for a few seconds but recovered quickly due to his android body. He placed sweet soft kisses on your red cheeks and your forehead. “You did so good for me baby.” His voice was soft and sweet as he spoke.

You smiled up at him, panting softly, “Happy Valentine's Day.”

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paleepeaches · 21 days

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maybe in a coffin though 𔘓

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paleepeaches · 21 days

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diet mountain dew; john wick/fem!reader (smut, 18+)

dating john wick - the playlist

The Boogeyman is out to get you. Little does he know, that you too are willing to do quite a bunch of things just to stay alive.

warnings: blood, guns, knives, injuries, physical violence/fighting, assassination attempt; dub-con, rough sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), choking, dirty talk, spanking, a lot of manhandling bc for the love of god he doesn't know how to be soft anymore, gun kink, knife kink, size kink, strength kink, squirting, body worship if you blink, is this hate-fucking? idk; john has a horse cock change my mind; john is in his 50s, the reader is in her 20s; set somewhere after the series i guess? (I refuse to accept he's dead); problematic family relationship as a plot device; let's all collectively ignore the fact that he would actually never touch another woman or even dare to catch the smallest of feelings again; john gets off on the violence

word count: 10,6 k

thank you mel for a) listening to my ramblings and b) reading a good chunk of the first third of this dumpster fire and still going nuts about it, kissies and thank you v for listening to my keanu ramblings without losing faith in me

You wonder, if praying will help you. Probably not.

The sound of carnage, screams and gunshots in the hallway abruptly stops. You hear the assailant's heavy footsteps echoing off the floorboards outside of your hotel room mere seconds before the door bursts open, flies out of its hinges and rattles to the ground, wood creaking and breaking, splinters flying everywhere.

There had been a hit out on you for two days and every single soldier in your father's militia was ready to defend your life with their own.

Literally. You can tell by the man entering your suite.

You can tell by just how much he is covered in blood. You can tell by the way it drips down his forehead and how it soaks his white shirt - even the soles of his shoes creak with it. You can tell by the way he is totally and utterly drenched in red red red, and because you are certain it is not his.

They literally gave their life for you. The thought hits you like a blow to the head. People have died because of you. Fathers, brothers, sons. You recall your last conversation with your own father. They want us dead, they put out a contract on us - you had never seen him so nervous, so disheveled. What does that mean - his anxiety had been washing over you in seeping hot waves, sending cold shivers down your spine. It means, I need you out of the house - now.

Nausea bubbles in your stomach as the man now approaches you, casually strolls into the suite with his finger on the trigger of the gun dangling from his hand and you stare back at him - a deer in the headlights, frozen by fear in the eyes of its deadly predator. One of your father's men jumps from his cover, fires a shot and gets hit back with one straight between his eyes. It happens so quickly, that you can't turn your head away. You see the bullet piercing his forehead, blood splattering as soon as it exits the skull on the other side. His head flies back a little, and then his body goes limp, slack, as he falls to the ground with a heavy thud.

You want to scream. You want to vomit. You want to run. But there is nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide from him.

There's only one soldier left with you in the suite now and he is hiding around the corner, near the bathroom. The stranger - the assassin, the killer - does not lower the gun again, and does not let his eyes stray from you as he carefully enters the room. You feel terribly exposed, dressed only in your negligée, not daring to move.

Now, that the dim light of the suite's living room strikes his face, you can finally see him, see the man who has come to end you. He is older than you, maybe nearly twice your age, with dark hair and even darker eyes, matching his black suit. Lean and athletic, chest heaving slightly with physical exhaustion. The Boogeyman.

You do not know who or what you had expected, what cruel and dreadful images your brain had conjured up in the past 48 hours - 48 frightful hours of being moved around from hideout to hideout by your father's men, not staying in one place longer than necessary - but it certainly was not that. Not him. He is a lot more handsome than his reputation has led on. Seeing him on the subway around rush hour you would have never suspected him to be in this business. He looks nice. And that is exactly what makes him dangerous.

You have heard his name before. Echoing from the walls. Baba Yaga. Whispered with both: fear and respect. The Boogeyman. Blurted out: like a curse or like a blessing. Mister Wick: like redemption, like damnation. Jonathan, the king's son walking the earth as the devil.

John. The sound of his name is oddly human - disturbingly human - for someone looking as calm and collected, focused and concentrated as he does right now, while being drenched in blood and pointing a gun at you.

You must have said his name out loud, because his eyebrows twitch irritatedly, a movement so quick you barely missed it - must've sound desperate too, then.

Vision zeroing in on the barrel of his gun, your hands clutch the sofa's edge. There is so much adrenaline pumping through your veins right now that it freezes your limbs, has your ears ringing. The only thing responding to your brain fully are your eyes, and they snap away from the gun and over to the remaining soldier. It's a quick look, not even a second, but the hitman seems to recognize it and - with near inhumane speed - flicks his gun, and fires two shots. Blood splatters against the white door as the shots pin the soldier's body against it, and is it finally drops to the ground heavily it leaves a nasty trail, all wet and sticky and red.

Could be you.

You want to scream, but your body does not belong to you anymore, does not respond to your commands. It is a desperate, cruel sound that leaves your throat instead as you flinch with the sound of the gun being fired.

"Let's make this quick" his voice is gravelly and rough, like he has seen a thousand grim things and the pain of it has etched its way into his throat, left a nasty mark on every tone that ever dared to cross after.

That is when your fight or flight suddenly kicks in. Well, more specifically, it kicks in while he is speaking, as he starts to swap the empty clip of his gun.

He underestimates you. Everyone does. Your father, your brother. The countless men lying dead littered across the hotel's 25th floor. It will be his mistake.

You latch forward, grabbing the vase from the coffee table in front of you. The weight of it in your hand drags you down.

With all the strength you can muster, which is quite a lot considering the massive amounts of adrenaline that are currently amping up your body - you throw it at him. It connects with his forehead sharply; a deep, irritated noise bursting from his throat as it crashes, splinters and falls to the floor.

You are braver, braver than you should be as your assault does not end there, your body pushing you forward, leaping over the table and crashing into his broad shoulders.

I will not die today

Body ramming into his, he stumbles, as your fist connects with his chin. You have only been partially trained in hand-to-hand combat, after pleading your brother for months until he eventually gave in. Sadly, he wasn't nearly as thorough and honest with it as he was training his drug dealer and gun runners. But now, it is the only thing you can rely on.

There is nothing else; no one else left alive in that building who might be able to help you. It is up to you. So, you might as well try.

And Oh, does desperation fire up your blood.

I will not die today

The diversion does not last long and he - John John John only human only human only human - grabs you by you waist hard, fingers digging into your flesh and into the expensive silk, before he slams your body into the ground. All air leaves your lungs with a dull sound erupting from your chest, just as pain blooms around your ribs.

You cough and he looks down at you, confusion making his brows twitch, before cold-hearted determination takes over once more. John aims his gun at you once more, pulls back the hammer and you do not even think about it, your leg rising as you kick against his hand. The shot misses, buries itself deep into the expensive carpet a few inches next to your skull. You have no time to do either: panic or sigh in relief; instead, you deliver him a kick to his stomach, fighting yourself back onto your feet, punching him straight in the face.

John grunts and grabs your wrist, but you see it coming and throw yourself into his wide frame, wrapping your other arm around his back and thus hooking it underneath his right shoulder, dislocating his arm and preventing him from aiming his gun at you. You claw onto him as he twists your arm close to his stomach, while you wrap your legs around him, making it harder for John to shake you off.

I will not die today

You kick and dig the heel of your foot into his thighs and the back of his knees and he grunts and buckles a little, but turns wild and relentless quicker than you can blink, throws the two of you into the next wall. You gasp sharply as your back connects with the large mirror, splinters digging into your back - not deep enough to actually cut skin, but it stings nonetheless, the impact making you dizzy.

Sharp pain shoots through your back and your neck, but you are not willing to give up yet, as raw energy and rage and desperation surges through your body - one of your legs coming loose and your knee hitting his stomach repeatedly, making John grunt in pain and you use your momentum to dig your hand deep into his back, holding onto him and then swirling out of the deadlock he has got you in, jumping his back like a monkey.

His gun clatters to the ground and for a split second, the room falls silent. Then, roaring like an animal gone wild, he grabs your calves and slams his back into the nearest wall, has you screaming with the impact. You can feel blood pouring from your nose, feel it trickling down your lips.

I will not die today

John is stronger than you are, so so much stronger - the apex predator: all muscle, unbreakable focus and the sheer will to kill. But you are not only a little quicker; you also really want to stay alive. It is a force he rarely encounters. And quite frankly, it irritates him.

He may be older than you, taller than you and stronger than you but you have something he does not have: you actually still got something to lose.

And you fight like it, too. All scratches and sharp yells, as you punch and scrabble at his shoulders and tear at his tie, trying to strangle him with it. John is struggling against it, gasping for air and winding beneath your assault and then his grip around your claves grows hard like iron, seconds before he pulls - throws you over his head like you weigh nothing. You land on the expensive carpet with a heavy thud - groaning as you crash onto your side with sharp pain shooting through your shoulder, down your ribcage.

I will not die today

John sputters and stumbles forward, looking for his gun but you are quicker, kicking it away with your foot. It clatters back onto and slides over the wooden floorboards.

For a second you consider your choices, fighting yourself back onto your feet but John - a practiced and seasoned fighter - beats you to it and lands a blow to your upper back, sends you back down with him - a mess of sputtering saliva and painful groans. His body topples onto yours and he quickly rolls the two of you over the floor.

John is heavy and warm on top of you, as he keeps you in a tight headlock, your chest pressed to the floor and neck bend in a painful angle. He presses his strong forearm down onto your windpipe and you choke and cough, feet kicking, hands dragging across the wood, clawing at it feebly.

You can feel his breath on your cheek, hot and damp. You can feel his torso pressing against your back as he kneels behind you.

I will not die today

Mustering all your remaining strength, you trash against him, ramming your backside into his stomach. He grunts and for a split second, his grip loosens. It is all you need. Throwing your elbow back, you hit him in the chest and he caves in.

