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hollowdeath · 4 months

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professor potter

pairing: harry james potter x fem!reader AU (18+)

summary: 2 years after the war, harry accepted a position as a substitute professor at hogwarts and recognized you from his years as a student. old feelings come to the surface as you both try to remain professional to keep his position safe.

content warning: slight teacher/student dynamic (they used to be classmates, reader is 18+), mostly slow burn & angst. smut mostly doesn't happen til the end (masturbation, penetration)

word count: 12.5k

a/n: wrote this for fun between working on requests! thank you to everyone who sends them in, they're so good and i'm excited to post more soon! just another fluffy, angsty harry fic taking place in school w a hint of smut...kinda similar to my last one but thats ok ! as always not exactly book/movie/canon accurate i apologize !

it's your first day of your last year at hogwarts, and you're probably the only student here that's not completely thrilled to be back. young witches and wizards running around you in the halls with their robes dragging on the ground, completely in awe with each other at the architecture and moving portraits.

you have to admit, if hogwarts does anything right, it's the ambience. probably the only thing you'll miss after leaving this year is the magic castle itself, particularly the library and your dorm room, which have been your sanctuaries for the past 7 years. there's just no place in the world, even the wizarding world, you've found, that quite compares to hogwarts.

but no, unfortunately, not even the grandiose castle of every young wizard's dream was enough to make you want to stay here even a day longer than you had to. and trust, you were counting down the days.

there was a lot that went into your disdain for the school. after the war in your 5th year, nothing had been the same. sure, the building was restored to its original form and even had some upgrades installed, but the energy within the walls felt so…unsettling.

it had been more than 2 and half years since then, and most students who remember the war well had either graduated or moved on from it. you, however, continued to feel the effects of it every day.

you've had a lot of personal struggles since then mentally, which affects your social life. you've overheard your friends talking about how they don't feel like you're the same person and you inevitably bring them down. it wasn't long after that they stopped talking to you completely. you didn't bother to rekindle the connection; you were ready to leave this place behind anyways, what was the point in faking a friendship for another year?

even without all that, you truly just hated your classes. you actually used to be a scholar student in your day, consistently making the top of the headmaster's list every year until the war. and you still loved headmaster mcgonagall, of course, you don't think that'd ever change, it was mainly the other professors that gave you a hard time. once you showed signs of struggling and burn out, it was like they just completely gave up on you and moved on to the next eager, bright-eyed bushy-tailed 1st year to dote on.

no matter, because again, you were ready to leave for a variety of reasons. even if you had loved your professors and graduated at the top of the class, you still had no friends to celebrate with. and even if you had those so-called "friends" back in your life, you still felt completely alone with them.

and so you laid in bed, the same bed you've had for 7 years now, retracting the ornate trim on the ceiling like you have a million nights before.

you decided to look back at your schedule once more, floating the paper out of its folder in your bag and towards your open hand. you read through it slowly, but nothing had changed. pretty much the worst line up of classes you've had so far. particularly your least anticipated course, defense against the dark arts.

at this point, you'd had more than enough when it came to the dark arts. those death eaters nearly killed you in that war, and actually did manage to kill too many of your classmates and teachers in the process. you saw your second home crumble in front of you, classrooms you grew up in completely leveled and the bridge burned to the ground, so much death and destruction over nothing but power. you resented the dark magic in this world.

sighing, you set the paper down on your bedside table and roll over, attempting to fall asleep. you have plenty of early classes this year and don't look forward to having to wake up with the sun to make it to them on time.

you're wasting time in the bathroom just before your defense against the dark arts, your last class of the day, when your peace is interrupted by a group of girls who come in giggling and talking rapidly amongst each other. from inside your stall you can't help but tune into their gossip. it's the only thing you could hear and, who cares, you could use some good drama.

you tried to dissect their conversation but they were constantly talking over each other, squealing, giggling, and you couldn't understand a thing. after a few moments of craning your neck towards the door to get a better listen, one girl's voice stood out amongst the rest as she asked, "okay, but, who's going to try and flirt with potter first?" her question was followed by many desperate "me!" "me!" "me!"s, a wave of giggling following.

potter. there's no way…

the bells begin ringing, signaling your next class is starting soon, and the girls go rushing out of the bathroom together. you slowly open the stall door and walk to the closest mirror. pale, like you've seen a ghost.

they couldn't possibly be talking about harry potter, right?

just his name had become plenty famous in its own right. the boy who lived; the boy who lived twice. you hadn't heard his name mentioned in a long time, though that's not hard when you've hardly interacted with anyone here in a long time.

you remembered harry from your years before the war that you had shared with him. he was 2 years ahead of you, so it wasn't often you had the chance to speak with him, but he was pretty much as legendary as one student could be at hogwarts. however, whenever you did manage to have a conversation with him, you always thought he was cute. really cute.

okay, so maybe you had a ginormous crush on him your entire time at hogwarts. but so did pretty much every other girl. but you didn't just think he was cute, you admired his gentle nature and timid personality. despite his heroic and outright dangerous adventures, he was always so kind, so humble…

the bells begin ringing again, meaning you're now late to class. "shit." you mutter, grabbing your bag and stumbling through the bathroom door.

you're jogging to your dark arts class with a racing mind, still wondering why those girls would mention potter's name so randomly.

you turn the corner and see the classroom door is already closed. "shit." you mutter again, stomping your foot. now you have to open the heavy doors and draw everyone's attention towards you, quite literally the last thing in the world you want right now.

sighing, you push open one of the doors, making the loudest noises you've ever heard echo throughout the silent classroom. you walk in and, as expected, all eyes are on you.

you grit your teeth and close the door behind you, making your way towards an empty seat in the middle of the room. the silence lingers as your footsteps hit the ground, trying your best not to make eye contact with anyone. you hear a few snickers and whispers coming from behind, and you can already tell it's your old friend group. you roll your eyes, sighing as you drop your weight into the creaky wooden seat.

you hadn't realized, but headmaster mcgonagall was at the front of the room. you noticed once she continued talking, looking up to see her smiling at you. you returned it. you love how she's always liked you despite your grades slipping lately.

you quickly look back down at your hands as people begin to turn away from you, drawing their attention back to mcgonagall as she continues to introduce the class.

"like i was saying, class, we apologize for the change this semester and hope you'll be understanding of us as we navigate this situation carefully. i suspect you'll all be respectful and courteous to our guest as he donates his time to hogwarts and to you, our students."

you look back up, a confused look on your face. what change? what situation? what guest?

it didn't take you long to connect the dots. it's like everything was in slow motion. the girls talking in the bathroom, the guest, the reason all the front rows of seats in class were completely filled with girls…

"please, class, welcome hogwarts' very own, mr. harry james potter."

all at once, your eyes landed on harry, who had been sitting to the side, obscured from your vision by several girls and a pillar. as he walks towards mcgonagall, eager applause erupt from the girls and the boys offer mediocre claps. you're too stunned to react, watching harry intently as he shakes mcgonagall's hand with that same timid smile.

you can hardly believe your eyes. what is going on? why is he here? and how the hell does he look even better now than he did 2 years ago?

"thank you, headmaster mcgonagall," harry says shyly, turning to the students. his eyes immediately fall on you. you try to convince yourself he's looking just in front of you or even past you, but you can feel his stare into your eyes. its the only thing that breaks you out of your shock.

you blink a few times and slump into your seat, feeling your blood run cold at harry's eye contact. he looks down at the desk he's standing at and shuffles a few papers. you sink even lower into your chair. this can't be good.

"uh, well, hello…everyone," harry says awkwardly, earning some flirtatious giggles from the girls just ahead of you. "it's a pleasure to be here, really, despite the circumstances. uh, i'm sure as some of you know…i've been very close with the weasley family for years and feel devastated for bill– uh, professor weasley, that is," harry corrects himself nervously, clearing his throat and glancing at his papers again.

"and when he reached out to me personally, specifically me out of anyone, to teach in his place for this semester, i couldn't say no to him. so, while it's a real honor to be here with you all, please know it's just for this semester and then professor weasley will be back to continue with the lesson plan in the spring," harry explains, looking around the room yet always letting his eyes land on you specifically with a lingering gaze.

harry goes into the schedule for the semester, the skills you'll be learning, and, well, you can't really focus on what else because you're just completely lost in your own head.

harry potter, the harry potter, is your professor for an entire semester.

you were completely dumbfounded. he couldn't hardly be older than 20 years old at this point. he had only left hogwarts just 2 years prior, yet he looked so different. though the glasses and hair stayed relatively the same, he had matured in the face. a slight beard, defined smile lines, and he'd definitely spent some time in the gym…

seeing him in a button up with his old gryffindor tie on drove you mad. is he really getting you worked up in the middle of class by just standing there? you feel like you're 14 again, staring him down in the courtyard from behind a tree.

it doesn't help that you swear he keeps looking at you. specifically you. his gaze is unmistakable at this point, it can't be a coincidence.

you try to stop yourself from having these thoughts and physical reactions. if he's going to be your professor for an entire semester you have to get over this silly crush that was never going to work out anyway. though you're soon turning 19, it makes no difference if he's working with the school, it would never be allowed…

what are you even saying? as if anything would ever happen except in your dreams. all you're going to do is lust for him until christmas and then he'll be gone again, his name nothing but a spoken legend again.

before you can process all he's said, harry announces that everyone's free to leave once you grab a textbook from him. girls are immediately standing up and running to get in line, and the boys are rolling their eyes as they sluggishly follow behind.

you're inevitably the last one, getting a headache as you listen to girls try to ask harry all kinds of questions for a bit of his attention. he mostly just gives simple answers or laughs them off, referring back to the class or the textbook he was handing them in some way to change the subject.

mcgonagall eventually shoos the girls away, which harry thanks her for in a low tone. he hands a book to each of the boys in front of you before it comes down to you. as the boy in front of you is being escorted away by mcgonagall, you briefly catch harry putting the library card of your book inside the front cover before he closes it.

your eyes connect as he hands the book to you, but he doesn't let go. your heart instantly flutters.

"it's nice to see you again, [y/n]," he says softly, letting the weight of the book fall in your hands.

the way he says your name has you frozen in place. his pretty blue eyes have stayed just as mesmerizing. it takes a moment before you're able to wrap the book in your arms, offering him a friendly smile as you softly reply, "you too, harry…"

you're quickly making your way back to your room with the biggest, cheesiest smile plastered on your face. he remembered you. you had barely ever interacted with harry, only a handful of times as far as you could remember, and you were sure he had completely forgotten about you, or at least forgotten your name. you tried to chalk it up to him having access to the attendance records of the class and reading over your name, but you still felt like a giddy school girl skipping along day dreaming about her crush.

when you got back to your dorm, you set the class textbook down on your desk and went to turn around before looking back at it longingly. harry had just put the library card back in the book before handing it off to you. you were most likely crazy, but something inside you was insanely curious to see if he had done something to the card.

you slowly opened the book and took the card out, a blank piece of cardstock except for a fresh label printed at the top. you sigh, almost putting it back before seeing something on the card catch the shimmer of the light.

you give the card a curious look. you turn it in your hands towards the light, trying to see what's on it. before giving up in frustration, a thought comes into your brain.

no…

you dig into your luggage, still unpacked from the day prior, looking for your old ink and quill. once you find them you come back to the card, setting it on your desk as you open the ink pot. you dip your quill in the ink and touch it to the spot you noticed earlier.

as you watched, the ink collected into letters and numbers, forming a message across the dotted lines of the check out columns. you were stunned. harry actually wrote to you in disappearing ink? you thought you were delusional thinking it was a possibility, but here was the proof plain as day:

[y/n],

hagrid's, 8:30pm

harry

you kept rereading the lines over and over before they slowly disappeared, fading away into the paper. you stood back in pure disbelief. what does this mean? obviously it means he wants to meet with you, but for the life of you you just can't figure out why. you two barely knew one another personally, it had been two years since you'd seen or heard of each other again, and now he's secretly inviting you to hagrid's after hours using disappearing ink? as your substitute professor, too…

from 5-8 pm you mainly paced around your room in both lingering disbelief and unbridled excitement. though you had no idea why harry had invited you out in secret, you were anxious just to be in his presence at his request.

you spent forever deciding on your outfit, feeling a bit silly for putting so much effort into this suspicious rendezvous that you were still clueless about.

sneaking out had become somewhat natural to you over the years. you knew all the blind spots of the castle and could hear a prefect coming from a mile away. you were out of your room and walking down to hagrid's completely unnoticed in less than 10 minutes.

on your way down the hill, your mind is racing with possibilities of what this meeting could entail.

arriving at hagrid's hut, you admire the warm glow of the windows and intoxicating smell coming from the smoking chimney – a mix of wood and garlic. hagrid's pumpkins are just beginning to plump up, his yard scattered with overgrown vines.

as you walk up to the door, a wave of anxiety hits you. knocking seems like the most impossible task in the world all of a sudden.

you steady your breathing, let your heart rate slow, and knock before you have the chance to stop yourself.

a few seconds of some rustling can be heard behind the door before it swings open. harry greets you with a warm smile. no longer dressed for class, harry looks quite adorable in a comfy sweater and baggy jeans standing before you in the hut.

"[y/n], you got my message," he says, clearly impressed. you couldn't believe this was real. he really did leave you that note on purpose. just hearing him acknowledge it made your heart race all over again.

"i-i did," you say in shock, searching his expression for an answer to all your questions. why are you here?

harry gestures for you to come in. "well, join me, please," he insists. you politely smile and enter the hut, the smell of food making your mouth water immediately. "smells amazing in here," you comment under your breath.

harry closes the door, looking back at you with a shy smile. "oh, thank you. it's for us, actually." he tells you, nodding his head towards the dining table.

completely set up with a tablecloth, harry has food plated for the two of you on the tiny table, along with tea still steaming on the stove.

"if you don't mind, of course," he checks with you, his voice soft and unsure. you look back at harry, barely able to grasp what's happening before you reply, "of course,"

he suppresses a grin as he gestures to the table once more. "please," he prompts you. you hand him your bag and jacket before taking your seat at the table, admiring the food he prepared for you. you're still lost in thought when harry asks, "tea?" holding the kettle from the stove.

"please, thank you," you reply. he pours you both cups of tea before bringing them to the table with a smile on his face.

as you're eating you notice a record playing in the corner you hadn't heard earlier. it fills the space nicely as you both take your first bites of dinner. "hope you like it, i wasn't sure what to make," he says nervously.

wiping your lips with a napkin, you simply tell him, "it's lovely,"

after another moment or so, harry sits back in his chair. "so…[y/n]..." he sighs. hearing him say your name like that makes your brain fuzzy for just a second before he speaks again. "you're probably, um, wondering why…"

you stifle a laugh at his stalling, getting a hint of confidence as you interrupt him. "wondering why professor potter secretly invited me to have a home cooked dinner with him?"

harry goes still, his eyes searching your expression as a blush grows over his cheeks. he swallows nervously, blinking and shaking his head before attempting to respond. "u-um, yeah, that,"

smirking, enjoying his nerves, you wait for his explanation with your arms crossed and a raised brow. he clears his throat and diverts his eyes from your gaze. he takes a sip of tea before smacking his lips and looking back at you.

"i just, i haven't seen you…" he starts, eyes softening at you. "i-i know we didn't talk much, but…i always cared for you." the last part was hard for harry to get out, a weight lifting off his shoulders in the process.

you were blushing, but more than that you were sweating. this is like something you would dream about as a kid. hell, even just earlier today…

"when i saw you today…in class…" he seemed uncomfortable referencing that. "i just…a lot of memories came back to me," his hands move with him nervously as he speaks.

he sighs and stands up, his body language clearly stressed. you haven't said a word, you simply can't. what could you possibly say?

harry's facing the fireplace, his head in his hands. "look, i just, now that i'm your professor this semester i just think…" he takes a moment to find the words before turning to you. "i had a crush on you. okay? there. god damn it," harry huffs angrily, rolling his head back as he throws his hands down.

"i had a crush on you for like 3 years, it was stupid, and i don't want it to affect my teaching with you. so…i guess i practically set up a fucking date to tell you this, sent hagrid away for the evening for nothing…" he gestures to the table, sighing in defeat.

you're stunned into silence, to say the least. there aren't words to describe what's going on in your head at this moment.

after a moment harry looks back at you, his gaze softening once again. "[y/n]...please understand i wouldn't be telling you any of this unless i thought there was another way i could deal with it. when i saw you today…it was like i was 16 again," a small smile creeps onto his face before he wipes it away.

"and if i didn't tell you now, it's all i would've thought about when i saw you, so…yeah. there." harry says with a huff, avoiding eye contact with you.

before you can even process what's going on, your body reacts for you. you stand up, walking over to harry, getting his attention off the floor. he looks at you almost with fear in his eyes at how close you are. you sigh shakily before speaking.

"harry…u-um, professor potter…" you correct yourself. "please, just, harry…for now at least," harry insisted, his eyes apologetic.

"harry…" you say, suppressing a grin. "you don't have to worry. really…um, it was definitely mutual, to put it lightly…"

harry gives you a surprised look. "really?"

you roll your eyes, taking a step away from him and towards the fire, enjoying the warmth. "harry, you forget who you are sometimes. essentially every girl i knew had a crush on you at one point."

harry's a little flustered at this statement, also taking a step closer to the fire, and towards you. "i-i wouldn't say that, i was definitely not that lucky back in the day," he jokes.

"so those girls that were practically all over you during class today…?" you tease him. "'oh, professor potter, what can i do to get a good grade?'" you mock their voices, giving him puppy dog eyes as you lean towards him before laughing and turning towards the fire. "is that not luck?" you ask with your arms crossed, a smirk hiding your slight jealousy.

harry's silent for a few moments before you look over at him. you see his eyes dark and fixated on you for just a second before he blinks and shakes his head at you, also turning to the fire. "please. they're children. they crush on any slightly older guy they see."

you roll your eyes again at his denial. "some of them were my age, well on their way to being 19. but, whatever you say."

the fire crackles in front of you two, filling the space and creating a warm glow. "besides…none of them are you." harry says. you look over at him, and he's lost staring at the fire. he feels you looking at him and quickly corrects himself. "i mean, nobody was like you, at least to me, back then…" he trails off awkwardly, wincing at his own choice of words.

you adore his nervous antics. he's just the same sweet, timid boy you remember, except he's a bit taller with a 5 o'clock shadow and looks gorgeous in the glow of a fireplace right now.