You cough, crawling forward and then scrambling back onto your feet, one of your negligée’s straps falling down your shoulder in the process. You hastily pull it back up, seconds before John launches a cascade of punches onto you.

A few of them hit you as you try to block them; dull pain igniting in your body, blooming in your face and arms. Your breath goes heavy as you stumble backwards. You cannot do this. There is no way. You just physically can't.

He is stronger. Taller. Heavier. Deadlier. Your body and every single muscle, bone, nerve in it aches and you wheeze but he is already onto you again, half-tackles you and grabs your waist, ready to smash you back onto the ground.

You cling onto him with all your remaining strength, struggling against his huge frame, wrapping your hands around his neck in an attempt to get him to stumble.

His hair tingles on your naked arms. Oh wait --

Tearing at his hair - which has him grunting in both, pain, and irritation at the unusual attempt - you clumsily pull yourself up onto his shoulders, cutting his face right above his eyebrow with your nails in the process until you finally wrap one leg around his throat and close it around there tightly, choking him. John tries to pull you off him and succeeds after quite the tussle, only to find your frame clinging to him, legs and arms wrapping around his body, hands scratching and feet kicking.

I will not fucking die today

In an attempt to either get rid of each other or submit the last blow, to finally kill the other, you two swirl through the room - a deadly dance of torn skin, smashed glass panes and mirrors, bruises and cuts. Somewhere in between kicks and punches, he managed to pick up his gun - and right now, you are mustering all of your exhausted strength to prevent the barrel from pressing against your skull.

Eventually, John crashes your bodies through a large wooden door, and is not quick enough - unable to stop his own oxe-like strength - to stop himself from stumbling into the room. The two of you only come a halt as his knees hit something soft and ironically that is what finally topples both of you over, landing onto the mattress of your bedroom with a soft thud and deep, exhausted grunts.

Your ears ring, and you are ready to lash out at him again despite the physical exhaustion, to strike him square across the face, as --

There is something hard pressing against your crotch.

The world falls silent.

No. No, there's no fucking way. It's got to bea hidden weapon. Must be.

But clearly, it is not. There, between your spread legs, his hard cock presses snugly against your panty-clad pussy.

And he just feels so huge - mouth-watering huge - that your body responds in its own way, hips snapping up, stuttering against the hard bulge. John lets go off a shaky, ragged breath, hand still clutching his gun. And you know, that this is your window.

Feeling the warmth that his body and his hard dick are radiating through his expensive suit, you roll your hips once - a languid, slow motion, rubbing your pussy over his bulge.

And he groans. A deep, primal sound that sounds a little coarse. John is looking at you, starring you down, but there is a shadow dancing over his eyes, turning his brown eyes into deep and dark, black pits that gives him away.

He is horny. The Boogeyman is fucking horny. You would laugh, if the realization wasn't knocking all air straight from your lungs. Because it just another reminder, proof of what he actually is: human.

And what a sight he is to see - eyes turning darker every second, his chest heaving with every breath and making it seem like his shirt is going to pop a button or two any second now, his cock prodding against its restraints and your clothed cunt.

It makes you want him. The thought leaves you dizzy, makes you gasp.

Apparently, that is all he needs to roll his hips back into yours. And that - that is just unfair. It's playing dirty. It's, it's -- His dick feels huge as it trails along your folds, has the muscles in your abdomen clenching.

"Fuck", you breathe, a little overwhelmed with and helpless at the sudden surge of lust that ignites your body, the wetness pooling between your legs.

John is not saying anything, just stares you down while he continues to slooowly roll his hips into yours, grinds his cock against your cunt. Your pelvis twitches upward as you start to meet his movements, and then you can hear it. He let's go of a deep breath, and it sounds like the faintest moan.

You need to hear more of that. You need more of him, your cunt aching and hole clenching around nothing already.

"John", and this time you say his name - consciously - it sounds a different way of desperate: your voice reduced to a small whisper, torn at the edges by a wanton whimper ripping from your throat.

If it throws him off-guard he does not show it, does not let you see it. Instead, he grabs your chin hard, gaze locking with yours. Dark pupils blown wide, swallowing the honey-brown of his eyes, and your breath hitches.

"Yeah?", he rasps, and it does not take more than one long look from you for him to lean in, to press his lips onto yours.

The kiss tastes of blood and adrenaline and doom, and you relish in it. Relishing the way his lips move against yours and his beard tickles a little, relishing how his tongue presses into your mouth. It feels like he is eating you whole, licking into your mouth, one hand dancing over your waist - featherlight, like he doesn't know how to touch a body without hurting someone, destroying someone.

I will not die today, motherfucker

Your whole body now sings with it, the security of an impending victory, as you roll your hips into his once more, your tongue now licking back into his mouth. For a second you think about how to strike again, now that he is seemingly distracted, but all will to fight leaves your body as one of his hands brushes over your knee, wanders further and eventually rests on your thigh.

The touch is electrifying and then his hand grows braver, his movements more certain, as he grabs your thigh, feels you up. It happens so suddenly, that you gasp into the kiss.

John parts from you, his lips a little plush already. "Oh God", you whisper as you stare Death Turned Human straight in the face, not a single thought remaining in your skull despite your lust.

He doesn't speak, as he gently let’s go off your leg and straightens back up and for a second you think he is going to hurt you, with the way his brows are furrowed - but he doesn't.

Instead, he moves in, right over your comparably tiny frame - a mountain of a man. John kneels above you, his weight pinning you down while he straddles your thighs and Jesus fucking Christ - what a sight he is to see.

Dark locks falling into his forehead, a little sticky with sweat and the bits of blood from the cut your nails gave him moments ago - right above his left eyebrow, still lazily trickling down into his lashes. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, as he hastily gets rid of his jacket, carelessly drops it to the ground. His black button-down clings to his muscular body underneath his waistcoat and his equally as muscular thighs pin you down to the bed, black fabric nearly tearing at the seams. And then there is his hard cock.

It looks as huge as it felt, with the way it bulges his pants, the outline of it clearly visible as it buckles proudly against its restraints. You are certain, you will not be able to close your hand around it fully - not a chance.

One of his hands - the one lacking a finger, which you only now notice and what sends shivers down your spine - wanders over your body, pulling your negligée down in the process, right tit spilling out of the soft silk. He immediately grabs it, cups it with his large hand and squeezes. You mewl, marveling at just how big his hand is, just as his whole body is in comparison to you. His fucked-up finger digs into the flesh, sending shivers down your spine.

John's hand gropes your tit, before he impatiently pulls the neckline down roughly. You sigh, arousal shooting down your spine and tingling in your lower belly, as two of his fingers nudge your nipple, pinch it.

He watches your face intently, as he continues to grope you, rolls your nipple between his fingers. You mewl, breath accelerating a little but it is just not enough and you buck your hips upwards. John grunts in, what you assume is an approving manner, and let's go off your tit, reaches to his belt at his loins.

Quickly pulling a knife from God-knows-where exactly, a sharp blade enters your vision.

You blink, panic seeping through your lust and your legs twitch a little with fear. If John notices it, he neither shows it nor does he say anything, just moves the knife closer to your body.

The blade shines in the dim light as it dances over your exposed thighs carefully, the metal cooly pressing against your skin, before he flicks it and cuts your negligée open. The thin, soft fabric cleanly cut in half it now lazily slides from your aching body, falls to its sides. Your chest heaves, shivers running down your arms and back.

It happens so quickly that you can only blink. As your brain finally catches up with your eyes, you come to realize that he is holding a real fucking tactical knife. You have thrown one once - they are sharp as hell and deadlier than a bullet. The sound of fabric tearing easily, like paper, proves your point.

And John's movements with the blade are so fast that your breath hitches, a little afraid he might cut you. But he does not, instead, he quickly pulls the torn silk off you and away from under you, carelessly tosses it into the dark of the room.

The edge of the blade dances over your skin and you do not dare to breathe, as he trails it up and down your curves, gently nudges your nipples. "I could kill you", he says calmly and then, in lightning speed, presses the blade into the crook of your neck. Your head sinks back into the mattress, in an instinct to flee the sharp edge.

All it does is to expose your neck further and something gleams in John's eyes, as he presses the sharp tip down slowly, carefully nudging your skin with it. The metal is cold and hard and sharp and your breath hitches. Just a little bit more and it might burst your skin, draw blood.

But, to your own confusion, you do not feel threatened anymore. Oddly enough, your nerves tingle with excitement. You blame it on the already high levels of adrenaline that still pump through your veins, rushing back and forth from your brain and your lungs, but a small voice inside of your head whisper gently, deviously, that you know That's not it. And he knows it, too.

It's in his eyes as well, the sheer excitement of it all, the fucked-up pleasure it evokes in the both of you lays heavy in the air.

It turns you fucking on. It turns you on, that the man who - minutes ago - tried you kill you and did hurt you very fucking badly in the process of it, now decides to let you live.

It turns you on, that you are at his mercy.

It turns you on, that he decided to spare you - just for now.

It turns you on, that these large and strong hands holding the knife have that sort of power over you. And thus, as the blade nudges your head back further, you moan.

"I could cut your throat", John's voice is heavy and thick with arousal and you can feel your heartbeat picking up, breath accelerating. His gaze drops down, watches the rapid rising and falling of your breasts hungrily, while another soft moan escapes from your lips.

"Don't", you breathe softly.

The knife practically burns on your skin, and you can feel arousal flooding your clothed pussy, rubbing your thighs together for any sort of friction. John can feel your squirming underneath him, but he can also see your eyes turning watery and dark with lust, pupils blown and a pretty pink spreading on your cheeks, your breath growing shallow. And he just really needs to fucking taste you right now.

As quickly as it appeared, the blade vanishes from your throat before he twirls the knife like the ruthless, reckless professional that he is, and buries it deep to the hilt in the mattress next to you. The sharp sound as it pierces the thick fabric has the hairs on your body standing up, goosebumps rolling over your skin.

"I'll do it later", he rumbles - casually, like he is talking about doing chores or picking up groceries - before hunching over you, grabbing your chin with his fucked-up hand, and kissing you again. His tongue immediately pushes into your mouth, like he is starving to taste you.

John eats you whole, with the way his lips move against yours. His hand cups your face, tongue licking into your mouth, toying with yours. His kiss steals your breath and you start to get dizzy with it, hips bucking. You can feel his lips curling up and then he parts from you, leaving you a gasping mess, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

"Let me touch you, John", you whisper, voice a little small because you do not know why you feel that way, and if he will even allow it. But you just need to feel him.

For a long moment his gaze dances over your face and something shifts behind his eyes, like a shadow gets lifted and then very quickly returns. Ultimately, he gives a court nod, so small you nearly miss it and gives you a little more room while straightening back up.

Carefully, as if not to spook him, you dart one hand out, place it on his chest. The muscle is firm underneath his suit and you run your hand along the lapel of his jacket, down and then back up, before it slips beneath it.

John's body radiates warmth under the black fabric of his shirt and your other hand comes up, before you shove the jacket off his shoulders and onto the floor next to the bed.

Your breath hitches.

He is wearing a holster, a reminder of his deadliness, of the gun laying somewhere next to you. Maybe, he sees the fear returning in your eyes, but he is quick to shrug the holster off, throws it into the dark where it clatters onto the wooden floor boards. What is left in front of you are broad shoulders and a muscular chest, the fabric nearly tearing at his movements.

As you run your hands over it, you cannot help yourself - you need to fucking feel him for real.

Quickly making work of his waistcoat and tie you toss both to the side carelessly, before your hands roam his broad chest. His button-down clings snugly against his upper body and you can feel the muscles work beneath the black fabric as your hands brush over them. You tug at the shirt, pulling its tails from his pants before hastily opening the first few buttons. The skin underneath is pale, littered by blue - red - black bruises, birthmarks scattered in between like stars. You pop open the rest of the buttons, greedy to touch him. And as the shirt falls to the sides your hands are already onto his chest, roaming over and admiring the muscular, defined canvas of strength, that violence has painted a pretty picture on.

John is watching you intently as you undress him and then explore his body, your pupils blown wide and dark, mouth agape a little. He is a little taken aback by it - by someone not seeing his body as the ultimate tool of death that it is, but as something else, that he cannot really pinpoint because he can't even look in the mirror without seeing destruction and decay. But the way your gaze wanders over his body, the way you touch him, is different from that and he has not felt anything like it in years.

And John wants. Carnal desire tugs at his brain, shoots arousal between his legs, makes his cock twitch and a low growl escaping his throat.

The sound gets you going: pushing yourself up with one hand, the other wrapping around his strong neck for leverage as you sit up, mouth immediately clutching to his throat. He tastes of sweat and after-shave - sharp and musky - and you run your tongue over his skin greedily, licking and sucking at the skin while your naked body presses against his.

It disarms him. The gentle touch that you put his body up to, while everything still aches from plowing through the better half of your father's militia and beating the hell out of you, confuses him. Your touch, your lips on his skin are soft and not aiming to hurt - instead, they grow more and more needy, wanton and hasty, as you lick over his bruised skin, tasting his sweat. Your hands over his abdomen caress his defined muscles, in awe of his utter strength, thumbs brushing through the soft and dark trail of hair leading beneath the waistband of his trousers. And all John can do, is watch, his gaze locking with yours as goosebumps erupt on his skin.

And you - oh you; your head swims with the way you turn this animal into a human again, unlock a different set of animalistic needs within him and hearing John's breath growing heavy really fucking does it for you, feeling his scarred and beaten-up skin underneath your hands, wrapping them around the deadly machine that is his body. It makes you want more.

Shedding his blood-stained shirt off of his shoulders, your hands roam over his upper back - feeling the scars there: of knives, larger and small ones and round ones of bullets that once pierced his skin. There is something else, a burn scar, in the shape of a cross and he hisses as your fingers brush over it, nails digging into the stunted skin.

It pulls John out of his stasis, reminds him of who he is and you can feel the air swinging with it seconds before he moves. His large hands wrap around your shoulders and then he pulls you off him, throws you back onto the mattress. You yelp, eyes growing wide as you watch his face as it turns from lightly dazed back to stern, wild, with his brows furrowed.

"That's enough", he says, voice coarse and it still feels like a small victory, even though he spreads your legs roughly, hands digging deep into your thighs - hard enough to bruise - before he kneels between them. He yanks your body forward at the back of your knees, watches your tits bounce and then leans in, his lips immediately attacking your throat, your neck.

His lips are surprisingly soft against your skin, his beard tickling a little as it brushes over your tits, your stomach, your thighs while his tongue licks fat stripes over your nipples and down down down your upper body, right to your navel. One of his hands creeps up your body once more and roughly cups your tit, squeezes, and gropes it, rolls your hardened nipple between his index and middle finger. His stunted ring-finger digs deep into your tit and you gasp, hips bucking. John's lips suck and nibble at your skin, before eventually ghosting over your pubic bone, teasing you before assaulting your thighs again, teeth biting down gently into the soft flesh. You gasp and moan while he gropes your body, inhales your scent - as you watch how his lips, tongue, and teeth dance over your thighs, moving closer to your cunt.

John finally, finally, puts his mouth onto your pussy, peppers open-mouthed kisses around your clit, before clothing his lips around it and sucking on it hard through your panties. Your hips buck as a high-pitched moan erupts from your throat, hands flying into his greying locks.

"Fuck", you whine, feeling fresh wetness flooding your folds, dampening the thin fabric further. John can see the outlines of your wet pussy pressing against your panties and parts from your clit momentarily, only to lick a fat stripe over your clothed cunt, watching it twitch.

"That's fucking pretty", he rasps, gaze locking with yours and you feel all air leaving your lungs. His eyes are so fucking dark, like gleaming black pits swallowing you whole, his breath a little flat with arousal.

You want him to fuck you. Really fuck you. To plow you open, rail you until you cannot sit nor walk. He is already so so close to you, but too far away at the same time. "Please", is all you manage to utter out. And it seems to be sufficient enough for him; seems to get across what you want, what you need.

John's fingers wrap around the front of your lace slip, tugging at the fabric - that rubs along your cunt at the sudden motion and has you gasping quietly - and then he pulls. The lace tears easily as he rips it apart, and cool air hits your wet and hot pussy, as he practically peels you out of your underwear, throws it to the side. The look on his face is wild and you can hear him taking a deep breath, smelling your arousal, before he spreads your folds apart with his thumbs, gaze wandering over your plump and flushed cunt.

Teasingly brushing over your clit with his thumb, John watches your reaction intently. And fuck, you do not disappoint. Throwing your head back, you moan, drawing in a deep breath through your opened mouth that heaves your chest, your eyelids fluttering.

You are dying for him to touch you and as he does, it feels like your body catches fire - lust washing away the dull pain in your limbs and near your ribs.

"Oh God", you breathe out as his thumb draws another wide and slow circle over your clit, your hands darting out and grabbing the sheets "Please."

And John complies, his thumb rubbing over your clit in a slow but steady rhythm.

Gasping, your hands clutch the sheets, knees darting away from each other, giving him more space. John accepts the invitation, grabs one thigh hard, fucked up ring-finger digging deep into your skin. His fingers move further, abandons your clit and dance over your folds, down to your hole. It flutters as two of his digits tease it, gently circling around it.

"Please", you whine once more, lifting your hips a little, a desperate noise leaving your throat. John smirks to himself, before pushing two of his fingers into you.

The stretch is sudden and bigger than expected and you moan coarsely, as he pushes his digits along your walls deeply and nestles them into your seeping hot cunt up to his knuckles. And Jesus, you feel so full already; your head swimming as you consider how big his cock must feel, then.

Your breath goes quick and shallowly as he starts to move them, and then he leans in. Nudges your clit with the tip of his tongue, licks over it.

You feel like combusting on the spot: your nerves tingling with arousal, your whole body still aching from the beating you gave each other earlier - the pain in your back blooming as you stretch it with your hips desperately shoving themselves near his touch - your pussy squeezing his fingers.

John pumps his thick fingers in and out of you, his tongue rubbing and circling your clit and soft, needy moans fall from your lips. Obscene, wet sounds fill the air, mingle with your moans and heavy breathing. His lips close in around your clit, sucking at it while his fingers rub along your spongy walls and your cunt squeezes them hard as fresh wetness floods your folds, your squirt wetting his beard and dripping down on the sheets below.

You can hear - feel - John humming against your pussy, peppering the wet skin with open mouthed kisses, licking over it, and tasting your slick.

You feel so fucking good - lust pulsating through your veins, loins on fire - and your head falls to the side, body rocking with sharp gasps and your mouth agape, eyelids fluttering as --

There's the gun. And the knife.

You could easily grab either one or the other next to you, pull the blade out of the matress or the hammer back; put a bullet right between his eyes or plow the blade deep deep into his skull. Killing the Boogeyman. Killing Baba Yaga.

That would do wonders to your family's business. It would emancipate you from it, you would be free. Free to rule.

"Thinking 'bout killing me?", John rumbles, tongue licking a fat stripe over your cunt, nudging your clit. Your gaze flickers back to him: hair a mess, eyes gleaming darkly, hands on your thighs to keep your legs spread. He does not look surprised. Neither does he look worried.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head: he is toying with you. Has been the whole fucking time. The wolf hunting the deer, running a few rounds through the woods to weaken it; its breath whistling with exhaustion, long legs buckling before it collapses - an easy kill. An easy kill for an old wolf, one, that can't quite handle a real hunt anymore.

But maybe, just maybe - judging from the look in his eyes - he got lost in his own game. Its reins slipped from his bloody hands, the wolf tumbling to the ground.

Looking back at him, your lips curl into a sweet smile. "Not anymore", your hand darts out, brushing the loose strands of dark hair from his face - the soft gesture leaving him visibly confused -, "John."

Two can play this game. And maybe, just maybe, the deer can tire the wolf out first.

Something gleams in John's eyes, dances over them like a shadow and he seems to accept the challenge - readying to tire you out - tongue licking over your clit once more, making you shiver and mewl, as he pulls his fingers out of your dripping hole. You feel empty and --

"Do you really think, you could kill me?", he rumbles, voice deep and rough around the edges, "Stupid slut."