"i've really mucked this night up, haven't i? i was supposed to tell you about the crush calmly and professionally, with no inappropriate comments, and send you on your way into the night with your first reading in the textbook…" harry sighs, giving you a pathetic look.

"well…" you start. "your first mistake was probably leaving me a secret note, and cooking me a wonderful dinner," you gesture towards the table. harry lets out a pathetic laugh, shaking his head. "yeah, probably."

you don't know why you feel the need to, but you instinctively grab for harry's hand. he gives you a surprised, scared look.

you try to reassure him with a soft smile. "harry, i appreciate you telling me. i hope it can make this semester easier for you."

harry smiles in return, but it's not genuine. he looks like he's holding back from letting you know how he really feels.

regardless, he invited you two to finish up your food, laughing as you both attempted to resume casual conversation without the awkward air.

surprisingly, the two of you naturally begin to talk up a storm, reminiscing on memories and catching up on what's happened since then. harry tells you about his career as an auror and his experiences that lead him to being able to teach defense against the dark arts. when professor weasley's wife had died of sudden illness, the only person he wanted to take his place was harry.

you're hesitant to tell him about your lack of eventful news, practically hiding your face in embarrassment as you admit that your grades have been suffering since the war.

harry put a reassuring hand on your knee, his chair pushed closer to you. you had both long since finished dinner and just talked, enjoying the fire as harry continued to feed it wood every so often.

you looked up at him, melting at how adorable his tired eyes looked through his glasses. "i get it. trust me." he tells you. his voice puts you at ease, and you don't feel quite as embarrassed as before.

"maybe this semester i could help you. if you'd like, of course," harry offers. you smile. "of course."

as you're slowly making your way towards the door to leave, harry watches you search through your bag to find chapstick. as you're putting it on, he continues to watch you. you sneak a glance at him, his face soft and full of admiration.

"you know, if i may say, in the least inappropriate manner possible…" he says with a laugh, causing you to laugh with him. "you have truly only gotten more beautiful after all this time, [y/n]."

looking over at him, you can feel your face form a cheesy grin with blushing cheeks. "well, thank you, that's very kind," you say, putting your chapstick away and taking another step towards the door. "but, really, i should be saying the same about you."

harry waves you away, but you notice the smile planted on his cheeks. "please," he says sarcastically.

he reaches for the door to open it for you, and finds himself rather close to you by accident. you smile up at him, and he nervously steps back.

"u-uh, thank you for coming tonight, really, even if it was a bit weird…" harry says, an embarrassed laugh following. giggling with him, you take a step outside. "it was nice. but, no more invisible ink. just ask me from now on, okay?" you ask, still giggling at him.

harry shakes his head at himself. "will do."

you give him a warm smile before reaching in for a one-arm hug, resting your head on harry's shoulder for just a second before pulling back. "i'll see you tomorrow, professor potter."

enjoying the shocked and flustered look on his face, you walk away still laughing, making your way up the hill and towards the castle. you heard the door shut behind you quickly after you left, but could feel harry's lingering eyes following you through the window the entire way back.

that night you're laying in bed trying to convince yourself everything that just happened wasn't a dream. if it weren't for your full stomach and muddy shoes sitting by your door you might've convinced yourself it really was all an illusion. rather than dreading the next day of classes, you're actually excited to wake up as it only means you'll see harry sooner.

though you're not sure exactly why. yes you'd had a friendly conversation with him tonight after he admitted his feelings towards you, which still hasn't quite settled in yet…but what happens now? he's still your professor for the next 5 months minimum, and you both know you used to like each other. harry might feel better getting it off his chest, but you were perfectly fine keeping that secret to yourself like you always had. if anything, now it's the only thing you're going to think about every day.

rolling over, you try to fall asleep without thinking about harry too much.

it had been a few weeks since you met with harry that night in hagrid's hut, and things were going…okay, so far.

well, to be completely honest, you had utterly fallen back into your crush on harry harder than you ever had before.

and you tried to stop yourself this time. really, you did. working with harry in class and then stopping by his office at least 3 times a week for his help in other classes was a lot of time to be spending with a professor, and you rather despised just how fast harry made your heart beat or how easily his eyes could distract you.

so you tried your best to convince yourself it was lingering feelings from your past self, even trying to have a crush on other boys in your year to distract your brain. that failed miserably. none of those boys were attractive or interesting on their own, especially in comparison to professor potter…

but you couldn't fool yourself. you still felt the same butterflies seeing harry now like you did in 5th year. when he's talking to you in the quiet of his office, reading your textbook to you, you feel like the only two people in the world. when he fixes your hands to hold the wand properly, or moves your arm for you in the correct pattern to cast a spell, you can't focus for the rest of class. if his eyes linger on you just a bit too long during one of his lectures, a knowing smile growing on his face, you melt in your seat.

there was no denying it. you liked him more now than you ever had before. maybe it's just the sheer amount of time you've spent with him this past month or so, but your feelings for him had never been this strong in the past. there were days where he was quite literally the only thing you thought about, or at least wanted to think about. though you were doing better in your other classes, it was only because of him. you spent barely any outside time putting effort into these classes because, ultimately, you were completely distracted by harry.

and not just the idea of him, but particularly the growing tension you had noticed between you two recently.

you also tried to convince yourself that this was going on in your head. but there were just too many instances of prolonged eye contact, harry sitting a bit too close to you during your tutoring sessions, and lingering hands on your skin that made you question if harry maybe wasn't entirely over his crush either…

not that you tried to make it easy for him. since the semester started, you've been taking some extra time each morning to perfect your hair/makeup, put on your favorite perfumes on days you knew you'd be close to harry, and would even change your outfit completely when going to study with him outside of your school robes to give you a boost of confidence.

not that you needed the boost. lately you could only feel confident in yourself and nothing less. something about learning your life long crush who seemed so unattainable also had feelings for you, and could possibly still, made you feel untouchable. not to mention that any girl you heard talk about him or swoon over him in class just made you laugh to yourself; they had no idea you were with him alone for hours every week goofing off together as he attempted to help you study.

this confidence made its way into other parts of your day outside of harry as well. you were talking more in class, making a few new friends, even going to parties and outings just for the fun of it. you were actually enjoying your time at hogwarts instead of dreading every day. not all because of harry, but it definitely didn't hurt to consider him a friend.

a friend. a professor. an old classmate. a crush. a temporary fixation. your relationship to harry, in your mind, seemed so complicated and sometimes incredibly frustrating. especially when he seemed to flirt with you so subtly. you couldn't stand the, 'is he, isn't he' thoughts. but, at the same time, it just made you more motivated to push the limits to see how he responded.

of course it started with looking good, enjoying his reaction seeing you each day with a small smile and blushing cheeks. then it was making flirtatious jokes and purposefully giving him innocent looks while he rambled about whatever subject to get him flustered and distracted. and, lately, you've stepped it up by wearing shorter and shorter skirts whenever you stop by his office, and have even caught him looking at your legs a number of times when he thinks you're not paying attention.

all this to say, there was definitely tension.

you had to admit you felt a bit guilty, you knew harry valued his position as a substitute professor and was enjoying his time there, and you would feel awful if anything ever happened to cost him this position. he told you about his crush specifically to alleviate it, and your only goal this semester has been to do the opposite.

but, at the same time, you wouldn't act this way if harry didn't also create tension between you two. he also made overtly flirty jokes and comments, even seeming a tad bit jealous whenever you mentioned another boy during your time together. and you weren't stupid, you could tell when he wore the cologne you complimented one time when you were around or had even changed from his school clothes before you came to see him. there was definitely something unspoken going on between the two of you, but you were both afraid of crossing that line and making things complicated. besides, if anything, you both seemed to enjoy this game you were playing of teasing each other in private and then acting normally during class as student and teacher.

honestly, you found it to be insanely erotic, and were more turned on in class than any other time you were with harry due to the secretive nature of everything. his longing gaze as you walk in, his nervous glances towards specifically you, the shift in his voice from talking to one student to talking to you, it was all so subtle yet in plain view. something about wanting what you can't have only made you want it more.

on this particular day, you had been with harry for over two hours studying for an exam for a class you had been struggling with all semester, even with harry's help. you were frustrated, laying your head in your arms with your textbook in front of you, groaning as harry chuckled at you.

"c'mon, [y/n], you've got this. i mean, you did just fine on this last practice test, better than you have all semester really," harry comments, pulling the paper out of your folder. you lift your head up, giving him a mean look. "i got a 75. barely." you deadpan.

"yes, and that's better than what you have been getting." harry stated, trying to hide a smirk. you throw a crumpled up paper at him. "stop, that's not funny," you whine, also trying to hide your laugh.

chuckling, harry stands up and walks towards the bookshelf in his office. "look, i'm just trying to be encouraging here," he says over his shoulder as he scans the rows of books.

you try to get back to your work, but you're just so utterly confused and upset that you close the book with a huff and lean back in your seat with an exasperated expression. harry hears this and turns to you, giving you a sympathetic smile.

he walks back over, picking up the book in front of you and setting it in your bag. "here, we can be done for today. it's not good to push yourself past your limit."

you sigh as you push back the urge to tear up. "sometimes i just feel so stupid," you say in a soft, despondent voice, staring off into the window across from harry's desk.

harry's watching you intently, and nearly drops to his knees as he crouches beside your chair and catches your eyes in his. "hey, you're not stupid. quite the opposite, actually." he says with a genuine voice. you look away, still not believing him.

"really, [y/n], and i'm not saying this as your professor. back in school i was constantly listening to hermione go on and on about your intelligence and class rank. she was incredibly impressed and slightly envious that someone 2 years below her was actually providing some competition at this school." harry says with a laugh.

you can't help but blush like crazy at this confession. hermione had been your academic inspiration for all of your time at hogwarts, and even still now despite your declining lack of effort. you'd had quite a few conversations with her in the past about classes and certain books or authors you both enjoyed, but had no idea she thought that highly of you.

mulling over this information in your head, harry continued to grab your attention with a soft smile and loving eyes. "you're not stupid. different things are harder for different people. you'll get there, and i'll help you. okay?" he asks.

you smile back at him. "okay."

slowly packing up to leave, you and harry both take your time to gather your supplies as you chat about your respective plans for the weekend. you casually mention a party you were thinking of going to. harry perks up at this. "a party?" he asks, a twinge of concern laced in his voice.

you give him a look. "yeah, ever heard of it?" you ask sarcastically, laughing to yourself. "i guess it's one of the slytherin boys' birthdays, or something like that," you wave off, throwing your bag over your shoulder. "apparently it's going to be massive,"

harry continues looking at you with a hint of concern. "well, just…be safe, yeah?" harry comments, his voice uneasy. you laugh at him again, looking at him incredulously. "yes, professor potter, i'll be careful," you tease him. you know harry gets a little squirmy when you call him that outside of class, and it never fails to make you feel powerful.

"besides, i heard the theme is dress to impress, so you already know i'm gonna look so good," you joke, flipping your hair dramatically. harry's tenseness breaks, letting out a chuckle. "well, still. just…be safe." is all he manages to say as you walk with him to the door.

saying your goodbyes as you separate down the hall, you can still feel harry's eyes on you until you disappear around the corner.

the night of the party, you were still unsure if you wanted to go. when a couple girls from class saw you and asked if you were going, they ended up convincing you to come with them. so, you got changed into a flashy dress that fit you well, fixed up your hair and makeup a bit, and met them in the courtyard to walk to the slytherin common room together. they obsessively commented on your outfit, telling you just how good you looked and letting you know you'd have no problem finding a guy to snog tonight.

but, you don't want any guy tonight. if anything, you were walking slowly through the hallways hoping by some chance that harry would cross your path and see just how good you looked. but you knew you weren't that lucky.

upon arriving at the party, drinks are immediately pushed into your and your friends' hands. they were right about the party being massive, as every square foot of the slytherin common room was packed with slightly tipsy students of all ages dancing to the loud music. you had barely finished your first drink before your friends dragged you over to do shots with them, wincing at the burn it left in your throat afterwards.

as the night goes on, you're eventually separated from all the girls you came with. not on purpose, some of them were playing drinking games, some were dancing, and one had even left the party with a guy she was completely into. no hard feelings, everyone was just doing their own thing. you had a few shouting-over-the-music conversations with a couple classmates and drank another cup of the mysterious alcoholic punch being served before deciding to head back to your room. you informed one of your friends, who asked if you wanted her to come with you, but you insisted she stay.

entering the hallway is extremely sobering. the loud music and colorful lights made it easy to ignore the growing drunken sensation, but you were now nervously navigating the halls of hogwarts, slightly intoxicated, attempting to warm yourself up with your hands over your arms. you hadn't even thought to bring a jacket, of course, so you were shivering as you made your way back to your room.

not long after leaving the party, you turn the corner and come face to face with another person. a boy a year under you, though you couldn't remember his name or anything else about him. you're a bit startled, not expecting to see anyone else, but politely apologize and attempt to walk around him.

"hey. you were at the party, right?" he asks, stepping in front of you to prevent you from leaving. you're slightly annoyed by him already, but your intoxicated state makes you bite your tongue. "yeah, just on my way back to my room," you try to end the conversation there, taking another step to get around him.

but he gets in your way again, stepping even closer to you this time. "what's the rush? y'know you had every guy talkin' in there tonight? sure would be nice to take home the prize," he slurs into your face, your nose scrunching at his alcoholic breath. god, this kid's way more wasted than you.

"excuse me?" you scoff, turning your face away from him. he tries to put his hand on your waist but you slap it away as hard as you can, causing him to wince and give you an angry look. "i suggest you leave me the fuck alone," you announce firmly, stancing your feet apart as you get ready to defend yourself further.

just as this guy's about to try again, this time his hands going for your neck, a voice from down the hall echoes loudly, scaring you both. "hey!"

you both turn, and it's harry.

"i would further suggest you leave her alone, mr. williams," he announces as he swiftly walks towards you. the kid laughs him off. "mind your business, huh, potter? this doesn't involve you," he continues to slur, looking like he wants to fight as harry walks up to him, chest to chest.

"it does now. leave and you'll be lucky i don't have you expelled or rather arrested for sexually assaulting a fellow student on campus grounds after hours, while intoxicated might i add," harry spits at him, his eyes full of disgust and rage.

the kid falters a bit, but the alcohol still has him acting cocky, getting in harry's face. "yeah? or what," he asks daringly.

you get between them and put your wand, hidden in your dress, against the kid's throat, making him stiff with wide eyes. "touch him and i will gladly get expelled for hurting you in ways you couldn't even conceive of in your fucking nightmares. do you understand? get the fuck out of here!" you nearly shout at the kid, causing him to turn and run.

you sigh a breath of relief, but quickly begin to feel the anxiety return as you bring your wand down and look at harry.

you can feel your body shaking with anger and fear, and also shivering from how cold you hadn't realized you'd gotten. your cheeks were flushed, your breathing uneven, and nearly on the verge of tears. harry's eyes were still angry, but he gave you a sympathetic look. he promptly took off his jacket and wrapped it around your shivering frame, enveloping you in a hug in the process. it's hard not to let the tears flow just a bit as you rest your head in his chest. you felt so vulnerable with him in that moment.

"here, let's get you back to your room, yeah?" harry says softly, turning your shoulders and guiding you down the hall. you realize you had sobered up during the ordeal, your eyes focusing and walking straightening out as you follow the corridors. once harry begins guiding you down your hallway, you slow to look up at him with a curious expression.

"how do you know where my room is?"

harry's a bit stunned by your question, searching for an answer before you began to think more. "and, wait," you stop walking and turn to him. "how did you even find me?" you ask breathlessly. harry continues to look guilty as he searches for an answer. smirking, you pull his jacket on you closer.

"professor potter, if i didn't know better, i'd say you were watching me tonight," you tease him in a flirty voice. "surely that's not the case, is it?"

harry looks around you two nervously, clearly starting to feel anxious for his actions. all you could do was smirk. you knew he still liked you.

harry sighs, avoiding your eye contact with a completely red face. "look, i just had a bad feeling about that party, okay?" he says simply. you continue to stare at him with a knowing look. "i couldn't sleep tonight knowing something could've happened to you. something like that fucking kid…" harry gets worked up just thinking about it again before stopping himself and calming down. "i'm sorry. it was wrong of me, and completely inappropriate."

your smirk drops into a soft smile. you can't help but feel your stomach erupt into butterflies hearing him admit he was watching you tonight specifically to make sure you were safe.

you softly put your hand to his cheek, causing him to look at you. he looks apologetic, concerned, and sad, his eyes searching yours as he slightly leans into your touch.

"thank you, harry." you say just above a whisper, your voice genuine and loving.

he sighs again, a bit relieved, a bit sad. his hand goes for yours, holding it for just a moment before he gives it back to you, letting go as he looks towards your door.

"well," he starts off, his voice cracking. "i'll leave you here for the night,"

smiling, you nod and take a step towards your door. you slip his jacket off of you and hand it back to him with a grateful, warm smile. he returns the smile as you're opening your door and waving goodbye at him.

as you're getting ready for bed, you replay the events of tonight over and over. you imagine harry watching you leave your room without you having any clue, meeting up with your friends, leaving the party in a daze, attempting to escape that guy before harry decided he had to step in and protect you.

you felt a bit silly for ever thinking harry's crush on you had stopped. even his subtle clues weren't very subtle thinking back now. maybe back in year 5 you assumed you were crazy for thinking he was looking at you funny, but now, nearing 3 years later, and learning he's liked you the whole time, you couldn't deny his longing gaze.

laying in bed, you decided you had to properly thank harry in some way for tonight, and you knew exactly how.

the next day, you paid a special visit to diagon alley with a friend to buy something special for harry. when she asked why you would ever possibly buy something like that for yourself, you make up some story about needing it for a class. she doesn't believe you, but goes along with it anyway and continues to have fun with you on your sunday out shopping.

you head towards his office in the afternoon when he usually spends his time grading assignments and working on the following week's lesson plan. you practically had his schedule memorized after coming to study with him so often.

softly knocking on the door, harry lets out a, "come in,"

you enter the office and he smiles at you immediately before it falters, his eyes then landing on the wrapped box in your hands. "surprise," you say with a shy voice.

he lets out a huff, looking back at you with a disbelieving expression. "[y/n]..." he carries off.