And then, quicker than your brain can process it, his hand comes down on your dripping wet pussy.

Your breath hitches, topples over and leaves your throat as a raw, needy moan. Softly stinging pain blooms between your folds and sets your nerves on fire. Blame it on the bruises, blame it on the pain you both inflicted on each other moments ago, but: it riles you up. Mingles with your aching bones and aching cunt, has you arching your back.

"Y'really think you could kill me", he doesn't sound offended, not even amused - voice plain, like he is inquiring if you really believed the earth to be flat. Like you really are stupid.

And you start to feel stupid, too. There was never a chance. You never had a chance. Your death was sealed, determined the second John stepped into the hotel.

You were stupid to believe you could outrun or beat him. You are stupid. And John has every right to show you, teach you, punish you for it.

Giving your cunt another firm slap, John watches your hips twitch, hears your pussy squelching and soft moans falling from your lips. "Shit", you sigh and he slaps your wet pussy once more, feels your slick folds wetting the palm of his hand.

"D'you like that, girl?", and as your only response are wanton gasps falling from your mouth John chuckles deeply, gives your pulsating cunt another two firm slaps. Seeing how he is pulling you apart, how good he makes you feel really seems to do it for him, gets him quite talkative.

"Uh-huh", you make dumbly, quite illiterate, watching him stroking your flushed, hot cunt with two of his fingers. Shivers run down your spine.

And then he leans back in, licks a fat stripe over your sensitive, flushed cunt, from the hole up to the clit.

You squirm, mewl as his beard brushes over your overstimulated skin, leaving a slight burn that mingles deliciously with a fresh wave of arousal that floods your body scalp to toes.

The muscles in your abdomen clench as two of his fingers circle your fluttering hole and then push in, rubbing along your plush walls agonizingly slowly and you can feel yourself tightening around it. Your juices squelch from your cunt as you squirt against his tongue and your slick runs down your folds, wets his fingers and palm while his tongue laps at your pussy, tasting your sweetness.

John pushes is fingers deeper as you moan and sigh, hands fisting his hair and hips moving against his tongue, his digits thrusting into you.

"Oh god", you huff as his lips close in around your clit, sucking on it and the tip of his tongue flicking against it occasionally.

Another wave of fresh wetness floods your cunt as you squirt once more, wetting the sheets below, your slick running down John's wrist.

John parts from your clit, nudges it with his tongue, his beard glistening with your juices.

"Yeah, that's fucking it", another one of his thick fingers pumps itself into your tight little hole and his other hand - also slick with your juices - grabs your thigh, "That's a good girl."

You feel so full, your spine feels like it's on fire and your brain tingles with it, sends wave of pleasure down down down your body; muscles in your loins clenching, chest heaving. It becomes all too much as he leans back in, rubs his tongue over your clit, lips sucking and teasing your folds.

The slight burn of John's beard tickling your plush, hot cunt. His fingers working your open and stretching your tight little hole open far and wide, obscene squelching sounds filling the air as he works you open, brushing against your g-spot occasionally and making you see stars.

But it's too little. It's just not enough.

"Fuck", you whine as John's thick fingers brush over your g-spot with quite some force, tongue lapping at your seeping cunt, "Shit, please. Please, just fuck me, please!"

You can feel him grinning against your wet cunt, beard a little sticky with your juices, letting go of your pussy with an obscene pop. "Yeah", he licks his lips, tastes you on his tongue, "D'you want my cock?"

And that - that might be what makes you lose your mind. Because yes. Yes, you do.

You have been craving to touch it, to feel it since it had pressed against your clothed pussy earlier. Thus, all dignity leaves your body with one, clean whine that breaks free from your throat.

"Yes, fuck - oh god, John", you brabble, legs falling apart further, inviting him in, his digits sinking deeper into your soaking wet hole, "Shit, please fuck me, John - please, please, please --"

Pleas are still falling from your lips like a chant, as a surprising noise breaks the silence, so strangely beautiful that it has you nearly shuddering: John is laughing. It's a nice baritone sound, and the fine lines around his eyes crinkle with it - it's so beautiful, that it drowns the world out. You watch him in awe, as he shakes his head, avoids your gaze.

"Jesus. Look at you", he huffs, voice dripping thickly with amusement, "If you need it that badly--"

Straightening back up and kneeling between your legs, John slips his fingers from your cunt and makes quick work of his belt, trousers, and boxers. The second he frees is cock, you start to drool like a fucking pavlovian-dog.

His dick is so fucking huge. It is nicely curved and cut, the bulbous pink head glistening with pre-cum and a thick, pumping vein at the bottom that rakes from the base to the tip, as it rests between trimmed, dark pubic hair. His cock bobs against his abdomen as it bounces free, smears the pre-cum along the pale skin, twitches at the sudden contact. And Jesus fucking Christ, you just want to fucking touch it, feel its velvety skin in your palm. But you just know that you won't even be able to wrap your hand around its base fully, it's impossible, it--

"I-it won't fit", you whisper, a little taken aback by his sheer size.

"Oh, I'll make it fit, baby."

John takes his cock in one hand, thumb right beneath its head, and rubs it against your slit. And Jesus fucking Christ. Your hips snap up, meet his movements, and he grunts while he spreads his pre-cum along your cunt, gathers your slick. The thick head of his dick prods against your entrance and you take a deep breath, looking down between your legs. You watch how he slooowly pushes in and you gasp at the sudden intrusion, the delicious stretch making you moan.

His cock feels so fucking big, hot, and heavy, as he nestles the tip in, your hole clenching around it. John's brows furrow, and he doesn't wait long until he pushes his cock in further.

The thick base starts to stretch your slim rings of muscles, a sharp pain shooting through it. He can feel your hole protesting, can see you wincing. "Breathe, baby", he hums, "Let me do the rest."

His coarse voice mingles with his words and the waves of pleasure shooting through your body despite the dull pain, conjures up a pretty pretty image that floods your brain - there's sunlight everywhere, orange rays of it hitting a bed covered in white sheets, sweaty bodies on top of it; limbs entangled, hands intertwined with their golden rings shining brightly in the warm light, heavy breathing and sloppy kisses, and lazy thrusts as his cock fucks you awake. The thought makes you dizzy, your legs falling apart and hole fluttering open, inviting him in.

The slight burn leaves you a gasping, whimpering mess as he pushes himself in deep, nestles his huge cock in between your aching, hot, and tight walls.

And John feels like he is going to pass out. No blow to the head, no bullet to the chest, no knife to the stomach could ever make him feel as dizzy as the feeling of your hot cunt squeezing him does right now. His whole body is vibrating with want and lust and he just really hopes that you don't notice that he has gotten a little rusty. The thought quickly gets drowned-out as he looks down, where his thick cock practically splits you open, vanishes in your hole.

"Shit", he huffs out, places one large hand on your stomach and thrusts. Feeling himself moving inside of you has him moaning, gaze shooting up to you, meeting your eyes, as his hand presses down. "You feel me right here, baby?", he rasps and you nod, mouth agape by the sheer force of his thrust, tip of his cock prodding your cervix.

John can see his cock moving inside of you, the way your stomach bulges a little. He gets a little dizzy with, and then his eyes make the mistake of moving up to your face. And it takes a whole lot of fucking will-power of him to not just thrust and thrust and thrust and fuck you until you cry, bleed.

You are so fucking pretty. Mouth agape you watch how his cock vanishes between your legs, splits your cunt open, with his eyes heavy-lidded and cheeks flushed. Your lips are plush and red from his assault.

Your hands grip the sheets and your breasts heave with your deep breaths, that grow a little more flaccid. Next to you lays his gun, knife still buried into the mattress. His eyes drop to the weapons and his breath hitches. And for a split second, like a flash of light, he wonders what in God's name he's doing here. He is a professional. The Ballerina works like that. He doesn't.

A sweet, sweet noise rips him out of his thoughts. "J-john", you mewl, eyes still trained on his massive dick splitting you open, "I-it, it's --"

"Yeah?", he breathes, the sound all soft and careful around the edges.

"Heavy", you breathe.

"Does it hurt?", he kind of wants it to. Make you pay for what you did to him. He kind of doesn't want it to. Make you enjoy what he's got to give.

John realizes he is fucked.

You nod, head flying back into the cushions, while your brows dart together.

John's free hand flies to your clit, nudges it gently, before slowly rubbing wide circles over it. You gasp, as you feel fresh wetness flooding your cunt and dripping down your folds to where his cock splits your hole open, pools around it. He carefully pulls out a little and then pushes back in, assisted by your slick. The way you moan spurs him on and the circles on your clit grow faster and smaller.

Aching your back, you lean into the touch. "That's a good girl", he whispers, voice raw and coarse, dripping with lust and the exhaustion of holding back. John bottoms out, while continuing to rub your clit and he can feel your walls growing plush, your hole fluttering around his dick, relaxing with your hot, seeping cunt inviting him in. "Feels good?"

"Yeah, fuck", you feel like you are being split open, with his thick cock filling you to the brim and rubbing along your walls with every little movement, the thick head prodding gently against your cervix, "Shit, John."

It feels so fucking good, all thoughts being washed away from your brain as he starts to move carefully, thrusts into you once, twice. You moan, lips slightly parted, before your gaze flies to him.

And Fuck. John's chest is flushed a little, muscles of his abdomen flexing with every thrust while his gaze is trained down to where his cock fucks into you, brows darted together a little and his breathing audible.

"John?", you whisper, and his gaze immediately shoots up to you as your comparably tiny hand wraps around the wrist of his hand that is still rubbing your clit.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck me."

For a long moment, he just looks at you and you think - no, you are convinced - that you can see a glimpse of the human being he once was. Caring, sweet and gentle; as he seems to really take it into consideration if you are ready yet, if you know what you are begging for.

Apparently, he does deem you prepared enough, and the soft gaze gets replaced by a dark gleam as all gentleness vanishes from his face once more. Without a warning, John rolls his hips back only to thrust into you again, deep, and hard, immediately picking up a quick rhythm.

It comes as a genuine surprise to you and you gasp, mewling but it quickly feels just so fucking good, practically lights your body up and leaves every nerve-ending on fire, each thrust has you moaning loudly.