"it's just a little something," you say as you walk towards his desk, setting it down carefully in front of him. "a thank you, for last night," you tell him.

his eyes move back and forth from the box to your eyes, not knowing what to say. a few moments pass before he stands. "[y/n], i can't accept this…" he sighs. "what i did last night, i mean…it shouldn't have happened that way," he says curtly.

you tilt your head to catch his gaze, giving him a warm smile. "you did nothing wrong," you reassure him. you gesture to the gift. "please," you insist.

harry's shoulders relax, giving you an embarrassed smile as he slides the box closer to him, admiring the wrapping. "this is gorgeous, did you do this?" he asks, pointing at the sparkly ribbon and personalized name card. you proudly smile and nod your head.

harry admires it for another moment before carefully untying the ribbon and lifting the lid off the box. he gasps at what he sees.

a signed, hardcover, gold leaf detailed first edition defense against the dark arts textbook from his favorite auror. he had talked to you about seeing it at the bookshop but not wanting to spend the money or not having the place to display it or whatever his excuse was. you had taken note of this comment and when you saw it wasn't as expensive as harry had made it seem you knew it was perfect.

"[y/n]...you didn't…" he utters, practically falling back in his chair as he continues to stare at the cover. you giggle fondly at his reaction. "go ahead, open it up," you tell him excitedly. he can hardly move, but he eventually takes the book out of the box and admires it in his hands. he flips the cover open, sees the signature, and smiles. then, he looks at the inside of the cover and his expression drops.

"i had it personalized, if that's okay with you," you ask anxiously. on the inside of the leather bound cover you had a pressing engraved that said 'harry james potter'.

harry's in shock, his fingers running across the pressing softly. "[y/n], this is…" he trails off, continuing to admire the book as he flips through it, landing back on the inside cover, admiring his name once more.

"thank you." harry says, looking at you with so much love in his eyes it makes your heart burst. it was worth every penny seeing him in awe in front of you like this.

"well, thank you," you respond, smiling, holding your arms behind your back.

harry abruptly stands up, stepping around his desk and pulling you in for a desperate hug. you're a bit surprised, your arms wrapping around his waist as he continues to pull you closer and closer.

after a minute or so of the most comforting hug you've experienced outside of last night in that hallway, harry separates from you only slightly to look down at you. your faces are close enough to feel the breath of the other person.

you just want to tell him, 'fuck it, who cares, nobody's here, just kiss me, please, release this tension', but before you can even consider it, harry breaks the silence.

"i still love you," he says so softly, his face wincing as the words fall from his lips. your breath hitches. love?

"fuck," harry mutters, almost stepping away from you until you pull him closer to you, putting your lips close enough to his they're nearly touching. "please. kiss me. just kiss me. please." you practically beg, your hand finding its way to harry's neck.

"[y/n], we can't, i can't–" "just once, please, maybe it'll stop if we just, please…" you interrupt him, hoping he understands what you're implying, your noses rubbing together.

harry takes a few moments before practically whimpering as he connects your lips to his, wrapping you in his arms tightly. you immediately melt into him, letting the kiss consume you as your hands pull harry closer to you.

it only takes a few seconds before harry has you up on his desk, his hands gripping your ass under your skirt. the cold of the wood on your exposed skin makes you gasp, and harry's tongue quickly slips past your lips.

it's everything you imagined, and the fact that this is happening in his office is just making you even more turned on. you had played this scenario in your head so many times, and it hardly felt real once it was actually happening. and on the desk you spent so many hours at, pining over him and fantasizing him taking you like he is right now.

after a few minutes of making out and needy groping through your clothes, harry pulls away breathlessly. opening your eyes you see he's completely flushed, his hair slightly messy as he nervously takes his hands off you.

you awkwardly clear your throat, your hands falling to your sides and resting back on the desk. harry takes a step away, straightening his tie and fixing his hair. you hop off his desk and adjust your skirt.

the silence between you is awkward, but there's just nothing to say. the kiss only left you wanting more, of course, it was pointless to ever hope it would quell your feelings in some way.

"well," harry begins, his voice shaky and quiet. "that didn't work."

you let out a nervous laugh, coughing to cover it up. "yeah…sorry." you mumble.

harry sighs. "no, i'm sorry. i'm technically your superior, i shouldn't be doing this to you. leading you on, flirting with you, for fuck's sake, following you around after hours…"

you shake your head. "look, i'm not kissing professor potter, okay? i like you, harry. i've liked you since i was 13. i don't want to ruin your position here either, and i'll stop if that's what you truly want…" you choke up just a bit before swallowing it back. "but, just, please, stop blaming yourself. i want this, too."

the silence returns, harry clearly thinking over what you said as his eyes stare off beside you. you're anxiously shifting your weight, watching his face get lost in his own thoughts.

"i can't risk this job," harry says finally. "i don't give a shit about the money, pay me everything in the world i would still want you…" he mumbles. you feel your stomach drop at this sentiment. you want him so, so badly. but…

"but…" harry says.

you smile at him sadly, knowing what's coming. "i can't let down bill, or mcgonagall, or any professors or students here who may actually still like me," he says with a dry laugh. "if we ever got caught, and i just know we would, and what would happen to you…i just–" "i know, harry," you interrupt him, taking a small step towards him.

he smiles at you sadly as well. "and i agree. it's not worth it. well, you're worth it, of course…" you say shyly, diverting your gaze before continuing. "but, it's too risky. you deserve to finish out this semester without that hanging over your head, y'know?"

harry stares at you lovingly, no attempt to hide his adoration for you in this moment. "you're truly incredible. you know that?" harry comments softly.

you respond by blushing and crossing your arms. he hums softly, his smile taking over his cheeks. "thank you, really, for everything, if things were any different, i wish…" harry stumbles. you smile at him again. "i know."

harry returns to his gift, admiring the book in his hands over and over before putting it on the bookshelf next to his desk. he admires it there for a while as well before thanking you again.

as you're getting ready to leave, harry stops you for a moment. "if you don't mind, i'd still love to help you in your other classes. and, just, remain friendly in general still, if possible…"

you melt again at his soft demeanor. harry's such a sweetheart it's heartbreaking. all you want is to kiss him again. it's all you've wanted since he stopped.

"of course."

it's the end of the semester, and you have mixed feelings about it. on one hand you're dying for a break from classes. you've done the best you have in years this semester, and it's exhausted you. but you're incredibly grateful, for a lot of things. your new friends, your rediscovered love for hogwarts and magic in general, your overall improved attitude and mentality.

with special thanks to a certain substitute professor…

harry. this semester was definitely a rollercoaster for you when it came to harry. though, towards the end, things fell into place a bit more as you both accepted and embraced your odd, yet effective routine. professional student-professor relationship in public; smitten, teasingly love-sick old classmates in the comfort of his office walls. nothing further than lingering hands, loving stares, and the occasional compliment towing the line of what's inappropriate and what isn't.

though the dynamic wasn't ideal, you grew to love it for what it was. a simple, longing love that wasn't exactly unspoken anymore, but sure felt like it each passing day as you both pretended that kiss never happened.

that kiss. you swear you think about it every day. you long for harry to grab you like that again, to slip his tongue past your lips again…sometimes, late at night, it's all you can think about. sometimes just the thought of it makes you need to touch yourself, remembering how desperate he was for you, the feeling of his lips on yours, sitting on his desk in his office, just the image of it from outside of your own perspective could bring you to your orgasm alone in your room.

to say you were anxiously counting down the days until classes were over and harry technically wasn't employed with hogwarts anymore was an understatement. though you hadn't spoken about it with him, you felt it was okay to maybe consider that he would want to continue things further with you once his substitution was over. you kept your guard up as you knew he could still be uncomfortable with it while you were a student in general. but a large portion of you was practically praying that wasn't the case. you physically couldn't resist him much longer.

you were staying on campus for christmas this year, mostly just to savor your last holiday here, but also to continue seeing harry if possible.

it was the last day of classes, and you learned you passed all your exams with flying colors. you showed up to dark arts class early to inform harry excitedly, and he congratulated you with the same level of excitement.

"i knew you could do it! i told you you were smart." he beams. "i am so, so proud of you, [y/n]."

you want to hug him so badly, he's helped you so much this semester, you wouldn't have cared enough to try and get these kinds of grades without his guidance. but it's too public, and the risk is too high, so you just settle on an awkward high five and laugh emptily.

as other students walk in, you both pretend the moment never happened, and you sit in your seat without looking up from the floor.

the class is simple and rather uneventful as it's mostly everyone's last class of the semester. harry actually hands out christmas cookies hagrid made for everyone, and they're mediocre in taste, but the designs are so adorable you can't resist finishing it.

harry gives you all a speech thanking the class for trusting him to teach this semester, and for being respectful of him and professor weasley's lessons. he talks about how he's always thought about being a professor, but actually ended up despising the paperwork, and just missed his old job, which caused the class to chuckle with him.

he dismissed everyone with a happy christmas, specifically towards you, of course.

your heart aches a little as you leave the classroom and head to your room. you're going to miss harry as a professor, even if it caused complications in other aspects, it was inspiring to see him be so intelligent, helpful, and supportive in class. of course you were biased, you always found him to be amazing, but something about watching him teach a young wizard how to do a spell correctly for the first time just made you admire him so deeply.

you decided to rest for the night, knowing harry would be here for at least another day to collect all his items and clean the classroom up for professor weasley. you could talk to him then, what exactly about you weren't sure just yet, but you knew you had to tie up these loose ends before they drove you mad.

the next afternoon, you're practically one of the only students roaming the halls. most everyone leaves the first day of break to go home, and by christmas there's only a handful of students left.

arriving at harry's office door, you admire it one last time. your little sanctuary away from the world.

you knock, but to your dismay, there's no answer.

you knock again, a bit louder, but still, nothing. you decide to peak in, and notice how barren the desk looks from afar.

fuck. there's no way harry's left without speaking to you first.

you quickly walk to the dark arts classroom just down the hall, hoping he's cleaning and organizing it, but find it empty and dark. your heart sinks. he's gone.

you slowly walk back to your room, deciding you'll grab your coat and visit hagrid to see if harry's with him there. you try not to let your disappointment overcome you, there's still a chance you could talk to him…

entering your room, you immediately head for your coat rack by the window. you start to slip it on when you hear your door close, knowing you left it open on purpose to quickly leave.

you turn around, and it's harry.

you gasp, immediately dropping the coat and running to him, jumping into a hug. he laughs at your reaction, but embraces you nonetheless.

"hi, love," he says softly, resting his head on top of yours. you could hardly contain yourself at the pet name. it communicated so much to you with so little effort.

you look up at him, barely able to believe what's happening. harry looks at you knowingly. this unspoken tension. it was going to be the death of you.

as harry begins leaning in, you crash your lips together with his, immediately engulfing him into a heated, wanting, needing kiss.

harry's more than happy to give in to you. it's clear he's thought about this just as much as you have. he finished all his professor duties as soon as he could so he could officially, finally, be yours.

you guide harry to your bed, pushing him onto it as he gives you an impressed look, clearly intrigued by your repressed desperation.

you crawl onto his lap, immediately pulling him back into the kiss. harry's hands are all over you, finally, after fantasizing about it every night in this very same bed for months.

the kiss is desperate, full of moaning and getting sloppier by the minute. harry's squeezing and slapping your ass so hard you whimper in his arms, your hands gripping his button up tightly.

"fuck, [y/n], need you so bad, please," harry moans into your kiss, his hands sliding up your back. you reach to take your shirt off, left in just a bra and tiny skirt, as you start untying his tie and unbuttoning his shirt.

harry's staring at you with hunger in his eyes. "do you even understand how badly i've wanted you? you and these fucking skirts, you must think i'm stupid." he growls, pulling at the hem of your skirt. you blush and stifle a giggle, overwhelmed with how insanely hot you found this to be.

"think that's funny? you think it was funny when i had to stand in class all day and not stare at your perfect legs through your robe? anytime i gave a lecture and just looking at you turned you into a needy slut," harry grabs your hair, turning your attention to him as he unbuttons the rest of his shirt with his other hand. "was that fun for you, hm? did you enjoy teasing me all semester?"

you can't say anything. all you can do is nod. you were so turned on you could hardly think straight.

"i bet it was," he says, examining your desperate expression, his words dripping with desire.

he pulls you in for another kiss, and you help him take off his shirt. his skin was warm, soft, and his shoulders were broad. you moved your lips to his neck, leaving an obvious bite just below his collar to finally mark what was yours.

harry groans, his hands reaching behind your back to swiftly undo your bra. he helps pull it off of you, marveling at your chest. "beautiful," he tells you before attaching his lips to your skin. you hold his head against you, savoring the feeling and sight of harry leaving hickeys along the soft skin of your boobs.

his hand cups one softly as his tongue circles your nipple, watching you through his glasses as you melt into his hands. "harry…" you moan, your hand running through his soft hair.

he continues, starting to suck on your nipple softly with closed eyes, his other hand pulling up your skirt to feel your wetness through your panties.

you immediately whimper and lean into harry's touch, desperate for this for so long. "f-fuck," you stutter breathlessly.

harry smiles, taking his lips off of you to look up at your blushing face. "so wet already," he smirks.

you cover his face with your hands, embarrassed, giggling, continuing to further lean into his hand for pleasure.

he laughs and removes your hands, his eyes full of lust just looking at you in his lap.

"i need you, now," he insists, pushing you further onto his growing erection through his slacks. you let out a breathy moan feeling just how hard he is already. he's just as desperate as you've been for him.

"is that okay?" he asks carefully, watching for your reaction. you laugh a bit. "please. i've waited long enough." you joke.

you help harry take his pants and boxers off, as well as your skirt and panties, leaving you both naked in your room.

he sat back down on the bed, and invited you into his lap again. "just like this is perfect," he says, guiding your hips and admiring your body as you sit with his cock between you two, your eyes barely able to look away from it.

harry pulls you in for a kiss, his hands traveling over your body and stopping at your pussy again, his hand feeling just how wet you are. he moans into your kiss along with you and begins to slip his fingers inside of you, slowly, letting you react to him.

harry pushes further and further into you until you're practically riding his hand, your kiss barely kept together with you bouncing, desperate for more. "please," you insist, your hand gently grasping for his precum soaked cock.

harry smiles, gently pulling his fingers away before letting you guide yourself onto him. slowly at first, you enjoy the feeling of harry's cock stretching you open, whimpering as he watches you intently, his hands supporting your hips. eventually you feel yourself take him completely, your hips flush with his as you start to slowly grind your hips up and down.

harry's a mess, barely able to hold himself together just watching you adjust to his cock. your face twisting in pleasure, your soft whimpers, the tight feeling of your pussy squeezing around him, it was almost too much already.

"fuck, baby," harry's moaning, his hands gripping your hips for sanity. you can't help but giggle, you just love seeing him like this for you after dreaming about it for so long. he's so lost in pleasure already, his jaw slack and eyes dropping.

"i-i'm already, fuck [y/n], you're just so," harry can barely get the words out. hearing him moan your name so filthily motivated you to move your hips quicker, letting your tits bounce in his face as you continued to pick up speed.

"fuck, fuck, fuck," harry's panicking, you can tell he's already trying to hold back his orgasm. you find it extremely hot just how quickly you can bring him to this point. so hot it brings you closer to your orgasm with him, putting your hands on his face to look up at you.

"you feel so fucking good, harry," you tell him, your head rolling back in pleasure. he's in awe of you, his eyes memorizing every single inch of you as you continue to ride him.

"please, please, can you, um…" he takes a second between his words to moan. "please, can you call me professor potter…" he asks, clearly embarrassed by the request.

you rub his blushing cheeks between your hands, his question only making you more turned on. you loved knowing he was just as into the teacher/student dynamic as you had been.

"your cock feels so…so fucking good inside of me, professor potter," you moan, resting your forehead against harry's as you slow your pace, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of him.

harry's eyes roll back, sinful moans escaping his lips as his head falls forward, watching you ride him slowly as he begins slightly thrusting up into you. he looks back up at your eyes, exasperated. "i'm gonna cum if you don't stop," he quietly warns you, clearly feeling a bit guilty at his eagerness.

you smile. "please, please cum for me professor. i've been such a good girl for you this semester, haven't i?" you tease him.

harry groans pathetically. "so, so good," his eyes are closed, his face twisting with each thrust. "then cum for me, please, give it to me," you beg him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you feel your stomach tensing from your own orgasm.

harry's eyes pop open, his gaze on you softening as his hands find your waist, gripping onto you desperately. "[y/n]..." he moans your name again, and you can feel yourself tipping over the edge. your pace becomes a bit slower as your legs start shaking.

harry moans as he starts to spill inside of you, the warm sensation fueling your orgasm as you both hold onto each other tightly, riding out your highs together.

after a few moments of slow grinding and weak kissing, you carefully stand up from your position on harry's lap. you guide him to your bathroom, where you help each other clean up, with a few more inevitable kisses and longing hugs along the way.

you get dressed into different clothes, and offer harry some as well. he declines, instead putting his clothes back on as he tells you he has to bring all his supplies back to his house.

you help him button his shirt back up and tie his tie before pushing yourself to ask the dreaded question you didn't want to know the answer to.

"so," you say softly. "what now?"

harry looks down at you lovingly, but he isn't quite smiling. "well, i'm no longer employed here," he states. you nod your head slowly, allowing him to continue.

"so, while it's not technically wrong, i'd still like to try and take this off campus, if possible," harry chuckles.

you give him a surprised look. "you want to see me again?" you ask quietly. harry can't help but laugh at you, kissing your forehead as he holds your cheek.

"you have no idea," is all he says before he leans in for another kiss, holding you close, knowing you're finally his.

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dilatorywriting · 6 months

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Congrats on the milestone! It's always a delight to see your stuff pop up on my dash ^.^ I'd love to see prompt 19 from the dialog that makes your reader swoon with the guy of your choice (smut welcome). Hope the bot infestation takes a chill pill!

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 1.7k

Prompt 19: "If you don’t stop looking at my lips without doing anything about it, I will take you right here on this counter."

🌶️ Warning for Mild Spice

[EVENT MASTERLIST]

Vil was drunk.

Or well, Vil was as inebriated as he would most likely ever allow himself to be in any sort of public setting to speak of. Which was still above and beyond what you had ever seen of him up to that point. Which was of course to say that he was still walking effortlessly in his sky-high heels and maintaining every bit of the decorum with which he so usually prided himself. The only reason you could tell the difference at all was because you knew this stupid man better than the back of your own hand. And the loose-limbed ease about him combined with the lolling smirk on his lips was as telltale of a sign as any. Not that you could blame him. Winning any award was certainly an honor. Beating out Neige Leblanche of all people would probably have had him drunk on success even without the literal booze to help him along.

He rolled the half-empty flute of bubbling champagne between his fingers and tipped it towards you like an offering.

“Care to try some?”

You huffed, far too fond to be properly exasperated. “At least one of us needs to be able to drive home.”

And your tolerance was, unfortunately, not great. At least, not for the horrifically potent nonsense that this magic-infused world called ‘wine.’ The last time you’d drank during one of these events you’d wound up nearly beating a rude reporter with his own camera, but thankfully had only had the coordination to call the prying ass all sorts of colorful and very impolite things. (‘Secretly fucking Neige Leblanche’ indeed. Vil hadn’t even asked his PR team to spin that one. Just loudly demanded that your indignation should speak for itself and that any such inquiries into your private affairs would be handled personally in the future.)

Vil snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll be calling for a car either way.”

He tilted the glass again, and you were forever grateful that he wasn’t a sloppy drunk. You didn’t care if he spilled booze all down your front and stained the stupid, too-expensive outfit he’d all but sewed you into, but the fussing that would ensue would be torturous.

“Just a sip,” he coaxed. “I promise you’ll like it.”

You scrunched up your nose and sighed, plucking the flute from his hand. You went to take a small sip and one of those perfectly painted nails reached up to tap irritably at the rim.

“What?” you frowned.

He turned the glass until the other curved side sat at your lips and gave another pointed tap tap tap.

“From here.”

You went nearly cross-eyed trying to stare down at the rim, and with a bit of determination were able to finally pick out the traces of an imprint from the actor’s otherwise impeccably maintained lipstick.

“Are you serious?” you snorted a laugh.

Those perfectly lined lips of his pursed into something that you would dare to call a pout.

“If you’re not going to let me kiss you in public, then you can at least give me this,” he huffed.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, lips still twitching far too much in amusement. “That was your rule. ‘For my privacy,’ you said.”

He waved you off with a scoff. “Please. That was only when we were keeping entirely out of the public eye. I could hardly complain about it now.”

Now, he said. Like he hadn’t graduated from NRC less than a year ago. Like your introduction into his world of stage lights and red carpets hadn’t all been meticulously curated and released only a month or so prior. You blinked, a bit owlishly. And then decided to indulge his petulance and took a neat, slow slip from right where he’d tapped. Vil was always honest, brutally so. He had no compunctions about telling you what he wanted, when he wanted it, and how it was going to happen. So it wasn’t like the touch of alcohol swimming through his system was going to make him more truthful, just… perhaps more loose with it, it seemed. Less manicured, in his speech.

The model looked endlessly pleased and reached out to snatch the glass back. He lifted it back to his own lips—carefully placed, just as he’d demanded of you—and took a long drag.

“There,” he grinned, all smug satisfaction. Like tricking you into an indirect kiss was any sort of accomplishment to begin with. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You were going to burst out laughing, and someone was going to get it on camera, and Vil’s stupid assistant would never let you live it down.

“I guess not,” you hummed. “How much longer, do you think. Until we can go home?”

Vil took another sip, drinking down the last drops of the sparkling concoction. He deposited the empty glass on a passing server’s tray and turned on you with a sharp smirk that was far too wide and far too wine-warm.

“That anxious to get me alone, darling?”

Oh he was really gone.

You grabbed his hand and hauled him towards a more secluded alcove. Because he hadn’t exactly shouted that, but enough curious heads had turned your way that you weren’t going to chance it. ‘Exclusive after party,’ your ass. No reporters didn’t mean no wandering eyes and ears. And he may have been punch drunk enough not to give two shits, but his PA would certainly make the two of you ‘care’ come morning.

“We’re in public,” you hissed, cheeks dark and ears warm. “Don’t say things like that!”

“Oh?” he crooned, stopping in his tracks. You gave another tug but it was useless. Stupidly towering height aside, Vil was all lean muscle and stubborn determination. If you were moving him at all, it was only because he was humoring you enough to step to your demands. “But that’s what you are, isn’t it?” He leaned forward and you could smell the pop of alcohol off his tongue. “Or at least, you certainly act the part of ravenous lover well enough.”

“Really,” you snapped, hushed. “If you’re going to be like this, do you have to use those stupid lines on top of it?”

“Stupid?” Vil frowned, and his fuzzy gaze focused into something sharp. “Your reactions don’t normally imply that those ‘lines’ leave much to be desired.”

You could feel your ears going hot as coals. “Yeah. Well. In the moment is a lot different from—we’re not talking about this right now!” you squawked. “Your assistant is going to kill me if she finds out I let anyone hear you like this.”

Vil snorted and pulled you the rest of the way into the alcove. “She would never. And besides, it’s my prerogative to say whatever I wish,” he finished on something that was nearly a pout. His lips pressed into a firm line, determined. “Should I try again then? If you thought that one was so stupid.”

“Vil—” you hissed.

“Hmm,” he mused, deliberate. And then, “How about this one, then. All of the accolades in the world couldn’t compare to the sound of my name, cried from your lips.”

You squeaked and ducked your head against his shoulder, fingers digging into the too-expensive fabric of his suit.

“No?” he cooed, a bit of that familiar, mocking, edge curling over the word. And you were left to wonder if he was really that drunk after all. “Let me try another. As much as I enjoy those cries, I think I like the whispers even more—every part of you of that whispers temptation,” he recited, far, far too warm, “as if the Gods made you just to ruin me.”

“Would you please just—” you squawked, mortified and melting from head to toe. You were about to remind him again, plead nearly, that they were still very much in public. But then a thought shot off in your head like a lightbulb clicking to life. “You like this,” you hissed at him, accusatory.

“Like what?” he droned, crowding you against the wall. It was dark in the little corner, quiet, but not nearly enough to blot out the low hum of conversations and clinking of glassware just a couple dozen feet away.

Vil dug his fingers into the fabric over your hips.

“It does have its appeal, doesn’t it?” he hummed against your neck and you could feel your blood buzzing beneath his curling lips. “No one to see you, certainly. But everyone will surely know,” he drawled. “That’s the world of show business, I’m afraid. All subtle implications, people whispering about us under their breath.” His hands twisted, bunching up the edges of the crinkling satin. “I’m sure even Neige will hear, eventually.”

“Is that it?” you hissed, biting back a horribly, high pitched little squeak. “You’re still mad at what that reporter said?”

“Of course not,” Vil said, with all the cadence of a well-seasoned liar. “The gossip mongering of one, moronic pest is hardly a problem.” He leaned closer, pushing a leg forward to slot between your. “But I have eyes, darling. And I can see that little rat’s lingering far too long where they shouldn’t.”

You reached up to slap a hand over your mouth and bite into your palm to quiet whatever embarrassing nonsense you would have tried to reply with. Or, well, if you’d managed to reply at all.

“I know you’re anxious to get home, darling,” he droned against your collarbone. You could smell the fizzy remnants of champagne all in your nose. “But this is my party, after all. We’ll have to wait to call for a car for at least another hour,” he apologized, not sounding particularly sorry at all. “That said,” he continued, grinding harder, “if you don’t stop looking at my lips like that without doing anything about it, I might just have to take you right here against the wall.”

A pause, as he canted his head. A soft mess of pale bangs falling over his lidded eyes.

“And there is a very lovely private changing room with a lock just down the hall.”

“…okay,” you squeaked, and Vil grinned—pulling back to wrap an arm around your waist and lead you along. Gait steady and composed as always, and just the barest hint of the wine-warmed-boldness curling over his lips.

#4k Event #twisted wonderland imagines #twst x reader #Vil x Reader #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #My Writing #Writing Prompts #Vil Schoenheit

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bogleech · 2 months

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Hardly anyone even fucking tried to run against Biden for the nomination. Republicans had one option besides Trump and she might have been at least slightly less destructive. I'm not surprised it's officially going to be either Biden or Trump again but it is so utterly miserable and wretched. Pathetic. Now your choice is between two possible presidents who are both friends of Israel and both going to help kill more people but one also wants to kill healthcare, immigration, education, science, unions, environmental policy, LGBT rights and whatever's left of reproductive rights. That's the one half this country thinks is literally appointed by God to save us from evil, and they want to shoot you to death or run you over with their car if you don't like him.

The other half of America is split over whether they're willing to vote at all because they think letting Trump win will force Democrats to become better and fix everything next time, as if there's even a guaranteed next time at all the way shit's been.

We're more than likely going to have a second Trump presidency. He already undid so much progress that Americans fought and died for. With another four years he's likely going to finish a lot of it off, and whether he succeeded or not he will *try* to erode democracy itself because he very much wants to be an indefinite dictator.

Generation after generation has been pleading for a revolution to start that actually topples these two parties but all most liberals apparently intend to do is absolutely nothing and hope it magically works out. Your options now are to stop Trump by voting for what is now his only opponent even in the running, yes knowing both of them are going to be genociders. That's what's left of your 2024 options unless that revolution can happen yesterday or both these decrepit ghouls die before October.

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merakiui · 7 months

Text

while in captivity, floyd encounters a human and unintentionally pair-bonds with you during a moment of biological vulnerability.

(cw: gender neutral reader, nsfw, omegaverse/abo, heats, captivity)

The marine lab has recently acquired a unique specimen—unique in that he is half-human and half-fish, hailing from deep, dark, indescribable depths. An eel merman, to be exact. You’ve only ever glimpsed merfolk in outdated textbooks and fairytales, the latter of which depicted them as whimsical beings capable of feats beyond scientific understanding. Magic. Although in the realm of biology, such folly is never entertained and so what the world calls ‘magic’ other fields built upon the foundations of research refer to it as a ‘miracle’. In your eyes those words are interchangeable, but then the idea of a miracle is far easier to digest than the concept of magic.

Merfolk have always been elusive, covert creatures, hence why there is hardly any conclusive data on them. In fact, they’re so secretive that they were believed to be mostly extinct—a figment of dreams and hallucinations. Most of what humans know stems from the tattered notes of long-gone sailors, their presences nearly lost to time itself, and for a while all anyone ever knew were four key details:

They are spread throughout the sea, living out their lives in frigid fathoms.

They are hypnotic and deceptive.

They are predatory.

They rarely interact with humankind unless absolutely necessary (e.g. to hunt or observe).

But with plenty of promising technological advances, some of the theories and myths surrounding merfolk have been bolstered or disproved, respectively. Merfolk are just as diverse as the rest of the animal kingdom. Some live in solitude. Others thrive in groups. Some make their home out of caves and grottos. Some dwell within the labyrinths of volcanic rock formations. It is every marine biologist’s dream to come face to face with one of these mysterious creatures, if only for just a few minutes to glean more information.

That dream is made reality today.

The eel mer was discovered off the coast of a tiny island, entangled in fishing lines and plastic litter. His large, winding body, snake-like in its sleek build, was littered with scars and scrapes. There was a hook lodged up in the folds of his gills. Despite his thrashing, his tail swishing wildly in the sand and nearly knocking down three researchers like they were bowling pins, he was wheezing and gasping, drained of energy and air. When the first bucket of seawater came down upon his dry gills, he settled briefly, wide, crazed, mismatched eyes flicking from face to face. Likely assessing the situation or counting the amount of bodies, the report claimed.

He fell still after that, and it took two teams of ten people to load him onto the lift so he could be flown to the lab.

After he spent a week in recovery, where he healed surprisingly fast, he was transferred to a much larger and wider tank, its depths far deeper than the average swimming pool. He doesn’t swim to the surface much, and he only ever pokes his head out at night, scanning his surroundings with intelligent, keen eyes. And then he turns and disappears below. It’s a pattern he’s stuck to for weeks now. No one really understands it, and they haven’t had the opportunity to try. He’s uncooperative and unpredictable. It’s much too dangerous to send a diver down there.

So they transfer you to his enclosure, assuming you might have more luck. You’re not sure and you can’t make any promises of potential success, as you’ve only ever interacted with marine mammals. A merman is…different. Not only because he’s half-man and, by that same logic, likely possesses a human brain that is capable of a higher level of thought, albeit one that is wired to suit his mer biology, but because he’s bigger. A lot bigger.

He could kill you.

You saw the documentation. The serrated teeth, the powerful claws, the dangerous jaw, the bulky, muscular build that cuts through water like a bullet. He is a predator in every sense of the word, and you’re supposed to look after him. Coax him to the surface. Get him to trust humans. Interact with him just inches from the edge of his tank and hope that he doesn’t get hungry or violent.

He might kill you.

But there are safety measures put in place for these things. Ethics to be followed and whatnot. It’s a slippery slope because he’s part human and therefore could possibly have the same level of intelligence humans have, in which case it would be wrong to trap him here. There may be ways to skirt around it with other animals, but he’s not like other animals.

For now, he’s kept here under the pretense of recovery and scientific study. The lab treats him like the big fish he is, going so far as to buy a shark suit in your size and instruct you to wear it even though you’re not going to get in the water. “It should prevent him from biting through,” they had said, “but it won’t lessen the force of his bite.”

“What good will that do? I can’t fight him off.” Though you knew it had nothing to do with anything, you added, “I’m an omega. Merfolk might not have the same sub-genders as we do up on the surface—or maybe they do; I don’t know—but if he were human he’d definitely classify as an alpha. Put that into perspective. I can’t. Fight. Him. Off. It’s biologically impossible.”

“So you poke his eyes. Dig your fingers into his gills. He should let go of you then.”

“That’ll hurt him,” you protested, clutching the suit to your chest.

“Not as much as he’ll hurt you.”

You suppose it’s a clinical priority. Survival of the fittest, but it’s the human who has to live. The lab could afford to lose you, but they don't want to. And if they did, they might put the mer down. Shoot him up with enough tranquilizers to keep him comatose. Maybe it only bothered you because, yet again, he’s half-human and no one on the team knows the extent to which he thinks and functions.

To simplify it, they consider him a shark. But like any creature, sharks learn and adapt as they go. Death is instinct.

He will kill you.

But you don’t want to think like that, which is why you put on your best smile and trudge into the enclosure he’s being kept in. The tank looms before you, seawater clear and beamed through with streaks of light from the harsh, glaring LEDs above. The deeper the water gets, the darker the shadows. You press your palm against the glass, observing the murky darkness with a frown. Somewhere in this tank, at a depth you can’t even imagine, is an eel merman. A big, strong, powerful, scary eel merman.

You swallow a steadying breath, curl your fingers into fists, and climb the spiral staircase to get to the attached platform. Your reflection follows you with each step, countenance set in grim confliction. Once you reach the top, you peer out at the surface of the pool, listening to the droning hum of water filters and other hidden machinery. There’s a very shallow part of the tank, a dip in the design that allows for the mer to lounge if he so pleases. You’re reminded of the dolphins in live shows, who slide up onto their stomachs to face an awestruck audience. You doubt that’s what he’ll use this ledge for. If anything, it could allow a researcher to kneel in the shallows while they interact with him at an intimate propinquity.

You don’t plan on being that researcher.

Instead, you pace a healthy distance away from the edge, holding a bucket of his breakfast in one hand and a notebook in the other.

“Um!” You cringe at your voice as it reverberates around you in a nervous echo. Cautiously, you inch towards the water. “I have your food!”

You wait three seconds, expecting him to come bursting up from the darkness like the shark everyone wants to delude themselves into thinking he is. The water remains still and unbroken. You wonder if your voice can even reach such a depth. If not the sound, the vibrations might. Or maybe he’s resting. It’s still relatively early in the morning. Perhaps his sleep schedule is thrown off. Yours would be if you were taken from your home and dumped in a manufactured version of your habitat.

You lurch forwards with the bucket and watch as a collection of shrimp, crab, and small fish soar through the air in a sloppy arc before landing and sinking into the waiting depths below. Nothing happens. The tension in your body ebbs away, and when it becomes clear that he isn’t coming up to greet you and feast on your offering you relax completely, collapsing against the wall with a great sigh.

If they really want to study him, they should just watch him on the security feed, you think, peering up at the camera in one corner of the room, its red eye fixated on you and the surrounding enclosure. He’s not going to come up during the day. Not when there are humans walking around.

Still, you wait your shift out, scribbling nonsense in your notebook and occasionally glancing up to gauge the state of the water.

The mer doesn’t show, so you resolve to try again.

Try you do, and try you have.

It’s been one week of perfunctory routine, arriving and feeding him at the same time in hopes that he might understand what you’re doing and come up to investigate. Or, at the very least, recognize you’re a recurring figure in his chapter of captivity. You don’t intend on befriending him. You only wish to fulfill your duties as a researcher, however skewed they may have become. Even though you know you ought to be grateful the mer hasn’t caused any problems, you want something to happen. Anything! At this rate, you’d sooner tire yourself out playing with rowdy sea lions than sit around in silence while waiting for an appearance from him.

It’s a quiet Tuesday afternoon when the first beat of unrest hits.

The mer’s enclosure is kept at a comfortable temperature for humans; it’s the water that’s freezing below the surface. So when you step up onto the platform and peer into the chum-infested deep, the empty bucket now set aside, you feel warmer than usual. Odd, considering the room is normally so chilly. Not extremely so, but chilly enough to give way to a pleasant cold.

Tugging at the collar of your shark suit, you cover the distance to stand under a large fan situated just near the dip in the pool. Cool air kisses your heated skin, providing you with much-needed relief, and you peer up at the propellers that spin in endless circles. Around and around and around. Your eyes follow the motions until you dizzy yourself, and you step back on wobbly legs. Your foot misses the metal platform and instead slips into the ledge built in the tank. With a startled yelp you fall backwards, landing in the shallows on your rear.

“Of course,” you mumble, bitter with embarrassment. “Leave it to me to fall right into the predator’s tank.”

You scoot further up onto the ledge, staring at the water below. It’s quite calm here, where the shallows lap languidly at your waist. If you were delusional, you might think this was a jacuzzi pool that you could dip your toes in. It’s not. Of course it isn’t. Not when there’s a beast lurking just below. But while you’re here, you run your hands through the saltwater while your own body temperature rises as if it’s a hungry flame in a stone hearth.

You place your hands on either side of the ledge, intending to push yourself up and onto the platform, when something tightens inside of you. Your heart stumbles in your chest and you lose the strength in your arms at once. With a noisy splash, you flop back into the shallows, your compromised body rigid and shaky with a tingling, all-encompassing warmth. Horrified, you raise two fingers to your pulse to feel it stutter wildly beneath your skin.

Swallowing thickly, you lower your head onto your arms and wait for the feeling to pass. The seconds slip by and in that short amount of time your state seems to worsen. Your temperature is volcanic, your every sense restless, and you’re sweating through the shark suit as if you’ve just run a marathon and more.