It spurs him on, makes him grunt and for a while, you both just watch him gliding in and out of your tight hole, with him feeling your muscles squeezing him and you feeling his cock stretching your open further and further. Your lips as slightly parted and his brows are furrowed as he rolls his hips into yours and you feel time getting lost on you, the only thing of importance remaining is the feeling of him filling you up. John's hands roam your body, wandering over your thighs and your stomach, your hips before angling your leg, pushing the heel of your foot on his shoulder, and grabbing your ankle with one hand, his dick slips into you even further, balls slapping against your ass heavily with each thrust.

You can tell that John has not fucked in a long, long time. It's not the way he does it - all fluid, languid thrust of his hips, muscles dancing under the soft skin. It's mostly the way he pants and grunts - sounds just as desperate as you feel. And still, he has the stamina of a racehorse.

You can feel that he wants to prove it, too, as his free hand grabs your thigh and hoists your other leg over his hip bone, practically pulling your lower half off the bed in the process. Your pelvis now clings to his, obscene sounds of his cock fucking into your wet pussy filling the air while he huffs with his thrusts, yet does not slow down.

The grip on both, your ankle and your thigh are hard, and you are certain his hands will leave a bruise but you just cannot bring yourself to care. Deep down you know, that someone will see them: your maids, your friends, your family.

But all thoughts, all worries get swapped from your brain as your gaze wanders up from where John's dick hammers into you steadily, rakes over his defined stomach and chest and finally, finally lands on his face.

He looks downright, utterly, and breathtakingly -- pornographic.

John's dark pupils blown wide gleaming with arousal, his cheeks are slightly blushed and a thin layer of sweat makes him glow in the dim light of the living room falling onto the bed. It surrounds him like a halo, a Saint of Death and Decay, with his dark hair falling into his forehead and onto his shoulders. He brushes it out of the way with his stunted hand, a ragged breath making his chest heave. There is still some of your slick wetting his beard.

You can't help your mind from going there, from wondering how different things could have been. What it would be like if you had met me in a bar instead of him entering your suite, leaving the hallway behind him looking like a slaughterhouse. Maybe he would have laughed at your jokes, in the dim light of your favorite bar in the city. Maybe he would have liked the same music as you do. Maybe, just maybe, he would have brought you home only to stay the night and fuck you until you would have lost your goddamn mind.

Your hand wanders down your body, strokes your waist and hip in the process, before it languidly drops between your spread legs, two fingers darting out and rubbing circles over your sensitive clit.

John moves quickly, his usual deadly precision shattering your peaceful fantasy, his hand ditching your thigh and closing in around your waist. "Don't you fuckin' touch yourself", he growls, and it's the first time you hear real, actual emotion dwelling in his throat - not his toneless, cold and mechanical rumble. He sounds pissed. Offended.

And the best part is: it seems to get him fucking going.

John leans in, your calf still resting on his shoulder and the slight pain of the stretch is delicious as he nearly folds your body in half. You can feel his dick sliding in even deeper into your hole and you gasp and whine, one hand coming up to dig into his biceps to just hold on. Hold on, while he pounds into you with perfectly angled, deep and strong thrusts, hitting your g-spot with every single one of them.

You know that the suite's door is in shambles, that anyone could walk in here and see you having your brains fucked out by the man who is here to kill you - but you don't care. Part of it is, because the gun is still resting next to your head on the sheets. You could just grab it and shoot anyone dead in heartbeat, whoever is trying to disturb the pleasure that shoots through your body.

But it is also him.

It's the way John is towering over you, back hunched, looking all wide and powerful and deadly, with the way he shields your body from view and harm as he thrusts into you. As he pushes all his rage, adrenaline, and strength into your tight hole, groans, and pants into your ear.

There is nothing you can do, despite holding onto him, nails digging into his back, clutching his broad shoulders, fingers running over his tattoos desperately. He is fucking the living daylight out of you, your body moving like a ragdoll underneath the mountain of muscles and strength. Your cunt is being split open by his cock, as you feel him hammering into you and you feel like you are going to lose your mind, panting and moaning with each of his thrusts.

"John, fuck", you moan sweetly, eyes rolling into your skull as he pounds into you, "You feel so fucking good, shit --"

"Yeah", he huffs, his forehead slowly sinking onto yours, "You too, baby."

You can see his eyelids fluttering, feel his upper body heaving beneath your hands, smell the blood on his skin, mingling with his musky scent. Blaming it on the sickening cocktail of hormones that is flooding both - your brain and your body - you lean in, your lips desperately smacking against his.

And Jesus Fucking Christ. Does John kiss you.

Kisses you like he is starving for it, licking back into your mouth - his body pressing yours into the mattress with his whole weight and muscle, while still thrusting into you.

Your hands tangle into his hair, tugging at it. John moans against your lips and your stomach flutters at the sound, and you want more. One hand moves to lay at the crook of his neck and your tongue presses against his, licking back into his mouth. Adding some force to his neck you invite John deeper into the kiss, and he follows suite, steals you the last bit of air your lungs were holding. Panting you part from him, thumb brushing over the crook of his neck.

Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself. You feel so alive and you want him to wreck you, to leave something behind that you will remember for every day your heart continues to beat. Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself but to whisper: "Harder."

John blinks, hips stuttering. And then, he grunts. His hand digs into your waist as he grabs you there, hold you in place will his hips rut into you. Picking up a near brutal rhythm, obscene sounds of your slick being pushed in and out and in out of your hole as he jackhammers into your g-spot, the bedframe rattling as John's thrusts pound it into the wall - leaving you a gasping and moaning mess. His belt clinks with his thrusts and you cling onto him, sharp whines escaping your throat.

"John John John", his name leaves your mouth like a mantra, sharp and high-pitched. His head falls forward, dark locks brushing over your cheek as his temple rests against yours and then you hear it.

John moans.

It's a deep, carnal sound. Your stomach flutters and lust shoots through your body at the noise, your tight cunt squeezing his thick cock as you squirt around his cock like a broken fucking hose, wetting his pubic hair. You can feel it rubbing along your wet folds, the sensation making you mewl, leaves your hips shuddering.

"Shit", you breathe, hands cradling his muscular back and then you can feel his dick twitching inside of you, accompanied by yet another one of his sweet, sweet moans, "Fuck, John--"

He raises his head and your gazes connect, before he leans in, presses his lips onto yours once more. The kiss is surprisingly soft and in stark contrast to the way he ruts and pounds into you and then he hits the spot once more and -

Everything goes white as your muscles clench and unclench suddenly, as you nearly scream against his lips; your hole practically milking his cock as you cum, pussy gushing and squirting around him like a broken hose.

John continues to fuck you through your orgasm and his heavy breathing reaches your ears through the cotton candy, that slowly wraps you in as everything turns light and bright. He moans deeply against your cheek as he comes, too - shoots hot ropes of cum into you and paints your walls with it.

His movements still as he buries himself deep into you, cock twitching with each thick rope of his cum and you can feel him fill you up, as his massive frame slowly sinks down onto you.

Your legs grow heavy and the stretch of your left leg is turning painful and you - a little clumsily - pull it away from his shoulder, stretch it out. Your limbs start to shake and you close your eyes, drawing in deep breaths through your nose.

The room is silent, the air heavy with the musky scent of sex.

Your chest still heaves with the remains of your orgasm, bliss still spreading in your brain and your veins, making you feel like you are flying. Your heart is still racing, as you feel him moving again.

Blinking up at him, you can see him grabbing the gun.

"Don't", you say softly, voice coarse from screaming your lungs out in pleasure just moments ago, "Please, don't." You are not ready to scream yet again. Not ready to scream in pain, instead of pleasure.

John does not reply. He pulls the hammer back, checks the chamber - all with one hand.

"Kill him instead, please."

He freezes, eyes locking with yours. "Who?", he sounds just as exhausted as you. The wolf, tired out. The deer, bleeding, limping.

Call it Post Nut Clarity, call it Finally Taking Your Future In Your Own Hands, call it Emancipating Yourself. Call it Having Wrapped A Deadly Assassin Around Your Pinky.

You were not safer here. You never were. Just more isolated. Easier to locate.

Easier to kill.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head, your vision swimming.

See? I will not die today.

"My father. Kill him."

547 notes · View notes

paleepeaches · 21 days

Text

Scent

Miguel O’Hara X f!reader

Summary: It was an intoxicating scent. And he knew it was yours. (In which Miguel goes feral when you ovulate)

Word count: 4k+

Warnings: Language. Obvs. S m u t. Obvs. Oral, f receiving. P in V (no protection), cum eating. Cheesy probs. Reader says Miguel’s name a lot lmfao not beta read.

Minors DNI.

Honestly, I don’t know how any of this stuff works. This is some bullshit and none of it makes sense. Enjoy.

Keep reading

27K notes · View notes

paleepeaches · 21 days

Text

Sudsy Confessions - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: As the end of the school year continues to creep up on all of the seventh-year students, Sebastian has thought about what’s to come after graduation shamefully little. He’s equal parts annoyed and worried that he doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life, and he’s even more frustrated that he’s running out of time to tell you how he really feels about you. When a chance opportunity finally presents itself, Sebastian seizes the moment, even if the setting is a little… unorthodox.

Alternatively summarized as Sebastian confessing his long-harbored love for you while you’re naked in a bathtub.

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit sexual content, love confessions, bathtub sex

Full fic can also be found here on Ao3 with more diverse tags :))

It was rare for Sebastian to get so bent out of shape over Quidditch. Especially since it had been an unofficial scrimmage between him and a handful of friends– which he had still won, mind— but it was the topic of discussion that had transpired after the actual event in The Three Broomsticks that had gotten him all hot and bothered, and there was no way around the truth of the matter.

Garreth had brought up graduation.

It was a topic that Sebastian had done his best to steer clear of since he had yet to formulate a plan for himself after Hogwarts. Apparently Weasley would be starting an apprenticeship with J. Pippins at his shop in Hogsmeade, which had warranted a few hesitant congratulations from the rest of his motley group. It was obvious that Leander and Imelda assumed the same thing Sebastian did; that Garreth would probably blow up the shop soon after starting.