“Not now,” you hiss, slapping your hands upon your face. “Please not now. Anything but now…”

You intend to haul yourself up and out for good this time, desperate to get as far from the pool before your brain is completely overrun by your encroaching heat and robust omega instincts, when fingers brush against your leg. Something chitters behind you, a low, slow sort of sound that is shot through with curiosity. You turn as if you’re frozen in ice, your heart in your throat and senses on high alert.

The eel mer is right there, clutching your ankle in a firm grip. Not to hurt you, but to keep you there. And you’re not at all in a hurry to leave. Not when those claws are so close to your calf, capable of shredding through to your very bones. Even with the shark suit, you worry. He stares at you with narrowed eyes, his head angled in a cute, childish way. He appears confused and rightfully so, considering you’re a creature he’s likely never interacted with so closely before. You mirror his befuddlement, your brows furrowed, lips creased in a thin line.

For a long while, the two of you watch each other. If you look past his predatory design, he’s quite pretty with his smoky teal coloration and dark stripes. Your gaze pans over to the water, where a long, powerful tail disappears below. The paranoid side of you says he’s going to drown you, but then he doesn’t seem outwardly malicious in his intentions.

“Um…”

He flinches at the sound of your voice, his head snapping up to your throat and then your lips. Your attempt to pull your captive leg back is thwarted when he lurches, rising out of the water to grab hold of your foot. You gasp and shake your head at him, your senses sharp and dull all at once. Your heat-addled mind just barely parses the threat of danger, looming and ever-present.

“Please,” you beg, your tone sticky and breathless. “Don’t…”

The mer tilts his head the other way. The fins where his ears might be if he were human shiver, as if listening to the desperation in your syllables. He chirrups, lips widening in a sharp-toothed smile, and then he’s dragging you towards him. Panic seizes your nerves and you dig your palms into the smooth basin in an effort to get away. His expression falls when he notices your struggle and he lifts himself onto the ledge with you, draping himself over your legs like an oversized rug.

“Wait… H-Hold on; get off!” You grunt and weakly prod at his chest. He doesn’t budge. “You… You’re heavy!”

His webbed hand closes around your waist, steadying you in the shallows, while his other arm cages you beneath him. Instinctively, you arch into his touch, your breath coming in tiny, frenzied huffs. He clicks at you, and words that you can only assume are meant to be gentle and soothing are produced in a sweet melody. It relaxes you more than you’d like to admit, a lyrical balm to your terror.

You squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourself for the worst. For the searing pain and the stinging agony. For the blood that will color the water a dark, foreboding red. For the sight of him merrily tearing into your jugular, his maw spattered with crimson. But none of that ever comes. He cradles your face next, his thumb running along your cheekbone, and slowly you peel your eyes open. His face is inches from yours, looking on with an intensity that’s almost primal.

Warily, you lift your arm out of the water and touch his hand. It’s much bigger in contrast to yours, but he’s handling you with such immaculate tenderness.

“You’re not going to hurt me…” you mutter, amazed. “You’re just curious.”

As if responding, he chitters. You nod even though you have no idea what he said. He doesn’t smell like an alpha or an omega or a beta. You’re not even sure if he’s capable of releasing pheromones, but if he were you’re certain it would have driven you much crazier than you already feel.

You hold his stare and reach up to pat his cheek, and he leans into your careful touch. Your hand soon trails down to trace his lateral lines, which earns you a pleased hum. You watch in awe as the gills on either side of his body flutter.

Led on by your own wonder, you follow the pattern to his waist and press your thumbs into his hip bones beneath smooth, slippery skin. “How fascinating… I wonder if it’s possible to take an X-ray. Would you allow—oh!”

Clumsily, he lifts you into his arms to embrace you, rolling his hips against the chainmail shark suit. Your breath hitches, and you fumble to grasp his broad shoulders.

“Ah, w-wait. I’m not… You can’t…”

He clicks thrice and lowers you into the shallows, his face scrunched in annoyance. You think he might’ve understood you, but then he’s palming between your legs and it occurs to you that he wants the suit off. Carnal delight shivers through you at the prospect of being wanted to such a degree, and though you know it’s the heat muddling your sensibility you can’t help indulging him just a little. You undo the zip at the back and slide it from your body, revealing your shoulders and bare arms for his wandering, mismatched hues. He leans in to nose at your scent glands, chattering happily as he inhales. You can’t understand a word, but he sounds pleased—even more so when he runs his hands along your arms, squeezing and petting in equal measure.

His tongue laves across your neck, and what fragile restraint you have left snaps. You cling to him like he’s your anchor, meeting his searching hips halfway with every awkward thrust that doesn’t quite connect as it should. You chew your lip, tamping down a torrent of filthy moans. Your mind is clouded with lust and instinct, and you dig your fingers into his hair, holding him against your neck while he continues to lick and nip.

It feels right up until the haze parts momentarily, allowing temporary sobriety when you spy the tip of something poking free of its encasing. Dazed and inquisitive, you reach between your bodies to prod at his slit, hoping to coax more of his prehensile cock from out of its folds. But then the door below opens and the mer lifts himself from off of you, his head turning in the direction of the sound at an alarming speed. You blink up at him, lazily following his line of sight. His lip curls up in a silent snarl, the beginnings of razored teeth peeking out, and then he slithers back into the water, his hands lingering on your ankles.

Despite the dizziness you sit up, your arm outstretched. “Wait, don’t go!”

I didn’t get to cum yet. You didn’t even claim me either…

He peers at you, neutral for all of a minute before swimming over to you. He presses his face into your palm, chittering softly. There are footsteps on the stairs, and he grits his teeth, withdrawing completely before turning and diving under in a spray of seawater.

You fall back into the shallows, panting like a starved, feral monster. A researcher comes to your aid, her expression equal parts shocked and disturbed. You don’t catch her questions, each one tacked onto what feels like a ceaseless rant, while she helps you to your feet. Something about danger. About heats. About omega biology. About how the researchers watched the both of you on the cameras, swelling with queries of their own.

“I’m not sure,” you mumble as you’re helped down the stairs, stumbling in a heat-drunken stupor. Thankfully, your fellow researcher is an omega like you and that relaxes the hypersensitive part of you—the part that fears being taken advantage of when you’re vulnerable like this. But the needier, greedier part of you wants the mer—wants his hands and mouth all over you, ripping you free from your suit and indulging in the bare skin beneath. “I think he...wanted to help…”

No one can explain his behavior. But it seems promising.

While you’re led from the room, the eel mer stalks you from the gloomy confines of his tank.

In the days following your heat, you return to the marine lab with your head on your shoulders and are immediately barraged with requests. Amongst all of them, one common demand stands out: You have to get him up to the surface again. Part of you doesn’t want to face the mer again. When you truly mulled over that day, tossed the memory of it around in your mind like it was a tennis ball, you were hit with shame.

It’s not…normal. Researchers do not tangle themselves in sexual situations with their subjects, especially when said subject was an eel mer from the Coral Sea. It’s unheard of. Luckily, the team of researchers you work with swears to secrecy. You were out of it and your judgment wasn’t in the best state. That’s the excuse they’re using. It works enough to push the humiliation from your thoughts.

You wonder if you should feel disgusted by the events. Rather, you didn’t mind it. For all of his rough, scarred, monstrous edges, he was gentle.

You press your fingers to your scent glands, recalling the feel of his tongue.

Today you’ve donned your usual work attire, foregoing the shark suit and any other protective gear the lab expects you to wear. Something tells you you won’t need it anymore. Not after everything that happened the day you went into heat.

Feeling rejuvenated and refreshed after your mini break, you trudge up the staircase with a food bucket, determined to finally fill your notebook with data. You’ve only made it up four steps when color flashes in your peripheral. You turn and find the mer is at your eye level, following you up the spiral staircase adjacent to his tank.

You pause and wave experimentally. He watches your hand move to and fro and then he mirrors your actions. He swims the rest of the distance to the surface, breaching it just as you make it onto the platform.

“Good morning, Mister,” you greet, bending down to empty the contents of the bucket into the water.

Disinterested, he watches bits of shrimp sink deeper. And then he looks back to you, his mouth opening and shutting. “Fu… Fu…” he forces out, his face scrunched in concentration.

“Fu…? Food?”

He nods and then shakes his head, hissing at himself in what you think might be admonishment.

“Fu…ro…”

“Furo?” You set the bucket aside and scoot closer to the edge. “What’s that?”

He tries once more before the syllables fizzle out on his tongue and, with a few frustrated clicks, he swipes a fish from the surface and stuffs it in his mouth. You giggle, and the sound has him tilting his head. Without a shred of apprehension, he meets you at the ledge. You watch him munch on the fish between his lips, content to observe in silence. He polishes it off rather quickly before procuring a handful, which he dumps onto the ground beside you. You shake your head at him, smiling weakly.

“Thanks, but no. It’s all yours.”

The mer shrugs and indulges without you.

“I should thank you for not hurting me back then,” you add. He pays close attention to your lips; you think he might be attempting to read them while listening. “Um… But don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not sure if merfolk are like humans, but we have this system… Or not a system… It’s more like…groupings? Secondary classifications?” You frown. How can you explain the complexities of sub-genders to a mer who doesn’t even speak your language? “Basically, I was in trouble and you helped me out. Kind of. In any case, thank you.”

He stares at you for a while, chewing and swallowing. You think he might swim back under once he’s finished, but instead he places his hands on the ledge and hoists himself up on his arms. He’s in your face next, all eager smiles and chitters.

“Fu… Furo. Furo…ido. Furoido,” he sounds out.

You read his lips in the best way you can before it finally clicks. “Ah! Floyd, right? Is that…your name?”

Floyd points to himself, makes a few upbeat clicks, and then nods. He’s pointing at you next.

“And me? Oh, my name is (Name).” You take your time sounding it out for him, and he repeats it with an awkward tongue. You smile and nod encouragingly. “That’s it. That’s me.”

He flops back into the water with a celebratory trill, a wild smile tugging at his lips. You watch him swim laps from you to the opposite end of the pool and back. Ditching the shark suit was the right call. You’re no longer uncertain. This time, you know for a fact that you’re going to be getting along very well with him.

And you look forward to fostering this flowering friendship.

#meraki mumbles #fluffy floyd hours #n/sfw #tw: abo #tw: omegaverse #he's so cute >w< i love floyb orz #okay now it's back to tmdg!!!#jade is going to kill me for writing about his twin when i should be writing him ;;;;

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undercoverpena · 3 months

Text

untangling

frankie morales x f!reader

this little drabble is half my fault and half @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain — so blame the latter for why you’ve seen me post so much today.

WARNINGS: reader gets riled up watching frankie detangle a necklace, competency kink is on full form, a bit smutty, alludes to a blowjob, established relationship. written on my phone, so likely errors. word count: 1k

If only you were more careful. A thought so easy to have now, all in retrospect—the carnage of past actions held delicately between your fingers.

He says it sometimes, comments on it with a small smile when you’re clumsy—when you find yourself tumbling or walking into doorways. This is a little different, a little less clumsy and a little more careless.

Hunched over the bed, back aching, sweat beginning to build on your lower spine—just hoping it doesn’t ruin the fabric you’d slipped over your head only ten minutes ago. Because now you’re running late, behind on the time you told him.

All because you’d haphazardly thrown your necklace into your jewellery box the last time you’d worn it. Giddy, excitement building in your muscles as you stripped and rid yourself of everything that could stand in the way of feeling him. The necklace’s removal had been cautionary, not wanting it to be ruined.

The irony.

Each attempt at untangling the knot comes with a fresh, heavier exhale from your flared nostrils. Irritation weaves itself into your muscles with each minute that ticks on by, as another blow of hot breath dances down the V of your dress.

Tears begin to prick, distantly hearing him moving around just below. Waiting, likely checking his watch out of fear of being late—because he loathes being late, a thing from his army days, a part of his character.

The only thing soothing you is the lingering scent of his aftershave. It floats in the air of the bedroom the two of you share, even if he left it over half an hour ago for you to get dressed.

Which, technically you are—just not completely.

Because you can’t go to dinner with him without this.

The gift from your first few months of dating. A present, a thing picked, chosen and given by him. All hopeful almond-brown eyes, relief flooding through him when you told him you loved it as fingers on your neck—all warm, calloused—helped fasten it.

It’s why you have to detangle it. Fix it.

“Fuck,” you mumble. “Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck—“

“Querida?”

It’s soft, laced with concern. A tone you don’t deserve when you look over your shoulder and find him in the doorway—looking even more handsome than the day you first met him.

It’s a rush, a collection of words that make an amalgamated sentence he’s somehow able to decipher. But then, Frankie speaks you; he knows you. Can read your body as though it talks directly to him, spills secrets to him your brain is not yet willing to provide.

You suppose it’s why your body relaxes at his touch, fingers on the back of your arm, knuckles up and down in soft lines.

“Let me try, baby.”

All calm and collected, his hand gesturing out—nothing but soft brown eyes that meet yours as you slide the chain and the pendant into his palm.

It’s like watching magic happen. His fingers—all thick, worn, weathered—somehow able to begin to loosen the crime you committed. The metal listening, doing as he commands as he begins to undo the work from you hurrying all those months ago.

Some part of you is in disbelief, because it shouldn’t be a thing. Those fingers compared to your thinner ones, and yet, you’re watching it happen—seeing in real-time as once again he does the impossible. As the chain begins to sit flat, no ball of shambles, just a beautiful necklace in his finger.

And it makes heat bloom in your stomach, a knot forming and tightening that makes it hard to think of anything but how good his hands are in other places too. Your thighs pressing together, teeth biting down on your lip, all desperate to alleviate, unsure how watching him do such a mundane task is making you so wet between your legs. So much so, you struggle to swallow when he flicks his eyes up to you and smiles.

Because how can you be so impressed, dumbfounded and utterly turned on that he did that so easily, so competently—as though it was the easiest thing of all?

“Stand up and turn around for me,” Frankie says, voice low.

And you do. Better that than question the swirling thoughts of dragging his mouth to yours, to sliding fingers into his hair and having his competent fucking hands slide your dress up your thighs—have him ball it up, show you what else he can do (for the billionth time) with limited time.

The bed squeaks as you stand, almost wobbling, heels clicking on the floor as you move and stand before him, turning, as you see his hands in your peripheral and feel cold metal on your skin.

“Have I told you how good you look?”

Smiling, heat warms your cheeks—it fizzing in your ears. “Not yet, Morales.”

Fingers pressing the pendant to your chest, hearing him fastening—imagining the tip of his tongue poking through his lips, face full of concentration and focus.

“You look beautiful, querida,” he whispers as his breath dances over your neck, necklace fastened, perfectly in place as his fingers slide down over your shoulders, resting on your arms as he

Taking in a measured breath, you turn your head, catching his gaze—seeing it flick from your face to the deep V of your dress.

“How long have we got, Morales?”

It leaves your tongue calm, plain. But you suspect he knows what you’re getting at, likely already knows you’re soaked—seemingly caught on to the competency kink you have going on.

Licking his lips, he smirks, all-knowing as a snort half escapes, “Querida…”

But you’re already turning, mouth suddenly desperate to have something inside of it that doesn’t come on a plate. Hands finding refuge on his shoulders, using them to slip from your heels, before dropping to the waist of your dress.

“How long, Frankie?”

He swallows, visibly. Curses under his breath as more of your thighs are unveiled, cool air kissing over your already-soaked panties. And he mumbles a number, a frame of time to work in.

“Perfect,” you whisper, fingers working his belt, it clanging, loosening before you find his zipper. “Want to still feel you in the back of my throat every time I try and eat tonight, Morales. You got that?”

Whatever comment he’d been about to say is taken, stolen, by your mouth wrapping around his half-hardened cock.

You’re not sure you regret your necklace tangling now.

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x you #Frankie morales Drabble #Frankie morales fanfiction #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco morales x you

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poweringthroughthis · 2 months

Text

love in three acts | kim mingyu, wong yukhei

nsfw, mature content, minors DNI! (ftm friendly)

ship: wong yukhei (lucas) x male reader, kim mingyu x male reader

warning: extreme feminization, reader is a femboy,

(reader's genitals are referred to as pussy/tits).

pure filth, read at your own risk

(requested!)

act i.

Life is not what it is portrayed to be in cinema. (name) learned as much now that he was well into his 4th semester of college. Society has romanticized the college experience to such an extent that one dives in, expecting alcohol, parties and an enchanting love life to be the frontrunners, while in actuality, it is assignments, exams and stressful days filling the void most of the times.

Nothing changes if you don't make it happen yourself. Your dream life doesn't manifest one day magically, and your love life doesn't become one for the books by itself either. You need to start living the way you want to. That, is the only viable form of happiness in today's world. At least that's what (name) taught himself during one of his loneliest nights, freshman year, which culminated with a self-therapy session.

Then the nerdiest, biggest pushover of a guy, (name) was now a changed man. He had the biggest glow-up: his slender curves, thick thighs and pretty eyes, putting everyone's wildest dreams to shame in comparison. He embraced his true self fearlessly, taking control of his life and living the way he wanted to. He had definitely been happier ever since then, but he believed it did little to better his dating life as he was still boyfriend to a man seemingly afraid to love him in public.

Wong Yukhei is a lot of things, but inherently smart, he is not. Which is why he doesn't understand why his boyfriend is upset with him right now. "W-what do you mean?"

"Seriously Lucas? We've been over this before. Every time I as much as I lean into you in public, you go off to do something else with your friends. It's like we're strangers in public." (name) explained, perplexed.

"It's not like that! You know I love you. It's jus-just.." Honestly, Lucas didn't know himself why he'd been subconsciously dodging his boyfriend's advances while they were out. It's not like he never indulged in PDA with his previous partners. Maybe he'd been getting too caught up with his friends that he unintentionally neglected his boyfriend each time they were in the public eye.

"You know what? I need to go. Come find me when you have an answer. " (name) scoffed dejectedly, storming out of the empty classroom, leaving the flabbergasted giant behind. (name) started wondering if he wasn't attractive enough for Lucas.

If only he knew how wrong that assumption was. Because if that was the case, he wouldn't have the hunkiest man to ever exist (besides his own boyfriend), eye-fucking him from behind. The large man traced (name)'s every movement with great intensity: the way his hips swayed as he walked quickly, the way his skirt rode up just enough to show his supple thighs, even the way his ass looked perfect as he bent down to pick up his fallen stationery.

Kim Mingyu was a lot of things. And like every other guy, being inexplicably horny at the sight of a pretty boy, was one of them. he snapped out of his daze, dashing to (name)'s side, helping pick up his belongings from the floor, without failing to catch a peek of his bra underneath the dress. needless to say, he had to physically restrain himself from popping a boner then and there.

"Hey, you okay? Looking a little sad there" he offered his charming smile, making (name) look up as he straightened himself. His gaze fell on the handsome man's huge biceps, that flexed under the weight of his stack of books, threatening to rip his half-sleeved tee that was already too tight for his massive chest. It was hard not to, when a 6 ft hunk was sizing up his body shamelessly.

"I'm Mingyu. I'm in this faculty too. 3rd year"

"(name). 2nd year." Offered he, politely.

"Boyfriend problems?" Mingyu inquired, (name) taken aback. "Just guessing", he clarified, knowing fully well he eavesdropped into the couple's conversation earlier. What? He just wanted to see for himself who bagged this hot specimen before he could. Before (name) could respond, Mingyu moved closer.

"I won't pry into your personal life, but tell you what. Any man that doesn't appreciate you enough, is a loser."

He ran his hands all over (name)'s curves, finally slipping underneath his skirt to grope his ass and lift one of (name)'s legs against his groin, making the boy gasp.

"Someone who loves the beauty that you are, y'feel me?" His breath fanned over (name)'s face, the boy feeling 50 emotions at once.

"I,I shou-"

"Hey! What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" the duo turned towards the source of the voice: (name)'s seething boyfriend. Lucas stomped over to them, snatching (name) from Mingyu's grasp and wrapping his bulky arm around his waist, pulling the boy flush against his hard chest.

"Not so shy touching him in public anymore?" Mingyu teased. If Lucas wasn't mad jealous right now, he'd probably wonder how Mingyu knew about the couple's fight. But he couldn't care less right now. He all but dragged (name) back to the empty classroom, heels clacking against the tiled floor and slammed the door shut.

"What's wrong with you Lucas ?"

"ME? The fuck's wrong with him? How dare he lay his hands on MY boyfriend?" Lucas fritted his teeth.

"I might as well let him. Since YOU'RE so ashamed of touching me. I bet, with his huge arms and adonis-like body, he can easil-"

"You mean, these?" Lucas threw his stupid smirk (name)'s way as he flexed his massive biceps that threatened to spill out of his half-tee.

"Lucas! W- what if someone sees us? The door has a huge window" (name) stuttered, turned on by his boyfriend's manly display.

"I don't give a fuck anymore." Lucas said, taking off his shirt over his head in one swift motion, using only one hand.

Throwing shame out the window as all coherent thought left his body, (name) ran firm hands all over the muscle mass that was rock hard under the touch. He squeezed the giant pecs as Lucas made them bounce. "You like that?" He smirked.

"So fucking much, you're so big and strong for me." (name) moaned, latching his mouth to suck on the bulge of Lucas' biceps, the giant flexing them hard in (name)'s mouth. The musky scent of sweat filled the air making (name) hornier as the recalled how hot Lucas looked playing basketball earlier, all sweaty and pumped up.

He ran his tongue over all his muscles: the abs, the meaty chest, the armpits, licking every crevice of the result of his boyfriend's hard work.

Lucas moaned, throwing his head back, grabbing a fistful of (name)'s hair as he pushed him further towards his body.

"Yeahh, worship those muscles like the good boy you are."

"You're so fucking hot, baby. Look how fucking huge you are."

Lucas growled, turning (name) around harshly, removing the string of his dress with one hand, the piece of fabric falling aside at once.

"This little pussy is mine" He landed a smack on (name)'s hole, cupping him hard through his panties, the boy shaking from the recoil of Lucas' strength. "Gonna ruin it with my fat cock, baby."

"Yes, daddy. Do it, fuck me!" (name) cried.

Lucas delivered more slaps on his clothed cunt, (name) tearing up and thrashing from the impact, but Lucas held him in place with one hand and he continued using the other to smack his pussy. "Crying already? Wait till I'm done with you. you're gonna cry harder than now, begging me to stop, but I won't."

(name) sobbed at the prospect, loving every second of it. Lucas grabbed a fistful of the boy's ass, kneading the flesh hard, digging his nails deep into his plump flesh. "You have the fattest fucking ass" Lucas groaned, slapping it hard again, and again, and again.

"I'll make sure this fat ass bounces when I fuck you."

Lucas turned him around, grabbing him by the back of his thighs and lifting him up easily.

"Ah! Lucas, fuck! You're so strong."

"Yeah? Want me to throw you around? Use my muscles to manhandle you and fuck you real hard, huh? Like this" Lucas lifted him up in the air and threw him on the desk. He leaned in, pushing his muscular body flush against (name)'s soft one.

He grabbed the boy's neck, squeezing it hard and forcing him to look him in the eyes. "I'm going to wreck you."

"Please" (name) choked out.

Lucas released his grip, sliding the panties clean off and shoving three of his fingers in.

"Look at how small your little clit is, baby. This is so cute, I'm gonna enjoy stretching it out."

He rubbed his calloused thumb on his swollen clit, teasing it in circles as he pushed his thick fingers deeper, adding his pinky.

"Fuck! Oh my god, you're so deep. I can't.

"That's right. Scream my name. Make everyone hear that you belong to me." The giant rammed his digits harder, abusing (name)'s sensitive spot. His body jerked forward and fell on the table behind him, hands scrambling for support.

"Fuck! I can't, please-ah!"

Lucas didn't relent, adding his pinky to the mix, his knuckles rubbing against (name)'s walls. "Take it! Take it like a good boy."

The taller boy continued his merciless assault, ramming his thick fingers in and out of his boyfriend. (name) felt the familiar knot in his stomach as the pressure kept building. "Cumming, please-!"

"Yeah? Gonna cum? Gonna cum all over my fingers? Cum like the good boy you are."

(name) did as told, clenching and shaking, squirting all over his boyfriend's fingers. Lucas took out his digits slowly, admiring the mess, licking his fingers clean and tasting his boyfriend's juices.

"Fuck, you're delicious. Turn around."

"W-wait, I'm sensitive-!"

"I don't fucking care. I'm gonna eat this pussy till I'm satsified. "

(name) turned and laid down, the hard wood of the desk supporting his back. Lucas grabbed him by the ankles and hooked them over his broad shoulders, spreading his legs apart. His heels almost reached the top of the man's back, but it did not deter him as he leaned down and pressed a kiss on the wet slit, his warm breath fanning over (name)'s sex.

"You look so beautiful right now. Your tits spilling out of your bra, and your legs spread wide for me."

Lucas dove right in, burying his face in the boy's pussy, licking and sucking at the swollen clit.

"Ah, Lucas-fuck! So good"

(name) gripped the hair on the man's head, bucking his hips as he was sent to another realm. He felt the wet tongue prodding and sliding, the sensation overwhelming his body.

Lucas captured (name)'s labia in his mouth, suckling hard between his lips and pulling it back with a pop sound. The lewd action made (name) cry out as he was eaten out, his pussy abused and raw, the man's tongue lapping at his entrance.

"Lucas, I-I can't take it. Too much, ahh"

"Yeah? Like how I eat your fucking tight pussy?

Lucas licked and sucked his boyfriend's clit, slurping up the juices from the sensitive hole. "Fuck, I can do this all day."

"L-Lucas, wait! I can't! Please-ah!"

Lucas kept at his pace, eating (name) out, the latter feeling his orgasm approaching rapidly. "I'm-cumming! "

The giant smirked, completely pussy drunk. " Yeah? Eating this little pussy so good, huh? Go ahead and cum all over my tongue, baby. Cum on my fucking face."

(name) was a panting and moaning mess. He couldn't take the pleasure and pain mixed together, and it all culminated as he squirted all over his boyfriend's mouth, the giant swallowing it all up.

Lucas sat on the teacher's desk, pulling (name) harshly onto his lap. He massaged his tits through the bra, growing hornier and more aggressive by the second. He couldn't take his eyes off the beautiful view of his boyfriend in nothing but heels, the black material covering his breasts.

"Take that fucking bra off" Lucas growled, pinching the buds beneath the fabric.

(name) reached behind him and undid the strap, the garment falling and pooling around his waist.

"Fuck" Lucas whispered as he squeezed the soft mounds in his large palms. He brought his head down and suckled the rosy buds, biting them harshly and leaving marks around the skin.

"Oh fuck! Please, more!

"Yeah, you like that? My mouth all over your pretty little tits?"

"Mmm, yes"

Lucas continued his ministrations, slurping noises filling the room as squeezed and sucked harder.

"Oh fuck, I need you, now. Turn around and show me your pretty little ass."

(name) slid off his lap and turned around, his knees resting on the wooden desk and his palms spread in front of him.

Lucas unzipped his pants and pulled out his throbbing cock, already leaking precum. He gave his length a few strokes before sliding the mushroom tip across his boyfriend's pussy, the heat of the wet flesh driving him crazy.

"Please, put it in. Put it in!"

"Yeah? This is what you wanted all along, huh? Wanted to be fucked stupid in the middle of class? Wanted me to breed you full?"

"Fuck yes, please"

Lucas didn't waste any time, grabbing his thick member and pressing the head against (name)'s sopping entrance. The hole twitched at the touch, aching to be filled. He pushed the head in and watched as the hole stretched to accommodate his size, a moan escaping his throat.

(name) whined at the feeling of being filled to the brim. The cock inside him was massive, stretching his insides and reaching the deepest parts of him.

Lucas grabbed his boyfriend's waist and rammed into him, his cock disappearing into the warm cavern. "Fuck! You feel so fucking good, babe".

The man kept his pace, his thrusts getting deeper and rougher. He leaned forward and bit the boy's earlobe, whispering filthy nothings to him.

"You take my cock so well, huh? Such a fucking good little boy.

"Ahh, please. Faster"

"Yeah, you want me to fuck you faster? Wanna feel my cock in your stomach? Wanna be fucked stupid?"

"Please! I'm so close, please let me cum!"

Lucas grabbed his boyfriend by the back of his neck and pushed his face down on the table, his hips never ceasing their movements. Lucas' strength never failed to amaze (name). He always sent himself over the edge thinking how the giant could easily snap him into two.

"Ah, I'm- I'm cumming!

"Go ahead and fucking cum. Squeeze my dick, milk me dry."

(name) shook as he squirted all over the thick cock, his walls tightening and convulsing around his boyfriend's length.

"Ah, fuck!"

Lucas slammed his hips forward, his balls smacking the boy's ass cheeks. His seed flooded the insides, filling him up to the brim and painting his walls white.

He pulled out his length and watched the cum trickle down the boy's thighs, the sight making him twitch.

(name) laid exhausted on the desk, his eyes shut and his lips parted. Lucas tucked his dick back in his pants and carried his boyfriend bridal style, the boy resting his head on the man's broad chest.

Lucas kissed his forehead as he left the classroom, carrying his boyfriend to his car.

Little did they know, they were being watched in this classroom, yet again.

Kim Mingyu let out ragged breaths, his head against the cold wall of the lecture halls, eyes closed and lips parted. He was sweating profusely and his jeans felt unbelievably tight. As he came down from his high and removed his hands from over his crotch, he looked down to see what the stickiness was.

He was so crazy over seeing (name) being wrecked in nothing but heels that he came in his pants.

#kpop male idol #kpop x male reader #kpop x male reader smut #nct x male reader #seventeen x male reader #male idol x male reader #lucas x male reader #lucas x male reader smut #mingyu x male reader #mingyu x male reader smut #seventeen x male reader smut #wayv x male reader #wayv x male reader smut #nct x male reader smut

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just-j-really · 3 months

Text

Snow White-adjacent Dreamling AU?

Dream is the prince of Time and Night's kingdom (with skin as pale as snow, and hair as black as ebony). Hob has some sort of huntsman-ish role in the palace. Dream goes out hunting fairly often, not for the sake of hunting itself but to have some space from the weight of his responsibilities (and from other people) and the ability to be alone with his thoughts. Maybe to mope a little.

Hob has liked Dream from the moment he set eyes on him, half-despite-half-because he was acting like an arrogant little snot at the time. And although Hob's initial infatuation was mostly just that, infatuation, he really did want to get to know Dream better. So when Death told Dream that he should get out among the people more, which led to Dream, grudgingly, attempting to make conversation with Hob the next time they were alone together, Hob genuinely made an effort to keep the conversation going and get to know him. They meet up every month or so, Hob talks about what he's been up to, a beautiful friendship blossoms, etc.

But they're in a weird space, with each other. Hob thinks of Dream as a friend, and Dream... wants to do the same, but he's too aware of the difference in their stations and the politics of the court, the way it would be so easy for Hob to just be- pretending to like Dream, in order to get something from him. He wouldn't even have to try very hard. Dream's lonely.

And maybe, given enough time, they could have reached an understanding. But the problem is, everyone is aware of Dream's tendency to be alone, in the dangerous forest, with only his huntsman for company, and someone (Night? Time? Desire?) gets Hob alone and asks/bribes/orders him to kill Dream next time they go out hunting.

Hob does not want to do this. Obviously. But the person who ordered him to do it is literally royalty and could have him painfully executed if he doesn't. Not to mention that he has no idea how deep the conspiracy against Dream goes, if there's anyone else in the palace he can trust to help, who'd go running straight to Dream's enemies if they caught him making plans. But he can at least warn Dream, right? Maybe come up with some sort of plan to fake Dream's death and get him to safety.

So the next time Dream goes hunting, as soon as they're far enough from the palace, Hob tells Dream that his father ordered him to ensure that Dream didn't come home from this little excursion.

Dream, obviously, assumes that this is the prelude to Hob stabbing him, punches him in the face, and runs. Hob is left going "Wait! Come back! I said that really badly! I meant it as a warning, I want to help you!"

He chases after Dream, but between the punch and the fact that Dream has some level of magic powers over his namesake- either he made Hob hallucinate or put him to sleep for a bit- Hob isn't able to catch him. He panics for a bit, but he figures at this point the only thing he can do is feed Dream's enemies as much misinformation as possible. So he goes back to the palace and tells Time-or-whoever that he killed Dream and left the body in the woods, giving the completely wrong direction so that when/if someone goes searching for Dream's body they don't find him.

Now, obviously Time doesn't fully believe that Hob went through with it and killed Dream, especially since there's no body. But the fact that Hob's nose is fully broken helps sell the story, at least for a couple of days. Hob spends those days trying to figure out a way to sneak out of the palace- he doesn't want to be executed, but also, if it's at all possible, he wants to make sure Dream got away. (And as long as he's daydreaming, he'd like a chance to apologize.)

He gets his chance when Death tries to kill him for killing her little brother. Unlike Dream, she actually gives Hob the chance to explain, and when he does, she helps him sneak out (under strict orders that he find Dream).

Hob is much happier to obey those.

Meanwhile, Dream has found shelter with a group of raven shapeshifters living in the woods (definitely Matthew, Jessamy, and Lucienne, maybe include other Dreaming residents to make seven). He is much happier being Dream, who lives in the woods and writes stories, than he was being Dream, prince who is hated to the point of assassination attempts. He's maybe making a little money granting people restful sleep and good dreams using his powers. He misses Hob, though. With some distance from the utter betrayal and terror of the moment Hob said he'd been sent to kill him, he's beginning to wonder if he hadn't overreacted, maybe just a smidge. But that's all tied up in and complicated by the fact that he's also beginning to realize he was probably in love with Hob, and he's not sure he can trust any of what he feels about him.

Unfortunately, the king of the neighboring kingdom, Roderick Burgess, hears about a powerful magic user living in the woods and decides to take that power for himself.

Double-unfortunately, Time realizes Dream is alive and sends one of Dream's former bodyguards, the Corinthian, to kill him. Dream's able to fight him off, but he's exhausted to the point of his powers turning on him and putting him into a coma, and that's when Burgess swoops in and captures him.

Dream is caught in a strange, deathlike sleep, making him mostly useless to Burgess. But having him nearby means that everyone around him sleeps peacefully, and occasionally has prophetic dreams, and Burgess is doing the same 'I'll force him to work for me' thing he does in canon except the logic is 'one day I'll figure out how to wake him up (and force him to work for me), and/or how to actively use his powers while he's still asleep.'

So Burgess has a glass coffin built for Dream, and seals him inside.

Back with Hob, he's spent most of this time on the run from Dream's enemies, unable to actively look for Dream, and slowly going mad with worry over what might have happened to him. He's also slowly, painfully come to realize that the feelings he'd felt for Dream were a little closer to 'love' than 'friendship'. It is a bad time. But eventually he hears rumors about Roderick Burgess, who 'rescued' a comatose prince from the woods and is offering a reward to anyone who can wake him up.

Hob goes chasing after these rumors- Dream showing up alive took a lot of the heat off him- eventually ends up in Burgess' kingdom, and decides to try his hand at waking up Coma Prince. Worst case scenario, it's not Dream. Best case scenario, it's Dream, he's able to rescue him and explain, and- well. Dream will go off and do whatever it is he wants to do, and maybe he and Hob can be friends.

(Hob doesn't let himself hope for anything more, any sort of soft little happily-ever-after.)

But for all that Roderick is pretending to have rescued Dream out of the goodness of his heart, Hob steps one foot into the room with the glass coffin and is immediately aware that isn't the case. He doesn't know much about magic, aside from the couple of times Dream showed off his powers for him. But it's not exactly difficult to spot that the glass coffin, and all the magic circles surrounding it, are somehow vampirically feeding off of Dream, and even though he only understands every third word of the larger explanation he's given, it's more than enough to confirm his suspicions. Burgess' fellow mages give Hob the tour of the apparatus, snickering among themselves because clearly this idiot won't be able to do anything magical that they couldn't. Hob nods along and plays up the 'idiot peasant with delusions of grandeur' vibe right up until everyone has stepped back to see what he'll do.

And then he drags his heel straight down the middle of the largest circle of runes, sending the spell completely haywire.

The backlash of the spell collapsing causes Roderick and his mages to pass out, and gives Hob time to smash open the glass coffin and get Dream away from all the spell circles.

But Dream doesn't wake up, even as the spell collapses. Just remains in Hob's arms, cool and lifeless.

Hob is not about to let it end like that. Sure, none of the most talented mages in the land had been able to wake Dream, but none of them tried getting him out of the stupid coffin, first, so Hob's clearly a step ahead of them already.