Then there was Imelda. Headstrong, resilient, and determined to prove herself. She fully intended on trying out for the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team after graduation and refused to believe she would do anything but succeed. There was no reason to doubt her at all– she’d always been masterful on her broom and had set new records left and right since Professor Black had reinstated Quidditch again. Sebastian only hoped that he was well out of sight in the event things didn’t go the way Imelda wanted them to.

Leander had taken a bit of a sharp turn somewhere between the start of school and the present moment and apparently wanted to apply to work at the Ministry. Specifically, he’d been talking about joining the Council of Magical Law– evidently finding the power that would come with such a position all too appealing. Sebastian couldn’t help but think it was rather on brand for the Gryffindor to think as much, but his encouragement had been lukewarm all the same.

Though he hadn’t joined them at The Three Broomsticks, it was already known that Ominis was also thinking about working for the Ministry, but with a different motive. He wanted to get more closely involved with the Muggle Liaison Office for reasons that continued to escape Sebastian. Whether it was to learn more about their differences to wizard-kind or to spite his family further, Sebastian didn’t know, but he was frankly inclined to believe the latter.

Then there was you. The enigma, the mystery– the great unknown that had turned his entire world upside down from the moment you’d walked through the Great Hall doors two years ago. He had no clue what your plans were after graduation, and not knowing was slowly eating him alive. It had less to do with being kept out of the loop and more to do with his unspoken feelings for you– feelings that he had been keeping to himself for years now in a bid to keep his friendship with you unmarred. After your tumultuous fifth-year, it had understandably taken some time for the two of you to get back to any semblance of normalcy, and now that graduation was approaching, he couldn’t help but feel like time was slipping through his fingers.

Sebastian’s previously upbeat demeanor had darkened considerably after that conversation, leading him to bail entirely on drinks at the pub in favor of returning to Hogwarts to wallow in self-pity.

He’d moved in absolute silence following his return, a metaphorical rain cloud looming over his head as he’d gone to his dorm to grab his toiletries and a change of clothes before setting off for the Prefect’s bathroom. Friday nights were notoriously quiet now that everyone’s N.E.W.T’s had been completed, and Sebastian relished in the solitude that he always found in the spacious washroom. Sneaking in and using it was well worth the risk if it spared him from more idle conversations with his fellow classmates.

It wasn’t unusual for the door to be locked– due in large part to the fact that it always was– so he undid the latch with his wand and shouldered the door open, barreling into the humid space with the grace of a hurricane. He tossed his items down on the countertop beside the sink and ripped his toothbrush out of his bag, shoving it in-between his lips as he turned the faucet on and rifled around for his bath soaps. Disappointment clouded his mind as his thoughts wandered back to you and the unknown future. It wouldn’t take much more than courage and a slim chance for Sebastian to get his feelings for you off his chest, but his fear of rejection kept him rooted in place. He was certain that at this point, it always would.

“Keep running the water like that and you’ll drain the entire lake,” a familiar voice said from somewhere behind him. Sebastian damn near choked himself with his toothbrush as he whirled around to face the culprit, and then he found himself on the verge of fainting when he realized it was you.

You were lounging in the massive tub with a smile on your face, not at all bothered by Sebastian’s sudden intrusion. Your hair was pinned up off of your bare shoulders in a messy heap, and the brunet stood no chance at concealing his blatant double take when he caught sight of your wet skin. The bulk of your naked body was covered by the scant spread of bubbles, but the tantalizing view of your collarbones had a flush rapidly spreading across his cheeks.

“I– shit– I’m so sorry, I didn’t think anyone was in here,” Sebastian frantically mumbled around his mouthful of toothbrush. Dammit, he sounded like a fool. He ripped the thin stick from his mouth and spun back around to shut off the faucet and hastily gather his belongings from the counter.

“You didn’t really knock to find out, but it’s fine. Don’t rush off on my account.”

Your nonchalant tone made him pause, and he hesitantly lifted his head to stare at your reflection in the mirror. True to your words, you seemed wholly unbothered by his presence, simply continuing to bask in the warmth of the water as the steam wafted up into your face.

There wasn’t a chance in hell he could have anticipated something like this happening.

Almost reluctantly, Sebastian dropped his towel back onto the countertop, instead picking up the paste for his toothbrush before setting to work brushing his teeth. He watched through the mirror as you raked your wet fingers through the free strands of hair that had fallen in front of your face, and the sound of the disturbed water dripping down your arms echoed through the space. “Did you win your scrimmage?” Your eyes never wavered from his in the reflection, and he nodded. “Go out for drinks afterwards?” Another nod, switching to brush the other side of his mouth. “Ominis and Garreth?” Sebastian shook his head. “What, Garreth and Leander?”

He mumbled around a mouthful of foam, “An’ Imelda.”

Your expression pinched into one of confusion as you mused, “I thought you didn’t like drinking with Leander.” Sebastian only shrugged in vague response before bending forward to spit and rinse, trying incredibly hard to not think about how very naked and wet you were presently. He was unsuccessful.

For a brief moment, Sebastian debated on changing into his pajamas and leaving despite having come to bathe, but something possessed him to turn around and contemplate you after he turned off the faucet. The easy smile on your face and your half hooded eyes almost knocked him out, and he swallowed thickly.

What was it he had thought to himself just moments earlier? Courage and a slim chance? Was this not exactly that?

“Hey,” he muttered softly, his voice almost a whisper. “What are your plans after graduation?”

You tilted your head to the side in visible confusion, a strand of hair falling in front of your eyes seductively from the movement. He tried not to stare too hard. “Plans?”

“What will you do once it’s time to leave? You haven’t said anything to me about it– or Ominis,” he added quickly. “We were talking about it in Hogsmeade earlier, so I was just wondering.”

You seemed to ponder his question for a minute, your wandering hands coming to a sudden halt in the mass of bubbles. Truthfully, you hadn’t brought it up to either of the Slytherin men because you hadn’t come to a final decision yet, but it made sense that with the completion of your N.E.W.T’s, people would begin planning their post-Hogwarts lives. The thought made you equal parts sad and nervous.

“I thought about getting a job at first… to make a name for myself and save money, you know? But honestly, I think I might travel. I’ve explored virtually all of the Highlands for ancient magic sites and I think I’ve hit a dead end. I want to learn more about Isidora’s magic– the power from the Repository is still as much of an unknown now as it was two years ago. It’s just collecting dust inside of me at this point.”

Sebastian gave you a nonplussed blink and did his damndest not to sound paranoid when he responded. “Travel? Where exactly were you thinking?”

You shrugged and averted your gaze to the bubbles in front of you. Of course Sebastian would be displeased to discover that yet another person from his life would be departing it so soon. It was part of the reason you’d been keeping your intentions to yourself for so long. Nonetheless, you answered softly, “Maybe to Scotland. Isidora’s notes mentioned that she originally hailed from there–”

“Scotland?” Sebastian’s frantic voice cut you off, and he found his legs carrying him to the edge of the bathtub to kneel there and bore holes in the top of your head from across the water. “You would go that far to chase after a maybe? You don’t know for certain if looking out there will even bring you any new information– it sounds incredibly reckless.”

You fixed him with a hard, telling look. “That’s rich, coming from you. Who was it that refused to let up in his search for a cure for all of fifth-year?”

His brows slammed down atop his narrowed eyes, “That was different.”

“How is it any different?” You sounded exasperated, and he sighed indignantly. “You wanted answers, and you never stopped looking for them. You had nothing to go off of, much like myself presently, and you were willing to do anything if it meant saving Anne. I want to use this power for something good, Sebastian. I can’t do that if I don’t know how it works. Leaving is the only plausible outcome for me.”

“It would be that easy for you, then? To leave and disappear for who knows how long searching for who knows what? Would you have even told me if I hadn’t asked just now?”

It would be that easy for you to leave me, is what he really wasn’t saying.

You shook your head at him, completely bewildered that he was so affected by your revelation. “Eventually, yes, I would have. I don’t understand– why do you care so much? You of all people should know I would keep in touch; I’ll send owls every week, keep you updated on where I am and what happens. Going our separate ways was practically always in the cards, Sebastian.”

Some tiny, annoying part of him had always known that. Living at Hogwarts was a blissful reprieve from the real world, offering himself and other students a sanctuary from the concerns and problems of adult life. Hearing you voice your thoughts was a completely different thing, however, and Sebastian was woefully unprepared for the dawning realization that he wouldn’t be able to see you anymore.

He silently cursed himself for having taken this fucking long to accept how empty he would feel without you beside him.

“Sebastian,” you whispered from across the tub, and his eyes slid shut at the sound of your gentle voice. It hurt too much to fathom not getting to hear it again, or not being able to see you and crack stupid jokes with you in the middle of Potion’s class. He wouldn’t get to duel other students with you in Crossed Wands, or go to Hogsmeade to drink Butterbeers and stop by the lake on your walks back to skip rocks. All of it would end, and he would be alone.

Again.

“Sebastian,” you said again, and the closer proximity of your voice had him cracking his eyes open. You were directly in front of him now, evidently having left your spot on the other side of the bath to siddle directly up to the ledge in front of him. Your wide eyes gazed imploringly up at him, and your grip on the edge of the tub was white-knuckled. “Why do you care so much?”

“How could I not care?” He forced the words out while he still had the courage, seemingly gazing into the depths of your very soul as he stared down at you. His words had your eyes widening further as a flush crept up your neck onto your cheeks, and before you got the chance to say anything, Sebastian was leaning down to capture your lips in a desperate kiss.

A surprised squeak weaseled its way from your throat as he lifted his hands to cradle your head cautiously, and you weakly curled your fingers around his wrists as he dipped lower to accommodate for the awkward angle. Sebastian kissed you hungrily and passionately– in the way he had dreamed of doing for years. He licked along your lower lip and bit gently at it, pulling a gasp from your parted lips before one of your hands came to rest on his bent knee, leaving a wet handprint behind in its wake.

After a few heated moments, Sebastian broke away to look at you through his lashes, more surprised than anything to discover that your face was an open book; a mixture of shock and hesitance was etched into your features while something much hotter burned in your eyes, making his head fucking spin.

“Sebastian, I– ah…”

He let you go and sat back on his heels then, crossing his arms over his knees and resting his chin on his forearms as he peered at you nervously. There were a thousand different things Sebastian wanted to blurt out, but he settled for staying quiet as he waited for you to say something– anything.

You gaped up at him for a moment, blinking slowly as the flush across your cheeks darkened considerably. “How long?”

He shrugged timidly before he said, “Ages. Since fifth-year, if I’m being honest.”

“You didn’t… say anything?” His curly brown locs brushed across his forehead as he shook his head. “Why?”

“After everything that happened in the Catacombs, I was terrified of fucking things up again. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship– I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. So I just… kept my feelings to myself. But now you’re telling me you would leave– that it was always inevitable things would end this way– and I can’t accept that. I refuse to.”

You didn’t know what to say. Your mind was reeling from Sebastian’s revelation, and your heart was hammering away in your chest so loudly that you were certain he could hear it. Of course you felt the exact same way, but much like Sebastian you’d been worried about ruining things or complicating your already tentative relationship– especially after the events of your fifth-year. But now here he was– on his damn knees confessing to you– and your thoughts of the future vanished completely from your mind.

Biting your lip, you stared up at Sebastian for a moment with wide eyes. One of your hands rose off the edge of the tub to trail your wet fingers across his cheek, and as Sebastian’s freckled face moved away from his arm to swim clearly into view, you stood straight out of the water invitingly and let him wrap his strong arms around your bare waist. As the water beading over your skin soaked through Sebastian’s shirt, his eyes flickered between yours, searching for the hesitance he’d seen there before.

It was nowhere to be found.

When your lips met with his again, the softness had left them, and the two of you kissed one another hard and needily. Sebastian straightened and nipped at your lips, smiling against your mouth as you melted into him, and your breath caught somewhere in your throat when his tongue slipped into your open mouth to tangle with your own. Holding you tighter, Sebastian trailed his hands over your slick skin– traversing up your spine and into your unruly hair to tangle his fingers in the strands at the nape of your neck. He kissed you desperately, moaning softly into your mouth when he felt your hands sweep across his shoulders to fumble with the buttons at the front of his shirt.

You’d made it about halfway down the row of clasps before Sebastian grew impatient, freeing one of his hands to deftly undo the buttons with a practiced finesse that made your mouth water eagerly. He panted along the curve of your jaw as he undressed, biting and sucking at the skin of your throat until he was pulling away to shrug the damp material off of his shoulders. His tie was still snug around his neck, clamping the collar of his button-up in place, and he growled as he loosened the thin bit of fabric before yanking it over his head and diving back into the kiss like he’d been starved of your very essence.

Until now the bizarre angle had proved to be a non-issue– but then the pressing matter of his trousers came to light, and you felt as Sebastian blindly palmed at his belt buckle in a bid to undo it. “Need help?” Your coy offer whispered against his lips sent shivers up his spine, but he was too frantic and greedy to give you the chance to assist.

Those toned, capable arms released you so he could stand fully, his lust-dark eyes never wavering from yours as he finally succeeded in unlooping his belt from around his waist. “Just don’t move and keep watching like that– it’s helping me plenty.”

You flashed him a mocking pout but did as he asked, settling back into the water and scanning his body longingly as he stripped down to his briefs. He teasingly ran his thumbs under the waistband of his undergarments and shot you a smug look, all too pleased with the way you licked your lips when he eventually began slipping the attire down the delectable ‘V’ of his hips. The sight of Sebastian biting his lip as his cock sprung free and arched proudly against his toned stomach had you halting your movements, though, and you audibly whimpered before the brunet threw his briefs over his shoulder and descended into the soapy water with you.

In a flash he had you back within reach, his hands coming to cup your rear as he silently prompted you to jump into his arms so he could carry you through the water towards the rim of the massive tub. Your back bumped against the tiles there, and Sebastian took full advantage by pressing himself into you more firmly. The hard, stiff length of him rubbed tantalizingly against your folds, and you sighed contentedly before his mouth was on yours once more.

The two of you languidly kissed for what seemed like forever, and you were more than willing to continue for as long as Sebastian saw fit. When one of the hands he had against your rear began to slip lower into uncharted territory, you smiled against his lips and huffed out an airy laugh. “Eager, are you?”

“Shut up,” Sebastian murmured against your mouth, holding fast to your bottom harder and with greater fervor. “You have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming of this.”

You arched your hips against Sebastian’s and drew in a shaky breath at the sensation of his shaft grazing over a particularly sensitive spot. “Then show me,” you implored.

Growling again, Sebastian wrangled you around until you were kneeling on the ledge with your back to him and your hands braced on the rim of the bathtub. His hands were seemingly everywhere; sliding down your shoulder blades, scratching at the curve of your waist, then ghosting down the backs of your thighs as he nudged your legs apart further. You felt as he leaned forward to press a chaste kiss against the outline of your spine, and there wasn’t a chance in hell you could smother the shudder of delight that coursed through you. Sebastian moved on swiftly, though, and began pressing messy, open-mouthed kisses against your lower back, curling his hands around your hips before you felt him descend closer to your nether region. In your current position, it was just barely peeking above the thin layer of bubbles within the tub, and you heard the water slosh around Sebastian as he dropped to his knees and came face to face with your most intimate parts.

The broad slick of Sebastian’s tongue sliding through your folds pulled a startled gasp from your lips, and your forehead fell against the tile with a soft, stuttered moan. The feeling of him tasting you– achingly and deliberately slow– had you shaking in earnest as you bit your knuckle for a semblance of control. You were struggling against the urge to rock back into his ministrations, eventually settling for reaching between your spread legs with your free hand to rub at your clit for some added reprieve, but then Sebastian slid his palms from your hips to your inner thighs to nudge your hand away.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered to you, and you mewled softly before tucking your hand against your chest and nodding. “Don’t hold back, either. I want to hear you.”

You were on the verge of responding, but the way Sebastian slid his tongue over you again drove whatever words you’d formulated straight out of your head. His hands ghosted along your skin as he lowered himself further, the tops of his shoulders completely submerging beneath the soapy water, and he took care to trail his fingers slowly down the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as he made himself comfortable behind you.

Sebastian laved his tongue over you gently and encouragingly, then experimentally stiffened the muscle before poking it inside of you, leaving you whining and gasping his name. The brunet pushed his tongue in deeper then, moaning in response to the hitch in your voice as he pressed his lips against your folds and fucked the muscle into you slowly.

“Gods, S-Sebastian–”

The man in question sighed and picked up his pace, flicking his tongue into you and dropping messy kisses against you. One of his hands slid up to your clit, brushing two of his fingers over the bundle of nerves with a moan, and when he leaned in hard to fuck his tongue as deep as possible into you, your high, airy whimpers made Sebastian’s head spin.

With one last pump of his tongue, Sebastian pulled away, grinning at the way you twitched in response to his efforts. You heard the water stir and felt the warm, wet weight of the Slytherin drape over your back as he leaned forward to kiss across your shoulder, his hands running soothingly up the sides of your waist.

“Fuck,” Sebastian breathed out, prompting you to turn and look at him over your shoulder. Your half-hooded eyes and parted lips sparked something in him then, and when you reached back to tangle your fingers in his hair, the brunet leaned in to meet you gladly. You moaned into the kiss, drawing a like-minded sound from Sebastian when you ground your hips back against his throbbing member. His thick hands gripped at your waist tightly as he gasped against your mouth, a desire unlike any he’d ever experienced overtaking him in a matter of seconds. The urge to feel you encasing him was overwhelming– enough so that for one brief moment, Sebastian allowed himself to press so hard against you that it stole your breath and smothered your senses.

“Sebastian,” you groaned from beneath him. Your gaze sought him out, but his own eyes were pinched shut as he relished in the ecstasy that fell over him from merely grinding against you. It wasn’t simply the act itself that was doing it for him. It was knowing that he was doing it with you. Everything he had craved for two whole years was finally coming to fruition, and despite wanting to relish in every second of it with you, Sebastian was losing himself to his impulses. You called to him again, “Sebastian, please.”

His chocolate brown eyes cracked open at the sound of your voice coupled with your incessant tugging on his hair, and his shaky sigh told you everything you needed to know; he was incredibly eager.

“S-Sorry,” he stammered out, swallowing thickly in a way that drew your attention to his bobbing adam’s apple. You merely shook your head in silent dismissal, then rocked back against him to spur him into motion. If it was guidance he needed, you were more than happy to provide it. “I don’t know how much longer I can draw this out,” he admitted with a low voice, and as though to punctuate the statement, you felt his fingers dig into the skin of your hips to prevent you from moving against him any further.

“Then don’t,” you insisted needily, yanking lightly on his hair once more to goad him into moving. “I’m ready if you are.”

“If it’s all the same to you,” Sebastian murmured, his voice gravelly and directly against the shell of your ear. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

You shivered in anticipation when you felt one of his hands trail down the swell of your rear to probe at your slick entrance with one of his fingers. His other hand traced soothing circles against lower back, relaxing you further until you had melted against the rim of the tub with your neck craned to the side to watch Sebastian as he worked.

When he sank one of his fingers into you slowly, you let loose a shaky exhale and felt a flush creep up your neck and onto your cheeks, leaving Sebastian biting his lip at the wanton image you made as he pressed the digit knuckle deep. Thrusting slowly, he eventually managed to work a second finger into you, trying not to think too hard about the way you looked spread around him, or the way you moved back against him, or how fucking wet you were.

“Sebastian,” you groaned. His eyes flicked back up to yours, entirely certain that he looked just as fucking needy as you did– especially given the way you shivered and rode back against his hand a little harder. “C-Curl your fingers down a little–” he did so, and was instantly rewarded with a telling jolt from you. “Oh fuck– there–”

The sound of Sebastian moaning to himself was almost lost in the way you were gasping and keening, and he moved his hand from your back to your hip to hold you in place as he followed the same path you’d instructed him to with his fingers. He thrusted a little harder, curling his digits against your sweet spot, and the way you arched your back and spread your thighs as far as you could without slipping while you gasped for Sebastian was fucking intoxicating.