He sneaks out of Roderick's palace, carrying Dream, while Roderick and his servants are asleep. Gets him to relative safety (with the help of Jessamy, who'd been waiting for a chance to break Dream out and jumped in to help the moment Hob started breaking things).

And Dream's still in the weird death-trance but he isn't dead. Hob's sure of it. It might be wishful thinking but he swears Dream looks a little better now that they're away from Roderick's palace- a little more color in his cheeks, the faintest, threadiest suggestion of a pulse when Hob feels for one.

So Hob keeps a vigil at Dream's bedside that night, but eventually exhaustion causes him to drift off to sleep.

When he does, Dream is waiting for him.

"You need not have come to my defense," he says, staring at Hob suspiciously.

"Yes, I did," Hob tells him. "You're my friend. Of course I did."

Dream sizes him up for a long while. He's powerful enough, in this dreamscape, to tell that Hob genuinely means what he's saying. It takes a long time for him to decide it might be worth it to tell Hob how to shock him out of the dream he's trapped in (by fulfilling one of his most treasured dreams), but finally, he says, "You might be able to wake me up."

Hob's immediately like "Yes of course how whatever you need."

"Kiss me," Dream says, and then, while Hob is still trying to process that, "This dream is over."

And Hob wakes up.

And yeah, a good part of him dismisses the dream as some extremely strange wish-fulfillment fantasy. But it had seemed so real.

So, with the extremely romantic thought, alright it's worth a shot, Hob leans forward and kisses Dream.

Almost immediately, there's a little shiver of breath against his lips, and when he pulls away, Dream is blinking sleepily up at him.

Hob immediately pulls Dream into a hug, and by the time Dream is actually, fully conscious, Hob is sitting in the bed with him, supporting him with an arm around his shoulders, fussing over him just the tiniest bit frantically.

And Dream, eventually, manages to explain why Hob kissing him awake worked, which means that OBVIOUSLY Hob needs to kiss him some more.

(And they both get a soft little happily-ever-after)

#dreamling #my fic #yes i thought of this after seeing that one art that the artist said had snow white vibes #but i can no longer find it to link

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shinjisdone · 10 months

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How I Imagine TWST Could Be If There Was A Female!MC - Staff Edition

part 2 of this I suppose

TW: Reader is female, period mentioned, bullying mentioned

Crowley, as mentioned, is a bit indifferent but puzzled at the new female student.

Not to offend, but you sure you crawled out of the coffin? You didn't throw out the original Student and replaced their body with yours, right?

He is half-joking by the way.

Well, it is what it is, and him being such a GRACIOUS AND GENEROUS PERSON will OF COURSE do all that he can to make you feel welcome and part of NRC!

Spoiler alert: he does so half-assed.

Will bring you any sort of thing you need and will offer both pants and skirts in all kinds of lengths for your uniform - long, short, frilly, straight, etc. As long as they fit with the jacket.

Since you came here with uh, NOTHING, he will also make sure that Sam stocks all kinds of things. While many things that are worn/needed are kinda basic/gender-neutral, he doesn't think of eeeeverything.

At the same time he kinda...paves you your own personal hell with good intentions. Introduces you to others like a good headmaster does while also underlining how VERY MUCH INDEED A GIRL YOU ARE. DING-DING-DING A YOUNG WOMAN IS GOING TO BE HERE FOR THE REST OF UUUUHHH WHENEVER I'LL BOTHER TO LOOK FOR HER HOME PLEASE BE NICE TO HER, OK?

When you might feel sick and report it to the headmaster he will of course, understand. Yet just as you are about to excuse yourself he GASPS and very genuinely and worriedly asks while whispering 'are you on your period...?'

Whether or not that is the case he will continue to reassure that that it is not something to be ashamed about AS THE ONLY GIRL HERE and he'll make sure you'll be fine.

Unironically would give you a wink, thumbs up and pats himself on the back for how GENEROUS HE IS HAH.

Would give you self-made help book: 'The Time I Got Transported Into A Magic All-Boys-Academy As The Only Magicless Girl'.

Crewel is uuuuuhhhh...

He eyes you up and down before asigning you to a pot. A pup is a pup and well-trained, diligent and especially, open-minded pups can learn anything.

Potionology especially can be learned by you, a magicless student! It requires understanding of ingredients and their magical attributes as well as magic itself a bit, but that's something you can learn!

He does not care if you are female or not. Students are meant to obey and he will not treat you any differently. Be well-behaved and listen - learn from this new environment and succeed.

He is a bit more strict with you since potionology does not require any magical skills (as far as I know). You can learn, you can adapt. Just be a good pup!

If you're doing awful, then he will be STRICT AS HELL. It's just that he truthfully believes you can learn and do better!

If you're doing good and maybe even improved, he'll be sure to praise you. Good pup! Very, very, well done!

Then he goes back to his strict self.

If he sees you being treated wrongly by others during HIS CLASS because you are a girl - he won't allow it. Will chastise the other student, ESPECIALLY IF YOU TEAMED UP, and will tell them of their awful behavior. Such things deserve punishment.

If you ever do better after such a situation, be sure Crewel will praise you loudly in a away to indirectly shove it into the student's face and let them know - 'This one did it despite being a girl and you thinking that is a reason to bully someone. No, you foolish Fido. You all are equal, inexperienced puppies.'

Be very afraid of Trein.

This guy does not c a r e who you are. A student of NRC is supposed to be diligent, punctual, listening, obeying, studious, tidy, neat, AND DON'T YOU EVER FORGET TO-

The list goes on and on.

There is the slight chance that Trein will be a bit...less strict when he takes into account that you are new to everything. You aren't familiar with either the history of magic nor the social status and affects it can have (hooh boy, you do know how much it affects-)

After classes he might take you to the side and ask how much you actually know of...magic, besides not being able to cast any. He will offer extra classes and books from the library to catch up. After that he BETTER be seeing you there often with a book in your hand. Will often check on you.

He doesn't mean any harm but he is very certain you need extra lessons to even be on the same level as the locals here. So he expects you to be extra hard-working!

After some time, the thought of you being so much left behind crosses his mind and he wants to speak after class with you again. This time about a different topic.

"Are you perhaps...being intentionally wronged in this school?"

He does not like to use the word 'bullied'. While he knows it does exist he'd rather not make any assumptions, especially because he thinks it's because you are the only female here.

It depends on you what is the truth.

In general he does take you being a young woman in an all-boys-academy as a fact and in the back of his mind while he teaches you. You and your studies might be affected due to this. Will often ask about you and how you are doing. He will take everything as truth, even if you lie since he expects you to be mature enough to do the right thing.

Though you seem to be around good and righteous young men, so he likes to believe you are doing well.

Might take Ace and Deuce to the side and tell them to look after you. Just a bit.

Ace will be like, 'yeah, yeah, don't worry, she's fine with us. Hah, in fact she'd be totally lost without us!'

Deuce is bobbing his head up and down, starry-eyed, 'yes, yes, yes, Professor! We'll do our best, she is safe with us. I SWEAR AS A FUTURE HONOR STUDENT-'

Vargas at the beginning pushes you as much as the others because how else could you spellcast?

Oh. You can't either way?

Hm.

After getting over that fact, Vargas takes your situation very seriously. If it is requested, Vargas will make sure to prepare sport uniforms you are comfortable with as well ask you if you are also comfortable with training with the other boys (it is nice to be asked but then again, what is he supposed to do if you say no? Give you private lessons after dark?).

He will internally let out a big 'phew!' if you say you do not mind training with them or training with a few close ones (the 1st year squad or anyone else you trust).

Is very understanding if you cannot partake due to your period. Will be sure to discreetly excuse you and ask a student you trust to escort you back to your dorm.

Will also bring in your own strength and capability into play. You may not be able to cast any magic, but that is not the only reason to grind!

Will often look over to you and how you're doing during lessons. Will immediately intervene if he sees any bullying or harrassment. That's not sporting or fair!

Will give a big thumbs up at any improvements or when you or others stand up for you. That's the spirit!

Sam is the one adult you know he always got your back.

The others are perfectly nice but Sam does not criticize, chastise or push you to your limits! Though he is part of the staff you feel like you can talk the most open with him.

Always asks about your day. Oh, it went well? Here, have this trinket as a memory keepsake. Oh, it was awful? Aw, shucks, take this treat, it'll cost ya...

That's usually how your conversations go.

Whatever you need, he got it for you. Makes sure he always has feminine products or anything else you might need in stock and will give you them behind the counter if you want to keep the exchange a secret and not so open to public.

Though he treats you like his other customers (kinda ripping you off), he does give you a few things for sale or free when you had a bad day due to you being the only girl here.

Tell him any secret! They are safe with him (for a price jk).

After all, there might be a few things you cannot or wouldn't want to tell your friends and Sam keeps his mouth shut whenever. So don't worry!

Grim is a little pain in the neck no matter who you are.

As mentioned, he doesn't really get why it's suuuuch a biiig deaaaal that you are here. So what if you're a giiirrrll? You're his minion either way and you ARE going to help him.

Once he gets that others pick on you, he'll get defensive. That is HIS minion and she's doing a great job no matter if magicless or not, no matter if girlie or not! Y'all better shut up before he burns you to a crisp.

Will defend you but since he's just some...monster cat no one takes him seriously. He tries though and does end up setting someone's hair on fire...which only brings you more trouble, so there's that.

#twst x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #Twisted wonderland staff #dire crowley #divus crewel #ashton vargas #mozus trein #Twst sam #Twst grim #f!mc #f!reader #fem reader

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still-a-morosexual-help · 1 year

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Actually the concept of Nightbringer is so funny?

It's a fish out of water situation like with S1 (and many other otome games) except MC won't be the fish

They're the one who's going to know the most about the Devildom's history and culture and customs (even thousands of years in the past) while the brothers have just been dropped on their asses fresh outta the Celestial Realm where, at this point in time, demons are thought of as purely evil beings who can't even conceive the idea of peace

The brothers should, rightfully, be the ones floundering because their bodies, self, magic, entire world, world view and concept of just about anything has being flipped on its head while MC who was scarily adaptable to new situations in S1 itself has been living in & out of the Devildom for years now.

The brothers are going to be given new high positions within the Devildom while still holding disdain for demons and MC's gonna be their "demon attendant" who they'll obviously see as a lower class of demon from themselves - giving them two reasons to disregard MC - except MC would be scarily competent and just seeming to quietly know everything while also being weirdly mysterious.... do you see what I'm getting at? MC's gonna be giving off a S1 Barbatos-esque vibe to the brothers😭😭😭 (though obviously less stoic)

Mammon's gonna say or do something and MC's gonna say "oooh I know that look" and Mammon's gonna be like "????We literally just met???"

Or Belphie's gonna talk about how terrible humans are and how he wants to kill them all and MC's gonna be like "haha yeah wow they're the worst huh" while trying to pretend they're not a human who was more than willing to kill another human for daring to point a gun at Belphie

Or the brothers are gonna be settling down in their new home and MC's gonna be like "lol remember to put aside some money for Beel" and Lucifer's gonna be like "wha-" and Beel's already eaten half the sofa

Or MC's gonna forget and mention a new anime that was supposed to come out and Levi's gonna be like "what's anime?" and MC's gonna have to sit there in silence for a while to process

MC's gonna instantly know how to make Lucifer's shitty black-darker-than-his-actual-soul coffee and that might be the reason why present Lucifer likes his coffee like that

MC's gonna know the brothers more than they even know themselves and that's driving me insane

Also pretending to be a "demon attendant" as if Barbatos who can see through timelines & alternate universes and Diavolo who can tell when people are lying won't instantly know. And MC who knows them so well is going to know that they know. Just constantly "haha yes I'm the sins' demon attendant that you definitely appointed haha👁👁" and "haha yes you're the sins' demon attendant whom we definitely appointed haha👁👁"

Also what's Solomon's angle here?? Because he doesn't start seeing demons as friends until after he meets MC in the future. At this point they're beings he can trick & use to achieve his goals (one of which is getting closer to Lucifer & making a pact). So he's definitely not helping MC out of the goodness of his heart and this is probably another way to achieve that goal (specially if he finds out MC's already made pacts with all 7 sins).

Anyway, sounds like fun times for everyone! Oh and also trauma for the brothers ig

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ceilidho · 7 months

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in the cauldron boil and bake

prompt: pretty little witch who lives in a cottage in the forest who sometimes eats wayward travellers but Ghost has some kind of magic repulsion aura that doesn’t allow her to use her powers on him. (ON AO3) tags: very nsfw, implied/lightly described violence, dubcon/noncon, noncon spanking, implied cannibalism (just in general, not with the pairing lol); 5.5k

He moves at a pace too slow for you to make out with the naked eye, but you feel it creeping through you.

The vision of him appears in a dream first, a premonition. A hulking figure trekking through the woods. You snuggle deeper under the covers and scrunch up your nose in your sleep. In the morning, you go outside to harvest the holly leaves and buttercup and return home dreaming of tender, slow cooked meat. It’s been awhile since you last had a proper meal. When you hang up the laundry to dry, you chew on peppermint cuttings and try not to salivate.

In the centuries you’ve lived in these woods, travellers have come and gone. You don’t eat every single one that happens to pass by—that would be a surefire way to get your forest branded as bedevilled and a longer route established circumnavigating your grove. You might be hungry, but you’re prudent, careful. Not like some other witches these days, greedy for any morsel that happens to pass in front of them.

No; you take care of your woods. You have to, if you plan on remaining here for the centuries to come. If a few travellers happen to disappear here and there, that’s simply life. Not everyone can make treacherous journeys.

You always have a sense of when a traveller is nearby. It’s as though your being is embedded within the forest itself, privy to those who dwell within it. You feel him along the outer regions of the forest, a lone traveller hauling not more than himself and a rucksack filled with the bare essentials. He appears to you in flashes in your dreams, not the full image of him but piecemeal, a shadow obscuring his full face from you. You see only tendons and meat on his bones, a rough hewn strength to his limbs, touch muscle and fat wrapped around his middle.

It makes you giddy to think of him circling ever closer to your spider’s web at the centre of the forest. After him, you won’t be hungry for years.

Your restless leg acts up the day you know that he’s close enough to approach. All morning, you sit at the little table in your kitchen and rip lavender buds from the stems, black shoes tap-tapping away at the floor. The broom sweeps by itself in the corner, sweeping the dust into a neat pile. When you snap your fingers, it’s brusque, impatient. The broom halts in midair and then clatters against the floorboards. The chair scrapes against the floor as you rise to your feet.

“Come, come, Asphodel,” you whisper to the black cat curled up on the windowsill, which barely lifts her head enough to blink at you. “No more dallying. Mommy’s hungry.”

In a show of great defiance and disrespect, Asphodel merely meows at you and lays her head back down. Insipid little familiar.

You go off on your own then, keen to see the travellers with your own eyes. Jowls growing tighter. Robe cinched tight around you and hair pinned back by a thin strand of velvet. The days have just begun to shorten, just begun to exhale frost and rot. The leaves however, by agreement, do not crunch under your feet and give you away. You are a phantom amidst the trees as you flank the lone traveller, following the breadth of him as he traverses past your homestead.

It’s fortunate that you are not beholden to physics because he is formidable. Broad as a man might be, no less sizable than in your dreams, but much more menacing in the flesh. He too moves quietly in the brush, with a care and precision that you have not seen many humans employ.

He conceals the lower half of his face with a black piece of fabric, which you had mistaken for shadows. Not so. It is a deliberate concealment, meant to unnerve. Without magic, you might not have approached.

His size alone isn’t enough to frighten you though. You are two hundred years old and you have eaten men twice his size when you were naught but a babe.

You step out into the clearing just a few paces from him, halting the man in his tracks.

“Hello,” you call out tentatively, raising a hand to shield your eyes. “C-can you help me? I think I’ve lost my way.”

At this point in your career, it takes a bit to hide the smile that threatens to break. You are like the spider posing as a fly. The show is half the fun though.

The man doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even seem shocked at your presence, arms loose by his sides. It makes your stomach clench, the script flipped a bit. It should be you, loose and limber, and the wayward traveller tense and nonplussed, then eager to help the lost girl. You wait a moment longer for him to respond, but he remains silent, blue eyes unblinking.

“Can you help me?” you repeat, taking a step closer. The tendrils of your magic slither out of you, snaking across the forest floor towards him. “I’m lost. Can you help me find my way out?”

Your magic finds his boots in the dirt like mycelium threads, the pulse of him rich and earthen. It makes the saliva pool in your mouth, hunger gnawing at your guts. He will taste so good. Meaty and huge, enough to last you the winter. You take another step closer despite his continued silence, a tad too eager. You only need a moment though, long enough for your magic to take root, to render him febrile and inert. When he collapses to the ground, you will float his body back and rend him limb from limb by your hearth.

Another step brings you closer to him when your magic suddenly recoils, unwinds from him. You frown. You try sending it back, but your magic shrinks away, an atavistic fear blooming up in you. It does not want near this man.

A cold sweat breaks out on your neck. The hairs on your neck and arms stand on end.

The masked man staring back at you tilts his head, the skin under his eyes crinkling with a smile that you cannot see. Suddenly eldritch, blood-curdling.

“Now, what are you?” he asks with a rumbling voice, rough from disuse, and takes a step towards you.

You trip over your feet scrambling back. Branches from a nearby tree scoop towards you, catching you before you tumble down into the soft dirt. He advances quickly on you, big hand finding now the hatchet strapped to his side and pulling it out, the thing dwarfed in his massive paw.

“Stay back—stay back—” you hiss, the branches listening to your fear and dragging you away from the man. “Leave—I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Do what?” he asks, taunting. Just a twinge of it, as if he can’t help that he has a predilection to mock.

He catches up to you fast enough, the strides of his long legs enough to eat up the distance. When you whip the branches towards him, they stop mere inches from him, giving him ample time to bat them away. The ones that get close enough meet his hatchet, a single cleave enough to sever them from the tree. You don’t feel the tree’s pain, but where his blade meets your magic—a thin coating along the branches, like extended, ghost limbs of your own—it stings.

“Stay back!” you shriek, heart pumping away ferociously. Your voice comes out like a caterwaul. He’s too close now though, towering over you, the bitter smell of old sweat and musk. Up close, he does not smell like anything you know. He smells sun bleached, the rust of old blood like the blades in your shed after a long season’s hunt.

“What sort of girl—” he starts, hand fisting in your hair and wrenching your head back, “—ambushes strange men in forests? Do you have a death wish?”