It was too much.

Sebastian pulled his fingers free and reached towards you without a second thought, coiling his arm around your waist as he leaned in to kiss you again. You couldn’t help but whine at the way his cock rubbed against you, and you were near boneless in the brunet’s arms as his lips molded to yours and his tongue delved into your mouth. His strong arm held you fast to him as the other braced against the rim of the tub, holding him steady above you as he kissed you senseless. When he finally broke away to catch his breath, you practically sagged into the water beneath him.

“Merlin, Sebastian…”

“Are you okay?” The Slytherin’s voice was rough when he asked, low and raspy with arousal, and once you gave your enthusiastic approval, Sebastian reached between the two of you to line himself up before pressing into you.

Sebastian’s eyes squeezed shut at how you felt around him; tight, hot, and utterly incredible. He just barely managed to keep his composure as he slowly filled you, and your scarcely stifled gasps and keening whimpers were decidedly not helping him keep his wits about him. Every fiber of Sebastian’s being urged him to ram his cock into you– to fuck your brains out and hear his name spill from your lips in breathless screams. When he finally did sheathe himself all the way inside of you, he melted against your back, holding you tightly and whispering your name against your ear over and over again.

“Fuck, you’re…” you trailed off, subtly shaking against Sebastian’s damp skin. “You’re b-big.”

“Gods, darling,” Sebastian breathed, exhaling roughly into the nape of your neck. “Can I move?”

You gave a stuttered assent, but you were still insanely tight around his cock, so for both your sakes when Sebastian pulled back a little and rolled his hips back in, he did so slowly in a bid to test the waters.

No pun intended.

Your choked moan was more than enough of an answer for him, so he worked to set a slow, deep rhythm, buying himself time to get used to the heat wrapped around his cock. The gentle sigh that emanated from you coupled with the way your back bowed ever so slightly told Sebastian that his restraint was appreciated. But then you were glancing back at him from over your shoulder, and the rosy flush that colored your cheeks combined with your glazed over eyes nullified the majority of his self-control.

Sebastian blindly trusted you to keep steady on your knees as he gripped your hips to thrust into you harder, moving faster and giving gasping moans as you tensed and groaned, squeezing him in the most perfect way. He pulled you back onto his cock, adjusting his hips so he could fuck into your sweet spot, and the way you arched under him and cried out was fucking amazing.

“Oh f-fuck, Sebastian,” you moaned, reaching back to tangle your hand in his damp, brown curls, and Sebastian let you tug him closer so he could mouth along your shoulder, tasting the sweet-smelling bathsoaps as he went. The water splashed around you both, and you swore softly as a small wave of sudsy water sloshed up the side of the tub and sprayed you in your face.

Taking note of your predicament, Sebastian slowed his movements and angled his head so he could murmur directly in your ear, “Do you want to move?”

“We could, but– damn, Sebastian–”

Sebastian didn’t want to fucking move. He did want to see your face, though. He pulled out swiftly, and before you could move to climb out of the water, he grabbed and maneuvered you around so your back was pressed against the side of the tub with your legs bent over his elbows. When he reached back further to grip the rim of the tub on either side of you, he sank back into you with a low moan. Water wasn’t the most spectacular of lubricants as it turned out, but you were naturally slick enough that it was essentially a nonissue.

The expression that spread over your flushed face drove Sebastian a little crazy. He moved hot and slow, pulling back far with every aching thrust before filling you up and making you whimper. It’s exactly what Sebastian had wanted, but the way your eyes rolled shut just made him want to fuck you harder, water splashing in your face be damned.

He leaned in close and nipped at your swollen lips, still rolling his hips maddeningly slow. “I want to fuck you so hard,” he managed, voice shaking. “I want to hear you scream my name. I want to see you fall over the edge so hard that you pass out in my arms.” He snapped his hips, just enough to make you cry out. “I’ll fuck you just like that. I’ll make the Prefects come running from how loud you are. I hope you don’t have plans this weekend, because you’re mine until the bell tolls on Monday.”

You whimpered and shivered under Sebastian, sucking in sharp breaths with every slow thrust, and when you rode your hips back into the brunet, he couldn’t help but let his head hang between his shoulders, his dark eyes sliding shut. The way you were sucking him in deeper was mind-blowing, the water flowing in waves around the two of you, until a burning, tightening sensation took root in your gut and made you grit your teeth together in anticipation.

“S-Sebastian, fuck,” he thrust harder in response, grinding his hips into you and causing your back to arch with a gasping cry. “Sebastian, I’m– I’m going to–”

“Do it,” he gasped, leaning in to kiss you quickly and messily. “Let me see how you come for me.”

Your nails dug into his shoulder before you pulled one hand away to begin frantically rubbing circles over your swollen clit. You rocked your hips back into his and worked yourself closer to your finish with a low moan, keeping your movements in time with his thrusts. The way you licked your lips and the way you watched Sebastian with a dark, fucked-out gaze made him whimper. You were so intense– your lips parting on gasping moans of Sebastian’s name– and it took a surprising amount of self-control for him to not just fucking blow it right then. Instead, he bent you back just a little further, just enough to see that needy expression fall back over your face as he fucked you just that little bit harder.

Your moans grew higher, louder, breathier, until you were crying out and shaking in Sebastian’s arms. “S-Seb– fuck– I’m coming, I’m coming–”

Your spine rounded and your eyes squeezed shut as you clamped down tight on Sebastian’s cock, a guttural whine ripping from your heaving chest as your climax washed over you. The dexterous movements from your fingers took you higher than you thought possible, and the way you barely managed to choke out Sebastian’s name was enough to send the Slytherin over the edge.

He pressed himself against you and buried his cock deep, fucking you through your finish with short, fast thrusts while he moaned your name against your throat, his hands moving to grip your sides tight with trembling fingers. “Fuck, darling, fuck–”

Blearily, you moved your arm and wrapped it around Sebastian’s neck as he came, who was shaking and babbling far too loud for it to be muffled against your slick skin. You buried your face into his tangled hair, jolting slightly from every miniscule movement of his twitching member inside of you. When the bulk of his post-coital high had subsided, he began wetly mouthing up your neck and along your jaw before sweetly peppering kisses over your cheek. The demonstration brought a breathless grin to your face, and your hands found their way to the hair at the back of his neck before you wound your fingers through the strands.

“Merlin’s bloody balls,” Sebastian gritted out, sliding his arms out from under your knees to hold them fast to his waist. You followed his lead easily and wrapped your legs around his hips, sitting up to kiss him contentedly as your palms skimmed along his freckled back. He smiled against your lips and murmured, “We should probably get out. I can feel how pruney your fingers are.”

“Mm,” you hummed softly, pulling back from the kiss to hold one of your hands up to see how wrinkled your skin had become in the throes of passion. “You’re not wrong. But it would be counterproductive to not wash off all the sweat, wouldn’t it?”

Sebastian gave you a nonplussed blink before smiling brightly at you in agreement. Almost reluctantly, he slid free from your welcoming heat and deposited you on the shallow stone ledge, then hoisted himself out of the bath to pad over to his toiletry bag. After grabbing all the necessities and jumping back into the steaming water, the two of you took your time cleansing one another, lingering touches and thoughtful kisses being exchanged throughout the process. Eventually Sebatian found himself sitting with his back to the rim of the tub, your smaller figure situated comfortably between his legs as he scooped water into his hands and let it run over your shoulders. If your slouched posture was anything to go by, you were incredibly relaxed, and Sebastian realized dimly that he was too. To be with you in this way was everything he could ever want and more, and he didn’t want it to end. Not by a longshot.

“Let me come with you after graduation,” he said suddenly, his voice a mere whisper from behind you.

Your eyes fluttered open as you processed his request, the bathroom utterly silent except for the distant dripping of water from the faucet, and before long you were turning around to face him with your hands braced on his legs. “What?”

“Let me come with you,” he said again, conviction burning in his dark eyes. “To Scotland. I want to do whatever I can to help you. Please don’t leave me behind.”

All you could do was blink for a moment before opening and closing your mouth in surprise. Sebastian’s unwavering gaze only prolonged the formation of words, until eventually you furrowed your brow and uncertainty took root. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him with you– far from it, in fact. The events that had transpired just minutes earlier had only proven that your close relationship was something to treasure for as long as possible, and you were more than ready to do exactly that. You just didn’t want him to throw his own ambitions to the side simply because you planned to travel. “What about what you want to do? Don’t you have your own plans? I thought Professor Weasley talked to you about–”

“I never made a decision,” he stated firmly and with a shake of his head. “The Professor had her own ideas about what I would excel at, but I never agreed or wanted to pursue any of her suggestions. I honestly felt like I was in limbo until now. My point is, what I want is to stay with you. I want to help you the same way you helped me with Anne, and I really, really don’t want to end up sitting alone in some office in London waiting for your owls to reach me. There’s always something missing when you’re not with me.”

To say you were an emotional mess would be a monumental understatement. Sebastian’s words struck something deep within you, something sentimental and desperate to come to the surface. He evidently saw your tears before you felt them, because he was instantly sitting forward to cup your cheeks in his wet hands before wiping them away with his thumbs. The concern on his face was apparent, but you were already smiling reassuringly at him before he could verbally ask if you were alright. “You really know how to confess to a girl, huh?”

He let loose an airy, relieved laugh that drifted over your nose and chilled your damp cheeks, and you wrapped your fingers around his wrists as he smiled anxiously at you. “I had a long time to practice. Is that a yes, then?”

“Yes, you can come with me. I would love it if you did,” you said, and the giddy excitement that radiated from the man was the most palpable thing in the room at that moment. “Two heads might be better than one, after all.”

Sebastian was on you in an instant. He coiled around you like a baby mooncalf and smiled so brightly that it easily rivaled the intensity of the sun. Water splashed everywhere as he spun you effortlessly within the bath, your capricious laughter reverberating off the walls of the spacious room as elation flooded your system. Being encased in his warm embrace was all the confirmation you needed that you had made the right choice. In turn, knowing that his future was all the clearer brought a sense of peace and belonging to Sebastian that he would hold on to for as long as he was able.

It just so happened that presently, he was holding on to you.

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