To have him touch you is singularly terrifying. You haven’t been touched in a hundred years, certainly not by a human. His touch sends you skittering back, but he has you trapped in place. Your shoes dig into the dirt when you try to push yourself away, hands pressed against his chest much to your distress.

“Men can’t kill me,” you hiss, fingers clawing at the hand holding you in place, scratching at him with the little nails that you never bothered to grow out.

You can’t see the whole of his face, but his expression is undoubtedly unimpressed. “I could kill you easily, girl.”

“I’m not a girl—I’m a witch.”

“A witch is a girl.”

“I eat girls,” you snap, so angry now that spittle drips from your mouth. You shrink back when he wipes it away with a gloved hand. “I eat men like you too. If you are a man.”

You say that because the way your magic curls away from him has you on edge. Humans may not scare you, but eldritch, ancient monsters do and they hunt little witches like you. Usually not in your own woods, but stranger things have happened.

“‘Course I’m a man. Look at me.”

He presses the whole length of his body against yours, dragging you so close to him by your hair that you almost rise up onto your toes. He’s solid all the way through, only a bit of give around his middle. There’s something distinctly hard pressing against your low belly. It leaves you flustered, hot under your collar. An unfamiliar heat in your core, legs clenching on nothing. You give in to the instinctive urge to look down, but pressed so close to him, there’s little to see beyond the wideness of his chest, covered by a brown tunic laced up the front.

“Means nothing. Plenty of things look like other things. I look like a girl but I am not,” you stutter.

“Were you trying to eat me then, witch girl?” he breathes, amused. You yelp when he gives you a little shake by the hair.

You flash your teeth at that, hoping he takes that as a threat. You have chewed off flesh far tougher than his. “Still might, human. If you don’t let me go.”

He stares down at you, eyes giving nothing away. “It’s not every day that a little girl threatens to eat me. Not very nice, you know. I’ve cut down men twice your size for less.”

“You like bloodshed?”

“I trade in bounties; it’s part of the job. But, yes, girl. I like bloodshed.”

It’s not reassuring to hear that when his hands are fast on you. You wish now you hadn’t dreamed of this strange man immune to your magic and left him to his wandering. There are bears in these woods that could have dealt with him for you.

“I’m—I’m not going to anymore,” you say, quieter now, hands falling back to his chest, trying to shove yourself just the slightest bit away. You don’t move an inch. “I’ll…I can find something else to eat. Just let me go.”

The man widens his stance, feet bracketing yours. In two hundred years, you haven’t felt small. You’ve felt tremendous, expansive, big as the whole forest; monstrous some days even. The most ferocious predator in the woods, the haunting lurching her way through the trees, belly hungry for iron blood and the ripe taste of fear.

You feel that fear now in your mouth for the first time, sour.

He smiles behind the mask again. “Maybe later. Need to teach you a lesson.”

“A lesson?” Maybe the fear hasn’t sunk in all the way because you ask that when he lets go of his hold on your hair and drops his hands to your waist, getting a tight hold there. Twisting you around while he walks you back.

“You all alone in the forest?” he asks instead of answering you. “Is there a house that I missed? Been here for months and haven’t seen one.”

“Of course, I—I live here.” You don’t want to say more than though, lest you reveal too much about yourself. You’re still wondering whether surviving this ordeal will be as simple as getting away. There’s something savage in his gaze now, the mealy taste in your mouth translating that look like the hunter looking upon the hunted.

There’s a tree stump that he guides you to, shaded under the canopy. When he tips you over the stump, the breath rushes out of you. The edge is rough against your stomach. You don’t even notice him pulling up the back of your dress until a few seconds later.

“Wait, hold on—that’s my indoor dress!” you cry out, the front of your dress scraping against the stump and sure to tear. “Let me go—stop it!”

Your drawers are next, slid down your hips while you squirm and wail, feet kicking out behind you.

“Behave.” It’s punctuated by the sudden sting on your cheek, bottom flaming red by his hand. Pain is such a foreign concept to you that it initially leaves you speechless.

He props you against the stump with little care for how your knees drag in the dirt and whether your underwear gets dirt on them. He keeps you pinned there with a big hand on the centre of your back. Your shimmying gets you nowhere, only planted farther into the dirt; it only scuffs up your knees and pulls wretched little noises from your throat.

The terror comes when you’re bare to him and he draws his hand back. You gasp at the first smack, shocked; it’s a broken, stupid sound. At the next smack, you react properly, going into a frenzy, twisting left and right to get away, but helpless under just a fraction of his strength. Your magic does no good for once in your long life either. You feel it sit on the periphery, unsure of what to do because it cannot come close to this strange man for some reason.

You yelp every time his hand comes down on your bottom. Red fills your vision. Tears do as well.

“I am going to—” you break off on a yowl, back arching, “—I am going to eat the flesh off your bones for this! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

His chuckle is bone-chilling, ices you right over. “You oughta at least know the name of the man you’re going to eat. They call me Ghost.”

“I’ll call you—” The caustic name you were about to call him is ripped from your lips by another well-placed smack on your ass.

You shriek so loud that the birds flee from their perches within the trees.

The worst part is the way your thighs flex together with every smack. Belly clenching. You can feel slick gathering where it shouldn’t, a high blush splotched across your cheeks as you pray that he doesn’t notice. It doesn’t happen often, only in the week following your cycle when you feel ravenous and flushed, skin prickly and raw until you go outdoors and roll around in the dirt under the moonlight. Always by yourself, of course, naturally.

Little panting breaths hiccup out of you, your cheeks overflowing with frustrated tears. After the first minute, you simply go limp. There’s nothing else you can do. Even trying to levitate does you no good, it only props your butt up higher into the air since Ghost’s hand on your upper back keeps your chest pressed to the stump. It only seems to amuse him, judging by the hoarse chuckle he lets out.

Without your broom, the little bit of levitation is more of a party trick than anything—and you haven’t even been to a party in fifty years, not since your coven’s last autumnal gathering. Not that it matters at a time like this. His hand comes down on your butt again and you wail, shoes digging into the ground and kicking up dirt. Your mind goes blank again, thoughts replaced by the looping ow, ow, ow that also falls from your lips.

“Does it hurt, lovie?” Ghost asks, hand coming to rest on your livid cheek. It makes you hiss, turning your head until your cheek is pressed to the stump’s inner rings. His voice is gentle, but mocking, like the voice you use when hacking into a screaming man, asking him if he’d like his hand back while you dangle it in front of him.

“It’s going to hurt so much worse when I dice you into little pieces,” you hiss. He gives a mocking pat to your butt, making you flinch.

“Learned your lesson yet?”

You keep your gaze stubbornly off to the side. Somehow, it would be worse to look over your shoulder and make eye contact with the strange beast at your back. “If you leave now, I won't sever your limbs from your body and roast your organs from the inside.”

“I take it you haven’t,” he says, another chuckle rumbling out of him.

His hand comes off your naked rear. Your ears perk up when you hear the sound of fabric over fabric, wondering if maybe he’s pulling your underwear back up, but you don’t feel anything. What you feel instead is the sudden heaviness pushed between your thighs, nestled right up against your wet core, so unfamiliar that it makes you jump. You stay put though, held down still by his hand.

“Put that back,” you say severely.

He holds it against your sex with his free hand and presses forward, coating himself with your slick. “You’re not in a position to make demands, girl.”

“I’m going to slice every bit of skin off your bones.” Your mouth salivates at the thought, thinking of all the thick, iron-rich blood from someone Ghost’s size.

Those thoughts disperse again like smoke when he ruts forward, the thick length between his legs gliding through your wetness. It makes you break out into a sweat, keen catching between your teeth, just narrowly bitten back. Ghost makes no effort to suppress his groans. They’re loud, a lustful, masculine pleasure that you’ve heard far off in your woods before—unfortunate couples come to copulate before meeting their end at your hands—but never so close. Never right up in your ear.

“It’s not fair,” you sob, emotional suddenly. “You’re just going to—to do that and then kill me.”

He leans his full weight over you, the rough texture of his shirt catching on the back of your dress. You’re sweating so hard now that the lace embroidery around your collar is thoroughly soaked, clinging to your skin.

“‘M not gonna kill you. What would I do something like that for?”

You sniff. “It’s what I would do.”

He chuckles again, the sound reverberating through you with him all pressed up against you. It would almost be pleasant if it weren’t for the cock pumping between your thighs. That brings you right back down to earth, mind torn away from the ravens perched in the branches of the tree looming over you, watching you from above. If you were able to pay them any close attention, you’d probably hear them chattering about the position their little witch has found herself in.

“C’mon now,” Ghost grunts in your ear, hips shifting back. “Be a good little witch and say a little spell—don’t wanna knock you up on the first try.”

You open your mouth to reply and squeal when he rocks back forward, the bulbous tip pressing into you this time. Your toes flex in your shoes, thighs spreading without any prompting from him. You don’t even notice the hand on your upper back travelling to your waist, both of his big hands gripping you there now to hold you in place. There’s no thought of trying to get away, just breathing around the immense stretch from his shaft driving up into you.

“Ooh, no, no—it’s too much,” you squeak, fingers digging into the sides of the stump, the wood cutting into your soft skin.

It is too much. It doesn’t even feel entirely possible. Even with the wetness leaking from you, his cock only manages to fit a couple inches in you before you’re too tight.

“You’re doing fine, lovie,” he rasps into your ear, drawing his hips back and then plunging back into you, deeper than before. “See? Not so bad, is it? Gonna take a little more for me, a’right?”

“No—no more,” you slur, tongue heavy in your mouth. “Can you just—just keep it right there?”

“Yeah? That enough for you?”

Your fingers unlatch from the bark of the tree, trembling when you reach down to wipe them off on your dress before dragging the palm of your hand over your clit. It makes you jump and whine. The skin of your palm is a bit textured from gripping onto the stump, but the friction makes your brain leak right out of your ear. Especially when you push your hips back just a little bit, nervously fucking yourself on his cock.

Ghost laughs and lets go of your hip to bat your hand away, then reaches back around to fit a big hand around your jaw.

He holds your jaw in a single hand, palm supporting your chin. “You ever going to do this again, girl? Go up to strange men in the woods?”

You almost don’t hear him over the blood in your ears. A thick cock spears into you for the first time in your life and the man rutting into you expects coherence? Maybe you babble something into the palm of his hand, but it’s lost to the world when he pulls your knee out to make more room for himself and tips your ass up.

He gives your cheek a solid pat. “C’mon, focus on me, lovie. Tell me what you’re gonna do from now on.”

Your breathing picks up, heavier. When you don’t respond again, he abruptly pulls out and stands up, hauling you up to your feet with him. All of the blood rushes from your head, pooling around your pretty black shoes. Leaves crunch under your feet when he turns the two of you around and sits down on the stump where you’d just been spread over. The hands on your waist turn you to face him and that’s when an inkling of struggle works its way back into your veins.

You hiss and snarl when he lifts you to straddle his thighs, particularly when you see the brutish, ruddy cock jutting out from his trousers. Ghost seems more amused than anything at your little attempts to escape, clutching you closer to him until your chests are pressed tight together, making it all the more intimate. All the more real.

“Quit fussing.” You jump at the sharp slap he delivers to your ass.

“Going to curse your whole lineage—” you grit out, wincing when he draws you back down over his length, cunt fluttering at the stretch. You can’t help dropping your forehead to his chest, shoulder hitched with a frustrated cry.

His groan makes you seize up, a hot flash darting through you. “Don’t be like that, lovie. Might be yours too.”

A haze passes over you when firm hands lift you up off his cock and plop you back down, emptying you of any thoughts like you’d tipped your head and all the water had poured out.

The worst is the way your body betrays you. Each time he shoves his fat cock into your cunt, a whine rattles out of you, snatched from your chest. Robbed from you. The nearby leaves rustle and swirl up into the air with an artificial wind, magic singing their edges. He reaches so much deeper inside of you like this, splayed on his lap, hands gripping onto his shoulders for dear life because it takes every bit of energy in your body to merely take his cock into you.

Your knees scrape against the uneven wood every time he drags you back down. They’ll probably be scraped raw by the end of it; you’ll need to tearfully smooth on ointment and wrap thick bandages around them when you get back to the cottage.

“There we go. Fuckin’ take it—come on,” Ghost grunts, dragging you down onto his length, just using your body how he likes.

The thick head grinds up against a spot deep inside of you, spongy and sensitive. You feel it all the way up in your throat. Every time his cock rubs against that spot, your nails dig into his shoulders. A violent shudder rips through you because this position also lets him grind your clit down against the root of his cock.

“Ghost—”

He ducks his covered mouth into the side of your neck. Even through the fabric, you can feel his lips press a firm, closed-mouth kiss there. “Bit more, bit more, love. Better than you thought it’d be, huh? Fuck. Only thing magic about you is this wet pussy. Fuck hiding this from me—gonna ride it twice a day from now on.”

“Never doing this ever again, you beast—”

Ghost bites you through the mask, the pressure dull but real. It says, try keeping it from me.

When you come, it’s sudden and sharp, painful like a cramp in your belly and then a wave of bone-deep pleasure. Ghost wrangles it from you with a thumb on your clit, pumping up into your pussy at the same time. He wrenches it from you like it’s his, like you have no choice but to come for him because he wants it. You press your whole body against him when you come, arms wrapping around his neck like you need him close. Heat unfolding and leaving you limp. No cauldron has ever boiled as hot as your flesh does now.

He pulls out of you before coming. You watch helplessly as he settles you close enough to keep the heat of your pussy on him and then wraps a firm hand around himself, giving it a few good tugs before a white rope of come spurts from his cock. Right onto your exposed pussy, spilling across your folds. Your mouth drops open on a soft whine as it stripes across your inner thighs and the front of your dress, painting it white.

His harsh pants ebb into something softer as his cock goes flacid against his thigh. You feel boneless, drained of all your energy. Even your magic only gives a pathetic twitch, the tendrils of it curling back up inside of you where it’s nice and warm.

Your cunt feels tender, puffy when you reach down and touch it. You flinch when his fingers graze against yours, also feeling around your swollen lips. Ghost knuckles your fingers out of the way and scoops up the mess he left between your thighs, pushing two fingers just past your entrance. You don’t even have the energy to yelp, only wince and mewl.

He shushes you. “Didn’t even come inside. Quit whining.”

His words are belied by the way he scoops more of his come up into you.

You really don’t like that he follows you home. The march back to your cozy cottage nestled in the middle of the forest feels like a death march, one you might have witnessed in the hundreds of years that you’ve lived here. Worse still because your legs are still wobbly, your sex achy and raw. Still, whenever you pause for a moment or lean against a tree, he nudges you forward with a hand on your back.

“This is unfair,” you snivel, eyes tearing up. “You can’t—this is my forest.”

“The woods don’t belong to anyone, girl,” Ghost counters.

“Yes, they do. I’ve been…it’s been mine for two hundred years.”

“Of course, lovie.” You can almost hear the roll of his eyes. It makes you grit your teeth. You can’t wait to bury him in the backyard with all the bone mandalas.

It doesn’t take long for him to settle in, making himself nice and comfortable on your plush couch with the intricate doilies knitted by your grandmother draped along the back. Your poor couch almost collapses under his weight.

Your cottage is far too small for someone of his size; you built it to accommodate someone of your size, not the behemoth that’s taken up residence in your house. You know that Ghost is more of a man of action than words, but he’s plenty happy to grumble about needing to redo the door to make it big enough for him to come inside without having to duck his head.

“You aren’t going to touch a single brick of my house.”

“I’ll take apart the whole damned thing if I want.”

You keep trying to lift him up with your magic but it does nothing to him and only tires you out because using magic is exhausting. You’re sweating and panting at the end of your efforts while Ghost just stands in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest and a single eyebrow raised. It’s humiliating. You used to be a powerful witch. You still are.

He lets you yell at him until you’re red in the face and then drags you down for a rough fuck. Arguments with Ghost often end that way—you, sore and satiated in your bed, the window opened to let some fresh air in. Him, spread out next to you and dragging you close, playing absentmindedly with a nipple until you pinch his side. That always gets you a meaner pinch, one that leaves you teary-eyed and hot all over again.

Magic might not work on him, but he’s still mortal, so you try to work with that. Bear traps by the windows and doors. Hemlock in the soap. Poison in his stew. He’s stealthier than you anticipate though and seems to have a sixth sense for death.

It’s demeaning and humiliating to be punished for your ‘bad behaviour’ but that’s what he calls it when he passes by the kitchen and catches the stew burping out the telltale skull shaped steam. You’re taken off kitchen duty after that, but the worst part is being trapped under him on the bed with your hands pinned over your head, bottom exposed to him yet again. He laughs a little later on when you squirm around on your hard kitchen chairs because you refuse to sit on his lap.

Sometimes when he has you trapped under him when you’re sleeping—because, of course, he commandeers your bed like it was built for someone his size when truthfully he should be in a bed twice as large—he wakes up to you gnawing at his shoulder and he has to hold you jaw in his hand and rumble out “No biting” before going back to sleep. You stare over his shoulder petulantly, not even bothering to fight the pout. The kettle whispers in the kitchen, fueled by your frustration.

Ghost only lets out a dry, husky laugh. It sends a shiver down your spine.

Asphodel takes to him like a new favourite thing, winding around his legs while you glare from the other room. Damned familiar.

You only start to lighten up when your senses tingle one day when you’re out picking berries in the woods and you come back to find him ruthlessly butchering a band of raiders that had been trampling through your woods. He slaughters them methodically, almost bored. Almost like he does this every day.

You can’t help the way it makes your pussy ache.

He catches the look in your eye. You’ve been alone for far too long in the woods; everything you feel is laid bare, open for anyone to see. Ghost is just always looking.

He grins under the mask, blood splattered across the front of his shirt. “Go on, lovie. I’ll be inside in just a few.”

Molten slickness drips from between your thighs. You bite your lip before you slip away, blood growing feverish when you glance back down at the mangled bodies bleeding out in the red-orange leaves. There’s a severed eye that’s rolled off to the side and your stomach gurgles.

You lick your lip and look up at him from under your eyelashes. “Save me some for supper?”

Ghost’s eyes soften, a sharp contrast from the gore and viscera piled around him. “‘Course, lovie.”

The world seems different with the arrival of him. Cranberries beneath the sycamore, the russet moon on harvest's day, the scent of soldering iron, the laughter woven between your many faces. With him, you feel like the cynosure of all eyes.

In the twilight hours, he presses a hand to your forehead and laves your belly with his tongue like he might push something back in there. The curtains draw shut and the lights flicker off.

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